#all the bitches I draw are so mad all the time I simply cannot make them look wide eyed and full of whimsy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

piecksz · 3 years

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prove it | (m)

pairings: modern!jean kirstein x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, mirror sex, penetrative sex, saliva, fingering, finger sucking, handjob, slight mentions of breeding, explicit language

words: 3k+

summary: your jealousy sparks a bitter argument between you and jean, but he shows in more ways than one, that you’re the only person he’s infatuated with.

a/n: as always, if you wanna fully immerse yourself in the smut hehe you can listen to the songs i looped incessantly while writing: girls need love too by summer walker and excitement by trippie redd and PARTYNEXTDOOR (you cannot tell me that jean wouldn’t listen to either he’s so sexy omg pls free me from my brainrot)

You gripped the fabric of your dress, hiking it up above your ankles to make sure the material didn’t get caught under the sharp heels of your shoes while you stormed into the house. Seething with outrage, you swung the front door shut behind you, savoring the few seconds of solitude you had before Jean trailed behind you clamorously.

“I already told you, and I’m telling you—again—I didn’t know she was going to be there!” Jean was insistent, his footfall demanding on your tail as he followed you into the kitchen. His fingers were carelessly twined in his hair, an overt demonstration of his stress.

You hastily tossed your purse onto the counter, paying no mind to the way it slid across the granite and almost toppled over its edge onto the floor. “Bullshit Jean. It was your fucking event, how did you not know she was gonna be there?” You spared him an irate glance, it was the first time you’d looked at him since the two of you left the venue.

The entire ride home, Jean had attempted to make conversation, asking you if you’d enjoyed yourself and trying to solicit your opinion on how he’d done coordinating his company’s milestone event. Following the successful closing of a large venture deal and the expansion of the corporation, his boss had entrusted him to organize a company soirée to celebrate, and if Jean’s event had managed to go off without a hitch, a possible promotion was in the cards for him. However, much to Jean’s confusion you were quiet in your responses, mainly giving one word answers and little praise.

After relentless prodding, you snapped, admitting you were irritated after seeing Jean talking to Mikasa, an old coworker and friend of his. You’d disappeared for only a moment to use the bathroom, but when you returned, the two were engrossed in what seemed like interesting chatter. Seeing the way Jean laughed after everything she said prompted the agitation in your lower stomach to boil up into your throat. Nothing was that funny.

“Maybe I overlooked her name on the guest list.” Jean’s fingers left his hair and wrapped around his tie, tugging to loosen it.

“Oh, you sure looked over her while you two were talking and laughing.” You stood on your toes to grab a mug from the cabinet before slamming its wooden door shut. “What was so funny? The fact that you used to fawn over her like an idiot?”

You shuffled back over to the sink, flipping the faucet and watching as the mug filled with water before bringing the cup to your lips to take a long drink. You sighed as the liquid quenched your dry throat, raw from yelling. You peered over the top of the mug at Jean, eyes following him as he made his way over to the selection of hard liquor against the kitchen wall.

“There you go. Name calling like a fucking child.” He poured himself a generous glass of booze, chuckling wryly and taking a sip.

You pulled the mug away from your mouth. “You—are so—,” you started, but your words disbanded into a loud and frustrated groan.

“I’m so what?” Jean swirled the auburn liquid around in his glass, pretending to look more interested in the way it moved than in the conversation you two were having.

“You don’t want me to finish that sentence, Jean. You really don’t.” You set your cup down loudly, so forcefully it might have shattered with just another ounce of force. “Stop acting like I’m overreacting. You know I’m not the jealous type, you fucking know that. I wouldn’t care, but you know you guys have history together.”

“Yeah, history means that it was in the past,” Jean retorted. “It was in the fucking past.”

You leaned forward on the counter, dipping your head low as if to question the validity of your boyfriend’s reply. “You’re telling me you’d be okay seeing me with an old flame?” You laughed humourlessly. “You complained for ten minutes after a waiter called me sweetheart.”

Jean took another long sip, then exhaled. “Because he clearly couldn’t tell the difference between horny and hospitality. Now you’re blaming me because you couldn’t see that?”

You nodded sardonically, a disbelieving smile shadowing on your lips while you reached behind your neck to unclasp your necklace. “And how’s that any different from this?”

“Mikasa never liked me back, what’s the problem? Did you just pick a topic out of a hat to bitch about?” Jean downed the rest of his alcohol, and then returned the short glass to the display. He wiped at his lips with his thumb and started back toward the kitchen.

“Fuck you, Jean.”

He let out a low chuckle while he rounded the length of the counter, sauntering in long strides until he was behind you with his large hands planted on the curve of your hips. He dipped his head, letting his mouth ghost by your ear. “You know, you’re kind of hot when you’re mad.” His palms began roaming, first gliding across your stomach before moving to your backside and cupping your ass in the curve of his hand. “Especially in that dress. You look really fucking good, baby.”

You barely cracked a smile. “Yeah?”

Jean’s low voice rumbled against your back. “Hell yeah.”

You turned around to face him, gazing up at him from behind sultry lids. “Then how about…,” you started, teasing him by fiddling around with the loose buttons on his shirt. “You sleep dreaming about all the things you wish you could do to me tonight. Because you’re not getting any.” Your seductive expression fell, and you pushed him backwards so you could slide out of the space between his body and the counter.

As you retired into your bedroom, you heard Jean’s weary voice echo from outside. “You’re cold.”

“Good,” you responded back resoundingly. “Maybe Mikasa’s free.”

“Maybe she is!” he retaliated, and although he wasn’t in front of you, you could nearly see the way he rolled his eyes at your spiteful jab.

You rolled your eyes back. “Shitforbrains.”

You removed your earrings, throwing them onto the dresser with your necklace before slipping out of your heels and stepping out of your dress. You struggled to make haste, trying to get ready for bed as quickly as you could before Jean entered the bedroom and had a chance to say anything that would incite another feud. Lazy and clad in your undergarments, you hauled yourself into the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror lethargically while you brushed your teeth and removed your makeup with halfhearted effort.

“Do I need to prove it to you?”

You removed the cold wipe from your lids, opening your eyes and watching as Jean wandered into the bathroom. He continued walking until he met you at the sink, and he wrapped his long arms around your frame again.

“Come here,” he said, pulling you into him until the space between your bodies waned. You gave him an unamused glare through your reflection in the mirror, and resumed rubbing away at your persistent eyeliner.

“Should I mark up that pretty neck of yours?” Jean nestled his face into the curve of your neck, pressing messy, carnal kisses along the side of your throat until his lips met the dip underneath your jawline. He lightly brushed over it, knowing it was your sweet spot. Every time he wanted to turn you into a frenzy of moans, that spot was the easiest way he knew how.

“Or maybe I should have you carry our child.” His hands were hot against your stomach, the soft pad of his finger drawing a delicate circle around your navel. You were glad it didn’t tickle enough to make you laugh.

“You’re pissing me off,” you said, simply.

Jean released a husky groan that vibrated against the hollow of your throat. “You’re turning me on.” He hummed. “You feel that?”

You did. Against your ass, you could feel the prominence of Jean’s hardened cock through his pants, digging eagerly into your backside, and he did nothing but continue to fuel his lust by rubbing his erection against you.

“You’re the only one that can get me hard like this,” he strained, grunting at the discomfort in his briefs.

“Look how pretty you are.” Jean took your chin in his hand and prompted you to look at yourself in the mirror. He hovered over your shoulder and looked on, like he was only spectating. “Do you think anyone compares to you?”

His eyebrows creased while amber eyes fixated on your skeptical face. After a lack of response, he jerked your chin, forcing your attention back to yourself. “Answer me.”

“No,” you said quickly.

“Exactly. Good answer.” Jean’s thumb swept gently across your chin while he withdrew his hand.

Your timid eyes drifted over to him, observing as he slid two digits into his mouth, glazing them generously with saliva before lolling his tongue and pulling his fingers out. A thick string of spit lingered until his hand dipped and slid itself into your underwear.

You choked back a desperate cry once you felt Jean part your folds, using his wet fingers to pet the sensitive swell of your clit. Instinctively, you wrapped a sweaty, tremulous hand around his wrist, but it did nothing to quell his painfully tender ministrations.

“Jean,” you murmured. Your voice was breathy, just barely above a whisper while you gave in and rolled your hips against his hand. “Fuck, wait—Jean—”

“I love the way you say my name.” He placed his free hand on your breast. His fingers hooked onto the delicate fabric of your bra and tugged the material down, freeing your nipple. “Say it louder.”

“Jean,” you mewled loudly as he began flicking the hardening peak of your chest with a ginger touch. His movements were delicate and sensual, as though he wanted to kindle an impatient desire within you.

Jean’s fingers continued to rub slow, tortured circles into your clit and he eased into you every few seconds to make sure he was keeping his fingers slick. Once he heard your whimpers begin to ebb, he would stop and switch the direction of his motion, sending you into another flurry of moans and taking pleasure in the filthy-wet mess he was creating in your panties. “Louder.”

You bit your lip and closed your eyes until the darkness of your eyelids melted into white heat. The familiar torrent of quivers shook your body, and the surface of your skin tingled with the onset of your orgasm. You dug your nails into Jean’s forearm, and in the haze of your high you forgot about all of your concerns.

“Jean!” You cried his name again, your wail echoing off of the bathroom walls while you writhed against his hold. You moved restlessly, looking for absolutely anything to cling to in an attempt to steady yourself until your climax subsided.

After you came to and regained your soundness, you scrutinized yourself in the mirror through misty tears, chagrined at how easily you’d submitted to him. You were situated limply in Jean’s arms, bottom lip swollen from persistent biting in your best efforts to veil how good he was truly making you feel, but from the sickeningly-smug simper on his face it was obvious that now Jean knew his fingers were more fruitful than an apology. Which meant this episode surely wouldn’t be the last of its kind.

He slotted his fingers into his mouth for the last time, sucking the silken coat of your arousal off of them before releasing them with a quiet pop, then Jean’s other hand crept up your neck until his thumb drove itself to part your closed lips, just wide enough so he could stick his lubricous fingers inside.

“Mhm,” he encouraged, nodding at the way you meekly looked to him for direction.

Jean’s fingers were warm and sloppy in your mouth as you sucked and he watched you intently, undoubtedly wishing that his cock could receive the same treatment. He sighed heavily as you wreathed your hot tongue around his knuckles.

“Good girl,” he breathed, pulling his digits from your jaws before his urge to stick them down your throat and watched as you gagged through tears became insatiable.

Jean worked one hand against his belt, unbuckling it skillfully before impatiently forgoing his buttons and tugging on his zipper instead. His breathing grew labored while you watched from the mirror as he shuffled behind you, and you canted yourself to the side to provide yourself with a clear view of Jean’s cock in the surface’s reflection.

His thick length pulsated, convulsing even without contact, and every time it did so, a fresh stream of precum dribbled from the swollen, red crown of his tip. With a light hand, Jean tapped his cock against the side of your thigh, prompting you to take him in your palm, and when you obeyed, it elicited a lengthy groan from him.

“Fuck, Y/N.”

You weighed his hot and heavy cock in your hand before beginning to move slowly, flicking your wrist and evoking the jerking of Jean’s hips when you did. His head hung forward and loose strands of his neatly tucked hair billowed around his face while he watched as your hand worked against his throbbing heat.

Jean delivered another set of kisses to your neck, kissing along your jawline until he stopped at the corner of your mouth to take a brief second to acknowledge his own pleasure. “Shit,” he grunted, his fleshly pants now becoming uncontrollable. “Okay, that’s enough.”

You loosened your grip around Jean’s cock while he curled his fingers around the cloth of your thin underwear, pulling it down until he stopped midway past your thighs, then his large hand settled between your shoulder blades to bend you over.

His palm collided with the pert curve of your ass, delivering a mild spank, and then he ghosted his touch over the stinging pain, blithely enjoying the way you whimpered his name ever so quietly. Jean positioned himself at your dripping entrance, prodding the tight hole with his tip over and over again just to taunt you until you glowered uncomfortably at him through the mirror.

“Stop it,” you heaved, your longing now turning into an unbearable itch.

Normally, you knew Jean would have loved to tease you, disregarding your begging and instead working even harder to rouse you, but you could tell by the sweat that beaded around his hairline that he needed relief too. So Jean spared you, grip tightening on your hips, and he pushed himself into you with a husky and guttural moan that overwhelmed your delicate whines.

He wasted no time and began moving, gradually picking up his pace until he decided on a moderate speed, not too rough, but just forceful enough that your breasts jounced and your body lurched against the sink whenever he thrusted into you.

“I always tell you how good you feel, do you need to hear it again?” Jean murmured, watching as his cock disappeared inside you and whenever he pulled back to rock his hips forward again, it glistened with a new layer of your arousal. “Your pretty pussy always takes me so well.”

He leaned into you, wrapping an arm around your waist and placing his hand on your shoulder, holding you in place while he fucked himself into you, over and over again. You tugged at Jean from deep inside your well, tightening your walls around his cock and causing his jaw to go slack with bliss.

“The way you fucking milk me, I could cum right now.” His balls slapped ceaselessly against your skin, and the sound of two sweaty bodies married together saturated the thick sex-tainted air. You struggled to watch yourself in the mirror, mouth wide open and eyes bloodshot from your tiredness and tears. Jean’s lips brushed against the shell of your ear and sent a ripple of goosebumps down the expanse of your back.

“I wish I could take a picture of you right now and keep it for later.” He panted into your ear. “You’re the only thing I can think of when I jerk off, it would be nice to have a visual.” When you said nothing he smiled, tugging at the softness of your lobe with his teeth. “Maybe next time, yeah?”

You could only give a weak and disoriented nod, and when you felt Jean’s cock twitch inside you, coupled with the way his muscles tensed underneath his skin, you knew he was close. You wrapped your hands around the arm curved about your waist and nodded at him again, cueing that you wanted to feel his release inside you.

Jean arched an eyebrow, his thrusts becoming sloppier, but he made no efforts to slow his cadence. “Yeah, you’re gonna let me cum inside you?”

You nodded silently for a third time.

Jean delivered a few more generous jerks before the small of his back tightened and he came inside you, amply flooding your chafed walls with his hot seed until you overflowed, and the creamy, white liquid seeped past the girth of his cock and began dribbling down the inside of your thigh.

Jean pulled his now limp cock out, wiping his essence gently on your folds before pulling you into another doting embrace. His clinch was tight, warm cheeks pressed against each other while he looked at you in the mirror with complete and unadulterated adoration.

“I love you,” he affirmed before flipping you over in his arms to face him. He bent down to press a salty and clammy kiss to your mouth, his lips stalling for a few moments longer before he pulled away and then delivered another kiss to your forehead. “Alright, stupid?”

You bobbed your head briefly, now embarrassed at your earlier outburst. You sunk into Jean’s torso, head against his chest, and mumbled sheepishly. “I love you too.”

The two of you stood together, arms encircling each other until Jean carefully broke his caress and began tugging you in the direction of the shower.

“Come on baby.” He grinned. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

#jean kirstein smut #jean kirsten x reader #jean x reader #jean smut #aot smut #attack on titan smut #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #jean kirstein au #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirschtein smut

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you-cant-spell-subtext-without · 3 years

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ahdflksjaklf;jsls ok buddies - I hate talking about 14x13: Lebanon, but it has relevancy in the “John Winchester is a villain and cannot and should not be redeemed” discourse as well as being a crucial piece of finale denialist lore so I Have Been Thinking About It Too Much.

As you may recall, the Occult Object of the Week - the pearl - in Lebanon is supposed to grant Dean’s “heart’s desire.” Dean and Sam are Very Sure this means expelling Michael (the Dean Winchester Must Be Saved installment of season 14) (honestly that premise always seemed a little slim to me, I was hoping for Dean’s heart’s desire to be Cas, on Dean’s car, naked, covered in bees).

Instead they summon Dad of the Year, which at first feels infuriating. However after discussion with my earworms, I Have Fixed It (and also turned it into a grenade to launch at 15x20.)

Finale denialists and John Winchester derogatorians ASSEMBLE! and let’s discuss after the cut.

I’ve written in depth about Dean’s struggles with the cycle of abuse, so I won’t go too far into it here, but if you want to revisit any of that meta this is a good place to begin. This post hinges on the same theory - that Dean’s true freedom is established in his release from that cycle - that is the logical outcome of any hero’s journey for him, and where he would finally be able to accept happiness and love. This logically would also make release from the cycle of abuse and the feelings of self-hatred Dean struggles with his “heart’s desire” for purposes of the pearl. When it comes to emotions, we also know Dean doesn’t deal with them well. He punches things instead. So odds are, Dean hasn’t really worked through these feelings.

Dean also mentions when John returns that “it was what [Dean] wanted since he was 4″ - when they lost Mary, right before John became obsessed with revenge. Season 12 Mary canonically remembers John as a “good dad,” so we can draw a line from that to the abuse really starting shortly after her death. This is also corroborated by Dean himself:

DEAN: You know when you died, it changed Dad.

(A visual of the John Mary remembers) (just my excuse to put pictures of Matt Cohen on your dash) (I shouldn’t need an excuse) (Matt Cohen hi you are on Tumblr please don’t read any of this I’m embarrassed).

So what Dean has is pre-Mary’s-death John and post-Mary’s-death John, post-Mary’s-death John being the one whose abuse created Dean’s own damaged persona. Dean thinks the fix is to stop things on the front end (he is ignoring any process-centered solution, he just wants it to never have happened, he is in denial that he has to work through this and just wants it to be erased, etc etc etc).

***also keep in mind that going back in time to change things on the front end as a “fix it” is a storyline SPN repeats regularly***

***and it always ends up being impossible to do***

Ok so for Dean, his damage/anger/brutal nature/darkness is always linked to John, and this cycle “began” for Dean once their family was torn apart by Mary’s death. So the fix is his “blood family” together. That’s his heart’s desire in Lebanon because Dean hasn’t really worked through any of his emotions, and it’s his very Dean way of fixing it - “oh if my family gets put back together I will be put back together too.”

***speaking of quick fixes, I’d like to note that any case in SPN that is referred to as a “milk run” inevitably becomes complicated and messy***

***continuing the thematics of there’s no such thing as a quick fix***

This is no different. Stopping the cycle by simply erasing it from the narrative erases anything else that happened along the way during the journey. It erases this Mary (who they know as a person by this point and not just the mom on a pedestal)

and (most importantly) it erases this Cas (the episode specifically replaces Cas with one who Doesn’t Know Dean).

We Emphasize This Of Course In The Dialogue In Case You Missed It

DEAN Cas, you know us. ALTERNATE CAS I don’t know you.

***Simply erasing the origin of Dean’s trauma erases all of Dean’s growth. It erases this family that Dean is so proud to tell John he has now. It erases everything he has already overcome despite how hard it was to achieve it.

So, John goes back. In that way, the pearl does give Dean his heart’s desire - his realization that this is not about a quick fix, it is about the journey to the good, and all you gain and become along the way (kind of similar to “Happiness isn't in the having. It's in just being. It's in just saying it" eh?). it’s the process. It’s every moment along the way. It’s the people who help him get there.

And then he starts the healing journey by taking control of his own life, by owning his feelings instead of displacing the blame, by recognizing he is NOT guided solely by the actions of his father and this cycle:

DEAN

And for the longest time, I blamed Dad. I mean, hell, I blamed Mom, too, you know? I was angry. But say we could send Dad back knowing everything. Why stop there? Why not send him even further back and let some other poor sons of bitches save the world? But here’s the problem. Who does that make us? Would we be better off? Well, maybe. But I gotta be honest – I don’t know who that Dean Winchester is.

And the episode fucking ends with Cas, the Cas Who Knows Them coming into the bunker and asking them what happened, calling each of them by name just to emphasize again That He Knows Them, because Cas knowing Dean, and Cas being Dean’s family is the cornerstone of what Dean’s heart desires.

[CAS walks in from the door at the top of the stairs. SAM, DEAN and MARY walk out from the library to see him.]

CAS Mary, Sam, Dean. What happened?

So yeah, it took 14 damn seasons but Lebanon is where Dean realizes he can be defined by more than the acts of his father. (That’s why it’s so terrifying for Dean when Chuck snatches back any control he gained in Season 15. Because for Dean, Chuck is just John Winchester Controls My Every Action all over again, except he’s God which makes it even worse.)

That’s also why the final blow to Chuck is not Dean killing him.

The last stage in the journey that begins here with Dean’s “I’m good with who I am” - [I’m still bad and dark and damaged but I’m good with it]

is Dean’s “that’s not who I am.” [the most caring man on Earth; the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know]

Thats equally why 15x18 is so brilliant, 15x19 is at least acceptable, and 15x20 simply does. not. work.

Dean Winchester’s perfect heaven cannot possibly center on the blood family. It does not have John Winchester and Mary, husband and wife, who took away his own free will. It is THIS FAMILY. The found family. Cas and Jack and Sam and the Mary that was resurrected. Dean’s entire character arc supports this journey, and to have it culminate in something that is so established in the season prior to this one as something Dean knows he no longer wants is maddening.

I’m even more mad now because I just remembered that the most prominent picture above Dying Sam’s bed was the blood family portrait from this episode; almost like they wanted us to remember this particular stupid lesson. This show is so stupid when it could have been so so so very good.

***I want to say thanks again to all of you who read my spiraling if you got this far. It’s therapeutic for me to do it, but it makes it all the better that people actually read it. Seeing you in my notes MAKES my entire day****

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hotdamnhunnam · 3 years

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Will You Just Fuck Me Already

A/N: Here’s another requested fic from my Ironhead Imagine Ideas list!! In which Will Miller is the biggest tease ever—he can spend hours with his fingers and his face buried between your legs… before he treats you to the world’s most epic sex. You’ve been bratty all day, so Will is gonna make you pay for your behavior in his favorite way: taking you to the edge, making you fucking beg.

Pairing: Will “Ironhead” Miller x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, teasing, edging, orgasm denial, punishment, dom!Will Request: This delightful anon request!

Word Count: ~2k

“Just a quick fuck before dinner, babe...”

“Will...” you squeal as you squirm your way out of his grip, trying not to cave in to the dominant way he takes hold of your hip. Softy slapping his hands away. “Stop that—we’re already late.”

Your insatiable fiancé clearly doesn’t give a shit about your fancy dinner date. “Dinner can wait.”

“Unlike someone who can’t,” you snap as you wriggle again from his ravenous hands. “Apparently you need to learn some restraint. Showing up late is rude.”

“Then push the goddamn reservation back,” he rasps, his hot mouth latching onto your neck, as one hand gropes under your dress to deal your ass a playful smack. “You know you want to. Know you want me more than food.”

Ugh—you both know it’s true. There’s no denying Will when he is in this kind of mood... which happens all too often. You’ve lost count of all the times you’ve given in. He knows that you’re a total slut for him and always have been.

But this time is going to be different. This time you’re going to keep him on his toes. Although Will knows you’re his to own, of course he knows... you can’t let him go on assuming that his dick is the one thing you’ll always want. “...what if I don’t?”

Will drops his jaw, the slightest bit. Blue eyes dark as he processes that shit. Confused and honestly in awe—you’ve never turned him down this way. Responds after a long, bemused pause. “The fuck did you just say?”

Averting your gaze, you try not to laugh at the straight up hilarious look on his face. “What if I’m actually more in the mood for a Michelin-starred amuse-bouche?”

“You can’t be serious,” he groans, like a dog going after a bone, barely able to handle how hungry he is. “Bitch, I’ll amuse your... bouche...”

“That’s cute,” you coo, kissing his cheek while he stands there unable to speak, as you head toward the door. “High time you learned some patience, Miller. You can have me after dinner.”

Will may have lost this battle, sure. But he’ll be damned before he lets you win this war. Shoots you a look savage enough to kill. “Babe, you’re gonna regret this.”

You sure as hell will; mark his words. Even more than you’d ever expected.

***************

To tell the truth, you know exactly what you’re doing. Will does, too. You’re goading him on with the goal of getting ruined. Playing coy, because you know that if you work your wooden soldier like a little wind-up toy, then you’ll end up good and destroyed. He’ll slam you up against the wall when you get home, and make you cum a million times before the night is done. Whip out his raging cock and rip apart your cunt. Which is exactly what you want. If this is war, you’re pretty sure you’ve fucking won.

Too bad this time you’re dead fucking wrong.

You’d been teasing him all dinner long. From the amuse-bouche to the salad to the soup course. That was probably the worst—you practically put on a porno with your spoon and didn’t care if it was wrong. Played into all your filthy thirsts. Ordered some sort of decadent bisque, white and creamy and thick. Let the delicate silver spoon linger against your lips, transgressing etiquette to let its contents drip, a little bit, so you could scrape and slurp the white stuff slowly off your fingertips. Meat for your entree, needless to say. Something creamy again for dessert, crème brûlée, which got him feeling some kind of way.

Now the two of you are finally back home again, and you can’t fucking wait.

Before dinner began, you’d honestly been teasing Will all fucking day. Woken up before him in the morning, denying him your usual kick-off-the-day sex without any warning. Hopped out of the shower before he could join in. Kept on making escapes and excuses all day and all evening. Repeatedly told him how busy you’d been, though you really weren’t even.

All damn day you were being an absolute brat. Now at last you’re all finished with that. Day is done, night is late... and you’re just glad that your wound-up soldier will finally be taking the bait.

Once he guides you inside and the front door is slammed shut, you’re all set to serve as his personal slut.

So you desperately throw your whole body against him.

Will doesn’t react in the way that you had been expecting; he doesn’t melt into your hands as you reach to unbutton his shirt. Simply mutters one word. “Bedroom.”

Blinking up at your beloved Ironhead, you take a hot minute to make sense of what he just said. The meaning should’ve been obvious, but your own raging hormones have turned you into an oblivious mess. Your own hunger to cum always renders you dumb. “Hmm...?”

“Haul that naughty ass upstairs and wait for me there,” he commands, loud and clear, every word an attack on your ears. “Naked on the bed. Both hands above your head. Don’t even think about touching yourself, because I own that cunt. No one else. Understand?”

Holy mother of hell... you attempt to obey, but you end up just taking a couple steps back till you’re pressed up against the far wall in the foyer. You’re unable to take your eyes off of your captain when he’s barking orders at you in this way. Try to answer him yes sir but it inevitably comes out as a desperate, unintelligible yelp.

Will just places both hands on his hips and expectantly purses his lips. “Well?”

You trip over the flat fucking floor as you hasten to do what you’re told like a good little whore. Who the actual fuck even are you anymore?

Without a clue just how much Will intends to torture you, just how long of a wait you have in store... you quickly strip naked and spread out on the bed, just as he’d said, and lay there waiting with your eyes glued to the door.

Ironhead always likes to win his battles fast. He’s all business, efficient like that. But when it comes to shit like this... well, this is different. Damn does he like drawing out the war.

When he finally enters, he’s never looked better. It goes without saying you’ve never been wetter. His shirt is off, letting you see every inch of his bare upper body, glorious and godly, the smooth sculpted muscles you love.

You honestly cannot believe you’re engaged to such a fucking heart-stopping hottie. Your gaze wanders all over his epic tattoos, lingering on your personal favorite, the one dedicated to you.

Your gaze can’t linger for too long. Without saying a thing, Will orders you to meet his deep blue stare—he never needed words to issue a command; he’s such a captain, such a king, that even his silence is strong. So you obey right then and there. Your fiancé, this flawless sex god of a man, has fucking plans to make you pay, for every damn thing you’ve done wrong.

He approaches the foot of the bed, raising one hand to rake through the soft golden hair on his head. Thumb of the other hitched in his belt. God, he wears those jeans so fucking well. You are such a damn whore for his hands... only thing for which you’re even more of a whore is the massive dick you can see bulging like mad through the crotch of his pants.

The force of Will’s gaze silently commands you to look back up at his face again. Aye, Captain.

Then the bastard has the nerve to ask a motherfucking question. “What did I tell you earlier tonight?”

Excuse me, sir? How dare you ask something like that? He asks as if you’re even capable of forming words, to give him a reply. Yeah fucking right.

Will takes a few steps closer, leaning down over your body on the bed. And you’re so fucking dead. “You really gonna start shit off this way? Two seconds in, already you don’t know how to obey?”

Sir... this is not okay...

“Remember what I fucking said...” he grunts, and then—sweet Jesus Christ—places a hand upon your thigh, dangerously close to your wet cunt, “...or else you’re gonna spend the next whole week waiting for me in bed. That what you want?”

Oh God. Oh God. How is it even possible for any human being to be so painfully hot? You force your breathless mouth to stammer out an answer. “N-no, sir...”

“That’s what I thought,” Will huffs, squeezing your tender inner thigh with a firm touch that’s somehow all at once both sensuous and soft, yet ravaging and rough. The kind of touch he knows you love. “You should’ve thought of that before you spent the whole day being such a goddamn brat. Denying me a piece of this sweet ass. This pretty pussy, every inch of this delicious little body that you know fucking belongs to me.”

“Will... f-fuck—” you gasp, as he tightens his grasp. “Fuck, I’m so sorry...”

“What was that? What do you call me?” he rasps, dealing your soft skin a sudden sharp slap. “I know you’re sorry, babe. Don’t worry. Know just how to make you pay.”

“Ugh—sir, yes sir...” you murmur. Honestly couldn’t be sorrier, for how you had behaved, all fucking day.

“Now what did I say?” he demands, moving in closer toward your dripping cunt with his dominant hands. “Tell me or else I swear I’ll never let you cum again.”

Fuck yes—fuck no—whatever you say goes, Captain. Somehow this man makes hell sound like heaven. His words, his touch... it’s all just going to your head. You want him so damn much. Whole body squirming on the bed. You’re so insanely wet, you’re almost squirting and he hasn’t even touched you yet. “You said... you said I would regret...”

He deals your upper leg another swat. “Go ahead, slut. Regret what?”

“Denying you like that,” you stutter, doing your best to obey your fucking sex god of a fiancé, the man who owns you like no other. “Being such a fucking brat...”

“That’s right,” he sighs, palms sliding even further up your inner thighs. “Now are you ready for punishment? Why don’t you go ahead and tell me, cunt... tell me what kind of punishment you want.”

“I want you to fuck me,” you plead, as his masterful fingers move closer toward your soaking heat.

Then the wicked son of a bitch snickers... no such luck, you figure. “Well, isn’t that sweet.”

You grovel on the bed, groaning through gritted teeth. “Sir, just—please...”

“Please what, you dirty fucking slut?”

“Please, sir...” you whimper, as you turn to mush beneath his fingers, melting at his touch. His hands hovering just above your cunt. All you can think of is the thick hard cock that you can still see throbbing through the denim of his crotch. It’s everything you fucking want. You’ve truly never needed anything so much. “Will... Will you just fuck me already?”

Will loves making you like this—all shaken, unsteady. Always says when you’re right on the edge, you look so fucking pretty. You sure don’t feel pretty right now. But the way that his eyes fucking sparkle at you, as he takes in the view, clearly he seems to think so somehow.

“Mmm, so greedy. So needy,” he taunts, as his hand comes within inches of your aching, dripping cunt. “You want me to just fuck you already? Is that what you want...?”

Without words, your whole body responds.

And without words, Will answers: you’re not getting fucked until he’s good and done. Till then, he’s gonna punish your ass all night long. Just as you had been doing to him all damn day.

Now it’s Will’s turn to make you pay, in his favorite way: by spending hours with his fingers and his face buried between your shaking legs... denying you the right to get fucked by him, or to cum—you’ll have to earn that fucking privilege—taking you to the edge... making you fucking beg.

***************

... Continued in Part 2!

Hope you enjoyed this, and would love to hear if you did!! 🤗💖

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reidecorating · 3 years

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the bau team and their star signs based on science

hotch: clearly an aries. this is not up for debate and i don't take criticism. natural born and excellent leader? maybe. but bossy boots because he is just a bossy boss man who probably sleeps in a suit or those pyjamas that have suit graphics on them? most definitely. when he speaks, his voice sounds like it’s coming out in all lower case, when he yells, it’s all caps. angery. down to throw hands at anything in his immediate line of vision probably. will exterminate you like a roach if you mess with someone he cares about. don't break the rules or my boss will kill me 😡 to you're breaking the rules under MY supervision, that way my boss will kill US 🥰. probably microwaves food a lot. type of dad to say no to getting a dog, then two months later get matching christmas costumes with said dog. never stops working because he is an absolute UNIT built like the circuit of one of those infinity pools in bali. could use another sabbatical.

rossi: i saw his birth certificate and the rumours are true, he’s a november sagittarius. two wives away from being a modern day king henry the eighth. it’s rossi’s world and we’re all just living in it. he is a prophet. his third eye has been opened and he ascended to the seventh dimension at the age of 24. when he takes leave, the only way to contact him is through a ouija board in latin or maybe greek depending on the position of the sun. he will only die when he chooses to die but will dissolve at the words ‘what are we?’. the major arteries in his body are just long pieces of macaroni. definitely has hooked up with one person from every state the jet has landed in. no filter between his brain and mouth, will destroy your self confidence intentionally. uses abbreviations when texting. liberal - because of the experimenting back in college. probably friends with your mum on facebook.

prentiss: imagine her being anything but an air sign. you can't because she's clearly an aquarius?? work comes first (first equal with her girlfriend). if you tell her to do something she simply won't do it, especially if it was something she was just about to do. she once came home from a run with her mother in the summer and her mother politely suggested that she should drink some water. emily, an anarchist, did not drink water and was hospitalised for heatstroke in due course of proving her point of nonconformity. has been to jail. sucks on candy canes and makes them pointy because christmas is one of her least favourite days. on probation. no, i really like him *deletes his number*. maybe moves to iceland to become a sheep herder to avoid having to ever see anyone she has romantically affiliated with ever again. actually quite the jester, joke levels exceed 4000, but can make you laugh and cry in the span of approximately the length of a short youtube ad. the antichrist.

morgan: has at some point caused someone to question their sexuality. am i really a straight man? do i really only like women? - direct quotes from anyone who has seen him. if that doesn't scream libra i don't know what does. i’m trying to refrain from using the words ‘hot’, ‘sex god’, ‘rail me’. the kinda guy who will hold open a door for you, but also have no problem kicking one down for you. has never ditched class before. momma’s boy. tries to make his pecs move in the mirror. he KNOWS he’s hot okay??? but THEN its not just that because people are like ‘oh he's attractive’ but then they find out he’s RESPECTFUL, and INTELLIGENT and COMPASSIONATE and then that awkward moment when you just DIE because he is not flawed??? it’s like he’s a lucid dream??? probably secretly is really good at baking some obscure european good. uses colognes that have really manly man sounding names for instance, ‘Man Musk’, ‘Mystical Muscles’, ‘Beards and Buttercream’.

garcia: the epitome of a female pisces. a baddie™. definitely owns a pair of those really skinny sunglasses that influencers wear and looks like god herself while in them. spirals from being the momma bear to the wine-aunt. she will care about you so hard but if that's not reciprocated, will hack into your my eyes only and fax those pictures to every machine she can connect to. accidentally has flirted her way into at least 19 relationships. really good at writing fan fiction??? like - seriously good. knows 4 different synonyms for the word “member” iykyk. researches things the people she loves most enjoy, so when she talks to them she can have more detailed conversations. catches feelings for people who are definitely not good for her. sometimes just takes off her glasses because she's tired of, well... seeing. hand makes cute lil earrings for her friends. a master at fireboy and watergirl and will never play with anyone else because ‘another player just slows you down, i can do it myself in half the time’. THAT FRIEND WHO WILL WAIT FOR YOU TO TIE YOUR LACES.

jj: virgo. she was definitely that girl who had notes with pretty titles and colour coded highlighters in school. also did extracurriculars in the weekends so she’d have to be picked up from sleepovers early to go to soccer games. when she takes the time to learn something she learns it well and perfects any craft handed to her because anything less than 100% is failure in her eyes. gets annoyed when other people cry for too long probably. will judge you. so much. silently. especially if you cry. don't make her mad because she has caused civil unrest in 13 continents. live, laugh, love signs in her kitchen. security footage surfaced in 2007 of her roundhouse kicking a middle aged man, in the junk food aisle of a trader joe’s, after he took the last re-stocked bag of cheetos. has a ‘mom first, agent second’ mug that garcia got her. likes family walks which will most likely be planned out meticulously, involving a detailed itinerary of the day i.e. Henry’s toilet break, 10AM

reid: he despises star signs and anyone who gives them any thought because “where is the SCIENCE?” this bitch is a scorpio. definitely only knows his sun sign. so intense! have you seen the way he looks at things?? the way he stares??? the way he analyses dead bodies??? the way he loves??? ridiculously put together to everyone around him but emotionally life is soup and he is fork. kinky. breaks off bananas little by little with his hands before eating each piece individually because eating them normally is too sensual and he’s paranoid morgan might see him doing it and take a picture. wants the kind of love he reads about. has a superiority complex about having a superiority complex. keeps a straight face while saying literally anything so you cannot tell if he’s being serious or not like one day he’ll just be like “yeah i killed a man with an axe once to enable myself to more easily empathise with future unsubs who potentially work as lumberjacks or have a history of logging. it’s called method axing,” and then leave the room to draw circles on maps or something. believes that parallel parking should work, in theory, but never seems to work for him in practice.

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antiloreolympus · 3 years

Text

Bunch of (Older) Asks [P.2]

1. This episode of LO was cartoonish - no pun intended. Minthe gave an Evil Character speech fr. Your target demographic cannot be over 18 if you are That Much on the nose.

2. I think one of the reasons that LO fans deny it’s flaws is because RS does not plan the episodes, just writes them as she goes. And i don’t remember clearly but i think there were some asks saying that RS steals from HxP fanfics and theories (which makes sense since she likes to control and see everything) and seeing how there are so many theory accounts of LO she probably views them all and steals the theory ideas, therefore giving LO fans a sense of righteousness. What is simply RS art laziness or her just simply not caring about the artwork anymore is taken by fans as a theory for what might happen, leaving RS with plenty of ideas and her fans happy that they saw “hidden clues”. An example would be that of the episode where Persephone is chasing Minthe and then turns her into a plant, the shape of the cape looks like the eyes that Persephone feels around her (although i believe that it’s just simply a coincidence) and the fact that her hair does not grow like crazy. We know that Persephones hair grows when she’s mad, sad etc etc and is even shown on the episode when she turns big and when she grown vines and starts hibernating because she’s on TV as a criminal (which she is). Now because RS forgot to draw Persephones hair longer when she was attacking Minthe, fans are speculating that Persephone now has her powers on control and is not shadowed over by “the feeling” anymore. While the next episode shows that Persephone can’t actually turn Minthe back into a nymph and saying that she can’t really control her powers. RS will probably find a way to incorporate that theory in the comic but who knows when

3. One thing that I hate in lore olympus is the treatment of minthe. I understand why people don't like her, but she's seen by all the characters as one dimensionally evil when she's not really commited a cardinal sin in my eyes? Like she's very obviously lower class, struggling with money, and she figures that seducing a musty rich slave owner is her best way to an easy life. damn bitch i'd do the same, she's also seen to be easily led by thetis, and damn if my boyfriend who i was already feeling insecure around (who's family called me the equivalent of trailer trash and he didnt stick up for me) told me he was dumping me for a NINETEEN year old??? I'd freak out too! She's not perfect, and she's said some awful things, but she's honestly pretty rational. She's also treated pretty awfully by the other gods on account of her being a nymph, and being shafted by persephone who is a literal heiress? She knows she needs hades so she doesn't die, and that persephone doesn't. I don't know, i understand why people don't like her and she's said some unforgivable things, but her actions? They make sense, and she's annoyingly portrayed as irredemable and evil.

4. i get it, minthe is obviously an antagonist, but i get no satisfaction in her death. she was a victim of hades' actions + him using his power over her to where him turning his attention to the next pretty thing he saw meant shed be homeless / in poverty. why would i root for a rich girl's split personality (so it CAN'T be her actually doing it! god forbid!) murdering a powerless nymph for actually standing up to a king and have it be "no you MUST respect the 1% or else ill kill you!" its gross!

5. LORE OLYMPUS WANTS WHAT HADESTOWN HAS

6. The confrontation between Minthe was drawn like a joke/meme when it was a pretty serious moment puts me off so much and the quality of the art was so stiff and underwhelming too. If this were made with the old art it wouldve looked alot better and expressive i think

7. LO would have flopped a long time ago if it didn't use greek mythology names as a crutch; the art style would have only carried a season minimum before people would start realizing how badly written it is...

8. ngl i follow a fucking homestuck RP blog with better greek mythology takes than LO

9. The biggest issue that makes me despise Lore Olympus is that pretty much every character falls into one of two groups: 1 Persephone cheer squad who can do no wrong and 2. Evil Meanies who don't like Persephone the cute uwu bean how dare you not love her, like girl....

10. Every comic or fanfic i’ve seen of HxP depicts Hades as this insecure, shy guy who doesn’t really know how to talk to women and like? Wtf.. how is one of the most powerful gods, the ruler of the underworld insecure?? I get that people love the whole -uwu shy powerful guy talks to main love interest and is a softie - but for what Hades is it doesn’t make any sense. And since so many people want to make gods relatable to mortals (which is dumb and so unachievable) a much better portrayal of Hades would be one of the quiet and fair guy. A confident god who knows what he’s doing and is aware of the power he has. An insecure god means that he’ll exploit everyone in his kingdom and our -soft boi- can’t do that. Hades is aware of his powers and the role he has, and has simply not found a goddess to his liking to be queen of the underworld. LO making Hades into this abused guy who has low self esteem is done in bad taste. I understand that people want to read and see things that seem familiar or that include them and whatnot, however gods are gods. They are not mortals. They don’t go by the same rules as us and do not process things the same as us.

#anti lo #anti lore olympus #lo critical #lore olympus critical #anti lo art

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solaeter · 3 years

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Hello there, congrats on 100! 💞

I'll use the 🐧 emoji 💞 Gimme dat penguin :D

I'm genderfluid, a lesbian, INFJ (Very accurate) and Gemini.

I'm 5'2, blue eyes, fair skin, brown short hair (I get headaches if it's too long ;-;) and a curvy body type. My clothing style is a bit wacky, I sorta wear anything and don't match. If I had a NASA sweater I'd wear it all the time.

My dream job was to be an astronaut or something that deals with space entirely, but that got messed up in highschool. Hence why it’s a dream now :(. Now it’s to be an artist or writer because it’s one of the ways I know how to express myself.

I'm not comfortable with my own feelings so I have trouble expressing them, believing that if I do only bad things will open. I often stay trapped in my own thoughts. I'm very loyal, can be awkward in most situations(very uncomfortable in social situations), selfless and love to help people no matter what. Once I've opened up to anyone, I don't shut up and I love to goof around with them. I don't actually get mad, it's a hard emotion to get out of me. I love to write, draw, fold origami, play games and listen to music(any genre that isn't country). I enjoy space and looking at the stars, I can sit for hours talking about them. Scary movies, I LOVE watching them so much. I wish to travel the world but funds and a fear of heights stop me.

Things I don’t like..The one thing I can think of is when someone assumes something about me. I can get rather defensive over the assumption and cry about it later LOL. I’m also kinda a picky eater, but I’m willing to try new foods?

Thank you so much and congrats again lil monkey 💞

Jujutsu Kaisen Matchup Event | OPEN

Thank you so much for participating goober! ヾ(｡･ω･)ｼ

Out of everyone in Jujutsu Kaisen, I pair you with…

Yuki may ask everyone for their type, but you're just the type she loves! Appearances are the farthest thing from her mind, I imagine she actually meshes better with those who have good personalities and that aren't afraid to actually debate with her over various opinions. She'll enjoy your curves and make jokes that it's more to hold onto. And who cares about clothing style? Yuki values comfort and mobility over form and fashion.

Yuki is patient, so in the beginning when you're not very open, she'll respect your boundaries and gradually get to know you. Everything about you intrigued her, so she had all the time in the world for you.

Yuki is the outgoing one in your relationship. Despite being known as lazy, she'll show interest in whatever you're explaining and she'll help you achieve your goals that are within reason.

One thing Yuki really admires is how you're so calm. Sure being sensitive is one thing, but to see how hard it is to actually anger you, man she's totally smitten. Simply because she's just as calm and knows that if there is conflict down the road between you two, space, time and a little bit of communication will solve the issue sooner rather than later.

Yuki would also be very intrigued in your dreams of creative works. You draw? Let her see so she can admire and say you're one talented son of a bitch. Writing? Holy shit, she doesn't have time for that but she will commend you for enjoying it. Now letting her see is a different story but she won't pry too much if you get all shy. Origami? Yuki probably can't fold for shit and will absolutely be amazed and keep everything you make. Will even show it off to her pupil Todo just because.

Your desire to help everyone is very admirable, but Yuki will be your voice of reason. There are some who cannot be helped or will simply use you for their own benefit. Even if that means breaking you down. That's where Yuki comes in. She will protect you from those who dare bring you down. You're too precious to her and seeing you hurt, she simply won't accept it.

Yuki will carry any social outing, keeping you comfortable while she uses her cheerful personality to keep the air light and happy. You will never be forced into anything because no one should have to break their barriers unless absolutely necessary.

Yuki might be a tease, but that's just to see you flustered and won't press if it actually gets to you because she knows when to back off. She can't help but enjoy how your cute little cheeks burn when she showers you in tender words of love.

She loves to travel, so Yuki will definitely take you out to some sort of 'perfect' stargazing spot just to get a reaction from you. Seeing how your eyes light up and the general excitement course through you is all she needed. Now if there's anywhere you want to go and she's not completely busy, you can expect a trip down the road.

I imagine Yuki isn't really picky with food. As long as it's good she's happy. But if you go out, she'll keep in mind what you like and don't like. And if you want to branch out to try something new, she's quick to agree because life's all about taking chances and trying new things.

#🐧#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #100 follower event #jujutsu kaisen matchups #jjk matchup #jujutsu kaisen yuki #yuki tsukumo #jjk yuki #jujutsu kaisen yuki tsukumo #jjk yuki tsukumo #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jjk headcanons

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jonismitchell · 4 years

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Love dies in the city; or the romanticism v. modernism conflict on folklore

In my humble opinion, Taylor Swift’s 2020 album folklore is about the conflict between romanticism and modernism. It sets up the natural as a place of freedom and unrestrained love, contrasting this with the city (presumably New York) as a place of hiding and secrecy that ultimately dooms the integral relationship. In the end, Swift expresses her deepest desires to return to the natural world, to restart the timeline that began with her move to New York, something I will elaborate on when discussing “hoax” and “the lakes.” This storyline is the crux of the album, and the motif I’ve used to classify its songs into six distinct sections, which follow a vague plot that is not represented in the track list order.

the natural (seven, invisible string, betty) I would argue that “seven” represents the heart of folklore, containing what seems to be the album’s mission statement (“passed down like folk songs / our love lasts so long”) and describing the earliest point in Swift’s timeline. This song is the one most directly linked to nature, describing a childhood friendship that takes place in the woods. One lyric, “before I learned civility / I used to scream ferociously / any time I wanted,” implies that Swift found freedom in nature, when her secrets were mere promises to friends instead of the pain she had since hinged her life on. In addition, this song is pure romanticism. The interest in childhood is implied, we can reasonably assume both main characters to be seven years old. To support this, the song states “although I can’t recall your face, I still got love for you,” implying that much time has passed since the events. There is awe of nature (the “beautiful things” are the creek and the trees), emphasis on the importance of imagination (your dad is mad because the house is haunted), and a celebration of the individual (“just like a folk song, our love will be passed on,” where the love is the individual she speaks of). This is the dream that Swift wants to return to, and yet her characters already face conflict (the keeping of secrets, hiding in the closet, an angry father). She romanticizes her past into something she can escape into, creating a sort of mythos around an upset childhood.

Our next nature-intensive song is “invisible string.” She again makes a callback to childhood, citing a park where she used to read in Nashville. It would not be incorrect to categorize this as a love song, perhaps the most lighthearted one on the album. Swift emphasizes time and fate, both recurring themes in her discography. Like “seven,” “invisible string” draws attention to nature as a freeing and healing space, which sets the stage for her romance. Lines such as “gold were the leaves when I showed you around Centennial Park” draw attention to the ‘invisible’ connection the song depicts. In the bridge, she notes that there was “a string that pulled me / out of all the wrong arms, right into that dive bar,” implying a protection from the dangers of interpersonal conflict. Throughout the verses, mentions of any city stay tangential (“your first trip to LA… an American singer”) while the focus lies on her freedom. It is a dreamlike song, which implies that the city can be glimpsed but not detrimental, and showcases an utter belief in things working out.

It is, then, rather ironic that the final song with unique ties to the environment highlights an unanswered apology after the foundations of romance have been shocked. “betty” is ostensibly narrated by a teenager, James, who plans to make up for her mistake in a garden. This perspective ties into the album’s greater focus on time, in this instance equating innocence (“I don’t know anything”) with a natural setting (the garden, which is explicitly removed from society). At first, James wonders if Betty will allow an apology, but wants it to happen without anyone watching (“if I showed up at your party… would you lead me to the garden”). She then casts this hope aside, dreaming about being able to broadcast her love to the world without fear of judgement (“will you kiss me on the porch in front of all your stupid friends”). It is also, then, relevant that the relationship is ruined when scrutinized (“rumours from Inez”). When considering how themes of secrecy and hiding come into the picture once the narrative travels to the city, it is interesting to look at how the hope of an public relationship prevails here. But in the end, James still dreams of going back to any relationship with Betty, no matter how private (“kissing in my car again”). Of course, Taylor Swift herself is James, and James is Swift, so we know that the secrecy dooms the relationship in the end.

the romance (august, illicit affairs) “august” describes a doomed relationship, perhaps meant to be the affair James has that prompts her apology to Betty. However, the story of a love that was never built to last has been referenced multiple times in Swift’s discography (“Wildest Dreams” and “Getaway Car”) and even expressly linked to summer on 2019’s “Cruel Summer.” These songs show distinct lyrical similarities to “august.” Hence, I feel comfortable describing this song in the context of those, rather than within the storyline of Swift’s fictitious love triangle. (Which is flimsy as it stands, but that’s for another analysis.) While there is no set location, this song describes one kind of coming-of-age (“whispers of are you sure”) and delves into the hope associated with a short-lived romance. Here, there is no secrecy to speak of, but a fear of what will come when a return to society comes (“will you call when you’re back at school”). My contrast for this song is saying it is “Cruel Summer” without the ‘happy’ ending. There is a privacy here (“meet me behind the mall”) but it is the instability of the romance that dooms it (“you weren’t mine to lose”). “august” is a time capsule, a reflection on the love that always would’ve ended regardless of the locale.

The next song, “illicit affairs,” is another one that ‘visits’ the city (for lack of a better term) but places the primary conflict in a largely undetermined setting. In fact, there seems to be a rejection of the urban (“take the road less traveled by”). In the sorting of tracks as they relate to different sub-themes, “illicit affairs” is the first song that says, without preamble, that secrecy is the death of love. While the word ‘illicit’ simply means forbidden, the verses describe sneaking around in a way that has been attributed to cheating since album release. There is virtually no acknowledgement of another character outside of the two lovers, save for the ‘him’ referenced in the perfume line. But it is not this person that the narrator seeks to hide from, it seems to be almost everyone. It could be construed as a song about adultery, but taken in the context of the rest of the album it reads as a lament for having to hide a relationship (most likely a romantic one between two women, but this is extrapolation).

the city (the last great american dynasty, mirrorball, mad woman) Now we approach the slew of songs that deal with the actual location of the city. The first song is “the last great american dynasty,” which seems the most removed from Taylor’s viewpoint and yet involves her directly (“and then it was bought by me”). We get an actual move to the ‘city’ (“Rebekah rode up on the afternoon train”) which is reminiscent of Swift’s own move to New York in 2014. Rebekah is immediately disliked by the people around her, blamed for her husband’s death to the extent where she flies in “bitch pack friends.” (1) Keeping with the theme of folklore’s similarity to a time capsule, one could see this song as Swift retelling her own purchase of Holiday House (and by extension much of the events from 2014/2015) through the lens of someone else’s life. Indeed, part of this theory is directly corroborated by the song through the lines “then it was bought by me” and “I had a marvellous time ruining everything.” In relation to the conflict between secrecy and survival of love, “the last great american dynasty” does not offer much insight. However, it effectively sets the scene for songs to come.

(1): I don’t know anything about Rebekah Harkness’ life, this is just how I interpreted the song.

After the initial move, “mirrorball” establishes the new dynamic between the lovers. In turn, it introduces the performative nature of romance in the city (which is referred to and combatted with the line “all these people think love’s for show / but I would die for you in secret” from “peace”). Swift expresses interest in a lover who is “not like the regulars,” who wants more than to watch her turmoil. Still, this song finds her drawn into the nature of performing, consistently showcasing her tragedy to let others see themselves to the extent where she cannot even let her guard down when “no one is around.” Even after the circus has been called off, she seems to have entirely integrated with the role of the mirrorball. This provides some introspection on her viewpoint: digging into insecurities under the viewpoint of desperately trying to save a sinking ship. Almost as a counterpart to “seven,” the lyrics to “mirrorball” show some characteristics of modernism. Individualism is represented through the focus on the person who is the mirrorball, while unrelated characters do not warrant much elaboration. In terms of formalism and experimentation, the format and structure of the song deviate from Swift’s usual manner. The concept of a person being a mirrorball (shown in the music video as a disco ball) is both a symbol and verges into the absurd. All the imagery in this track is based in large crowds; featuring a disco, a circus, and masquerade revelers. It both establishes the setting where love dies and assures that the relationship will end (“the end is near”).

“mad woman” is the final song which establishes setting more than storyline. It proves the city as a angry and dangerous place, one that is not sympathetic to “people like” Swift. We find her contemplating revenge on someone who has done her a great wrong, which is less attached to the general storyline but serves to depict the setting as actively hostile and worthy of contempt. When compared with other tracks, certain lyrics imply that the narrator is hell-bent on getting the last word (“they say move on but you know I won’t” / “you know I left a part of me back in New York”). There isn’t much else notable about this song in terms of what we are talking about, but it does frame several absurdist tendencies in the context of a destructive setting.

the death (cardigan, exile, my tears ricochet, epiphany) In “cardigan,” Swift reminisces on a long-past relationship, which has been interpreted to be James and Betty’s teenage melodrama. This is the first of many breakup songs, which idolize what has passed and mourn the loss. We observe many signs of the city (“chasing shadows in the grocery line”) and individualism (“I knew everything when I was young”). As referenced in “betty,” the cardigan becomes a symbol for the relationship at large. Moreso, the idea that the relationship was cursed to end as it begun is elaborated on here (“I knew you tried to change the ending”) even if it is not ascribed to secrecy yet. In reflecting on Swift’s past work, we see many signs of her being accustomed to this thought (“I can see the end as it begins” from Wildest Dreams and “I knew (...) we were cursed” from Getaway Car), but “cardigan” comes across with deeper pain regarding the whole affair. In tying different lyrics together (“back when I was living for the hope of it all” from “august” and “I hope I never lose you” from Cornelia Street), we begin to paint a picture of the true narrative behind the love triangle. Swift knew her greatest love would end—desperately hoped it wouldn’t, prayed they could ‘get away with it’—and finally channels her anger and sorrow into this retrospective. She almost accepts it: love dies in the city.

Another reflection on a past relationship is folklore’s only duet; “exile.” This song discusses an inability to communicate, the concept of determined endings (“I think I’ve seen this film before, and I didn’t like the ending”), and plenty of ‘hiding in the city’ imagery. This sees one narrator (Swift) faking a relationship (“just your understudy”) to hide her true lover (in this context, Iver). Both agree on various facets that caused fallout (“didn't even hear me out... never learned to read your mind… couldn’t turn things around”) until the final disagreement (“you never gave a warning sign / I gave so many signs”). So while the song is fundamentally about a miscommunication, it is evident that much of the misunderstanding comes from ways of signalling the secret relationship. Presence of the city is acknowledged through lyrics such as “I’m leaving out the side door,” “out here in the hall,” implying that the narrators share an apartment. Nature also gets a brief mention here (“breaking branches”), but this usage explains that the freedom of the narrators is fading, just like their connection to the natural.

Most do not connect “my tears ricochet” to romantic fallout, but there is no denying that the song hinges around prominent death metaphors. Many metaphors used imply that the narrator has broken up with their lover, but still haunts the hope of what could’ve been. In the line “we gather stones, some to throw, some to make a diamond ring,” a connection to marriage is implied, divorcing the meaning from the loss of Swift’s masters. A crowd of people is repeatedly referenced (the ones in a sunlit room, for instance) and the lover must “save face” in front of them. This external pressure contributes to the greater theme of death of love in the city, which Swift equates to her own death. She describes herself as a recalcitrant ghost (“you know I didn’t want to have to haunt you”) but one her lover must have around (“when you can’t sleep at night, you hear my stolen lullabies”). This song is another one that recognizes Taylor Swift the writer within the lyrics; within this interpretation the “stolen lullabies” are the songs that the ex-lover inspired, work she can no longer look proudly on. While no explicit connections to the city are formed, it is obvious that some external pressure resulted in a damning betrayal, which was painful enough to describe as death.

The final song in this death theme is “epiphany,” which does not discuss the romantic timeline at all. Instead, “epiphany” is the culmination of two sub-motifs on folklore: water and war. In nature, water gains a passing mention in “seven,” but does not truly become relevant in this organization until “the last great american dynasty.” In “epiphany,” the water reference is “crawling up the beaches now,” which serves to distance it from the overall storyline. The song also deals with the war motif (evident in most of the songs, but “ease your rifle” is very literal) and contrasts soldiers at war to doctors during the pandemic. All of this builds on this section’s burgeoning theme of death. It fits in with the album theme, but does not display obvious modernist or romanticist hallmarks.

the chance (the 1, this is me trying, peace) Opening the album is “the 1,” a frequently disliked song but a very telling one. It is similar to “cardigan” in that it reminisces on a past relationship, but the narrator feigns contentment with her current situation. If all of folklore can be considered a time capsule, “the 1” perhaps describes the headspace of the narrator before they begin reminiscing: convinced they are alright, but not holding up very well. This song involves much city imagery (“I hit the Sunday matinee,” “I thought I saw you at the bus stop”) and deals with the aftermath of many events in the album. It is interesting that this song was one of the last written, as one can imagine the narrator went directly from “it would’ve been fun” to “don’t want no other shade of blue but you” (as described in hoax). The love has died here; but there’s a desperate hope to return (“if one thing had been different, would everything be different”).

Much like “betty,” “this is me trying” is another last-ditch attempt to save a failed relationship. Both songs find Swift in a doorway, ready to apologize, but “this is me trying” bears the weight of experience and less expectation that they will have a second chance. The increased maturity finds acknowledgement of faults without excuse (“my words shoot to kill when I’m mad / I have a lot of regrets about that”) and an attempt to come to terms with the death of the relationship despite pain. This, of course, breaks apart in the bridge (“all I want is you”) but, as Swift consoles herself, at least she’s trying. Setting-wise, this seems to be in a smaller locale (“the one screen in my town”) which calls to mind the “the only thing we share is this small town” from “Death By A Thousand Cuts.” There is also what appears to be a bar (“pouring my heart out to a stranger / but I didn’t pour the whiskey”) and an influx of people (“it’s hard to be at a party when I feel like an open wound”). It is not necessarily the city, but rather a recovery period that does not go well.

If the painful instruction of “illicit affairs” acts as a foil to 2014’s “How You Get The Girl,” then the anxiety of “peace” complements 2017’s “Delicate.” While “Delicate” expresses the sufferance of an early, undefined relationship (“is it cool that I said all that”), “peace” begs the lover to reconsider the end one last time. As “hoax” makes undoubtedly clear, it wasn’t enough. We see the dangers of outside influence (“I’d sit with you in the trenches”) and the strength of the romance (“the silence that only comes when two people understand each other”). It is a final plea for someone to stay, a list of the success and a fatal acknowledgement of the worst. There is a declaration that sums up much of the album: “all these people think love’s for show / but I would die for you in secret.” As we’ve seen from other songs, it is the secrecy and the hiding that has doomed them. Swift sees this, she briefly suggests a return to the free and safe woods (“give you my wild”) but is ultimately stuck on the question of peace, which she wishes she could give her partner.

the return (hoax, the lakes) The original album closer, “hoax,” finds Swift leaving a part of herself in the destructive city that has become home. She makes an attempt to return to her home, only to find that it is not the way she’s left it (“my barren land”). With her lover, she has gone through a journey that changed her too much to return to innocence (“I can go anywhere I want, just not home” from “my tears ricochet” contrasted with “you’re not my homeland anymore” from “exile,” where the lover becomes the homeland). She turns to a bleak setting, using sparse lyricism and simple constructs to describe her pain and betrayal. While Lover highlights themes of likening one’s love to a religion, the Swift we see on “hoax” has given up on any sort of healing coming from her romance. All she acknowledges is that the circumstances of her love have “broken her down” and “frozen the ground” (from which she hopes a “red rose” will emerge in “the lakes”).

In “the lakes,” Swift tries to move forward but still sets her sights on the natural world, citing a deep desire to escape the scrutiny that destroyed her romance completely. This is a call to action for her former lover, a final request for shared freedom that reminds the listener of the lyric “would you run away with me?” from 2017’s “Call It What You Want.” Swift continues to call on aspects of romanticism she’s referenced on reputation and Lover to make her point. It then tracks that she has been inspired by this muse all along, and is finally asking for a return; both to the early romanticism her albums are built on and to her lover’s “homeland.” Her desire for a new home is evident, her conviction that her former lover should join her too great to be overcome.

The response of the muse to this, of course, is unclear.

#arden speaks #my analysis #taylor swift analysis #this is more than three thousand words #arden's essays

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writeyouin · 4 years

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Swerve X Reader – Changes - Chapter 6

Chapter 6 – The Arena

A/N – I finally came back to this, my poor abandoned baby. As usual, a special thanks to @rocksinmuffin without whom, this story wouldn’t exist.

Warnings – Minor suicide mention.

Rating – T

“That is the cruellest thing I have ever seen you do,” Swerve glowered at you.

“It had to be done. There was nothing else for it,” You replied nonchalantly.

“RODNEY DID NOTHING WRONG.”

“He existed.”

“SO YOU JUST KICKED HIM OUT FOR EXISTING?”

“Look, you get to choose your Animal Crossing villagers, and I get to choose mine.”

“Abuse them, more like,” Swerve pouted.

“Fine, do you want to play on the switch and adopt an ugly-ass hamster who does nothing but bitch all day?” You asked, holding the console out to Swerve.

He took it from you, placing it on the tallest shelf in the hab-suite, “You can have this back when you learn kindness, you monster.”

“… That’s just mean,” You said, looking despondently at the shelf which was labelled No Man’s land. Beside the switch was a copy of Harry Potter which had been removed from you until you could read it without yelling at Snape every time you saw his name, and several pictures of Getaway which you had scrawled insults on; Swerve wasn’t punishing you for those, he just liked admiring them every now and then while you worked on new insults to scribble.

“Okay, fine, you can have it back right now, if you say that hamsters are cute,” Swerve grinned.

“Clearly, you’ve never seen one in real life. They work for the devil and steal people’s souls. I’m ninety percent sure that they also have armies ready to-”

Pain wracked your body and you woke up screaming to find your captors prodding you with weapons akin to cattle prods but much larger and stronger. It was the same creatures that had captured you.

“WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?” You yelled through the pain.

The humanoids didn’t reply, staying eerily silent; you wondered whether they were even capable of communication in a way that you might understand.

“All right, that’s enough… For now,” A human called, stepping forward, looking completely out of place among the others.

Your captors backed away, leaving you alone with the human on the opposite side of the cell. You glared at the woman, who couldn’t have been older than thirty. She wore acidic green armour that bore a symbol of a decapitated robotic head with wires and cables sticking out from the neck; the ensemble made you nervous.

“So… You’re our newest contestant. How dull,” She commented boredly, examining you.

“Contestant? What do you mean?” You asked fearfully.

Once again, you were left without a reply as the woman pulled out a dictation machine and began talking into it as if you weren’t there. “Subject is of questionable build. A Minibot. No definable insignia – probably a NAIL. Presumably no fighting skill of which to speak. No weapon attachments that can be seen. One noticeable draw to the crowds is that it’s a female – a rarity in itself.”

“Oh my God, are you- Fuck, are you putting me in the hunger games?” You demanded incredulously.

“The bot uses organic terms in communication. It’s possible that it has spent much of its time around organic communities rather than with its own kind.”

Although you knew you could argue that you weren’t originally a Cybertronian, you decided that it probably wouldn’t get you very far with your captor; she was clearly only interested in her job, whatever that was. You doubted that you would get anywhere talking to her.

“So that’s it? You’re going to put me into an arena to fight? Did I get it right? Hey! HEY, I’M TALKING TO YOU. YEAH, BITCH WITH THE BAD HAIR, YOU!”

The childish attempt at an insult earned you a bemused glance, and the woman paused the dictation machine.

“You ought to mind your manners, or you’ll be in a much worse condition before the fight, and that will only bore the spectators,” She warned you.

“I’ll behave, if you at least tell me your name. I’d like to know who I’m insulting.”

Your roguish attitude earned a sadistic smile; it wasn’t every-day that your captor met a Cybertronian with any spirit left, “Lady Ouida.”

“Stupid name,” You murmured, mostly to hide your fear. “So I’m right about this being a colosseum of sorts?”

“Yes. You are to fight in the arena.”

“And if I win, I go free?”

“No. If you win, we kill you anyway. The people are out for Cybertronian blood after all.”

“Wow… That’s so fucking stupid. Like for real, did you take this out of a book? It’s not very creative is it? How many movies have you seen where the hero is thrown into a death ring to battle? Plus, there’s not going to be much of a fight. I mean, look at me. My arms are all fucked up from your bodyguards, I’m clearly not a fighter, and I’m like only three feet taller than you. Factor in multiple opponents and you get a five-minute fight, tops which will mostly be me running for my life.”

“You don’t seem too concerned with your fate.”

“Bitch, I am terrified, but I’ve seen death and been dragged back from it. I have defined the meaning of an out of body experience. Right now, I am competing with forces that you cannot even imagine in a brain that was not meant for me. In other words, there is nothing you can do that is worse than what I’ve been dealing with for the last forty-eight hours so GET FUCKED.”

The words PERSONALITY MALFUNCTION appeared on your visor, and you knew they were true. In your human form, you tended to avoid confrontation where you could. However, faced with the prospect of unavoidable death, it didn’t seem to matter anymore. There were only two options left for you anyway. Die in an arena, or wait for the Lost Light to come to your rescue. As you stared into the grinning face of Lady Ouida who had developed a sudden interest in you, you hoped it was the latter.

Chromedome sat miserably in the brig, having been put there for attempting to forcibly alter Swerve’s memory banks with mnemosurgery. He had lost count of how many times he had been in that exact scenario, where mnemosurgery was the only way forward, but nobody else would see it that way. How many times had Rewind refused to talk to him because of it? How often had he been forced to alter Rewind’s memory afterwards so he wouldn’t leave him? Chromedome held his head in his servos, thinking of Rewind. He wouldn’t believe it if Chromedome said it was all for Swerve. So what if mnemosurgery felt good, as long as it helped people it wasn’t that bad. Sure there were risks, but there were risks to all sorts of things that people did anyway.

With nothing else to do but think of his failure, Chromedome waited despondently in his cell, with the faintest of hopes that Rewind might deign to visit him, even if it was just to yell.

Ultra Magnus watched the security footage stoically from the computer panel in his office. As well as Chromedome, he was also watching Swerve, who had been restrained for his own safety and was sobbing loudly, screaming your name, and Whirl who was in the med-bay, awaiting yet another energon transfusion. Of the three, Whirl worried Ultra Magnus the most; he was not taking well to Ratchet’s surgery. He had damaged one of his internal components beyond repair and it was now up to Perceptor to create a suitable replacement. The replacement would undoubtedly need constant maintenance for the rest of Whirl’s life if he survived, but it was the only way forward.

Ultra Magnus looked up as the door flew open, and Rodimus came barging in.

“THIS IS A DISASTER!” Rodimus roared.

For once, Ultra Magnus didn’t have the spark to placate Rodimus; he was right, everything was going disastrously.

“WHIRL IS DYING. CHROMEDOME IS ALL KINDS OF MESSED UP. REWIND BLAMES ME FOR WHATEVER REASON. SWERVE IS SUICIDAL AND (Y/N) IS MISSING. Please tell me you have something that might help fix this mess?”

“I do not,” Ultra Magnus replied quietly. He had never felt like such a failure. Under his watch, everything had gone wrong. The Magnus armour was getting heavier every day; he didn’t deserve to wear it.

“FRAG! WHAT ARE WE SUPPOSED TO DO? SHE COULD BE IN DANGER. THE ROD POD’S TRACKING SYSTEM IS FRAGGED. THE CREW ARE FURIOUS. THEY HAVEN’T BEEN THIS MAD SINCE-”

“OUT OF THE WAY, COMING THROUGH,” Nightbeat’s voice called in the corridor as he weaved through the few bots out there and made his way into the office with Megatron close behind him.

“Rodimus. Ultra Magnus,” Megatron greeted professionally, before gesturing for Nightbeat to take over.

“I FOUND (Y/N),” Nightbeat began ecstatically, completely missing the sombre atmosphere.

“What? How?” Rodimus asked, dumbfounded.

“I watched the Rod-Pod’s ejection from the bay and followed it through the security cameras. After that, it was simply a matter of predicting several plausible trajectory’s considering that (Y/N) isn’t a pilot-”

Rodimus waved his arms, “Forget I asked. Just tell me where she is.”

Nightbeat ignored his disappointment that the big reveal had been ruined; it had taken a lot of work for him to covertly listen to all the radio stations where you might have landed and then locate you from that. “She’s on a privately owned planet called The Arena.”

“The… The Arena?”

Megatron nodded solemnly, “Yes. My research tells me that they capture stray Cybertronians and-”

“Don’t tell me. They put them in the arena ‘cos they think that’s creative… Primus, that’s annoying. All right, plan time. We change course, go to The Arena, break in, rescue (Y/N) and make everything go back to normal. Any questions?”

Megatron took a moment to consider the plan, “How-”

“No? Great. Then let’s go. We’ve got work to do.” Rodimus transformed and drove out of the office to head to Brainstorm’s lab. He had brushed it off with his usual casual demeanour but just like everyone else, he was furious that anyone would want to hurt you. If he was going to rescue you, he would need weapons; the morally-grey kind that Brainstorm made.

Swerve sniffled, feeling pathetic as coolant that he couldn’t wipe away under his constraints dripped down his front. Yet another failed suicide attempt to go on his record; he couldn’t even do that right. He remembered the last time he had done something so drastic, when you had come to save him from himself; you had probably only married him out of pity. Despite the depressing thought, Swerve found himself unable to believe it. You had married him because for some reason that he didn’t understand, you loved him. The two of you had spent one year married and it had been the best year of Swerve’s life. When you brought up the idea of sparklings on your anniversary, Swerve couldn’t believe that life could be any better, and now after all of that you were gone.

Although Swerve longed to wallow in self-pity, he couldn’t help thinking of Chromedome. It seemed that his last conversation was finally sinking into Swerve’s processor. What was it he had said exactly? Swerve vented air through his systems, calming himself so he could isolate the memory file.

“YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT (Y/N)!”

While it was true that Chromedome could have just said that to stop Swerve from ending his life, there was also a slim possibility that Chromedome really did have new information about you.

Swerve kept replaying the memory’s audio, listening for the truth. As a bartender, he liked to believe he was good at separating lies from the truth, but when the other bots were sober, he wasn’t very good at it.

“(Y/N)…” Swerve whispered your name, wondering what he might not know about you as of that moment.

What if you had come back and he was wallowing in his cell, too wrapped up in himself to know about it? It wasn’t possible. If you were back, it didn’t matter what state Swerve was in; he would have been taken to you. Unless…

Swerve struggled to sit up, his processor racing with endless possibilities pertaining to your fate. What if he hadn’t been taken to you because your new body was failing? What if you were dying and Swerve wasn’t there? What if he was the only one that could help you?

Unbalanced as he was, Swerve managed to stand up. He started kicking at the door, yelling as loud as he could.

“HEY! GET ME OUT OF HERE! TAKE ME TO MY WIFE! TELL ME WHERE (Y/N) IS!”

Swerve didn’t pay much heed to what he was saying. All he cared about was getting to you, no matter what it took.

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transsexualhamlet · 3 years

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tg anime vs manga *sighs*

i have the power of hyperfixation and anime on my side! AAAAAAAA

Ok now that we’ve gotten the sins of re post out of the way we need to discuss this. And I just feel that this needs to be covered because I can’t ever get away from constant discourse on this, mostly fueled by manga readers who feel entitled to always think they’re superior for reading the manga, that the manga is the only real canon, that it’s more complex or better, I’m so fucking tired of it. I am also a manga reader, and I tend to get like that sometimes too with many series (for example no. 6 and the promised neverland.) I get it. It can be really annoying to see something butchered on screen to what the original is, changed or represented differently or given a different message or simplified. But just. Some people like the anime and it’s not a goddamn holy war for y’all to fight. It only makes anime fans not want to read the thing even more yknow cause manga readers are pretentious assholes, and I am aware of this as one of them.

(again ok i’d like to mention i know this fandom is basically dead but a certain p*nterest is always like 4 years behind on fandoms so i keep fucking running into Discourse that’s like, still current, whenever i want old random ass content) (and youtube, why do i look at youtube comments, because I personally enjoy being offended? yeah probably)

And that brings me to the point of this anime vs manga.

This is a lot harder to compare than a lot of other series, because there are just... so many more differences not just in the style and vibe but the story itself.

Disclaimer, I’ve never watched the anime for :re and i don’t intend to, because I honestly have no earthly clue how tf you can get from the highly diverged tokyo ghoul root A to re and make it make sense, and I don’t really want A ruined for me. So you can call me biased towards the manga in the case of re, i guess (which makes my eventual conclusion even more strong I’d say) Honestly I just see them as two completely different stories, the manga’s version connecting with re and A just like... ending there. So how we’re drawing the lines is basically tokyo ghoul A versus the manga and :re. God, I know this isn’t a fair fight because I already hate re so much, but I feel like the manga’s story is much more intertwined with :re than the anime’s is, so that’s what we’re going with.

oh god also another disclaimer this opinion is coming from the biggest fucking kanehide whore, you can disregard anything i say if you ship The Straights and/or do not care for my boi hide

To be honest, if I can take my own conclusions and liberties to the story, I like both versions, each have their pros and cons and kind of a conflicting message. They can’t really coexist. Usually I’d consume all versions and then create one consistent canon in my head for what I accept as the true events (for example my main owari no seraph, first season of the anime is canon but after that we only follow the manga since those can come together and make sense.) but it’s very hard to do that in tokyo ghoul, since I must confess... I really like root A. Like of course, it’s a lot different from the manga, but tbh I think it’s super valid. (unlike most Fans TM like this Fan TM who i’m sending this post to just to spite their singular Youtube Comment Section Discourse, yes I did write this post for you and many others like you) But the ideas that make up root A conflict a lot with the ones of the manga, so I just have to accept that they’re separate things and treat them as such.

Now to break it down so people can understand where I’m coming from I guess? God this is already so long here’s a read more

The Case for The Manga (including :re manga)

More Lore + Plot Shit: One of the main reasons that manga readers are pretentious little bitches is a valid reason, namely that, as is the case with most manga, there’s simply more to it than people can fit into an anime. (Although people need to understand that’s because,,, it’s simply a different medium, so it will have different pluses and minuses, such as for example a soundtrack, color, moving pictures,,, you know, all that. Anime onlys don’t say that the anime is better by stating these things that a manga won’t have... because they’re fucking obvious. So manga readers should stop acting like an anime is inherently sub-par for being less in depth, but we digress.) I can understand that reading the manga is kind of important for wanting to understand the lore (though there are like so many other reasons ppl might want to watch it other than to get the lore) and without the explanation of how all this came to be and how it works, everything tends to be really mysterious, confusing, and seemingly random. It’s really nice to know what’s all going on, of course, and stuff like the washuus, rize’s backstory, the explanation for like, kaneki in general, all that- if you’re looking for like, plot shit, manga is definitely your go to. But like, sometimes, you like, don’t actually care about those things.

Haise: Of course one of the most important things about well, including re is that I fucking love Haise. Like he is my favorite Kaneki. He’s just so wonderful, look at him in he glasses and he floofy hair and he striped pants and he energy boxers and he s p i c e and he MOM. And I really like how they took Kaneki’s character and developed it more with Haise, you can see his turnaround from innocent--> Emo--> Trying To Be Innocent Again But Failing and I think that’s really sweet tbh. I rejected that at first because I didn’t understand it but once I actually read re I thought it made a lot of sense and was a logical thing to do with his character. (though, uh, moving forward, after his hair changes again i disagree with it, haise 1.0 is a good take and i love him and i want the best for him) I could go on I’ve already written a post of what I think is wrong with :re so if you want to hear my take on kaneki’s 37 pokemon evolutions that’s in there

Good New Characters: And of course there are my favorite bitches such as quinx squad, oh my god, there was a terminal lack of dumbass squad vibes in the original and ishida fucking gave it to us, I love them, I love them with all my heart and I think that if I wasn’t attached to them I’d probably just cancel all of :re but like this is just my personal problem. God I love them. Ishida always pulls through with characters I’m now too attached to.

Vore Lmao:Ok like hear me out. I just get a laugh out of it every time the manga has to remind me of this little fucking fact. Like ok I just. Cannot get over it. It’s so serious about it too and like I realize it’s a serious deal but o h m y g o d

Ok and now that we’ve got that little rant over I do want to say that it is like actually really important past the “lmao that’s pretty gay” bit, like??? In some ways it’s more fitting than the anime because well, ishida’s point always seems to be “what would mentally and physically hurt kaneki the most right now” and does it because that’s who this bitch is. But it just?? Kind of makes a bit more sense for the storyline if we’re being picky here, it’s so,,, painfully on point? Like the entire reason he gave in to Being A Ghoul and all was so he could save his friends and shit (i actually do not remember if this was a thing in the manga but like? when he was being tortured and he like imagined hide being really mad at him and getting killed by jason and shit?) LIKE AND THEN HE GOES AND HAS TO BASICALLY BE THE PERPETRATOR OF THAT HIMSELF, FUCK, it’s a lose/lose situation of “don’t do the bad thing and watch your friends suffer” or “do the bad thing and watch your friends suffer but like, later” ishida please

The meaning of Hide being alive: Ok this is just me crying over chapter 75 still but like. Instead of in the anime, where hide’s point seems to be that instead of letting kaneki sacrifice anything more he’d be the one to give his life up and such, and save kaneki, in the anime tbh he just really wanted to be with kaneki right then?? and like ouch but understanding that in the manga he wasn’t just planning on dying and leaving kaneki to deal with it afterward he wanted to go on and continue to try to help the guy no matter the shit he had to go through, no matter if the dude just like forgot that he existed for two years and all- LIKE UH CAN WE TALK ABOUT HOW HIDE DOESN’T EVEN EXPECT ANY APOLOGY? like kaneki’s like “OH MY GOD I’M SUCH A TERRIBLE PERSON” and hide’s like lmao nah it’s cool i’m thriving- that his big motto was “live” rather than “peace out motherfuckers it’s been fun”. Cause. Fucking. Ishida. Can’t kill off characters well but like at least he made keeping this one alive justified.

The D e t a i l s: Ok well I feel like this is something everyone knows but the anime is missing a lot of really,,, crunchy details that the manga throws in there, like, well, kaneki’s fucking,,, bones thing, and other assorted details, g o d like those are missable if you want to never understand half the memes but also like,,, sometimes you just gotta read that shit. It also like, makes more sense when you do but sometimes it’s just stupid things that aren’t important but are fucking hilarious.

The Flavor: In general I’d say the greatest difference between the anime and the manga is the general flavor of the thing, the vibe in the manga is a lot, to be frank, darker and grosser and bloodier than the anime, which is a lot more focused on being pretty and Tragic than “HOLY SHIT WTF” but like. That’s valid. With that comes it being a lot more, real, and although the art may not be as polished as the anime’s, sometimes that’s exactly what you need, and the really gritty sketchy shit that’s in the manga sometimes is exactly what it’s supposed to be for the manga. (in the anime, i’d say that the colored and polished style fits it better, so we’re good there.) It’s a lot more real, in the manga, when the anime hesitates to “go there” a lot (and well, sometimes that’s welcome, but sometimes it’s like y o u g u y s c o m e o n r e a l l y maybe i DID want to see that did you ever think of that)

So like, to sum it up i’d just like to say it’s more detailed, sharper and darker and is simply So Much. There is just More Content

The Case for Root A

ON THE OTHER HAND, (buckle up fuckers)

Depth of Emotion (that Ishida was too much of a pissbaby for): God like you know what I mean if you read the last post, we spent a whole episode on these gay fucks in root A, with backstory and dreams and drawn out suspense and emotion and GUYS LOOK AT THEM NO REALLY OH MY GOD YOU HAVE TO UNDERSTAND HOW IMPORTANT THIS IS whereas hide’s limelight in the manga is a whole... two pages, oh whoopee, and that’s mostly due to the fact of ishida putting himself in a spot of “oh fuck goddamn if i drew that in i’d get flagged for gay porn” but that’s his own fault, so he downplays the whole scene and really keeps it in the dark, whereas in this anime it’s understandably a lot less,,, like that, but how it plays out here is simply... really nice and makes you cry and shit, whereas in the manga I’d go “oh god oh damn oh fuck” *laughs my ass off because i really can’t take this seriously*. You get just... more here.

To elaborate on this, in the anime, as a gay fucking bastard, I can get practically an endless amount of content from episode twelve, and endlessly stew over all Those Things about it, every hard hitting line, the expressions, the music making it even sadder, the ways the VAs say the words, the cinematic beauty of the blood dripping on the floor and like how it’s supposed to make you think it’s kaneki’s, GOD I COULD FUCKING GO ON, but if we want to get that in the manga...

we get three incredibly basic lines, a blackout, and then a “QUICK LET’S MOVE ON TO SOMETHING ELSE BEFORE ANYONE NOTICES THE IMPLICATIONS OF THAT HAHA”

So if we want to have more, we need to write it. (sadly) None of it is ever played out canonically so like,,, all we can do is infer and make shit up. It’s like, I am a writer so like that’s my whole job but I really would rather have more content, and have the content that’s there get to be emotional instead of *blank face* “this is plot that is happening, sadly” but like maybe it’s just bc i’m gay

Really Fucking Beautiful (aesthetically as well as story-wise): This kind of just goes hand in hand with the depth of emotion bit, and I think it can’t really compared to the manga here because I’m gay so I see pretty colors and cry so the anime is understandably appealing for me, but I’m also talking emotionally, yeah. There’s a lot of plotlines and implications of the story that are really well played out, I always love to watch the original because it does a very good job handling a lot of the harder topics and stuff that makes the whole thing worthwhile- like the whole point you’re supposed to see that the ghouls and humans are both just as monstrous when you break it down, that there are good and bad people on both sides, everyone just wants to live and feel good in their own life and perspective, everyone has reasons that justify their behaviour in their mind, sometimes you just can’t win no matter what, all that... they’re all really important messages and make the whole story, and they were handled much more delicately and with more expertise in the anime.

It’s hard to pin down, but I feel like the manga was just based more on Fight Scenes Characters OoH Fake Science and kind of just gave kaneki infinite power ups after Trying Harder no offense, obviously those things were there and they were still very good in the manga it’s just sometimes they were cheapened a lot by ishida really not keeping track of what he’s trying to say with his story and sacrificing it a lot for “BUT WHAT IF KANEKI’S HAIR AND IDEALS CHANGED AGAIN” instead of making it a whole cohesive work. (and yes, I am VERY aware of your “well aCtuAlLy the hair represents his sanity” thing i know i know and i’m about to rip it to fucking shreds so)

Understandable Character Development And Staying True To It: Which brings me to this point, character development. This was another thing that was just... handled with more expertise in the anime, whoever was in charge of it. Mostly this has to do with Kaneki, since like, no offense but he’s the only one who ever gets much character development other than like, juuzou (asmr you only get character development if your hair color changes) oh and i guess there’s tsukiyama but he’s someone who shouldn’t have gotten character development. Touka gets character development only before re for some reason, and like tbh that’s kind of it. I do think Juuzou’s character development was valid, because well... it made sense? I complained about it before because I was like “well he just turns into spicy L” but i’ve since changed my opinion, he’s best boy. But Kaneki? They went way overboard with him in the manga, and generally? Calm tf down ishida.

Breaking it down, one of the main things that most of the tried and true manga stans seem to hate about the anime the most is Kaneki going over to Aogiri in root A. Since they’re much more acclimated to the manga, they don’t understand why he would do that (quoting a particular ‘probably made sense in the manga!’ yes i know that whole thing was poking fun at the show and i felt it lmao) and they just pin it to “ahaha he has now become Edgy for the fans ehehe time to make fun of him” and TO BE FAIR YOU’D BE COMPLETELY RIGHT. I love to make fun of Kaneki when he does his edgy bitch thing because that’s what he is. A basic edgy bitch who is just,,, such a main character. But like. He does actually have his reasons despite popular opinion and to be honest I think they’re a bit more valid than in the manga, where he’s just like “well I’ve been tortured, that was not pleasant and i kinda did a bad thing, let’s go back to anteiku but i’m just gonna Try Harder To Fight this time”. I can understand that, but like, it seems like in the manga every Character Development of kaneki is some form of “i will now be stronger” except for the singular “I will now be a different person” which, well, we’ll get to that.

In the anime though, even if it seems like more of a basic edgy bitch move, it’s like?? It makes perfect sense to me, and to be honest more than the manga does? Obviously he doesn’t wanna be best bros with Aogiri, he realizes they’re all bad people who have done really terrible things, but the fact is he now sees himself as the same thing, he now understands their motives because in his mind he is also now Bad TM. His whole character development of being tortured was that peace wasn’t an option no matter how much he wanted it, he couldn’t live being a pacifist and the world was forcing him to give the “i am the only one that understands! we need to stop fighting!” bullshit up because there was no way to achieve it. He realized if he kept himself the way he was more people he loved would be hurt like they already had because he couldn’t, so he doesn’t just Decide To Become Stronger, he gives up his humanity. And that includes basically letting himself defend his own actions and try to do “the right thing”.

Him then joining aogiri makes sense because well. They’re the people who are the strongest, who have the power, who are the same as he sees himself. He still wants to protect the people he loves, he just also realizes he can’t do it by working with them since he now understands that their more peaceful ways will by definition get them fucking killed. His understanding is flawed, of course. He’s not really right. But this is his understanding and from that it makes perfect sense for him to join up with aogiri and try to still do as much as possible from that standpoint, realizing that most likely the people he’s trying to protect will hate him for it. I think that makes sense to me, what do you not understand about it? (I also understand that may make some people mad because he’d Doing Bad Things but I point to you he’s so soft, remember when he was really nice to naki when he was literally the one who killed the guy naki was crying about? remember when he was doing a raid and he saw that guy hiding and he never mentioned it? remember like the seventy times he Cried TM, yeah he’s problematic obviously but if you want problematic I’ll point you to a certain fucking black reaper. Shironeki has nothing on that asshole.)

I think what Kaneki did in the manga was fine, but in general the anime (again) had more depth of understanding and emotion versus a steady Try Harder Get Stronger shonen deal, which, well, fair, but like, nah. Continuing why I think the anime dealt it better is the ending of A, which was a lot more well rounded then *kaneki gets stabbed and then there’s a lot of random plot shit going on in the background*. Here Kaneki then got to round out the end of his character development by realizing slowly through the second half of this season, him becoming a kakuja and then basically deciding like, not to

((kakuja kaneki was dealt with again different in the anime and manga because he basically stopped trying to use it in the anime bc he realized it was a bad fucking idea but this goes along with the ‘his character development of “i’m gonna do bad things for good reasons” --> “actually no wait that was a bad idea” was actually done in root A instead of being dragged out into :re and it’s appropriate for its own medium and the messages it’s trying to get across so manga loyalists hate it’ but we digress))

So in root A we got to see him actually develop and realize himself through the second half of the season starting with cochlea, his interactions with Amon, and ultimately through Hide, that he’d been doing the wrong thing by becoming more monstrous/fighting harder because what he did was ended up forgetting the most important thing, *smiles in gay* HIDE.(well, his humanity. yeah. i cite the terrible opening for root A with the fun ‘the hands taking off kaneki’s mask are hide’s’ bit.) He then remembered again why he wanted so bad to stop the war between humans and ghouls, he wanted to be able to live in peace and not have to be a monster- something that was not dealt with in the manga (though for understandable reasons of We Need To Fuck With Him In Re More, they then didn’t deliver on creating something like that later so I take this.)

That’s most of the difference between the original manga and anime, but I’d also like to discuss (briefly, I’ve already yelled about them) the ridiculous amount of hurdles ishida went through to fuck with kaneki in the manga, Of course there is the fact that well, the slower transition of his character does make some more sense for the manga because if you take :re into consideration, his eight billion character changes are more tolerable when they haven’t like, already happened before in the manga (just the anime). It makes more sense there for Haise to be tormented by past kaneki telling him He’s Too Weak because in the manga he hasn’t already had that development prior to “dying”, and he lost his memories still believing he had to be strong even if he did bad things, whereas in the anime it doesn’t track because at the end like i just said he kind of gives up his ghoulhood on purpose because he realizes that joining aogiri and fighting and shit was really wrong because, hide. So I can see why those character decisions were not made in the original when planning for :re, but... the fact remains that those previous decisions do not make up for how absolutely weak :re’s game ended up being with kaneki.

So tldr this entire section, All the manga’s defense of how they handled Kaneki’s development is basically void because all those choices were buildup for development in :re which ishida then COMPLETELY fell down on. So the alternative is better.

And now comes my yelling about how exactly Ishida fucked it up: hair colors and kaneki’s 80 kanekis. If black is supposed to represent sane and white is supposed to represent insane or, whatever, i dunno, who tf thought black reaper kaneki was sane? Who tf would think kaneki in the end isn’t? I haven’t looked into this really, and I’d really love it if someone explained it to me the way ishida was going for bc I do not understand it. Like that tracks with Juuzou, and with Kaneki up to Haise Original, but they don’t really make a cohesive sense seeing as after Haise’s hair color changed again that whole deal kind of goes to shit. Not to mention... I just... they completely failed to make those character changes actually part of the story, I’m mostly complaining about black reaper haise, none of him makes any sense. What’s his deal? He wants to protect who he loves? Tracks with the ghouls but fun fact he abandoned his kids? He actually cared for them? What then, he wants to be the strongest as possible? Sure but then?? Why?? I don’t understand his motives at all.

We also didn’t get to see him get his memories back either, which I was actually very much looking forward to, it just,,, like all of a sudden he’s talking with eto about yoshimura and i’m like bruh when tf did that happen? It’s bad, and although chapter 74-76 is super valid, and his change back into white hair kaneki makes sense, I also have the complaint about how haise basically disappeared just like he was worried he would. I think that was bad and I’ve said that already, it doesn’t make sense, he just literally throws those entire two years away to go back to the way he was before he was with the CCG and just forgets everything he’s wanted for the last few years? Fiction logic test fucking failed, and you’ve also broken my heart. Love Haise. You got rid of him. I love kaneki too but like. Why don’t they just. Like. Merge. He is one whole complex person, not one and an imposter, god.

This is a big negative for re and the manga, so automatically a positive for root A where I simply Do Not Have To Deal With That Bullshit and the character development actually makes sense. I can understand the decisions in the original manga could have set up for good development in :re, but they completely failed to deliver.

root a didn’t fast forward to re at the end god damn let us process this shit first before you try to connect it to something else: The thing with this point is that it’s really difficult to separate the original manga from the continuing story in :re because the thing intertwines so much and immediately moves us forward with a ton of plot points for the next part of the story before we’re done with this climax and the end of this story. Sometimes that’s ok and I can see doing that from an author’s perspective because you want people to continue reading your story instead of taking that as the end but it’s really annoying on a reader’s end, because I’m picky and I want to be able to just be able to enjoy my original canon without it like, metaphorically touching :re on a plate. It’s something that I don’t even do with my own longer stories, like for example I have like a trilogy of >100k fics that like, well i’m technically not done with them but like.

People really like the first one because it’s more focused on a more popular ship and basic elements people like about the thing, and then by the second book it moves on to talk more about the plot and lore and brings in more secondary characters. And so I knew that a lot of the readers of the first one wouldn’t want to have to deal with a lot of the “oh well stuff is happening elsewhere that will effect stuff later!!!” random plot shit that none of my readers actually cared about. So I kept it to wrapping up the points of the first book and then leaving the introduction of new characters and plot for the people who actually wanted to read it. Ishida didn’t do that, and of course it’s within his right to like?? Want to promote the next series but I’d have enjoyed it more if we ended it at kaneki’s “death” and wrapping up the deals with the rest of the characters instead of quickly shoving in the beginning of seventy more plotlines before the book ends. Like honey I simply do not have the reading comprehension for that. In the anime we get something that... makes sense.

In the anime, however, it’s quite the opposite, for example the reveals like Eto=owl=takatsuki sen were pushed before that and they saved episode twelve for, well, the end bit. Like what was actually the ending. There were detriments to this I had to say (LIKE GUYS I GET IT HE’S CARRYING HIDE HE’S CARRYING HIM I GET IT YOU’VE BEEN DOING IT FOR HALF THE EPISODE NOW OK I UNDERSTAND CAN WE MOVE ON) But like, I prefer the concept of a simple idea with as much emotion squeezed out of it as possible to a ton of confusing and contradicting ideas that are touched on for a second before moving on. So the *cries for half an hour* ending was much more appealing to me, and I can keep that separate in my head from any of the ideas that :re creates, letting me pretend it doesnt exist and imagine that’s the end and there’s nothing else to worry about. If we want to move forward and hear more, then we can, but it isn’t necessary like it is with the manga.

No Bad Takes that are hard to pry apart from good plot and characters:This is basically the downsides of the new characters, which is well, if I had to make a whole ~keep reading~ post about how problematic everything in re was that does have to count as a downside. I love the new characters, but they also come intertwined with a thousand really bad takes on like, everything, and of course I can ignore it and just act as though they were written in like, to be perfectly honest, a non transphobic way, it’s a real downside when the original anime was pretty pain-free in the way of their takes on their characters. They fucked everyone up in re and I will not elaborate, we’ve talked about this, it’s just the anime, and which i mean season 1 and root A, don’t really have any bad takes I need to try to get rid of, it’s surprisingly something I have little complaint about at all and I ALWAYS have complaints.

Hide!!!!: Obviously, you can tell that a lot of my opinions are going to be hide based because he’s the only thing I ever think about. But we have to take into account just how... hide???? This goes a lot into the depth of emotion bit but it also offers the other side of the argument for Hide’s part in the :re manga, which well. Was mostly chapter 75 if we’re going to be perfectly honest here. He doesn’t get any other limelight. Even in the chapter where Kaneki meets him again he gets a whole what, three pages? In the manga, he has an extremely valid deal about basically, living, keeping going no matter what, and that is a fitting part for the manga, considering the rest of the points there ride more on Keep Fighting instead of Think About Your Emotions And Morals, but honestly chapter 75 was really valid. So why do I still think the anime’s version where he like (ok I don’t know about the re anime we’ve discussed this, i don’t even know how they choose to explain that) he like, dies in kaneki’s arms is better overall? Again, I would have totally accepted that deal if it was made a part of the story because it made me cry, it was super valid, and if they’d continued in that way I would have agreed with it completely over that. But the fact is again that they failed to deliver, and Hide got largely ignored, suffered so much with so little outcome. There was so much buildup and it was incredibly valid, but when the time came for them to meet again and basically show... why it was important that Hide lived in the end?

They didn’t. They straight up didn’t. Kaneki’s like “oh sorry bro... glad you’re alive and all...” *goes off and fights* and like? Honestly? @everlastingspiral is right, if that’s all they’re gonna do with him what’s the point of keeping him alive? I love every single panel of him and I wouldn’t have read re if he didn’t, but hide gets absolutely NO payoff. For letting kaneki literally vore his entire mouth off, leaving him disfigured and unable to talk, then kind of disappearing for two years and doing seemingly nothing but trying to help kaneki even though he’d forgotten the guy existed, risks his life like a thousand fucking times, eventually gets back to him and the dude’s running a fucking anti-human organization, helps him like Not Be A Volitile Pile Of Flesh Anymore and then what should have been a very important moment of them meeting again gets completely overshadowed by touka and random plot shit and more fights and they barely interact, they don’t even hug or anything, they barely talk, and at the end hide is still there but to be honest he’s gotten absolutely no thanks for all he did and ishida acts at the end as though he’s done very well with hide and gives him a tiny bit at the end throwing in a tragic backstory for fun (which hot take he really didn’t fucking need on top of it all) and... there’s no real hint that Kaneki is better off with Hide there, even though there should be. In 75, in his dream, kaneki is sobbing and crying and all like i’m so lonely without you but when they actually meet each other again? “yo” “hey” “uh sorry about,,, the thing,,, you know” “nah man it’s ok” “let me talk about myself for a bit” “yes you always do do you want to hear what I’ve been up to” “not really” ��that’s fine i’m only here to support you”

...So you can understand why I’ve gone a bit sour on that. If that’s all you’re going to give him? Hot take? Let him die. Hide deserves better. (and i will deliver that in writing, but for the purposes of canon.)

In the anime, however (not counting re again... although he still gets the short end of the stick just in the original manga too compared to the anime) he’s properly dealt with! he gets his proper limelight and he gets acknowledged for what he’s done thusfar in the story, which is already so much. Kaneki then realizes that, but it’s already too late (or it isn’t, and they like negotiate with the ccg and then they get to live happily ever after) either way he gets appreciated and he gets hurt, but it’s properly acknowledged. And after all that, after saving kaneki and getting him to the cafe and doing it all while bleeding the fuck out, he gets to spend that time with kaneki and die in kaneki’s arms. And frankly? That’s all I think he’s ever needed. It’s really poetic and pretty and brings kaneki’s character around full circle, and even if it’s overly sappy, cliche, drawn out... he gets the attention he’s due and he gets a fucking break. He wanted to show Kaneki he wanted to do something for him and save him instead of the other way around, but then HE GOT ACKNOWLEDGED FOR THAT, instead of just well, tirelessly working towards it forever and having to be content to be a background character with practically no value to Kaneki anymore.

Keeps The Same Vibe: The big thing about this is that with the manga and with re, shit just goes all over the place, and I feel like I’ve amply showed that already through this essay or whatever this is. Again about the consistency and the professionalism, It’s a concise story that makes more sense than the manga while also being simply neater and more deep, making sure all the points, themes and messages work together and make sense to create a cohesive deal even if it’s not as long. (the manga is like ishida had a TON of good ideas for an essay but then fleshed out the thing ten minutes before deadline and managed to completely lose what his original thesis was even if the thing was 10 pages long.) Basically. yeah. That kind of sums it up, my last point concerns the ending.

Not Cheap Ending: If you want to hear my take about how absolutely terrible re’s ending was, check out my The Many Sins Of Tokyo Ghoul :Re post, and we’ve discussed how the original’s manga ending was bad and well not really an ending, it just leaves you unfulfilled and takes you into “well I guess I have to start a whole nother sequel series ig...” but root A like? Actually ends it? If a reader didn’t know that there was any content after that, they could pretty much infer that hide’s death or almost death whatever you inferred out of that ending (again we’re ignoring re) allowed Kaneki to finish his character development and realize they needed to stop the war, which basically tracks with what’s going on in everyone else’s perspective- eto’s problem with the world because of what happened with everything, is basically like, all of aogiri, juuzou and shinohara, amon and akira and kaneki and they can realize all they have to do is just sit down and fucking stop it because none of them want to be fighting, hide is the catalyst for that because the CCG can see how Kaneki cares for him? And it’s so open ended that you could just like literally believe that and there’d be no way for that canon to tell you otherwise, or you could go onto re and whatever if you wanted to. I think that’s the best thing.

In conclusion, both have valid points, and in general I’d say that the manga goes better with :re and the anime is better as a stand alone but if I had to choose overall, this particular anime is better (taking into account only seasons 1 and 2), for mostly the reasons of favoring a simpler story taken with much more care and depth versus a more complex story with many, MANY imperfect elements, and I am aware I will get shot on sight for this opinion. So sue me.

#tokyo ghoul #hideyoshi nagachika #kaneki ken #tokyo ghoul :re #essay post #god i've been writing this for so fucking long #but i'm right #y'all fuckers asked for a fight? you're getting a fight #rowan's hyperfixation essays

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noiwillnotdothefandango · 3 years

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More Haku shit for @scara-meow-che 's mind

I'm not solid on Haku's vision, but it's either Hydro or Anemo.

I have like two presets and i switch between wich one he'd use

In the first,

His skills are akin to Sai's technique

Though he writes. He doesn't draw

His works differently, if his Vision is Hydro, he's simply able to control the water in the ink solution.

In battle, his elemental skill would be simply slashing someone with a brush and 'marking them' with the same X he has

His elemental skill would be some sort of whirlwind of ink.

Essentially the words he writes become real, writing adjectives on someone also affects them. Though subjective things will not apply correctly.

For example, beauty is subjective. So it wouldn't work objectively and instead be based on Haku's vision of it.

Second set is more related to the paper he uses instead of the ink

He would be anemo, and his elemental skill would be him hurdling paper(we all know how much papercuts hurt don't even. This is trul the most powerful skill yet)

His elemental burst would be something cutting into his lightly clumsy side, maybe tripping and accidentally causing a massive burst of inked paper

Anyway moving away from the battle set,

Haku's clothing conists of a white button up, a black vest, black shorts,knee lenght socks, boots with the sole akin to traditional japanese shoes, and a haori draped over his shoulders

The haori belonged to his master

I should specify his relationship to his master was not romantic. More akin to family

He holds her dear nonetheless

You can find his master's abandonned home on the very end of an island

Visiting it, you'd find a grave adorned with fresh red flowers. Interacting with it, the traveler would point out "the house looks old, a few hundred years maybe. This grave is almost completely intact. Is it new? Or is someone still looking after it?"

Haku considers himself to be a bit of a mediocre writer/artist himself

He's good. He's just doing that artist thing of hating his own work either way.

He's actually very interested in doing tattoo work

Fun fact is that most possessed-object japanese yokai are born from years of neglect (100 or so)

Haku was indeed neglected for a long time after his owner had a sudden writer's block.

Now with her passed on he's still quite easily forgotten and neglected by others wich makes him remember that time

His hands become shaky and he just looses the ability to speak when he's peculiarly shaken

Cannot handle being actively ignored.

Holds no grudges though

Will not get mad if he knows he's genuinely just. Not getting aknowledged. But if he knows someone saw him and is aware of him yet refuses to aknowledge him he will slap a bitch.

Such a polite formal boy,

Will proceed to curse the living shit out of you if you dare : A. Insult his master's work, B. Insult lady ayaka, C. Actively ignore him

Loves cats,

Superticious as fuck

So wary of kitsunes

Subconsciously avoids them

Hates rivers/waterfalls

He doesn't like the feeling of being wet at all, not to mention he's very much aware of Kappa yokai

And he hates them a l o t

#shizuku haku #genshin impact oc

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nostalgic-pancakes · 3 years

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Watching the starlings as autumn draws in

Summary: Tommy and his friends try on some skirts, and he reflects a bit on how they all got here. (It's a happy story) Title from September by Sparky Deathcap

Pairings: None! Platonic everyone (esp in irl fics_)

Read on AO3 (preferred place to read)

Word count: 2570

Warnings: None, except for surface-level references to the exile/prison arcs, but not much.

Other notes: I wrote this in a fit of madness last night in like three hours at 2 am, so i’ll probably edit it honestly but for now, enjoy! (If the CC’s ever display discomfort with this type of fic I will take it down)

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"WELCOME BACK TO THE STREAM, BOYS!" Tommy exclaims, rubbing his hands together as he starts rapid-fire answering questions about the stream, and the stream title from chat. It's funny, how over time, Tommy's come to see Chat as this one entity- an old friend. The nervousness of answering questions as a fifteen year old with nothing but a big personality, a twitch account and a copy of Minecraft is all but gone now, nineteen years old and happier than he's ever been.

Dreadfulzombie19: what are u doin this stream

"THANK YOU FOR ASKING, Dreadfulzombie19, today is gonna be a bit different, innit Tubbo?" Tommy raises his voice a bit at the end of his sentence, just loud enough for one of his flatmates to hear him. When Tubbo yells back an affirmative, Tommy turns back to his setup. Chat's gone a bit wild again, even though he, Tubbo and Ranboo have been living together for over a year now.

"Okay, okay, calm down chat- so recently I was at university, as usual right? And I had an eight AM class again, and… yeah I can see you all can relate."

"BUT! BUT! On my way back to the flat, I saw something really cool." Tommy hesitates in his speech to take a sip of coke again- his blood pressure's been acting up lately and watches Chat to wild again, asking him what he saw.

"Okay, so there was a shop- new place, which doesn't happen often this is fucking Brighton- and they sold skirts and dresses and stuff with adjustments for AMAB sizes!" Chat goes a bit bonkers, but Tommy's mod team- a little smaller than it used to be, now that he isn't the centre of YouTube or Twitch attention anymore, none of them are- are handling it, and pretty well.

"So I had to go, right? As many of you probably know, last year, I made the astounding discovery that gender-based stereotypes and expectations are, in fact, fake and I should not give a SHIT. And so I go in and look through the stuff- it's a really poggers shop by the way, and I find the perfect thing- it was the most poggers skirts and shit, okay? So, today's stream is going to have me wearing this pogchamp shit and wearing it right, with the help of…" Tommy ends his monologue by picking up the joke shaker-things that Phil had gotten him as a housewarming gift last year and indicates for his first two helpers to enter the office.

In walks his mother, face obscured from view as always, waving to the camera, and Wilbur, also wearing one of his only skirts for this occasion. Eret had taught him, on a phonecall in the skirt shop that week about the different types of skirts with a handy diagram. Wilbur's was a pleated circle skirt, brown to offset the bright yellow of his sweater and beanie, the same colour as his hair. It's very swoosh-y, so he's wearing black leggings with his regular shoes too. Motherinnit's also wearing her favourite skirt, a baby blue prairie skirt, Tommy thinks, and it's one he's seen fairly often.

Wilbur ducks down in order to show his face to Chat, and ruffles Tommy's hair while he's at it. Tommy's taller, but not by much, so Wilbur still fucking makes short jokes, That fucker.

Chat is now going so fast that he simply cannot read anything but some of the all caps messages and can barely make out some of the emotes.

"Okay, OKAY, CALM DOWN CHAT! WE HAVE TO GET TO FUCKING BUSINESS!" Tommy yells into the mix, like he did when he was sixteen and used the 'many people find me annoying at first' intro. Nowadays he just lets the content speak for itself. Anyone who wants to be here already is, by now.

Wilbur laughs a bit, and that hasn't changed at all. "Tommy, how is chat supposed to calm down if you're not calm?"

"I am their god!! They will obey via sheer digital willpower!" Tommy replies back, pretty zealously (What? An English Literature class is mandatory for his film degree, and The Great Gatsby by Zelda Fitzgerald is a good book, as are most of the other assigned ones. He's had entire conversations with Techno with just lit quotes and it drives everyone insane. Tommy loves it.) Chat seemingly has listened to his godlike abilities, with a few OG's spotting his half-quotation of one of Dream's last lines in the Dream SMP. The rest are spamming 'MOTHERINNIT'.

"If having a shitty magic trick book from a washed-up politician makes you a god, then what does that make me?" Wilbur replies, with one of Foolish's lines and swatting his hand at Tommy. Tommy swats back.

"Bitch" "Arsehole" "Shithead" "Fuckface" Wilbur finishes cheerily, as if this happens all the time. It does. Chat's used their antics now, four years of consistently making content together will do that for you.

Eventually Motherinnit reminds them both to get back on Topic, and Tommy goes back to facing the camera, addressing Chat directly.

"Today, my beloved mother, and my idiot brother-" "hey!" "And maybe my flatmates will be joining me to show off some cool as SHIT skirts! And a dress or two. We all have our selections, right?" Everyone nods in affirmative, even Tubbo and Ranboo. Though the camera can't see them. Ranboo's just come home from his final class, then. He should probably take the first hour back off, and judging by how Tubbo is forcefully judging Ranboo to the shower, he probably gets it. Tommy signs an affirmative to both of them, and gets back to the camera, where Wilbur's showing off all of his (very poggers) very stupid brown or yellow skirts. Tommy's are in cool colours, for fuck's sake.

"Oh yeah, Puffy just confirmed she'll be on stream! She'll be here in about twenty minutes, accounting for fucking traffic, and Niki' going to get onto VC after her own stream, what game is it this time?"

"GRIS." Wilbur answers.

"Poggers- she is the SHIT and will join us soon! So expect some QUALITY QUALITY content this stream!! Remember to not spam her chat to finish faster." Exclaims Tommy, even if it ends up as a light warning, as he picks up his own very poggers skirts from the extra armchair in his office to show the camera.

One is the classic red and white, mostly white but with bright red on the waist (elastic) and the bottom, and it reached to about Tommy's knee, if worn at the hip. It had no pleats, but the red bits were a very nice velvet texture, and while the skirt was heavy, it still had very much swoosh value, and pockets!! Big ones!! He slips the skirt on top of his jeans before entering camera view, the skirt visible in all its classic Tommyinnit glory, as he takes his place right next to Wilbur, who just took. a quick spin at the behest of several dono's., Skirt spying out from his lower shins all the way to his knee, making visible one of his (many) petticoats. ("What? It's cold all the fucking time here, Toms.") Tommy also makes a quick little spin, skirt flying outward, not upward, so it looks like he's hula hooping for a moment there. Lastly, Motherinnit spins around too, and while her skirts do not swoosh, she looks opulent, like she was about to go to waltz with the enemy, for whom she has a dagger in the back of her dress for. (He finished Anna Karenina and the Six of Crows duology within the same week and has not yet recovered. Jack Edwards is laughing at him as he thinks in his English Lit Graduate glory.)

It's fun, trying on different skirts- he and Wilbur accidentally bought the same dress at one point, which they paired up to wear, darting off into their respective changing rooms while giggling like idiots with their checkered blouses and the grindl skirts that Niki had sent over when she heard of this stream idea, laughing the whole time. Tubbo enters as dramatically as possible with Puffy, and while Tubbo looks really fucking good in his handkerchief skirt with embroidered bees and plain white shirt, it's Puffy who steals the show with an exact, real life version of her red banquet dress.

Fans from way back in the SMP, before Tommy had started branching out start going insane and are bringing back emotes Tommy wasn't sure were still available, but she is fucking stunning- deep shades of red and crimson, with slits on either side of her waist and all the detailing. She'd gotten the contact for her dressmaker through Bernadette Banner, Tommy recalls- she was so fucking cool when she streamed with him once, and gotten him to swear less and supplant those world's with bigger ones to intimidate instead. While he still curses like a sailor as part of his persona, it's less so and he does way less in real life these days, unless the situation calls for it. It's also just rude, especially in uni libraries, where he spends too much time these days wondering why he didn't read more as a kid.

Puffy's stolen his audience for a WHILE, and Niki coming on hasn't helped any, so Tommy exits camera view for a while to hug Ranboo really quickly- he's had midterms and has basically been dying all month.

Everyone on this stream- Tommy, Wilbur, Motherinnit, Tubbo, Puffy, Niki and Ranboo enter the camera frame after entering their dressing rooms for the last time on this particular stream, Puffy with full in-character wigs and makeup, Tommy in an Edwardian-Gothic reminiscent black and red dress, Ranboo in something he bought when he gap-yeared in Japan, punk lolita or something, Niki flaunting her pink in a Marie Antoinette style show of finery, Tubbo dressing in all green this time, something like a very deranged biology teacher who hasn't slept in days (Tubbo hasn't-Tommy has to get into that), Wilbur like a forest-nymph, all earthy tones and swishy fabrics and nature highlights, and finally Motherinnit, who hasn't changed but is here to take pictures as they all lean in together to fit into frame, as drastic as their height difference is. Niki is going to be edited in later, and everyone on the 'Dream SMP but nobody does Dream SMP and we're all fucking nerds' discord server is going to get a copy.

The stream wraps up there, after about two hours, and it's only about six in the evening- a far cry from the late nights and long hours from the beginning of Tommy's career, so everyone runs to their changing areas for the last time, into pajamas now, and packs away all of the clothes they wore, properly, as to not incense Karolina Zebrowska, and Jemma, Dan's wife, who would look at them disappointedly and nobody wants a sad Jemma because that means no cooing at their son. Also it just feels shitty.

Everyone huddles in Tommy, Tubbo and Ranboo's living room, and they out on UP for like, the millionth fucking time (they still cry when Ellie dies), and Tommy is leaning into Wilbur's side and feeling his mum play with the hair in his very small, stubby ponytail he's developed by being in Uni as he and Tubbo intertwine their legs together and Ranboo rests his head in the tangle of limbs, playing with his fidget cube. Puffy stays on Wilbur's side, intently texting someone and smiling the whole while, and Tommy takes a moment to reflect (something he's been getting better at doing) on how the actual hell they all got here.

The Dream SMP was always going to end- everyone knew it, if course, they were the fucking writers. But by the time they did, not only were their respective brands too closely intertwined to just… sever that quickly, but they'd become too close to even want to. So the SMP discord never shut, even though Dream and George had planned it months ago, and they continued supporting each other with their interests. Wilbur made a lot more music solo, with his band and even just random ass streams where he practiced guitar for an hour. He kept playing Minecraft, but it wasn't his main focus. A bunch of people left. More stayed. YouTube left him alone.

Dream, George and Sapnap are still Minecraft streamers, but their YouTube channels are mostly blogs of them being poor excuses of adults with other former SMP members joining in sometimes. Tommy and the Dream Team were closer than ever, even though the seeds of their friendship had been sowed when they used to linger after heavy streams together, reassuring each other that none of that was true and that nothing like… that would happen in real life, because Dream had used real abuse tactics, and those still hurt unless immediately taken care of. So they were. It was a running joke that Dream was stuck at 99 million subscribers since nobody really wanted the face reveal anymore. The other Dream team members were doing peachy.

Phil and Techno were also still primarily Minecraft streamers, but they also released things like advice videos and mental health stuff, especially for relationships. They had a new scripted series where Tommy was a minor character. The dadza jokes were still as real, and yes, outside of streaming, both of them were lovely people and responsible adults (mostly). They collaborated with DanTDM and co a lot more now.

Puffy and Niki kept doing games, but did lots of different ones, testing point and clickers to triple A titles, and making it all fucking hilarious while they were at it.

So where had that left Tommy?

After the Dream SMP, he'd kind of had no idea what to do, and he was going to University for the first time, so he just… did whatever he thought would be fun. He learned about vintage fashion from the queens themselves- Mina Le, Bernadette Banner and Karolina Zebrowska and had fun learning how to sew for the first time, fixing and making his own clothes for the first time, clunky as they were, Wilbur had cried, genuinely, when he saw the Lovejoy shirts that Tommy had made for the band. He'd found a genuine love for literature in university, so Tommy started talking to booktubers and studytubers like Jack Edwards and Noelle Stevenson. Tubbo and Ranboo had joined him, fucking around in any YouTube niche they found even remotely interesting. Eventually, they all found a happy medium- a bit of everything.

Some people obviously weren't happy with that but Tommy was happy as he was, making what he liked with his best friend's, living together close enough to most of their friends (family) to have fun and drop in on one another at ass-o-clock in the morning to comfort, to laugh. His sub count hasn't gone up in a while- most of his audience is static, with about 80-90k online on a stream at any time.p

It was a nice feeling, to have carved out a space for himself and the people he loves, and be is so, so glad that he got this chance.

Looking at his mostly asleep family, Tommy thinks 'yeah. Life is good.' as the last thought before he sleeps.

#dream smp #mcyt #irl fic #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #tubbo #nihachu #ranboo #vee's writing #2021

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 3 years

Text

Raspberry Blood

For @bubbly-af’s goretober. And what a better way to start it off than with Bellatrix.

Day 4: Candygore Fandom: Harry Potter Ship: N/A Summary: Torture is extra sweet when blood becomes frosting and jelly and bones snap like candycanes. Dear Bella likes to play with her food before she eats it.

There are many ways to kill a person, many ways to coax a scream or a desperate plea. And there are boundless more when magic is involved. So limitless are the possibilities that it is almost overwhelming. And yet Bellatrix still grows bored of them every now and again. Blood is no longer exciting, the coppery scent no longer induces adrenaline. After a while it is all the same. After a while they all scream the same and beg the same words.

She has to mix things up now and again. And so flowers it was, angling her wand and casting spells that bring thorns bursting from veins and petals spewing from mouths and ears. It had been fun for a time to watch skin turn to bark. Sometimes she leaves them in a state of in between--somewhere caught between flesh and wood. Half-human, half-plant. They scream for her to come back and finish the job, but that is no fun. Sometimes she comes back to check on them, to savor their torment one more time before retreating for good. Sometimes she forgets them entirely.

Flowers are no fun anymore. She has enjoyed a good time one too many times and so it is time for a new spell. Something that she hopes is sick in it’s sugar. How fun it will be to turn something so innocent into something dreadful.

And who better to test her new spells on than Lucius Malfoy. The man, though admirably fervent in his devotion to the Dark Lord is becoming a nuisance. A thing that draws attention from her to him. Her master has looked from her to him one too many times. The next time that the Dark Lord looks his way he will stare and marvel at the man’s desecration.

Lucius’ eyes flutter open and Bellatrix stoops down to greet him. Petrificus Totalus is a simple and easy way to make sure that he stays nice and still for her. She tilts his chin up, “swell to see you awake.” She smiles. “I was hoping that you could help me test out a new spell or two.” She pats his hand.

“You bitch!”

She clicks her tongue. That one isn’t an uncommon one, but it does get tiresome every now and again. “What an unpleasant fool you are. Don’t fret dear, we’ll sweeten you up soon.” He doesn’t find her joke to be so humorous. It is no matter, she is entertained. Sickly so. The first spell springs from her wand as a mist of glittery pink. A shade that Lucius finds quite humorous until the effects begin to take hold. The man’s lip twitches up in discomfort. Discomfort that swells into an itching and then a burning. Twitches become, shudders, and shudders become convulsions. Which are well enough but there is no satisfaction when she cannot plainly see the cause for his distress.

He shouts at her, intangible things--intangible save for a string of passionate profanities--as she stoops down to open his arm. One quick and practiced gash across his bicep unleashes a fruity tang into the air.

It doesn’t flow as freely as blood, the stuff that comes out of the wound. It is much thicker, thicker and with a more magenta pigmentation to the red. It comes out alongside a pink-white paste with a much more sugary aroma.

“Wh-what the fuck?” The man sputters manners and dignity be damned. “What is this?”

She will tell him soon enough. With a tormentingly slow pace, Bellatrix runs her finger across the length of the gash. To taste his blood is more rewarding. She is fond of frosting and fond of raspberry jelly. She licks it from her pointer and meets his desperate gaze with a languid sense of amusement. “Perhaps I should try strawberry next time?” She quirks a brow.

“Try pissing off.” The man spits.

What an absolute delight, this man! Bellatrix claps her hands together and smiles. “But we’ve only just begun, Lucy!”

The man scowls. Or maybe his face is simply screwing up in pain. Bunching up as jelly and frosting clog and replace his bloodstream.

“What should I do with you next?” She asks. Truth be told, she isn’t particularly fond of candy, much less enough to have a favorite type. But jelly beans are quite classic. Pulling teeth is a dandy time but watching them soften and fall out is fascinating twice over.

She whispers her spell again and this time when Lucius spits his revulsion he spits teeth. They come out with spurts of raspberry. A steady gush and flow of it for every jelly bean that falls from his gums.

.oOo.

The pain is uniquely horrendous. The woman’s mad creativity is sickening. Sickening and cruel. He is not a good man, he knows that he isn’t but he isn’t sure that he deserves this. He feels clogged and congested. Heavy with sugar infested blood that stuffs and swells his veins until he thinks that they will burst. And Bella, she laughs at him, but of course she laughs at him. Why wouldn’t she?

His gums throb and the taste of raspberry and strawberry frosting fills his mouth. It is so sweet that he may be sick. It fills his mouth faster than he can spit it out and so he finds himself choking on it as he wonders if his teeth will eventually grow back after the spell has passed. He ponders until he has to make a very conscious effort to keep breathing.

Bellatrix is cackling now, wickedly so as he fights to expel the jelly and frosting before it can suffocate him from within.

He doesn’t even hear her repeat the spell for a third time. It hits him like ice creeping over a lake in midwinter. His bones crackle and pop. They feel hollow and useless. He knows that they are truly so when his wrists snap beneath his weight. He falls and his shoulder shatters. He cries out an exhale of mint mixes with the fruitier tangs.

“So delicate.” The woman comments.

“What’s all of this about!?” He shouts, only managing an intelligible gurgle.

Bellatrix holds her hand to her ear. “What’s that, Lucy, you’re going to have to be more comprehensible.”

But how can he be comprehensible when he can barely form a coherent thought. She wanders over to him and brings her foot down upon his hand. It cracks with ease, likely crushed to dust within his skin. He will kill this woman, when he recovers he will kill her. If he recovers.

“There, there, Lucius, I know how much you mean to my dear sister and I don’t think that the Dark Lord will be pleased if I kill you. So you just get nice and comfortable down there and wait for the spell to wear off.” She circles around him as though ready to taste his raspberry blood. “Make no mistake, it will happen again if my Lord pays you too much undeserved attention.”

Lucius scowls; as though he has any control over what Voldemort does. As if he can make the man look away. As carefully as he can, he nods regardless.

“That’s reassuring to hear.” That nauseatingly false smile never leaves her face.

.oOo.

She stoops back down, she can’t resist one last taste. She lifts his hand and licks the blood from it. It smears the corners of her mouth and she licks it away with her tongue.

Yes, next time she will most definitely go for strawberry.

#Harry Potter #Bellatrix #Bellatrix Lestrange #Fanfiction #Goretober #Lucius Malfoy #Gore #Candygore

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fancifulwhump · 4 years

Note

Pssst jaskier prompt if you're interested: I'm a sucker for geralt being soft and caring while refusing to acknowledge it - so a fic where there's something wrong with jaskier - maybe he fell into an icy lake, or is getting sick or something, and geralt takes care of him like a total tsundere? *angrily shoves blankets at him* *stoically checks his temperature* *gruffly makes him soup* *WE'RE NOT FRIENDS BUT ALSO I WILL SIT AT YOUR BEDSIDE NURSE YOU BACK TO HEALTH UNTIL YOUR SINGING AGAIN*

@hurt-comfort asked: Hey hey! Loving your writing. I'm @hurt-comfort. I would love ANY Jaskier whump (use any prompt on my blog). I'd love to see like, Geralt just needing to comfort Jas (because he WANTS to even though he has the social IQ of a potato.) "When the whumpee is in like a daze, just sitting and staring at nothing because of something traumatic. Then someone forces them to either eat, get changed, or just move. Like shellshock" and Geralt has to be like "Jaskier, listen, it's okay"

AN: okay, okay, there was a lot to work with here, but hopefully I hammered it into a scenario that makes sense? “Falls through thin ice” is such a great whump trope and also a real nightmarescape of mine, so… let’s all enjoy the trauma together, guys!!

It’s not as though Geralt doesn’t care. That isn’t it at all. If he cared less, Jaskier probably wouldn’t get into scrapes like this --- he’d find his own trouble, of the ‘incensed husbands and fathers’ variety, but would cross paths with far fewer monsters. If Geralt didn’t care at all, he’d have abandoned the fool in some insignificant village long ago and never thought twice on the subject.

If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have fished Jaskier out of the damn lake.

Fine. That’s... not true. He would have done it anyway. The terror he felt when he heard the ice crack --- that heart-plunging, vein-chilling terror --- he could have gladly gone without. Instead, he was almost frozen by it. From the ominous creak of the ice beneath their feet, to the sudden sharp scent of unfrozen water, to Jaskier’s half-hesitant “Geralt ---”

Before the ice gave way.

It took him too long to move. Too long to spring into action, too long to force his body to cooperate with his racing nerves. Witchers are trained to never be caught unaware, to react on instinct --- a slow witcher is a dead witcher --- but he wasn’t fast enough to catch Jaskier before he plunged through the ice.

Where he vanished, only a hole remained --- and the water underneath, black and churning, small chunks of ice bobbing like forgotten fragments amidst the inky depths. Nothing thrashed; nothing moved. Geralt plunged both arms in, ignorant of the cold. His lone thought was catching something --- an arm, a foot, the collar of a jacket, anything to prove that Jaskier was down there. Yet as he groped through the murk, he found nothing.

“Jaskier!” he bellowed, the sound echoing across the frozen lake. If the bard could hear him underwater, he gave no indication. Beneath Geralt’s knees, the ice creaked alarmingly, but Geralt fought through the natural instinct to retreat. Not without the damned bard. Dead or alive, he wouldn’t leave Jaskier beneath the surface.

He began to scramble, clearing snow from the frozen laketop to reveal the hardened ice beneath. It was like looking through a mirror into another world. Above was all he knew, all he’d ever known; below lay a foreign realm of darkness and desolation. Some battles even witchers could not fight, and a frozen lake was one of them.

Jaskier was nowhere, nowhere. Nowhere at all. Beneath the ice was a vortex of blackness, no thrashing body in sight. He must have sunk, Geralt’s furious mind realized, sunk right to the bottom, dragged down by that damned lute, and that’s the end of him ----

With a roar of fury, Geralt’s fists slammed down on the ice. “Jaskier!”

For a beat, nothing happened. And then the ice broke.

This time, Geralt’s reflexes served him well. He scrambled back, finding his feet half a second before the frozen ground he’d been kneeling on shattered. Back, and back, the ice splintered and broke, widening the crevasse of churning water. No longer was it safe to stand on; the ice would not tolerate any more weight. Geralt took a step back, gaze fixed on ice’s open mouth, gaping and hungry…

There, a movement.

There, something white and fluttering, like a bird in its death throes.

There, a fucking hand.

He moved too quickly for even the ice to catch him --- but Geralt caught Jaskier, and that was the important thing. In one swift movement, he hauled the thrashing man up, out of the water and onto solid ground. Not solid for long, though. Even at the weight of Jaskier’s body flopping onto its surface, the ice groaned and gave way some more. A hand still locked around Jaskier’s forearm, Geralt seized hold of his companion’s other. There wasn’t a second to waste, even to make sure he was alright. Heaving Jaskier’s pliant body up and over his shoulder, Geralt ran.

Ice breaks fast. Witchers run faster.

He would have tried to save Jaskier anyways, Geralt thinks as he sets the bard’s limp body down on solid ground, but it would be so much easier not to care. At the moment, he cannot stop caring. The crack of ice still rings in his head, dogging him like one of Jaskier’s songs; though he takes little notice of the water’s lingering chill, it’s obvious in the stark whiteness of Jaskier’s face. Somewhere in their mad flight, Jaskier vomited up any water he swallowed. Now, he simply shivers in his damp clothes, still gasping like a fish on land. Something in the icy air doesn’t agree with him, because he keeps coughing, and he’s trembling —

Geralt does care. That’s the difficult thing. Because caring for humans is a fragile process, a risk with limited possibility for reward. Humans are so breakable, and there are so many things that can go wrong.

Caught in a moment like this, he isn’t sure how to care for Jaskier.

“You’re fine,” is what he settles on, drawing back to survey Jaskier’s shaking form. “Damned ice.”

It wasn’t Jaskier’s fault, of course. For once, he wasn’t blindly catapulting himself into mortal peril. Even Geralt hadn’t realized the ice was so thin… which is the real bitch of it, because Geralt should have known. He’s the one with heightened senses, with the ability to smell damned ice in the air — Jaskier couldn’t have known, but he should have. He should.

“You’re alright,” he says again, awkwardly patting Jaskier’s shoulder. Even under his touch, the bard quivers… but he’s still in wet clothes, and the afternoon is frigid. Right now, they need to get him warm.

Surely that will bring the blood back to his cheeks, and chase away that expression — a wide-eyed, blank look, so utterly unlike Jaskier that it’s unnerving. His open mouth still gulps in greedy lungfuls of air, which he proceeds to choke on. Any chance of regaining his composure is clearly beyond Jaskier right now, so it’s up to Geralt to drag him back.

Literally, as it turns out. When, after a few minutes, Jaskier tries to find his feet, his knees immediately give out on him. He winds up crouched on the frozen ground, hands digging into the dirt, practically curled in on himself. His head ticks against his chest as he trembles, eyes squeezing shut. Geralt waits a moment, weighs the cost of Jaskier’s dignity against his own, and finally offers a hand.

Jaskier doesn’t take it. He doesn’t even look up.

“Damn it all,” Geralt grunts. This was exactly what he didn’t want to do — yet it seems there’s no choice. Either he leaves Jaskier to freeze in the middle of a frozen wood, or lead him along like a child. Since Jaskier isn’t in any condition to give his preference —

Tucking one strong arm around Jaskier’s shoulders, Geralt hauls the bard to his feet. For one frightful second, his legs seem ready to give out beneath him again; but Jaskier slumps into Geralt, trusting his weight, and manages to stay upright. Geralt takes one step forward. Jaskier manages to follow. Another step, and another, and soon they are walking. It’s not much — Geralt is basically Jaskier’s walking stick, used to ground him despite his violent shivering — and Jaskier still hasn’t found his voice, but it’s enough. It gets them where they need to go.

When Great grunts and nods to the horse, it’s enough of a shock to resurrect Jaskier’s voice. “You —“ he croaks, then clears his throat with a wince. “You w-want me — t-to ride —“

“Get on the horse,” is all Geralt says, turning away. Chances are, he’ll regret it. Chances are, Roach will resent him for it. But with Jaskier riding, they’ll make it to town within the hour. Given the choice between an inn’s roaring hearth or defrosting over a sickly campfire, he can guess which one Jaskier would prefer.

By some small shred of common sense, the bard doesn’t hesitate. After a few pained grunts — which Geralt does not turn around to investigate, because it’s not his damn job — Roach lets out a huff of her own, and Geralt starts walking. The steady rhythm of hooves behind him reassures that Jaskier manages to make it up.

His estimate isn’t far off, either. They make it to town within the hour, riding past rows of dreary brick-and-mortar buildings towards the heart of town. Usually, Geralt is welcomed with stony silence by suspicious village folk; today is no different. Having Jaskier as a companion does come with rare advantages; he burns so brightly and appears so guileless that people can’t glare at him the way they do at Geralt. When Jaskier rides into town at his side, they are often given far warmer reception. Jaskier charms cart-vendors, smiles at children, winks at passing ladies (and gentlemen)... he makes himself welcome wherever he goes. Geralt May be a far more imposing presence, but he finds himself swept up in Jaskier’s tide, carried with him where he goes.

At the moment, however, Jaskier is in no state to charm and cajole his way into a dreary town’s good graces. He simply hangs low on Roach’s back, head bowed, as they ride through the streets. His shoulders still quake with the occasional shiver; his breaths are a bit too heavy for Geralt’s liking, and he’s too quiet. Somehow, Geralt finds himself more preoccupied with Jaskier’s state than the hostility radiating from the wary villagers.

The local inn has a spare room for the night, a warm bed, and a bath. It’s good enough for Geralt. He slides their coin across the table, steps back outside to collect Jaskier off of Roach — he’d trembled too hard at the notion of coming inside — and makes short work of hustling him up the stairs. As soon as the door closes behind them, Geralt guides Jaskier to the bed, form hands pushing both shoulders down. Jaskier doesn’t even bother with a token protest.

“Your clothes,” Geralt says. When Jaskier stares at him blankly, he curses. “They’re still wet.” Frozen, in fact, hardened with a thin sheen of frost against the night air. Leaving them like that is guaranteed to lead to problems later on; Geralt has no desire to leave town tomorrow with a pneumatic bard trailing behind. He reaches out, giving the sleeve of Jaskier’s jacket a tug. The leather is stiff, sending a hail of ice crystals raining down onto the mattress, Jaskier doesn’t react at all.

So, that’s how it’s going to be?

If Jaskier won’t do his own damn job, Geralt will do it for him. Scowling, he manhandles Jaskier’s jacket and jerkin off. In moments, he is left in nothing but his undershirt. That’s soaked through too, but the fabric isn’t as frozen; Jaskier could easily shrug out of it on his own. Still, he makes no movement to.

“What’s the matter with you?” Geralt demands.

Jaskier says nothing at all. His gaze shifts away from Geralt, across the room towards the closed window. Something about him — be it his hunched posture, eerie silence, or the far-off look on his face — feels as though he isn’t here at all. Jaskier has wandered off without Geralt noticing, going somewhere far away. Wherever he’s gone, Geralt doesn’t know how to get him back.

After a long moment, he sighs, casting the half-frozen clothes aside. When he strides across the room, his footsteps resound against the wooden floorboards. It’s easier to fill the silence with something instead of nothing at all. Somehow, it leaves him feeling less alone. The inn’s portress has filled a metal tub with steaming water, leaving it right outside their door; Geralt makes quick work of dragging it in, grunting as he goes. By the time it’s set up, the floor is littered with puddles, and his pants are uncomfortably soaked — but the memory of Jaskier emerging, white as death, from the black depths stifles any complaint instantly.

Looking back up at the bard, he’s shocked to see Jaskier showing signs of life. He’s found his feet again, and even removed his undershirt. Now, his hands fumble at the laces of his breeches, but they’re shaking too hard to manage.

Geralt allows himself exactly half a minute to settle on absolutely not, before caving in. It’s either this or watch the bard bathe half-dressed, which would be even more pathetic. That’s what he tells himself, at least, as he roughly shoved Jaskier’s hands aside and undoes the laces himself.

“You — you don’t h-have—“ Jaskier’s murmured protest cuts off. The job’s already done. Geralt looks back up at him, unconsciously seizing one of his wrists; automatically, a hiss escapes past his clenched teeth.

“You’re still freezing!” Geralt has met ice wights with more heat in their bones. No wonder he’s trembling so badly — shock mixed with potential hypothermia is a dangerous combination. Either one on its own can be debilitating, but both of them bad enough could be lethal.

“Bath. Now,” he orders brusquely, giving the bard a shove towards the steaming tub. Still dazed, as though caught in a waking dream, Jaskier stumbles into it. He doesn’t even whimper as the hot water envelops his freezing limbs, though it has to hurt. His thousand-mile stare shifts away from Geralt and down to the water. After a moment, Jaskier goes utterly still.

“You need to soak. That won’t stay warm all night.” When Jaskier gives no indication that he’s even heard, Geralt grunts in frustration and kneels at the side of the tub. “Hey!” He gives Jaskier’s shoulder a jolt, and he jerks to attention abruptly. The blatant fear in his eyes takes Geralt aback. He expected exhaustion, even irritation, but not — whatever this is.

“The water closed over my head,” Jaskier exhales, and evening his voice sounds a thousand leagues away. “It happened so fast… like I was swallowed. And I couldn’t — I couldn’t breathe, Geralt, I couldn’t — couldn’t swim. It was so cold —“

“Jaskier.” His hand is still gripping a bony shoulder; now, Geralt’s hold tightens, pulling his companion towards him. When Jaskier tries to pull back, he won’t let him. “Look at me. Hey.” Jaskier is still trembling, but Geralt grounds him with the contact, forcing him to meet his eyes. “You,” he says slowly, “are safe. This water is warm. It’s not going to hurt you. Nothing’s going to hurt you as long as I’m here.”

“It almost—“ Jaskier starts, then cuts off. Geralt understands anyway. It feels like a blade to the gut.

“I know,” he says after a long moment. “I’m… sorry.”

“Sorry?” Jaskier blinks at him, as though slowly awakening from a deep sleep. “Geralt… you saved me.”

But he wasn’t fast enough. “Still.”

Slowly, Jaskier shakes his head. His legs relax in the water, fully submerging, and he sinks up to his chest. Finally, finally, he’s no longer trembling. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

It’s not what Geralt deserves, but this day has given Jaskier nothing he deserves either — not a near-death in a frozen lake, not the clumsy care of a brute who has no idea what he’s doing. This bath is the first nice thing to happen to him all day… and suddenly, Geralt is determined that Jaskier shall enjoy it.

Reaching in, he cups a palm full of water, and releases it over one pale, bare shoulder. Unwillingly, Jaskier lets out a gasp. Steam rises and quickly evaporated off of the chilled skin, but the mere touch of water is enough to make Jaskier want more. He quickly sinks down, submerging himself up to his chin. Geralt watches carefully, intently, just in case.

He will not be too slow to save Jaskier this time.

After a long moment, the bard shifts in the water and says, in a small voice, “Thank you.”

Geralt has no idea what he’s being thanked for; he simply huffs and turns his head, looking away.

#the witcher #jaskier #whump #Anonymous

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theholycovenantrpg · 3 years

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CONGRATULATIONS, EMMA! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF MAMMON.

Admin Rosey: There is something about Mammon that draws people in - but I know that they can be a very fickle character down simply because they are so utterly unique unto themselves. I really enjoyed the application because of the way they were outlined so meticulously, providing the exact understanding of Mammon that I very much longed to see. There was a certain disdain that was interwoven into everything, from the plots to the prose to the dialogue. The apathy that seemed to be teeming on the surface of things was absolutely delicious to eat up.This application was a fun read and I simply cannot wait to see how you develop Mammon along the way! Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Emma

Age | 23

Personal Pronouns | She / Her

Activity Level | Decently active, at least once a week if I can get my shit together!!! Always making the effort to stick and get replies whenever available! ( At the moment I’m pretty available but things might change in a couple of months depending on work and etc )

Timezone | EST

Triggers | REMOVED

How did you find the group? | Rosey is a Queen and was like hey look I did something sexy and I clicked and I gasped and I agreed, she did do something sexy. And then I said wow and the rest of the team also did like magic and I was shook. And here I am now applying for the sexy.

IN CHARACTER

Character | MAMMON

What drew you to this character? |

There is something so raw about a demon birthed from nothing - they are the epitome of emptiness, their existence almost synonymous to a black hole which I find extremely fascinating. They are greed, they are consumption, they devour all, eating away at others in physical tangible methods. Perhaps it is their cruelty that is ultimately a big part of what fascinates me - untangling the web of what makes them tick is yet another facet. I’d love to explore their mind and uncover the inner workings of their feral being. Their gluttonous ways and conquest to swallow those around them whole is chaos at it’s finest. The danger that glints in their eyes and the attitude that exudes from them is everything I could ever desire in a character. They’re also really hot. I mean Noma Han though.

What future plots do you have in mind for the character? |

& I EAT UNTIL ALL IS CONSUMED | Mammon is a fickle creature who thrives in pandemonium. They tread a questionable line of self indulgent anarchy. Their arms are extended like the angels in mockery, writing their own fanatical laws that no one else could truly understand. Their madness thrives in their mind - their motivation always geared toward their own personal satisfaction. But what if the scale was to tip? Perhaps someone or something will catch the gleam in their darkened eyes. What if they too could live for more than the tool that was once wielded by others. Long accustomed to opulent luxury and gluttonous sin, never had they batted an eye at the politics swirling within courts. Yet for someone as hungry as they, was such mundaneness enough? What if they were to crawl past the line of humdrum satisfaction. What if they dove deeper into their instability - their appetite always growling for more. In a dog eat dog world, they had always been the one to voraciously guzzle first. Enjoying what existed was mediocrity and they were far more than that. With sharpened razor teeth, they know they can bite off more. Nothing would be too much to chew, for eating and taking was what they did best. Take and take until there was nothing left, ambition spirals to the damned heavens itself.

HOPE? WHAT A PECULIAR CURIOSITY | Accustomed to eons past of old tales whispered in their name, there is something tedious of Mammon’s life. While they have long been accompanied by their gourmandizing, they too seek out a spark of new excitement. Their bones creak, their jaw snaps at the thought of a new conquest - a new game. Perhaps a pursuit that is unexpected by all others - especially of demon kind. They have seen much and heard much and curiosity is like temptation itself. They too wonder of things like hope - entertaining the concept. They do not understand it as they have long been an inhabitant of the same old Hell. Yet even they tilt their head in interest. What is this so-called thing of wonder that has kept civilizations afloat? And it is this same twisted intrigue that has left their lips parted in bemusement. Will they succumb to it’s enigmatic mystery? What shall become of the creature who begins to understand?

MONARCH OF PILFERED GOLD | A thief with a stolen crown, it is hardly an understatement to say that Mammon’s a selfish bastard. Anything that caught their eye was plucked by their greedy fingers by the right of their own claim. The excitement that coursed through their being elicits an ecstasy like no other. They will never forget the seal of death against Morningstar himself, oh how delightful it had all been. The sweet taste of bloodied victory is ever so ripe and thus this addiction to capture the same sensation thrusts them forward to chase it all over again. It was never enough for a being like Mammon who was carved from hunger itself. The pupils of their eyes dilate, looking toward shinier prizes - bigger ones that would make tidal wave changes. In their proud arrogant veneer, they mark their target in the back of their mind. Names and faces never forgotten as they seek to take one treasure after another. And perhaps the thrill of the game is only ever more exciting when the opponent viewed them as an enemy. It fuels the maniacal cackles that rip through their throat because what is theirs will be theirs. It would only take a matter of time before they conquered again and again. After all they took down the King of Hell, at this point - what else couldn’t they take? More is more.

CHARACTER CONNECTIONS & PLOTTING EXPLORATIONS

GABRIEL ; HOW SWEET IT TASTES TO INCITE YOUR WRATH | I really love the potential between Gabriel and Mammon as there’s undeniable heated tension. With him, Mammon feels the very sensation they have long been addicted to. The palpable hatred that lurks beneath Gabriel’s eyes lures Mammon closer - curious to see what would happen if they pushed further and incited an infernal fire. Undoubtedly I can see this dynamic burgeon into something both intimate and unspoken. For Mammon it is their newest game, their newest thrill ride to feel something and be seen. They will not deny themselves of the attention and want to bear witness to Gabriel’s promise of their destruction. ( I’m also here to see the angst )

“Destroy me if you can, desire me if you can’t” - Mammon

ROMILDA ; FOR THIS ONE’S DEMISE SHALL BE DELICIOUS | Mammon and Romilda appear to be playing some game of cat and mouse which offers for some spicy ideas. For Mammon, they remain closeby like a voyeur peering into the windows of another’s life - perhaps others would perceive it as a God complex. But it is not stemmed out of arrogance or superiority, rather just another form of amusement for a creature as bored as them. They follow at her feet to watch what will happen because she is interesting and they’re nosy and want to know more. Perhaps Romilda will get sick of it? Who knows! ( I could see them being lowkey kind of obnoxious to Romilda. )

“Tell me a story and I’ll give you a show.” - Mammon

REVNA ; COME CLOSER INTO THE DARKNESS O FRAGILE ONE | To Mammon, Revna is like the perfect three course meal - so deliciously melancholic and on the verge of hopelessness. They keep her around close to keep her entrenched in her misery. It is also like the finale of a play, they await to see what will snap and send her spiraling - an event that will certainly incite their wicked glee. But Mammon believes themself to be merciful, kind even - giving her a choice to do as she pleases. They just merely amplify what she already believes. And I can’t wait to play that out - this is pretty much a parasitic relationship except Revna gets nothing out of it really. ( They’re the world's shittiest therapist tbh )

“The closer to the edge you are, the grander and greater the fall.” - Mammon

GADRIEL ; KNEEL BEFORE MY FEET AND BEG FOR MERCY | Mammon has never forgotten the events that had unfolded, a sickly sensation that sticks to the guts of their stomach. It is both a disgrace and a dishonor to have ever allowed such a thing to have occurred. They are not one to bury the hatchet - rather they hold onto it with a grip. I would like to see Mammon and Gadriel perhaps duel once again, mayhaps to the death? If anything this too can make for some good drama. Maybe Mammon will make a friend - or just die, anythings possible! ( They’re in denial that they’re kinda pressed and acting like it’s no big deal but you know deep down it's a big deal )

“An outcome must be decided; to the victor go the spoils.” - Mammon

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes! But I would also think it’s funny if people keep trying to kill them and they just come back like, bitch you thought. Just imagine the meme potential.

IN DEPTH

Driving Character Motivation |

AND IT BEGINS ( THE ORIGINS OF IDENTITY )

Largely much of Mammon’s natural instincts seems to center around the concept of “hollowness” or “emptiness” and in turn, it would be likely that they would like to share this void sensation of others, a cruel goal but for them - it is merely how they live. Perhaps another reason to pull others into their sphere of vacancy is the twisted amusement of watching others suffer. They are wicked and have never denied it so, and to share in such pain only feeds into their own warped sense of pleasure and indulgence. However even so, their identity remains a translucent nonlinear jumble of messes, one that they do not wholly understand and seek to untangle. Simply put, they are beyond unusual, strange even and given their long years of existence, have become bored of routine.

THE CHANGE ( A NEW GAME )

And upon a frivolous whim, maybe they shall change it - or not, for they are as volatile as a child. But should change come, perhaps this will force them to act differently from the habits they have long been accustomed to. However, perhaps there is potential within their sinful avaricious vice to fall even deeper into the pitfall of hell. They have always been greedy in their collection of treasures. And surely objects have immense value but what if Mammon were to take it a step further? Breaking past the limits of inanimate items, their eyes may be set on an ever steeper goal. Their nurtured sadism bears fruit to cruel intentions; maybe it's time to take from the essence of humanity itself. It is people they wish to take from now; their hearts, their minds and even their souls.

DANCING TO THE FINALE ( BOPPING TO NIGHTMARES )

They want to carve out the creature that breathes their sweet drink of life. Through veiled grins and snide chuckles, they seek to pull the strings of those they deem of inconsequential value. Upon invisible puppet strings, Mammon will play until they tire once more. For it is all just a game to someone who’s never truly ever had a reason to care. ( Born in the void, they become just as senseless the place they call home - it is a cold cavity that is all they have known. ) They live in their own world of selfishness and conceit, the world just a playground for devils to play. So they shall dance in the dark, picking one human target to another, rejoicing in the cries of anguish. And when the song shall end and the old rickety monster becomes exhausted, they will crack their wrists. It is then they will break the fools until there is nothing left. Again and again the routine shall be repeated. Because Mammon hardly understood life in itself; only ever the depths of shadows and death.

Every word of hope and moral goodness consumed until by the black tar tongued of hell’s devil; and that is when the being is slaughtered, becoming just a husk of what they once were.

ABRIDGED : Ok so like to sum up, Mammon’s just a big asshole and just wants to screw up other people because they’re mainly 1. Bored and 2. Why the hell not it’ll be funny. 3. Collecting trash is their hobby. They’re so self absorbed in themselves that I feel like in order for Mammon to be pushed toward some outside motivation would require them to either 1. Get friends or 2. To give a fuck about someone else ( to care - WOW ) But as of the moment any sort of motivation or goal just stems from their own wants or needs which rules above all else. They don’t want much in life at the moment besides hoarding, stealing, taking new shit and playing fake God if they can. Or just be that third person ominous narrator that’s super unhelpful but is there to give unnecessary input. Demons gotta do something to pass the time, right?

Character Traits |

Positive Traits

Observant ; They have long had sharp pointed eyes - ones that watched the slightest ticks upon a visage, the subtlest movements of one’s gestures, the rhythm of footsteps of others. Mammon is a particular being who has long been watchful with a gaze that is both frightening as it is dangerous. But it is through their observations that fan the flames of mania. They play their games regardless of their opponent, their whims self serving first.

Strategic ; A good player must learn the ins and outs of any game and it is one of the first things that Mammon has long gravitated towards. They pick their wars keenly, sometimes even merely satisfied with the knowledge that things shall work as they had planned. Execution is what they have done best and it takes more than sheer luck and power to finesses such precision.

Clever ; Far from a moron, Mammon has always prided themselves in their intellect. However, exercising such wit often was a choice rather than a given. For the gluttonous demon celebrated their flaws far more than any of their redemptions. Only in dire circumstances would they ever apply themselves with the extra effort of thinking. Perhaps when a worthy enough challenge came along its merry way, they would finally exert their mind once more.

Negative Traits

Rapacity ; Mammon has always had a large appetite for intemperance. Both physical and metaphorical, they celebrate in the excess. The more they devour, the more satisfied they become. To them, boundaries are just suggestions. Their overwhelming need to take everything from everyone fuels them to function. Nothing could ever be enough. More was always better, and they live by these words on a daily basis.

Sadistic ; They enjoy the thrill of crawling under the skin of both friends and foes. It is amusing to watch souls tortured and in pain, the sound of shrieks and cries are like trumpets to their ears. They rejoice in the reactions, cackle in the face of desperate pleas - they have long been accustomed to cruelty. Perhaps it is the infliction of pain that they themselves can understand human emotions; something so strange and foreign. For they themselves have long lived null and empty.

Manipulative ; Silver tongued and clawed finger tips, Mammon is shrewd in their approach and sly in their tactics. They enjoy digging beneath the surface of what is seen and plucking out the weakest part of a flawed creation. Behind a face that may mask friendliness lies a sinister creature full of mischief and mayhem. They speak with lies, wearing deceit as their second nature. The craze they exude glints beneath the murky tar colored eyes.

In-Character Para Sample |

EXCERPT 01: LUCIFERS FINALE.

WHEN SINNERS FALL, DEMONS SHALL RISE

T R I G G E R - W A R N I N G : Implications of Violence, Death / Murder

Morningstar, the king of Hell, how arrogantly he sits upon the throne of bones and emptied carcasses. His face is marred with arrogance; of kingly conceit that is forged from his own inflamed hubris. How pompous Lucifer appears - but perhaps it is the lens that Mammon perceives that weaves the tale which whispers of their questionable truth.

But rewind -- it begins from the beginning. The one object that sat like an artificial halo atop Lucifer’s head; oh glory to the shiniest trophy of them all. It was all they ever wanted, clenched fists with fingers dug deep into their palms. Such a beautiful crown wasted on the being they thought most undeserving.

Mammon had arrived late, birthed in the pits only then. They were nothing but a speck in the universe. Thus they knew, to be worthy of such a precious coronet, they needed to become something. Someone. Their worth must be equal to the item they wished to pursue - or so they once believed.

And so the fateful day came and Mammon strolled within the gates. Head held high, arms swung side to side as their eyes followed the audience. From one head to another - oh the looks of dissatisfaction restrained at the edges of the crowd’s ugly visages. Mammon sensed it, felt the dissent looming through the room - like fog itself, murmurs could be heard throughout. But all of them were cowards, their heads still bowed lowly before the demon king himself.

They greet the false King, a cockiness in their stride as they stand with informality, a grin crawling up their knife like features. There is a nonchalance in their posture, an indifference that seemed to agitate his royal hellness.

“I have returned,” the voice thickened and dark.

Mammon sees the rage, understands the ticking bomb that lies behind the devil’s veneer. But they did what they did best - they poked and prodded.

“The world is a pleasurable place beyond the frigid walls of this palace. It seems that you have been forgotten, your name abandoned, forsaken,” Mammon sighs - their pupils never moving an inch away from the Morningstar’s head.

“I suppose your ‘greatness’ is nothing compared to the man residing upstairs,” they mocked.

Lucifer is silent but his cool rage could be felt. The stillness that fell could stop time itself. It was then he stood, fingers gripped at the arms of his wretched throne. His voice is a hiss, fueled with laughable jealousy. Words that only Satan himself could ever conjure slithered between the flaps of whatever made his mouth.

But Mammon remained themself. Unflinching as they awaited - beckoned the fury to light brighter and brighter. They took a step, accepting a dare with the fates. And it was then that they had crossed the line, the servants of Morningstar thrusting them upon their knees.

They had trekked into uncharted territory - detonating the wrath of the top Devil. A small smile appeared on their face. It was all a joke. But the glee that curdled through their rickety bones brought forth the satisfaction they had gambled for. How sweet was the taste of Lucifer’s anger and jealousy - they could eat up more -for it was aromatically delicious.

The pits of Tartarus were nothing for a creature like them. They would claw their way out as they had done once before. How amusing it all was, they had stepped on the toes of a ‘supposed king’ who’s envy entrapped him. It was confirmed in that moment that Mammon who had wandered the planes with a trail ablazing, they had become something more. They left once but they’d swore they’d come back for more.

A KING NO MORE

And so they returned. Indifference worn upon the husk humans called a face. Their decision never came from a place of justice or hatred. No, it was the one fixation that they had long desired. And the only way for them to ever get such a prized possession was to chop it from the head of the wearer.

It was a merry day for a remorseless killer.

They spun to the tune that played in their head - the haunting whistle that made their feet tap to a jig. It was the mighty king of hell’s turn to have a taste of damnation. Perhaps somewhere the Angels would have sung for Mammon's praise. But whether the pasty holier than thou freaks did or didn’t, they didn’t give a fuck.

Mammon wanted what they wanted. Blade in the grasp tightly, exposing the whites of their knuckles. Today was the day to claim their very first love. ( Love? Obsesion? No, it was just another whim, another aimless desire. )

Swiftly they cut, quickly they shredded. It wasn’t long before the Morningstar was beheaded.

In the bloody mess of whatever made the black hearted creature, Mamon ripped the crown from his head. Their fingertips stained with the colors of death, they place the object upon their own head. In the reflection of the glassy floor - they bear a smile, teeth exposed to show their mephistophelian smile.

And yet the feeling is fleeting - as it always was. They had come and conquered but it was never really enough. The agenda was completed and their excitement gone. They looked at themselves once more, the grin fading. Their fingers gripped the item and threw it on the dirtied ground.

A sigh of exasperation exited their lips, their back turned as they walked away. Onlookers bowed before them but they did not care. They had their fun and as routine, it was time for Mammon to find a new toy to play with. But before they vanished from sight as they were long accustomed to, they glanced back once more. An itch to feel the euphoric sensations that rattled their ribcage and howled beneath their flesh.

Alas.

It was just another fucking crown.

____________________________________________________________________________________

EXCERPT 02: THE UNKNOWN.

IN MY PRESENCE, ANGELS SCREAM

It was him that they found a fascination like no other, an unsettling sensation that felt akin to perhaps what the humans may call alive. Mammon lurks within the shadows - not to close, just enough to see them. Enough to feel something within that jostled, reminiscent of a beastly heart.

“I know you’re there.” He blinds like the sun.

Mammon says nothing.

It is then that Gabriel makes his approach. Oh glory to a walking God. Each step ringing like the bells of divine retribution. But Mammon does not waver, nor do they run. They welcome it, their lips curling at the corners.

“I am here oh sweet fair haired angel,” their words spiteful. “Vanquish me if you truly dare.” It is then that they too walk into the light. They should have burned. But darkness consumes all, absorbs all and takes all.

Gabriel does not speak. But his gaze does not fall.

LOVE AND HATRED ARE SAME SIDES OF PASSION

It is Mammon's turn to take the stage and so they do. They walk closer, enough to taunt the other. They delighted in the seething temper that boiled beneath. His hatred was like no other; he bears witness to Mammon’s full depravity. It is Gabriel who seems to understand the monstrosity of what they are. And it is in this fragile perverted supposed understanding that pulls Mammon closer.

“You have cultivated your sainthood, your goodness,” Mammon remarks. “But isn’t that your purpose? The will of accursed God all too shitty. But you see Gabriel - I am like you too. It is just merely a difference in … design,” words hissed with pitch black mirth.

Their finger is pointed at them.

“For you, they strove for righteousness.”

“They gave you light. Nurtured you with warmth.”

“Your existence was a predestined fortune.”

There is ridicule dripping from their words. No bitterness, no care - just vacant rambles and little thought - a pretend of emotion conducted for theatrics. They raise their arms to the sky, their middle fingers pointed.

“But I was made as an omen, an example of all things terrible.”

Their arms dropped as their focus returned to one of God’s original favorites.

“They made me hungry.”

“They made me wretched.”

“For all the love and praise you fucking angels sing, how imperious for your kind to judge.”

Mammon closes the distance, their mouth upturned like a risen half moon.

“Doesn’t it pain you to know that our fallen creator had us all cut from the same cloth? Despise me should you wish but do not deny that even you, pure and good, harbor something as foul as hatred.” They laugh - cacophonic delirious cackles of a madman facing death.

Mammon stops - in the quietness their head tilts, a sneer pulling at their lip.

“Kill me if you choose but it’ll make you no better than the Devil.”

____________________________________________________________________________________

Extras |

HEAD CANNONS

WINGS : I’ve always imagined that Mammon would have wiry or metal looking wings? Like it would be sharp and mimic spare parts or just trash, almost as if they had made their wings by hand. I’m specifically picturing the creepy hand from the “Other Mother” in Coraline but imagine the material as wings ( reference here )

FOODIE : I think it would be funny that they’re somewhat of a fancy connoisseur of food. Well food and perhaps anything else that they can put in their mouth. I feel like their standards of what can be eaten really is at a low bar. They would be down to just chew on some dirt and be like “wow the flavor in this silt soil can not be compared to clay.” Seems like the type of thing Mammon would be into. Probably would overshare and even attempt to encourage others to try whatever the hell they’ve decided to swallow that day.

TRENDSETTER : Given that Mammon likes to take a lot of shit and probably has the attention span of a child, I don’t think they’d be wearing the same outfit on repeat ever. I also feel like they’d be the type to put on a plastic bag and then call it high fashion and maybe people would believe them? Or not - I mean the choice is simple, nod or choose death I suppose. I also see them being a big fan of sunglasses just to be dramatic when they toss it off to really emphasize how crazy and fucking wild they truly are. Also I could see them just being dramatic for no good reason with a little bit of a flair for theatrics.

WEAPON: Perhaps Mammon’s weapon of choice would be akin to something that looks like a Scythe? Or maybe they’re the type that would keep a handful of sharp blades on them, I could definitely imagine them playing with a butterfly knife and doing tricks with it since they’ve had hours upon hours to learn and fuck around. I could also see them picking up other people’s weapons and going like “well that's nice, going to add it to my collection. This one would be great for some good old stabbing.”

MUSIC : Despite being kind of a silent type, Mammon secretly is the type to be into a lot of music??? Especially when they’re doing some dirty business or like kicking someone for being a buckethead, I could imagine them jamming to some sweet tunes while doing the ass kicking. Maybe they’ll whistle too. Here’s a scene from American Psycho whis is the inspiration I got behind this ( reference here // trigger warning: murder + violence + blood )

OTHERS

PINTEREST | MOCKBLOG

ENDNOTE: Thank you for reading through my application! Just wanted to say that you guys did such a great job with the roleplay. Whether I’m accepted or not, I had a lot of fun writing this & exploring the character so thank you! ♥

#accepted #accepted: mammon

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