#but something within me compels me to bring this up as often as possible.

[balleater]

i've already made posts about this so many times but every time the raven queen's ascension gets brought up and its talked about like she did it for immortality or purely for power it makes me go a little insane because the story of her being a follower of the god of death before her and taking his place specifically because he didn't respect death is one of the best things about her lore in my opinion. that one of the biggest differences between her and those who failed attempts at ascension is that she did because of faith and not to spite it.

#critical role #the raven queen #i do fully understand that theres no reason for most of the characters to know this btw #and that given how wizards in the age of arcanum were. it Makes Sense to assume that #but something within me compels me to bring this up as often as possible. #and also dont get me wrong. she absolutely is still an example of extreme wizard hubris. #now i do absolutely think there are fascinating discussions that could be had about the implications of this reasoning #but the idea that she did it for selfish reasons of immortality or such and not out of her own faith and respect of death and the dead #i just love her okay!!!

[zapreportsblog]

A Twist of Fate

➥ Here’s a headcanon in which Miles Morales befriend his classmate (y/n), realizes he’s in love with her, asks (y/n) out on a date, asking (y/n) to be his girlfriend, when he saves her as Spider-Man, when he tells her he’s spiderman, her meeting his parents, him meeting her parents, her being his canon event and dying

➥ fluff turns into angst towards the end

Befriending Them:

It was an ordinary day in the bustling halls of Brooklyn Visions Academy, the place where I spent most of my days navigating the complexities of high school life. As I made my way through the maze of lockers and students, I couldn't help but notice a girl who stood out from the crowd. Her name was (Y/N), and little did I know that our chance encounter would lead to a friendship that would change my life forever.

(Y/N) had an air of confidence and warmth that drew people to her like moths to a flame. Her smile was infectious, lighting up the room and inviting others into her world. I was captivated by her presence, and something deep within me compelled me to seek her out, to unravel the mystery of her magnetic personality.

It took a bit of courage, but one day, I found myself striking up a conversation with (Y/N). We started with small talk, discussing classes and teachers, but it didn't take long for our conversations to delve into deeper territory. We discovered a shared love for art, music, and the endless possibilities of the universe. It was as if our souls resonated on a frequency that transcended mere acquaintanceship.

As days turned into weeks and weeks into months, our friendship deepened. We spent countless hours together, exploring the city, visiting art exhibits, and losing ourselves in the vibrant streets of Brooklyn. (Y/N) had a way of seeing the world that was uniquely her own, and being in her presence opened my eyes to new perspectives and endless possibilities.

We laughed, we cried, we shared our hopes and dreams. In (Y/N), I found a confidant, someone who understood me in a way that no one else did. She saw through the mask I wore, both figuratively and literally, and accepted me for who I truly was—flaws and all. With her, I didn't have to be the Spider-Man burdened with responsibility. I could simply be Miles Morales, a young guy trying to navigate the complexities of life.

Our friendship wasn't without its challenges, though. As Spider-Man, I had a duty to protect the city and its inhabitants, often leaving me with little time for anything else. (Y/N) understood the weight of my responsibilities, but there were times when the distance between us grew, and doubts crept into my mind. How could I be a good friend when I had to prioritize my duty as a superhero?

However, (Y/N) was never one to give up easily. She reminded me that true friendship is built on trust, understanding, and the ability to support each other through thick and thin. She encouraged me to embrace my dual identity and to find a balance between my duties and the relationships that mattered to me. With her unwavering support, I found the strength to be both Spider-Man and Miles Morales, a hero and a friend.

As I reflect upon the journey that led me to befriend (Y/N), I am grateful for the twists of fate that brought us together. In her, I found a kindred spirit—a person who pushed me to be the best version of myself and who celebrated my triumphs and failures with equal enthusiasm. Our friendship became a source of inspiration, a reminder that even in the most challenging times, genuine connections can bring light and joy into our lives.

Falling In Love With Them:

It all began with a twist of fate—a serendipitous moment that would forever alter the course of my life. As the sun cast its golden rays upon the bustling streets of Brooklyn, I found myself caught in the chaotic whirlwind of high school, navigating the labyrinthine halls and juggling the pressures of teenage life. Little did I know that within this seemingly ordinary world, a remarkable encounter awaited me—one that would lead me down the path of unexpected love.

The first time I laid eyes on her, my heart stuttered in my chest, as if sensing the profound impact she would have on me. Her name was (Y/N), a classmate whose vibrant energy and captivating smile immediately caught my attention. There was an undeniable magnetism in the way she carried herself—a blend of confidence, kindness, and a touch of mischief that left me yearning to unravel the layers beneath.

As days turned into weeks and weeks into months, our paths intertwined, leading to countless conversations and stolen glances across the classroom. It was through these moments that I discovered the depths of her intellect and the nuances of her character. (Y/N) possessed an insatiable curiosity and a hunger for knowledge that mirrored my own, igniting a connection that extended far beyond surface-level small talk.

But it wasn't just her mind that drew me in; it was the way she made me feel—alive, seen, and understood. In her presence, the weight of the world seemed to lift, and for those fleeting moments, I could let go of my responsibilities as Spider-Man and simply be Miles. She saw beyond the mask and believed in the person I aspired to become, not just the hero I was destined to be.

Yet, amidst the blossoming friendship and the tantalizing possibility of something more, doubts and insecurities began to gnaw at the edges of my mind. How could I, a masked vigilante burdened with the weight of responsibility, possibly make room for love in my life? The fear of putting (Y/N) in danger and the worry that my dual identity would inevitably complicate our connection became constant companions, casting shadows over the nascent romance that flickered between us.

But love, as I would soon learn, has a way of defying logic and breaking down barriers. It was during a pivotal moment—when the world teetered on the edge of chaos—that our paths intersected once again, intertwining our fates inextricably. In the face of danger, the masks we wore became irrelevant, and the truth of our hearts bared itself, vulnerable yet resolute.

As the city trembled with uncertainty, I discovered that love is not merely a distraction from duty but a powerful catalyst, fueling the strength and determination within me. It was in (Y/N)'s unwavering support and belief in my ability to protect both the city and the fragile connection we shared that I found solace and renewed purpose.

In the ever-evolving tapestry of life, love can be both a beacon of hope and a catalyst for change. It has the power to redefine boundaries and challenge preconceived notions, reminding us that we are not defined solely by our titles or responsibilities. With (Y/N) by my side, I discovered that I could be both Spider-Man and Miles Morales—a hero and a young man navigating the labyrinthine paths of love and self-discovery.

As I reflect upon the twists and turns that led me to this moment, I am grateful for the serendipity that brought (Y/N) into my life. She is not just my classmate or a fleeting crush; she is the spark that ignites my spirit and reminds me of the boundless capacity of the human heart.

Asking Them Out On A Date:

The hallways of Brooklyn Visions Academy buzzed with youthful energy as students hurried to their classes, their minds preoccupied with the daily whirlwind of high school life. Amidst the chaos, my attention was fixated on one person—(Y/N). The way she effortlessly captivated the room, her infectious smile, and the sparkle in her eyes ignited a fire within me. I knew, in that moment, that I had to gather the courage to ask her out on a date.

As days turned into weeks, my admiration for (Y/N) grew deeper, and our friendship flourished. We shared laughter, secrets, and countless meaningful conversations that only strengthened the bond between us. However, beneath the ease of our connection, there was a lingering uncertainty that plagued my thoughts. Would she ever see me as more than a friend? Could I muster the bravery to take our relationship to the next level?

Confidence was never my strong suit, but with (Y/N), I felt compelled to push past my comfort zone. The idea of asking her out filled me with a mix of excitement and nervousness, like a spider dangling from its silk, teetering on the edge of uncertainty. I yearned for the chance to explore something deeper with her, to take our friendship to uncharted territories.

One afternoon, as the sun cast its warm glow across the city, I found myself standing in front of (Y/N), my heart pounding in my chest. The words I had rehearsed a thousand times in my mind suddenly felt inadequate, unable to capture the depth of my feelings. In that moment, I decided to let authenticity guide me, to speak from the heart without any pretense or artifice.

With a deep breath, I mustered the courage to ask her out on a date. The vulnerability of that moment was both terrifying and exhilarating. I laid bare my intentions, sharing my hopes and fears, and expressing how much she meant to me. It was as if the world around us faded into the background, leaving only the two of us standing there, suspended in a moment of possibility.

Her response was everything I had hoped for and more. A smile blossomed on her lips, and her eyes sparkled with a mixture of surprise and delight. It was a magical moment—a recognition that our connection held the potential for something extraordinary. She accepted my invitation with a resounding yes, her excitement mirroring my own.

In the days leading up to our date, anticipation coursed through my veins. Thoughts of what to wear, where to go, and how to make this night unforgettable occupied my mind. I wanted to create an experience that would reflect the depth of my feelings for (Y/N), to show her how much she meant to me.

Finally, the night arrived—a blend of nerves and excitement swirling within me. As we embarked on our adventure together, exploring the city streets illuminated by the city lights, it felt as though time had suspended, allowing us to exist in a bubble of possibility. We laughed, shared stories, and discovered new facets of each other's personalities.

As the evening drew to a close, and I walked (Y/N) to her doorstep, I felt a profound sense of gratitude. Our date had surpassed my wildest dreams, creating memories that would be etched in my heart forever. It was not just about the experience itself but the connection we had cultivated—a bond that continued to grow stronger with each passing moment.

As I reflect on that pivotal moment when I asked (Y/N) out on a date, I am reminded of the power of vulnerability and taking risks. It was a leap of faith, an act of courage that allowed me to not only express my feelings but also to open the door to a realm of love and companionship. It taught me that sometimes, the greatest rewards come when we step outside our comfort zones and embrace the unknown.

Asking Them To Be His Girlfriend:

The halls of Brooklyn Visions Academy echoed with the energy of students rushing from one class to another. Amidst the whirlwind of teenage life, there was one person who stood out from the crowd—(Y/N). Her presence filled every room she entered, and her infectious smile had the power to brighten even the gloomiest of days. We had been friends for quite some time, and as our connection deepened, so did my feelings for her. The moment had come to take a leap of faith and ask (Y/N) to be my girlfriend.

The realization that I wanted to be more than just friends with (Y/N) had slowly taken root within me, blossoming like a delicate flower. Our friendship had become a haven, a place where I could be myself without fear of judgment or pretense. Her laughter became the soundtrack to my happiness, and her understanding was a balm to my soul. It was clear that my feelings for her ran deep, and I couldn't ignore them any longer.

But with the certainty of my emotions also came a fear of what could be lost. The thought of risking our friendship for the possibility of something more sent shivers down my spine. What if she didn't feel the same way? Would our connection be irreparably damaged? These questions haunted my mind, but deep down, I knew that taking a chance was the only way to truly understand the potential of our relationship.

One sunny afternoon, as the school bell rang, signaling the end of another day, I found myself standing before (Y/N), my heart pounding in my chest. The weight of my words felt heavy, as if the fate of our friendship hung in the balance. Yet, I knew that honesty was the only path forward.

Summoning every ounce of courage within me, I took a deep breath and confessed my feelings. I told her how much she meant to me, how her presence in my life had brought joy and light. I expressed my desire to take our friendship to the next level, to explore the possibility of a romantic relationship. It was a vulnerable moment, baring my heart and soul, uncertain of what her response would be.

The seconds that followed my confession felt like an eternity. (Y/N) looked at me, her eyes searching mine, and a mixture of surprise and contemplation played across her face. The silence stretched between us, until finally, a smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

She spoke softly, her words carrying a warmth that melted away my fears. She revealed that she had been grappling with similar emotions, unsure of how to bridge the gap between friendship and something more. The air crackled with a newfound understanding, as we realized that our hearts beat in sync, yearning for a deeper connection.

In that moment, everything changed. What was once an unspoken connection blossomed into a shared understanding. We took each other's hands, a symbolic gesture of unity and trust. It was official—we were now a couple, embarking on a journey of love and discovery together.

The days that followed were filled with the intoxicating joy of new love. We spent hours talking, laughing, and exploring the city hand in hand. Our connection deepened as we discovered new layers of each other's personalities, creating a tapestry of shared experiences and cherished memories. Love had transformed our friendship into something even more beautiful—a partnership built on trust, communication, and a shared vision of the future.

As I reflect upon that pivotal moment when I asked (Y/N) to be my girlfriend, I am reminded of the power of vulnerability and the rewards that come from taking risks. It was a leap of faith, a declaration of my feelings that opened the door to a world of love and companionship. In (Y/N), I found not only a girlfriend but also a confidante and a source of support, and a kindred spirit who understood me in ways no one else did.

Where He Saves Them As Spider-Man:

Within the labyrinthine halls of Brooklyn Visions Academy, a secret weighed heavily on my shoulders—one that separated me from the girl who had captured my heart, (Y/N). While our connection had deepened and our love had blossomed, she remained oblivious to my true identity as Spider-Man, the masked hero who had saved her life. This is the story of how I navigated the delicate balance between love and secrecy, as the Guardian of Secrets.

It began with a chance encounter, an unforeseen twist of fate that drew me into (Y/N)'s orbit. As our friendship grew, my admiration for her flourished alongside an unwavering desire to keep her safe. But beneath the veneer of our blossoming romance lay the weight of the secret that threatened to tear us apart—a secret that I was Spider-Man, the masked vigilante who patrolled the city's streets.

I had chosen to keep my alter ego hidden from (Y/N) out of fear. Fear of endangering her life, fear of complicating our relationship, and fear of the burden that being a hero would place on us both. The thought of exposing her to the perils that came with my dual life filled me with trepidation, and I convinced myself that protecting her meant keeping my secret hidden.

As (Y/N) and I spent more time together, our connection deepened, and I reveled in the joy of her presence. But with every laugh, every shared moment, the weight of my secret grew heavier. I watched her, day in and day out, oblivious to the fact that I had saved her life multiple times, oblivious to the risks I took to protect the city, and oblivious to the sacrifices I made to keep her safe.

There were moments when the truth teetered on the tip of my tongue, when I yearned to share the depths of my love and the battles I fought in the name of justice. But each time, doubt and fear clutched at my heart, pushing the truth back into the recesses of my mind. I convinced myself that protecting her innocence and preserving the sanctity of our relationship were more important than the temporary relief of unburdening myself.

In my quest to keep (Y/N) safe, I doubled my efforts as Spider-Man. The city became my canvas, and I darted through the night, defending the innocent and battling the forces of evil. With each victory, a bittersweet feeling washed over me—a mixture of pride and longing. I yearned to share these triumphs with (Y/N), to let her into the depths of my soul, but the walls of secrecy remained firmly intact.

As time passed, the strain of my double life grew more apparent. The nights spent fighting crime left their mark, both physically and emotionally. The constant vigilance and the weight of the city's safety bore down on me, chipping away at the joy and lightness that (Y/N) brought into my life. It became a delicate balancing act, trying to be both the hero she needed and the boyfriend she deserved.

But secrets have a way of unraveling, of demanding to be heard. And so it was that on a fateful day, as danger once again loomed on the horizon, (Y/N) found herself entangled in a web of peril. In that moment, as I witnessed the threat closing in, a clarity washed over me—a realization that the truth could no longer be hidden.

Without hesitation, I donned my mask and swung into action, navigating the chaos to reach (Y/N) in her moment of need. As I fought to keep her safe, a new layer of vulnerability settled upon me.

In the aftermath of the battle, when the dust settled and the danger subsided, (Y/N) looked at me with a mixture of surprise, confusion, and awe. It was a defining moment—a juncture at which the path before us diverged into uncharted territory.

As I reflect upon the journey that led me to saving (Y/N), my girlfriend, I am reminded of the fragility of secrets and the transformative power of trust. While I had chosen to shield her from the truth, I now understand that true love can only thrive in an environment of honesty and openness. Our relationship, once built on the foundation of shared experiences and unspoken admiration, now had the potential to flourish in the light of truth.

In Which He Confesses His Secret:

The night was filled with a palpable tension as I swung through the city streets, adrenaline coursing through my veins. The battle had been fierce, but I had emerged victorious once again, saving the life of the girl who had captured my heart—(Y/N). Now, as I carried her safely in my arms, I knew the time had come to reveal the truth—the truth about who I truly was and the extraordinary powers that coursed through my veins.

It was an evening tinged with both trepidation and anticipation as I made my way to (Y/N)'s home. The weight of my secret had burdened me for far too long, and I knew that the time had come to unmask the hero within. As I landed gracefully on the rooftop, my heart pounded with a mixture of fear and hope. Would she understand? Would she accept me, not just as Miles Morales but as Spider-Man?

Taking a deep breath, I entered through (Y/N)'s window, my heart racing as I gently set her down on her bed. She stirred slightly, the remnants of the ordeal still etched on her face, but her eyes flickered open, capturing my gaze. It was in that moment, with the moonlight casting a soft glow on her face, that I knew I had to share my truth, no matter the consequences.

Sitting beside her, I reached out and took her hand, the warmth of her touch grounding me in the reality of our connection. With a mixture of apprehension and determination, I began to reveal the secrets that had defined my life.

"(Y/N), there's something I need to tell you," I started, my voice tinged with emotion. "I'm not just an ordinary guy. I have a secret—a secret that I've kept from you for far too long."

As the words tumbled from my lips, I watched her face contort in a blend of confusion and surprise. It was a daunting task, trying to explain the intricacies of my life as both Miles Morales and Spider-Man, but I pressed on, determined to be honest with her.

"I'm Spider-Man," I confessed, the weight of the revelation hanging heavily in the air. "I have these incredible powers that allow me to do things that seem impossible. The city is my responsibility, and I've dedicated myself to protecting it."

Her eyes widened as she absorbed the enormity of my revelation. The pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place, and a mixture of disbelief and wonder played across her face.

"I've been the one watching over you, keeping you safe," I continued, my voice filled with both relief and vulnerability. "Every time danger threatened, I was there, fighting to protect you and everyone else in this city."

A myriad of emotions flickered in her eyes—surprise, awe, and a hint of fear. I held my breath, uncertain of how she would react to this truth that I had held so close to my heart.

"(Y/N), I understand if this is too much to process," I said gently, my voice filled with an unspoken plea for understanding. "But I needed to share this with you because you mean everything to me. You are the reason I fight, the reason I strive to be better. I couldn't bear to keep this secret from you any longer."

Silence settled between us, as the weight of my confession hung heavy in the air. The room felt charged with anticipation, the outcome of our future unknown.

And then, a smile played on (Y/N)'s lips—a smile that spoke of acceptance, understanding, and a willingness to embrace the truth. Her hand tightened around mine, and she looked into my eyes with a newfound resolve.

"Miles, I don't know exactly what to say, but I want you to know that I'm here for you," she said, her voice filled with a quiet strength. "You've been protecting me all this time, and I trust you. Your secret doesn't change how I feel about you."

Relief washed over me, like a gentle tide lapping against the shore. In (Y/N)'s eyes, I saw acceptance, love, and a belief in the person I was beneath the mask.

As the night wore on, we sat together, sharing stories and baring our souls. I explained to her how I had acquired my powers—the bite of a radioactive spider that had granted me extraordinary abilities. I told her about the responsibility I felt to use these powers for good, to protect the innocent, and to stand up for what was right.

In the depths of that conversation, I felt a deeper connection form between us. (Y/N) not only accepted me as Spider-Man but also embraced the duality of my life. She understood the sacrifices I made, the dangers I faced, and the unwavering commitment that fueled my actions.

In that moment, our love transcended the boundaries of the ordinary. (Y/N) saw the hero within me, not just the boy she had come to care for. She became a partner, a confidante, and a source of strength, sharing in the weight of my secret and supporting me on my journey.

As I reflect upon that pivotal moment when I revealed my true identity to (Y/N), I am reminded of the power of trust and the transformative nature of honesty. The journey from secrecy to vulnerability was not an easy one, but it forged a bond between us that was unbreakable. (Y/N) became not just my girlfriend but also my ally, standing by my side as we navigated the challenges that lay ahead.

Where His Parents Meet Her:

The day dawned with a mixture of excitement and nervousness as I prepared to introduce (Y/N), my girlfriend, to my parents. The time had come to bridge the gap between the two worlds that defined me—the world of my responsibilities as Spider-Man and the world of my family. This is the story of how (Y/N) and I embarked on the journey to meet my parents, a step that would weave the threads of our lives even closer together.

As I swung through the city, my mind was filled with anticipation and questions. Would my parents accept (Y/N)? Would they understand the complexities of my life and the sacrifices I made to keep the city safe? Bringing (Y/N) into my family's fold meant exposing her to a world that had long remained hidden from her—an intricately woven tapestry of love, support, and the weight of responsibility.

Arriving at my childhood home, I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the reunion. The door swung open, and my parents stood before me, their eyes filled with a mixture of surprise and joy. They welcomed me with open arms, their love serving as an anchor amidst the chaos of my double life.

And then, it was time for the moment I had been both anticipating and dreading—to introduce (Y/N) to my parents. She stood beside me, her hand clasped tightly in mine, as we stepped into the embrace of my family's warmth.

"(Y/N), these are my parents," I introduced her, a mix of pride and nerves in my voice. "Mom, Dad, this is (Y/N)."

Tension hung in the air as my parents' eyes flickered between (Y/N) and me. They studied her, taking in the gentle smile on her lips and the spark of curiosity in her eyes. It was as if they were searching for something deeper—a connection that extended beyond mere appearances.

"(Y/N), it's wonderful to finally meet you," my mother said, breaking the silence. Her voice was filled with warmth and genuine interest. "Miles has told us so much about you."

Relief washed over me as my parents extended their hospitality, inviting us into their home. The anxiety I had carried with me began to dissipate, replaced by a sense of comfort and belonging.

Over the course of the evening, stories were shared, laughter filled the air, and the divide between my life as Miles Morales and my life as Spider-Man began to blur. My parents listened with rapt attention as (Y/N) spoke about her passions, her dreams, and her unwavering support for me. It was in those moments that I saw the acceptance in their eyes—the recognition that (Y/N) was not just another girl in my life but someone who had become an integral part of it.

As the evening wore on, my parents began to share stories of my childhood, of my dreams of making a difference in the world even before I had acquired my powers. They spoke of their pride in the person I had become, of their unwavering support for my endeavors, both as their son and as Spider-Man.

In the depth of those conversations, (Y/N) witnessed the love that my parents had showered upon me throughout the years—a love that extended beyond the masks we wear and the responsibilities we shoulder. They saw me for who I truly was, and in their acceptance of (Y/N), they acknowledged the significance she held in my life.

The evening came to a close, and as (Y/N) and I prepared to leave, my parents pulled us into a warm embrace, their words of love and encouragement lingering in the air. It was a bittersweet moment, as the tapestry of our lives became more intertwined, merging the worlds of family and love.

In the days and weeks that followed, (Y/N) and I reflected on the significance of that meeting—the introduction of my girlfriend to my parents. We marveled at the seamless way our lives had merged, the way (Y/N) had seamlessly become a part of my family. We reveled in the acceptance and love that had been extended to her, knowing that our relationship had gained an even deeper foundation.

As I reflect upon the journey that led (Y/N) to meet my parents, I am reminded of the power of connection and the beauty that exists when our different worlds collide. (Y/N) became not just my girlfriend but a part of my family—a testament to the depth of our love and the bond we shared. Our relationship transcended the boundaries of individuality, weaving together the tapestry of our lives with threads of acceptance, support, and shared values.

In the chapters to come, dear reader, I invite you to witness the evolution of our relationship—the triumphs, the trials, and the delicate balance between love, family, and the responsibilities I bear. Together, let us explore the power of acceptance, the strength that emerges from unity, and the profound connection that lies at the heart of a love that spans across worlds.

In Which He Meets The Parents:

The sun hung low in the sky as (Y/N) and I made our way to her childhood home. The air crackled with anticipation, mirroring the nervous energy coursing through my veins. It was a pivotal moment in our relationship, as (Y/N) had invited me to meet her parents—a step that would bridge the gap between our two worlds. This is the story of how I embarked on a journey into the heart of (Y/N)'s family, navigating the unfamiliar terrain with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.

As we approached the front door, my heart pounded in my chest. Meeting parents was always a nerve-wracking experience, but this time, the stakes felt higher. (Y/N) held my hand, her touch providing a steadying presence amidst the jumble of emotions. We shared a glance, a mixture of determination and uncertainty reflected in our eyes, before ringing the doorbell.

The door swung open, revealing (Y/N)'s parents, their faces painted with curiosity and warmth. Their eyes landed on me, and I felt a surge of vulnerability. It was as if they were assessing not just the person standing before them, but the love and connection I shared with their daughter—a connection that had become an integral part of both our lives.

"(Y/N), it's so good to see you," her mother greeted with a smile, her voice filled with genuine warmth. "And you must be Miles. We've heard so much about you."

The knot in my stomach eased slightly as (Y/N)'s parents welcomed me into their home, their kindness enveloping me like a comforting embrace. As we settled into conversation, I began to understand the source of (Y/N)'s own light—the love and support that emanated from her parents.

Over the course of the evening, we shared stories and laughter, unraveling the layers of our lives and allowing the threads of connection to weave between us. I spoke of my dreams, my aspirations, and the lessons I had learned on my journey as Spider-Man. Their eyes shone with a mixture of intrigue and pride, recognizing the passion and determination that fueled my endeavors.

In turn, (Y/N)'s parents shared tales of her childhood—of her vibrant spirit, her unwavering resilience, and the love she had brought into their lives. It was in those stories that I saw the origins of the remarkable person (Y/N) had become—the strength and character that had drawn me to her.

As the evening wore on, (Y/N)'s parents posed questions, delving deeper into my life and my aspirations. They sought to understand the person standing before them—the one who had captured their daughter's heart. Their genuine curiosity and open-mindedness created a space in which I felt seen and accepted.

It was a pivotal moment when (Y/N)'s parents turned their attention to her, their expressions filled with a mix of tenderness and admiration.

"(Y/N), we can see the love you share with Miles," her father said, his voice filled with genuine emotion. "You've brought someone into our lives who is not just a part of your story but a part of our family. We're grateful for that."

The weight on my shoulders lifted as their words washed over me, filling me with a sense of belonging. (Y/N)'s parents not only acknowledged the significance of our relationship but embraced it, recognizing that our love had become a thread interwoven into the fabric of their lives.

In the days and weeks that followed, (Y/N) and I reflected on the significance of that meeting—the introduction of me to her parents. We marveled at the seamless way our lives had merged, the acceptance and love that had been extended to me. We reveled in the knowledge that our relationship had gained an even deeper foundation, strengthened by the embrace of (Y/N)'s family.

As I reflect upon the journey that led me to meet (Y/N)'s parents, I am reminded of the power of acceptance and the beauty that exists when two worlds collide. The connection between (Y/N) and me became not just a bond between two individuals but a bridge between families—a testament to the strength of our love and the shared values that united us.

In Which She’s His Canon Event:

Life is a tapestry woven with joy and sorrow, triumphs and tragedies. Within this intricate fabric, there are moments that shape our very existence—events that become part of our personal canon, forever etched in our hearts and minds. For me, that canon event was the profound impact of (Y/N), my girlfriend, whose presence in my life forever changed the trajectory of my journey. This is the story of how (Y/N) became my canon event, a force that shaped my world, and how her presence continues to resonate within me.

I first met (Y/N) amidst the bustling halls of Brooklyn Visions Academy, a beacon of light in the sea of faces. From the moment our eyes met, there was an unspoken connection—a pull that drew me closer to her. With time, our friendship grew, nurturing the seeds of something deeper, something extraordinary.

As our bond deepened, (Y/N) became my constant companion, the person I turned to for support, guidance, and understanding. We laughed together, shared dreams and fears, and explored the complexities of life side by side. In her presence, I found solace, comfort, and a kindred spirit who understood me in ways no one else could.

The love that blossomed between us became the foundation of my world—a beacon of light amidst the darkness that sometimes shrouded my path. With her unwavering support, I found the courage to face my challenges, to embrace my responsibilities as both Miles Morales and Spider-Man. She became my inspiration, my pillar of strength, and my reason to persevere.

But within the tapestry of life, there are threads of sorrow that weave alongside joy. It was during a fateful battle—a battle that demanded everything of me—that (Y/N) found herself in the crossfire. The weight of the moment settled upon my shoulders, igniting a fire within me to protect her at all costs.

As I fought with every ounce of strength, I watched in horror as (Y/N) was gravely injured. Time seemed to slow, the world fading into the background as I rushed to her side. With trembling hands, I cradled her in my arms, feeling the warmth of her fading presence.

The anguish that flooded my heart was immeasurable as I realized the magnitude of the situation. I pleaded, I fought, but ultimately, I had to accept the painful truth—(Y/N) was slipping away, her life slipping through my fingers.

In those final moments, I held her close, whispering words of love and gratitude. I thanked her for being my canon event, for lighting up my world, and for teaching me the power of love and connection. Her presence had forever changed me, leaving an indelible mark upon my soul.

As (Y/N) took her last breath in my arms, a part of me shattered—a part that could never be fully repaired. The pain of loss enveloped me, threatening to consume everything I held dear. I felt a profound emptiness, a void that echoed with her absence.

In the aftermath of (Y/N)'s passing, I faced the daunting task of navigating a world that suddenly seemed devoid of color and purpose. Grief wrapped its tendrils around me, threatening to suffocate my spirit. But within that darkness, a flicker of her memory shone brightly—a reminder of the love we shared, the moments we cherished, and the lessons she had imparted.

Though (Y/N) was no longer physically present, her legacy lived on within me. Her spirit became my guiding light, pushing me forward, urging me to carry on, even when the weight of the world felt unbearable. She became a part of my canon, a defining moment that shaped my perspective, my purpose, and my path.

#spiderverse x reader #x reader #headcanon #miles morales #miles morales earth 1610 #miles morales x y/n #miles morales headcanons #miles morales x you #miles morales x reader #spiderman into the spiderverse masterlist

[familyabolisher]

I'm very curious about any more in depth thoughts you have on It Came From The Closet! It's been on my radar and I'd been planning to check it out soon as my next read, and this is the first opinion I've seen on it that isn't part of what feels like marketing reviews almost. Is it the analysis of the horror movies and themes that feels off or the way the essays are written? I'm a huge horror fan and I've definitely seen a...few queer horror takes that felt either like reaches or just "off" to me, but it's always hard to put my finger on it

i’ve only read the first few essays so it’s entirely possible that the volume will improve from here on out (though i … haven’t gotten my hopes up), but my impression so far is that it’s a series of schlocky, surface-level analyses providing a veneer of pop talking points around “horror” and “queerness” over what are often frankly uninteresting personal essays. v little insight and v little desire to bring anything new to the table; frankly, v little interest in the films they purport to be writing on beyond shallow rhetorical vehicles for personal reflection. my patience for The Personal Essay is vvv low at the best of times, but like, i can appreciate a work from which i can glean some compelling insights and articulate a thoughtful response. and, god, none of these pieces have crossed that hurdle so far.

like, if it’s not a long string of appeals to buzzwords like “queerbaiting” and “bury your gays” or v poorly substantiated appeals to "subversion" then it's incorrectly defined “reparative reading” or one writer citing that stupid mary oliver soft animal of your body whatever line out of literally nowhere. it’s just not insightful or imaginative. at its worst it does just read like an annoying tumblr post circa 2017. carmen maria machado writes an essay on jennifer’s body as articulating something essential to her bisexuality such that efforts to talk about the way in which it marketed itself via appealing to the homophobic cultural currency of teen lesbian eroticism somehow constitutes “gatekeeping.” this is not compelling or original critical writing, people.

almost every essay seems to fall back on the same base claim: that what makes horror horrifying relies on a currency of alterity which discursively constructs the “other” and that queer people can & will identify with the “other”—the monster in the horror film—in order to make sense of themselves & overturn the hegemony that the film may well seek to affirm. cool, awesome—this is not new analysis. i would not expect this kind of thing to be churned out in a book published in 2022; we know this already. i worry that overleaning into this idea of a “reclamation” of sorts a) risks forfeiting the language we have available to us to actually talk about the sort of bigotry which can fuel these kinds of stories; how many people talk about le fanu’s carmilla as a stunning depiction of erotic lesbian vampires and lose sight of its having been a v homophobic, colonialist text in their doing so?; and b) neglects the tradition of horror within alterity; horror being made not out of a conservative ethos that we seek to critically remould into a kind of limp simulacrum of a “radical” one, but one born out of a desire to tell a story against heteronormative social imaginaries in the first place. it’s all well and good to identify with regan from the exorcist and cite your poor understanding of reparative readings (not a critical framework i subscribe to anyway, but like, at least get it right?) in doing so, but do we have to keep limiting our discourse to this back-and-forth about whether or not we can salvage obviously homophobic/misogynistic/ableist/racist stories forever? lol. i watched Hellraiser for the first time the other day and that was queer horror that could be met with on far more compelling terms than whatever all this is.

#ask

[sapphicbookclub]

Author Spotlight: Tamara Jerée

Check out this wonderful essay on sapphic, Black, paranormal romances from Tamara Jerée. Tamara is the author of The Fall That Saved Us, a current club read out today!

As writers, we often hear that we should write the book we want to read. For me, that’s meant writing into a niche that feels largely unacknowledged. The more descriptors I stack—sapphic, Black, paranormal, romance—the shorter the list of books becomes. Finding darker sapphic romance by and about lesbians of color is hard. Stepping into a bookstore, I often feel like there is still a narrow range within which the publishing industry will allow us to exist. Readers don’t seek out our books in the same ways. Especially when compared to the diverse range of literary experiences for white women, I feel the lack.

I can immediately think of a few adult titles that fit into the Black sapphic paranormal romance genre. There’s Darknesses by Lachelle Seville, a romance featuring a sapphic Dracula. I was excited to find that Fiona Zedde, whose contemporary romances kept popping up as a recommendation for me, also writes paranormal romance. Every Dark Desire is the first in her vampire series. (If you’re interested in a comprehensive list, Tuesday Harper maintains a searchable database of Black WLW books here. I stumbled upon some new titles for my TBR!)

In lieu of paranormal romance, I often find myself reaching for sapphic horror to fill out my moody reading list. The Wicked and the Willing by Lianyu Tan is an F/F erotic horror novel set in Singapore that follows a maidservant and her vampire mistress. House of Hunger by Alexis Henderson is a gothic horror novel that doesn’t call its vampires vampires but nevertheless satisfied my need for bloody, brooding sapphics.

I’m compelled by erotic horror—and horror that winks at the erotic—because it confronts our personal and cultural fears and, in doing so, leaves us with nothing more to be scared of. Here, look at our depth and ugliness and resilience and strange pleasures. Ultimately, look at how we survived. Those darker elements influence all my work. I want the catharsis of safely staring down weird and terrible things. When combined with the structure of romance, the guaranteed HEA reassures. Maybe you’ve been through a long night, but you deserve happiness.

I want to talk about the first novel in the Black lesbian paranormal genre that ever made me feel seen as a writer, the one that sank its teeth into me and made me think this is possible; this is where my work wants to be. Published in 1991, The Gilda Stories by Jewelle Gomez follows a queer Black vampire through the antebellum era and into the present before casting her and her chosen family into a speculative future. The novel isn’t a romance, but it does catalogue Gilda’s lovers through the ages—who she chooses to bring into immortal life and how they care for each other in a hostile world.

In the introduction, Gomez discusses how nervous she was about the book because lesbians in her community were skeptical of the rep. Attaching something taboo like vampirism to a Black lesbian protagonist? It was risky. Their concerns remind me so much of the debate in queer circles today over what depictions of ourselves and our communities are proper. We worry about writing people like us as villains or monsters because it would give fuel to hegemonic perspectives that are already eager to see us as deviant and evil.

As one of those readers and writers who finds power in reclaiming the monster, of being an antagonist to an unjust society, I’m thankful for Gilda. And I’m so glad Gomez took the risk. It’s empowered me as a Black lesbian writing romance that confronts heavy themes of mental illness and healing from abuse through a paranormal and fantastic lens. In my debut novel The Fall That Saved Us, Avitue—the succubus love interest—is an unrepentant villain, a sexy bad girl unafraid to show her teeth to a world that’s hurt her. She’s a monster because others have said so, and she wears the title as a badge of honor. The main character Cassiel, however, views Avitue as a savior—from her scarred past and a stagnant present.

The Gilda Stories expanded for me what we can be and do. There’s an infinite number of Black stories we can tell. Black people can be anything we want, including the hot lady monster who gets the girl.

#booklr #wlw books #lgbt books #book recs #sapphic books #diverse books #guest post #the fall that saved us #black sapphic paranormal romance #fantasy

[iaure]

Sincerely not trying to be annoying, but do you still have plans to write your requests one day?

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ the short answer: yes and no. The longer answer:

The elden ring asks; yes! Those are headcanons and much easier to digest. i am answering the godwyn ask today, as well as working on the tanith/rykard ask. elden ring, in general, is easier for me to digest, though it's generally much slower work, as there's more lore for me to take into account. one thing i often strive for is complete accuracy, though i do not doubt i've been wrong before. they take a very long time, due to being paired against my work and other life events, but i find them much easier to do.

the cheater!miguel ask; most likely not. though the concept was good, and i would've enjoyed writing it before, full length works are MUCH harder for me to focus on these days. unless it's something i wanted to work on initially (i.e. the daryl dixon mention), it's harder to pump out something that's roughly 5k words unless the idea came to me before. this also goes with one of my rules, that hyperspecific asks would be considered. i never posted the ask, but it's about two paragraphs long! very specific, and given the situation i'm currently in, while i wanted to attempt it before, i don't see it happening.

the tall!s/o leon ask; again, this was a wonderful idea! i'm a tall lamb myself, and always appreciate the representation. but there wasn't much else added onto it aside from 'leon with a tall s/o', so i'm unsure if they were hoping for headcanons, a full length work, mere thoughts...which means it falls into the same category as the miguel ask. again, it falls under another rule i had: 'have a base idea for what you want made', and looking back i feel i could've written it more specifically, but this means more than simply character + single notion. this also means - do you want headcanons? a full work? that sort of thing!

to be very transparent on my situation: i am a store manager for an ailing company store due to malldeath, so i'm under quite a bit of pressure. i do not get off days generally, as more often than not i get called in for one reason or another. paired with health issues i won't divulge and the fact that my ram and i are in a long distance relationship with a time difference, this leaves me with very little energy at all times. my schedule oft looks like this, on a day to day basis; wake up, go to work, get off of work, get home, cook and clean for my family, speak with my ram once he gets off of work, go to bed, repeat. i do not mean to blow off asks and requests-but i did put within my bio that i'm prone to disappearing for a reason. i think some might take it as a more artsy or figurative thing, but i meant it in the most blunt way possible!

this also means that my own writing capabilities are tied directly with inspiration, as opposed to energy. i know quite prolific writers who post every day, splendid things, simply because they have the energy! but i do not have that. if i am compelled to write, it is because something has kickstarted it; usually, starting a new series, as exemplified my ram has asked me to watch the Walking Dead with him. i operate often on a snowball effect; i write one thing, then another, then another, before hitting a block and waiting for the next thing to come along to kickstart it.

allow me to be clear; i am certainly not upset by this ask, nor is it annoying! it's a very genuine question, as it's been nigh a year since most of these asks have been sent. as far as my flock sees, there is no work being done, no proof of such. i suppose it's akin to an absent mother bringing back men after my children get attached to the one prior. it is far from the best situation, but i am attempting to be as transparent as possible about my work and processes.

#message to the flock #anonymous asks (per)

[90363462]

xoNECOLE/popular/Making Love To Self: The Benefits Of Masturbation

Making Love To Self: The Benefits Of Masturbation

Sheriden Chanel

Oct. 19, 2016 10:25PM EST

I don't know how readily people often admit that they masturbate.

I just remember while growing up that for a long time, masturbation was something I kept a secret even before I knew what it was called or why I felt inclined to do it or why I felt so exhilarated after. I do remember, however, a clear distinction in how proudly a man spoke about jacking off. He could joke about it and was even advised to do it as a means to last longer when he finally became sexually active. But on the flip side, as a woman, I wasn't really allowed to talk about it. In fact, I didn't realize it could be something heralded until an ex enjoyed watching me as I did it.

But that's something that I notice a lot about women and our bodies, it is okay to be a vessel for sexuality for the male consumption, but not our own and in our own way. I guess you can tell that masturbation means a lot to me. My weapon of choice is my handy dandy six-speed vibrator I picked up from Starship (might need to upgrade my life soon though)! It not only taught me about what I love done to my body, but also gave me a release when others could not.

In addition to those two things, here are some benefits of making love to self, aka masturbation if you're nasty. ;)

It Relieves Sexual Tension

Sexual tension is a dirty, pretty thing. It's intense, it's compelling, and sometimes it makes you believe that you want something you might not really truly want. Sometimes you do really truly want it, but the tension or build up is far better than the actual pay off. Why cross that line when you're not really sure either way? Being sexual does not mean having sex with anybody.

You can be selective even while ravenous, and masturbation helps to clear up any uncertainty you might have towards a member of the opposite sex and your attraction towards them. In addition to relieving sexual tension between two people, it is also a very good stress reliever by stimulating the body's ability to produce endorphins, which helps with stress and pain.

It Promotes Sexual Health

I cannot tell you how many times masturbation has come in handy as it relates to my ability to have self control. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a dog humping at whatever leg is within my reach, but there have been times that I've gone on dates and felt so attracted to my date, that I was like, “Hmmm, even though this isn't going anywhere, let me throw caution to the wind and just go to Poundtown with this dude." But, I didn't. I refrained because I was like, what's the point in having sex with this guy I'm not even the least bit interested in aside from this free meal? So I kept in mind the fact that me and my vibrator could have a hell of a time later on that night without the messiness of bringing a completely new sex partner into the mix.

The less partners you have, the less risky your sexual behaviors. Masturbating means you can open your legs and keep it tight at the same time. It's also form of safe sex while abstaining (for those who wish to abstain).

Develops Sexual Identity

Masturbation is typically the first sexual experience a person has. And with all this talk of love yourself first, it seems rather fitting. Men can use it to help prolong the arrival of their orgasms, while women can use masturbation as a way to guide them to achieving theirs. Although a vaginal orgasm is very possible, the clitoral stimulation that we learn during our solo acts can very well be a catalyst to how we orgasm with future partners. You're able to learn which parts of you tingle when you touch it and can be adventurous in your journey with yourself through the use of toys. Masturbating is a great way to learn your body, what works for you, and what doesn't.

It Feels Damn Good

This benefit is rather self-explanatory but it ought to be said. I love the human and connection aspect that comes with having sex with someone, however, I love the way I know myself and my body like no one ever will – and that in itself can be a stimulant while masturbating as well. If I wanted to, I could get myself there in three minutes – that's how in tune with my own body I am.

An orgasm is one of those feelings that are hard to rival. And you haven't lived until you've mutually masturbated. It's one thing to watch yourself touch someone, but to watch that someone touch themselves? One of the sexiest things I've ever endured in my life. Try it tonight if you haven't already. It's a beautiful and intense experience.

Do you masturbate? Do you view it as more of an experience to be savored or as a chore? Hands or toys? Share below.

30 Ways To Practice Self-Love And Be Good To Yourself ›

10 Tangible Ways To Practice Self-Love—Lists, Rituals & More ›

The Beauty of Self-Love: Making Peace with Your Body ›

What Self-Love Means: 20+ Ways to Be Good to Yourself ›

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[capsteam9]

The Best Strategy To Use For The Fibro Guy (@The_Fibro_Guy) / Twitter

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This ideological background that if simply you were to create muscle around your junctions, they would in some way become secure is incredibly obsolete. It's like tossing loan in to the fire as you are getting rid of your soul. But if you definitely understood you weren't going to be getting rid of your center for ten min durations it would take the most quantity of training for many folks to reclaim them. Cathy: [Laughs] That's the only way the health and wellness perks don't seem to be worth the expense. When you really presume concerning it, it doesn’t even help make any sense. It's like individuals wish to generate a whole brand-new world (that could possibly someday be ours)," he claimed. "They look at it as a technique for them to be able to take the upcoming measure onward in residing their identity.". But only like along with the movie "Rise of the Guardians" in the overdue 1990s, the exact same idea is at job in other methods as well. To develop Solution Can Be Seen Here , you need to be able to overload the tissue along with adequate weight to break down and develop new muscular tissue tissue. This has actually to take place for many factors: stamina, measurements, and fatty tissue storage space. Dimension and muscle mass storage space participate in a large duty in the bodybuilding garden because of how numerous mass made body builders obtain into toughness and measurements. If you are appearing for a wonderful bodybuilder workout, please check out the www.strength-nursery.com website. However, how are you intended to utilize that quantity of weight with unpredictable junctions? I've certainly never once had the most pricey wheel, and I think the only trait people must think about is how lots of of you are going to ever require it to be capable to sit correctly. But it's important that you possess the a lot of quantity of toughness that you can bring. I possess the very most uncertain joints, but I'm not pointing out there is nothing like that that are going to protect against me coming from sitting easily. You likely can’t and if you can, it’s only a matter of time up until a tiny accident outcome in the loss of any type of outcome increases. This has actually to hang around for additional analysis of how the device works. In the meantime I'll discuss my thought and feelings on these concerns and submit something that seems to be incredibly unlikely to receive lots of replies. But as it switches out, not all of them are so extravagant that they are rather significant. Individuals who go this course often end up with surface strength, sturdy on the outside, but being without any type of basic stability. It goes beyond this. It creates sense that a guy would put on a T-shirt that mentions, "Stand up up" and go to function at that store.". In this way I obtain to experience the perks of exercising. It additionally aids to understand that the benefits of running have been properly chronicled. I have been observing these improvements for four years right now. Similar to firing a spacecraft launcher from a rowing watercraft : there’s power there, but no actual structure. You wish to build a boat and land it there.You're not going to offer yourself out to the laborers, however, therefore go to some significant fortress and develop the palace, or try a larger castle, perhaps also relocate one in the section and construct a bridge. Don't anticipate anything coming from this, however because it's going to be pretty lonesome certainly there, after all. Likewise, also along with prime testosterone levels, the average male can merely out on around 8 – 10 lbs of muscle mass cells every year, body-wide. With a proper muscle mass biochemistry and healthy and balanced lean physical body composition, you can acquire over 400 lbs of muscle mass in only 4 months. This is what it stand up to reason: a reduced testosterone profile (around 15 pounds/week or lower) can easily imply you may be even more power aware than you need to be if you want to lose 10 extra pounds per month.

#The Fibro guy

[jasonblaze72]

[southwarkcofe]

'My passion for social justice transformed into a drive to see the Kingdom of God dawning on earth.'

On Saturday 25 June at Southwark Cathedral, 16 Deacons were ordained by the Bishop of Southwark, the Rt Revd Christopher Chessun, supported by the Area Bishops. Two of the deacons have written for us about their journey to ordination

Mo Budd, St Mary the Blessed Virgin, Addington

My journey to faith and sense of calling to ordained ministry happened in quite a round-about way.

When the student movement against tuition fees was at its height in the early 2010s, I was studying in Brighton. Having always had strong but somewhat inarticulate feelings about justice and equality, in this febrile environment I had discovered feminism, Queer community, and radical politics, and quickly became involved with various forms of political and social activism. But within a few years, the student movement had collapsed in defeat, and the communities I had been a part of turned in on themselves, lost in bitterness and infighting. In 2014 I arrived in London, deeply disillusioned with movements and scenes of which I had been a part and in search of a community rooted in something more than having this or that characteristic in common – something deeper than class or gender or political opinion. What I found was church.

Being a total nerd, I quickly fell in love with the elegant logical coherence of Christian theology: the doctrine of the Trinity, Creation, and Incarnation. What convinced me to stay, though, was a dawning understanding of that which is at very heart of the Church’s life: the Eucharist; the moment in which all time and space and difference are gathered up, as we are fed by and participate in the inner life of the triune God, whose complete self-giving is the source of our life and our salvation.

The experience of being drawn into the reality of these holy mysteries gave new purpose to a life of activism which, for all its urgency, had hitherto rung strangely hollow. My passion for social justice transformed into a drive to see the Kingdom of God dawning on earth, still in concrete and practical terms, but rooted in God’s act of loving generosity which calls us to reciprocate and sends us out to build the Kingdom.

As my faith grew, so did the magnetic pull of the communion table and, along with it an increasing number of people telling me I should explore the possibility of ordained ministry.

And so, after several years of prayerful discernment, essays, conversations, hoops jumped, and finally a Bishop’s Advisory Panel (known colloquially as a BAP) I set off to Mirfield in West Yorkshire for three years of residential training and formation in a semi-monastic community. Mirfield turned out to be a good example of God’s power to bring together people from across a wide sweep of theologies, traditions and backgrounds; people who might disagree and even dislike each other, but nonetheless felt compelled to love one another as fellow creatures and as sisters and brothers in Christ.

In this very catholic context, great importance was laid on the role and person of the priest, often to the diminishment of lay and diaconal ministries. It wasn’t until we were in the depths of the Covid-19 pandemic that I really understood, properly, that as much as I yearned to be one who celebrates the mass, I was just as profoundly called to be a deacon in God’s Church. Living with my fellow ordinands as we all struggled with lockdown life, on top of the stresses of training and shared life in college, I found that what was most life-giving and sustaining for me was to be alongside my community in prayer and gentle caring. God spoke most clearly to me in the mediation of petty conflicts and the giving of pep talks and in praying over people in their distress.

Flash forward to recent days: after the long slog through discernment, college, and covid, the joy and relief of finally being ordained deacon last Saturday was overwhelming. God’s goodness is overwhelming. I’m only just beginning to get to know the parish where I’m now serving as a pioneer curate, and I’m excited to find out what God is up to, and what God will ask of me as I minister alongside the people there. Having begun my journey of faith expecting to serve God by helping to build strong movements for earthly justice, it feels unexpected and somehow more far exciting to begin my diaconal ministry by simply getting to know people, learning their struggles and loves and listening to what God is saying to them and through them. I’m as committed as ever to building the Kingdom and growing the Church through community organizing and political engagement. But the past few years have convinced me that the ‘pioneering’ bit will only be meaningful and sustainable if it arises organically from those relationships and conversations as they reveal what God’s will is for this particular community at this particular time.

Annie Wanjohi, St John the Divine w St James the Apostle, Kennington The journey to ordination has been a surprise to me and even more so at this point. I was born and raised in Kenya, one of seven siblings. I was raised in a devout Roman Catholic family. Growing up I was fascinated by the Italian priests who would come to preside in our local parish once every month. It was a hilarious moment for my siblings and I as they couldn’t pronounce the Kikuyu words properly, little did I know how difficult it must have been for them to learn the local language and preach in it. I loved attending the Mass. The highlight was the offertory dance and the elevation of the host. Whilst in University, I started questioning certain aspects of the Catholic faith and the meaning of life. Through a series of events my life was fundamentally changed. My brother-in-law John, ‘got saved’. My sister and I saw the vivid difference in his life and the joy it brought him. He invited us to attend church services with him and it was an incredible journey of discovery. I found out that I could have a close relationship with Jesus. This was news!! I had never heard that before and I was thrilled! I longed to learn more and attended different charismatic churches in Mombasa and Nairobi enjoying them immensely.

Hungry for the truth, I was able to read the bible, prayed and fasted a lot. I found it fascinating and enriching. When I relocated to London, I started attending St Saviour’s Church, an Anglican church. I enjoyed this greatly as it reminded me of my Catholic faith which I now understood more and more and they used gifts of the Spirit. I volunteered in the church in many roles including PCC secretary (learnt all those big church words) for the Rev. Wendy Saunders and then teaching Sunday School. I carried on teaching Sunday school which I enjoyed very much. Children are interesting, their fascination, understanding and interest in the gospel stories always so refreshing. In 2018, during an admission to communion and confirmation service, I had the privilege of meeting Bishop Karowei. He made a great impression on the young teenagers and the confirmation service was a huge success. Later that evening the Bishop spoke to me and dropped a bombshell with the words, ‘You have been called to be ordained’. It was such a shock to me, something I had never considered! I also got angry and started arguing with him as I did not want to go back to yet another university to learn as that would be my fourth one. I had trained as a teacher at Kenyatta University, then as a nurse at University College Worcester, then had to do a ‘Return to Practice’ at the University of Greenwich. I did not want to go to a fourth university! In fact, I felt for the first time in my life that I was in a good place. Bishop Karowei was patient but firm and challenged me to fill in all the paperwork that he would send and that if the doors opened, I would know that I’m truly called. If not, I could happily continue with my life. So I prayed and hoped that the Bishop would be proved wrong, but alas, it was me who was! From the moment I started enquiring, every door opened from vocations initial meeting to the BAP, Bishop’s certificate course and eventually my Theological training at St Augustine’s (I eventually resigned from my nursing job). To be ordained means to be a vessel trained appropriately to be used by God, inorder to be a good fit for His Kingdom. The training has ripped apart my theology, opened up my thinking, stretching it to consider things I would have never considered before. I have been exposed to many experiences in pastoral care, church placement which have helped in my formation. My hope in ministry is that I can be that light, enabling people to see God as he is through Christ. To tell people of his salvation plan, that God loves them, he cares for every detail of their lives and he longs to have a relationship with them. He desires that they live in the fullness of life with him. My hope is to make Christ known in whatever way and form possible. Ordained ministry allows me the privilege to meet people and witness to Christ’s love in ways I couldn't do before.

Find out more about Exploring Your Call on the Vocations section of our website at southwark.anglican.org/exploring-your-call.

[qqueenofhades]

The Green Knight and Medieval Metatextuality: An Essay

Right, so. Finally watched it last night, and I’ve been thinking about it literally ever since, except for the part where I was asleep. As I said to fellow medievalist and admirer of Dev Patel @oldshrewsburyian, it’s possibly the most fascinating piece of medieval-inspired media that I’ve seen in ages, and how refreshing to have something in this genre that actually rewards critical thought and deep analysis, rather than me just fulminating fruitlessly about how popular media thinks that slapping blood, filth, and misogyny onto some swords and castles is “historically accurate.” I read a review of TGK somewhere that described it as the anti-Game of Thrones, and I’m inclined to think that’s accurate. I didn’t agree with all of the film’s tonal, thematic, or interpretative choices, but I found them consistently stylish, compelling, and subversive in ways both small and large, and I’m gonna have to write about it or I’ll go crazy. So. Brace yourselves.

(Note: My PhD is in medieval history, not medieval literature, and I haven’t worked on SGGK specifically, but I am familiar with it, its general cultural context, and the historical influences, images, and debates that both the poem and the film referenced and drew upon, so that’s where this meta is coming from.)

First, obviously, while the film is not a straight-up text-to-screen version of the poem (though it is by and large relatively faithful), it is a multi-layered meta-text that comments on the original Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, the archetypes of chivalric literature as a whole, modern expectations for medieval films, the hero’s journey, the requirements of being an “honorable knight,” and the nature of death, fate, magic, and religion, just to name a few. Given that the Arthurian legendarium, otherwise known as the Matter of Britain, was written and rewritten over several centuries by countless authors, drawing on and changing and hybridizing interpretations that sometimes challenged or outright contradicted earlier versions, it makes sense for the film to chart its own path and make its own adaptational decisions as part of this multivalent, multivocal literary canon. Sir Gawain himself is a canonically and textually inconsistent figure; in the movie, the characters merrily pronounce his name in several different ways, most notably as Sean Harris/King Arthur’s somewhat inexplicable “Garr-win.” He might be a man without a consistent identity, but that’s pointed out within the film itself. What has he done to define himself, aside from being the king’s nephew? Is his quixotic quest for the Green Knight actually going to resolve the question of his identity and his honor – and if so, is it even going to matter, given that successful completion of the “game” seemingly equates with death?

Likewise, as the anti-Game of Thrones, the film is deliberately and sometimes maddeningly non-commercial. For an adaptation coming from a studio known primarily for horror, it almost completely eschews the cliché that gory bloodshed equals authentic medievalism; the only graphic scene is the Green Knight’s original beheading. The violence is only hinted at, subtextual, suspenseful; it is kept out of sight, around the corner, never entirely played out or resolved. In other words, if anyone came in thinking that they were going to watch Dev Patel luridly swashbuckle his way through some CGI monsters like bad Beowulf adaptations of yore, they were swiftly disappointed. In fact, he seems to spend most of his time being wet, sad, and failing to meet the moment at hand (with a few important exceptions).

The film unhurriedly evokes a medieval setting that is both surreal and defiantly non-historical. We travel (in roughly chronological order) from Anglo-Saxon huts to Romanesque halls to high-Gothic cathedrals to Tudor villages and half-timbered houses, culminating in the eerie neo-Renaissance splendor of the Lord and Lady’s hall, before returning to the ancient trees of the Green Chapel and its immortal occupant: everything that has come before has now returned to dust. We have been removed even from imagined time and place and into a moment where it ceases to function altogether. We move forward, backward, and sideways, as Gawain experiences past, present, and future in unison. He is dislocated from his own sense of himself, just as we, the viewers, are dislocated from our sense of what is the “true” reality or filmic narrative; what we think is real turns out not to be the case at all. If, of course, such a thing even exists at all.

This visual evocation of the entire medieval era also creates a setting that, unlike GOT, takes pride in rejecting absolutely all political context or Machiavellian maneuvering. The film acknowledges its own cultural ubiquity and the question of whether we really need yet another King Arthur adaptation: none of the characters aside from Gawain himself are credited by name. We all know it’s Arthur, but he’s listed only as “king.” We know the spooky druid-like old man with the white beard is Merlin, but it’s never required to spell it out. The film gestures at our pre-existing understanding; it relies on us to fill in the gaps, cuing us to collaboratively produce the story with it, positioning us as listeners as if we were gathered to hear the original poem. Just like fanfiction, it knows that it doesn’t need to waste time introducing every single character or filling in ultimately unnecessary background knowledge, when the audience can be relied upon to bring their own.

As for that, the film explicitly frames itself as a “filmed adaptation of the chivalric romance” in its opening credits, and continues to play with textual referents and cues throughout: telling us where we are, what’s happening, or what’s coming next, rather like the rubrics or headings within a medieval manuscript. As noted, its historical/architectural references span the entire medieval European world, as does its costume design. I was particularly struck by the fact that Arthur and Guinevere’s crowns resemble those from illuminated monastic manuscripts or Eastern Orthodox iconography: they are both crown and halo, they confer an air of both secular kingship and religious sanctity. The question in the film’s imagined epilogue thus becomes one familiar to Shakespeare’s Henry V: heavy is the head that wears the crown. Does Gawain want to earn his uncle’s crown, take over his place as king, bear the fate of Camelot, become a great ruler, a husband and father in ways that even Arthur never did, only to see it all brought to dust by his cowardice, his reliance on unscrupulous sorcery, and his unfulfilled promise to the Green Knight? Is it better to have that entire life and then lose it, or to make the right choice now, even if it means death?

Likewise, Arthur’s kingly mantle is Byzantine in inspiration, as is the icon of the Virgin Mary-as-Theotokos painted on Gawain’s shield (which we see broken apart during the attack by the scavengers). The film only glances at its religious themes rather than harping on them explicitly; we do have the cliché scene of the male churchmen praying for Gawain’s safety, opposite Gawain’s mother and her female attendants working witchcraft to protect him. (When oh when will I get my film that treats medieval magic and medieval religion as the complementary and co-existing epistemological systems that they were, rather than portraying them as diametrically binary and disparagingly gendered opposites?) But despite the interim setbacks borne from the failure of Christian icons, the overall resolution of the film could serve as the culmination of a medieval Christian morality tale: Gawain can buy himself a great future in the short term if he relies on the protection of the enchanted green belt to avoid the Green Knight’s killing stroke, but then he will have to watch it all crumble until he is sitting alone in his own hall, his children dead and his kingdom destroyed, as a headless corpse who only now has been brave enough to accept his proper fate. By removing the belt from his person in the film’s Inception-like final scene, he relinquishes the taint of black magic and regains his religious honor, even at the likely cost of death. That, the medieval Christian morality tale would agree, is the correct course of action.

Gawain’s encounter with St. Winifred likewise presents a more subtle vision of medieval Christianity. Winifred was an eighth-century Welsh saint known for being beheaded, after which (by the power of another saint) her head was miraculously restored to her body and she went on to live a long and holy life. It doesn’t quite work that way in TGK. (St Winifred’s Well is mentioned in the original SGGK, but as far as I recall, Gawain doesn’t meet the saint in person.) In the film, Gawain encounters Winifred’s lifelike apparition, who begs him to dive into the mere and retrieve her head (despite appearances, she warns him, it is not attached to her body). This fits into the pattern of medieval ghost stories, where the dead often return to entreat the living to help them finish their business; they must be heeded, but when they are encountered in places they shouldn’t be, they must be put back into their proper physical space and reminded of their real fate. Gawain doesn’t follow William of Newburgh’s practical recommendation to just fetch some brawny young men with shovels to beat the wandering corpse back into its grave. Instead, in one of his few moments of unqualified heroism, he dives into the dark water and retrieves Winifred’s skull from the bottom of the lake. Then when he returns to the house, he finds the rest of her skeleton lying in the bed where he was earlier sleeping, and carefully reunites the skull with its body, finally allowing it to rest in peace.

However, Gawain’s involvement with Winifred doesn’t end there. The fox that he sees on the bank after emerging with her skull, who then accompanies him for the rest of the film, is strongly implied to be her spirit, or at least a companion that she has sent for him. Gawain has handled a saint’s holy bones; her relics, which were well known to grant protection in the medieval world. He has done the saint a service, and in return, she extends her favor to him. At the end of the film, the fox finally speaks in a human voice, warning him not to proceed to the fateful final encounter with the Green Knight; it will mean his death. The symbolism of having a beheaded saint serve as Gawain’s guide and protector is obvious, since it is the fate that may or may not lie in store for him. As I said, the ending is Inception-like in that it steadfastly refuses to tell you if the hero is alive (or will live) or dead (or will die). In the original SGGK, of course, the Green Knight and the Lord turn out to be the same person, Gawain survives, it was all just a test of chivalric will and honor, and a trap put together by Morgan Le Fay in an attempt to frighten Guinevere. It’s essentially able to be laughed off: a game, an adventure, not real. TGK takes this paradigm and flips it (to speak…) on its head.

Gawain’s rescue of Winifred’s head also rewards him in more immediate terms: his/the Green Knight’s axe, stolen by the scavengers, is miraculously restored to him in her cottage, immediately and concretely demonstrating the virtue of his actions. This is one of the points where the film most stubbornly resists modern storytelling conventions: it simply refuses to add in any kind of “rational” or “empirical” explanation of how else it got there, aside from the grace and intercession of the saint. This is indeed how it works in medieval hagiography: things simply reappear, are returned, reattached, repaired, made whole again, and Gawain’s lost weapon is thus restored, symbolizing that he has passed the test and is worthy to continue with the quest. The film’s narrative is not modernizing its underlying medieval logic here, and it doesn’t particularly care if a modern audience finds it “convincing” or not. As noted, the film never makes any attempt to temporalize or localize itself; it exists in a determinedly surrealist and ahistorical landscape, where naked female giants who look suspiciously like Tilda Swinton roam across the wild with no necessary explanation. While this might be frustrating for some people, I actually found it a huge relief that a clearly fantastic and fictional literary adaptation was not acting like it was qualified to teach “real history” to its audience. Nobody would come out of TGK thinking that they had seen the “actual” medieval world, and since we have enough of a problem with that sort of thing thanks to GOT, I for one welcome the creation of a medieval imaginative space that embraces its eccentric and unrealistic elements, rather than trying to fit them into the Real Life box.

This plays into the fact that the film, like a reused medieval manuscript containing more than one text, is a palimpsest: for one, it audaciously rewrites the entire Arthurian canon in the wordless vision of Gawain’s life after escaping the Green Knight (I could write another meta on that dream-epilogue alone). It moves fluidly through time and creates alternate universes in at least two major points: one, the scene where Gawain is tied up and abandoned by the scavengers and that long circling shot reveals his skeletal corpse rotting on the sward, only to return to our original universe as Gawain decides that he doesn’t want that fate, and two, Gawain as King. In this alternate ending, Arthur doesn’t die in battle with Mordred, but peaceably in bed, having anointed his worthy nephew as his heir. Gawain becomes king, has children, gets married, governs Camelot, becomes a ruler surpassing even Arthur, but then watches his son get killed in battle, his subjects turn on him, and his family vanish into the dust of his broken hall before he himself, in despair, pulls the enchanted scarf out of his clothing and succumbs to his fate.

In this version, Gawain takes on the responsibility for the fall of Camelot, not Arthur. This is the hero’s burden, but he’s obtained it dishonorably, by cheating. It is a vivid but mimetic future which Gawain (to all appearances) ultimately rejects, returning the film to the realm of traditional Arthurian canon – but not quite. After all, if Gawain does get beheaded after that final fade to black, it would represent a significant alteration from the poem and the character’s usual arc. Are we back in traditional canon or aren’t we? Did Gawain reject that future or didn’t he? Do all these alterities still exist within the visual medium of the meta-text, and have any of them been definitely foreclosed?

Furthermore, the film interrogates itself and its own tropes in explicit and overt ways. In Gawain’s conversation with the Lord, the Lord poses the question that many members of the audience might have: is Gawain going to carry out this potentially pointless and suicidal quest and then be an honorable hero, just like that? What is he actually getting by staggering through assorted Irish bogs and seeming to reject, rather than embrace, the paradigms of a proper quest and that of an honorable knight? He lies about being a knight to the scavengers, clearly out of fear, and ends up cravenly bound and robbed rather than fighting back. He denies knowing anything about love to the Lady (played by Alicia Vikander, who also plays his lover at the start of the film with a decidedly ropey Yorkshire accent, sorry to say). He seems to shrink from the responsibility thrust on him, rather than rise to meet it (his only honorable act, retrieving Winifred’s head, is discussed above) and yet here he still is, plugging away. Why is he doing this? What does he really stand to gain, other than accepting a choice and its consequences (somewhat?) The film raises these questions, but it has no plans to answer them. It’s going to leave you to think about them for yourself, and it isn’t going to spoon-feed you any ultimate moral or neat resolution. In this interchange, it’s easy to see both the echoes of a formal dialogue between two speakers (a favored medieval didactic tactic) and the broader purpose of chivalric literature: to interrogate what it actually means to be a knight, how personal honor is generated, acquired, and increased, and whether engaging in these pointless and bloody “war games” is actually any kind of real path to lasting glory.

The film’s treatment of race, gender, and queerness obviously also merits comment. By casting Dev Patel, an Indian-born actor, as an Arthurian hero, the film is… actually being quite accurate to the original legends, doubtless much to the disappointment of assorted internet racists. The thirteenth-century Arthurian romance Parzival (Percival) by the German poet Wolfram von Eschenbach notably features the character of Percival’s mixed-race half-brother, Feirefiz, son of their father by his first marriage to a Muslim princess. Feirefiz is just as heroic as Percival (Gawaine, for the record, also plays a major role in the story) and assists in the quest for the Holy Grail, though it takes his conversion to Christianity for him to properly behold it.

By introducing Patel (and Sarita Chowdhury as Morgause) to the visual representation of Arthuriana, the film quietly does away with the “white Middle Ages” cliché that I have complained about ad nauseam; we see background Asian and black members of Camelot, who just exist there without having to conjure up some complicated rationale to explain their presence. The Lady also uses a camera obscura to make Gawain’s portrait. Contrary to those who might howl about anachronism, this technique was known in China as early as the fourth century BCE and the tenth/eleventh century Islamic scholar Ibn al-Haytham was probably the best-known medieval authority to write on it extensively; Latin translations of his work inspired European scientists from Roger Bacon to Leonardo da Vinci. Aside from the symbolism of an upside-down Gawain (and when he sees the portrait again during the ‘fall of Camelot’, it is right-side-up, representing that Gawain himself is in an upside-down world), this presents a subtle challenge to the prevailing Eurocentric imagination of the medieval world, and draws on other global influences.

As for gender, we have briefly touched on it above; in the original SGGK, Gawain’s entire journey is revealed to be just a cruel trick of Morgan Le Fay, simply trying to destabilize Arthur’s court and upset his queen. (Morgan is the old blindfolded woman who appears in the Lord and Lady’s castle and briefly approaches Gawain, but her identity is never explicitly spelled out.) This is, obviously, an implicitly misogynistic setup: an evil woman plays a trick on honorable men for the purpose of upsetting another woman, the honorable men overcome it, the hero survives, and everyone presumably lives happily ever after (at least until Mordred arrives).

Instead, by plunging the outcome into doubt and the hero into a much darker and more fallible moral universe, TGK shifts the blame for Gawain’s adventure and ultimate fate from Morgan to Gawain himself. Likewise, Guinevere is not the passive recipient of an evil deception but in a way, the catalyst for the whole thing. She breaks the seal on the Green Knight’s message with a weighty snap; she becomes the oracle who reads it out, she is alarming rather than alarmed, she disrupts the complacency of the court and silently shows up all the other knights who refuse to step forward and answer the Green Knight’s challenge. Gawain is not given the ontological reassurance that it’s just a practical joke and he’s going to be fine (and thanks to the unresolved ending, neither are we). The film instead takes the concept at face value in order to push the envelope and ask the simple question: if a man was going to be actually-for-real beheaded in a year, why would he set out on a suicidal quest? Would you, in Gawain’s place, make the same decision to cast aside the enchanted belt and accept your fate? Has he made his name, will he be remembered well? What is his legacy?

Indeed, if there is any hint of feminine connivance and manipulation, it arrives in the form of the implication that Gawain’s mother has deliberately summoned the Green Knight to test her son, prove his worth, and position him as his childless uncle’s heir; she gives him the protective belt to make sure he won’t actually die, and her intention all along was for the future shown in the epilogue to truly play out (minus the collapse of Camelot). Only Gawain loses the belt thanks to his cowardice in the encounter with the scavengers, regains it in a somewhat underhanded and morally questionable way when the Lady is attempting to seduce him, and by ultimately rejecting it altogether and submitting to his uncertain fate, totally mucks up his mother’s painstaking dynastic plans for his future. In this reading, Gawain could be king, and his mother’s efforts are meant to achieve that goal, rather than thwart it. He is thus required to shoulder his own responsibility for this outcome, rather than conveniently pawning it off on an “evil woman,” and by extension, the film asks the question: What would the world be like if men, especially those who make war on others as a way of life, were actually forced to face the consequences of their reckless and violent actions? Is it actually a “game” in any sense of the word, especially when chivalric literature is constantly preoccupied with the question of how much glorious violence is too much glorious violence? If you structure social prestige for the king and the noble male elite entirely around winning battles and existing in a state of perpetual war, when does that begin to backfire and devour the knightly class – and the rest of society – instead?

This leads into the central theme of Gawain’s relationships with the Lord and Lady, and how they’re treated in the film. The poem has been repeatedly studied in terms of its latent (and sometimes… less than latent) queer subtext: when the Lord asks Gawain to pay back to him whatever he should receive from his wife, does he already know what this involves; i.e. a physical and romantic encounter? When the Lady gives kisses to Gawain, which he is then obliged to return to the Lord as a condition of the agreement, is this all part of a dastardly plot to seduce him into a kinky green-themed threesome with a probably-not-human married couple looking to spice up their sex life? Why do we read the Lady’s kisses to Gawain as romantic but Gawain’s kisses to the Lord as filial, fraternal, or the standard “kiss of peace” exchanged between a liege lord and his vassal? Is Gawain simply being a dutiful guest by honoring the bargain with his host, actually just kissing the Lady again via the proxy of her husband, or somewhat more into this whole thing with the Lord than he (or the poet) would like to admit? Is the homosocial turning homoerotic, and how is Gawain going to navigate this tension and temptation?

If the question is never resolved: well, welcome to one of the central medieval anxieties about chivalry, knighthood, and male bonds! As I have written about before, medieval society needed to simultaneously exalt this as the most honored and noble form of love, and make sure it didn’t accidentally turn sexual (once again: how much male love is too much male love?). Does the poem raise the possibility of serious disruption to the dominant heteronormative paradigm, only to solve the problem by interpreting the Gawain/Lady male/female kisses as romantic and sexual and the Gawain/Lord male/male kisses as chaste and formal? In other words, acknowledging the underlying anxiety of possible homoeroticism but ultimately reasserting the heterosexual norm? The answer: Probably?!?! Maybe?!?! Hell if we know??! To say the least, this has been argued over to no end, and if you locked a lot of medieval history/literature scholars into a room and told them that they couldn’t come out until they decided on one clear answer, they would be in there for a very long time. The poem seemingly invokes the possibility of a queer reading only to reject it – but once again, as in the question of which canon we end up in at the film’s end, does it?

In some lights, the film’s treatment of this potential queer reading comes off like a cop-out: there is only one kiss between Gawain and the Lord, and it is something that the Lord has to initiate after Gawain has already fled the hall. Gawain himself appears to reject it; he tells the Lord to let go of him and runs off into the wilderness, rather than deal with or accept whatever has been suggested to him. However, this fits with film!Gawain’s pattern of rejecting that which fundamentally makes him who he is; like Peter in the Bible, he has now denied the truth three times. With the scavengers he denies being a knight; with the Lady he denies knowing about courtly love; with the Lord he denies the central bond of brotherhood with his fellows, whether homosocial or homoerotic in nature. I would go so far as to argue that if Gawain does die at the end of the film, it is this rejected kiss which truly seals his fate. In the poem, the Lord and the Green Knight are revealed to be the same person; in the film, it’s not clear if that’s the case, or they are separate characters, even if thematically interrelated. If we assume, however, that the Lord is in fact still the human form of the Green Knight, then Gawain has rejected both his kiss of peace (the standard gesture of protection offered from lord to vassal) and any deeper emotional bond that it can be read to signify. The Green Knight could decide to spare Gawain in recognition of the courage he has shown in relinquishing the enchanted belt – or he could just as easily decide to kill him, which he is legally free to do since Gawain has symbolically rejected the offer of brotherhood, vassalage, or knight-bonding by his unwise denial of the Lord’s freely given kiss. Once again, the film raises the overall thematic and moral question and then doesn’t give one straight (ahem) answer. As with the medieval anxieties and chivalric texts that it is based on, it invokes the specter of queerness and then doesn’t neatly resolve it. As a modern audience, we find this unsatisfying, but once again, the film is refusing to conform to our expectations.

As has been said before, there is so much kissing between men in medieval contexts, both ceremonial and otherwise, that we’re left to wonder: “is it gay or is it feudalism?” Is there an overtly erotic element in Gawain and the Green Knight’s mutual “beheading” of each other (especially since in the original version, this frees the Lord from his curse, functioning like a true love’s kiss in a fairytale). While it is certainly possible to argue that the film has “straightwashed” its subject material by removing the entire sequence of kisses between Gawain and the Lord and the unresolved motives for their existence, it is a fairly accurate, if condensed, representation of the anxieties around medieval knightly bonds and whether, as Carolyn Dinshaw put it, a (male/male) “kiss is just a kiss.” After all, the kiss between Gawain and the Lady is uncomplicatedly read as sexual/romantic, and that context doesn’t go away when Gawain is kissing the Lord instead. Just as with its multiple futurities, the film leaves the question open-ended. Is it that third and final denial that seals Gawain’s fate, and if so, is it asking us to reflect on why, specifically, he does so?

The film could play with both this question and its overall tone quite a bit more: it sometimes comes off as a grim, wooden, over-directed Shakespearean tragedy, rather than incorporating the lively and irreverent tone that the poem often takes. It’s almost totally devoid of humor, which is unfortunate, and the Grim Middle Ages aesthetic is in definite evidence. Nonetheless, because of the comprehensive de-historicizing and the obvious lack of effort to claim the film as any sort of authentic representation of the medieval past, it works. We are not meant to understand this as a historical document, and so we have to treat it on its terms, by its own logic, and by its own frames of reference. In some ways, its consistent opacity and its refusal to abide by modern rules and common narrative conventions is deliberately meant to challenge us: as before, when we recognize Arthur, Merlin, the Round Table, and the other stock characters because we know them already and not because the film tells us so, we have to fill in the gaps ourselves. We are watching the film not because it tells us a simple adventure story – there is, as noted, shockingly little action overall – but because we have to piece together the metatext independently and ponder the philosophical questions that it leaves us with. What conclusion do we reach? What canon do we settle in? What future or resolution is ultimately made real? That, the film says, it can’t decide for us. As ever, it is up to future generations to carry on the story, and decide how, if at all, it is going to survive.

(And to close, I desperately want them to make my much-coveted Bisclavret adaptation now in more or less the same style, albeit with some tweaks. Please.)

Further Reading

Ailes, Marianne J. ‘The Medieval Male Couple and the Language of Homosociality’, in Masculinity in Medieval Europe, ed. by Dawn M. Hadley (Harlow: Longman, 1999), pp. 214–37.

Ashton, Gail. ‘The Perverse Dynamics of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight’, Arthuriana 15 (2005), 51–74.

Boyd, David L. ‘Sodomy, Misogyny, and Displacement: Occluding Queer Desire in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight’, Arthuriana 8 (1998), 77–113.

Busse, Peter. ‘The Poet as Spouse of his Patron: Homoerotic Love in Medieval Welsh and Irish Poetry?��, Studi Celtici 2 (2003), 175–92.

Dinshaw, Carolyn. ‘A Kiss Is Just a Kiss: Heterosexuality and Its Consolations in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight’, Diacritics 24 (1994), 205–226.

Kocher, Suzanne. ‘Gay Knights in Medieval French Fiction: Constructs of Queerness and Non-Transgression’, Mediaevalia 29 (2008), 51–66.

Karras, Ruth Mazo. ‘Knighthood, Compulsory Heterosexuality, and Sodomy’ in The Boswell Thesis: Essays on Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality, ed. Matthew Kuefler (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006), pp. 273–86.

Kuefler, Matthew. ‘Male Friendship and the Suspicion of Sodomy in Twelfth-Century France’, in The Boswell Thesis: Essays on Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality, ed. Matthew Kuefler (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006), pp. 179–214.

McVitty, E. Amanda, ‘False Knights and True Men: Contesting Chivalric Masculinity in English Treason Trials, 1388–1415,’ Journal of Medieval History 40 (2014), 458–77.

Mieszkowski, Gretchen. ‘The Prose Lancelot's Galehot, Malory's Lavain, and the Queering of Late Medieval Literature’, Arthuriana 5 (1995), 21–51.

Moss, Rachel E. ‘ “And much more I am soryat for my good knyghts’ ”: Fainting, Homosociality, and Elite Male Culture in Middle English Romance’, Historical Reflections / Réflexions historiques 42 (2016), 101–13.

Zeikowitz, Richard E. ‘Befriending the Medieval Queer: A Pedagogy for Literature Classes’, College English 65 (2002), 67–80.

#the green knight #the green knight meta #sir gawain and the green knight #medieval literature #medieval history #this meta is goddamn 5.2k words #and has its own reading list #i uh #said i had a lot of thoughts?

[starshipsofstarlord]

Can you do one where the reader is Bonnie’s twin sister and is dating Stefan ?

Salvatore - Stefan Salvatore x Bennet!reader

Masterlist Link

Summary; based on the request

Warnings; making out, slight smut, fingering, swearing, threats, mentions of torture, Bonnie being an adorable protective sister, implied smut

“Shhh.” It surpassed your mouth as a rumble onto your lover’s lips, as yours stretched out into a hushed smile. He too showed an expression of happiness, as he pecked your lips, his hands sliding beneath the material of your top, soothing your back with his calloused and wise hands.

There was a problem rendering you with the necessity of being quiet, it would be a terrible travesty if anyone within the household were to hear you, giggling like a teenage girl (which you were), their Bennet curiosity swiping off their nose and leaping into action as they would surely, and most definitely, take aid to discover what it was that had you amused so.

Their opinion on the immortal men of time, that were transformed into a whole new species by one transfusion of exchanged blood, and a sentence of completed death, was not an optimal nor within preferred context. Vampires had taken so much from the Bennet witches throughout the years, that there was a stifling resentment wedged between the two.

You and Stefan were the exception, the two star crossed lovers entailed in a forbidden romance. He wasn't the enemy, but that did not mean that your sister Bonnie would be pleased with the current partner that you were adjoined by in your relationship. She'd watched Elena fawn over the green eyed charmer, it would be an utter nightmare for her to discover that you were now coiled beneath him on the rectangle of your bed, as he pressed tentative kisses along the length of your neck, smothering you with affection.

It was inevitable that your secret rendezvous would one day be revealed to all, including your sibling, however that wasn't something that you wanted to think about as Stefan's hand crept down, and over your skirt, sliding beneath the flowing material, and up the skin of your thigh. His action extracted a wisp of a gasp out from your mouth, as you pawed at his chest, distinctively staring through silence that you were keen in removing the shirt from his body.

The message was delivered as he reeled it up over his head, exposing his lean and fit body to your eyes. He continued to feather your skin with amorous touches, as he removed your panties by sliding them down your legs, shoving your skirt up so that your intimate skin was bare to his touch. “Stefan....” you whispered his name, as he slowly slid a finger into you. Your eyes fluttered peacefully shut, as his thumb coiled in a circle around your clit, for a moment it was silent, until the door opened.

“Stefan?!” Your sister repeated your words, making you instantly cover up your barren flesh, and your boyfriend to roll off you. There was digress in Bonnie’s eyes, she was severely judging you in your choice of partner, you were well aware of how her mind worked. Her arms became crossed as she rigidly shook her head, Stefan tossed his shirt back over his head, trying to make the predicament that little bit more bearable.

“Bonnie, I can explain...” it was rather obvious what was going on. An explanation wasn’t wanted nor was it needed, everything that was necessary to know was right before her face. The two of you had been caught in the midst prior to sex, which was as awkward as expected, however more so considering your sister remained glaring back and forth between you and the vampire.

“If you’re going to tell me that it’s not what it looks like, I’m calling bull on that.” She stated in an unimpressed manner. “This also means that you invited him in.” Her and Stefan didn’t hate each other, their kinds had simply been used as pawns against one another for far too long, and she hated to see you, her twin, in a cycle with a vampire, especially a Salvatore.

She had a feeling you were seeing someone, call it a fraternal thing. Though out of the entire town, it had to be one of those brothers, the brooding and dangerous siblings that survived by drinking blood and often compelled people close to them to admin their whims. “You have too much trust in people y/n.” She sighed, and she wasn’t entirely incorrect with all things considered.

“But he’s the right person to trust.” You tried to reason with her, but after all the pain that he had put the Bennet family through, it was difficult, and logically so, to believe your words. “Come on Bon.”

“No. I can hardly believe you, you went behind my back to see him, out of all people.” She spoke angrily, her tone wavering with hurt. Stefan took that as the moment that he was meant to intrude, he stood, walking towards your sister, a small and kind smile upon his face.

He appreciated her instinct to protect you, but you weren’t as naive as she thought you to be. It had taken him multiple accounts to even sway you into even agreeing going on a date with him, though he realised that all those rejections had been worth the price of pain, because he had grown significantly upon you.

“I love your sister.” The vampire informed the witch, glancing over at you with a newfound smile on his frozen in age face. Your eyes widened, the two of you had yet to exchange such words, though rather than interrupting by saying them back, you allowed him to continue speaking, despite Bonnie’s light scoff. “I know you don’t like it, but can’t you accept that she’s happy, don’t you want your sister to be happy? That’s why I’m fine my brother is with my ex, I care about his happiness above all.”

“I’m not giving you my blessing.” Her chest heaved at her statement, she was far too protective to give anyone the pass of go ahead at you. “If you hurt her, I will pierce a stake straight through your heart, though I’ll make sure you suffer first. This is not a forgiveness Stefan, as you said, every sibling wants theirs own to be happy, but if I see one tear that you are responsible for, you’ll be praying to god.”

“That is understandable.” Stefan nodded his head, Bonnie sent him one last furrow of her brows before leaving and closing the door, slipping in a few words about keeping the volume down whilst doing so. “Now where we?” He licked his lips after his enquiry, as he crawled onto the bed, and cupped your face, leaning his own down closer to your own.

“In the midst of me saying that I love you back, and that I would take not doubt my sister in the slightest Salvatore, she’ll kick your ass if you hurt me; and so will I.” He kissed you, bringing your hand up to his heart, as he stared his emerald pools into your y/e/c galaxies.

“That’s not a part of my plan.” He promised, only to suffocate your attempted response with his lips once more. You were vastly aware that you had to tone down your noise, to keep Bonnie calm. You could practically feel her stare at the wall in the living room, although you were clearly in your own room. “I plan to spend forever with you.”

“That is a complicated subject, let’s not get to that conversation just yet. I’d rather spend time with your cold body than your even paler and motionless one, Bonnie will kill you if she hears whispers of that possibility.” To sway away from the idea of being like him, you pushed the duvet away from your bottom half. “How about you spend forever between my legs, and then we’ll get back to that.”

#stefan salvatore oneshot #stefan salvatore imagine #stefan salvatore fanfiction #stefan x reader #stefan salvatore smut #stefan salvatore x reader #stefan salvatore #Stefan oneshot #tvd imagines #tvd smut #tvdreader #tvdimagine #tvd one shot #tvd x reader #tvd imagine #tvd fanfiction #vampire diaries stefan x reader #the vampire diaries x reader #vampire diaries smut #vampire diaries imagine #vampire diaries oneshot #vampire diaries fanfiction

[bartramcat]

CSI Vegas and the Myth of Marriage

For any number of reasons, marriage has always been considered among the least interesting subjects for fiction. Fiction loves getting to the marriage or showing a marriage in trouble or ending a marriage, but the actual day to day relationship? Nah. No drama there.

A perusal of TV sitcoms reinforces this idea. While kids are considered a great source of comedic fodder, married parents are not. Beginning in the early 1960s, Andy Griffith, Fred McMurray, Lucille Ball and Shirley Jones all played single parents. Of course, they were all widowed, since divorce was verboten.

I have never been a big fan of love stories. Most of my favorite films are about something other than love; if there is a love story within it, so be it, but love stories per se tend in film to be better shot soap opera. To tell you the truth, soaps actually did a better job with the subject. It has always seemed to me to take a long time to understand why two people love one another. It takes a novel.

One of the problems is that I think that, far too often, sex is seen as the driving force behind love. In many cases, the only force. And perhaps therein lies the problem with marriage. The standard trope is that once the initial sexual excitement fades that the dull drudgery settles in. Marriage limits everything. It is a routine. It is a trap. While characters may grow outside of a marriage, rarely do they grow within it. It is the dead end.

All of which brings me to Grissom and Sara. First of all, I suppose it should be mentioned that TIIC decided in Season 13 to follow the standard playbook. They decided, in their infinite idiocy, that they couldn't "grow" Sara while she remained tethered to her offscreen husband. So both characters began acting out of character. What the first 9 seasons of CSI made abundantly clear is that these two needed each other; they were compelled to each other like magnets, like moths to the eternally alluring flame.

So, yeah, they would go months at a time barely speaking and avoiding each other. Uh, no.

I think the greatest fear that many of us had when the reboot was announced was that the show would continue to follow the conventional playbook. That, after sailing off into the sunset, they would have found some way to break up again, and whatever lured them back to Vegas would be yet another opportunity for an angst-fest.

One of the most tired tropes in soap opera is the couple who can't live together, can't live apart, so their whole arc is a series of attenuated breakups and make-ups. It is this circle of hell that is really the dead end. They never learn; they never change; they never grow.

Instead of being presented with a couple whose relationship is stagnant or broken, we have been treated to a pair who have grown together, by virtue of being together. Grissom is still Grissom, and Sara is still Sara, and, yes, they can take different sides of an issue and bicker about it, but that in no way diminishes their connection. Rather, it is indicative of the strength of the bond between them. They are comfortable and secure with each other: they may see things differently, but they do so knowing they love and are loved.

Far from being dull, their interplay has been delightful. Beyond the banter, Billy and Jorja can literally make us see the invisible thread between them. Every word, every gesture, every glance underscores the existential bond between them. Their relationship has become as much a part of each of them as breathing.

Of course, I write this knowing full well that there are 4 episodes remaining in which the possibility looms that they can still be fucked up; that this show will bow to convention and find a way to divide them. Should they go down that path will be an unbelievable disservice to the characters and the audience, as well as fly in the face of what has been established thus far in the series.

Simply put, Gil and Sara know where they belong, on land or on sea, and that is together.

To deny that would be an indefensible assault on the truth.

#csi vegas #csi #gil grissom #sara sidle #sara x grissom #married couple #william petersen #jorja fox #gsr

[walkuntilthedaylight]

The people have spoken! How can I not give them what they want?

I'm gonna put this all under a cut, since it's a bit long, and also because it's highly interpretative/speculative and not everyone likes those kinds of posts as they can be rather subjective and, I suppose, invasive. I want to give two major caveats to my thoughts below: first is that I tend not to buy the idea that Paul was the "stable/normal" Beatle, mostly b/c I view marijuana dependency and workaholism as addictions and I take them pretty seriously. Second is that I really do love this kind of tabloid/gossip/personal account shit; I think it should be taken with a handful of salt, but I don't think it should be entirely dismissed out of hand either. I read this stuff like I'm piling up sheets of stained glass: I'm intrigued by the places where the colours blend and overlap, and ignore things that fall outside the prism. Anyway, let's dig in:

Okay, so what I found fascinating about 'Body Count' is that it's one of the only sources which observes Paul McCartney's mental health during the period between the India trip and when the band breakup really got rolling. I think it's overall a fairly self-absorbed text that definitely has some lies and exaggerations peppered in there to make things spicier and more dramatic, but its broad characterization - as I mentioned in my first post - isn't exactly libelous or out of left field. Some elements that make me think it's generally if not wholly authentic are: Paul's simultaneously forceful and dorky seduction style, his terrible Liverpool diet and poor housekeeping, the bouts of thrill-seeking recklessness, avoidant adventure crafting, dark moods when drinking non-socially, the occasional hot and cold bouts with the Apple Scuffs camped out at his gate, and the way in which he underplays his drug habit, which is SO "in truthfulness we spent most of the filming of Help! slightly stoned":

These details are so bizarrely specific and have significant overlap with both sympathetic and spurned personal accounts of Paul I've read in the past, so I believe Francie is just telling "Her Version Of The Truth" here rather than crafting a piece of pure fiction. The most important and revealing anecdote in the book is this one.

There's no reason not to believe this is a fairly accurate representation of something that actually happened, imo, since we know that anxious purse strings were an ongoing issue in the unusual turnover rate within the band Wings, and there are plenty of confirmed and rumoured cases alike of extended family members feeling entitled to a "piece of the pie"; this is just like, the kind of thing that happens to working class people who get catapulted into fame and fortune. And Paul in particular already had deep-seated financial anxiety for whatever reasons he'll never fully admit (as is his right, but I think his offhand claim that he "once heard some adults arguing about money and that's why" might actually be alluding to having heard some adults - y'know, like his parents - arguing over money fairly frequently). What esp interests me about the anecdote is the way Paul seems to connect the conflict b/t his dual "identities" with these financial expectations. Perhaps the CAPSLOCK emotional hysteria related in the book is puffed up for drama, but it does bring to mind one of the most revealing comments Linda ever made about their relationship, which is that Paul needed to be told he would still be loved when the cameras weren't rolling. And that's the thing: Francie caught Paul at the exact moment that the pillars of his Smile-For-The-Camera "Beatle" identity were collapsing; the dissolution of his relationships with John and Jane.

Whatever all this could possibly mean re: the breakup of the Lennon-McCartney partnership is a post for another time. What I wanna do instead is apply the level of speculation we usually reserve for that relationship to the endpoint of Paul and Jane's courtship.

So like, Paul and Jane: I know people are resistant to this specific POV, but I honestly just don't... think it was that deep? "Not deep", mind you, doesn't mean "not significant". Paul was obviously Jane's first love (u never forget), but the feeling I get from Paul's side (as a subconscious process I mean) is that Jane's importance was primarily as a lynchpin in his London Socialite persona. He loved her family, he loved the friend group, the artistic scene dating her gave him access to, as well as the leg up he got in the class system, etc. He liked to be the kind of guy who was dating Jane Asher. But I don't know that he was the guy who was dating Jane Asher, you get me? When people describe their "great love" they accidentally tell on them (Cynthia innocently describing Paul as being pleased to have her on his arm like a trophy; John: "it was an ordinary love scene"; Alistair Taylor noting that Paul was humiliated by the breakup). Paul's a serial monogamist who U-Hauls like a lesbian, of course, so he definitely took the relationship VERY seriously, but it's telling that all of his love songs to her were either about hitting a brick wall in arguments (certainly not dreamy, fond, yearning of "sunday morning fights about saturday night"; and occasionally expressing hints of class tension too), or completely non-descript Guy With A Guitar Trying To Get Laid shit. I could extrapolate a lot about Linda just from listening to McCartney I/RAM and the Wings discography, but 'And I Love Her' doesn't tell me a single thing about Jane besides that she's pretty. It could be about literally anyone the same way 'My Love' or 'Maybe I'm Amazed' could only be about his dynamic with Linda. Some of this is obviously the natural result of getting older and gaining emotional maturity; what I'm saying is that Paul's behaviour and self-expression in this relationship does not suggest to me that it was one in which his emotional maturity was able to develop or flourish.

I want to stress again that I don't think this belittles the significance of the relationship or makes it "bad" or "fake". Like, sometimes hot people just date for a while in their teens and twenties and love each other without necessarily unlocking their inner emotional cores, usually because they don't know how to. It's, like, fine. You need to experience relationships like that as stepping stones. I simply believe that this sort of front-facing social importance being prime in the romance is a major factor in why it ultimately didn't work (and probably in Linda's reported lingering jealousy of Jane, who wasn't just an ex, but also a symbol of the life Paul ditched to build a new identity w/ her, and sometimes still pined for). With Jane, Paul was dating the "right" kind of girl (didn't put out on the first date, erudite and middle class, as serious about her career as he was, a good "celebrity" match), but the relationship often wasn't doing what he wanted it to do. Francie's observation is that by 1968 it also wasn't doing what he needed it to do either. This is the overwhelming "mood" in her affair with Paul McCartney: that he needed something very badly from a romantic partner that he just was NOT getting, and Francie couldn't figure out what it was either:

(note that she means "queer" as in "mad", not "gay")

This was an EXTREMELY roundabout way of asking: well, what WAS it that Paul needed a relationship to do for him? And I think this is Francie's big, accidental insight. The most scandalous claim in 'Body Count' is that Paul told Francie that he hit Jane and it "turned her on".

I personally think this is p. absurd absent any real proof to back it up, but like, what is Francie actually saying HE'S saying here? If she's exaggerating or lying, she's trying to make it believable within the psychological parameters laid out, right? It's not an expression of some secret desire to dominate women she's accusing him of, but emotional disturbance and confusion at the idea that the woman he was with might like that sort of forceful, masculine violence more than his softer, feminine side, which he was - yeah, we all know it - deeply insecure about.

Regardless of whether specific details are true or false (and I think there's both in this story, all hyper-magnified to make it, y'know, a ~STORY~), I think what might be true is the emotional undertow of the retelling, that this all taken together is actually representative of the side of Paul McCartney she was exposed to, at a time when his public and private facades had both become unbearable to the point of cracking and the drug-fueled optimism of the Summer of Love was getting scrubbed off of everyone and everything. It's the Paul McCartney who eviscerated frogs because he was worried he was too "soft" for compulsory military service. The Paul who modelled his masculine teen behaviour off John Lennon's fake "Marlon Brando" swagger, but was actually more fond of the velvet "Oscar Wilde" interior.

What's SO FASCINATING about all this to me, is I deeply believe that one of the key factors in what makes The Beatles music so unique and compelling is that both the songwriters experienced psychological strain from the tension b/t their parochial socially-defensive "masculine" pride, and their sensitive "feminine" core, the latter of which they were able to express in the unburdened emotionality of their music. The reason I care about doing these totally unhinged psych analyses is because I do think it reveals something about the underpinnings of the music, as well as the reasons why the band was such a hysteria-inducing phenomenon (the rise of psychology, imo, is almost as important as the rise of industrialization as a defining factor of the modern and postmodern eras; mass psychology can be understood and wielded in precise ways, and The Beatles were one of the first empires built on that). The subconscious drives caused by this tension have been ENDLESSLY picked apart re: John's psyche, but Paul's "mirrored" issues are very under-discussed (mostly b/c he's still alive so people are a little more leery about putting him on the "couch" as a historical figure). 'Body Count', intentionally or not, painted a portrait to me of someone who was drowning in their own ill-fitting celebrity "suit", collapsing under the weight of "Being" "Paul McCartney". A guy who desperately needed some sort of space to be vulnerable without feeling emasculated for doing it. By 1968, there was no one in his life anymore - and maybe there hadn't been for a while, or ever - who was giving him this space.

In other words: the thing he needed to avoid going "stark raving queer and killing himself" was simply someone who would love him 'after the ball'.

EDIT: read the comments for further clarification and discussion! ;)

#/ #// #/// #//// #///// #the beatles #mccharmley #analysis #long post #Talking About Paul The Way I Talk About John lmfao #Taking Tabloid Bullshit Seriously #(if not literally) #*gets out my fake spectacles and jumps into the psychiatry armchair* #idk if i laid out my thoughts v well here but i hope it satisfied all the people who asked #i also tried to warn what genre of post it was for those who hate this kinda thing lol #i feel like i have more to say re: how toxic 'The Beatle' facade got for all of them by this point #and paul and john's mirrored post-india breakdowns #but francie's perspective is specifically on how it felt to be the girl he used to divebomb his relationship with jane asher SO

[screamingatanemptyroom]

Song of a Mermaid Warrior pt 2

Part 2 to the mermaid story!

Decided to continue it, wanted to see where Jordan's story ends up.

You can read pt 1 here.

Enjoy!

___________________________

“Well, well, well! Never thought I’d see the mermaid herself swimming over to my fetid swamp here in the slums!”

A slim young man with bright purple hair grinned, flipping a silver coin into the air over and over without looking at it. “Thought you said you were never coming back? What, did your last book not sell as well now that you're peddling comforting little lies about your species?”

Jordan leaned against the doorframe of the dilapidated shop, wondering for the thousandth time if this was a bad idea. She knew the answer, deep down, but chose to ignore it. “Tock, cut the crap.”

“Oh sweetie, you haven’t changed. “ Tock laughed. “ I can cut the crap, but not sure what use it would be… crap is notoriously difficult to cut, tends to mush up, you know… and whose crap should be cut? Mine?” He shrugged. “ Sorry to say this body doesn’t make physical waste. What about yours?”

Jordan rubbed her forehead. “I should have known better than to do anything other than speak as literally as possible… I hate fairies.”

“You only know one fairy, darling.” Tock’s eyes blinked, the irises turning green, than orange, than staying at a robin’s egg blue. “Unfair of you to judge the whole species just because you don’t like me. Especially because I have been nothing but fair and helpful to you.”

“You tried to trick me into giving you my skin.”

“TRIED. Tried is the key word there. Plus you didn’t fall for it, so what’s the problem?”

Jordan sighed, knowing that there was never any point with arguing with Tock.

She had run into the fairy over two years ago. At that time she was frantic, trying to find Hunter’s location, and her desperation had led her to the darker corners of the city. She had spent every last coin she had, unable to eat or sleep, and at her darkest moment, she stumbled into Tock’s shop. Later Jordan had realized that it was likely that despair that had allowed her to find his place. There were magic wards to keep all but the most vulnerable out.

When they met, Tock had seen her madness, her obsession, and was ecstatic. He tried to get her to agree to many terrible deals in exchange for tracking down Hunter and after adding a small addendum she had agreed, feeling that whatever price she had to pay was worth it.

In the end, the addendum she had insisted on saved her skin, quite literally. She had added on a time limit that he had to track Hunter down and arrange a meeting. And to Tock’s shock and dismay, whatever elven magic was hiding Hunter’s identity; it was beyond the fairy’s ability to dismantle.

Tock had failed to find Hunter, and the contract expired. Jordan left, at the time feeling a strange mix of disappointment at the failure and gratitude to be still in one piece. As they parted ways, she swore never to come back to his broken place of deals with the devil.

Until today.

“So what brings you here, my lovely little fish?” Tock flipped his coin again, and it sizzled as it disappeared into thin air. “Still trying to find that stubborn elf boyfriend of yours?”

“He was just a friend, and no. I gave up on him years ago.”

Tock frowned, blinking as his eyes turned a bronze color. “Pity. Your skin has only gotten prettier since the last time I saw it… would love to find your price to part with it.”

“…” The memory of Hunter cheerfully making plans to run away with her still hung in her mind. What was it that he had said? “We might lose our clothes and money, but at least we’d have a fun story to tell”? We had no idea what real fairies were like. The ocean’s song in Jordan’s ears was rising, she kept her lips closed to hold back the seductive call of the magic. The fairy noticed her struggle, backing away slightly.

“Fine, fine, no more talk about your skin. Why are you mermaids so sensitive about losing organs?” He paused for a moment, thinking. “Mermaids regenerate, right? Or was that trolls?”

“Tock….” The name was forced out between clenched teeth.

The fairy rolled his eyes, changing them to a pure silver color. “So what deal DO you want to make today, my angry mermaid friend?”

She dug through her pocket handing over a silver badge with a handkerchief. Her touch shouldn’t affect his abilities, but Jordan still didn’t want to touch it. It represented something she had tried to move beyond in the last few years, a part of the past that caused her to wake up sobbing some nights, and to stay up drinking others.

Hunter had been her only friend, the only person in this world she thought she could trust. She had learned the hard way how foolish that trust had been. But once she had finally made peace with that fact, he had sent someone to intrude in her life once more. After forcing her to stay out of his battle, he was inviting her to join him, dangling the one thing he knew she couldn’t resist to get her to agree: the existence of other full blood mermaids.

She wasn’t going to play by his rules. If he was expecting her to run back to his side after forcing her away years ago, he would be sorely disappointed. And if she was going to use the clue he had given her, it was for her reasons and no one else’s. Because for everything he had gotten wrong, Hunter had gotten one thing very right:

She did want to find the mermaids in the city.

Not out of any sense of loyalty or need to find others like her, however. She was simply desperate. The instincts to fight and kill, to use her magic to trap and destroy, grew stronger by the day. Soon she was afraid she’d start killing innocent people. She needed to find a way to control it.

Jordan was hoping that other mermaids would know how.

Maybe other mermaids don’t have this problem. She thought at her darkest moments. Maybe I’m just a killer, a monster.

She tried not to think about that to often.

Tock gingerly picked up the badge, his eyes widening with surprise and turning a glowing violet.

“You always have the best things! Let’s see… silver… It was made several years ago… it had other forms years ago… but the owners of those items died quite violently…” He paused, glancing at her curiously. “Your handiwork, I would guess?”

“No comment.”

“Such an unfriendly fish… good thing you have such pretty skin, otherwise I wouldn’t pay you any attention.” He turned back towards the badge in his hand. “It was made with care and love… quite a pure emotion of care… along with a large amount of hope, all mixed in with the silver as it was reformed… it was part of a set?”

“Yes.” She swallowed uncomfortably, pushing back the memories of a young naïve girl, who thought herself hardened and bitter, carefully making a birthday present for her best friend.

“Can I see the other one?”

She thought of the location of the badge she had once treasured. “No.”

Tock pouted. “Fine. It contains quite a few auras, but the strongest one… is quite familiar.” His eyes turned a bright angry red. “Elf!”

“Yeah, it was Hunter’s.”

“That BASTARD! His blasted elf magic forced me to lose my contract with you!” He tossed the badge to the counter with a disgusted grimace. “You’ll never be that perfect combination of desperate and vulnerable again!” He looked back at me. “You are STILL trying to find that elf who dumped you three years ago? And I thought you had standards.”

The ocean song roared in her ears as it sensed her anger, pushing at her control, leaking from her lips. She could feel it swelling beneath her skin, threatening to force itself out. Tock rolled his eyes at the sight.

“Don’t try your battle magic here. You may be quite terrifying to meet in a dark alleyway, but I have some great wards in place.” He sneered as she kept her lips closed tightly. “Just a word of advice: Don’t face off a fairy in his own home.”

Jordan forced her magic down with great struggle, every instinct wanting to lash out. “I don’t want you to find Hunter. I want to know most frequent locations this amulet has been over the past six months.”

“And that’s not the same thing because…”

“Because it’s not him I’m wanting to find.” If he's found mermaids, then the locations he's been, the people he's spoken to... they'll be clues to track them down.

Tock raised an eyebrow. “Then what ARE you trying to find?”

“None of your business. I just need the locations this object has been most frequently.”

“Very well.” His smile became sly, his eyes shifting away from the angry red to a dark blue. “What deal shall we make for me to do this? How about your skin…”

The last word trailed off as Jordan held up a golden coin.

“…”

_________________________________

The silence in the room stretched on, as Tock’s gaze was locked on the object in her hand. His eye color was shifting rapidly, brown, grey, orange, green, before the whole eye filled with color finally turning a solid, glowing silver. His shoulders twitched, and his teeth grew longer in his mouth, the sharp points pressing into his still human appearing lips.

“Where did you get that?” His whisper had lost all of his previous joking tone. There was a small amount of magic woven into his words, a minor compelling spell to force her to speak, and speak truthfully. It buried itself in her ear, making her thoughts foggy. Jordan smiled, shaking her head as the ocean song within her rose in volume, drowning out the fairy magic easily, keeping her mind clear.

“I’ve picked up a lot of things these past few years.”

“ANSWER. THE. QUESTION.”

“No.” Jordan flipped the coin, mimicking the fairy’s earlier actions. “Don’t try your magic on me, fairy. I’ve had too many years of practice ignoring magical compulsions.”

“Fine.” He sighed loudly. “Do you know what it is you have there? Do you know if there’s any more?”

“I’ve heard stories… tales only whispered in dark alleys and in crumbling basements. Do you know in schools here they teach that the humans are the only ones affected by the Darkness? That losing the ability to have children was the be all and end all of the curse?”

“…” Tock kept silent, staring at her. Shrugging, she continued with a mocking smile.

“What a limited view, right? Turns out that everyone lost something to the Darkness. Every single one. It took whatever that species valued most. For humans, such a short-lived, social people, it was taking away the ability to make new generations. But fairies… you are born of magic and air, part of nature and outside of time. Procreation means nothing to you.” She flipped the coin up, letting it spin in the air before catching it and holding it firmly in her hand. “The Darkness took something much more important to you fairies.”

Tock was trembling at her words, unclear if it was with fear or anger. “What do you think the Darkness took from us?”

Jordan glanced at his empty back. “Your wings.”

“…” The fairy’s hands were gripping the counter in front of him. His fingers sank into the wood as easily as if it was made of clay.

“If it were just something to help you fly, I bet you would have simply made do without them. But they represent something much more important, don’t they?” She leaned closer, ignoring his threatening aura. “That’s where fairies store their magic. So now you have the live with the scraps of magic you absorb from the earth and enchanted items, unable to store it within yourself. That’s why you work here, in this pitiful little shop, unable to do more than hide behind these wards and peddle minor magic tricks for favors.”

“Be careful, mermaid…”

“Oh I’m careful enough, Tock.” She opened her hand and stared at the coin in her palm. “No wonder you wanted my skin… how much magic should be stored within it, I wonder. Enough to last you a few years I would think. Which is why this little coin is so important to you.”

“…”

“Fairy gold.” She held it up again. “Quite pretty, actually, looks like the real thing even on close inspection. But if I were to try to spend it… it would expel all the magic stored inside, turning to wood and taking away my lifetime’s luck. An inconvenience for me… but for you?” She grinned. “It stores enough magic for you to live comfortably for quite some time. You could leave this shop, set up protective wards wherever you ended up. Magic enough to stabilize your appearance so your eyes and ears don’t change; let you blend in if you wanted to leave your house for a change. “

“…”

“So what do you say, Tock.” Jordan flipped the coin one last time. “Do we have a deal?”

After a long pause, the fairy spoke up. “… I …”

“TOCK ARE YOU HERE?!!”

The shop door slammed open and a short redheaded young man burst in. As he rushed to the counter, Jordan got a closer look. He was a few inches shorter than her, his leaner frame still obviously muscular. His facial features were handsome, with bright green eyes that glowed with excitement and fiery red hair that was cropped short. He wore regular clothing, a grey t shirt and jeans, and would have seemed very average except for the massive axe strapped to his back.

Who the heck is this?

“Glit, this isn’t the time.” Tock warned, his tone still angry and tense.

“No, Tock, I’ve been thinking about it… maybe I SHOULD be willing to compromise… exactly how much skin would you need to help me find the dwarves?”

The fairy’s eyes glowed an excited gold, his teeth retracting once more as he stabilized his appearance. “Well now…”

“Add his bill to mine.” Jordan interrupted, glaring at Tock. “No skin.”

“But… that’s unfair! We already had a deal!”

“You didn’t accept it in time, so now the deal has changed. “ She shrugged “The price I’m offering is more than enough to cover us both. I would suggest you take the deal before it changes again.”

Tock glared. “FINE! FINE, I ACCEPT!”

The young man turned to her, shocked. She met his gaze, holding back the urge to sigh. Jordan wasn’t much one for random acts of kindness to strangers, but he reminded her of herself a few years ago. Lost, desperate… the only kind of people who can slip past Tock’s wards. She just wasn’t sure what his reaction would be to her interference… annoyance? Gratitude?’

He grinned at her. “You look really strong! Wanna fight?!”

… Well that certainly hadn’t been the reaction she was expecting.

“Maybe later…”

His shoulders slumped. “Dangit. I was losing hope of meeting a strong person in this awful city… no offense if you like it here.”

“None taken, I don’t.”

“I finally meet someone worthy of a good fight, and I make a terrible first impression.” He sighed. “My Ma always did say I needed to work on my introductions.”

“…And you are?”

His eyes widened. “I haven’t told you that yet?” His hand slapped his forehead. “Sorry, must have been distracted by the whole ‘trading my skin’ thing. I’m Glitenaere ni Tolk Vhelarite, firstborn of Marleiun ge Nerturin, the greatest Dwarven warrior alive… but you can call me Glit!”

She looked over the short young man. “You are the greatest warrior?”

“Nope. My Ma.”

“You’re a dwarf?”

“Since I was born.”

Jordan felt curious, having only ever read about dwarves from human textbooks, which said they were a reclusive, unfriendly race.

The reportedly unfriendly, reclusive dwarf was reaching out to shake her hand. “Thanks for the saving my skin, friend!”

She didn’t take his hand. “Shouldn’t you have a beard?”

Tock burst out into laughter, his eyes turning a humorous magenta. “Wow, way to go straight for the gut.”

“Aww, shut up fairy, she didn’t mean anything by it. Can’t blame her for not knowing in a city like this.” Glit leaned against the counter, rubbing his chin with an idle hand. “I’m a darkling, a child born infected by the Darkness.”

“Every race lost something.” Jordan whispered.

“Not everyone was infected, but those who were never grew beards.” He looked sad for a brief moment. “It’s a symbol of strength, of connection to the Earth… everything in our culture revolves around it.”

“What about the women?”

“Oh they grow them too. You should see my Ma. Her beard makes all the boys cry with jealousy.” Glit laughed. “They all thought with her being the strongest and all, her child would be too… but…”

“…Sorry.”

“Oh don’t worry, friend. I’m not weak. I may not have a connection with the earth and a powerful beard, but I’m a force to be reckoned with when I have an axe in my hand!”

Tock looked up, his eyes turning bright white. “You may have to test that out sooner rather than later. We have company.”

BANG! Something slammed into the closed door behind them.

_________________________________

Jordan took a defensive stance, while Glit drew his axe. “Who’s coming?”

“Probably one of those damn purity obsessed groups. They constantly sweep the slums, looking for low bloods and part elves. Usually the wards keep them away, but today, I got a little… distracted. “

“Great. Not really in the mood to deal with these guys, Tock.”

“They bad guys?” Glit spoke up.

“Yep.” Jordan answered softly. “They do horrible things to those who can’t defend themselves.”

“Fair enough. Today they picked on the wrong type of people, though.” Glit grinned. “Let’s kill them!”

His easy acceptance of the violence they would face ahead gave her a little pause. Before she could examine it too closely, the door crashed open, and a large group of men wearing black cloths around the lower halves of their faces rushed in. In their hands were standard pistols, the dull metal glinting off the many lamps of Tock’s shop.

“Looks like we got a haul, boys!” One of them spotted Glit and Jordan, his eyes widening with shock. “That short one definitely can’t be high purity… he’s either a low blood or a dirty elf mix blood! And the other…” He glanced and Jordan and laughed. “A No Blood? Thought they were all gone!”

Glit twirled the massive axe in his hand with ease, looking confused. “Do I look like an elf?”

Jordan thought of the tall quiet young man who had always followed behind her, always trying to avoid violence. “Not even a little.”

“Ah.” He tossed the axe lightly, catching it with the other hand. “Hey fellas, despite your insults and poor eyesight, I’m gonna be nice. Here’s your one chance to run away, before my strong friend and I start slicing you to pieces.”

Even with the majority of his face covered, the disdain on the attacker’s face was evident. “Shut up, dirty elf! Even with your axe, you really think you can face a group with guns?" He snorted, "Now we’re gonna have fun killing you.”

Glit just laughed at the threat. “I was hoping you guys would say that!”

As the group of attackers spread out around the room, he turned to face one side, leaving his back open to Jordan.

Jordan hesitated briefly at Glit’s open back, startled at the gesture of trust, before slowly turning to cover him. She glanced around to see that Tock had disappeared before closing her eyes, calling up the song within her and setting it free.

From her mouth a song of battle rang out. Several of the attackers stopped in their tracks, caught in her illusion, but the rest were only mildly affected, just barely losing their grips on their weapons.

Jordan cursed silently, still singing. Her magic was very effective against small groups of enemies, but the more people it was spread out against, the less useful it would be.

As the song of death spilled constantly from her lips, she felt her nails grow out into claws and moved forward, striking the attackers that were not incapacitated first. From the side she heard Glit run forward, spinning his axe, blood and tissue flying through the air as he cut through enemies.

Blood dripped from her fingers. She heard someone behind her, preparing to strike and turned, grabbing his neck. She felt the water within his heart, and used her magic to stop it in place. His face turned pale, and clutching his chest, he fell to the ground.

Jordan was feeling the drain of her magic. Her vision was turning a bright blue, the song growing in her mind, calling for her to give in completely.

BANG! A shot rang out past her ear, and sensing the danger, the song surged louder in her soul.

Can’t give up all control to my instincts. She thought grimly, slicing the shooter’s face. I might just lose myself completely.

It was hard, fighting against physical enemies while resisting the magical bind of her own blood, but Jordan forced herself forward, grateful for the help of the dwarf beside her. If she had faced all these enemies by herself, she might have lost to the bloodlust within her.

The air was filled with blood and screams.

And then… there was silence.

__________________________________

Jordan’s vision cleared as she forced the song of the ocean down, keeping it tightly controlled within herself. Her nails retracted and she stood in place, staring down at the blood on her hands.

Hunter always said he didn’t want me to be a killer. She closed her eyes briefly with pain. She felt dirty, worthless. Maybe if I wasn’t one he wouldn’t have left me behind.

Lost in her thoughts, she only came out of it as she felt a warm touch on her hands. Shocked, her eyes flew open, only to see Glit pushing a large wet cloth into her grasp.

“Here, friend, you can clean your hands with this.”

She paused, unused to the kindness, but took it anyways. “Thanks.”

“No problem! You’re amazing! That battle song… had magic in it right? Are you not human?”

“Mermaid.” The word came out before she could stop it, and Jordan pressed her lips together, annoyed. He’s a stranger. No need to tell him anything more. She tucked the dirty rag in her pocket, not wanting to give Tock a free sample of her blood.

“Really? I thought they had all disappeared!” Glit’s face lit up. “My Ma always said that the mermaids were the only warriors she wouldn’t want to face up against! That’s awesome!”

She glanced at the dismembered bodies on his side of the room. “You’re not such a bad fighter yourself.”

His smile brightened. “Really? Thanks! Those guys back home thought I was pretty useless, being a Darkling and all, but if a mermaid warrior says so, I’ll trust your opinion!”

“This is all very touching… but what am I supposed to do about the mess you made?” Tock’s annoyed tone caught their attention.

“We fought off your attackers while you hid in the back, fairy.” Jordan raised an eyebrow. “You can worry about the mess. You’re lucky we don’t charge you for the service.”

“Yeah, what she said!” Glit crossed his arms, standing at her shoulder, and smiled at Tock, the still bloody axe in his hand making the gesture threatening.

Tock rolled his now yellow eyes. “Fine. While you two were gleefully tearing those idiots to pieces, I finished the tasks you gave me.” He spread a map on the counter, ignoring as the far corner was stained with blood. Jordan recognized it as a map of the city. With a golden pen the fairy circled a few buildings. “Here’s where the amulet has spent the most time in the last six months, in order of most time spent.”

She glanced over at Glit beside her. “And the dwarves?”

“Tougher, since he doesn’t have a possession from the dwarves in question, but…” He picked up a silver marker, and circled one place. “There is a high concentration of earth magic here.”

Glit and Jordan stared at the spot, where silver and gold overlapped.

“Looks like me might be looking for the same place.” She whispered.

“Really? That’s great, friend!” He paused. “By the way, what’s your name?”

“Jordan. But I don’t think we’re friends. I don’t trust anyone.” Not anymore.

“Jordan!” He grinned. “Don’t worry, we can still be friends. You don’t have to trust me. I’ll trust you enough for the both of us.”

Tock groaned. “You’re so naïve… why couldn’t you have shown up when the mermaid wasn’t around?! I could have extorted you for so much skin!”

Jordan grabbed the map silently, unsure of how to respond to the dwarf’s enthusiasm.

“If you’re going there, can we go together? I’m looking for a large group of dwarves that disappeared, we think they might be being held captive in the city.”

“…You really shouldn’t trust people so easily.” Her words came out as a pained whisper.

Glit’s face became solemn for the first time since they met. “It’s okay. I’ve grown up in a world that hates me. It’s not been easy, but over the years, I’ve developed a good sense of those around me, and what kind of people they are.”

“And kind of person do you think I am?” She was genuinely curious what the cheerful dwarf thought of her.

“You? Well, you’re someone who cares too much and wishes you wouldn’t. My guess is that you’ve been hurt very badly by someone you trusted… and now you would never wish that same pain on another person.” He shrugged. “So that’s why I trust you. You might kill me if you have to, but you’ll do it facing me. You won’t stab me in the back. You couldn’t bear to do that to someone after what you’ve been through.”

“Interesting opinion.” Jordan felt a strange mixture of despair and relief at his words. “Not put off by me killing men while they’re stunned by magic? That wasn’t just a fight…I’m a killer.”

“Hmm… well, I just chopped up six guys with an axe, and the only reason they didn’t shoot a bunch of holes in me is because of your magic, so I’m pretty sure I can’t judge.” Glit patted her on the back. “Are you looking for mermaids, like I’m looking for dwarves?”

She nodded silently, although silently she thought their reasons for looking were quite different.

“Then let’s go find our people together! You don’t have to trust your back to me, but don’t worry! I’ll defend it anyways.”

“Can you two leave?" Tock rubbed his face tiredly, his eyes flickering between purple and pink. "This touchy feely stuff is bad for my business. What if some desperate fool walks in and is inspired by all your motivational speaking?”

Jordan tossed him the fairy gold, taking back the silver badge she had given him, and turned and left the shop. “Never coming back, Tock.”

“Keep telling yourself that, my fishy friend!” He called back. “You’ll come back. They always do.”

“Okay then! See you later, Tock!” Glit called out as he walked behind her.

“…Actually, I would prefer it if YOU don’t come back. You give me a headache.”

Jordan and Glit left the carnage filled shop behind them

_________________________________

“So mermaids and dwarves being held in the center of the city.” Glit thought out loud. “Some sort of human conspiracy?”

Jordan thought of growing up in the orphanage, the city’s emphasis on having higher purity of mermaid blood rather than human, the complete lack of information on other races. She thought of Hunter and the underground Resistance. Of the Darkness that spread everywhere, touching every species.

Everyone lost something to the darkness, right?

So what did mermaids lose?

... What did I lose?

“There’s something broken about this world, more going on here then we realize.” Jordan answered softly. “But we’re going to figure it out.”

“Together?”

“For now.”

“Awesome!” He pumped a fist in the air. “Wait until I tell my Ma I went on a quest with a mermaid warrior. She’s gonna be so impressed!” He paused. “You two would get along, I think. Strong warrior types and all.”

Jordan sighed, rubbing her forehead.

“Why does everyone keep sighing around me?”

“… Let’s go. “

_________________________________

They moved quietly towards the place marked on the map. Glit, surprisingly, activated a hidden mechanism on his axe, folding it into thirds and hiding it in a backpack, and pinned on a “34” badge. He saw her glance at the silver ornament and shrugged. “Snatched this off some guy who tried to mug me when I arrived in town. Most people think I’m just a low purity level student when I’m dressed like this .”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-three.”

“…” Older than me? Jordan adjusted her mental view of him silently.

“Don’t worry if you thought I was younger.” He raised his hands helplessly. “No beard and the dwarven height tends to confuse people.”

“Sorry.”

“No worries, as long as you don’t think I’m weak and helpless just because I’m shorter than you.”

She thought of him cutting through enemies with his axe. “No chance of that.”

They made they way to the abandoned factory that Tock had marked for them. As they neared the area, Glit pulled out a machine from his bag waving it through the air.

“What’s that?”

“Dwarven machine, it detects the presence of magic.” He frowned. “We need to be careful. This whole place is covered with spells.”

“If this was a human holding place…”

“It shouldn’t have magic.” He finished her thought. “Maybe go up to the roof and enter from there instead?”

They scaled the wall silently, cutting a small hole in the roof with yet another tool from Glit’s bag. As she peered into the building, she felt the ocean’s song start welling up within her.

“There’s danger here. We should go back and regroup.”

“Jordan, look out!” Glit pushed her to the side, wincing as the blow from behind her struck his head instead.

Jordan opened her mouth to release her magic, but before a sound could escape, a hand grasped her arm and magic flooded her body.

“Sleep.” The voice was familiar, but her mind was already falling into darkness.

Jordan woke up on a couch in a dark room. Groaning, she rubbed her head, feeling angry. She knew this feeling, this hung over dizzy sensation. Remembered it too clearly even though she wished she could forget.

“Elven magic.”

Glit groaned from his sprawled position in the corner of the room, his arms and legs tied tightly. The ropes dug into his skin, but he ignored it as he flipped his body into a sitting position on the floor, looking up at her with a sad expression. “Sorry I missed them behind us.”

“It’s fine, thanks for taking that hit for me.” She glanced at the wound on his head, crusted with dried blood, and winced. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just a friendly tap. I’ve got a hard head.” He grinned, then looked around. “Real question is, who has us, and why?”

“I have an idea... but I really hope I’m not right.”

“You always did have good instincts, Jordan.”

The familiar voice spoke up from the doorway, Jordan forced herself to sit up on the couch, staring at their captor with a pained expression.

She knew him.

Of course she knew him.

He had set his trap, sent her his badge, knowing she would use it… and she had fallen for it.

The man who haunted her nightmares smiled sadly at her. “Not happy to see me?”

She blinked, shaking her head slowly. “Hello again, Hunter.”

#writing #fantasy #violence #elves #mermaids #dwarves #fairies #apocalypse #action #part 2 is here! #Will answer asks with next pfts part

[lemonhobgoblin]

A Casual Night

Mothman x human reader (gender-neutral)

Word Count: 7k

(I remember saying I would have a fic done the same week I posted my other fic. Well, that was a lie. After dealing with work, creating new wips, and editing what started as a 2k fic became this long-ass post. I tried to keep this gender-neutral, but if there are any parts thats not gender-neutral, or if something doesn't make sense give me a message and I'll fix it. Anyway hope you enjoy!)

The faint sound of your car running and the sound of the wind whipping against the surface was muddled out by old tunes playing from a random radio station filling the lonely ride home. Your eyes trained on the dark empty road ahead, your headlights on full beam, lighting your way. The subtle notes of a box of cooling pizza wafting in your direction every so often.

You were driving from a city over from where you lived, coming back from a friend’s home who was having a small get-together. It was a great time, unwinding from the stresses of work and life in general, with games, movies, playful banter, and sharing a couple of drinks. As the night progressed, things began to slow down, one of your friends passed out on the couch while everyone else turned to some lighthearted conversation. Leading the host to pipe up if they were willing to spend the night given how late it has gotten and mostly due to how much some people drank.

While everyone was willing to stay the night and continue their night of merriment. You on the other hand as well as one other person had to leave for the night due to work obligations you both had tomorrow morning.

Regretfully, you made your exit not without being offered leftovers for the ride back. But halfway home, you received an email detailing how you were not needed for work tomorrow as you were getting gas.

With this newfound information, you had the choice of making a U-turn back or continue straight home.

Rather than driving back to your friend's home, you were just going to continue your way home. You already said goodnight to them, and you were almost home even though it was still quite a ways to go. Nevertheless, they probably turned in for the night by now, and there was always next time to make it up to them.

So driving down an empty two-way road, with no lights fixture to light the road. With no other cars passing through, keeping you company. Only the trees crowding around the road giving you some sort of haunting looming audience. This was a normally busy road; however, by how late in the night it was, it was understandably dead.

Fortunately, enough, you saw your first signs of life up ahead. It seemed to be a herd of deer passing by. You honked your horn to scare them away from the oncoming danger that was your car.

Except instead of dispersing, they stayed in place, it didn’t seem out of the ordinary why else did they have the saying 'a deer in headlights.'

But what was odd, was the closer you approached the herd of deer they seemed to be floating off the pavement, apparently, they were one entity and not a group and had a pair of red glowing eyes. It stirred an unpleasant feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Promptly, an undiscernible screech erupted all around, jolting you in your seat, feeling a pang of sudden fear washing over you. Convincing yourself it was only the radio going off the fritz, peeling your eyes away from the road you scrambled to shut off the device. During your haste to bring an end to the blaring otherworldly sound, you didn’t realize how fast you were driving.

"What the fuck?!" Seeing a flash of a large dark mass smashing against your windshield - shards of glass flying around and onto you.

Swerving your car over to the side of the road, feeling the right side slope down, the bumps of the grass making you rattle and jostle in your seat. Putting your car to a complete stop.

Frantically, you scrambled to free yourself from your seatbelts, ripping yourself from your constraints, you busted out your car. Not giving a single care to the state of your car or your frazzled state. Only concerned about what or who you hit.

Jogging down, you saw a crumpled figure on the ground, he was a good distance away from where you parked. "Oh my god," You exclaimed.

“I didn’t see you coming, I’m so sorry," you yelled, hurrying to aid the individual. You didn’t get a response or see any movement - he did hit your car pretty hard.

Scared for their wellbeing you slowed down and fished for your phone in your back pocket to call for help. But before you could dial for help, you saw something that put halt to your actions. You starred in disbelief as your phone locked out.

From the figure, a wing stretched out toward the sky before folding back in itself.

What the hell did you hit?!

Cautiously, you crept forward to get a better look, you could see he was wearing a fur jacket. No. He was furry everywhere, dull in color but with an interesting print on what you believed was the wings, the pattern was similar to a moth's wing. A costume perhaps? His legs were a digitigrade structure and his feet are similar to a bird's foot arrangement. The talons of which were scraping against the road like an animal in pain.

"A moth?" Perplexed at what exactly you were looking at, it still seemed human, but it was too large in stature given it curled up on the ground. This had to be some large person in a very convincing costume. Assuming it was someone dressed up, as what you could only think of as Mothman. A random tall person dressed head to toe in an extremely convincing Mothman in the middle of an isolated road, for reasons you couldn't conjure but there had to be a rational reason as to why.

The closer you approached, the more of your rationality began to slip. Carefully you squat down, putting your hands on its back, it felt real. Too real.

The wings felt warm, stroking your hand down, you felt the ridges, bumps, and what felt like a pulse, in the wings. You noticed it had a plush ruff around its neck that could’ve been mistaken for a scarf. And there were antennas on its head, it was featherlike and twitched every few seconds. You had no desire to investigate further, yet you had a gnawing sense of curiosity that compelled you.

Besides what if was someone who was severely injured and needed immediate help. And what kind of person would you be if you just drove off without a second thought, leaving them to die. You couldn't live with yourself if that was the case.

This is too unreal. But all the signs suggested otherwise.

Bracing yourself, you gently turned him over to face you, the moment you caught a glimpse of his face, you felt instant regret surge through your veins. You stumbled backward, landing on your back, trying to push yourself away from the massive creature with your legs.

"MOTHMAN!!" You screamed.

This in turn alarmed the cryptid, flapping his wings erratically in response to your sudden outcry. It was emitting these indiscernible sounds that you had heard earlier in the car, it provoked that familiar immense fear within you.

Except, this was louder than when you were in your car, the sound reverberated through you, chills traveling up your spine. You could feel your heart palpitating within your chest, your trembling limbs growing numb. You felt your senses heightened at an alarming rate it was nauseating that you felt your mind blur. If these disquieting sounds alone could trigger your flight or fight response, without the presence of the monster. It was nothing in comparison to the full show that was in front of you, it was overwhelming in all the senses, inciting you to get far as possible.

"Holy shit!" Pulling yourself from your state of shock, you turned over onto your hands and knees, pushing yourself up and away, making a straight beeline to your car without delay.

The screeching stopped behind you. Glancing back toward the monster curious if it was making a move towards you. But all you saw was a poor incapacitated being, pitifully attempting to lift itself away. One of its wings was flapping while the other was barely moving at all. When it tried to move its stiff wing, it wouldn't fully extend before retracting it back, making what sounded like a pained low screech.

In all honesty, even in your fear-driven state, it pained you to witness this distressing scene. Pondering back and forth between taking the car and leaving, or taking your chances with the monster.

Inching toward the car, all without removing your eyes from the scene. Then you heard a more distressing shrill, stopping you dead in your tracks. You couldn't leave him.

He still needs help.

Inhaling a deep breath, you shakily walked back, each step was challenging you felt so weak in the knees and you felt lighter than usual. Your mouth desiccated of any moisture but persisted in swallowing nothing. It felt as if you were walking down to your execution and it might as well be. You couldn't predict what it would do or what it was capable of doing if you got any closer. Regardless, you tried to push your fears aside and help him, even if it killed you.

"Hold on, I'm not gonna hurt you. Just don’t hurt me please." Easing yourself onto your knees, mindful of not doing any sudden movements to provoke it any further for both of your sakes.

Bringing a hand back to where you had it before, you delicately brushed your hand up and down in small strokes on its wing. Focusing on his state and not his appearance, you saw cuts and scrapes littering its wings and body.

You grazed over an open wound, causing the creature to flinch, silently apologizing to him in a hushed tone before continuing to pet him while avoiding any more wounds.

Its breathing began to slow, quelling its jitters. You took this as an indicator of the creature growing at ease at your presence. “See I just wanna help." You whispered as the Moth creature peered up, gazing into your eyes in a sort of mutual understanding. Ensuring a feeling of reprieve within you and within him, or so you thought. It was soon to be proven wrong. The moment was short-lived when the cryptid began to thrash around again, this time trying to keep you away from him.

"Wait I thought we had an understanding there." Pulling yourself into a ball to avoid the cryptid's violent flapping wing and arms recklessly whipping around. "The eye contact we had! The eye contact!" you screamed after being betrayed by this false sense of amicable trust you thought you both had shared at that moment. But this ineffectively did nothing to fix the dilemma, merely adding more to the chaos.

"Please I want to help you." Reaching your hand out to calm him once more, without the screaming and flailing this time. "This was my fault, I wanna help and then you can go on your Mothman way, okay?" You tried to coax. Once more the monster began to quiet down, its quick shallow breathing slowed. Weary of his soothed behavior, you waited a bit before wrapping his arm over your neck.

"Okay, I'm gonna pick you up or at least try to." You said, guiding him upward into a standing position.

"Christ, you’re heavy!" Bending under the weight, propping him against your frame, so you could get a proper footing and grip on him. You struggled to the car, trudging over, but not without one of your legs giving out from under the weight occasionally. What caught your eye was how his head lulled forward or side to side, he might be disoriented from the blow. Not wanting to move his head much, you trudged much slower than you already were and stopped every few seconds.

Arriving at you your vehicle, you rested against your car, before opening the car door and easing him inside into the backseat. Tucking in any stray limbs and wings fully inside the car. Shutting the door you looked at the heavily cracked windshield. It was damaged pretty well, you summarized that you had to slowly drive all the way home. Wait home.

"Wait, I can't just bring you to my house." You said, bringing a hand to your mouth, realizing a new issue. "Someone's gonna see you." Remembering you lived on a busy street near pubs and shops, and it was Friday night you could only assume there were still people out and about enjoying the nightlife. Peering inside your car, your eyes locked on your jacket in the front seat.

"Maybe I can disguise you, and it is Friday night maybe people would be too drunk to notice."

"As long as we don't draw too much attention." You said, getting into your seat and starting up the engine. But something about saying those words aloud, felt like it was going to bite you in the ass but what’s the worst that can happen, you had him handled.

….

Here you were driving back home with the low-volume melody playing like before. However, this was different, before you were alone and you welcomed the tranquil ambiance you had riding home. But now you were riding back with an elusive creature. Creating an unsettling silence within the vehicle. What was maddening was that you were unsure what he was thinking, making you unsure of what to do besides drive. Maybe you were overthinking this but you felt you had to do something to break this disorienting atmosphere because this was too hard to fathom as reality.

"D-Do you want gum? L-Leftover pizza?" Your voice cracked, quickly clearing your throat asking again in a stronger confident voice.

No response. You tapped your fingers on the steering wheel, sucking in your cheek prompting you to purse your lips in your endeavor of finding what else to say. Flitting your eyes back and forth from the road to looking around your car on what else to offer.

"My coat?"

No response again.

Looking at your rearview mirror to get a glimpse of the cryptid only to be met with its red eyes staring directly back at you. Hastily looking back to the road and sinking into your seat, alarmed. How long was he staring at you? Why was he staring? At least he seemed less disoriented now, but you didn’t need that right now, maybe you could draw his attention onto something else other than you.

"How about some air?" you asked, hoping he would stare out the window or put his head out, anything but him staring at you all the way home. Gliding your left hand over to the window control panel on the side of your door, you pushed down a button making his window rolled down. This captured his attention, redirecting his gaze towards the open window, watching the trees and road signs passing by. O thank god. but just as he turned his head to the outside, he took this as an invitation to spread his wings to catch some air.

"That doesn't mean you can start flapping, put your wings down." Whipping your head back and forth from the creature to the road, drawing a hand at him, swinging it around to get him to fold his wings down. "PUT YOUR WINGS DOWN! PUT YOUR WINGS DOWN!" Veering your car off to the side of the road.

.....

Back on the road, after sorting out the matter. "Okay, no rolled down windows." You remarked. Mothman looking like a perfect angel in the back tapping at the rolled-up window while you were in the front with your hair messed up and arms lightly scratched. You weren't a mother, but you now had a vague idea of what it would be like and further respect and admiration for them.

Needless to say, you rode the entire way back in silence without a single word being uttered.

…..

Steering your car on the side of the street in front of an apartment complex, you placed your car in park. You turned off the engine. Street lamps and other building lights were illuminating the street. The neon signs from the local business started to shut off, looked like some of them are turning in for the night.

You snatched your jacket from the passenger seat before slipping out and making your way to open Mothman’s car door.

"We need to move, quickly." Throwing your coat over him to conceal him in the event of someone walking by. Mothman pawed at the coat and clutching it closer to get a better look and smell of the material. After gathering your phone and keys, you whirled back toward Mothman. Fussing at him to not move the jacket, readjusting it over his head. You surveyed the streets for anyone coming down or seem like they are heading out in your direction.

Once more putting his arm around you, you strode as quickly as you possibly could to the complex without either of you falling over. Mercifully, you got to the door with no problem at all or bumping into anyone.

Until you heard something you’ve been dreading on the way home, something that made your heart sank down into the deep trenches of your stomach

"Holy shit! Is that Mothman!?!" A male voice exclaimed.

You whirled your head toward the stranger who was slowly approaching you two. Fuck!

Where did he come from and what made him so confident that he’s looking at Mothman. You glanced back over to Mothman noticing that the jacket that was covering his face, was now draped over his shoulders. Drastically you scoured your brain for an excuse or some sort of explanation to counter how this wasn't a cryptid. But he beat you to the punch before you had a chance to find a solid response.

"Dude sick costume!" He said excitedly.

O fuck. Relieved that it wasn't the worse, but you were surprised he didn't question any further especially how close he was to you both. Even you would've questioned, the details and just the overall realism of said 'costume'. It didn't take long for the answer to hit you square in the nose. When a waft of alcohol invaded your nostrils, the man was drunk, and you never were more grateful.

"Thanks." You nervously laughed.

"That’s crazy good man, you did this all yourself?” He asked enthusiastically towards Mothman, beholding every bit of intricacy on the creature.

"He can’t talk right now; he drank too much to function." You interjected. “We just got back from a party.”

"I gotcha, but is it okay if I get a photo though?"

FUCK! you blurted internally, but externally with faux delight, you said "Sure!"

" 'Chad' you cool with that?" you sheepishly asked your moth friend with the first name you could think of for him. And why were you asking him? As if he could make a cohesive verbal response. But you were hoping at this moment he could magically talk, alas all he did was blankly stare.

"I'm not hearing a no." You heard the man say and you woefully agreed.

"Gimme a sec." The man pulled out his phone and tapping it unlocked.

"Okay," your heart was racing in your chest and you could feel a layer of sweat beginning to form and pool in places. But by some sweet grace of some higher being, a miracle happened right before your eyes. You heard a melodious chime sweetly ring through the crisp early fall air.

"O dang getting a call, hold on" the man answered the call, turning his back towards you.

Maybe there was a god, after all, a fucking sadist with a sick sense of humor. Either way, you were not about to pass up this chance for a free getaway.

You took this God-given opportunity to jam your key into the lock swiftly to get the both of you inside. Twisting to unlock the entrance, you could overhear the man to what sounded like him wrapping up his conservation. Turning the knob, you ushered Mothman and yourself inside the apartment complex, but not without throwing a quick apology to the stranger. Slamming your back against the door shutting it closed, a wave of relief washed over you.

"Aw man, that was too close." leaning your head against the door, desperate for a quick breath from your ordeal. You hadn't felt this much adrenaline since, since. You were so winded you couldn't even recall a memory.

Peeling yourself off from the door, feeling ready to make the final steps home. Deceptively though your body wasn’t as ready to move just yet.

"Nope wait." still trying to catch your breath. Doubling over, leaning forward, and resting your hands on your knees. Mothman all the while just tilted his head at you, confused. While you were over there feeling like you were going to be sick. The wave of nausea quickly fading away allowing you to straighten yourself out.

"Okay, we're good." You said as you grabbed his hand leading him up the stairs. Unbeknownst to you, the large creature was zoning in at the unfamiliar contact.

During his entire time with you, he was just as wary of you as you were with him. He wasn’t one to present himself to people, only as a forewarning of what was to come or an indication that Mothman will be the very last thing they would see. He trailed and stalked others like you in your car but was never hit, that was a first for him. Albeit though, him getting hit with your car, leaving him cut up and bruised did give him another reason to be extremely defensive and antsy around you.

Yet, you were gentle, loud but gentle with him when he wasn’t. Risking your safety in an effort for him to get mended. Lightly ghosting his thumb over the soft skin of your hand, tightening his hold on you. But you didn't notice, you were too preoccupied with climbing higher up the stairs, vigilant for any neighbors.

"Come on we're almost to my place." Giving a reassuring hand squeeze.

"Try to stay quiet a little longer." Peering back at the cryptid flashing him a quick warm smile, before looking back straight ahead. The creature looked directly at you, then to stairs, and back to you again. He came up with a grand idea to help with your effort. But first, he had to gain your attention and for this to work, he had to disregard everything you told him not to do earlier. The cryptid started to emit his screech directly at you to get your attention. And to you, he was making a ruckus, that was echoing through the entire stairwell and halls.

"What part of stay quiet do you not understand?" Grimacing at the noise. You stopped your movement, aiming to cover his mouth with your free hand, you felt his mandibles tickling underneath your palm.

The creature pulled your hand away and into his own, clutching both of his hands close to himself, bringing you into him. This gesture was unexpected and left you feeling warm in the face by how close he was pressing you into him. But it didn't last long when he began to bend his knee and flap his wing readying himself to fly up.

"Wait don't" Pushing yourself away from him, you freed yourself from his grasp to stop his actions. He was still injured this would only cause more harm to him and to you if he tried doing what you thought he was about to do. In your effort to stop him, Mothman tried to reach out for you again, only for his wing to smack into you causing you to land on the hard edge of the concrete stairs; headfirst. “Shit."

Groaning, "Well, I deserved that." you brought your hand to your head, you winced at the touch. As you yanked your hand away you caught a glimpse of red in your peripherals. Bringing the hand in your line of vision you saw blood smeared on the tips of your fingers.

Mothman immediately brought his actions to a halt when he saw what he had done to you. His antennas drooped down, he came close, giving you a hand up. Gladly accepting the gesture, he brought you up to an upright position, he felt bad for what he had done to you. Tentatively, he brought a hand up, lightly swiping his claws over your forehead making a low pained screech.

“It’s okay, you just wanted help didn’t you.” He nodded in response, you pressed a hand to the wound preventing the blood from dripping down. You couldn’t be mad at him he didn’t know better, and you did hurt him first, it only felt fair. Disrupting this tender moment, you heard yelling and heavy footsteps approaching one of the doors on the floor you were on.

"Let’s go!" you rushed up the stairs, luckily for you both it was the final flight of stairs. Reaching the top of steps in record time when you heard the front swing door open.

"What's with all that commotion!?" A neighbor yelled upward toward the sound of your feet stomping up. Coming to an abrupt halt at your door, you whispered for Mothman to stay where he was, while you dealt with the matter below. But he decided to follow behind instead, not wanting to leave your side.

"Sorry I was just goofing" You admitted, showing your face over the rail, outing yourself to your neighbor.

"Sorry my ass, I got work early tomorrow, you expect me to sleep with this fucking racket outside, and now this." They argued back, and rightly so, who wouldn’t complain about an unearthly ear-piercing screech penetrating through the halls along with banging sounds hitting all around the walls. But you couldn’t help but feel annoyed

"I’m sorry, it won’t happen again, promise." You leaned forward resting against the rail while one leg was kicked up behind you, preventing Mothman from coming toward the railing. You exchanged a few more words with your neighbor to avoid the landlord getting involved. Finishing up, you pulled yourself away calling it wraps on the conversation as the individual below continued spewing profanities at you and about the building.

You unlocked and opened your door “In! In! In!" You shoved the imposing cryptid inside, already getting peeved by the neighbor's continuous rambling. It wasn’t anything new they hated everyone in the building, but it wasn’t something you grew used to though.

"Jesus Christ finally." you sighed, kicking the door behind shut.

Slipping off your shoes, leaving them by the entrance, your feet ached in relief from its constructing confines. Dragging yourself through the small hall leading the way to the main part of your home, it was small but cozy.

"Here we are home sweet home." you chimed, leading Mothman further into the living room, grabbing the jacket from him and tossing it to the couch. As well as turning on a lamp to properly illuminate the room. It didn't take long for Mothman to be drawn to the light fixture like the moth he was. He grabbed the lamp hugging it towards him, looking directly at the bulb. Chuckling at the sight, you could’ve given him a flashlight on the way home if he was going to be this mesmerized. You proceeded to make your way to the kitchen for your first aid kit.

"You can make yourself comfortable, but don’t wreck anything please," you shouted from the room over, but Mothman was unbothered, he was solely transfixed on the soft light, eyes wide and grabbing at the lampshade. "I'm gonna go find my first aid kit to fix you and my cut." You really hoped nothing else gets broken, there was already enough screaming and thrashing for the night.

Shuffling through the kitchen, trying to remember where you last placed the kit. You rested and slid a hand over the cool smooth linoleum counter, looking between cabinets for any sign of a small box. Coming to the last cabinet, you rummaged through before finally pulling out your first aid kit.

But you couldn’t help but stop and think about tonight’s events. It started as a fun night, then filled with pure dread, mothering, and now what felt like taking care of a drunk long-time friend. Except, what really dominated your mind was this odd feeling you started to feel, you recounted back in the hall the way he held you close. It made you feel bashful, to say the least. Up to now, you saw him as a friendly harmless dare you say, an unexpected friend. But that didn’t accurately describe what you were feeling. Shaking your heading, you had other pressing matters to attend to.

"Got it, let's see." And not to your surprise you saw the tall cryptid sitting on the couch, clutching the lamp close to him as if it was his lifeline. You contemplated whether you should take the lamp away. But he looked to be enjoying the light source, hearing faint happy chirps emitting from him. Sadly, you decided to ruin his fun, seeing as there were wounds you needed to tend to on his chest and you needed the light to properly see them.

You attempted to pull the lamp away so you could have better access to examine his injuries. In response, he chittered in objection to his lamp being taken, and nothing was going to separate him from his precious lamp. He was going to soon learn that the lamp was barely holding onto the outlet. Hugging it closer to himself, the plug came out, extinguishing the light. Perplexed as to where his light disappeared to, he presented the lamp towards you hoping you would bring the light back.

“I’ll bring it back, but only until I get a look at you.” He nodded vigorously as you grabbed the lamp and setting back on the mini table, blindingly trying to find the plug and inserting back into the outlet turning on the lamp again. You sat on the couch next to him, motioning for him to come closer so you could get to work.

......

"I don’t see any major cuts or anything broken." Scouting out the state of the injuries, they were honestly not that bad, you guessed it was probably due to the now dried flaky blood around his cuts gave the appearance that they worse than what they were. He got pretty lucky but it was probably due to his build that he was capable of taking on more than a couple of hits.

"Only just a sprain and a couple of cuts, that’s a relief" Thinking to yourself glad it wasn't any worse, you couldn't imagine the stress of trying to keep him at your apartment while he heals, and away from your neighbors’ eyes. The fear of him getting caught and taken away and dissected. Being bombarded by officials and Mothman lovers. And getting questioned or probed, maybe even both. You didn’t know if they would, but you knew deep in your heart they would probe you for answers. Stopping your paranoid-filled train of thought from delving any further. You finished tying up a couple of loose ends and sticking on on salve on minor areas.

"See all better. Don’t move too much, it'll heal quickly that way" Gathering any trash to throw away. Everything is fine now; you don’t have plans tomorrow so you could probably sneak him back out the next night.

Huh.

Letting him go. The idea of it should have given you some relief and yet you couldn’t help but feel conflicted. Would he come to visit again? No that would be reckless. Or you could convince him to stay longer to heal, no that would be irresponsible and selfish of you. He deserves to go back, and you're going to help him get back on his feet and let him be on his way. You walked back to the room.

“Feel much better?” you inquired to Mothman who busy was playing with the bandages on him.

He looked directly at you and nodded in response.

"That’s good, the sooner you get better the sooner you can leave," you told him, seating yourself back next to Mothman who hasn’t kept his eyes off of you. You peered up to catch a glimpse of what he was doing, only to capture him looking directly at you with his head tilted.

Not this again. you thought.

He’s certainly not making this any easier. You looked away trying to focus on anything else in the room before you resorted to looking at the floor.

"You know it’s still kinda crazy, that this is even real. Like I feel like I’m going insane," you jokingly confessed to Mothman, laughing to yourself. But you thought about it more, maybe you were, "O my God is this what a psychological break is?" You looked back at him, having an unfazed look on him.

"Can I?" you asked reaching a hand forward. He stared at your hand for a bit, until he leaned forward giving you permission to proceed.

"So soft" allowing yourself to fully feel him, combing your hand through his dark fur and traveling up his ruff. It was surprisingly plush for how it looked, it felt you were touching a cloud but with some tiny debris within it. You gathered more courage to let your hand wander up to his face, giving a couple of brushes before stopping your motion, cupping the side face. His eyes were a brilliant red color comparable to a lustrous gem.

"You really are real." You muttered, stroking a thumb over his cheek.

Mothman brought a clawed hand to your face in a likewise manner, curious of your own features. Where for him he found them peculiar and to other individuals such as yourself they found it normal. The universe was messed up, making it much harder for you to separate yourself from him when the time comes for him to leave, but you allowed this, forgetting your initial plan.

Feeling a sharp claw gliding up against your skin, perfectly capable of nicking you or doing so much worse to you than you could imagine. But he had no intention to do so, merely entranced by you.

His hand wandered up to your forehead, where your gash was, flaky and dried the blood was chipping at the edges. His antennas lowered and chirped in response, for what he did to you back at the stairwell, he didn't mean to. Even if you said it was alright, it still didn’t make him better, bringing a hand to skim the wound, you flinched at the sharp pain of your forgotten injury, knocking you out of your trance-like state.

Mothman drawing back in his seat, alert and worried thinking he hurt you again.

“It’s okay, you did nothing wrong.”

You reached a hand out to calm him, you aimed for his arm but managed to miss and land your hand on his thigh. Wow, that’s great! you internally cringed feeling a blush rush over you, instead of pulling back you still tried to alleviate him by patting his leg, telling him it was the injury that was hurting you not him.

Instead of defusing his concerned mindset, he only tried to push away from you to avoid causing you any further harm. Hand still anchored on his thigh, you launched yourself trying to stop him from hurting himself more.

Fortunately, with your luck, you ended up top of him, Mothman laying on the couch while you hovered over him, with both of your legs planted on either side of his thigh. Your left knee was alarming close to his crotch if you moved an inch closer you would be bumping your knee right into it. Your hands rested squarely on his chest, finger splayed out as you looked down at him with a similar wide-eyed expression.

You gotta be fucking kidding me.

Maintaining your effort of trying to console Mothman, you coughed to clear your throat and your mind of any dirty thoughts from springing up. “Hey, I know you didn’t mean to, and if you did, I would tell you and- and I’m sorry that I gave you the impression that you hurt me and I’m sorry for hitting you with my car, I feel like saying it doesn’t do justice for what I did.” You panted after your long-winded speech.

“Also, I’m sorry for tackling you down that wasn’t my intention. So, you good? I didn’t hurt you?”

He slowly shook his head, as a response that you didn’t hurt him. Startled yes. Hurt no. Bobbing your head in understanding, you carefully crawled off him.

"Well, I guess I should go get the blood washed off, I'll be right back." You informed the still cryptid who made no effort of getting up, just continued to lay on the couch staring straight ahead in shock.

Walking off to clean off the blood and to regain your composure. You were just going through too many emotions than you should for the night. On your way to take care of your problem, you could’ve sworn you heard something akin to a cat purring where Mothman was. But you blew it off and justified it as hearing the blood rushing and the beat of your heart pounding in your ears.

Striding down a hall and into the bathroom you turned the faucet on allowing the water to flow into the sink and onto your hands. Water pooled in your cupped hands before splashing the cold water onto your face, the water, and dried blood dripping together down around the curves and grooves of your face into the porcelain bowl below. It was a satisfying contrast to your heated face, splashing another round of water at your face but an intrusive memory replayed the moment that happened a few seconds ago. Leaving your face buried in your hands, groaning from sheer embarrassment. Fucking hell why am I like this?!

Unwillingly you slid your hands off and look at yourself in the mirror you looked like the accurate personification of a hot mess. You weren’t going to think too much into this, you are going to pretend what happened didn’t happen, you were going to disinfect and stick a bandage on your cut and not dwell on your emotions around the situation at hand. Allowing him to leave as soon as he is better and not have any other affiliations with him again.

Opening the medicine cabinet for an alcohol wipe and unwrapping the wipe from its small packaging.

"Now for the worst part." Quietly hissing at the contact with the antiseptic. Finishing up on cleaning the wound, you foraged through the cabinet looking for a bandaid. Noting there wasn’t one to be found, you sighed.

Guess I need to go find one.

Turning toward the door to walk out, you looked up and saw Mothman standing at the doorway, watching.

How long was he standing? And how the hell is he so silent for such a big guy and why wasn't he like this before? You were about to question him what he was doing here or if needed something when you noticed he was fiddling with a band-aid in hand. Slowly he brought it up, placing it over your cut.

"Thanks." Laying a hand over the band-aid, feeling not just your cheeks warming up but now a butterfly feeling in your stomach, solidifying your emotions for him.

So much for my plan.

Weaseling past him, before enthusiastically asking him, "Well, we got time to pass, so what do you want to do?"

…..

The sun rays bled through the curtains lightening up your home, the light seeping past your eyelashes and into your eyelids forcing you to wake up. Blinded by the light, you groaned in discomfort, pushing yourself up hearing a couple pops in your back. Rubbing a hand up and down your face trying to wipe away the sleep.

What the hell happened here? Why was there glass everywhere? Looking up you saw your window smashed in with only a few jagged pieces in place around the sides. Turning your attention away you looked around the room, wasn’t there someone else here. O yeah.

But the question was, how did you end up falling asleep on the floor, and where was the large cryptid. Wait a minute.

…

"No, you can't go out, you're still hurt." Trying to hold him back from going through the window. Everything was fine, you both were sitting on the couch, watching whatever, and snacking on fruit, and next, you found yourself asleep but woke up to a ruckus, the tv still on, and seeing Mothman trying to rip the curtain off the window nearby. Jumping to action to stop him, he successfully pulled off the curtains along with the rack, you assumed he was trying to leave even though he wasn’t better or so you thought.

And here you were struggling to hold him back, you thought he was difficult before but now that he fully adjusted and patched, you fully experienced that he was pure indomitable power.

"At least wait till the street is clear." You insisted, noticing some people walking or jogging down the street in the dark early morning. But he didn't listen he was adamant in making his exit. So, you made the decision to let him go.

"Okay, okay at least let me get the window, I don’t want glass on the floor." Racing in front of him to slide the window open. A quick gust of wind whipped against your face, causing you to squint your eyes in response.

"There! AH-!" the last thing you saw was Mothman coming at you and the last thing you felt was his frame bulldozing you down by fast approaching torso.

…

"O right." That explains how you ended up on the floor and the glass strewn all over the floor. More incredibly, even when you opened the window, the creature still managed to break the window in its haste to leave. Your head was pounding, he really is a force to be reckoned with. Bringing a hand to your head, you winced at the contact to your forehead but noticed something else. Delicately raising a hand back to your forehead and skimming along the surface. There was the band-aid from the stairwell and on the other side was another. You didn’t remember adding when did you?

Oh.

……

"My window," you muttered groggily, your vision fading out not before the moth creature gave his assistance to you for the last time and a thanks to you by sticking a band-aid on your sure-to-be bruised noggin as you lulled into an unconscious state.

……

At least bug boy was nice enough to get you another band-aid when he put you out cold, before making his exit. Slowly standing up to get started on assessing the mess and knowing full well that you needed to inform your landlord of the window. You peered out the window, curious of any indication of Mothman to spot, unfortunately, all there was to see the was hustle and bustle of the city around and below.

Turning your attention back to the mess, maybe you could make a fib of some large man drunk man pretending to be Mothman breaking into your home believing it was his. Sighing, you went to grab a broom to clean up the mess, at least you were able to encounter a real living and breathing legend. Made you wonder if other cryptids exist, but you’re pretty sure handling one creature was enough for now after last night.

Finishing up, you gathered all the shards and brought them to the trash. You didn’t have work for today, which gave you the opportunity to get a breather and get things done. Making your way to your room and getting ready for the day.

As you were getting clothes on and getting a good look at yourself in the mirror. There square above your eyes and your right eye was a bruise evident from last night's escapades. Shaking your head, laughing to yourself you weren’t going to be able to cover up the contusion. Bringing a hand to your head, you couldn’t help but smile at the cryptids' cute gesture. Walking out of the restroom deciding to let the shiner shine, ready to do some damage control.

Grabbing your keys, and heading out the door, and yet you couldn't stop thinking of that little moth guy. What are the chances of seeing him again? Probably unlikely, a mere once in a lifetime chance but you were grateful to encounter a sweet bug boy like him.

#mothman #mothman x reader #mothman x human #exophilia #cryptid #cryptid x reader #mothman fanfiction #mothman imagine #monster #monster lover #mothman my beloved #monster fucker #monster x human #monster romance

[lesbianrobin]

What do you think are the good and bad aspects of each season of ST?

ok 1. thank u for this question omg and 2. this answer may or may not be a mess, but either way it’s long (almost 7k words lmao) bc i’m insane, which is why it’s under a cut. it’s still by no means an exhaustive list but these are the things that just kinda came to mind.

also i realize you asked “good and bad” and i wrote this whole post as “strengths and weaknesses” which um. is not Exactly what you asked. but close enough <3 i also ended up including a lot of au ideas ksjdckmn bc like i personally hate when people say a certain plot or whatever was bad without suggesting anything that could have improved it yknow so whenever possible i tried to provide Some idea for fixing the issues i had with the show!!

season 1

strengths (this is probably gonna be the longest section but that’s because a lot of these strengths also apply to s2/s3 by default)

nostalgia and authenticity

this one’s pretty simple, but i think that season one did a good job of blending classic eighties media homages (such as the many many e.t./el parallels) with explicit pop culture references (such as mike’s yoda impression, mentions of the x-men, etc) to create a show that’s essentially dripping in early eighties nostalgia without it feeling too forced. before st, i think the most popular depiction of the eighties in mainstream media was that overly exaggerated neon scrunchie aesthetic from the mid to late eighties, and it was usually done in a comedic sense first and foremost. st took a different approach, instead focusing on the early eighties, a time that’s often ignored in favor of going either Full Seventies or Full Eighties, and i think that this choice likely resonated with adults who lived through the eighties and hadn’t yet seen something that felt quite so accurate to their own adolescence. a lot of young people who watched st were totally unfamiliar with this period of time, unfamiliar with books/movies like “stand by me” that st borrows from heavily, and i think st lent more seriousness to the eighties than most young people had experienced so far, and this was refreshing and interesting!

the use of dnd in the show is also quite genius in a way i’m not sure i can articulate?? it isn’t something Everyone would have played at the time, but it’s something that existed within a different context back in the eighties than it does today, and it really lent a sort of authenticity to the naming of the show’s sci-fi elements. like, of course these kids would name parallel dimensions and monsters and superpowers after these similar things in their favorite game! it just feels so real and it grounds st in our reality moreso than you might expect from the typical sci-fi or horror universe.

utilization of existing tropes

almost every single character in st clearly originates from some popular trope. the plot itself is riddled with classic eighties movie tropes. almost every single element of stranger things can be clearly traced back to some iconic eighties film or just to, like, overused horror/sci-fi/mystery/coming-of-age movie tropes in general. this might sound like a bad thing, but it really works in st’s favor! starting off with familiar tropes gives st the ability to easily create a lot of complexity and make a big impact by selectively deviating from those familiar, comfortable tropes!! while el’s whole plot, hopper’s character, etc, are all examples of this in action, i think the steve/nancy/jonathan plot is the greatest example. even from the start, the fact that good girl barb dies while nancy is off having sex with her asshole boyfriend is an incredibly thorough inversion of the most well-known horror movie trope in the book. how often do girls in horror movies have sex for the first time, walk home alone in the dark of night, and live to tell the tale? nancy and jonathan’s dynamic at first glance is a sort of classic “good girl meets boy from the wrong side of the tracks, discovers he’s actually got a heart of gold” thing, but instead of following this well-trodden path, st diverged. nancy is brash, impulsive, and at times downright insensitive. jonathan is angry, bitter, and actually a bit of a creep at first. while they have the capacity to emotionally connect and support one another, they can also bring out each other’s darker side, which is not what we’ve come to expect from that initial tropey dynamic.

in addition, steve, the popular rich asshole boyfriend, is actually... a human being! unlike the cartoonishly evil jocks that we’ve come to expect (especially from eighties movies), steve has complexity. despite his initial immaturity and selfishness, he’s also kind to barb, he backs off when nancy says no, he’s gentle and sweet when they sleep together, his first big Dick Move of the season is in defense of nancy, he realizes the error of his ways after the fight and does what he can to fix it, he’s worried about nancy when he sees that she’s hurt at jonathan’s house, and to top it all off, he ends up saving both nancy and jonathan’s lives when he could have just walked away, and the three of them all work together to fight the demogorgon. like... steve began as the most stereotypical character of all time, and by the end of the season, he had one of the most compelling and unique arcs among the whole cast!

finally, at the very end of the season, instead of dumping steve for jonathan as expected, nancy ends up getting back together with steve, and they’re both on friendly terms with jonathan. i realize that i just kinda. summarized s1. but my POINT is that i don’t think the dynamics between the monster hunting trio would be nearly as fun and interesting had the characters of nancy, steve, and jonathan not been set up to follow certain paths that we already had charted in our own heads. like, within the first couple episodes of s1, it’s pretty obvious that nancy and steve are gonna break up, nancy will get with jonathan, and steve will either die or go full evil or just never be seen again. like, duh! you’ve seen this story a million times! you know that’s how it’s gonna go! so, when the story DOESN’T go that way, the impact of each character’s arc and the relationship dynamics become stronger due to their unexpected complexity and authenticity. 

distinct plotlines separated by age group

this one’s rather obvious, but the way that the adults in s1 were essentially in a conspiracy thriller while the teens were in a horror flick and the kids were in a sci fi power-of-friendship story and all three converged at the end... wow. brilliant showstopping etc. not only was it just really well done and unique, it also gave stranger things near-universal appeal. like, there’s genuinely something for pretty much everyone in season one!

casting

obviously this applies to every season sorta by default, but when i think about what made season one So successful, i always think about the cast, and not just winona ryder. yes, she’s absolutely amazing in the show and it’s very doubtful that st would be as big as it is today without her name being attached to it from the start!! however, i think the greatest determining factor in st’s success is the casting of the kids, particularly millie bobby brown. like... el is just absolutely incredible. she’s amazing. this has all been said many times before so i won’t harp on it, but millie and the other kids are all So talented and charismatic and i think their casting has been instrumental to the show’s success.

strong visuals

the way that multicolored christmas lights which have been around for decades are now kinda like. a Stranger Things thing. jesus christ. those lights are probably the biggest stroke of stylistic genius on the show.

atmosphere and setting

this is probably like. the least important one here for me sdjncdsc because i think s2 and s3 both had like Even Better atmospheres and shit but s1 was good too and it laid the groundwork!! i know a lot of people would have preferred st be set somewhere more Spooky with lots of fog or giant forests or whatnot, and while i do enjoy thinking about alternate st settings and how they might alter the vibe, i think hawkins indiana was a good choice. as the duffers have said, placing stranger things in a fictional town allows them more flexibility than if they’d gone with their original plan of using montauk, new york. besides that, i think the plainness and like... flatness... of small-town indiana just Works. like, the fact that hawkins is never really scary on the surface is a big part of the horror in the lab’s actions and their impact. hawkins isn’t somewhere that people just disappear all the time. it isn’t somewhere known for strange occurrences (prior to s1, that is). it isn’t somewhere shrouded in mist and secrecy. hawkins on its surface seems like the sort of place with no secrets and nothing to fear, and that’s the point! the lab is out in the open! it’s right there! everything is so close to the surface, yet so far out of the public eye, and i think that really works.

the byers family’s whole deal (specifically the joyce/jonathan dynamic)

this is going here bc i miss it so bad in s2 and s3. i’m not one of those people who believe The Byers Are The Whole Point of the show, because st is and always has been an ensemble, and el, hopper, and the wheelers are just as instrumental to the plot as the byers, but ANYWAY, i do think the byers were one of the most interesting aspects of s1. joyce’s difficulties with supporting her sons as a poor and (implied mentally ill) single mother, jonathan’s stress as a result of having to earn money, care for his brother, and keep the house in order when his mother is unable to do so, and the resulting tension between them when will’s disappearance and supposed “death” brings the situation to a tipping point? holy shit! it’s so good! that argument after they see will’s “body” is just incredible and gut-wrenching. their relationship feels so real and messy and i think it’s just... good. also winona ryder REALLY acted her heart out and she carried a lot of s1 which i think people often forget to mention so i’m saying it here.

weaknesses

pacing/timing

ok so pacing is probably going to go in each season’s weaknesses, to be honest, because i think they all had a blend of some good and some bad pacing. good pacing is invisible pacing, though, so i probably won’t be putting it in any of the strengths sections and will only be focusing on it in the weaknesses. i’m also probably not going to talk about weird day/night cycle things, just because i don’t want to get nitpicky on timelines because that would require going back and rewatching things to double check timing which i don’t wanna do at the moment lmao. anyway, when i think of bad pacing in season one, i primarily think of two things: nancy’s little trip into the upside down and subsequent sleepover with jonathan, and the sort of staggered nature of the climax in the final episode. the latter is simple so i’ll explain it first: while i understand that each group’s respective climax is like part of a chain reaction and that’s why each big moment happens separately and at different times, i think that st is strongest when the whole group is together, and i think that makes the stakes feel higher too, so i’m not In Love with the way s1 separated everyone and gave each group their own climax. 

okay, now on to the nancy/upside down thing! idk if i’ve ever talked about it before, but i think the worst decision made in s1 by far is the inclusion of nancy’s brief trip into the upside down, wherein she dives headfirst into another dimension with absolutely no backup, watches the demogorgon chow down, freaks out and runs around for a minute, and then leaves. like... what the fuck? even putting aside what an idiotic decision this was (because i do think nancy’s tendency to rush into things headfirst is an intentional and consistent character trait), it just kind of destroys any remaining suspense surrounding the demogorgon and the upside down, and it accomplishes basically nothing besides scaring nancy enough to have jonathan sleep over, which is lame. i will break it down.

like, first of all, nancy just getting to waltz in and out of the upside down and get a good, long look at the demogorgon makes the entire thing far less mysterious, and by extension far less scary. like... before this scene, we the audience haven’t got a good look at the demogorgon. we’ve seen its silhouette briefly and we’ve seen a blurry picture of it, but nothing more, and i think that is far more effective at building fear than this jaunt nancy goes on which gives us a full view of the thing and makes it into less of a horrifying nightmare and into more of a humanoid animal. like, maybe this is just me, but i found the demogorgon far less intimidating after that scene than before. it also lets nancy and jonathan know For Sure that they’re right without providing any crucial information that they need to fight the demogorgon (aka it’s unnecessary to the plot), which removes a very compelling story element (the faith nancy and jonathan need to have in order to keep going against a vague and poorly understood enemy, the doubt they might have about each other and their own sanity, the possibility that they might be wrong, the trust they need to have in each other) a bit earlier in the plot than i believe is ideal. at the end of episode 5, nancy goes into the upside down and jonathan doesn’t know where she is and it’s intense!!! you’re thinking like, oh fuck, not only is nancy missing and fighting for her life now too, jonathan might be implicated in her disappearance!! some people already think he’s the one who killed will and people know that he took creepy pictures of barb and nancy before they both disappeared, maybe this is gonna cause some serious problems for him!! maybe nancy will find will in the upside down and she’ll help him survive!! fuck, maybe she’ll actually die!! this is huge!! and then episode 6 starts and they’re immediately like oh nevermind jonathan found the tree and got nancy out and she’s fine. my point with all of this is that nancy entering the upside down could have done A Lot in the grand scheme of the plot, but all it did was just... get jonathan to sleep over so he and nancy could have some awkward romance moments and steve could see them together and pick a fight. which could have honestly happened at Any point while nancy and jonathan were working together to hunt down the demogorgon, without ruining the demogorgon’s and the upside down’s mystique. so yeah <3

weird behavior and dumbass decisions that make no sense (aka the whole camera thing)

gonna go off about the teen plot again sorry but: why was nancy so unbothered and quick to forgive jonathan for taking those pictures? girl what the fuck are you doing? why wasn’t that a bigger deal? why was jonathan’s motivation for doing it so weak and why did they just kind of forget about the whole thing? why did nancy TRACK HIM DOWN AT THE FUNERAL HOME while he was PICKING OUT HIS BABY BROTHER’S CASKET to be like hey can you tell me what’s in this creepshot you took? it’s insane. it’s so insane. i mean i think the funeral home thing is hilarious and i don’t mind it being in the show necessarily but like my point here is that i think a lot of character decisions in s1 just kind of.. happened because they Needed to happen for the plot. like, they wrote this plot that required jonathan to be secretly taking pictures of the party and required him and nancy to work together after seeing something odd in the pictures, but they didn’t like... really consider what that event would mean for their characterization and relationship. the whole thing was sort of just dropped with minimal discussion and i think it did both nancy and jonathan’s characters a disservice and was really mishandled.

lighting and saturation/color grading

i am literally begging horror/sci-fi shows to let me see shit. i GET IT okay i understand that when you’re doing cgi effects it helps to keep the lights down and i’m not mad at any of the lighting in the demogorgon/upside down scenes!! i’m really not i think the demogorgon scenes in s1 all look sick!! but like... dude. the colors. where are they. why does everyone look like a vampire. i know blah blah this was probably an intentional stylistic choice intended to mimic film at the time blah blah but dude a lot of old movies are very colorful!! please just let people have color in their faces so everyone doesn’t look like a sheet of paper!!! also i’m white and not a professional lighting designer so yknow grain of salt but i think lucas was kinda poorly served by the lighting sometimes in s1. not Hugely so, not to the degree that i’ve seen poc be poorly served by lighting in other shows, but there were some times where it felt kinda like the lighting setup was just not designed with darker skin in mind. 

horror

i just personally don’t find s1 very scary like... ever. i don’t think they were really Trying to be extremely scary yknow so i’m not counting this as a big deal, but i do think that each season has improved on the horror aspects. i think s1′s horror lies more in the mystery and the unknown than in what’s seen onscreen, and as i’ve said already, i think s1 kind of fumbled that suspense ball.

season 2

strengths

the possession plot

i’ll warn u rn this whole s2 strengths section is probably gonna be really short bc idk like. how much there is to really say i feel like it’s all so self-explanatory skjncmn. anyway yeah the possession plot!! eerie as fuck, and noah OWNED. so did winona tbh and finn and sean etc but like. noah. wow! i think the possession plot helped the show maintain a good amount of tension and suspense throughout the season, and a lot of scenes with possessed!will are flatout disturbing to watch. in a good way. i think the mindflayer and will’s possession were far more genuinely frightening than s1′s demogorgon, and it provided a new layer of depth and intrigue to the antagonist besides just “bad monster want eat people.”

tone and aesthetics

halloween season... literally halloween season. halloween season. that is all.

actually i will elaborate a bit and just say that i think s2 did a good job of having the sort of foreboding vibe that s1 was often going for, but without the annoying darkness and desaturation. so points for that.

also st2 is like one of the best Autumn pieces of media ever like it just. like steve and dustin on those train tracks with the fallen leaves all around them.... god. god the vibes are unparalleled. all of the halloween stuff also really contributes to the nostalgia st runs on yknow it makes you think about childhood and trick-or-treating and you kind of get transported like damn... i remember going to the rich neighborhoods to score the good candy..... idk i just think the whole thing is incredibly effective. 

“babysitter” steve

by sending nancy and jonathan off together, the show created a problem: what to do with steve? this problem pushed them to create the unconventional and unexpected duo of steve and dustin, and the world is so much brighter for it. seriously though we all know steve and dustin are great i don’t need to argue that point. all i’ll add is that i think allowing steve to grow in this way, serving as a mentor figure and becoming genuine friends with someone so unexpected, really took the originality of his character to the next level. no longer content just to defy his archetype, in s2 steve begins branching out in ways that never would have been considered in s1, creating an incredibly complex and interesting person from the sort of character that most shows would have simply written out or killed off for convenience’s sake. and it works and steve and dustin are such a joy to watch and i love them. <3

the lucas/max plot

so first of all max mayfield is the most perfect baby girl on god’s green earth and idk what i would do without her but anyway. i think lumax is the best romantic relationship in the show and not just because they’re the only ones with like an age-appropriate approach to the whole thing. it’s also because their relationship accomplishes more than just putting the two of them in a relationship!! lucas and max spending time together motivates billy to do his evil shit, providing more conflict in the narrative, and it also helps establish max as part of the group in a relatively natural way while giving both her and lucas a great subplot. lucas (and dustin) has a crush on the new girl, they start spending some time together, and lucas ends up needing to decide whether he’ll keep the secret of the upside down and lose her, or risk both of their lives by telling her the truth. that’s a pretty big, character-defining decision that he gets to make!! max has to choose whether to trust this boy she barely knows and endanger herself, or to walk away and stay safe, yet another great character-defining choice that also contributes to the sense we get as an audience of max as somebody who’s incredibly lonely and desperate for love and connection. this post is way too long already and i have a ton more to say so i’ll stop now but yeah i think lumax really Works in the show without ever distracting or detracting from the overall plot and narrative in the way that some other ships (coughjancycough) often do.

balance between the normal and abnormal

s2 i think did a pretty solid job of melding daily life with more fantastical sci-fi horror elements. i enjoyed seeing so much of the kids at school in the first few episodes!! you really get a strong sense of where they’re at in life, what their daily lives are like, and you get a sort of gradual shift into madness that makes everything feel more grounded than i think it would if they had just leapt straight into the horror shit, yknow? 

the el and hopper dynamic

go back and rewatch s2 and tell me that’s not one of the most moving portrayals of parenthood and trauma and growing up that you’ve ever seen. you can’t. or well you can but i won’t listen. i really can’t imagine stranger things without el and hopper’s relationship, and it’s my absolute favorite part of s2. their whole dynamic is so beautiful and complex, and gives them each amazing personal arcs in addition! the black hole scene is literally one of the show’s greatest moments of all time. any given scene between the two of them in s2 is just guaranteed to be heartwarming as well as heartbreaking, and i think that makes for an incredible show.

weaknesses

flashbacks

okay this applies to Every season they All have too many flashbacks but in s2 specifically... please stop showing me shit from season one. i watched it. i know what happened. you don’t need to spoon feed everything to me!! flashbacks can be a really helpful way of delivering information to an audience, but st has a bad habit of not only being kinda demeaning in how often they flash back to shit that the audience already knows, but they also have a bad habit of using flashbacks almost as a crutch to avoid having to deliver information subtly and naturally. 

you know i gotta say it... the lost sister

this is so sad. the lost sister really is like a great concept for an st episode, and i’m not mad about the idea of st taking a break from the normal action to focus on one story for a full episode, but the execution of it was just dreadful. kali and her crew feel very over-the-top and stereotypical, and its placement in the season totally kills the tension and excitement that was built in “the spy.” 

i think the lost sister honestly could have gone over far better, even with the stereotypical fake-feeling gang kali has, if they had just swapped it with “the spy” like... ok, the end of episode five has el setting off to find kali and will collapsing on the ground seizing. right? imagine if, instead of immediately following will to the lab, we’d followed el. we don’t know what’s happening with will, but it’s a very simple cliffhanger that leaves us on edge without making us feel cheated by the show cutting away. we follow el on her little journey, everything happens much the same as canon, and then at the end, el sees hopper in scrubs. she sees mike, screaming, sees that they’re both in danger. holy shit!!! what the fuck!!! what’s happened since we left will seizing on the ground??? we feel el’s fear and confusion. she decides to go home. and then... boom. “the lost sister” is over. now, we rewind, right back to will seizing on the ground, and “the spy” commences. we learn how they got into the danger that el saw in the end of “the lost sister,” and we sit on the edge of our seats all through “the spy” and “the mind flayer,” KNOWING that el is on her way back to save them but not knowing when she’ll arrive!! idk i don’t think that would have necessarily saved lost sister but i think it may have alleviated some of the issues that i and many others have with it, timing-wise.

the nancy/jonathan sidequest

once again, the idea of nancy going off on her own little mission to find justice for barb after s1 is like. amazing. genuinely i love that plot for her and i can’t imagine anything better for her to have focused on in s2. unfortunately though i think her and jonathan’s little trip to see murray was just kind of... lame. the whole thing just felt like an excuse to get the two of them alone together, yknow? which is fine i guess people contrive all sorts of situations to get characters alone together for romance reasons but in this case i think it just really doesn’t work for me because of what it’s juxtaposed with. like, will is POSSESSED, and jonathan is just off on a mini road trip and sleeping with his bestie, and jonathan never seems to communicate to joyce/will that he left town, and joyce never like... thinks to tell him that will is like sick and fucked up and they’re looking at him in the lab??? like it’s so weird i know joyce always forgets about jonathan when shit’s happening with will but jfc you’d think at some point in that like... 72-ish-hour period where jonathan was out of town she would have thought about him. like at least once. maybe i’m forgetting something and she mentioned him sometime and i missed it but even still, i hate the juxtaposition of nancy and jonathan just like cheers-ing at murray’s place and sleeping together and whatnot while everyone else is dealing with possession or trying to hunt down dart yknow? it feels really boring in comparison and i think it could have been done far better. like it was SO insanely easy for them to get into the lab and get an admission of guilt and escape with it!! i think it might have been a lot more engaging if maybe someone from the lab tailed them to murray’s place and they had to like lose the tail and race to get the recording out to as many news outlets as possible before they got caught, or something like that. the tension in their plotline is completely resolved in episode four!! episodes five and six are just them screwing around and addressing envelopes. while there were a lot of strong ideas in this plotline (i really enjoy nancy going out of her way to get justice, and the fact that they have to water down the story to make it believable), i just think the focus on nancy and jonathan getting together hindered it a lot without adding a ton to the plot or their individual characters.

season 3

strengths

starcourt mall as a setting

while i don’t think the mall was utilized quite to its full potential (something i could make a separate post about if anyone’s interested), i do think that starcourt was a genius addition to the series. i’ve said this before, but building a new mall is a literal Perfect in-universe justification for a significant leap forward in fashion and aesthetics, and it provides a great location for characters to just... be characters. idk how else to articulate this i just think that the mall is a great setting to let people interact with each other and to bring people together who may not have been otherwise (i.e. scoops troop). not to mention how sick it was to see the mall get wrecked toward the end kdjncdkm like they were able to do so much more with the mall in terms of like The Finale than they could with just the byers house or the cabin or the school or even the lab. i love all the back tunnels they run through it’s such a fun like acknowledgement of how this glitzy eighties mall is just a real place where employees get shipments and take out the trash and shit idk it’s all about the perfect facade and what’s hidden what’s underneath what’s hiding in plain sight etc etc i’m just saying words now. anyway. 

willingness to experiment and go against expectations

gay robin. neon aesthetics. giant fucking meat monster. i know some people hate both the neon and the meat monster but i personally think they were kind of amazing and like. yknow regardless of personal tastes i think it’s impossible to deny that s3 had a lot of incredible visuals, and they’re all visuals that just wouldn’t have been possible if the show were too afraid to stray from its s1 aesthetic. robin being canonically gay (and her resulting friendship with steve) and the season’s striking visuals are two things that most everyone (besides like homophobes skjncdknm) can agree were great, right? and they were both departures from where the show began and what we all expected!! so yeah i think while some of the experimentation in s3 wasn’t ideal it was also that experimentation that allowed for some of the season’s strongest elements to come about.

the hospital sequence (and the season’s action/horror scenes in general)

this one is fairly self-explanatory. while they may have underutilized the “body snatching” element of the season, the hospital sequence with nancy and jonathan fighting off their possessed bosses did an amazing job of building tension and creating a genuine sense of really intense and personal danger.

in general i think that s3 melded action and horror rather well, particularly in the sauna test, the hospital, and when the mindflayer busts through the roof of hop’s cabin. horror can come from many things, and in this case, st elicited horror largely from the feeling of helplessness, and it was really effective for me personally. i think it worked better for me than s1′s brand of horror because it doesn’t rely so much on a lack of knowledge or a sense of suspense that inevitable disappears upon a second viewing.

the body horror we got in s3 was also really fun! that’s it i just think all the blood and guts and slime were fun and i would like more of them. once again, the impacts of body horror are less dependent upon the viewer being in the dark or unsure as to what’s happening, and as such i think it tends to be a little more effective at eliciting reaction in the long term.

timing and mechanics of the battle of starcourt/finale

i think the battle of starcourt is just fucking awesome, and beyond that personal opinion, i think it’s the most high-stakes and intense finale of all three seasons, and this is for two main reasons! 1. el is out of commission, and 2. (almost) everyone is in the same cental location. this means that (almost) everyone is in danger all at once, and they are all working together at the same time to fight the same threat. s1/s2 have their groups more fragmented for the finales, and while i understand why in each case and i wouldn’t call either season’s finale necessarily weak, i do think the centralized nature of the s3 finale just Works on another level. in s1 and s2, large segments of the cast are already perfectly safe by the time el dispatches the primary threat. in s3, however, everybody save for dustin and erica is still in danger up until the last moment, and el is seemingly (you can def debate how much power she still had in her when she peeked into billy’s mind and whether the memory broke the mindflayer’s hold on him or if she was actually controlling him to some degree) completely vulnerable. this increases the tension and raises the stakes, making the finale a real crescendo to fortissimo as opposed to a series of little mezzo forte moments. i hope everyone reading this knows music idk how else to phrase that my brain is stupid.

emphasis on friendship and adolescence (but in a different way than s1/2)

this is definitely a controversial one but i think that s3 really did like... show a side of friendship that had been more or less unexplored thus far in the show. el and max were amazing, and i think it’s really nice that we got an opportunity to see the kids have some growing pains as well as see them support each other through Normal Adolescent Stuff like boyfriends and breakups instead of just like. death and trauma. this is maybe just a personal preference, but i think it can be really enlightening and provide a lot of depth when you get to see how characters respond to normal everyday conflict and not just how they respond to giant world-ending conflict!! letting el use her powers for goofy teenage shit like spying on boys and messing with mean girls at the mall is not only fun for her and the audience, but it also really emphasizes just how much those powers are a part of el, making it that much more devastating when she loses them at the end of the season. 

weaknesses

tonal dissonance

so this is like. obvious. but it must still be said! i won’t go on and on about it since we all know this so i’ll try to like talk about it from an angle people don’t usually? anyway. it seems to me like they were maybe a little worried about s3 being too dark. while the choice to really lean into humor was definitely driven by the sorts of eighties teen films from which s3 drew inspiration (like fast times at ridgemont high), i think it was also done in an attempt to alleviate the more troubling implications of some events in the season, particularly the russian bunker plot. like, yeah, st can be incredibly dark, but if they’d played the whole “children being stuck inside of a foreign military base, tied up, tortured, and drugged” thing completely straight without the humorous elements that exist in canon, it had the potential to be like... disturbing on a new level. steve and robin don’t have powers like el yknow their kidnapping/torture doesn’t have any sci-fi elements to sorta soften the blow. they’re just innocent teenagers being brutalized and traumatized by grown men. so anyway yeah i think maybe the writers were concerned about this storyline coming off as too dark and they wanted it to be a little more whimsical but they ended up pushing way too hard in that direction and creating extreme dissonance at times. this goes for joyce/hopper/murray/alexei too, but to a lesser extent. i think the ridiculousness in that group felt a lot more like... realistic. but still. 

newspaper plot

once again i feel like i don’t even need to say this skjdncmn we all know it was insane how the show basically ended up delivering the message “while misogyny is a serious problem poverty and classism are not” and i’ve said it on this blog a million times so i don’t need to repeat myself. i’ll focus on another weak point of this plot: the fact that it completely separates nancy and jonathan from everyone else. once again, the show’s preoccupation with j/ancy held them back! like... can you imagine a version of s3 where nancy and jonathan both worked in the mall? i have a lot of ideas about this possible au and like how the plot could play out differently if they worked in the mall but first of all it’s just more realistic, second of all it further utilizes the mall as a central setting, and third of all, it would bring everyone together. as it is in canon, nancy and jonathan were unnecessarily isolated from the rest of the group, and this isolation was detrimental to both of their characters. like, they only ever get to interact with each other! if they’d gotten summer jobs in the mall, they could have had more interactions with the kids/steve/robin, and they absolutely still could have had a similar argument! maybe in this case, nancy notices the rat thing (or something else odd) herself when taking out the trash behind the mall, and she wants jonathan to ditch work with her to check it out bc she thinks it may be related to the lab. jonathan doesn’t want to ditch work because he needs his job, nancy argues that they’re working shitty mall jobs anyway and who cares if they get fired, and we get more or less the same thing as s3 without the cartoonishly over-the-top misogyny. i mean honestly i think the rat shit could have been cut entirely it didn’t rly... accomplish much of anything. in my opinion. like imagine s3 without the rat plot you literally would not be missing anything except it would be more surprising when the dudes melted into goo at the hospital. so yeah i think it would have been better if nancy and jonathan had jobs at the mall, weren’t isolated from everybody else, and were maybe absorbed into the party’s plot or the scoops troop’s plot from very early on, allowing them to interact with more characters and have a less... dumb.... plot. like god splitting up nancy and jonathan between the party/scoops troop would have been So Much better i just. sdkjcnksdmn anyway yeah.

briefness of group reunion/separation of groups

remember in s2 at the beginning of “the gate,” where mike and hopper had a confrontation and max and el met for the first time and el hugged everyone and steve and nancy had their sad little moment together outside... where’s that energy? obviously the s2 reunion wasn’t that long either, but it made space for some significant emotional moments to take place. s3′s reunion had some hopper/el/mike resolution, but besides that... there was nothing, really. i just think that the whole group getting together in s3 was SO exciting and powerful the way they did it (with both the scoops troop and the adults having their own Big Moment reconnecting with team griswold family), but the emotional potential was more or less squandered. 

i also think in s3 at times they were really stretching to keep everybody separated even though it made no sense. and like... in s1 the separation worked bc nobody else knew that (x group) was experiencing weird shit too, and beyond that, each group (as i mentioned in the s1 section) was sort of operating within their own genre and bringing something unique to the season. they’ve stopped doing that though! now, the groups aren’t separate bc each plot is tonally/structurally different, the groups are just separate bc... they need to be, because it’s a big ensemble cast and you can’t just have them all be together for a whole season or it would be way too difficult to coordinate things and keep the show dynamic. all this is to say that i’m excited for s4 because the location differences make it so there’s a Reason for each plot to be separate at the beginning, and i think that’ll work better.

general ridiculousness

i dont mean like i think it’s bad that they made jokes this is just me lumping in all the dumb shit like hopper not worrying about el and not wanting to check on the kids, him and joyce bickering long after they both know they and their children are in danger, max seemingly forgetting that billy is a racist abuser, etc etc. i think many of these are just a symptom of the show 1. trying desperately to keep the groups split up a certain way even though it may not make any sense, and 2. trying to fit into a certain genre/trope mold when their actual characters are more complex than the tropes they’re imitating. this is so fucking long already i am not gonna elaborate further rn but i trust u all know what i mean.

soooo... yeah, that’s about all! i mean it’s not all there are definitely many more things i could talk about and i know i focused sorta disproportionately on the teens which is my bad :/ but i’m done for now. thank you for asking, and apologies for the delay in responding!! i’m sure some people reading (if anyone read this far) will disagree with some of what i’ve said and that’s alright like i’m not The Authority on st or anything i’m just trying to talk about like my own thoughts yknow? so yeah luv u all i hope someone enjoyed reading this!!

#asks #em talks #lesbianrobin.canon #stranger things #if u actually read all this i love u and im sorry #these r just my opinions!! and im sure i misremembered some shit my brain is swiss cheese #i did my best tho