#to be very Precise in my comparisons

[chainofclovers]

Being a human is literally like this weird combo of being okay and not okay that goes on forever except there is also death

[wine-dark-soup]

that's maybe dumb but i feel like eos' story eludes me for the ARR-SHB period. but if i try too hard to imagine things, nothing feels quite correct. so i kinda just wait

[niteshade925]

Saw these tags in a reblog of my Chinese museum posts, and thought I have to make a response just so everyone is clear on how archaeological studies are carried out in China:

^Well, the Shaanxi Archaeology Museum is a Chinese museum displaying artifacts found in China, it's not the British Museum lol.

But anyway just so everyone knows, modern Chinese archaeology has a rule, which is that unless it's absolutely necessary, an ancient tomb/mausoleum should not be disturbed. This means that many of these artifacts in the museums are found in a few main ways:

Tombs that absolutely had to be excavated because there were clear signs of grave robbing present, for example when tunnels left by grave robbers were found near a known tomb. This is called "excavating to rescue" (抢救性发掘), it's done by teams of archaeologists, the artifacts found will then be studied and eventually find a home in museums in China. In comparison, actual grave robbers would steal artifacts and sell them for money; many stolen artifacts would end up in auctions, mostly outside of mainland China. This is why there is no "general positive sense" in the phrase "grave robbing with grant money" when it comes to archaeology in China. Modern Chinese archaeology and grave robbing are simply not comparable in any way whatsoever.

Tombs that absolutely had to be excavated because new infrastructure will be built in that location. Such exacavations are also included in excavating to rescue. Examples include tombs in Xi'an city that had to be excavated because a metro was being built. Since Chinese people and Chinese culture are native to China, there are no ethical problems whatsoever, this simply a question of what matters more, the welfare of living Chinese people or the abstract afterlives of ancient Chinese people. Obviously, the welfare of living Chinese people is a more important matter. As for the argument of "but this goes against traditional culture", first, a culture is only alive if the people of that culture is alive and doing well, otherwise that culture is as good as dead; second, a major part of traditional Chinese culture IS focused on the welfare of descendants (ex: the belief that the spirits of ancestors will protect their descendants), so I'm sure our ancestors would be proud to see us doing well.

Tombs that were excavated because archaeologists were absolutely sure that artifacts discovered within would make major contributions to the study of Chinese history. This is pretty much the only exception to the rule of "excavating to rescue", and it is very rarely allowed. An example is the Xia-Shang-Zhou Chronology Project (夏商周断代工程), where the main focus is to gain a clearer picture of the timeline of ancient Chinese history, when dynasties began/ended, when major events may have happened, etc.

Artifacts that were found when arresting grave robbers. These are called "recovered artifacts" (追回文物).

Artifacts that returned to China from foreign countries, these are called "returned artifacts" (回归文物). A big portion of these artifacts ended up in foreign countries precisely because of grave robbers, and another big portion were and are still lost for the same reason as why the British Museum has so many artifacts from around the world.

Artifacts that were discovered scattered throughout China. There are three facts to consider here: 1) China has a long history and as a result, there are vast amounts of existing artifacts; 2) tombs are material things and thus are subject to the elements; 3) not everyone is an archaeologist. Combine these, and you have situations were valuable artifacts were found in places like the chicken coop of a farmer (this is how the eagle-shaped pottery ding was found).

Donations. Some artifacts were family heirlooms that were donated to museums.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

25 Prose Tips For Writers 🖋️✨ Part 1

Hey there!📚✨

As writers, we all know that feeling when we read a sentence so beautifully crafted that it takes our breath away. We pause, reread it, and marvel at how the author managed to string those words together in such a captivating way. Well, today I'm going to unpack a few secrets to creating that same magic in your own writing. These same tips I use in my writing.

But before I begin, please remember that writing is an art form, and like any art, it's subjective. What sounds beautiful to one person might not resonate with another. The tips I'm about to share are meant to be tools in your writer's toolkit, not rigid rules. Feel free to experiment, play around, and find what works best for your unique voice and style.

Power of Rhythm 🎵

One of the most overlooked aspects of beautiful prose is rhythm. Just like music, writing has a flow and cadence that can make it pleasing to the ear (or mind's ear, in this case). Here are some ways to incorporate rhythm into your writing:

a) Vary your sentence length: Mix short, punchy sentences with longer, flowing ones. This creates a natural ebb and flow that keeps your reader engaged.

Example: "The sun set. Darkness crept in, wrapping the world in its velvet embrace. Stars winked to life, one by one, until the sky was a glittering tapestry of light."

b) Use repetition strategically: Repeating words or phrases can create a hypnotic effect and emphasize important points.

Example: "She walked through the forest, through the shadows, through the whispers of ancient trees. Through it all, she walked with purpose."

c) Pay attention to the stressed syllables: In English, we naturally stress certain syllables in words. Try to end important sentences with stressed syllables for a stronger impact.

Example: "Her heart raced as she approached the door." (Stronger ending) vs. "She approached the door as her heart raced." (Weaker ending)

Paint with Words 🎨

Beautiful prose often creates vivid imagery in the reader's mind. Here are some techniques to help you paint with words:

a) Use specific, concrete details: Instead of general descriptions, zoom in on particular details that bring a scene to life.

Example: Instead of: "The room was messy." Try: "Crumpled papers overflowed from the waste bin, books lay spine-up on every surface, and a half-eaten sandwich peeked out from under a stack of wrinkled clothes."

b) Appeal to all five senses: Don't just describe what things look like. Include smells, sounds, textures, and tastes to create a fully immersive experience.

Example: "The market bustled with life. Colorful fruits glistened in the morning sun, their sweet aroma mingling with the earthy scent of fresh herbs. Vendors called out their wares in sing-song voices, while customers haggled in animated tones. Sarah's fingers brushed against the rough burlap sacks of grain as she passed, and she could almost taste the tang of ripe oranges on her tongue."

c) Use unexpected comparisons: Fresh similes and metaphors can breathe new life into descriptions.

Example: Instead of: "The old man was very thin." Try: "The old man was a whisper of his former self, as if life had slowly erased him, leaving behind only the faintest outline."

Choose Your Words Wisely 📚

Every word in your prose should earn its place. Here are some tips for selecting the right words:

a) Embrace strong verbs: Replace weak verb + adverb combinations with single, powerful verbs.

Example: Instead of: "She walked quickly to the store." Try: "She hurried to the store." or "She dashed to the store."

b) Be specific: Use precise nouns instead of general ones.

Example: Instead of: "She picked up the flower." Try: "She plucked the daisy."

c) Avoid clichés: Clichés can make your writing feel stale. Try to find fresh ways to express common ideas.

Example: Instead of: "It was raining cats and dogs." Try: "The rain fell in sheets, transforming the streets into rushing rivers."

Play with Sound 🎶

The sound of words can contribute greatly to the beauty of your prose. Here are some techniques to make your writing more musical:

a) Alliteration: Repeating initial consonant sounds can create a pleasing effect.

Example: "She sells seashells by the seashore."

b) Assonance: Repeating vowel sounds can add a subtle musicality to your prose.

Example: "The light of the bright sky might ignite a fight."

c) Onomatopoeia: Using words that sound like what they describe can make your writing more immersive.

Example: "The bees buzzed and hummed as they flitted from flower to flower."

Art of Sentence Structure 🏗️

How you structure your sentences can greatly affect the flow and impact of your prose. Here are some tips:

a) Use parallel structure: When listing items or actions, keep the grammatical structure consistent.

Example: "She came, she saw, she conquered."

b) Try periodic sentences: Build suspense by putting the main clause at the end of the sentence.

Example: "Through storm and strife, across oceans and continents, despite all odds and obstacles, they persevered."

c) Experiment with sentence fragments: While not grammatically correct, sentence fragments can be powerful when used intentionally for emphasis or style.

Example: "She stood at the edge of the cliff. Heart racing. Palms sweating. Ready to jump."

Power of White Space ⬜

Sometimes, what you don't say is just as important as what you do. Use paragraph breaks and short sentences to create pauses and emphasize important moments.

Example: "He opened the letter with trembling hands.

Inside, a single word.

'Yes.'"

Read Your Work Aloud 🗣️

One of the best ways to polish your prose is to read it aloud. This helps you catch awkward phrasing, repetitive words, and rhythm issues that you might miss when reading silently.

Edit Ruthlessly ✂️

Beautiful prose often comes from rigorous editing. Don't be afraid to cut words, sentences, or even entire paragraphs if they don't serve the overall beauty and effectiveness of your writing.

Study the Masters 📖

Please! Read widely and pay attention to how your favorite authors craft their prose. Analyze sentences you find particularly beautiful and try to understand what makes them work.

Practice, Practice, Practice 💪

Like any skill, writing beautiful prose takes practice. Set aside time to experiment with different techniques and styles. Try writing exercises focused on specific aspects of prose, like describing a scene using only sound words, or rewriting a simple sentence in ten different ways.

Remember, that developing your prose style is a journey, not a destination. It's okay if your first draft isn't perfect – that's what editing is for! The most important thing is to keep writing, keep experimenting, and keep finding joy in the process.

Here are a few more unique tips to help you on your prose-perfecting journey:

Create a Word Bank 🏦

Keep a notebook or digital file where you collect beautiful words, phrases, or sentences you come across in your reading. This can be a great resource when you're looking for inspiration or the perfect word to complete a sentence.

Use the "Rule of Three" 3️⃣

There's something inherently satisfying about groups of three. Use this to your advantage in your writing, whether it's in listing items, repeating phrases, or structuring your paragraphs.

Example: "The old house groaned, creaked, and whispered its secrets to the night."

Power of Silence 🤫

Sometimes, the most powerful prose comes from what's left unsaid. Use implication and subtext to add depth to your writing.

Example: Instead of: "She was heartbroken when he left." Try: "She stared at his empty chair across the breakfast table, the untouched coffee growing cold."

Play with Perspective 👁️

Experiment with different points of view to find the most impactful way to tell your story. Sometimes, an unexpected perspective can make your prose truly memorable.

Example: Instead of describing a bustling city from a human perspective, try describing it from the point of view of a bird soaring overhead, or a coin passed from hand to hand.

Use Punctuation Creatively 🖋️

While it's important to use punctuation correctly, don't be afraid to bend the rules a little for stylistic effect. Em dashes, ellipses, and even unconventional use of periods can add rhythm and emphasis to your prose.

Example: "She hesitated—heart pounding, palms sweating—then knocked on the door."

Create Contrast 🌓

Juxtapose different elements in your writing to create interest and emphasis. This can be in terms of tone, pacing, or even the literal elements you're describing.

Example: "The delicate butterfly alighted on the rusted barrel of the abandoned tank."

Use Synesthesia 🌈

Synesthesia is a condition where one sensory experience triggers another. While not everyone experiences this, using synesthetic descriptions in your writing can create vivid and unique imagery.

Example: "The violin's melody tasted like honey on her tongue."

Experiment with Sentence Diagrams 📊

Remember those sentence diagrams from school? Try diagramming some of your favorite sentences from literature. This can give you insight into how complex sentences are structured and help you craft your own.

Create a Sensory Tour 🚶‍♀️

When describing a setting, try taking your reader on a sensory tour. Move from one sense to another, creating a full, immersive experience.

Example: "The old bookstore welcomed her with the musty scent of aging paper. Dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight piercing the high windows. Her fingers trailed over the cracked leather spines as she moved deeper into the stacks, the floorboards creaking a greeting beneath her feet. In the distance, she could hear the soft ticking of an ancient clock and taste the faint bitterness of old coffee in the air."

Use Active Voice (Most of the Time) 🏃‍♂️

While passive voice has its place, active voice generally creates more dynamic and engaging prose. Compare these two sentences:

Passive: "The ball was thrown by the boy." Active: "The boy threw the ball."

Magic of Ordinary Moments ✨

Sometimes, the most beautiful prose comes from describing everyday occurrences in a new light. Challenge yourself to find beauty and meaning in the mundane.

Example: "The kettle's whistle pierced the quiet morning, a clarion call heralding the day's first cup of possibility."

Play with Time ⏳

Experiment with how you present the passage of time in your prose. You can stretch a moment out over several paragraphs or compress years into a single sentence.

Example: "In that heartbeat between his question and her answer, universes were born and died, civilizations rose and fell, and their entire future hung in the balance."

Use Anaphora for Emphasis 🔁

Anaphora is the repetition of a word or phrase at the beginning of successive clauses or sentences. It can create a powerful rhythm and emphasize key points.

Example: "She was the sunrise after the longest night. She was the first bloom of spring after a harsh winter. She was the cool breeze on a sweltering summer day. She was hope personified, walking among us."

Create Word Pictures 🖼️

Try to create images that linger in the reader's mind long after they've finished reading. These don't have to be elaborate – sometimes a simple, unexpected combination of words can be incredibly powerful.

Example: "Her laughter was a flock of birds taking flight."

Use Rhetorical Devices 🎭

Familiarize yourself with rhetorical devices like chiasmus, antithesis, and oxymoron. These can add depth and interest to your prose.

Example of chiasmus: "Ask not what your country can do for you – ask what you can do for your country." - John F. Kennedy

Even the most accomplished authors continue to hone their craft with each new piece they write. Don't be discouraged if your first attempts don't sound exactly like you imagined – keep practicing, keep experimenting, and most importantly, keep writing.

Your unique voice and perspective are what will ultimately make your prose beautiful. These techniques are simply tools to help you express that voice more effectively. Use them, adapt them, or discard them as you see fit. The most important thing is to write in a way that feels authentic to you and brings you joy.

Happy writing, everyone! 🖋️💖📚 - Rin T

Hey fellow writers! I'm super excited to share that I've just launched a Tumblr community. I'm inviting all of you to join my community. All you have to do is fill out this Google form, and I'll personally send you an invitation to join the Write Right Society on Tumblr! Can't wait to see your posts!

[actual-changeling]

welcome back to alex's unhinged meta corner, today's topic: the chest touch at the pub. that scene has me in a chokehold for some reason and i still cannot stop thinking about it.

the first thing i wanna talk about is crowley's reaction, since this is the shorter part. he did not expect aziraphale to reach out to him like this and freezes for a second while aziraphale happily chatters away.

they were both walking and the hand on his chest stops him, so he comes to a stop right next to him while he was slightly behind him before that. his gaze also snaps to aziraphale's face, who is very much not looking at him.

they were having a conversation, but the touch essentially shuts crowley up and zira leaves him to get their drinks.

now, my question is why aziraphale does it. sure, it could just be an absent gesture since they're in a crowded place, just that he has never really done so before. i think it was very much planned, like asking crowley to dance and grabbing his hand later on.

a second before he actually reaches out, he also looks back to check whether crowley is where he thinks he is. that is the only time he does that, he was busy looking for a free table and miracles them one when he cannot find one - the look back is deliberate. especially since crowley is practically glued to his side, he has no need for confirmation, he can feel him brushing against him while walking.

the hand motion he does gets me, too. he is busy fidgeting with his hands like normal and has them clasped in front of him. aziraphale lifts them once he gets to "that is precisely the point", yet also already moves it slightly towards crowley, realizes he miscalculated where exactly he/his chest is, looks to check, then looks away again before actually touching him. am i reading too much into it? maybe.

i think it is his version of a little temptation. not only does it make crowley's brain short-circuit for a second, he also gets them their drinks and is now (or so aziraphale hopes) a bit calmer and will take the news aziraphale is about to give him better. the conversation at the cafe did not go entirely as planned, after all.

additionally, something i am not sure if other people have noticed or not is that aziraphale does not just touch crowley, it is a caress. he moves his hand down his chest.

the movement in order:

bar girl unfortunately moves in front of them, but you can clearly see the way his hand takes. to give you a direct comparison of the starting and end point:

a good point of reference is crowley's bolo tie but also the angle of aziraphale's arm while it is still visible.

the best part, in my opinion, is that aziraphale puts his hand right on top of crowley's heart. i think the symbolic importance of that is pretty clear and does not require any more explanation, although it makes me want to throw myself into a river. but that's by the by.

to summarize, aziraphale caresses crowley's heart chest to get him to calm down and not go insane over the news he is about to give him. he is also simply a bastard and knows exactly what he is doing to crowley.

as always, this is me going nuts with analysis, but i'm also curious to hear other people's thoughts on this.

don't tell my therapist about my unhinged meta posts or she will probably be very concerned for my mental wellbeing

[dearneuvi]

MDNI - scar x fem!reader, oral (f. receiving), this game has me in a chokehold

“Really?” Scar laughs, hands resting on your thighs amused with just how easy he found himself getting you sprawled out underneath him. “You’re quiet now? Where’d my favourite little viper go?”

You don’t reply. You can’t. Opening your mouth, letting out those noises he’s been so desperately trying to coax from you, saying anything that might let him know, for certain, he’s got you so perfectly under his thumb. You won’t risk it.

But he already knows.

His warmth on your skin, his rough fingers pulling at your clothing as he watches your glazed expression; he watches as you impatiently wait for him to touch you again. Almost completely naked underneath him, you should feel more shame, more embarrassment, more hatred for the man. But you just can’t bring yourself to care as he rises above you, pulling at your underwear until you fidget beneath him, giving him just enough room to slide the clothing down your legs.

“You’re going to make me work for it, huh.” Your eyebrows furrow as you scowl at him, biting your lip to stop your rebuttal—you don’t trust your voice. Scar lets out a laugh, a condescending sound that, you hate to admit, sends shiver throughout your body. “Don’t look at me like that.” He leans down again, nose bumping against yours deceptively softly, his breath warm and wet against your lips. “It makes me want to devour you.”

Dipping his head he presses a chaste kiss to your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. Lower and lower, his hair tickling your bare skin. Scar moves agonisingly slowly, teasing you with the tiny touches, tongue lazily swiping at the skin of your thigh.

Your sharp intake of breath is bliss to his ears; you barely manage to hold in the soft whimper threatening to escape as you look down to him, meeting his eyes, looking too content settled between your legs.

His eyes don’t leave yours and you can’t look away even if you wanted to, you’re hypnotised by his gaze as he, finally, runs his tongue through your folds, groaning at the taste of your arousal. Scar watches you with a smug look, waiting for the moment you let your shields down, let yourself come undone because of him.

It isn’t until his tongue circles your clit and his lips surround the sensitive bud when he finally lives to his words and devours. You’re broken from your trance, head falling to the pillow as his tongue moves with perfect precision, pulling sound after embarrassing sound from your throat.

You try to hold them back; you intend to push him away but the second you hands get close they tangle in his hair pulling him closer with a tight grip. Or, as tight as you can manage as the bolts of pleasure shock through your body.

Pulling away only to brush his teeth against the inside of your thigh, thumb rubbing continuous circles against your clit, relishing in the way your body writhes wishing he had some way of immortalising the image in that moment. Wondering what your righteous friends would think if they knew how easy it had been to get you into this position; to almost have you begging for the release he was in charge of.

Scar latches himself to your cunt. Consuming you like you are his very life force, drinking you in as though you were his first meal in weeks. The obscene sounds full the room, his guttural moans as you rake your fingers into his hair mix with your breathless words. Your chants of please encouraging him to torment you further, detaching himself from you as your body stiffens, leaving you seconds from your climax.

You whine as he catches your hands, desperate to push yourself over that edge he’s leaving you teetering on, lacing his fingers between yours. “Scar.” Your breathless voice, pitiful in comparison to what he’s so familiar with. His viper long gone, replaced with such a meek creature—he wants to break you down more.

He rises, pressing himself against you as his lips fan yours again. Your hips grind against his, glazed eyes meeting his and soft panting warming his skin.

You must have lost your mind. You’ve let him get you exactly where he wants you.

“It’s okay, Sweetheart.” He cooes, pushing his hips in response to yours, your moan swallowed quickly as he catches you in a messy kiss, taking the last of your sanity with his surprising expertise. Scar smirks as he finally pulls away, your body shaking beneath him, and clawing at his clothing. “I’m far from done with you.”

[anthurak]

As someone who was very curious as to how Mammon was going to be presented in Helluva Boss, you can probably imagine I was looking through the new episode very closely.

And while I may have been off the mark with my theory that Mammon would follow the trend of Asmodeus and Beelzebub and NOT actually be antagonistic, I nonetheless think it is VERY interesting how Vivzie and the team handled and presented him.

Specifically, in just how PETTY Mammon is shown to be in this episode.

Like really think about what you might generally expect from a character like Mammon just from a basic background description: He is one of the seven rulers of Hell, lord of the seven rings and embodiment of GREED. Likely a fallen angel who helped to create hell as it exists today, is matched in power only by his five fellow Sins, and is functionally only truly outranked by Lucifer himself.

And yet, Mammon’s characterization in this episode presents him as this petty, selfish, manipulative asshole interested in little more than money and attention. He acts more like a shitty, full-of-himself asshole celebrity than a demon lord. Just look at how he manipulates Fizzerolli, not through lording power and authority over him but through emotional coercion like an abusive parent, ex-, or boss, which is precisely WHAT he is presented as. fi

What makes this even more interesting is that despite Mammon being characterized as Fizz’s petty, manipulative boss, we nonetheless see him display all the POWER and experience we’d expect from one of the seven rulers of Hell. Asmodeus mentions earlier in the episode that he’s known Mammon ‘since the START of Hell’, confirming they were both involved in its creation, and when the two square off at the end, it’s clear that Mammon is very much Ozzie’s EQUAL in power, and that everyone else present is pretty much an insect in comparison.

This is what I think makes the inclusion of that one creepy, obsessive fan of Fizzerolli’s in this episode so significant; he serves as a point of comparison to Mammon.

For all the power and authority that he might wield, Mammon is characterized as being no different/better than a creepy, manipulative, entitled and obsessive stalker.

I think this might be the true common ‘thru-line’ connecting all of the seven sins through Helluva Boss and possibly even Hazbin Hotel: That despite essentially being ‘God-Emperors’ of Hell and outclassed in power likely only by the most powerful angels of Heaven itself, the seven sins are characterized in a very grounded, down-to-earth and for lack of a better term, ‘human’ way.

All the times we’ve seen them, Ozzie, Bee and Mam haven’t presented themselves as these all-powerful beings lording themselves over their subjects like we might expect or even what we’ve seen of the Goetic nobility. They don’t present themselves as ‘royalty’ but rather more like celebrity performers, which is certainly in keeping with Vivzie’s comments about how Hell is meant to represent a circus.

It really gives this fascinating dichotomy to the Sins as characters, where they’re presented as these big wacky celebrities with big, over-the-top personas which in turn hide very grounded, down-to-earth people underneath. While at the same time still being these monstrously powerful and ancient beings whose dominion over Hell is entirely uncontested.

It also gives them a nice contrast with the Goetic Nobility and the Sinner Overlords. Like those two groups actually do act and present themselves like demonic ‘royalty’ who lord themselves over those considered ‘beneath’ them, while in reality they’re at best the ‘middle-managers’, and instead it’s these wacky characters who are the TRUE masters of Hell.

It may even continue into what we might see in Hazbin Hotel, what with Charlie being this bubbly, happy-go-lucky Disney-esque princess who also may very well have power outclassing literally EVERYONE else in the show apart from her parents.

Overall, I loved this episode and I think we may now have a good idea what we might expect from the other Sins, and possibly even Lucifer himself in Hazbin Hotel.

[cyberesc]

THE BOY IS MINE. (PART 2)

pairing: Prohero!Bakugo x Prohero!Reader

rating: slight angst, hurt/comfort, reader needs a break tbh

note: I forgot where I was originally going with this story when I wrote this a few years ago since part 2 was only 70% done in my drafts, hope this was a good read ! it was fun writing dialogue for Hitomi, might bring her back for a new series🤐

part 1

You don't know when it happened, but somehow, your very existence seemed to aggravate Hitomi, for reasons you couldn’t understand. Your coworkers noticed it, even your assistant made a passing comment, but they urged you not to take it personally. Still, the cold stares, the subtle digs, and the way she tried to one-up you at every turn, it all started to wear on you. What you didn’t know was that her attitude stemmed from the time she spent in one-on-one training sessions with Bakugo.

The list of things Bakugo is good at is so long it would be stupid to write about, so it was obvious that he would be the perfect mentor. His sharp eyes caught every mistake, his feedback was brutally honest, and his results were undeniable. Hitomi knew this and respected him for it. But there was something else that ate away at her during those sessions, something that made her resentment towards you grow stronger with each passing day.

It started with the small comments Bakugo would make, things he probably didn’t even realize he was saying out loud. “Y/N always nails this move on the first try,” he muttered once, when Hitomi fumbled during a drill. Or, “You’re gripping too tight—Y/N knows how to balance strength with control.” At first, Hitomi tried to brush it off, telling herself that Bakugo was just using you as an example to push her to do better, after all you were in the top rankings of Japan for a reason. But the more it happened, the more it grated on her. It wasn't just that you were good—it was that you seemed to be the benchmark against which she was measured.

The worst part, the part that truly made her snap, came during a routine training session. Hitomi was testing the mobility of her suit after some recent upgrades, moving through the drills with the precision she had honed under Bakugo’s guidance. He observed her as usual, his sharp eyes catching every nuance, every mistake.

But then, as she finished a complex maneuver, he made a comment that made her blood run cold. “You’ve got the power, but you’re hesitating,” Bakugo remarked, his tone almost distracted. “They would’ve read that shift in a heartbeat, made the move smoother.” he continued under his breath.

He didn’t even look at her when he said it. The reference was subtle, but Hitomi knew exactly who he meant. He talked about you enough for her to pick up on the unspoken comparison.

It wasn’t just that he compared her to you; it was that, in his mind, you were the standard she could never reach. The unattainable.

In that moment, it solidified for Hitomi: no matter how hard she trained, no matter how perfectly she executed every move, she would always be second to you in his eyes. His words echoed in her head, taunting her, and she knew then that she wasn’t just competing with a fellow hero. She was battling against the idealized version of you that Bakugo seemed to hold onto, an impossible shadow she could never escape.

It wasn’t rare for Dynamight to be paired with lower-ranking heroes on missions or patrols, but you happened to be his frequent partner. You weren’t sure if it was because your quirks worked well together or because you could read each other in any situation. Little did you know, Bakugo’s unconscious behavior around you was something even his assistant had picked up on. He didn’t lose his temper as easily when you were around, and on the rare occasions he did, it was never directed at you. He even made subtle nods at reporters before blasting off with you by his side. Almost every mission you collaborated on ended successfully, a fact that wasn’t lost on the agency.

Hitomi had noticed, too. She watched the way Bakugo seemed more grounded when you were around, how he sometimes deferred to your judgment without argument, and how he never seemed to mind your presence. That’s what made her resentment so sharp—it was one thing to compete with you in training, but another thing entirely to see that you were already a fixture in the life of the hero she admired—the man she wanted.

Your first mistake, if you could even call it that, was during a debriefing session. Hitomi had suggested a strategy, one that was sound but flawed in a way only experience could detect. You pointed it out, offering a correction in a calm, professional manner. It wasn’t meant to be demeaning, but to Hitomi, it felt like a public embarrassment. And Bakugo, instead of defending her, nodded in agreement with you, reinforcing the gap between her and you in his mind.

Another time, in the break room, she overheard a conversation where Bakugo was praising your tactical instincts. He never did that for anyone else, not even her—the one he had personally trained to analyze and fight just like him. She had been mentored by the best, molded to think and act with the same precision and intensity that Bakugo himself embodied. So, it came as a shock when she realized that everything she did, using everything she had learned from him, wasn’t good enough to hold his attention.

From then on, every interaction with you became a painful reminder that you held a place in Bakugo’s life that she couldn’t touch. So, she decided to carve out her own space, to prove that she could be the one who stood by his side.

The tension between you two only grew, feeding off these moments until it became a palpable force within the agency. And as much as you tried to stay above it, to focus on your work and ignore the subtle hostility, it was impossible not to notice. The whispers of office gossip, the way Hitomi would shoot you a look whenever Bakugo acknowledged you in a meeting—it all added up, and it all pointed to the truth you were too kind to see: Hitomi wasn’t just competing with you. She wanted to take everything you had, including Bakugo.

Hitomi’s resentment towards you was not something she could easily suppress. It wasn’t just about competition; it was personal. And when she realized that Bakugo saw you as a benchmark she could never reach, it drove her to desperate measures. If she couldn’t directly compete with you on the field, she would try to outmaneuver you in the court of public opinion.

So she set up a rumor to shift the narrative. It began subtly, with carefully orchestrated moments designed to seed the idea in the media. She made sure to be seen with Bakugo frequently, arranging coincidental encounters that were just intimate enough to spark curiosity. It was all carefully planned to catch the eye of the paparazzi.

The crucial moment came when Hitomi arranged for an image to be captured. A staged photo, one that would make it look like she and Bakugo were involved in a romantic relationship. The key was using a lookalike, someone who bore a striking resemblance to Bakugo, someone subtle enough to create a convincing illusion without risking his actual reputation.

The resulting photo, taken from a distance, showed Bakugo— or allegedly Bakugo—with his arm around Hitomi’s shoulders.

She meticulously chose the location of Bakugo’s favorite konbini, a spot he frequented to fuel up between patrols. This particular konbini was a well-kept secret among a few close friends and had become a sort of personal refuge for him. By selecting this location, Hitomi aimed to make a statement—a pointed message aimed directly at you.

The magazine’s social media team spread the image far and wide, igniting a storm of speculation and gossip. Fans and media alike began buzzing about the potential romance, analyzing every interaction between Bakugo and Hitomi for signs of affection. The craze was relentless, and soon, it became a trending topic. Headlines everywhere echoed the same speculation, and Hitomi basked in the growing buzz.

It was a clever ploy. With Bakugo’s name and your connection to him constantly in the limelight, it created a smokescreen that obscured the truth and shifted public perception. By the time you and Bakugo were confronted with the rumor, it had already gained enough traction to cause serious damage. Hitomi had successfully planted the seeds of doubt, making it seem like she was the one who had captured Bakugo’s attention.

Hitomi’s actions were not just about rivalry. She was trying to erase your presence and position herself as the ideal partner, hoping that by winning over those around Bakugo and creating a convincing narrative, she could finally gain what she felt she deserved.

Hitomi’s plan was working, and you were now caught in the crossfire of a fight you hadn’t even realized you were part of. And that’s where it all began to unravel.

After your checkup at the agency’s infirmary, the reality of your situation set in. The injury was severe enough that your boss decided to put you on desk duty until you were fully recovered. It was frustrating, but you had little choice but to comply.

Today, you found yourself seated at your desk, sifting through paperwork and mission reports. The mundane tasks offered a welcome distraction from your physical pain, but it did little to quell the storm of emotions that raged within you.

The agency’s hallways bustled with activity, heroes and sidekicks moving about in their usual hurried fashion. You were doing your best to stay out of everyone’s way, trying to blend into the background. You were engrossed in organizing a stack of reports when there was a knock on your door.

“Come in,” you called, not looking up.

“Hey, Y/N!” The cheery, singsong voice of Hitomi reached your ears, and you tensed. You had hoped to avoid any direct communication with her, but it seemed luck wasn’t on your side today.

You looked up slowly, forcing a neutral expression onto your face as she approached you with a case file under one arm and a newspaper clutched in her hand. Her gaze flicked over to you with an expression that was anything but friendly.

“How can I help you?,” you said curtly, not in the mood for small talk.

“I thought you might want to see this,” she said, her tone dripping with false sweetness. She tossed the newspaper onto your desk and placed the case file beside it.

Looking down, your heart sank as you read the newspaper’s headline: “ANOTHER HERO BITES THE DUST! PRO HERO Y/H/N CAN’T HANDLE THE HEAT!” The article was filled with damning criticisms and snide remarks, painting you in a poor light due to your mess up.

Hitomi smirked as she noticed your reaction. “You know how it is. The media loves to stir up drama. Thought you’d appreciate the heads-up.” She gave you a patronizing wave and turned to leave.

The moment she was gone, you let out a heavy sigh, grabbing the newspaper and crumpling it in your hands. With a grimace, you tossed it into the trash can, trying to ignore the sting of humiliation that the article left behind.

It had been a week since the billboard incident, and despite your best efforts to avoid Bakugo, it was inevitable that you would cross paths eventually. You had spent those days focusing on your hero work, throwing yourself into your duties with an intensity that left you exhausted by the end of each day. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the heavy weight in your chest.

Boring days of recovery were soon over. The bandages were finally coming off, and you were able to inspect your hero suit in preparation for your first patrol since the incident. The repairs were almost complete, and you hoped that getting back to work would help distract you from the recent turmoil.

As you were adjusting your suit in the testing room, you heard the door swing open. Hitomi walked in with her repaired support gear, her humming coming to a halt at the sight of you.

“Hey Y/N!” She greeted

You nodded in greeting, quickly attaching the support items to your suit to avoid a conversation.

She didn’t seem to notice your lack of enthusiasm. “I saw you around the other day but didn’t get a chance to chat. You’ve been working hard, haven’t you?” Her tone was laced with false sweetness, and you could sense the underlying hostility.

“Paperwork kept me busy,” you replied, adjusting the straps to your suit . You really didn’t want to have this conversation.

Her smile widened, as she took a step closer. “Well, you know how it is around here. There’s always something to keep us busy,” she said, her tone light. “I guess it’s why they say people like us need someone who understands the grind, right? Someone who gets how demanding this work can be.”

You felt a subtle tension in her words, but you weren’t sure where she was going with this. “Yeah, it’s a tough job.”

Hitomi’s eyes flickered with a hint of something more as she leaned in slightly. “Exactly. That’s why it’s so important to have someone who can keep up, someone who’s… on the same level. Makes things easier, don’t you think?”

There was an undercurrent to her words that you couldn’t ignore, but you weren’t ready to engage with it. “I suppose,” you replied cautiously.

She tilted her head, her smile never wavering. “Like Bakugo, for instance. He really needs someone who understands him, someone who’s in sync with him. It’s funny how the media picks up on these things.”

Your chest tightened, the implication of her words hitting you like a ton of bricks. “The media?” you asked, trying to keep your tone neutral.

“Oh, you know how they are,” she said with a casual shrug. “Always speculating about who’s with who, who’s spending time together… Sometimes they’re not too far off, though.” She chuckled softly, but there was a sharp edge to the sound. “But I guess that’s just part of being in the spotlight.”

You raised a brow at her words as she continued.

“You know—people talk. They notice who spends time together, who seems… close. But anyway, it’s a shame you’ve been avoiding Bakugo. But I guess it’s for the best.”

Realizing what she was insinuating, you could feel the tension building in your chest. “What are you getting at, Hitomi?”

She maintained that infuriatingly casual tone. “Oh, nothing specific. Just making an observation. But…let’s be real, Y/N. You were never really in the running, were you?”

You bit down on your tongue, recalling the lessons from your time as a sidekick at Endeavor's agency. Back then, you were trained to handle criticism and bounce back quickly. Being a hero meant facing harsh judgment from reporters and the press, and you had learned to develop a thick skin. You’d been through the wringer as a rookie, chewed up and spit out, and had come out stronger for it. Hitomi wasn’t the first to try and get under your skin, and she certainly wouldn’t be the last. Your resolve was solid, and you weren’t about to let her words shake you now.

Seeing that you had no reaction, she pressed on, her tone turning more aggressive. “Honestly, I’m surprised you’re even still around here. I mean, after that slip-up the other night, it’s a miracle you didn’t get yourself killed. Maybe you should stick to the sidelines and let the real heroes do the work.”

Something inside you snapped. The pain and frustration that had been building up for days suddenly burst free, and you opened your mouth to retort—but before you could say a word, a familiar voice cut through the air, sharp and angry.

“What the hell did you just say?”

You both turned to see Bakugo standing a few feet away, his crimson eyes narrowed dangerously as he glared at the sidekick. His presence was like a storm cloud rolling in, the atmosphere around him crackling with barely contained fury.

The sidekick’s confident demeanor faltered, her eyes widening in surprise and a hint of fear. “D-Dynamight! I was just—”

“You were just what?” Bakugo interrupted, stepping closer. “Talking shit to Y/H/N? Your superior?”

She stammered, clearly panicking. “I-I wasn’t… I didn’t mean—”

Bakugo’s expression darkened, his voice low and deadly calm. “You should know better than to run your mouth about things you don’t understand.”

The sidekick’s eyes darted between you and Bakugo, realizing she was in serious trouble. “But—”

Bakugo spoke over her, his patience completely gone. “You’ve got some nerve, talking like you know a damn thing about me or Y/N.”

You were frozen in place, watching the scene unfold in disbelief. Even after avoiding him for so long and keeping your distance, Bakugo was defending you—unrelentingly—and it was clear that he wasn’t going to let Hitomi off the hook.

“You’ve been nothing but a pain in the ass since you got here. Cause of what? All the delusional crap you read in a magazine? That ends now.”

The sidekick paled. “I’m sorry, Dynamight, I didn’t mean—”

“Save it. Now get the hell out of here.” he growled, not giving her a chance to finish.

You could hear when her heart broke, she glanced at you one last time, a look you read that you’ve won. Without another word, she bolted from the room, her confidence completely shattered. The moment she was gone, Bakugo turned his attention to you, his expression softening slightly, though the tension in his shoulders remained.

You stared at him, still reeling from what had just happened. “Bakugo, I—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, his tone gentler than before. “Don’t apologize for her being a damn idiot.”

“I wasn’t going to apologize,” you said quietly. “I just… I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?” he asked, his brow furrowing.

You looked down at your feet, your voice barely above a whisper. “About the rumors… I thought it was true.”

Bakugo let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Of course you did. Those vultures love to stir up shit for clicks. None of it was true. I’m not dating her—or anyone.”

You felt lighter from his words but quickly pushed down the hope that tried to rise in your chest. “But why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t think I needed to,” he muttered, looking almost sheepish. “I told you before, I wasn’t interested in dating. And I figured you’d know I wouldn’t get involved in that kind of crap.”

You swallowed hard, feeling a mix of relief and lingering hurt. “I… I didn’t want to assume anything. And after what I saw… I guess I thought I had misread everything between us.”

Bakugo’s gaze softened, and he stepped closer, his hand resting on your shoulder. “You didn’t misread anything. I know what I said before—But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you, dumbass.”

The warmth of his hand on your shoulder, the sincerity in his eyes—it was too much. Your resolve crumbled, and you felt tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “I thought you were just stringing me along.”

Bakugo’s heart ached at the sight of your tears, and without hesitation, he gently pulled you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you protectively. “’m sorry… I can be a total idiot sometimes, but I’d never screw with you on purpose.”

He rested his chin on your head. “So, don’t let that bullshit get to you.”

You buried your face in his chest, letting yourself relax into his embrace. “I missed you,” you mumbled into his hero suit, the words escaping before you could stop them.

He let out a soft huff, his hand moving to the back of your head, holding you close. The sound of his heart skipping a beat was unmistakable. “Missed you too, idiot. We’ll figure this out, okay? Just… don’t shut me out again.”

You nodded against his chest, feeling the weight that had been pressing down on you finally start to lift. “Okay.”

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look you in the eyes, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from your cheek. “Look, I’m not great at this, but… I want to try. With you.”

Your breath hitched, hope flaring back to life in your chest. “Really?”

Bakugo nodded, his expression serious. “Yeah. We can take it slow, figure things out…but I’m not letting you walk away.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as you looked up at him. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Katsuki.”

He smiled, his dimples appearing at the sound of his first name rolling off your tongue, and he leaned in, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Good.”

You leaned into him, feeling the last remnants of doubt melt away. As he pulled back, you felt his breath against your skin. His eyes flickered down to your lips, with an unspoken question hung in the air. Without overthinking it, you leaned up on your toes, closing the small distance between you.

Bakugo hesitated for the briefest of moments, then closed the gap, capturing your lips in a kiss that was tender. Everything he couldn’t say with words was poured into that kiss—every frustration, every ounce of care, every unresolved feeling that had been simmering between you for so long.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as you leaned into the kiss, the warmth of his embrace grounding you. His hands settled on your waist, pulling you closer as if he was afraid you might slip away. The world around you seemed to fade, leaving just the two of you in that moment.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other’s. His eyes were still half-lidded, a faint blush coloring his cheeks—a rare sight for him.

“Damn idiot,” he muttered softly, his voice laced with affection. “Should’ve kissed me sooner.”

You couldn’t help but smile, your fingers gently tracing the line of his jaw. “Maybe I was waiting for you to make the first move.”

He huffed, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Guess I’ll have to make up for lost time, then.”

Before you could respond, he pulled you in for another kiss, this one deeper, more confident—like he was staking his claim. And you kissed him back with equal fervor, knowing that, this time, you weren’t going to let anything or anyone come between you.

When you finally broke apart, you stayed in his arms, content and more at ease than you had felt in weeks. The uncertainty that had plagued you was gone. And for now, that was more than enough.

want more of my writing? I have a poll up on my account to choose my next fic

tag list: @berryvioo @poemzcheng @bri-licious08 @hypernovaxx @dragonscribble @adultseatdinonuggets4dinner

[headspace-hotel]

I hope I can express this properly and sensitively, but I think oftentimes people need to have Categories and Identities and to be healthily exploratory and playful and elastic about them, else they can get vulnerable to some negative things, sometimes really awful things

I wish I could remember where I read it, but there was something that wrote about whiteness in America as an abyss.

Whiteness is something that sheltered white Americans' ancestors, and at the same time devoured them. They used to have a distinct medley of heritages: Irish, German, Scottish, Italian. "Whiteness" ate it up, the languages, the cultures. There were privileges if you destroyed it, and punishments if you held onto anything that was "Other." In a white supremacist society, white people wanted to be "white" first before any other possible identity or connection they could have.

Yay! You're white. You're on top. You win...what? Turns out the prize for "winning" is just that you get to perpetrate the violence of the game instead of being on the receiving end of it.

And that's the nasty twist—there is no prize. The deeply embedded vice of "Southern pride" is not just what the Confederate flag stands for, but also why they've got to cling so hard to that symbol of traitors and losers: they need to be on top of something so bad that even a pile of shit will do. My ancestors were ultimately dirt poor, loads of them ending up in prison or breaking their bodies down doing hard labor, but they were white. Their reward, and their pride, was being stepped on by the violence of poverty only, instead of also by the violence of white supremacy.

"White pride" is all about hate because white supremacy didn't give these folks anything to be proud of. It stripped away the culture and heritage their ancestors had in favor of "whiteness." All those jokes about how white people have no culture, well, it's true isn't it? This shit is how we ended up a primarily monolingual nation. And what looks like happened is that white Americans wound up just...scavenging most of their culture from those they oppressed. Food, music, all of that stuff. Our white ancestors didn't GIVE us anything that was their own to start with.

And this is something that really strikes me about the white supremacist and fascist movements nowadays: the starvation and hollowness behind them. These folks are empty inside. They were given nothing by white supremacy except a very vague sense that they deserve something, and they see people of all different cultures celebrating and flourishing in their unique heritages and identities, and they feel like...they've been cheated.

Equality is so threatening when you're in this situation because it feels like you've got less than everyone else at the end of the day. Not just because of comparison to previous privileges, but because your whole identity was "person that gets to step on everybody else" and your whole inheritance was "shit stolen from everybody else" and in a world where all is set right, you have no identity and nothing. You are nothing.

Anyway I was looking just now at a blog that seemed really white-supremacist-leaning and it was 99% about like, Norse and Proto-Indo-European paganism and "traditionalism" and that's what got me thinking about this again.

This person had apparently done DNA tests on themselves or something, and were really fixated on figuring out their Norse and Germanic ancestors and separating out their genetic and racial identity at a level of precision that seems really pointless that far back in time. And honestly all the paganism stuff seemed like totally arbitrary speculation as well.

And how to become satisfied as a person like this? I am just as much Germanic or Norse as they are, but I don't believe that distant ancestors determine who you are to such an extent that I have some sort of innate cultural tie to Vikings or Visigoths or what have you. I know what percentage Celtic or Anglo Saxon or Norse I am—zero. I learned about those things in books the exact same way I learned about all the cultures and past kingdoms of the world that I presumably don't have ancestors from.

I feel like the experience of being a baby ally and obsessing about apologizing for being white is the same kind of thing in another direction, or another outcome of the same process. Some people seem to get really twisted up for a time over how to stop being guilty about being white.

It's part of the same thing as this guy who is trying to genetically identify his ancestors from like 3,000 years ago. It's the emptiness and meaninglessness of "white" identity apart from white supremacy.

I talk about deradicalization sometimes and I've had the notion a few times that fascism appeals to people who are hollow and starving in terms of identity, and if it wasn't for the sense of emptiness and hunger, they would be less easily radicalized. But it's also a little bit awkward to talk about the deeply unsatisfying nature of white supremacy, because...well, that is pretty low on the list of things bad about white supremacy.

I think this concept is worth talking about in general, though: People want to feel like they come from or are part of something meaningful. They are drawn toward Identities and Categories and Belonging to groups. This is something I think is commonly true about humans, I think it is normal and not a bad thing, and I think we could stand to be a little more upfront about its reality.

I think this means that wanting, and seeking, a sense of cultural identity as a white person (particularly an American) needs to have some kind of non-horrible outlet for it. Because right now, it's nothing but a way to get radicalized, and the dominant other option people take (becoming the Guilty White Person) is liked by no one and helps nothing.

And maybe it doesn't need to have anything to do with race or culture or your ancestors or any of these things that can lead a person down such terrible paths. Maybe more of us should be furries!

As just another thing to consider, I'm reading the book Ecology of a Cracker Childhood and the author of the book uses the word "cracker" not like, with the gravity of reclaiming a "slur" or something like that, but seemingly because that is just the word she most strongly identifies with, the word that best articulates who "her people" are. This feels very solid and levelheaded to me, something that comes from someone with a good sense of themselves.

Personally I've thought a long time that more people should reclaim "redneck." Not in the sense of reclaiming a slur exactly, but in the sense of putting it in neutral usage among the folks it always referred to, instead of letting it increasingly be associated with any Southerner (regardless of working class background) that is the sort to wave a Confederate flag around. The very idea of gatekeeping "redneck" away from racists is just absolutely hilarious to me, I won't lie.

[starogeorgina]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐢𝐧

Warnings: Incest

Pairing: Cregan Stark × reader, Aemond Targaryen × reader

1.02

Lord Stark’s mouth hangs slightly open; your comment seems to have shaken him. A moment passes, and you hold each other's gaze and only break eye contact when a young man of the night's watch approaches.

“My lord, princess.”

You avert your gaze as the man says something to Lord Stark quietly. In the distance, you hear Vermithor roaring; most would call you crazy, but you felt as if he was trying to tell you something. Licking at your cold, dry lips, you press your gloved hands against your cheeks.

“Yes, my lord.” The man quickly starts towards the lift to take him back down to the ground, “princess.”

You look back over and meet the Lord's eye; the gray in his eyes reminds you of clouds darkening while a storm brews. A drastic change has happened; all the softness in his face has gone and is replaced by a hardened expression.

Many men of the night's watch continue to walk by, yet it felt as if only the two of you stood atop the wall. You swallow thickly. “What is wrong?”

“Prince Jacaerys is on route to Castle Black on Dragonback.”

The sight of Vermax approaching will be what irks your own dragon. “I suppose I should go and allow my nephew the courtesy of speaking with you alone. I fear my presence will only distract him.”

Stepping closer to you, Lord Stark says, “Did it ever occur to you, princess, that when you came in support of the king they call a usurper, I might have you hanged or taken as a prisoner?”

“Did you think I might use my dragon to burn the north when you told me House Stark would remain loyal to Rhaenyra?”

His lips curl into a smile. “Vayon, the man of the watch I just spoke with, I asked him to send word to Winterfell for quarters to be made available to you if you choose to stay.”

“Thank you, my lord; that is very gracious of you. I will stay the night.”

“Mayhaps you can tell me how a princess who’s lived all her life in the south knows about the threats beyond our walls.”

—

You were grateful for the extra layers of clothing provided by one of House Stark’s ladies-in-waiting. You knew the North would be cold, but you hadn’t anticipated the ice… the ice. The strong winds that blew in your face while on dragonback were nothing compared to the feeling of ice touching your bare skin.

The guest house in Winterfell was beautiful; the thick, soft furs that covered the bed and fireplace gave the bedchamber a unique warmth that you’d never felt before. On one side of the guest house was the courtyard, and on the opposite side was the godswood.

Stepping out of the guest house, you face the courtyard and smile, watching children chasing each other. It was nice seeing them so free and happy.

You notice one young boy sitting alone on the wooden steps, resting his chin in his hands. Noticing what he’s staring so intensely at, you go and join him. His eyes widen when you sit next to him, “p-princess.”

You smile at him. “Mind if I join you?”

He shakes his head. There was no doubt he was Lord Stark’s son, Rickon; the resemblance was uncanny. Vermithor, Silverwing, and Vermax were now flying together, but occasionally, when your nephew's dragon would speed by, Vermithor would let out a roar. Jacaerys dragon looks tiny in comparison, yet it shows no signs of fear.

The boy looks back up at the sky and asks, “Is he angry, your dragon?”

The question makes you chuckle. “No, Vermithor is almost a hundred years old and gets irritated easily.”

“Like old people with children?”

“Precisely. In the south, my dragon is known as the bronze fury, but I don’t see him as a fearsome beast.”

“Most people are afraid of my direwolf, Thorn. She’s not bad, just protective.”

“Did you choose the wolf yourself?”

“No, my father found the pup while hunting; she was trying to feed from her dead mother. My father warned me the pup may not survive long, but she did.”

“I’m glad,” you smile. “Why did you name the direwolf thorn?”

You immediately regret asking when Rickon looks saddened by the question. “My mother was from House Norrey, and their words are ‘Sharp as thorns’.”

“I think you chose the perfect name.” His answer causes the already faint pain inside your chest to worsen. Poor boy, he was honoring the mother he never got to know. Feeling your bum becoming numb from the cold, you say, “It was a pleasure meeting you, my lord; if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the godswood.”

He suddenly perks up and says, “Princess, can I go with you to see the dragons?”

The look on his face reminds you of the one on Maitlands face whenever he gets excited. Your only doubt was if someone misunderstood and thought you were taking the boy over to them as a threat. “If Lord Stark agrees, I see no issue with it.”

—

The sound of snow being crushed under the weight of a footfall was something you’d heard many times in your dreams, but it never occurred to you that it was walking. Staring at the sap that resembles blood seeping from the weirwood tree, you clear your throat and say, “It’s beautiful here, isn’t it, nephew?”

Jacaerys says nothing.

“I can your anger from here.”

“I thought you were better than them,” he says. “But you’re not. You’re just as bad as Alicent, Otto, Aegon, and Aemond. Usurpers, all of you.”

“He doesn’t want it,” you turn to face a furious-looking Jacaerys. “Aegon has no taste for ruling or responsibility. He was content spending his days drinking, whoring, and dragon riding.”

“Then why does he call himself king and sit atop my mother's throne?”

The godswoods fall silent, birds can no longer be heard chirping, and all sounds of children laughing have stopped. How could you even begin to explain that Aegon had no choice? None of you did.

“Just because something is, does not mean it is right.”

He storms towards you, anger and grief threatening to spill from his eyes. “You could have refused, gone to Dragonstone, and bent the knee to the rightful heir.”

“And beg for mercy from your mother after my own has betrayed her? Do not take me for a fool, nephew.”

The sound of snow crackling in the distance alerts you to someone else approaching, but you don’t look back to see who it is. But you assume it's Lord Stark, which would explain the caution in his steps. Aegon once told you that a smart man observes dragons from a distance.

“The queen is merciful.”

“And Daemon?” You hold his stare. “Your stepfather has the same thirst for vengeance and blood as Aemond does. The moment your mother sits on the iron throne, all my family heads will be on spikes.”

“You have all committed treason.”

“I have no desire for war or to burn anyone, nor do Aegon, Helaena, or Daeron. Dragons are our house saviors; they should be cherished, not used as weapons.”

“And Aemond?”

You swallow thickly. “Each side has its own threat. There are only two ways this can end: Rhaenyra and Aegon reach an understanding before the first blood is spilled or we all die.”

He looks taken aback by your words.

“Surely, you must know that if our dragons go to war, then our house will tear itself apart.”

“If the hoary old bitch is the main threat—”

“Your dragon's teeth wouldn’t even prick a hole in Vhagar’s scales.”

“Not alone, but with multiple dragons, it would be possible.”

“I ride the second largest dragon in the world and would not dare go up against her or Aemond.” You scoff, “But ignore my words and take your sibling, mother, and stepfather and fly before her. Let your deaths be in vain; what difference will it make to me?”

“Do you expect me to do nothing but wait for one of your brothers to kill mine, or try to take my mother's head?” he snaps.

“The only dragon who could have gone against Vhagar and won was the black dread, and he is dead, as is his last rider.” The second the last word passes your lips, a pit forms in your stomach, and a sob escapes you. In the madness of everything, you hadn’t mourned your father's death. Pitying you, Jacaerys softens slightly and attempts to comfort you, but you back away from him. “I’m being ridiculous. Viserys doesn’t deserve my tears.”

He clears his throat. “What happens now?”

“Lord Stark is waiting on you; you should go.”

“Very well.”

“Jacaerys,” you squeeze your eyes shut, knowing very well what you were about to say would most likely suggest you will be rejected. “I know the word of a usurper means little and less to you, but if you’re willing, I’d like to try and find a way to help end this.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“If you believe anything, I say let it be my only goal to keep my boy safe.”

[transform4u]

Hello, I was finally able to find you, I have seen what you have done and I need to ask you a favor, my best friend Mario is the personification of the word Twink. He is a good person and a very good dancer, I like him but the problem is that he is only interested in boys.

Could you help me get closer to him while we are on the dance floor, please?

You decide to take your friend Mario out for a night of dancing to celebrate Pride. His dance moves are legendary; whenever he hits the dance floor, his bubble butt shakes and draws a crowd. The lights of the club start to dazzle, reflecting off the sequins and vibrant colors of Pride flags all around.

As you dance beside him, you can't help but notice how the lights begin to playfully blind him. The disco ball sends flashes of light scattering across his face, momentarily obscuring his view but adding to the dazzle of his performance. Neon lights strobe in sync with the music, casting dynamic patterns over his figure as he moves with fluid grace.

You watch with a mix of amusement and awe as your Mario's usually impeccable dance moves seem a bit off tonight. It's as if he's forgotten the smooth finesse of his usual style and instead opts for exaggerated thrusts and awkward gyrations. Normally so graceful and fluid on the dance floor, tonight his movements appear more oafish, lacking the usual finesse and rhythm. It's as if he's forgotten the elegant Fosse-inspired steps he usually effortlessly executes, and instead, he's resorting to simple thrusting motions.

Suddenly, with each powerful thrust, something unexpected happens. Mario's body begins to grow, inch by inch, until he stands head and shoulders above everyone else at a towering 6'5".

His shoulders broaden, becoming formidable masses of muscle, and his chest swells into hefty pecs that draw the eyes of those around him. His arms, once slender, now bulk up with defined biceps and triceps, sculpting his frame into a muscular powerhouse.

However, amidst this impressive growth, there's a stark contrast. His legs, seemingly unable to keep pace with the rapid changes elsewhere, appear diminutive in comparison. His movements, once so fluid and precise, now become awkward and uncoordinated. His feet, now seemingly too small for his larger frame, fumble on the dance floor, disrupting the rhythm and flow of his once-effortless dance style.

The twinkle in his eyes, once filled with joy and confidence, starts to fade. In a moment of both awe and concern, he suddenly shouts out, "Yo babe, watch this!"

His voice booms across the club, deeper and more resonant than before. Despite the attention and cheers from the crowd, there's an unmistakable hint of discomfort in his demeanor. He grabs crotch and begins to thrust like an animal, with each thrust, his cock seemed to thicken even more, stretching the fabric of his pants almost to their breaking point.

As you watched the scene unfold before you, your heart sinks. The once graceful and confident dancer had transformed into a desperate oafish man, seeking attention through his now-enlarged member.

As he "dances" closer towards you, you observe a subtle shift in his facial expression. The innocent, boyish charm that once defined his features begins to fade, replaced by a demeanor that mirrors that of a stereotypical fratbro. His jawline becomes more pronounced, his smile loses its genuine warmth, and his eyes adopt a confident, almost cocky glint. His brows furrow slightly, giving him a more intense look, and his lips form into a smirk that exudes self-assurance.

"Yo, babes, you look so hot tonight," he shouts in your ear, his voice louder than necessary in the bustling club atmosphere. His words carry a hint of bravado, a departure from his usual playful banter. "Why don't you be a good little lady and grab your man a beer."

His tone strikes an unfamiliar chord, catching you off guard. Despite feeling a twinge of resistance, you find yourself responding with a vapid giggle, almost on autopilot. Suppressing your discomfort, you oblige and fetch him a beer from the bar.

"Thanks, babe," he replies with a dismissive grunt as you hand him the beer. Without hesitation, he swiftly chugs it down, his actions more abrupt and assertive than usual. He starts rambling on about some hockey match he watched on TV and you can't remember him ever talking about sports.

As he speaks, his hands wander down to your hips, gripping them tightly as he pulls you closer to him. His touch is no longer gentle or playful; instead, it's rough and demanding. You can feel the heat emanating from his body as he presses himself against you on the dance floor.

"Come on," he whispers in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "Don't be shy." His hands move upwards along your sides until they reach the fabric of your top, where they begin to tug at it suggestively. "I know how much you love watching me dance," he says with a smirk that doesn't quite reach his eyes anymore.

In a haze of giggles that bubbled up effortlessly, you stood before your friend, completely unaware that your brunette locks now gleaming with a shocking platinum blonde hue.

Your lust began to grow uncontrollably. You couldn't help but feel drawn to his imposing figure and chiseled physique. Your eyes traced the lines of his muscles as they rippled beneath his shirt, and you found yourself wanting nothing more than to touch them – to feel their hardness against your soft skin.

Without thinking twice, you reached out and gently touched one of his pecs, feeling its firmness under your well-manicured fingertips. He let out a low groan as he leaned into your touch, encouraging you further. His skin was hotter than before; it seemed like he was burning up from within with desire for something more than just dancing on the floor.

"You're looking so hot, Chet," you cooed, your voice carrying a breathless infatuation, not realizing the change in your friend's name.

Chet turned to you, his gaze seemed to penetrate through your distracted state, locking onto your new vapid sweetness. "Babe," he murmured, his voice low and intimate, "wouldn't it be more fun if we found someone else to join us?" he said with a cocky smile, pointing to some blonde bimbo dancing with a group of gay guys.

With that, his fate was sealed. The once graceful and confident dancer had become just another dumb fratbro douchebag, looking to score with any available woman in sight. His eyes no longer held the twinkle of joy or passion; instead, they were filled with lust and desire for nothing more than a quick hookup.

As he continued to grind against you on the dance floor, it became clear that you were nothing more than a means to an end for him tonight – just another blonde bimbo he could add to his list of conquests. You felt like a mere pawn in his game, your own desires and feelings reduced to insignificance in comparison to his quest for validation through sexual exploits.

As the night wore on, it became increasingly clear that he had become a complete and utter douchebag. His body, once so graceful and powerful, now moved with an animalistic fervor as he groped any woman who crossed his path. His words were laced with lewd innuendos and crude remarks aimed at reducing women to nothing more than objects of sexual desire.

His behavior towards you was no different; each time you tried to break away from his grasp or voice your discomfort, he would only grow more aggressive in pursuit of what he wanted – which seemed to be nothing more than scoring with two blonde bimbos for the night. You realized you were becoming just another dumb blonde cheerleader hookup whom he could easily dispose of once satiated.

As you moved your finger up his tight six-pack abs, feeling the heat emanating from his body, you couldn't help but giggle nervously. "Sure Chet," you said, trying to sound confident despite the butterflies in your stomach. "I'd love to have a threesome with you. You're so hot."

But before you could even finish your sentence, he cut you off with a grunt and dismissive wave of his hand. "Don't go calling me 'babe,' babe," he said mockingly. "Now be a good little girl and grab me another beer while I try to get that chick's number." With that, he turned away from you and began flirting shamelessly with another blonde bimbo who had caught his eye on the dance floor.

[lilylovestowrite]

TO NURTURE GROWTH ୨♡୧

PAIRING ୨♡୧ Al Haitham x AFAB! Reader

WARNINGS ୨♡୧ Degradation, fingering, mentions of bondage, dirty talk, spanking MDNI

SYNOPSIS ୨♡୧ Al Haitham finds a new way to help you revise for your exam

WORD COUNT ୨♡୧ 2.6k (Doctor, you're huge)

A/N ୨♡୧ I believe I've crossposted this in the past, don't worry, if you've seen it on Wattpad, it's still me! I just lost my password.

Divider by @/cafekitsune

“Focus.” 

Al Haitham picks up a pointer rod left in the lecture hall of the Akademiya and extends it. You don’t peer up at him, already averting your gaze in pure trepidation in meeting his sneering eyes. You hear his footsteps cease. The aroma of his cologne, surprisingly light and floral, similar to your own perfume, the scent of Sumeru roses, mix and the smell is so strong it makes you shiver slightly. “If you have time to daydream, I’m sure you can memorise that entire page.” He scolds you, his voice sounds authoritative but you can detect the traces of sadism. However, pointing out his enjoyment would only put you in  a worse position. 

The sunlight bleeds through the skylight above you, the architecture of the Akademiya so intricately planned out so that every inch of the classroom is kissed by the glorious splendour of light. The golden haze that illuminates the ivory marble and desks still do not manage to vanquish the looming tension that builds up between you. You’re starting to regret asking Al Haitham, your classmate, to tutor you in biology. He only accepted on the terms that you participate in an experiment he’s conducting. Al Haitham is constantly trying to pester you, intentionally getting under your skin using harsh words and even striking your hands with a ruler (albeit gently) to see how you react and then scribbling it down on a damned notepad.

Silence permeates across the lecture hall, plants decorating the lecture hall and the flowers act as jewels that make the resplendence of the Akademiya just that more defined. The lack of noise makes you nervous, as you should expect some type of demeaning comment by now. Instead, you yelp as he trails the rod he stole from the lecturer’s podium down your shirt. The contrast of the scorching sunlight and the cool metal touching your bare back and trailing up to your neck makes you jolt and sit straighter. “Your back is going to suffer if you stay hunched over like that. Don’t frown at me, I’m helping you out.” He chides, not concealing even a drop of the demeaning nature that floods his very manner of speaking. “Now, why don’t you tell me about the difference between plant cells in elemental blossoms and natural ones?” 

“The elemental blossoms are more likely to react to elemental reactions and they-” Your speech is cut off by a slightly stingy strike to your thighs with the rod. “Al Haitham! Don’t you think you’re abusing your power here? You can’t just discipline me without reason!” You exclaim, standing up and accidentally swiping your textbook off your desk. 

Al Haitham chuckles softly, “Without reason? Silly thing, the Akademiya exams are very precise with their words. Elemental blossoms are more ‘susceptible’ to elemental reactions compared to natural blossoms. Not only do you have to have the word ‘susceptible’, you also have to add the comparison to natural blossoms. You would have known that if you read the highlighted box. It’s highlighted for a-”

You’re about to storm out of the lecture hall until you hear a very stern, “Hey.” Out of instinct, you turn back. Al Haitham’s eyes catch the sunlight and the sheen makes the shades that paint his pupils much more translucent. His lean body leans against your desk and one of his fingers beckons you in a ‘come hither’ motion. “We’re not finished here. Pick up your textbook and sit down before I make you. Obviously this method isn’t working.” He quickly writes down something on his notepad as you meekly pick it up, fearful of the scribe’s wrath. 

“Now, instead of discipline, I’m going to try rewarding you. I might get a little up close and personal, but if you’re uncomfortable, you’re free to up and leave. Alright?” You sit down and scoff. His rewards must consist of lighter strikes across the palm or a limit of three adjectives to describe your incompetence per insult. Nevertheless, you’re enraptured by the scribe’s effortless charisma and find yourself agreeing. 

“Why not tell me about the effect of fertiliser containing a higher nitrate concentration on elemental plant yield?” 

“W-well first they increase exponentially, but they deteriorate faster because elemental blooms are not necessarily as long lived as natural blooms and are more sensitive to elemental weathering from the wind.” You wait for the strike, but instead you feel dread flip your stomach over as he approaches. 

“Good girl. Just one little thing, instead of saying that they live longer, I would say longer ‘lifespan’, seeing as the marking scheme would penalise you for using any other terminology.” His breath is right next to your ears as he leans over your desk to correct you. With tenderness in his touch, he unravels your fingers from the quill in your hands to circle ‘longer lifespan’ in the textbook. “You also study mathematics, right? They’re not so needlessly obsessed with definition, so I can understand your confusion. But I see the flashcards you’ve made, all you have to do is memorise them and you’ll be set.” He then threads his fingers through your hair, hitting a spot on the back of your head that makes you lean into his touch subconsciously. 

As you continue reading and muttering definitions to memorise them, Al Haitham praises you and smiles as you recite the pros and cons of using different types of fertilisers for various types of plants. The class, genus, and species rattle off your tongue with a newfound fluency aided by the sweet pecks to your cheeks and forehead. The Akademiya’s cream hued marble glistens under the moonlight by the time you yawn from exhaustion. You’re sitting on Al Haitham’s lap now. After you scored a high mark on a mock test he complied, he gently lifted you onto his lap and encouraged you by rubbing circles on your waist. You stretch after yawning and throw your head back into his chest by accident whilst you do so. He giggles softly and you feel his veiny and calloused hands rub your thighs, soothing the place he hit before. 

“Come on, just a few more for me, darling. I might give the rest of your body attention too if you succeed…” 

“Why so tense?” He runs his hands along your thighs and you jolt in his lap. “It’s not good for students like us to have bad physique. I’m sure I can find time to massage you.” Your hands tremble, nearly scattering flashcards all over the floor. 

You’re cranky. Irritated. Absolutely ticked off. Al Haitham had promised to give your body attention and even brought you to his house. But currently, you’re on his lap, as he lies on the couch, playing with you. 

“Al Haitham, I’m trying to concentrate.” You hiss at him, pissed. He’s set up this whole experiment, scolded you to your wits end, and now he’s trying to praise you? 

“You’re so obsessed with my focus, so surely you won’t mind if I ignore you for a bit?” You smirk up at him, and his brow twitches. He should look quite irked, but instead a rather competitive glare shuts you up and makes you recite the contents of the flashcards out loud. Warmth radiates from his body. And your body, naturally cold, merges into his comfort. But you’re not sure if it’s the scent of silk flowers from the burning incense in the corner, or Al Haitham’s hypnotic light perfume. 

“Oh, go ahead,” His hands grip your thighs and squeeze them together, “Ignore me.” The silk of his gloves slid across your skin, and his calloused hands stroke the skin just two inches below your pelvis. You try to peel his hands off your thighs, but even both of your hands cannot move his singular arm. Al Haitham pretends like you aren’t struggling in his grasp, and he starts kissing along your neck. “Darling, you’re not focusing.” He murmurs in between ticklish pecks that only make you squirm in his embrace even more. You only hope his hands grabbing your hips and thighs don’t accidentally brush across your crotch, where the effect he has on you is alarmingly stark. You can’t hold in the tiny moan that slips from your mouth when he kisses a certain spot on the expanse of your skin now glazed by the sheen of the moonlight.

“Cute…” He cooes and continues to kiss that spot until a red mark blooms on your skin, resembling a rose petal. “I’m obsessed with your focus, right? So, what are you doing, making all of these lewd noises instead of studying?”

“You’re distracting me,” You whine, slamming your fists on the desk in front of you with not enough force, because Al Haitham barely flinches. 

A devious glint in his eye makes you jolt, however. “Then do you want me to be mean again? I’m trying to help you learn, and if it means I have to coax you, I will. In fact, not another word from you, I think I know the solution to this. Bend over my lap.”

“Sorry?” You gawk as he waits for you to arrange yourself on his lap, “You want me to what?” 

Displeased with your indingance, he grabs your face and squeezes your cheeks, but gently enough that you don’t feel any pain. “Bend over. We’re going to do some active recall. Since you’ve worked so hard, I’m sure you’ll pass with flying colours.” The previous warmth his voice possessed has left his voice and he regresses back to his deadpan drawl. 

With that, you awkwardly drape yourself across his lap and he gives you a pillow cushion to rest your upper body on. When you sink your face in it, the material is both firm and soft. He takes off your pants, and you try to sit up so he doesn’t spot the wet spot on your panties. But Al Haitham uses one hand to force your head down into the pillow once more, muffling your protests. He soothes his hands across your bare ass, and you squeeze your thighs in anticipation.

“Now, how can withering zones be neutralised?” He asks, calloused hands running up and down your skin.

“The dendrograna secretes substrates that inhibit the enzymes of the withering zone.” You feel heat massage your entire body, chills making you jolt in the colder Sumeru nights. 

“Good, now what type of inhibition is it? Competitive or non-competitive?” His voice is dusted with honeyed lust, causing him to draw out his vowels that bit more. 

“Competitive?” Your head whizzes with lust the vivid shade of the red apples by the bedside table. 

“Oh dear, it’s non-competitive.” He stops rubbing your ass and strikes it instead. You yelp and squeeze the pillow. You look up from behind him to protest and have him do something less… mean. With humiliation written all over your face you open your mouth, but the sensual authoritative gaze in Al Haitham’s eyes, all the shades of the sky, keep you in your position like gossamer bonds.  

“Which plant may act as an aphrodisiac if burned in an incense?” 

You know this answer, but somehow, whatever has been encoded into your long term memory has completely vanished. The tantalising voice and hands pinching your behind urging you to answer dominate your senses. “Is it… silk flower?” Your voice trickles with uncertainty, the cadence of your voice raising ever so slightly, much like the brow of your tutor.

“What type?” Al Haitham plays with the ribbon hem of your panties, a laugh playing on his lips. “Nice frills, by the way.” You bury your face further in the pillow to hide your embarrassment at your childish, frilly, panties. But you know it’s a ploy to distract you and get you to say the wrong answer. 

“The non-mutant silk flowers, which is why they’re harvested in Liyue and ground up to make ointment paste.” Comes your reply, and a hand comes up to pet your head.

“What a good girl, I’ll give you an easier question. Who does this ass belong to?” His gentle voice coaxes you to an answer as he plays with your hair. 

A cheeky streak compels you, as sudden as a lightning strike and just as impossible to dodge as the snaky answer leaves your lips, “Me.” 

He doesn’t stop massaging your scalp, but you can hear the snarl and feel the atmosphere bind you. The air rises and expands in the heat, and although the clear skies of the city are cool, the pleasure keeps you resting in his lap in heat. “Incorrect.” He delivers three successive slaps to your ass. You yelp with each one, not painful, but unexpected and sharp. Vibrations oscillating from the flesh of your ass reverberates to your vagina, making you squirm. He holds you still by the hips and spanks you more. “Come on, correct your mistakes.”

“N-ngh, sorry- It’s yours! It’s yours!” You squeal, kicking your legs until his hand moves to carefully place them back down. The soft material of his pants carrying the heat of his body contrasts with the cool silk of his bedsheets.

“That’s right. I gave you a reward, and you foolishly try to rebel. I guess I have to be mean to you. I think that’s how you’ll learn your lesson.” He grins, lowering your underwear down your legs, and snickering when a string of dewy fluid stretches and snaps with the fabric as it loses contact with your flower, coated in sheen. “Already? I’ve barely started, and you’re already this wet. You’re way too needy. I guess this is what happens when you keep reading those filthy novels instead of educational textbooks.” You whimper in embarrassment, your voice is muffled by the pillow when you shyly enquire where he got that information. 

“Well, you see, I did see you at the bookstore multiple times. Don’t be too downcast, I think that ‘The Emperor’s Flower’ was very well written. I don’t read textbooks exclusively, you know, I happen to have similar tastes.” Al Haitham props your ass up further to spread your folds and graze your clit with a single finger. “I especially liked some of the scenes where the poor, sweet, heroine was edged and teased until she begged and sobbed. Should I make the same mess out of you, my helpless angel?” You can only moan, offering more of you to him as he rubs your most sensitive spot. 

“I think you like this. I think you enjoy it when I’m mean to you, right? I can see you clench over nothing when I tell you how pathetic you are.” He hums when you moan out an agreement, “That’s it, just let yourself go. I’m putting my fingers in, is that alright?”

You explicitly say yes, and he proceeds to plunge right in. Careful not to hurt you, he explores you so gently yet precisely, he finds your g-spot with only one or two pointers. He softly thanks you before striking up a brutal pace. 

“Ah- AH Haitham! Sl-slow down please!” 

“I’m just testing your limits, you know what to say if you want me to stop.” He keeps massaging the same spot, whilst his other hand occupies your clit. He goes faster as you writhe in overwhelming pleasure. “Stop squirming, I’m going to tie you up next time.” You burn in humiliation as he feels you clench momentarily. 

“Oh? You like being tied up? I thought so. You’re in luck, Kaveh has an infatuation of silk ribbons from Fontaine. I think you would look good all tied in light blue ribbon.” Your climax is fast approaching as he coaxes you and degrades you and praises you with such filthy yet elegance, and as you’re about to fall apart, he halts. 

“Wh-why?” You can only sob, but the clanking of his belt is music to your ears as he presses up against you. The aroma of his cologne mixes with your arousal, and you press back up against him. 

“I’m only trying to help. I’ll be gentle, but only because this is our first lesson…”

[hypnoneghoul]

absolution live 2017/2023

here I am with my over 1,5k word autistic ramble about the differences between absolution live from 2017 and 2023. at the end there is an audio file of both versions put together, if anyone would be interested in that. it sound very cool heh

also tags for people who showed interest in this: @forest-rot @ghuleh-recs @counting-eyerolls @ngnt-writes @ghnosis @rain-ghoul-appreciator @sister-rosemary-marie

anyway, under the cut

I will start with an analysis of instruments and players separately, one by one, and then I’ll talk about the whole thing a little bit. Also I’m using only ghoul names in there, but when I’m talking about styles and skills I obviously mean the unmasked folks.

Both in 2017 and 2023 we have Mountain on drums, which gives us a very fun comparison opportunity. In 2017 he goes heavy on the cymbals—according to the original version of the song—but it makes the whole thing a bit too crashy and too clogged. The drums are very widely mixed and set—slightly focused on the left side following the stage layout from then—but I think the cymbals could be a bit quieter in comparison to the actual drums, especially the floor tom. In general we can hear how smaller Mountain’s kit was in 2017. In 2023 the entire drum part is sharper and deeper, more bassy and it’s focused more in the middle. The way it feels to me, in 2017 the drums are the background and in 2023 they are the core. Mountain has better fills in 2023, he obviously got more comfortable just jamming in there and having fun over the years.

Dewdrop on bass in 2017; we can hear (or at least I can) that he is not a bassist. He scrapes his pick on the strings a lot which is connected to him being primarily a guitarist—it’s about the picking hand placement and angle. The bass is pretty quiet and it has overdrive on it. It helps conceal his buzzing a little bit, because it happens a fair amount for Dewdrop. Again—bass is not his main instrument. We can also hear exactly when he slams it, like we know he loves doing. In general sometimes he’s quieter and sometimes he’s louder and it’s mostly caused by his picking; how he angles his hand in certain moments and how much strength he puts into it. At the end he goes absolutely feral. Not surprising.

Rain in 2023 is amazing. He’s very skilled, and it’s a huge shame Ghost doesn’t have any songs that could really allow him to show off. He hit his cue a bit too fast at one point, but it might as well be intentional. He’s so much clearer and cleaner, both due to his skills and the settings. Rain has more drop, he most likely has his bass on a different pickup setup than Dewdrop, plus they used different basses—Rain’s with additional mods. One of those mods is a very heavy bridge—Badass Bass—and I bet we can thank that piece for the sustain and note definition in Rain’s playing. In general it flows more, fits into the whole image better. His changes in volume are controlled, not accidental like it happens for Dewdrop. Rain puts more slides, tiny additions and note changes into his live playing, it makes it a bit more lively to me. He’s put perfectly in the middle, nicely blended with the drums.

Unfortunately there isn’t much I can say about Ifrit, Dewdrop, Aether and Phantom mainly because “Absolution” isn’t really a guitar focused song and so it isn't the best song to compare guitar skills, either. The most interesting part—guitar wise—is the solo and little fills on the rhythm now and then.

Ifrit is very precise, I couldn’t hear any mistakes from him, but also the lead is surprisingly quiet in general. His palm muting is on spot, pull-offs and hammer-ons both in the chorus and the solo are very clean and he is simply a pro, he’s got super skills and I wish we could’ve gotten more (</3). He makes the whole song as lively as his stage personality, it sounds flowy but packed with emotions and still so precise it hurts.

Dewdrop’s sound is way better, though he and Ifrit are close skill wise. The difference between Hagstrom Fantomen and Fender Stratocaster is a big one, the main aspect that we can hear is the sharpness of the former and more grounded sound of the latter. Those two guitars also have a very different pickup arrangements—Dew’s strat has SSS (3x single-coils) pickups and he uses the bridge one (which is a Seymour Duncan Hot Rail), and the Fantomen’s has HH (two humbuckers that can be slip, but as far as I’m aware no ghoul used that feature), also with the bridge one used more frequently. In “Absolution” Dewdrop doesn’t add very much—as he does to some other songs—so it’s pretty much the same as the original version. There are small differences that inherently come with his style and that is what makes his version differ from both Ifrit’s and the album's, but it’s all very slight. Dew also makes a very good use of his pedals, mainly wah—especially at the end.

Aether is a bit off tempo in some parts. He plays well, mostly clean, but we can pick out some slight mistakes—mostly sounds that aren’t supposed to be there. His palm muting is a bit too light. He goes heavy on the pick which makes his part of the solo a bit sharp (especially that he’s playing the higher harmony) and square-ish. The sharpness is, again, something we can partially blame on the Fantomen. Only partially because both Ifrit and Phantom prove that it’s manageable. 

Phantom is very clean, he adds a lot of slides which is a feature of his personal style. Said style of his is very lively and fun, to me it sounds and feels like a slinky (don’t laugh at me it’s the autism). He’s more fluid both in the solo and the rest of the song than Aether, but makes one—barely noticeable—mistake in the solo where he misses a note.

Also Phantom and Dewdrop in 2023 are more in sync than Aether and Ifrit in 2017. For whatever reason.

Now keyboard; Zephyr goes absolutely ham on the keys, but it is a piano song so that’s not only understandable, but also desirable, I would say. Key’s are in the right ear with slight migration to the middle when it matters, again according to the stage layout. Their precision and speed and overall skill is insane, the ending when they go wild is the most impressive part, because the song itself doesn’t give many opportunities. If you haven’t seen a video of Zephyr playing that ending you gotta do it now because it really is insane (RIP to that Nord Stage 2 though). The synth fill before the solo in 2017 is played back, in 2023 it’s played live by Cirrus.

In 2023 Cirrus plays the main chorus keyboard part, it can be heard easily on the left side (so once again stage layout accordingly). It’s clean and precise, she’s also very skilled, but unfortunately doesn’t really show off at the end like Zephyr does. Cumulus plays some chords before the solo while Cirrus plays the synth fill.

Vocals are not my thing so I’m only going to say what most of us can hear; Terzo is very nasal, but cleaner, and sings a bit higher. Clear pronunciation, good flow. It’s closest to Tobias’ normal singing voice. Copia is even more nasal, more growly and raspy. They’re both, obviously, in the middle in case of mixing.

Backing vocals in 2017 are all play-back for obvious reasons—pretty simple, taken straight off of the album recording. It’s put on the left, but it could be more favorable in the middle. 2023 is way more spectacular thanks to—mainly—the backing vocals. They are 90% Aurora and Cumulus, with lower levels of Cirrus and barely anything of Swiss. He’s louder by the end. I’m still conflicted about the growls—if it is Swiss or Papa’s play-back—but it’s a great addition that was very mild in 2017’s play-back. The backing vocals are on the sides, accordingly to the stage layout. It all just adds more spice, I adore them.

Sound engineering and mixing is so much better in 2023. We can easily tie it to the budget (though I’d like to “blame” it on Hayden’s part in the engineering, he’s a mastermind, too). The sound is much clearer and fluid than in 2017, it highlights all the instruments perfectly at the same time. Mixing in 2017 is more blunt, it’s a bit duller and some changes in volumes and placements of instruments could—or even should—be made. It doesn’t mean 2017 sucks—far from it—it’s just a technical difference which actually warms my heart if we look at how far has Ghost come. So, once again, considering the budget in 2017 vs. 2023 it’s all understandable. Also the crowd sound control in 2023 is very fun; it makes a great use of all the yelling causing the whole song to sound warmer and fuller.

Both 2017 and 2023 are on the exact same tempo, they can be put over each other perfectly (which I did). They slide apart at the end and the break before the outro is longer in 2023. The 2023 outro itself is pretty boring in comparison to 2017, most likely because in 2023 it’s not a closing song. Below there’s both “Absolutions” over each other; 2023 in the left and 2017 in the right headphone.

[dimensionzero]

yet more frame-by-frame atsv analysis, art style edition!

I still cannot fucking figure out what art medium earth-50101 is supposed to be, my best guess is, like, paint/maybe markers over linework? in any case there's the fun little detail that even though pretty much everything in mumbattan has very distinct outlines, the colours aren't perfect --- sometimes they go outside the lines or don't fill the whole space inside the lines.

like, look at how the colours of the clothes and scarves bleed out past their outlines here! and check out the outlines vs. the shading of the background --- they don't quite match up. the somewhat messy colouring only seems to be for colourblocking/base colours, though. that horse's finery is very detailed and looks very precise!

here's miles crashing through the street a couple seconds later for comparison:

look at him and his sharp outlines and crisp colours! it's subtle enough that it's not distracting, but miles is still very obviously sticking out from the rest of the crowd here

something else I noticed just now: miles still has his comic-book shading dots where the light hits him, which no one else has

on the contrary, the place where the light is coming from (the right side of the frame) has some darker lines staining it --- I'm no artist but I think they might be simulating the look of art done on a canvas rather than on paper?

gwen does not seem to be retaining her watercolour anywhere except her own universe, but although she adapted to earth-1610's style before, she's apparently keeping the comic book look in mumbattan too. didn't know you could do that! (she's even got the comic-misprint motion blurs!)

then we've got pavitr, who actually also has the comic-style shading dots (which is admittedly a little confusing since nothing else in his universe has them?). other than that though he follows his universe's style pretty much exactly --- very distinct outlines, messy colouring but precise details. you can see it most clearly on the close up of his mask, where the outlines of his eyes are perfect but the red of the mask bleeds out into the background.

(another miles for compare/contrasting!)

oh wait are pav's shading dots supposed to be the "canvas" showing through the lighter colours?

I think they are! you can see it much more clearly here, it looks less like dots and more like a crosshatch kind of texture --- I think it is canvas. mystery solved!

[ktredshoes]

HBO War Fanfiction Stats

Let me start by saying that I am not in any sense criticizing anybody's taste in HBO War relationships. In my opinion, any well-written fanfic, regardless of ship, is worthy. Heck, any fanfic is worthy — it takes a special type of creative courage to write and share a fanfiction story so that others might appreciate what you see in characters you love. So, that's the first thing.

Buckle up, I get wordy. More under the cut.

Tagging a handful of folks who showed interest in my decidedly unscientific findings: @onyxsboxes @jesslovesboats @itstheheebiejeebies @onekisstotakewithme @sparkling-strychnine

Trying something here: @meyerlansky @anachilles @astolovewithallmyheart @dano-png

I started down this fanfiction stat rabbit hole about four years ago when I started looking at The Pacific tags on Archive of Our Own (AO3). I was trying to figure out if it was just my imagination or not that everything other than Sledgefu in TP fanfic felt like a rarepair. I was not surprised to find statistical backup for what anecdotally felt true.

I love all the HBO War series — and for the record, I consider Band of Brothers, The Pacific, Generation Kill, and Masters of the Air to all be part of this fandom community. I won't get into trying to rank them or make the case that one is better than another — they are all related in being stories of men at war, and three specifically stories of men at war during World War II — but direct comparisons, in my opinion, are apples to oranges to prosciutto to tiramisu. They all have different raison d'etres. So that's the second thing.

(I will admit to a particular soft spot for The Pacific as the overlooked "younger brother" to Band of Brothers, precisely because of the tendency of some to negatively compare it to BoB. TP was never intended to be "part two" of Band of Brothers — I was listening recently to a podcast with Tony To, an executive producer of both shows, who asserted that BoB was, yes, about the brotherhood of war, but TP was about the cost of war. )

Anyway.

A couple of days ago, I saw someone post about the fact that the Cleven/Egan ship in Masters of the Air was about to hit 1,000 stories on AO3 — and since I knew that the total number of stories was only about 1,400ish, I figured it was time to take a look at MotA stats too. And that led to looking at GK stats and BoB stats and once I finished, I was really struck by what I saw.

I have a whole spreadsheet looking at the four shows, with breakdowns by relationship and character, with percentages of total stories. (I've posted some graphics from those spreadsheets below, not to worry.)

So what did I learn?

The Pacific and Masters of the Air both are overwhelmingly dominated by a single ship — Sledgefu in the case of TP and Clegan in the case of MotA.

As of August 10, 2024, there were 1,500 stories on AO3 tagged for The Pacific, and 1,485 tagged for Masters of the Air. Sledgefu features in 884 of TP stories, which is 58.93% of the total.

You might think that's an astounding total — but Clegan features in an astonishing 986 of MotA stories, or 66.4% of all stories. The falloff in the next highest ship in each fandom is precipitous: Hilldane in 14% of TP stories (210), and Crubbles in 8.82% of MotA stories (131).

If you are a fan of any ship aside from the most popular pairing in these two fandoms, that has got to be terribly discouraging. You wouldn't think the dropoff would be so high if you're at all active in the HBO War fandom on Tumblr, based on what's posted on a daily basis, but if your entry to HBO War fanfic is solely on AO3, what would you think?

I will once again state that I'm making no judgement on anybody's favorite pairing — I'm making a case on behalf of all the other ships. I'll also note that there are many, many fics posted to Tumblr that never make it to AO3, and I would very much encourage those authors to please please please consider posting your stories to AO3! (If you don't have an account on AO3, it currently takes about 10 days from requesting an invitation to receiving it, which is not that long in the scheme of things.)

The popularity of TP and MotA characters in these stories shows a similar disparity between the most popular and everybody else. In The Pacific, Snafu features in 63.53% of AO3 stories (953) and Sledge in 62.6% (939). No one else is as high as even 20% -- Burgie is in 17.2% (258) and Ack Ack is in 15.6% (234) and Hillbilly in 14.73% (221). The other two ostensibly lead characters in TP are Bob Leckie (12.53% or 188 stories) and John Basilone (1.67% or 25). I find that just shocking.

MotA is both better and worse. There are 10 characters who appear in 10% or better of posted stories on AO3 — but the dropoff from most popular to next highest is even more dramatic. Bucky Egan features in 77.9% of stories (1,157) and Buck Cleven in 74.28% (1,103). The next highest is not, as you might think, Harry Crosby or Rosie Rosenthal, the other featured lead characters in the series. It's Curt Biddick, who is in 25.19% of stories (374), followed by Croz in 23.7% (352). Next is Rosie, who is tied with John Brady — both in 16.9% or 251 stories. What a steep drop!

But, hey, at least there are a baker's dozen plus one of characters who feature in at least 100 MotA stories:

Egan: 1,157 stories (77.91%)

Cleven: 1,103 (74.28%)

Biddick: 374 (25.19%)

Crosby: 352 (23.7%)

Brady: 251 (16.9%)

Rosenthal: 251 (16.9%)

DeMarco: 243 (16.36%)

Payne: 225 (15.15%)

Lemmons: 181 (12.19%)

Hamilton: 167 (11.25%)

Marge Spencer: 146 (9.83%)

Douglass: 139 (9.36%)

Kidd: 130 (8.75%)

Blakely: 111 (7.47%)

After 14 years, will TP ever develop more diversity on AO3? Probably doubtful — though since I first checked the stats in 2020, Hilldane has gained 2%, so there's slow change but some change. Eight months in since the birth of the MotA fandom, and Clegan, and by extension Bucky and Bucky, are steamrollering the rest of the MotA relationships and characters on AO3 — based on what I see on Tumblr, I don't know if that huge disparity will hold up, but who knows? It's still a very new fandom.

But what about GenKill and BoB, you say?

Well, as you might have guessed, there's a clear delineation in GK between the top ship and the next ones below it, but the dropoff is not nearly as dramatic as in TP and MotA.

There are 3,024 Generation Kill stories on AO3 as of August 10, 2024, and the number one ship is Brad/Nate, with 1,261 stories, or 41.7% of the total. Next highest is Brad/Ray, with 677 stories, or 22.39%. The top three characters are Brad, featured in 63.82% of stories (1,930), then Ray, featured 52.35% of the time (1,583 stories), followed by Nate (45.44% or 1,374 stories). Next is Walter Hasser at 571 stories (18.88%), followed by Poke Espera at 284 stories (9.39%), Mike Wynn at 262 stories (8.66%), then Doc Bryan at 254 stories (8.4%). There's that dropoff again!

And as for Band of Brothers? After nearly 21 years on AO3 (the oldest story dates from November 2003), there are 5,016 BoB stories on AO3, with a huge number of ships and characters — albeit some quite small. Frankly, I stopped counting after getting to 70 relationships and 55 characters — I just got tired!

Still.

Let me add that the earliest BoB stories on AO3 are not well tagged for ships or characters — many don't have any tags at all. I don't know the reason for it — whether the tagging system in the early AO3 days wasn't easy to navigate, or maybe the lack of tagging was a holdover from earlier systems or archives? I have no idea how well-tagged stories were on LiveJournal, Dreamwidth, or Fanfiction.net. So anyhow, early BoB stories on AO3, if tagged according to current standards, would definitely change the stats but I have no insight on how it might shift them, except definitely upward for the most popular characters and ships.

At any rate: onward.

The top BoB ships on AO3 are 1) Winnix — 1,250 stories or 24.92%, 2) BabeRoe — 771 stories or 15.37%, 3) Webgott — 663 stories or 13.22%, and 4) Speirton — 662 stories or 12.4%.

Moving on to characters, there are a dozen that feature in 10% or better of the BoB total. Take a look:

Winters: 1,173 stories (34.35%)

Nixon: 1,652 (32.93%)

Roe: 1,380 (27.51%)

Speirs: 1,135 (22.63%)

Heffron: 1,125 (22.43%)

Luz: 1,063 (21.19%)

Liebgott: 1,058 (21.09%)

Lipton: 978 (19.5%)

Webster: 790 (15.75%)

Toye: 749 (14.93%)

Guarnere: 686 (13.68%)

Malarkey: 514 (10.25%)

That's a much more even distribution here, without the massive dropoff in the other three fandoms. Or as @itstheheebiejeebies put it to me: "BoB fans feast on variety. It's a grazing table instead of main and side courses." Just so.

So what do I take from all this? I mean, in the case of MotA, I came into the fandom all gaga over Callum Turner and thus Bucky Egan. But then I quickly veered off into following Benny DeMarco (Adam Long) and for the past several months I've fallen under the spell of Everett Blakely (David Shields). Will I stay there? I have no idea! And that's kind of exhilarating.

But here's what I know for sure: as I continue to read and write HBO War fanfic, I'm going to be doing my best to support the ships and characters out of the top tier.

Creators: Don't just post your fanfic to Tumblr — post it to AO3 and tag it.

Be the change that you want to see.

---------------------------------

Now, as promised, here are the stats in graphic form.

[deadnametrading]

I've been reading people's interpretations of this scene, and while I agree with the substance of the take that "Laios is quite isolated and his party often don't understand him", it's not the reading I get from this scene in either the manga or the anime.

So let's review the board, spoilers for episode 18 of the anime, obviously

Senshi's Laios: very cute, a reflection of his standards of masculinity. Possibly influenced by him being older, by Dwarven ageing, and the fact Laios is clean shaven. He projects similar notions on Chilchuck, and other biases onto Marcille. I feel this can mostly be chalked up to how brief his time with the party currently has been (1-2 weeks).

Chilchuck's Laios: Dangerous, unreasonable, unhinged, and coloured by his long time experience of Laios.

At this point in the story Chil's perception of Laios has changed rapidly due to both the reveal of his monster obsession (back in episode 1, previously suppressed) and the confrontation with Shuro, among other things. As seen in episode 13, he think's Laios is going to suicidally chase Falin to his death. He also thinks his monster obsession is a sign of a disturbed mind (not a suprise given his own experiences of the dungeon).

Marcille's Laios: Quite the opposite of Senshi, Laios' masculinity is exaggerated, which does reflect her Elf beauty standards (male and female Elves are often similarly feminine ).

Specifically for Marcille, she was told Laios looked a lot like Falin, and before meeting him, her opinion of him was really low (see the Falin makeup extras and her retelling the story of being alone after Laios left home, to Marcille).

Now, I've hated people in my lifetime, there's an inclination to be more critical of them than you would other people. Marcille didn't like the comparisons between the two siblings, and so fixated on their differences.

For review, here is there first meeting:

Marcille came for a fight, clearly her letters didn't tell Falin the whole story. She HATED Laios in this scene. Everything in the three years after was clawing back from this mess.

Look at Laios, not a button a stubble, and neither person got any short or taller in the intervening years. When she gets irate over people saying Falin and Laios look similar, it's because of that mental image broadcasted by the Shapeshifter. That's how she sees him in her mind, the man who took Falin away from her, who made Falin unhappy, and who others have the gall to compare to her dearest friend Falin.

Conclusion: Laios and Falin, their emotional and social alienation, and how they each influence others like Marcille and Kabru; these things are central to the story, and to Laios as a protagonist. The last thing I want it people thinking I'm dismissing that.

But at this point in the story, focusing on that narrative, it's proverbially putting the cart in front of the horse. Structurally, this encounter is a review of party stability moving forward. The previous battle with Chimera Falin put everyone on edge, made them uncertain of their future, and distrustful of Laios.

Laios came out of his fight with Shuro (Toshiro) appearing unobservant to people's appearances and feelings. Marcille and Chilchuck recognise Kabru and Laios didn't. They're suspicious of his abilities. Laios, in turn, knows he has the chance to win them back, knows he fucked up with Shuro (Toshiro) and ruined their friendship.

This encounter is about Laios' shortcomings, reflective of his neurodivergence, the doubts of his party, and how Laios uses his strengths to compensate, and even solve problems his party members can't. Ultimately, this chapter is saying, Laios is different, but he is not lesser, and in a battle against monsters he excels.

The others can point out differences in clothing and speech easily, but those were the tools the shape shifter easily used against them. Laios succeeds precisely because he's focusing on the things others don't pick up on.