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burnyouwithacigarettelighter · 9 months

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PROVE IT ───

jackson rippner ✧𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “You think you are possessing me / But I've got my teeth in you.” — ‘Unicorn’, Angela Carter

pairing. jackson rippner x reader

summary. after breaking up with your boyfriend. you meet a handsome stranger at a bar. you tell him your cunt’s better than the girl’s your boyfriend cheated on you with; he tells you to prove it.

warnings. swearing, slight breeding kink, unprotected sex, creampie, p in v, semi-public sex, porn with some plot, impact play, degradation/insults, SMUT UNDER THE CUT!

word count. 3.6k

a/n. i seriously doubt i wrote jackson’s character accurately in this so please comment anything i can improve on LOL🙏

It’s not often you spill your entire life story to a stranger at the bar, but this one, this stranger with his watery blue eyes and plush lips, is oddly inviting; charismatic to a fault. It makes you want to give him everything, and absently, in your alcohol riddled mind, you think he’d make a good scammer.

Or, serial killer, whichever he prefers really.

But it's not entirely his fault; you’re stress drinking, downing too many shots in too little a time frame, and the alcohol’s already hit your system ten-fold.

You’re there because you’d broken up with your boyfriend the night before. You’d been dating just short of a year. He was required to travel a lot, mostly in Europe, as per his job, and you let him go each time without qualms - love them, let them go, right?

Wrong. He’d been cheating on you since he went to Copenhagen — four months, now — with a pretty little Dane that wanted to marry.

You were furious when he told you, of course, it’s fucking insanity for him to marry someone he’s known for four months, but you began seeing all the differences between you and the woman he cheated on you with: she, a perfect homemaker, you, a distressed professional he saw maybe once a month.

“Hey, hey, don’t beat yourself up,” the stranger across from you said softly, breaking you out of your nostalgic stupor and back into reality. “‘cause he’s a right asshole. For cheating on you like that.”

The man had entered the bar hours after you did, housing a simple drink or two and absently watching the softball game on the bar TV, before you drunkenly inched closer to him, desperate to rant your dilemma to just about anyone who’d listen. He bit, and here you were now.

You peered up at the man, inspecting him. He’s gorgeous, definitely, but you can’t tell if you actually think that, or your foggy, not-been-fucked-for-months mind just wants him to rail you into next week.

No matter, you thought, downing another shot. It burned the back of your throat sweetly, fire trailing down your insides. “M’not beating myself up,” you protested weakly, “jus’ — m’just… wondering if her cunt was - so much better than mine,”

He laughed, boisterously, the kind of laugh you hear rumble out from a close friend while you detail every wrongdoing or shameful memory in your life: he’s comfortable right now, as are you.

“Well,” he inched closer, large hand sitting itself on your thigh and slowly inching upwards, “if it bothers you that much, why not prove it? That your pussy’s as good as you think.”

This wasn’t the first of his attempts to flirt with you: firstly he’d tucked a stray hair away from your face, later he swiped a drop of drink off your lip, then he’d clutched you by the waist, pulling you close to him when someone squeezed past you in the crowded bar. His brisk touch wasn’t unfamiliar by any means, but it did suggest more than the other ones, especially coupled with the lustful words he was purring in your ear.

Then, there’s a gap in your memory. One too many shots, a stranger toying with the hem of the skirt you donned for the bar, and his sweet voice in your ear was too much for your dizzy head, and the only thing you remember is this: one moment, he’s getting braver, rough fingers ghosting the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and the next, you’re pressed against a bathroom stall wall, the handsome stranger’s knee pushing your quivering legs apart.

You’re trading wet, messy kisses, and his hands are sneakily climbing up your shirt till they reach your chest. There’s a sharp intake of breath from him: “Fuck, sweetheart, no bra? You really were looking for someone to prove you right,” he cooed, touching your breasts needily.

He’s kneading you artfully, fingers pawing at your flesh like he’s never felt something so soft, so plump. Your back arches as he does this; you’re practically putty in his hands.

It doesn’t slip past you that you’re being felt up in a bar bathroom by a gorgeous stranger whom you don’t know the name of, but you don’t care. “Please,” you beg, his name coming up completely blank on your tongue, “please.”

“‘Please’ what, honey?” The stranger says huskily, one of his hands moving from your breasts up to your jaw, pushing it to the side to gain access to your neck. “Please kiss me? Finger me? Fuck me?”

You’re too drunk - and fucking horny - to deal with his theatrics, so you whine instead of answering, your weak fingers carding through his brown locks.

“God,” he says, “How long has it been since you’ve been properly fucked? Just some touching and you’re already too fucking dumb to speak.”

His words make your cheeks burn with shame, but it also makes your core throb. The oh-so sweet stranger who listened to your problems all night telling you you’re just a dumb horny bitch is such a juxtaposition it's got you all hot and bothered.

“Please,” you beg again, more desperate than before, “I need you.”

The man let out an incredulous chuckle, head cocking back. “Baby, don’t tell me you like it like that. God, you’re such a fucking whore,” he said, before undoing his belt buckle and fly.

He had noticed how your legs clenched around his knee, how your breathing got sharper as soon as the words “dumb” and “whore” slipped out of his pretty mouth, how your fingers trailed his back needily, desperate for any kind of touch.

You bit your lip, watching the stranger through bleary, hooded eyes. He’d pulled his pants down just enough for his boxer shorts to be visible, before he grabbed you by the waist and turned you to press your face against the wall.

One of his arms then draped across your shoulders, pinning you down and arching your back, hard, making your ass press flush against the large tent in his underwear. You let out a small gasp at the feeling, and you could practically see the smirk curling slyly on his face.

He can’t be that big, right? It was just your drunk mind, making him feel bigger than you thought through his shorts. Plus, you hadn’t been fucked in over a month — you were probably just not used to it.

Because, that’d be totally unfair - he’s beautiful, charming, an amazing kisser, and has a huge cock? No fucking way — if he was all that, he’s definitely a secret terrorist, or something.

However, these days, you’ve learned that you don't have the best intuition. First, with your boyfriend, then again, with the man who just pulled out his thick cock, stroking it gently.

“Oh, fuck,” you cursed, head straining to look at him behind you. Unconsciously, you shyly closed your legs at the sight of him.

“Ah, ah, ah,” the man crooned, his other hand sliding between your legs and spreading them apart once more. “No take backs, honey. You did say you wanted me, did you not?”

The two of you were flush against each other, and you could feel his hard length resting between your legs. Just that, just him between you, already had you trembling in anticipation.

“Then fuck me already,” you bit back, feigning confidence. In actuality, you were thinking: how was all that supposed to fit? And, of all people, you, who hadn’t been stretched out to fit any cock at all, not since last month, when your boyfriend made his routine visit. You were a loyal girl, alright, and your fingers never went as deep as any cock could.

But the moment for you to reveal your worries passed, and he simpered. “So fucking eager.”

Then, his large hands smoothed down the swell of your ass, following the curve, before he lifted his hand up and came down on your cheek, making a loud noise reverberate throughout the empty bathroom.

Your breath caught in your throat, a choked gasp mixed with a tense moan coming out instead, and you flushed. Thank god you were pressed against the cold bathroom stall wall, for it provided a miniscule relief to your burning face.

He’d spanked you, and you fucking moaned.

“So you do like it dirty.” he cooed, fingers returning and hooking into the waistband of your panties.

“I bet,” he said, dragging the thin fabric down extremely slow, “that you didn’t come to the bar tonight to just drink,” he pressed closer against you, your folds now sitting right above his thick length, “you came, with no bra and a slutty skirt on, looking to get fucked senseless, didn’t you?”

He slowly slid in and out against your folds, his cock just barely grazing your clit, and you swore you could have screamed. The way he was teasing you was absolutely delectable and, in the same vein, incredibly torturous.

“Answer me, honey.” he hummed, free hand rubbing circles on the skin of your hip.

You let out an exasperated groan. “I - I came here tonight, to - ah!” you squeaked when the fat tip of the man’s cock poked your tight hole.

“You came here tonight to… what?” He said, nonchalant, as if he wasn’t slowly driving his large dick into you.

“I came here to…” you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to ground your thoughts, and squarely not think about how mouthwateringly good the handsome strangers cock felt, “to get—“

Then, the loudest keen you’d ever heard tore out of you, your eyes rolling into the back of your head, when he suddenly shoved all of his length into your soaking cunt.

He bottomed out with a breathy laugh, watching your knees buckle and your mouth hang wide open. Then, once more, his calloused hand came down on your ass, a large crack sounding out within the bathroom.

“Shut the fuck up, whore. Someone’ll hear.” The stranger said, as if he hadn’t just made a loud noise spanking you like that.

But the way he insulted, complemented, mocked and teased all in a few sentences had you shuddering; never in your life did you think such dirty words could make you so wet.

You barely kept in another whine, waves of pleasure ebbing throughout your body. The burning pain of the spank in combination to how your walls squeezed around his cock had you barely coherent, your face taut with pleasure.

“Fuck, baby, you’re dripping all over my cock,” he whispered, leaning down for you to hear. As he did so, however, his dick pressed further into you, and another helpless groan rolled off your tongue.

“But you’re too goddamn loud.” The stranger growled, and the arm of the hand that was pressing you against the wall shifted, now covering your mouth.

Before you could protest, he slid out, then snapped into you. Immediately, you saw stars, and a muffled mewl slipped past your lips.

“Jesus christ,” he murmured, “your little fuckhole’s taking me so well.” He began to slide in and out at a fast, rhythmic pace, so fast you could barely comprehend the ecstacy you were feeling.

“Oh my god,” you barely stuttered out past his large hand. He was pounding in and out of you relentlessly, selfishly, no regard for your moans or helpless whines, merely focussed on thrusting his fat cock into your sweet cunt.

Then, the both of you heard the bathroom door open, and you froze. The handsome stranger moved quickly, grabbing you by the waist and planting you on his lap as he sat down on the toilet. His other hand, still trained on your mouth, gripped tighter than ever when he felt the groan bubble up from your throat: this new position of you on his lap had his long length pressed right against your cervix.

“Now you really gotta be quiet, honey,” he whispered, pressing his face into your neck. You shut your eyes helplessly, a dejected whimper exiting your mouth.

“Just be fucking quiet. You don’t want everyone in this bar to know what a dirty slut you are, spreading your legs for a fucking stranger in the bathroom, right?” He said, words foul and like poison, but actions completely stark to it: he was pressing sweet, chaste kisses on your shoulder, laying his head on your back.

The man in the other stall was taking so fucking long to finish, and, despite the stranger’s words, he began to slowly rut into you, his large hands coming to rest on your hips and help you slide up and down on his cock.

Your eyes widened. “What are- ah, wh— what are you doing?” you said, a stuttered, hesitant moan leaving your mouth, but you were completely without the motivation to actually stop him: the pleasure you felt earlier had increased immensely in this slower, riskier pace he took on.

“Shh,” was all you saw him say, as you strained your neck to look at him. He looked the epitome of smug, lips curled, cheeks flushed attractively, strands of hair falling down onto his forehead.

Without his hand to muffle your groans, you muffled them yourself, biting down on your tongue. One hand of yours gripped onto the stranger's thigh to keep your balance, and your other hand sneakily traveled down to your wet, hot mound, fingers beginning to rub at your clit.

He noticed this, however, hand gripping at your wrist and pulling you back to pin your arm behind you. “Only I get to touch you,” he snarled, “because this fuckin’ pussy’s all mine. Gonna be all mine.”

You let out a shaky exhale at his words, but you found your cunt more flexible than before, the soft slapping of your skin between each other sounding easier, wetter. Jesus, did you really get more turned on by what he’d said?

Finally, the person who had wandered in and entered the stall beside you exited the bathroom entirely, and you belted out a sharp moan with how the stranger swiftly picked you up and pressed you against the wall once more, this time facing him.

He plunged his big cock into you like nothing before, animalistically, nails digging so hard into your hips you swore he drew blood. His pace was stuttered, desperate, like nothing could distract him from pounding into you, not even a fucking meteor.

You, on the other hand, were arching, the pleasure taking your body over completely. Your hands carded through his brown hair, tugging when he hit that particularly spongy spot into you. He groaned, a rough and stuttered thing, feeling himself brush against that spot every time.

Your tight cunt was stretching and contracting around his dick, like you were made with his fat length in mind, and it drove you up the fucking wall: the pain in your hip, the cold linoleum wall, his cock thrusting in and out — it was all so much, and your orgasm began to spill out from under you. It was slow, like water coming out of an overfilled glass.

“You — god, you’re fucking coming, aren’t you,” the stranger said knowingly. Your cunt had gotten tenser, stickier, trying to grip at him like you were afraid he’d never come back to you.

You nodded rapidly, opting to do so in fear an unintelligible string of groans would come out instead of your words.

He grinned, and lifted your legs to wrap around his waist, allowing his cock deeper access into you. Your toes curled, the new angle like being impaled, his dick easily slipping past your slick folds.

One of his hands lifted off your hip and trailed across your lower stomach, “Can you feel that, honey? Its my fucking cock, so deep m’gonna shoot my come right in your womb,” he purred, pressing the bulge.

Both of you were affected, a breathy grunt slipping past his lips, and you a feverish mewl. You couldn’t believe how big he was, large enough for him to be fucking visible on you from the outside.

Suddenly, you remembered the man’s name: he’d said it, offhand, to the bartender before you dragged him to the bathroom. He asked the bartender to put your drinks on his tab, under the name Jackson.

You face grew taut, your orgasm suddenly switching from a slow, sneaky drip to a hard smack, right across your face. “Jackson! Jackson, please,” you moaned at last, his name sounding right at home on your tongue.

“Fuck, honey, you remembered? God, that’s so hot,” He whispered sweetly, then dragged you through your orgasm, thick cock pounding in and out of your throbbing core.

It was like all the pleasure had steadily built up within your insides, all up into a big ball, then had suddenly burst, flowing throughout your entire body like you weren’t already being fucked relentlessly.

“Such a - fuck - tight and pretty pussy,” he said, leaning into rest his head against your chest. You were weak, sensitively riding out your high, but you knew Jackson wasn’t quite as close.

His thrusts began getting sloppier, harsher and focussed merely on feeling your walls against every inch of him. Your head rested beside his own, your eyes practically crossing with the overstimulation.

Despite your orgasm, your cunt was still soaking, definitely dripping and marking a wet patch on both your skirt and his pants. It made you tremble, thinking of you two tiredly exiting the bathroom, disheveled and having to cover the other up.

At this point, you didn’t know what kind of filthy fucking noises were exiting your mouth, with Jackson’s grunts and groans covering up your whines completely.

“M’gonna come,” he said a few long moments later, almost inaudible. “Say my name, say who owns this tight fucking pussy.”

“You do! Jackson does!” You exclaimed, his cock ripping in and out of you quicker and more jolted. “Jackson owns this pussy!”

Jackson grinned weakly, and with one final, harried thrust, he let go deep within you. He clenched his jaw, piercing blue eyes shutting tight and losing himself within the warm and wet feeling of your cunt squeezing him for every drop.

You were so fucking full, and even when Jackson pulled his softening cock out of you — which, was still huge despite its idleness — you felt stuffed to the brim.

His come dripped down your leg, and he promptly pulled your panties up, patting your worn out cunt as he did so. “You’re taking all my fucking come, so good honey.” he said, pressing a hungry kiss to your neck. “You were right: this cunt’s better than whoever your shit ex cheated on you with.”

“Told you so.” You gazed up at him through heavy-lidded, gleeful eyes. He was an absolute darling sweetheart, it seemed, switching from degradingly fucking you to romantically praising you. “Are you… up for round two?” you said, as he slipped his hand within your own, clasping tightly. You didn’t really mean round two - though, you wouldn’t protest it, especially with his delectable way of fucking you - you actually just wanted to go home with him… see where this relationship could lead you.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to ask. You’re comin’ home with me tonight,” he saw through you cheekily, pulling you close to him.

So, you did go home with him, and in the morning you laid beside him in the ruffled white sheets, counting the freckles on his face.

His eyes fluttered open when you shuffled. “Were you watching me?” he said, voice low and sleepy.

You nodded silently, your hand coming up to pet his skin comfortingly. After a beat passed, you asked the question that was bothering you all morning. “Jackson, you wanted to fuck me first, right?”

He blinked, tense for a moment, before smoothing out his expression. “What?” he opted on saying instead, sounding every bit clueless and entirely convincing.

Not convincing enough for you, however. “Baby, you think I didn’t notice the shots you were calling over and inching toward me? I was drunk, not stupid.”

“Are you saying I took advantage of you?” He said darkly, a side of him otherwise unknown to you ‘till now.

You raised a judging brow. “No need to be offended. I wanted to see where it was going to go: ‘did the handsome stranger want to fuck me, or did he want to kill me?’.”

He pulled you close to him, his arm snaking around your hips. “So, what are you saying?” he said, pressing a patronizing kiss to your forehead.

“Hm. Well, I jus’ wanna know if this is a one nightstand.”

“And you don’t care about the - drinks, the “taking advantage” part?”

You let out a laugh. “I was confident, darling; I keep pepper spray and a pocket knife in my purse. Even if you did - which you didn’t - I’d make it out alive.”

Jackson bit his lip, looking up at you. This had meant to be a one night stand, considering the job he had, but you were looking at him so sweetly, so accepting, like you secretly knew what he did for a living and wanted him despite it.

“Not a one night stand,” he murmured, leaning into your touch.

You beamed, and, later, when you did find out what he did for a living, you merely cocked your head. Thought about it… outweighed the pros, the cons, (and the fact you were completely right: he was perfect, but also a fucking sociopath), and merely shrugged.

“Honey, you’ll never do anything to me. Why should I care what you do for a living? Just don’t,” you warned, staring at him like you could and would fucking kill him, “cheat on me.”

You didn’t have the best intuition. And, as it turned out, a great moral compass, either.

#cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy #jackson rippner #jackson rippner x reader #jackson rippner smut #redeye

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theygotlost · 7 months

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good afternoon here's my big rant on my pet peeves for subtitles in movies and tv

This is a post that I’ve thought about making probably for years now but never got around to. I might add more later if I realize I’ve forgotten any

When it comes down to it, the purpose of subtitles is this: to reflect exactly what the audience can hear, precisely when it can be heard. If you fail to do this, your subtitles are bad and you should feel bad. Although I don’t have concrete examples for most of these off the top of my head, I promise I have experienced them all firsthand at least once.

-> Watch for spelling and typos. Obviously.

-> Syncing issues.

This should go without saying, but the captions should be synced as closely as possible with dialogue and sound effects. Subtitles that are out of sync are worse to me than no subtitles at all. They’re unbearably distracting and I have to turn them off. I’m fortunate enough that I can keep watching without them, so imagine how frustrating this is for someone who needs to keep them on no matter what.

-> Jumping the gun.

This is basically an example of out-of-sync subtitles that are slightly too fast, but it gets its own category because it ruins the viewing experience in its own unique way. In particularly dramatic scenes, actors will often draw out their lines or pause between phrases. Captions sometimes fail to reflect this by displaying the entire sentence all at once, allowing the audience to read what someone is about to say before they actually say it, which deflates all the dramatic tension of the scene.

-> Phantom captions.

This one is less self explanatory, but it’s kind of similar to syncing. Sometimes there will be significant intervals of time between lines of dialogue, especially after a scene ends and a new one begins. The interval may include music, sound effects, or complete silence, but what I’m calling a “phantom” is a caption that stays on the screen after that last line of dialogue is delivered until the next line is spoken. I don’t remember what I was watching, but there was one that was glued to the screen for SEVERAL MINUTES over what was supposed to be an atmospheric break between scenes and it drove me nuts. In my experience this happens more often with older subtitling for DVDs and some old videos and less with modern streaming.

-> Straight up spoilers.

Sometimes, a character will speak whose true identity has not yet been revealed to the audience. If I’m not supposed to know the character’s name yet, don’t just… tell me right there in the captions whenever they say something. Descriptors like “disembodied voice”, “man”/”woman”, “mysterious figure”, etc. will suffice.

-> Lack of musical descriptors.

It usually helps to describe the genre or emotion of the music that’s playing rather than just writing [music] or 🎵. That being said, if there is a song playing that’s particularly well known in the mainstream, I think it’s useful to actually include the name of the song. This one I do have a concrete example for: in Arrested Development, Gob always blasts The Final Countdown during his acts. But the captions on my DVDs for the show always describe it as [stagy pop]. Like yeah I would say that song is some pretty stagy pop, but I think a lot of the humor comes from knowing that it’s specifically The Final Countdown by Europe because it’s such a perfectly corny selection that Gob would make.

Another musical failure is not transcribing pertinent lyrics. If the song is playing in the background, then that’s understandable and it can be kind of distracting if there’s dialog happening on top of it because the audience isn’t actually meant to be paying close attention to the song. But if the song is front and center, like for a musical number or montage, then the lyrics can be pretty important. Last year when I watched Arcane on Netflix with my family (a recent, high budget production from the biggest streaming platform ever), the show had the nerve to write [man rapping] over a musical sequence. Imagine if all subtitles ever just said [person speaking] for the entire movie.

-> Affectations.

If a character starts using a silly voice or accent, or if the sound of their voice changes in any way, describe that. If the audience can hear the difference, the subtitles should reflect that difference. And they should reflect it informatively and accurately; for example, don’t just say [mock accent], but specify [mock French accent].

-> Paraphrasing.

I don’t even know why this is an issue, but it’s alarming how many times the subtitles just… straight up don’t match what the characters are actually saying. It’s like the transcriber was forced to write all the captions from memory, so they kinda sorta say the same thing, but the wording is different and some sentences or phrases are missing. When I brought this up with my mom she theorized that the transcriber was working off the script for the movie because hey, that’s all the dialogue already written down, right? But it completely fails to account for revisions, improvisation, or actors delivering their lines even slightly different than how they were originally written.

And last but certainly not least, one of the biggest offenders in bad subtitling…

-> [Speaks foreign language]

If someone says something in another language, please, for the love of god, do not just write [speaks foreign language] and call it a day. Specifying the actual language is an improvement, but this descriptor only works if the audience members are truly not meant to know what’s being said (which is sometimes the case). If a character is only saying a single word or phrase in another language, transcribe it. As in, write down the actual words that they said. If you don’t speak that language, find someone who does. You are insane for transcribing a character saying “hola” or “abuela” in an otherwise English sentence as [speaks Spanish] (real examples I saw respectively in Rango and JANE THE VIRGIN. THERE’S SO MUCH SPANISH IN THAT SHOW).

If the audience is supposed to know what someone is saying in another language, English subtitles will usually be hardcoded. DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, LET THE CAPTION SAYING [SPEAKS FOREIGN LANGUAGE] COVER THESE UP. This is actively impeding understanding, not helping it. Jesus christ

* Please keep in mind that I’m not deaf or hard of hearing and I don’t have auditory processing disorder; I almost always watch movies and tv with subtitles whenever the option is available because it helps me absorb information better. If I don’t even strictly NEED subtitles and these are issues for me, I can only imagine how much more difficult it is for those who rely on them more heavily. I invite you to add your own perspective!!

#mine

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cupids-scream-queen · 6 months

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A Little Murderess °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀*

❀ female!murderer!reader x poly!ghostface ❀

Part 6 // 3.5k words

-> Part 5

Warnings: stalking, breaking and entering, graphic descriptions of murder, homophobic slur (once), details of dismemberment.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀*ੈ✩‧₊˚⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Summary: You've just moved to a new town after the death of your little brother and stepfather with your mother. You're not ashamed of what you do to cope with the deaths; especially when you make two new friends who you might have more in common with than you thought...

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀*ੈ✩‧₊˚⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

He hadn’t called. He apologized for it at school, telling you that Sidney called, and keeping up appearances, he couldn’t leave her hanging. He told you he’d come by tonight, or perhaps call, but to keep an eye and ear out for him. You promised you would.

The first time your phone rang after Billy left was Tatum, confirming your presence at her house on Friday night—two days away. Agreeing, you wrote down her address, and wrote down a shopping list of supplies you’d need to have in order for it to be, in Tatum’s own words, a successful sleepover. A list including alcohol, weed, and nearly every movie with Tom Cruise in it.

The second time your phone rang was Ghostface, though you weren’t quite sure which one it was at first. The tone was dull and inviting, which initially led you to believe it was Billy, but one key detail led you to correctly guessing Stu—the slang.

“Dammit, he was right,” The voice changer off, Stu was clearly upset. “I guess I do have a way of talking.”

“Everyone does, Stu, it’s called dialect,” You tell him, but he ignores you, continuing to rant about how he doesn’t understand that people can figure out who you are based on what kind of language you use, or how you use it. “It’s kind of like how different actors can play different roles without coming across as the same person. It’s how people speak.”

“So like, how Johnny Depp is in fucking…Edward Scissorhands, and is also in Freddy’s Dead?”

“Kind of. You don’t think of Edward when you’re watching Glen on screen, do you?”

“No, I just see the character.”

“Exactly, it’s because the characters are fundamentally different from one another. You and Billy may operate on the same wavelength, but you two still have characteristics that make y’all unique.”

“Oh. I got it,” You giggled, and Stu joined in for a second. “Sorry, I’m kind of stupid.”

“Is that what Stu stands for?” You teased, and you could practically feel Stu’s comeback.

“No, it stands for Smart Terrific Unit,” He confidently confided. “And it means my parents definitely love me.”

“Do they have resentment towards you or something?”

“A bit, yeah. Ever since my younger sister died. My older siblings moved out of the house, and they kind of distanced themselves from it, too. They didn’t want to be home, they didn’t want to be near me.”

“Was her death your fault?”

“Not really, no. I was just being a negligent older brother, that’s all,” Stu chuckled a bit, but you knew it sounded kind of sad. You hadn’t realized that Stu had actually had to deal with death before, death with someone that he loved.

“My brother died,” You confided. “Not too long ago. And my stepfather. My biological father killed both of them, and then my mother shot him in self-defense.”

“Is that why you started…?”

“Yes, it is. As a form of control more than anything. I guess I just was tired of feeling powerless, so I started to take the power away from people, even if they had nearly nothing. It made me feel better, and it still does. I’m not sorry for it,” You tell him, and you could tell that this was the sort of conversation Stu hadn’t had in a very, very long time.

“So does that mean you won’t stop?”

“I don’t know,” You confessed. “I might, I might not. Not right now, that’s for sure, but once I’m older…who knows? I might become the world’s most prolific serial killer.”

“Naw, that’s the title Billy and I are after. Ghostface is gonna rule the world.” Billy and him. The terrific two. The dynamic duo. The terrifying twins. They weren’t including you in their plans. You felt something like sadness. “What if I joined in?”

“What, you start killing like us? Wearin’ the mask and shit?”

“Yeah, just for a few kills. What if we start planning massive kills, together, and confuse crowds? It’s not like we’re going to get caught if we’re careful.”

“We’d have to run it by Billy, the dickwad likes to control everything,” Stu laughed, and you couldn’t help but chuckle. “Maybe this weekend after the Slumber Party Massacre?”

“Sure, we’ll run it by him. I don’t see the harm in that—but there’s gonna be harm later.”

“Are you excited to kill Tatum? Do you have a motive?”

“Not really—just peer pressure. I’m far too sensitive. She’s also a bitch and a whore—she cares too much about her appearance and reputation to be anything other than a shallow cunt.”

“Why date her?”

“Get close to Sid and ��em. Y’know that’s who we’re after, right? Sid. Tatum’s murder is just gonna be because she’s friends with the wrong kind of people.”

“What are we gonna do with Randy?” “Randy?” Stu mused. “Billy’s got something in mind for him. I guess Bill doesn’t like how close Randy’s gotten to you, and if I’m being honest, I don’t either.”

“Oh? What do you mean?”

“He looks at you like you’re a goddamn fleshlight,” Stu deadpanned, his tone flat. “And I, personally, do not like it.”

“Is there any reason?” You twirled the phone cord around your finger, liking the way this conversation was going.

“If there was, I’m not telling you,” Stu said decidedly. You decided you wouldn’t push him to answer you—if Billy’s display to you earlier was anything to go off of, both killers had a particular spot in their hearts for you, and you were going to use that to your advantage, even if you knew, deep down, you had feelings for them as well.

“Ah. Well, Billy said he’d call me tonight, and I guess I kind of owe him that,” You tell him, and you could sense Stu’s tension.

“Why not just meet up with both of us tonight?” He asked, and you had to stifle a laugh.

“My mom would fucking slaughter me,” You tell him, and he kind of made a small whining noise at the other end of the phone. “If you want, you can come over.”

“I might take you up for that,” Stu said, and you weren’t sure if he was entirely joking. “Might even bring Billy.”

“And what would we even do? Plan a murder?”

“Pay our pal Randy a little visit.”

•❃°•°❀°•°❃•

It was nearly a quarter to one in the morning when you, Billy, and Stu finally all met up at your house. Billy brought the famed ladder, and he and Stu climbed up to your window, where you let them in. This time, both of the boys brought bookbags filled with things you knew were instruments to aid their destruction. You had the same thing as well.

“As you know, Stu and I are Ghostface,” Billy began, and Stu looked like he was trying to stop himself from laughing. “And you’re going to become one of us.”

“Is this a fucking cult?” You playfully asked, and Billy hushed you.

“Now, you’re going to prove yourself to Stu and I tonight. Randy’s home alone, and will be for the next three days. Tonight, you will go and kill Randy, by methods Stu and I employed to Casey and her boyfriend. If the murder is successful, you’ll be allowed to wear one of these,” Billy pulled a mask out of the bag, and another identical one. Stu took out his mask, and started aiming it around like a slingshot. “Don’t dick off with those, Stu, I don’t know if I can find other ones.”

“Lighten up, they’re like five bucks a pop,” He aimed it at Billy and let go, but surprisingly, Billy caught it.

“You’ve lost mask privileges tonight, Stuart,” Billy said, pocketing the mask. “Anyways, you’re going to kill Randy, and we’re going to guide you through what to do. These ain’t your normal killings, they’re fun, gruesome, and belong in a movie of their very own.”

“In other words, you’re Michael Myers wannabes with a phone connection?”

“No—we’re artists,” Stu collapsed on your bed, his shoes on your comforter. You held your tongue from saying anything, even though you wanted to scream at him to get off your bed with his musty crusty dusty ass shoes on it.

“Okay, so what? Am I going to prank call Randy, freak him out, torture him, chase him around a bit, cut him up, scare him to death, then stab him and take his organs out and hang them on the clothesline?”

“Something like that, sure,” Billy eyed you, not suspiciously, but carefully. Wondering to see how you’d fair tonight. He knew you weren’t an amater killer, hell, you’ve done it more times than he and Stu. But he knew yours lacked fanfare. Yours lacked style. You were a teenager with a knife, they were teenagers with a cunning plan. And now you were involved in this plan, and he wanted to see if you were capable of doing your duty and making this plan succeed.

“We’ll start heading out a two, I want to kill him at roughly three-thirty,” You suggested, and the two of them nodded. “What do you want to do in the meantime?”

“Get to know you better, babe,” Stu slung his arm around you jokingly, but surprisingly to him, you didn’t move. You watched Billy carefully as you did this, noticing the peculiar glance in his eyes that made you realize that perhaps, Billy had feelings for multiple people in your bedroom.

“We could watch a movie,” You offered, and Billy shook his head.

“Nothing interesting. You’d put on some fucked up 20’s movie knowing you,” He clicked his tongue twice, indicating that he’d thought of something. “What about we play spin the bottle?”

“There’s three of us, that’s a party game,” You pointed out, giggling. Stu nudged you, indicating that you should shut up, or perhaps suggest something different that didn’t involve kissing. “Truth or dare?”

“That’s a girl’s game,” Stu wrinkled his nose in disgust, moving his arm from you. He got up, and trodded towards Billy, and flung his arms around him. “We’re men.”

“You’re a fag,” Billy deadpanned, but he didn’t move. Stu hung off of him like a deadweight, yet Billy did not attempt to remove the boy. You curiously stared at them.

“Maybe we could bake?”

“Isn’t your mother home?” Billy asked, and you shook your head.

“You two suck at stalking. She’s gone tonight, she’s out with some dude. I don’t know who he is, though, and quite frankly don’t care. She’s out of my shit and I stay far away from hers.”

“We kind of gave up on you,” Stu admitted, and Billy hit him in the back of the head.

“Don’t admit shit like that, idiot,” Billy said. He turned towards you. “Don’t worry about him, doll. He’s just a little talkative when there’s murder in the room.”

“Right. Well, wanna see my knife collection?” You offered, and the boys looked like they’d just won the lottery.

“Hell yes!” Stu lept up from his sulking place, and ran over to your side. Billy joined you two as you opened the doors of your closet, revealing two swords hung up on the wall, and a bin full of knives, all with their sheaths on.

“Holy fuck.”

“You really are the Knife Girl,” Billy said, his tongue in his cheek. You hadn’t seen the expression on the boy’s faces before, but you assumed it was as close to pure joy as they could feel.

“No shit, I didn’t get that nickname for nothing,” You stepped away, letting them look at the blades in awe. “I don’t kill with the majority of those.” They didn’t seem to care, though. You watched as they took blade after blade, finding the ones that best suited their hands, finding the ones that were pretty or sharpest or the ones that you most liked. They found your murder blades, the knife they got you, and all sorts of other sharp objects. They liked it. You could tell this was an intimate moment for the three of you.

•❃°•°❀°•°❃•

Three rapidly approached, and the three of you had to start moving to Randy’s house for that night’s murder. Dressed in the Ghostface gear, you clumsily went down the ladder, nearly tripping at a few parts. The long robes of the killer costume was a tripping hazard, and you briefly wondered why they hadn’t mentioned it, until you remembered you were using Stu’s robes, and he was nearly a foot taller than you. It wasn’t a hazard for them.

You crept through the night, joining the boys in the backseat of Stu’s car, and started your drive to Randy’s. The car was silent, but the boys were in their element, though nobody dared to speak a word. Everyone knew the familiar buzz you’d get before you took a life. It was something that was addicting, and you knew it with every bone in your body. You relished the feeling of taking life, and you knew that Billy and Stu felt the exact same way.

You pulled up to the house, which was a small two-story one situated on top of a hill. The flowerbeds were neat and tidy, the house a light white color. The front porch lights were on, and you could see the light on in what you assumed to be Randy’s room.

“Call him,” Stu whispered, handing you the phone. You dialed Randy’s number, surprised that you remembered it at all. “And make sure the voice changer is on.”

You did as you were told, and began your speech to make Randy afraid. Terrified. You could hear his amusement at first, when you asked him his favorite horror movie. You could hear the first tremblings of his breathing when you asked if his bedroom was the one with the light on. You could hear the pounding of his heart as you knocked on the back door, and you could hear how he was absolutely afraid when you, Billy, and Stu knocked from different entrances.

“Get the fuck away from my house,” Randy’s voice was shaky, and you knew you struck a chord with him. “Get the fuck away before you get hurt.”

“Funny thing to say when you’re the one who wants to die.” You taunted, and threw a rock at the window, breaking it. You could hear the yelp on Randy’s end even without the phone. “Randy, do you want to play a game?”

“What the fuck do you want man—what the fuck,” Randy’s desperate pleas on the other end excited you, made you drunk with power. You were in control of the variables here. And Billy and Stu were here to guide you.

“Play a game with me, Randy,” You hear him move in the house, grabbing a kitchen knife. If there was any chance of getting injured, you knew Billy or Stu would step in. They didn’t want to see you get hurt. “Let’s play hide and go seek. If I find you, you die. I’ll count to…hm, let’s see. Is forty seconds enough? Yes, I’ll count to forty seconds. If you hide and I do not find you, you win. If I find you, you’re dead.”

“What the hell,” You could hear Randy crying at the other end, but you didn’t care. You enjoyed this with every fiber of your being, and you wanted to keep this going as long as possible. Stu looked at you, and slipped his mask on. Part two of the plan.

Randy stood no chance of surviving. Realistically, there were far too many of you and only one of him, and he had no experience with anything of this caliber before. One of you would enter the house through each of the entrances, and once you found Randy, you were to whoop or holler or make some kind of noise to alert the others. Once the others are alerted, the three of you are to kill Randy at once, a frenzy of attack.

The third part of the plan was stringing his insides out on the clothing line. This was your added touch, a small detail of gruesome carnage that made Billy swear he would have kissed you right there and then.

You had the front door, and you carefully went inside. The house was still, silent. You paid attention to try and hear any breathing. There weren’t many hiding spots, and you knew Randy might’ve gotten creative. You prayed that one of the boys found where Randy was.

Luck was not on your side. You whooped as you spotted Randy ducked behind a couch, and the two other whoops let you know they were on their way. Scuttling out from behind the couch, Randy tried to attack you with a knife, but you tripped him, causing him to fall. The knife fell from his grip, and you kicked it away from his reach.

Your knife went down on him nearly at once, right in the shoulder blade. Deep. It was joined by a second knife, Billy’s, which was aimed at the back of his neck. Stu was only a few seconds later, plunging his knife into the other shoulder. You started to take your knife out, twisting as you went, Randy’s screams and cries of horror and pain motivating you to do more. You started to stab at his back, hearing the cracking of his ribs encouraged you to do more. Still alive, you heard Randy’s breathing take a sharp inhale as you stepped on his back with all of your strength, lodging your knife deeper within his body. Billy tapped you on the shoulder. Phase three.

You took your knife out of Randy, which took some effort, and you and Stu flipped him over. Randy was still alive, barely moving as Stu undressed him. Completely naked, Randy’s eyes were like a deer’s as Billy placed his knife right above a nest of pubic hair, but then stopped, and looked at you, as if to tell you that this was going to be your kill. You put your knife where Billy’s was just moments ago, relishing the feeling of having someone under your mercy like this. The boys watched as you slowly started to carve your way through Randy’s body, and Randy started to move his arms down to stop you. Billy and Stu lodged their knives in his arms, trapping him to the floor. You made a cut across Randy’s body, and then made the killing blow: ripping his throat out, leaving the blood splatter to the floor. Upon the death of Randy, Billy was the first to speak.

“Do you want to gut him or will Stu and I?”

“I’d like to help,” You said, already starting to poke around in the chest cavity with your blade. “After all, doing laundry is a woman’s job.”

“Spoken like a real one,” Stu joked, and joined you with poking in Randy’s body. You two cut out his stomach and intestines, and handed them to Billy, who put them in a yellow laundry basket that he found upstairs while you were searching for Randy just moments before. Various parts of Randy made it in the basket, including his heart, but Billy took it out of the basket.

“We should leave this in his parent’s room, don’t you think?” The grin on his face was sinister, and you nodded alongside Stu. Billy chuckled, putting the basket on the floor. “Finish gutting him. I’m going to set up a surprise for the happy couple.”

You and Stu did as you were told, finishing emptying Randy’s body. You weren’t sure of their plan with the main body, just that your job was now in action. Stu finished up, placing the last organ in the basket. You stood up, shaking the blood off of your robes and taking the basket to the backyard, where you hung them up with clothespins.

Stu, meanwhile, was carefully arranging a flower display in the corpse of Randy. He was giggling as he did this, moving the body to lay on the couch, and adding the displays of flowers Randy’s mother kept around the house in the chest cavity.

Billy was upstairs, arranging Randy’s heart on a silver platter, with a fork and a knife on either side of the plate. He joined the two of you downstairs, inspecting the handiwork.

“I think we’ve got ourselves a new partner,” Billy said, watching you hang the intestines up. “She’s good.”

“I like her,” Stu said, giving Billy a small kiss on the cheek. Billy nodded, and placed one on Stu’s forehead. “She’s got balls.”

“She’s going to need them for Friday’s murder,” Billy stepped outside. “We’re going to go, alright?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” You grinned at them, and the three of you went in the car, taking the stuffy robes off. You weren’t quite sure how Tatum or Sidney would react to the death of Randy, but you sure as hell were looking forward to the publicity of the body. Your handiwork was going to be on television. A dream come true for a girl like you.

Enjoy my writing? Please like, reblog, or follow me! The support is super encouraging, especially since I'm going to make this a longer fic and post nearly daily 💕

-> Part 7

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bookwyrminspiration · 7 months

Text

Transcript of The Trade, the Marella KOTLC short story (Including the author introduction)

Note: OG pictures taken by Kenna!, provided by @fintan-pyren. Some words are obscured and the transcript may contain errors. Neverless, I hope this is useful to anyone who may need/want it :)

Hello, wonderful Keeper readers! Some of you might already know that I love to sneak a little something extra into the paperback versions of my books whenever I can (since I don't think hardcover readers should get to be the only ones who sometimes find fun bonuses). For those who didn't know that: surprise! :)

I knew I wanted to include a story from Marella's POV this time. Not only is she on the cover (looking fierce and fabulous!) and a fan-favorite character, but she also had some key scenes in Stellarlune that we only got to "hear" about. The Keeper books are limited to Sophie's POV, so I can only include moments where Sophie is present--and since Sophie didn't go with Marella to her meetings with Fintan, we only learn what Marella tells Sophie later. But what if there was something Marella didn't share?

Over the next few pages, you can watch one of Marella's conversations with Fintan play out in real time and hear all Marella's thoughts and reactions to what's happening. I've called this story "The Trade"--and I've worked in lots of fun little extra details (some of which might even turn out to be important later...*wink*).

For those wondering, this story is based a [sic] scene in chapter 31 of Stellarlune--and if you haven't read Stellarlune yet: SPOILER ALERT! SPOILER ALERT! Reading this first will probably be confusing and will also give away a few tidbits too early. You'll be much happier if you start by reading Stellarlune and then come back here for all the Marella fun once you're done!

Happy reading! [shannon's signature]

"Ugh, I hate this place," Marella muttered, shaking the freshly fallen snowflakes out of her gilded blond hair much harder than necessary and yanking her thick velvet cape tighter around her narrow shoulders.

She said the same thing every time she had to trudge through the knee-high snowdrifts and found herself staring at the icicle-crusted entrance to the now familiar cave.

Didn't matter how many times she'd gone there--or how important her visits were. She was never not going to dread making the long, slippery trek down to Fintan's frozen cell.

The cave looked like some sort of open-mouthed snow beast waiting to devour everything in its path--which was probably intentional, since the prison was designed to be as miserable as possible.

Especially for someone like her.

The goblin guards even gave her pitying stares as they moved aside to reveal the endless icy path that wound down and down--and down a whole lot more--to a place where the tiniest glimmer of heat had long since been swallowed up by the suffocating cold.

No amount of clothing could keep Marella warm in the heart of the prison She'd actually tried wearing so many layers that she'd looked like an overstuffed gulon--and she still couldn't stop shivering. And the whole "body temperature regulation" thing wasn't exactly possible when she had to use so much concentration to make sense of Fintan's ranting.

it wasn't fair.

Everyone else got to train their special abilities in fancy rooms at Foxfire, with Mentors who weren't creepy, unstable murderers.

But they weren't Pyrokinetics.

Marella was lucky the Council was letting her use her ability at all.

They could just as easily label her Talentless, kick her out of their snobby academy, and ban her from ever sparking another flame.

Or they could decide she was too dangerous and lock her away.

in fact, Marella wouldn't have been surprised at all if the Council was already building an icy cage just for her--but the thought still made her shiver and wish she could've manifested as...

Nope.

She stopped herself from finishing that sentence.

If life had taught her anything, it was that there's no point wanting things that were never going to happen.

Instead, she focused on the thin beams of sunlight streaking through a gap in the gloomy gray clouds. The light was far from warm, but if she really concentrated, she could feel a hint of lingering heat tangled among the brightness.

She called the warmth closer and soaked it in--let it pool under her skin, pounding with her pulse, swelling with every heartbeat. Growing hotter and hotter and hotter until...

Snap!

A flick of her fingers sent a small tangle of flames sparking to life above her left palm.

"Feel better?" Linh asked as Marella let out a long, slow sigh.

Marella nodded--though she definitely could've done without the whispered that were now hissing around her head.

The flames had a soft, crackly voice. And they always made the same plea.

Feed me.

Fire craved fuel--constantly wanting more, more, more--and it would've been so easy for Marella to let the fire swell bigger and bigger and bigger.

But that was the kind of thing that would lead to a lifetime of shivering in an underground ice cube, so she forced her gaze to shift to Linh, who stood in a small, snowless circle surrounded by a halo of hovering snowflakes---none daring to touch her long silver-tipped hair or shimmery purple cape.

Marella knew how hard Linh had fought to achieve that level of control, and how tentative Linh's hold over her ability still was. But the fact Linh could stand in a sea of frozen water and do nothing except keep the falling snow from settling on her flushed pink cheeks was very...

Annoying.

Then again, everyone annoyed Marella a little.

Her dad used to call her "fiery" long before he realized how accurate that description truly was.

But it wasn't Marella's fault!

People tended to be annoying.

Especially a Hydrokinetic who was currently looking all peaceful and pretty and perfect while making snowflakes flutter and spin in intricate patterns.

That didn't mean Marella wasn't also grateful that Linh was willing to tag along to her Pyrokinetic lessons. it was nice to see a friendly face after hours of Fintan's rambling. Plus, it seemed like a good idea to have someone with water powers around while she practiced setting things on fire.

They were even finding some pretty cool ways to work together. Fire and water might be opposites--but that didn't mean they couldn't be combined. Marella had actually figured out a way to ignite Linh's rain, and she couldn't wait to use that little trick on the Neverseen--assuming those black-cloaked losers ever showed up again.

For a fearsome, unstoppable rebellion, they sure spend a lot of time hiding.

"Are you going to start by asking him about the cache or do the lesson first?" Linh asked, reminding Marella why they were there.

Marella shrugged. "Depends on Fintan's mood."

Sometimes he was already babbling about some fancy new fire trick when she arrived, as if he'd started the lesson without bothering to wait for her. Other times she couldn't get anywhere with him until she'd let him go on and on and on about how foolish the Council was, or how badly he'd been wronged, or how much he missed the feel of a flickering flame--and she didn't necessarily blame him for the last one.

Part of her wanted to hold on to her fireball forever.

Make it her smoky little pet.

Instead, she curled her fingers into a fist and snuffed it out--but she didn't let all the heat dissipate. She called a single tingling glint deeper, letting it sear through her veins and settle into her heart.

She knew it was a risky move, even with all the defenses she wrapped around it. But she couldn't bear the cold emptiness of Fintan's prison without a least a tiny fleck of warmth tucked away.

A secret spark whispering, I'm here. You're not alone.

"Okay," she said, weaving a few strands of her hair together to clam her twitchy fingers. She'd picked up the nervous habit years ago--after her mom's accident--and the tiny braids were kind of her trademark now. "i guess I should stop stalling and head down to deal with Sir Creepysparks, huh?"

Linh smiled. "Probably. Unless you want to rehearse what you're going to say."

"Nah. I'm just going to offer him an ugly flower--that doesn't exactly need a big speech. Oh, but that reminds me..."

She reached into her cape pocket and pulled out the spiky dark blue Noxflare--which looked more like a dying weed than a super-rare flower--and held it up to the guards. "Mr. Forkle already checked this before I brought it here, to make sure it's safe for me to offer to Fintan. but I figured you'd want to check it too."

"We do," they agreed in unison as one of the biggest, deadliest-looking guards took the Noxflare from Marella and brought it over to the other goblins.

A lot of mumbling about potential kindling and fire hazards followed.

Eventually, the guards decided to quick-freeze the Noxflare into a block of ice in case there was any heat stored inside.

"Whoa," Marella said when the scary guard returned with the flower-filled ice cube--which had turned out as big as her head. "How heavy is that thing?"

The guard studied Marella's skinny arms. "I can carry it for you if you'd like."

"That's probably be smart." Marella was pretty sure she'd drop it, or her fingers would freeze off during the long walk--and using telekinesis would drain her mental energy. "But can you stay out of sight? I was planning to tell Fintan he can only see his weird flower thing if he gives me access to his memories, and that's kinda ruined if there's a giant goblin holding it right next to me.

Not that it made the plan any less pointless.

Fintan was obviously going to turn her down.

He's already made it super clear that the only trade he was interested in was for his freedom--which was never going to happen.

Marella doubted a dying flower frozen in ice was suddenly going to make him be like, You know what? Who needs out of this horrible prison when I can have that!

But she was out of other ideas.

And Sophie wanted her to try the Noxflare thing, so...

Whatever.

Marella didn't care about Sophie's current power trip the way Stina did.

As long as she didn't have to be the one coming up with all the plans--or almost dying all the time--Marella was fine following orders. Especially if she got to say I told you so when they turned out to be a huge waste of time.

"Sure you don't want me to come with you?" Linh asked as Marella pulled thick gloves onto her hands. "Fintan likes me."

Marella wasn't sure if "like" was the right word, since Fintan didn't seem to like anybody. But he'd definitely been impressed with Linh.

He'd demanded to speak with "the Hydrokinetic" after Marella mentioned she practiced her pyrokinesis with Linh, so Marella had convinced the goblin guards to let Linh down into the prison. And when Fintan asked for a demonstration of Linh's ability to ensure she wouldn't "hinder his training," Linh had stirred up all the ice shards on his floor and made them rain around him like he was trapped inside a snow globe--which actually made him applaud.

Apparently, most Hydrokinetics struggled to manipulate water in its solid form, and were limited to liquid water or water vapor.

But not Linh.

Of course.

Marella was pretty sure that Linh was more powerful than any of her other friends.

"Well, if you need me, you know where to find me," Linh said as Marella forced her feet to carry her into the cave. "I'll just be here, making another snow menagerie." She flicker her wrist and wove the hovering snowflakes into a soaring alenon.

"Ugh, at least make some ugly creatures this time," Marella called over her shoulder. "I want to see a row of snow ghouls when I get back here. Or a giant Princess Purryfins!"

Linh gasped. "Princess Purryfins is not ugly! I'm going to tell her you said that!"

Marella laughed. "I'm sure you will."

She would've teased Linh more about her ridiculous obsession with her pet murcat, but the frigid air from the prison hit Marella hard, and she had to lock her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering.

As least she didn't have to make the journey by herself this time.

Marella could hear the scary goblin guard keeping pace several steps behind her as her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim blue light cast by a series of glowing spheres dangling from the ceiling. The downward slope grew steeper with each winding curve, and Marella was always tempted to try sliding down the icy floor instead of walking--but she'd probably end up crashing into one of the weird ice thrones outside Fintan's cell. And she knew better than anyone that injuries couldn't always be healed.

Plus, the trudge gave her a chance to add extra defenses to the heat she'd tucked away in her chest.

She often wondered if Fintan had hidden a few sparks of his own when he was arrested. After all, he had to know the Council would put him on ice for the rest of eternity. Wouldn't he try to preserve what little heat he could?

But Marella had stretched out her senses a zillion different ways and never felt the slightest tingle of warmth when she was around him. So either there was nothing to find or Fintan was that good.

She had a horrible feeling it was the latter, and he was waiting for just the right moment to reveal his grand plan--but that wasn't the kind of thing she should be thinking about before having to face him.

Still, she spent the next few turn trying to figure out what she'd do if she were right.

Her feet turned numb while she plotted, and her bones were officially aching by the time the path widened-- the only warning that they were getting close to Fintan's cell.

A few curves later, his cage came into view: a stark, icy bubble in the center of a circular cavern.

The round wall was reflective on the inside, so even though Marella could see Fintan pacing along the edge of his frozen barricade, he wouldn't be able to see her until she triggered the sensor by sitting in one of the freezing thrones positioned at the only point Fintan could peer through.

He looked extra tired that day--his sky blue eyes sunken by more shadows than usual, and he kept muttering under his breath about incompetence as he tucked his messy blond hair behind his pointy ears with a bit more force than necessary.

Marella glanced back at the scary guard, making sure he'd ducked into the shadows near the back of the cell before she made her big appearance. Then she took a deep breath and pressed her hand against her heart, reaching for her secret spark of warmth one last time before plopping into the closest ice throne.

"Awwwww, looks like you missed me," she said, tossing back her hair and flashing her brightest smile.

She liked to start her visits by showing Fintan she wasn't afraid of him--even if she totally was.

But Fintan didn't glance her way.

"I'm not in the mood for games," he warned as he continued his slow march around his cell.

"Neither am I" Marella assured him, deciding that was her cue to start with the cache. She sat up taller, trying to look extra confident as she added, "But I do have an awesome trade to offer you!"

Fintan sighed. "If this is about my cache, I already told you what I'm willing to accept. Unless you're here to grant me a day of freedom--"

"I'm definitely not. But! I found something you should like even better." She paused, hoping the extra bit of anticipation would somehow make her offer should more exiting when she told him. "Noxflares!"

Fintan scrunched his slender nose. "What are Noxflares, and why would I care about them?"

Marella tilted her head, trying to tell if he was faking.

She hadn't expected him to jump around or applaud or anything--but she had expected him to at least know what Noxflares were.

Then again, his mind had been shattered and pieced back together so many times, his memories had to be in shambles--and Ancient minds tended to be a total mess anyway, since they were crammed with thousands of years of information and the past and present blurred together.

"Would it help if I told you I stopped by your old estate on my way here?" she asked, "Your garden could use some gnomish help, by the way. All the plants have turned into a giant dying tangle. But I dug around and managed to find this scraggly vine with dark pointy flowers--and I hear that plant is special to you, so I picked a few and--"

"You picked my Noxflares?" Fintan snapped, rushing to the wall of his cell and pressing his palms against the ice. "You must let me see them!"

Marella's lips curled into a huge smirk. "I thought you didn't know what they were."

Fintan gritted his teeth so hard, it sounded like cracking ice.

"Hey, I'm not saying I won't share. Buuuuuuuuuuut it'll cost you--and I'm pretty sure you can already guess what I want." She paused for another beat before she added, "Just so we're clear: I'll show you one of your Noxflares if you open your cache and show me what's inside."

Fintan's jaw tightened even more and his hands curled into fists.

But he didn't say no.

He didn't say anything--which was definitely new.

Marella had already offered him a long list of trade suggestions that she, Linh, Maruca, and Stina had all come up with--some really cool ones! And Fintan had shot down each one down before she could even finish the offer.

She couldn't believe he looked so tempted by an ugly flower.

but as the silence dragged on, Marella started to wonder if she'd misread the situation.

maybe she'd pushed him too hard--taunted him too much--and now Fintan was letting her sit there in the cold, knowing the icy throne was turning her butt and legs numb.

She was trying to decide if she could make standing up look like a power move when Fintan told her, "Fine. You have a deal--but since you're only offering one Noxflare, I'll only show you one memory."

Marella barely stopped herself from blurting out, SERIOUSLY?

"Orrrrrrrrrrrrrr," she said instead, wanting to kick herself for not bringing more Noxflares with her. The whole thing had just seemed so silly--and the first few she'd picked had crumbled to dust. But the vine had lots more flowers, so she could fix the mistake super easily. "How about I go back, grab eight more Noxflares, and then you show me all nine memories?"

Fintan grinned. "Tempting. But one Noxflare is really all I need."

Need?

Marella wasn't a fan of that wording.

But before she could ask him what he needed it for, he added, "My offer expires in ten seconds," and started counting down.

By "six" she decided that one memory was better than nothing.

"Fine," she said, pulling the cache from her pocket and holding the marble-size orb up to the light. "But you go first. How do I open this thing?"

No way was she going to risk letting him back out--especially since he probably wasn't going to be happy when he saw his precious flower was stuck in the middle of a giant ice cube.

Fintan held out his hand. "Give me the cache, and I'll open it."

Marella laughed. "Hard pass."

"Ah, but you don't have a choice. I'm the only one who can access the memories. And I need to make physical contact with the cache in order to do so."

Marella squinted at the tiny gadget.

She didn't know much about caches--aside from the fact that only Councillors used them and that each colorful inner crystal held a single Forgotten Secret. But she did know that Dex had already tried everything he could think of to open the cache and failed--and he was one of the best Technopaths ever.

"Do I need to start counting down again?" Fintan asked. "I believe we'd gotten to five..."

Marella chewed her lip. "Uh, how do I know you're not going to destroy the cache or try to hold it for ransom or something?"

Fintan's smile was colder than his cell. "You'll just have to trust me."

"Yeah, I don't see that happening."

Fintan shrugged. "Then our deal is off."

Marella rolled her eyes. "Come on. Even if I wanted to, it's not like I can open your cell door and hand the cache to you."

She wasn't even sure if his cell had a door. The wall looked like one big solid piece of ice.

"You've proven to be very resourceful during our lessons," Fintan reminded her.

"Yeah, but--"

"It's your call," he interrupted. "If you want a memory, you'll have to trust me."

She snort-laughed--but before she could get another word out, he repeated, "You'll just have to trust me." And she could tell that was the only response he was going to give.

She turned to the scary guard, who had started pacing in the shadows. "Is there a way to pass Fintan a small item?"

"Ah, you have a hidden goblin escort--I knew you were resourceful!" Fintan clapped his hands. "And yes, there is a way to pass me my cache, otherwise I wouldn't have suggested it. Any guard can open the disgraceful tube they pass my horrid, frozen bits of food through. The cache should fit nicely."

The guard gripped his sword. "I cannot allow any unauthorized item to enter his cell."

Fintan clicked his tongue. "Clearly you're not considering the fact that I've already had plenty of chances to make this trade--and turned them all down. Do you think I would do that if the cache was even remotely useful to me?"

The goblin couldn't argue with that logic.

Neither could Marella.

And when Fintan went back to counting down, she told the guard, "The Black Swan knows I've been trying to make this trade--and they're working with the Council now. No one would let me do this if they thought the cache was dangerous."

Then again, they'd never discussed the possibility of handing the cache over to Fintan--but surely someone must've considered that during all their endless talking and obsessive overplanning...right?

Besides, if anything went wrong, she could always remind them that this was Sophie's idea.

"I don't like this," the scary guard growled. But Marella gave him her I-totally-know-what-I'm-doing glare until he set the frozen Noxflare down with a particularly dramatic thud, snatched the cache, and spent an eternity squinting at the tiny crystal, spinning it all different ways. "If anything happens, my priority will be subduing the prisoner--not protecting you. Are you certain you want to take that risk?"

Marella absolutely wasn't.

But...this might be their only shot at seeing one of Fintan's Forgotten Secrets.

Plus, she had her tiny little spark buddy she could call on if she needed. Surely she could use that to...

To what?

Take down a superpowerful, much more experienced Pyrokinetic with a history of murdering poeple?

But...did she really want to wimp out?

Sophie wouldn't.

And yeah, Sophie had, like, a permanent bed in the Healing Center. But Marella was pretty sure their whole group would vote "DO IT!"

There were also a dozen other armed goblins who would rush down as backup.

And Linh could attack Fintan with her cutesy snow animals.

It'd almost be worth it to watch Fintan get swallowed up by an ice wave shaped like Princess Purryfins.

"I can handle myself," she decided, using a tone that hopefully sounded intimidating.

Fintan's gleeful laughter echoed of the ice.

The scary guard muttered something about the arrogance of elves as he reached toward the top of Fintan's frozen cell and felt around for a specific spot. A faint clicking sound followed, and a tiny round door slid open--far out of Fintan's reach.

"I can neutralize you within seconds," the guard reminded him as he held the cache up to the opening. "By numerous means. Some far more painful than others."

"Yes, I'm well aware of the absurd lengths the Council has taken to keep me contained," Fintan assured him. "But I don't plan on giving you a reason to use any of them. Not today, at least."

The guard bared his supersharp pointy teeth, and Marella wanted to shout NEVER MIND, JUST KIDDING! But she let the guard shove the cache through the tiny opening--and then it was too late to change her mind.

All she could do was watch the glass orb make its slow descent, rolling around and around and around--down some sort of invisible path etched into the wall of the cell.

Her stomach backflipped with each rotation, and she felt more than a little vomit-y when the cache dropped low enough for Fintan to catch it. But he simply held it up and studied it.

Then he coughed on it.

And sneezed on it.

"Ewwwwwww," Marella groaned when he followed that up by drooling on it. "You know, there are better ways to give it your DNA."

"Yes, I'm aware." Fintan cleared his throat and launched a slimy blob of spit at the cache. "I also know your little Technopath friend is going to ask you how I accessed the memories, so feel free to give him a detailed list." He wiped the cache dry with his fingers and then ran it through his greasy hair before sneezing and coughing on it again. "Some of these methods are vital. Some are distractions. None can be re-created without me--but it'll be fun if he tries, don't you think?"

He laughed so hard, it brought tears to his eyes, and he smeared them across the cache before sneezing and spitting on it again--making Marella very glad she had gloves to keep her hands clean once he returned the cache.

Assuming she actually got it back...

She tried to make out what he was saying when he started mumbling a bunch of stuff into the crystal, but the words were all mushed together. He also tapped the cache in so many different places that she doubted even Sophie and Keefe with their fancy photographic memories would be able to re-create the patterns. And he looked so smug as he did it all that Marella decided to look as bored as possible--which was why she was barely paying attention when the cache flared to life, projecting a small hologram of Fintan standing alone in a wide, empty field.

"Huh," Marella mumbled. "Gotta admit, I was expecting something a little more exciting than a tiny glowing Fintan in the middle of nowhere doing...nothing."

"Then you should learn to be more observant." Fintan pointed to the swaying grass around the hologram's feet, and after a few seconds, Marella realized there was a vine of blooming Noxflares. "I figured I'd show you what Noxflares can do, since you're so generously bringing one back into my life."

Marella squinted at the tiny flowers, waiting for something to happen.

And waiting.

"So...they...blow in the wind?" she asked.

Fintan sighed. "No, they do this."

The hologram of Fintan waved his arms, and all the Noxflares erupted with searing white flames.

"Yeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaah, still not seeing why this needed to be a super-hush-hush Forgotten Secret," Marella grumbled as the Fintan hologram flicked his wrist and added purple fire to the white.

Sure, the flames were pretty--but all flames were beautiful.

"Try thinking like a Pyrokinetic!" Fintan snapped. "Tell me, are there any other flowers that could remain intact under such an inferno?"

Marella couldn't think of any.

And the Noxflares still didn't burn when the Fintan hologram added yellow flames to the fiery mix.

but other than clearly being fire-resistant, Marella didn't see the Noxflares actually doing anything--and the hologram of Fintan must've been equally unimpressed.

He frowned at the flaming petals and dragged a hand down his face, mumbling "something's missing."

"Still not seeing the point of this," Marella noted. "I mean..."

Her voice trailed off as the tiny Fintan waved his arms again and blasted the Noxflares with pink flames--which made the flowers spray sparks in every direction.

The effect was breathtaking.

Kind of like the sky during the Celestial Festival.

But that still didn't necessarily scream, THIS MEMORY IS IMPORTANT.

"How come the grass isn't catching fire?" she asked, grasping for anything that might be significant. "Do the Noxflares protect it or something?"

"No, I was protecting it. A pyrokinetic should always be in control of their flames."

He sounded so smug Marella was tempted to remind him that he let five Pyrokinetics die when he tried to teach them how to call down Everblaze and they all lost control--but that would probably make him throw one of his tantrums and send her away.

She needed the cache back first--and to hopefully find something useful in this boring memory. But sadly, all Fintan's hologram did was stare blankly at the stars and mumble "something's missing" again before the image flashed away.

"That's it?" the scary guard demanded, beating Marella to the complaint.

"Yeah, so...you put on a little fire show all by yourself with some spark-shooting flowers," she added, trying to sum up what she'd seen. "You were clearly disappointed by that little show. And then you must've remembered you needed to..."

She waved her hands, cuing Fintan to fill in the blank with whatever was "missing."

But he just stood there, staring at the cache with the same glazed look he always got whenever he started rambling about the beauty of fire--and Marella wished Linh had come with her after all.

Linh could pelt him with snowballs or something to snap him out of it.

But then she realized...

"You never figured out what was missing--did you?"

Fintan blinked and met her gaze. "Noxflares are full of possibility. But they need to burn."

"That doesn't answer my question," Marella noted.

Fintan shrugged. "Context was not part of our bargain."

"yeah, because I figured when I saw the memory, it would be obvious why it's this big Forgotten Secret. How does you setting some flowers on fire and then realizing you did it wrong matter to anyone?"

"I did nothing wrong," Fintan assured her, with a particularly haughty smile--butt Marella wasn't buying it.

There was a tightness around his eyes that was way too familiar.

Her dad had that same tightness every time her mom was having one of her "bad days," and she knew exactly what it meant.

Disappointment.

Frustration.

A hint of helplessness.

So she marched over to the guard and grabbed the frozen Noxflare from the floor--too irritated to even notice how heavy the ice must've been as she hauled it back.

She plopped it in front of Fintan's cell. "Ta-da! One ugly flower, as promised--and I'm sure you're not surprised that I had to freeze it before i brought it down here."

"I'm not." Fintan dropped to his knees and gazed at the Noxflare like he was seeing a long-lost friend.

He pressed his hand against his cell, trying to get as close as he could. "Such power. Such...promise."

"Uh-huh," Marella agreed, letting his stare and stare, hoping it would help him let his guard down.

When his eyes turned a little teary, she went in for the kill.

"But there is something still missing, isn't there? That's why you saved this memory--to remind yourself to keep looking."

A whole lot of painful silence passed before Fintan slowly nodded.

Marella wanted to feel triumphant.

But all she'd done was prove the entire trade had been pointless.

There was no game-changing clue.

No dirty little secret about the past.

Certainly nothing to help them stop their enemies.

And she had a pretty strong hunch the other eight memories in the cache would be just as ridiculous.

"The answer is out there," Fintan murmured. "I can feel it. I just can't grasp it. Perhaps..."

"Perhaps?" Marella prompted when his eyes locked with hers.

Fintan stepped closer to the ice, keeping his voice low, like he didn't want the guard to hear him. "Perhaps a different Pyrokinetic is meant to find the truth. One who's already convinced the Council to trust her."

Marella laughed. "The Council doesn't trust me."

"The fact that you're here for a pyrokinesis lesson says otherwise--particularly since the lesson is with me." He started circling his cell again, mumbling under his breath and nodding. The only words Marella caught were "possible," "improvising," and "best option."

After three more times around the cell, he stopped in front of Marella again, leaning even closer to the icy wall as he whispered, "I believe it's time for me to offer a trade of my own."

"A trade," Marella repeated, not missing the way the scary guard gripped his sword.

Fintan glared at him. "This conversation is between me and my prodigy. She stands here of her own free will, shielded by who knows how many different kinds of protections--and she can leave anytime she pleases. Your presence is no longer needed."

"You still have her gadget," the guard argued.

"I suppose I do. but that can be easily remedied." Fintan set the cache on whatever invisible ledge it had slid down in the first place and gave it a good shove, sending it spinning up the path toward the top of the cell.

The guard had to scramble to catch it when it launched out of the ice bubble.

"See?" Fintan said, shifting his gaze back to Marella. "I can be trusted."

"Pretty sure the only thing I can trust is that you'll do what's best for you," Marella countered.

"As long as you get what you want, why would you care? After all, no matter what, I'm still stuck in here, aren't I?" He waved his arms around his little ice bubble, which suddenly looked way less secure than it had during her other visits. "Oh, relax--all I'm asking for is a little information."

Marella crossed her arms. "Right--and information has never gotten anyone hurt or killed."

"It's not that kind of secret. It's..." He frowned. "Honestly, I don't know what it is--and for someone my age, with my connections, that says something, doesn't it? I doubt any of the Vackers even know the full truth."

"Then how am I supposed to find it?" Marella demanded.

"As I said, you've proven to be quite resourceful. Particularly when you team up with your little friends." He scowled at the guard again before motioning her to step closer--until her ear was practically pressed up against the ice.

A voice in the back of her head kept screaming, WHY ARE YOU LISTENING TO HIM?

But...she was curious.

And there was nothing wrong with hearing his offer, was there?

Fintan's breath fogged the ice, obscuring his face as he whispered, "All I ask is that if you ever find out what's missing from the Noxflares, you share it with me."

"Why?" Marella glanced at the frozen flower, wishing she could see something more than just ugly shriveled petals.

"Because I want to know," Fintan said simply. "And because I can give you what you want in return."

"The rest of the memories in your cache," Marella clarified.

Fintan nodded. Then his lips curled into a smile. "And one other--something you've long wondered about, even though you probably don't admit it to yourself."

Marella raised one eyebrow, refusing to show any more interest than that.

Fintan cupped his hands around his mouth and pressed them to the ice before he whispered, "I know what happened to your mother."

Marella sucked in a breath.

"Yes," Fintan added. "I'm talking about her 'accident'--if we can really call it that. I know why she fell. And why her injuries were so incurable."

Marella stumbled back, collapsing into the nearest throne and hugging herself to stop her body from shaking with tremors that had nothing to do with the cold.

A tiny, terrified part of her had always thought the story she'd been told about her mom's fall hadn't totally made sense.

But everyone--everyone--was convinced it had been an accident.

Even her father.

And if it wasn't...

She leaned toward Fintan. "I don't need your games."

"Oh, this definitely isn't a game. But it's the only way you'll ever know the truth, and before you start overthinking everything, consider this: You have all the power here. Make the trade, don't make the trade--it's totally your call. You also don't have to make a decision right away. I'm trapped in this prison. I'll never find the answer on my own--and I'll never know if you find the answer unless you decide to tell me. So there's zero pressure. No one even knows we've had this conversation--and don't worry about the guard. See how frustrated he looks? That's because I made sure he only heard what I wanted him to hear. The rest is our little secret."

Our little secret.

Fintan was probably the last person she should have a secret with.

And yet...he had a point.

No one knew he'd made her this offer--and it wasn't like she'd come to any decision.

She didn't even have the information Fintan wanted anyway!

And with the way their investigations always seemed to go, she'd probably only find a whole lot more questions.

So there was really no point in telling anyone about this.

She could tell them whens he needed to.

If she needed to.

That wouldn't be wrong...would it?

It didn't feel wrong--or it wouldn't have if Fintan's smile wasn't so creepy.

"I'm not agreeing to anything," she said, wanting to make that very clear.

"You're not," Fintan assured her. "So how about we put this out of our minds and get started with our lesson? I'm sure your Hydrokinetic friend is wondering why you haven't come up to practice yet."

Linh was probably starting to worry.

She'd probably also built enough snow animals to make a frozen Sanctuary.

"Fine," Marella said, standing up and dusting ice off her cape. "What do you want me to work on today?"

"How about I teach you how to make those colored flames you saw in the memory," Fintan suggested. "You know, in case that ever comes in handy."

He winked, and the guard groaned and held out the cache to Marella. "Sound like I'm no longer needed."

"You aren't" Fintan agreed.

The guard growled--looking scarier than ever--and turned to march away. But he spun back after a few steps. "He's right that I don't know what he offered you. But I can tell you're tempted. And I hope you're smart enough to reject it. Never make a deal with someone who has nothing to lose."

"I'm not," Marella promised.

And she wasn't.

She hadn't made any decisions--except to keep this to herself. But that didn't mean anything.

She was just trying to avoid a ton of drama and arguing and having people give her advice she didn't need.

Plus, everyone has secrets.

Shoot--the great Sophie Foster had more secrets than anyone.

So it was fine.

Everything was fine.

Nothing had changed.

Time to focus on controlling her fire.

And yet, for the rest of the lesson, the tiny spark in her heart burned hotter and hotter and hotter. Whispering a new plea.

Trust me.

#kotlc #haha! did it!#it's entirely possible there are errors here. so if anyone notices one feel free to point it out so I can fix it #this isn't professional or anything #but anyway. wow that short story huh?#major win for the fandom #in my opinion #loss for my poor poor fingers though #my god #did this instead of homework

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dutchdread · 5 months

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A small rant

I've noticed that a lot of places that discuss the LTD are less focussed on analyzing and explaining final fantasy VII, and more focussed on throwing insults at either the characters, or the people who support them. I think I've done a fairly good job at making sure this place stays relatively matter-of-fact, and despite believing that "Cloti" is the only interpretation of the story that makes sense I am usually pretty positive about Aerith as a person, and more importantly, as a character. My stance tends to be that the only version of Aerith I think is fundamentally unlikable is the one presented by Cleriths. So permit me to slightly backtrack on that as I ask:

Am I the only one getting sick of Aeriths character?

And I don't mean "the only Cloti supporter who is sick of Aerith", I mean isn't the general fanbase of the game getting sick of her?

I ask this because I was watching the new Rebirth trailer, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes during the scenes where Aerith sings, or where it tries to survival-bait the viewer. In FFVII Aeriths death plays only a small part in the grand scheme of things. It neither prevents nor causes holy, holy was summoned before she died and is actually held back by the will of Sephiroth, which is the bulk of the external plot. And it doesn't cause Clouds mental break, which was an inevitable outcome of his history with Tifa, Sephiroth, and Nibleheim.

So why does the trailer make it feel like Final Fantasy VII is the story of Aeriths potential death? I thought the point of Aeriths death was that it comes suddenly and unexpectedly, without a large fan-fare, leaving nothing but a hole in its wake. I thought the point was to show a death that wasn't like "in hollywood". So why does her death now get it's own musical accompaniment and stage play?

Aerith was once a normal girl with a big destiny, one that she was as unsure of as any of us, she was just a person, just like us, with maybe a hint of something more. She got angry, she could be petty, she could be clueless. In another words, she was human.

But what is she now?

Aerith is now Jesus and Mary all in one. Fans got so upset at her death that Square-enix felt the need to include her in everything and every time Aerith became a bit less human, and a bit more idolized, until in remake she became a walking, talking, deus ex machina. In advent children she was presented as almost angelic, giving guidance to lost souls both good and bad and healing the children. But it was still ok because most of it was centered around Clouds psyche. The problem isn't with Aeriths death having importance to Cloud. The problem is square-enix trying to milk Aeriths death for all it's worth, making it into a soulless spectacle.

Aeriths death is now the horror monster that loses its terror once you see it. It's everywhere and everything has to revolve around it and because of it it's no longer a good story, but cheap emotional manipulation.

Within the remake Aerith is no longer the playful and innocent GIRL she once was. She's Gandalf the white, come back from the dead to pass down quests and wisdom from up on high. Step aside Cloud, this is Aeriths story, all you other side-characters are only here for back-up. Aerith is now a self-insert fan-fiction character. She has no flaws, everyone loves her, her death is more important than those of other people, the universe, time, and destiny will all bend to make sure the Mary-godessue doesn't die. Because everything has to revolve around her you know? So yeah, of course Aerith can sing! Who cares that there was never before any indication of this. Sure, Tifa will probably get to play the piano, but here is the thing….Tifa being able to play the piano has actually always been a part of the game! Since when is Aerith suddenly a broadway performer? Probably since the same time that she became a picasso at random wall art.

Years of fan obsession have deified away everything that once made Aerith interesting. The grand story of Final Fantasy VII, the quest to save the planet, and the internal heroes journey about accepting the past and the true self. Clouds backstory and struggles, it's all overshadowed by the once irrelevant plotpoint of "will Aerith die?".

Like with Sephiroth, fan obsession has caused square-enix to destroy all sense of mystery, magic, and restraint in order to "give fans what they want", even if it ruins the product.

While I think the cheap spectacle of hyper focussing the marketing and potentially early game around Aeriths death have already essentially poisoned the remake, making it into a mere shadow of what it could have been, I still believe that Square-enix has enough integrity left to actually kill her and move focus back on what actually matters. But I have to say, at this point it's not even just because I want the story of FFVII to be protected and experienced as it should be. But also because I am just getting sick and tired of what Aerith has become, and would now consider Sephiroth stabbing her as a mercy killing for what's left of her character.

#ffviii #ffvii remake #aerith gainsborough #rant #square enix

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scarasimping · 11 months

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love-avoidant princess

pirate!scaramouche x princess!reader

synopsis: scaramouche’s crew had been planning this heist for years prior, and finally, they dock ship at the most heavily guarded kingdom on this side of the world with only one goal in mind: infiltrate the castle and steal the crown used for the coronation ceremony. The only setback? The princess had already stolen it, so now he has to go through her.

tags: fem!reader, allusions to medieval sexism, you know how that is, mentions of blood like once, alcohol also mentioned a couple times, i believe that’s it for this part!

author’s note: ITS DONE omg, this took way longer than i thought but I guess that’s what happens when i try to throw myself in to writing actual pieces for the first time in three years instead of taking it slow. and it only ended up being 3k words TT but this is not the end, i have way more in mind for these two, this is honestly more like...a prologue of sorts!! hope you all enjoy !! so glad we actually have a plot now instead of me posting random hcs hshshshs also yes, his crew is most of the anemo characters because I said so

word count: 3.63k

One can only see the same garden of flowers so many times before becoming bored of the sight. You have walked through here on so many occasions that you're sure that you could list each plant by its scientific name in the order they appear, from the front of the garden to the back.

So, really, it shouldn't come as a surprise to your retainer when they watch you leave a meeting with a potential suitor halfway through your millionth walk through the garden.

The suitor was confused, calling out to you and running to keep up with your fast-paced steps.

"Princess! Did I do something wrong?" He shouted, but you shook your head, an unimpressed and uncaring look painting your features.

"I apologize for saying this after you made the long journey here, but this simply will not work between us."

And thus, another man was rejected by the unromantic princess.

Known for turning down every suitor imaginable, you had gained the reputation of being entirely against romance. Even though you were clearly not interested, this only made people want you more, and your father, who was eager to get you married off, agreed to let everyone interested in you meet you, as long as they were of high enough standing. This included royalty from other kingdoms, wealthy businessmen, and other government officials or their sons who were your age.

None of them even came close to winning your heart.

It’s not that there was anything wrong with them. To be honest, even you weren’t sure why you were so bored with every man or woman you met. It seemed to be more the life you would lead with them than the suitor themselves that made you gag. No first-born heir of a royal family wants to be married off; they want to have the throne! And if your parents weren’t going to give it to you, then you wouldn’t make it easy for them to send you away.

As you gracefully left the heartbroken businessman behind, the retainer assigned to watch over you hurriedly followed, barely keeping up with your pace.

"Princess, this is the seventh suitor you've met. Please tell me, what is wrong with this one?" he pleaded. In truth, he was scared to report more bad news to the king and queen, but frankly, that was not your problem.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I just do not see myself having a life with him," you replied, staring straight ahead and hoping he would stop following you. After forcing yourself to be nice to these suitors, all you wanted was to lay in bed and nap, or maybe practice your sparring skills with your sword.

"We'll have to tell your father about this," he gave you one last warning, but your mind was already made up.

"I understand, but I'm not altering my decision."

Just as you and your retainer thought, your father was not pleased, going on one of his long-winded rants about how you should get married quickly because it’s “better for the kingdom” and “what a princess should do.” All the while, your mother sat and watched, not saying a word because she knew that she did the same thing when she was your age. It was how your parents met in the first place, after all.

"At this rate, your little brother will have inherited the throne before you're satisfied with a man." The king ends his rant with this statement, huffing angrily as he furrows his thick eyebrows in your direction. There it was, the constant reminder that you, the eldest heir, were not to inherit the throne, which should rightfully be yours, all because your parents favored your younger brother.

However, who would dare question the king? When he makes an order, it is carried out, and what he demands is brought to fruition. So if he says your sibling shall inherit the throne, he will, and when he finally gets fed up with your high standards and simply makes you marry someone of his choosing, you will have to obey. Such is the life of a princess.

With a heavy heart, you bow to your father, asking to be excused. He sighs and waves his hand, allowing you to leave, to which you immediately turn on your heel and pace quickly toward your chambers.

When Scaramouche's crew docked at the pier, they knew the welcome they would be given wasn't going to be a warm one. It never was, wherever they stopped. It was no secret that wherever this ship docked, well-known valuables would soon go missing and trouble would follow, yet no one could prove it was them.

Still, seeing every guard on patrol look at them with a noticeable glare and watch their every move was more than unnerving. All Scaramouche was doing was going for a stroll, after all.

But, so were his crewmates, Kazuha and Heizou, in separate parts of the city. And it's not their fault if they happen to notice which areas are more guarded than others, when the guards switch shifts, or which buildings have the least amount of foot traffic coming in and out of them. It's all coincidental, of course, not on purpose at all.

It's definitely not intentional when Heizou reports that the only guards that step into the tavern are always there to get so drunk after their shift that they won't remember what they say.

And who's to shame Scaramouche if he wants to step in and have a drink or two, and happens to run into a guard who's slurring his words and would have fallen over if he ever tried to stand up in this state?

"And that princess…god! She's so stuck up.." the guard ranted, taking another swig from his pint. Scaramouche listened with faux sympathy to the drunken man in front of him, but he wasn't sure how much more he could take from this man. He too often leaned too close as if whispering a secret, the stench of sweat, metal, and cheap booze radiating off of him.

"That princess! She keeps rejecting every suitor who's interested in her! Do you know who has to deal with the king's fury after she does this? Us!"

He leans in once more, and Scaramouche gets a whiff of his rancid breath "I hear….the king wants her married off to someone wealthy because he's in debt…but she just wants the throne instead! Can you believe it? Too stuck up to let her brother be the heir to the kingdom…."

It seemed all this guard was going to reveal was pointless rants about the king’s only daughter, and today he was not going to get any information that would be helpful to him. After all, if this princess was to be married off, it’s unlikely she would be able to get hold of the crown that was to be used in the coronation ceremony when the prince came of age.

Like an answer from the heavens, his doubts were quickly proven incorrect when the guard’s voice drops to a whisper, and he leans across the table to speak in Scaramouche’s ear.

“I hear…that she got so jealous, she stole the crown. The king says it just got lost, however, we guards know the truth. But what grounds could we present that would warrant a search through the princess’s private quarters? It’s useless…”

And just like that, Scaramouche knew whom he should target.

The captain stands from their booth in the corner, excusing himself. He buys the guard another drink as thanks for the “lovely conversation” and to ensure he really wouldn’t remember the information he spilled.

The next few nights, Scaramouche and other members of his crew alternate between taverns to gather as much information as possible. Each night, a different person hit a different establishment to not raise suspicion. This heist was going to be big, and after it was pulled off they wouldn’t be able to dock for months to avoid being caught and interrogated.

Stealing the crown from the most heavily guarded kingdom on this side of the world was no easy task, but it had been Scaramouche’s dream ever since he started his life of piracy. Something like this would earn them respect like no other on the seven seas but also put a huge target on their back. His crew was prepared, of course, they wouldn’t have docked here if they weren’t. It’s not like they couldn’t fight, either. They were notorious for many reasons: their crimes that left no evidence behind, the sheer intimidation their crew gave off, and the fact that no crew member lost any duel they were challenged to.

After a couple weeks of solely gathering information, Scaramouche’s crew was ready to take things to the next level. They learned that the princess was unable to leave the castle without supervision, which only occurred on rare occasions. She lived a secluded life and many of the kingdom’s citizens didn’t even know her face. His first mate, Kazuha, who was always good with his words, even managed to get one of the guards to reveal which terrace on the castle belonged to the princess’s room and that the staff had recently increased security in the city and outside the castle because of a suspicious ship that had docked at the pier, which lessened the amount of military inside the building.

Kazuha was always better with people than any other crew member, and Scaramouche was forever thankful he was a part of his crew, even if he didn’t show it.

However, it seemed no one was able to learn that the princess provided enough security for herself, not even needing guards.

Scaramouche quickly learned that when he was finally ready to attempt to get inside the castle, scaling the walls during a shift change and approaching the terrace he was informed about prior.

A candle on your bedside and the illumination from the moon were the only sources of light in your quarters at this time of night. Every other member of the royal family was asleep, but not you. Far too frequently would you stay up reading a novel you “borrowed” from the castle’s library, even though books weren’t supposed to leave the area.

All was silent except for the wind blowing outside and the rare footsteps in the hall, metal clashing with each step from the guards’ armor.

Though silent, and easy to miss, a sound from outside your window caught your attention.

Breathing, silent steps getting closer, the scraping of someone climbing the walls and terrace.

You turned, blowing out your candle so that whoever was coming wouldn’t know you were awake. With the time it took for them to reach the glass door that separates your room from the balcony, your eyes had already adjusted to the darkness and you had your sword out from underneath your bed, drawn and ready to be used.

The door cracked open, slowly, and it was obvious that whoever was there was trying to use the element of surprise. They must not know you, considering they thought you wouldn’t discover them. One hand pushes the door open all the way, then pulls the person inside. It was a man with indigo hair and eyes. Everything he wore was black - his boots, high-waisted pants, and tricorn hat, - besides his shirt, which was a white poet shirt with purple and black accents tucked into his pants. Adorned on his hat were feathers that spewed from the back and gems which were sewn on, each one catching the light from the moon. He was obviously a pirate, and based on the whispers from the staff in the castle, he was probably from the ship that docked recently and made everyone nervous. The captain of the guards had even told you to report anything suspicious you happened to see, which told you they were no joke, Normally, if there was a threat, you wouldn’t even be informed. 'No one wanted to worry the princess, of course' is what they would say, but you know they just think you can't handle it.

Before he even has time to process you're there, you point your sword at his throat, the tip pressing against his flesh, but not hard enough to draw blood. Just enough so that he knows he made a mistake.

The pirate stares down at the sword at his neck, his gaze following the blade to its holder; the very princess he intended to come in here and threaten. It's a funny thing how easily the tables can be turned. He eyes the princess warily, one eyebrow raised and an awkward smile on his face, knowing he's been caught so easily.

"Well, isn't this a surprise?" He chuckles to himself, raising his hands up beside his head in a phony sign of surrender, but your sword never wavers.

"What do you think you are doing here?" You demanded, sword to the pirate's throat. The captain remained silent, weighing his options. He could try to talk his way out of this or use his cunning tactics to somehow overpower the princess and make a break for it. Whatever decision he made, it could mean the difference between life and death.

"Sure, as soon as you put that sword down. I'd rather have a conversation than an encounter between your blade and my jugular if you don't mind," he reasons, staring right back into your eyes with a look that screams mischief. Still, you sigh, and lower your sword, taking a step back and never loosening your grip on its handle.

"Speak."

He chuckles, lowering his hands and letting a cocky smile spread across his face.

"You see, princess, there's a rumor going around that you've stolen and hidden the coronation crown. I'm here to simply…take it off your hands," he explains. Everything about him seems sly, and even though it seems he's at a disadvantage, he's acting like he has the upper hand. There's not an ounce of fear on his face.

Your hold on your sword is steady, ready for combat at any moment, and it seems he's thinking the same thing.

"I'm afraid I can't allow you to do so. I can, however, offer you a deal. Leave now and I won't report your attempt to rob the royal castle and have you thrown in prison."

The pirate shrugs and sighs, his hand reaching for the sword that hung from his belt.

"Oh well, looks like there's no other way."

And with that, he draws his sword from its scabbard, a sleek, steel sword with a curved blade, and lunges forward, dealing the first strike. Blades clash and the sound of metal on metal echoes throughout the room as you parry his sword, pushing him back further. He doesn't let up, dealing strike after strike, yet landing no hits nonetheless.

While the pirate’s blows are strong and aggressive, his attacks powerful and relentless, yours are both quick and agile with fast and precise strikes.

He expected the princess to be less of a hassle, yet here you were, not only putting up a good fight but winning too. Similar to him, there wasn't even a hint of sweat dripping from your brow, no signs of exhaustion as you dueled him in just your nightgown and slippers.

Your sword comes down once more towards his chest, and he raises his own to block it when suddenly you change your direction and aim to land a hit on his arm instead.

Ever quick on his feet, the pirate steps out of the way, dodging an almost fatal attack, but not before your blade can tear through his shirt and leave the faintest wound on the flesh of his shoulder.

He hisses as he feels the sting of his skin splitting, looking down as red stains the sleeve of his shirt.

"Not bad," he mumbles, his eyes sharp as he glares at the princess, a cocky smirk adorning his face. "Haven't struggled this much with an opponent in a while."

"Likewise," you muse, tightening your grip on your handle as you raise your eyebrows, almost taunting him.

"Tell me, pirate, what is your name? I want to know what to call my attacker before I slice your throat."

He chuckles, rolling his wounded shoulder back and getting into a better position to keep fighting.

"Oh, I don't believe you really could. Wouldn't want to get your pretty hands dirty after all." He, once again, swings his sword, but to no avail. You continue trading blows with him, barely giving each other a chance to breathe. No matter what he tries, he can't seem to get the upper hand. Mentally, he wants to blame it on the fact that he was caught off guard, or that the way the silk of her nightgown hugs her body when she twists and turns to use her sword is distracting, but really he knows he's just finally met a well-matched opponent.

"But the name's Scaramouche, consider this knowledge a gift before I beat you at the game of swords.”

It was then that the sound of armored footsteps approaching rapidly caught both Scaramouche and the princess’s attention. You bite back a laugh, glancing at the door and then back to the pirate in front of you.

“Looks like that will have to wait, Scaramouche.”

His name spilled from your lips easier than you’d like to admit, sounding almost natural when it came from you. Scaramouche noticed this too, stiffening as you say it and running his tongue along his cheek. It was annoying whenever he found himself having to make an enemy of an attractive woman. He takes one last look at the princess, before stepping away towards the glass door he came in through. He keeps his sword pointed at you as he backs away, not taking any chances.

“This was lovely, princess. I’ll be seeing you again very soon, but for now, I bid you adieu,” He takes his hat off, bending his arm at his waist and bowing overdramatically before opening the door and launching himself over the fence of the terrace, disappearing into the night.

As the footsteps get closer, you kick your sword under the bed, praying it wasn’t damaged, and toss yourself onto your mattress, throwing the covers over your body just in time for the door to swing open. A few guards peer inside, seeing nothing but you sleeping soundly in, your back turned to them as your body rises and falls to the rhythm of your breathing. There was no sign a fight had even occurred, despite the noises that multiple knights had heard coming from here.

As they close the door, the sound of their footsteps moving away from your room, a giddy smile creeps onto your face. After all, if no fight happened in their eyes, there would be no reason to increase security and you could see that intriguing pirate again.

After Scaramouche escapes down the castle walls, he books it for the treeline that separated the castle from the ocean. It was just past there that his ship resided, where his crew was eagerly awaiting his return with good news. A sinking feeling resides over him whilst he runs through the trees, kicking up dirt and leaves with every step. There is no reasoning he could possibly give that would excuse his failure. Not when he knows it’s caused by his own faults as a man. He, just like all of her numerous suitors and admirers, simply got distracted by her appearance. At some point, he had to stop as his head became too muddled by his thoughts, leaning against a tree, taking a deep breath, and trying to calm his thoughts.

Before, when hearing about rumors of the princess and all of the men interested in marrying her, he assumed the stories all came with a tinge of exaggeration.

Yet, after seeing her and fighting with her, he knows each metaphor and story told of her had to have been nothing but the truth. Tales of her beauty were honestly an understatement. It’s not often he finds himself this distracted by a woman, especially a princess, and he can’t help but feel ashamed in a way. He just failed to execute the plan his crew had been working on for years prior to docking it this kingdom, but all he can think about is her smile when she taunted him, her confidence because she knew she could fight, or the way her nightgown revealed the shape of her body, expensive silk clinging to every curve of her flesh. She was a princess rarely even seen by the public, but he got to see her in such a private setting, and god was it worth it.

He starts running again, her face in mind doubts infecting his every thought. His heart pounds heavily in his chest, and his lungs burn with each breath, but he doesn’t stop running. He would much rather face his crew than the entire royal army. He was sure the princess had reported what had happened by now, and he didn’t want to stick around so they could remember his face.

As he runs, he starts to feel the ocean breeze brushing along his face, and it reminds him that he’s almost home. His crew is smart; they’ll be able to come up with a new plan together. Maybe next time they’ll send a different member of the crew.

As soon as the thought of someone else seeing her like that enters his mind, he quickly shoos it away.

Just for now, he’d like to keep the image of her to himself.

taglist: @danfelions @bleachisfood @klanxii @nillajhayne @call-me-nayo @pinkiepiescanonn @etherisy @kazuuhhaaaa @featuredtofu @ulquiorraswife @skyoverkill1 @wandererskitten @lxkeeeee

#omg first part is done #WE HAVE A PLOT FINALLY #pretty sure the anon i said guessed most of the plot has a pretty good idea what they got correct now #but anyways !!#there will definitely be more parts #i just didnt want to keep you all waiting for so long #hope you enjoyed !!#pirate!scara #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche au #wanderer #wanderer x reader #wanderer genshin #wanderer au #genshin au #gonna go take a 13 hour nap now

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bluginkgo · 5 months

Text

Wtf am I doing ranting again, you may ask. I was gonna talk about absolute solver again... but then my brain said "Nah, more nuzi." And who am I to refute that argument?

Spoilers, duh

Yes, how fricking typical. A duo of an emotionally scarred emo girl and a retriever puppy boy that get together. But honestly, after being in the usual angst department shipping for a couple of years now, Nuzi is such a refresher. Not to mention, that despite Liam Vickers focusing his story mostly on lore (LORE THAT I CRAVE AND LOVE), he takes time to include little things like nuzi. Nuzi didn't have to happen, but I'm so glad it is pretty much canon. Makes the dark and unbearably scary moments for the duo... bearable. I could go on a whole tangent about these two, but I mostly want to take note of how N interacts with Uzi. (I might do a post later doing the opposite, analysis of Uzi interacting with N.)

To put it simply, N is soft. Wow, Ginkgo what a revelation! (That was sarcasm) I know thank you. But seriously. When he talks to Uzi, his voice softens. Especially taken notice in ep4 during the Falling... for you? scene. Perhaps I'm just dense, or maybe I wasn't paying enough attention when watching the first time, but when N pulled the "therapy session" I was fully expecting for him to chat to her about the murder spree. How fricking wrong I was. N took me by surprise and asked the question that was ACTUALLY bugging Uzi the entire time. Not the killing spree, not the issue with her solver going haywire, not the backstory of her mother. None of that! It was if she was lonely.

"No, don't look. I'm gross and eating people and stuff."

"Yeah, we'll figure that part out. But you know that's not what I mean."

After rewatching the Murder Drones like 20 something times, it still baffles me how he talks to her. Softer, more open, willing to admit he's also scared- despite being a fricking disassembly drone, a demon in the eyes of regular worker drones. I can see where that trust comes from.

Uzi's fought and killed N before. But instead of fighting again, she puts blame on humans that "supposedly" made him.

"Do you really think that the company won't dispose of you, once all the workers are dead?"

Of course, there's way more evidence on how Uzi's comments, mannerisms, and remarks gave N a reason to trust her. There's also something I took notice of. The difference between N's chat with V and Uzi.

In ep3, N is cornered. Uzi and him had a misunderstanding, and V is very hush hush about their past. He has no other place to turn except to V for answers.

"V, if you're hiding something. We can figure this out together!"

He's open, here. Trying to get answers from out of thin air. Now, don't get me wrong. I love V. V is, by far, my most favorite character in the show. I love her violence, sarcasm, and character growth. But because this was only ep3, she's also trying to do what she believes is for the best. And we see why she was very hush hush about their past. N himself said "Not dealing with this great to be immediately honest." When he first lays his eyes upon the experimentation absolute solver was doing in the mansion. In V's perspective, it's better for N to forget. Ignorance is bliss as they say.

You can even see that she's guilty in the following frame for what she was about to do- cut N off literally and figuratively. Of course, since then, V has come a long way. Going even as far as trusting Uzi with everything.

But here's the difference.

"Just avoid another whole spire. Baby steps, together?"

Maybe it's just the moment, maybe it's just simple animation choice. But they made him here uncertain. The same "we can do this together" line, following his attempt with V, is less bright and more uncertain. A question, instead of a statement. He was at least somewhat ready to be shot down again, but instead Uzi met him halfway and took his hand in this big mess. It's these somewhat little moments that build the trust between the two, and what makes Nuzi so wholesome. There's no secret past about them, no big overdramatized misunderstandings. Just two people- or robots- learning how to get through this big mess of the universe ending.

And not to mention that the "together" line comes back to bite on us. The teaser for ep7 and 8 have that line as the last thing we hear.

"...figure things out... together."

I'm probably repeating things people have already said... bite me. I love Nuzi and how they've developed throughout the season. I may be after Murder Drones mainly for lore, but damn me, Nuzi is a really great addition to the entire package.

#murder drones #glitch productions #serial designation n #uzi doorman #serial designation v #biscuitbites #murder drones nuzi #nuzi #n x uzi #rant post #murder drones ep 4 #murder drones ep 3 #murder drones teaser #murder drones ep 7

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the-cat-and-the-birdie · 8 months

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I had coffee my thoughts are all over the place it's not gonna make sense and I'm probably gonna change my mind about some of the things I said later but here's my ramble.

I'm so mad right now. There's so many things that piss me off with Peter B. I keep thinking about all the mess he keeps pulling throughout the first and the second movie. The fact that he betrayed Miles not once but twice BUT THREE TIMES (typing Miles up in ITSV, not telling him about the Spider Society or that he was an anomaly, CALLING HQ ON HIM BECAUSE HE WANTED TO SAVE HIS FATHER. Technically that's 4 but moving on.)

He refuses to acknowledge Miles as a fellow spider(which is probably why he didn't feel bad about finding Miles was an anomaly now he has a reason to not take Miles seriously.) And he keeps trying to insert himself into a mentor role when he's yet to do a whole lot of mentoring. What also throws me here is how he had the audacity to say the trauma builds character while being a mentor to help guide Miles into becoming Spiderman so Miles' could avoid the mistakes that Peter made.

I WILL NEVER BE OVER THAT CHAIR SCENE IN ITSV. How is it you as a grown man. A grown white man no less took a black teenage boy who you viewed as so much of a liability that you had to tie him up. And I know multiple people have talked about everything that's wrong with this scene but there's still something so haunting about watching him just nonchalantly be tied up kicking and screaming about how he wants to be let go that bothers me so much. And I find it hard to believe that this was just a scene we're supposed to just move on from. Did they do this on purpose? Was this supposed to showcase something about Peter's character that I'm not picking up on? Because I find it so hard to believe that the writers who made sure to explicitly show how Gwen's Peter is Christian because he later turns into a lizard wouldn't understand the implications of this scene.

I also don't think he's a strategic as he thinks he is. What do you think was going to happen when you forcefully tied this boy to a chair? You thought he was going to sit still? Also would you think the boy who's trying to save his father was going to do? Actually listen to your words? Sit back and be like, oh you're right I should just let my father die. (This is me going off my reasoning that he didn't plan out that one scene in ATSV. I think that he thought that because he's Miles' "mentor" he could get through to him in a way others can't. Which pretentious much?) His actions do more harm than good and it just works out for him somehow. (For instance Miles saving them in ITSV because he came late.)

These are my thoughts do with this what you will. All the stars decided to align today ig because I haven't been able to come up with coherent thoughts like this in a minute.

(I really need to rewatch itsv. So if there's anything here that I'm wrong about regarding itsv it's been like 5 years since I've seen it.)

I GET THISS SOOO HARD (I waited until I had coffee to answer this lol)

BUT YESSSSS Because like I can understanding giving Peter the benefit of the doubt, it makes plausible sense for a movie to have a certain amount of wiggle room plot wise.

But with writers who clearly understood punk enough to accurately show it in Hobie's arc, repeatedly put in the work to respect Cockney and Puerto Rican culture, who wrote every one of Hobie's lines with PERCISION - would just overlook the glaring hole in their story that is Peter.

Because we as a viewer are continually told we SHOULD look up to him and we SHOULD trust him - but in doing so they accidentally make him the exact opposite. Like.. It doesn't make sense to me.

The Focus on Jess & The Absence of Peter:

aka GODDAMN I hate Peter B. Parker [yet another rant about 'bad' writing, plotholes, and Peter not showing up for Miles or Gwen.

For example,

Jess is Gwen's mentor, and we see her mentor style is extremely different from Peter's and that's suppose to be a contrasting dynamic between them and the relationship between Miles and Peter. Okay, makes sense.

But by NOT having Peter be Gwen's mentor, the writers are implying that he didn't step up as an emotional mentor when all this given - HE SHOULD. Because he's the only adult that she knows, and she a freshly homeless teen who needs to be around people she trusts, rather than working at a society with an auditorium of adults.

But by trying to show off how much we should judge Jess, the writers have inadvertently given us a Peter who just..didn't take responsibility. That's what they're implying - that Hobie and Jess were the ones who came to get aid. And we're suppose to look the other way. I... can't do that, sir.

"Look at how mean Jess is, why not blame her-" Jess is doing her job. Where's the adult she actually knows and trusts. Can we get some dialogue about what he did for her? Or did he just do nothing?

Did they just forget to include that, or did Peter just forget to help?

For me, that's two points in the bucket. Not housing Gwen, and not being her mentor. He could've done one, the other or both.

But because he didn't, we're left asking "What WAS he doing in the Society?"

Missions, I assume. Cause he wasn't mentoring her, so he must have been off putting in legit work for Miguel, I assume.

If we're looking at the characters as full-rounded - which I would hope they are considering the depth of Gwen, Miles and Hobie, it's not a large jump to ask 'How involved was Peter in Gwen's time at the Society? Why is he not her mentor, or why is she not living with him?"

Gwen..should be staying with him. If you're an adult who knows a teen and they become homeless, and it is within your means - yeah, I do think it's a moral obligation to open your home to them, at least temporarily. If you care about them. But that aside, let's extend the benefit of the doubt. Maybe Gwen didn't want to see him.

But then the ratting Miles out thing. This, I can't get around-

Some may say that it was simply for plot development and that Lyla spoke suddenly as a mistake on her part.

And I gotta call bullshit.

Firstly, because this is the same movie where we're shown Hobie stealing parts prior to learning what the parts are for. The same film that literally animated a fight accurately to Bushwick down to the very street. Let's cut it some slack here.

And moreso - I could understand the justification that it was a mistake on Lyla's part.

If Lyla was human. She's not.

She's an AI, and a very sophisticated one at that. Lyla runs on protocol, because that's AI's do. She's made to do things the way that is mathematically most effective, based on her analysis and her code.

It's easy to see Lyla as just an avatar, and a comedic one at that - but Lyla is literally one of - if not the - smartest 'person' in the multiverse. She's the only one who can track Spot in real time. If Jess and Miguel need aid on a mission or with Spot, they call Lyla. And she's handled every Society mission prior to the chase.

Her speaking out of turn suddenly and giving Peter away is an understandable plot mistake, if she was subjected to human mistakes.

So far, Lyla isn't. It doesn't make sense, based on what Lyla is.

I think Lyla would know better than to give Peter away suddenly by detecting Miles' presence and still speaking out loud.

A lot ask 'What motive does Peter have for ratting Miles out?', but we also should also ask "What motive does Lyla have for ratting herself out?'

It's her goal to find Miles no matter what. She doesn't care, she kinda can't - she's an AI. She just has to find him and send Miles' location to Miguel. Her objective.

So her locating Peter without his knowledge and then giving herself away to him doesn't make sense - especially if Lyla knew Miles was that close, from a human standpoint and definitely from the standpoint of the most sophisticated AI in existence.

So I was under the assumption that - like you mentioned now, that before when he gets Miles alone, he may genuinely be trying to convince him still, but by the time they get into that space, I think that's around the time that it becomes a 'Okay, let's just get Miles back to HQ and talk about this' situation.

He genuinely ratted Miles out. In my eyes.

Because at this point, Miguel hasn't assaulted Miles. That comes later. So realistically speaking, his goal was probably to calm Miles down, and get him back to HQ however he could, and talk to him there.

Peter could've helped WAYYYY earlier.

People give Peter credit like 'Oh but he came over to Miles' side at the end-'

NO. YOU DO NOT GET A COOKIE.

Peter could've helped SO much earlier, and if anything, he was THE ONLY ONE in a position of helping.

Gwen can't do anything, like they physically restrain her when she tries to. And there's no point after they come to HQ that Gwen has the chance to turn around and help Peter.

Gwen doesn't get that chance. Peter DOES.

Had Peter helped Miles HERE, IMMEDIATELY, Miles would've gotten away without being assaulted by Peter.

If Peter had turned around and changed course in this moment, Miles would have been better off.

Fuck Peter B. Fuckkkkk hiiiimmmmm. NAWWWWWW

If Peter had let him go here, or helped him escape - Miles wouldn't have been taking hits up on that train. That's crazzzy.

But he wasn't trying to help Miles escape. If he wanted to, he would've. He could've just said "Matter of fact Miles, I think setting the WHOLE Society on you is a bizarre move and you should probably get out of here until Miguel can calm down and I can talk to him."

But he was like 'Nah, hold my baby. Matter of fact lemme tell you story in this pivotal moment when you're actively in danger. Here, look at me. What do you mean - I'm not stalling? I didn't rat him out on purpose.

Like either you did. And even if you didn't you didn't help him when you were literally the only person in the universe who could. In fact, he got away slower because of you. Lovely.

Peter is a grown man. He's not an idiot.

He knows Miles is in active danger. Why would an adult turn the conversation in that direction - about his baby - KNOWING Miles has no time.

As soon as Miles got his hands on MayDay, Peter is trying to change the conversation. Suddenly he's joking and laughing.

Even though Miles is freaking out. Why is Peter joking? He knows this isn't a joking situation. But here he is wasting Miles time, either accidentally or intentionally.

Because that'd be some good ass stalling.

There was nothing stopping Peter from helping him leave. But Peter was still on The Society's side, so he didn't. If he was on Miles' side, he would've helped him. He should've, but he was still for Miguel, because at this point Miguel hadn't assaulted Peter yet.

Congrats, Peter. Big L. Humbling Reality Spider-man everyone.

Like combine all this. AND THEN THE SCENE IN ITSV.

LITERALLY AND PHYSICALLY PETER IS ALWAYS HOLDING MILES BACK.

You cannot expect me to believe that the writers of a movie I can write 10k+ words about, just so happened to leave these two glaring plot holes for ONE character.

That I'm just suppose to ignore that Peter restrained Miles, a black boy, in ITSV. That he betrayed Miles for months, wasn't very active in Gwen's time at the Society, and he actively hinders Miles escape - if not actively ratting him out.

It baffles my mind.

It doesn't make sense, that these writers can write Hobie, Jessica, Miguel, Officer Stacy, Rio, and Jeff as fully rounded, well-thought characters. But for some reason, when it comes SPECIFICALLY to Peter B. - they just forget how to write. They just stop thinking about him the second they don't look at him.

IN BOTH MOVIES?

I don't buy it.

To have every other character be thoroughly thought through but have one of, if not these most iconic character full of plot holes...

I think the likely answer is they wrote him that way on purpose and he's just a bad person.

I'm sorry, and I'm laughing while writing this but like.

Either Peter is the ONE singular character who has a series of emotional plotholes - or he's just a bad mentor. It's one or the other. And it's open to interpretation.

But I wanna cut the writers some slack and say, No - they thought it through. And No, Lyla did not just randomly speak out of turn, he contacted her first off-screen before she replied to him.

And by waiting till the very end to come around, waiting until the person who looks up to you is deeply wounded to finally turn around - that's the same arc Officer Stacy goes through.

And we're not supposed to clap for him. It's lovely, but he doesn't get an award. And neither does Peter, not at all.

Maybe if had helped Miles escape in that moment. Maybe if he was Gwen's mentor or he housed her.

But as far as we know he spent those months of Gwen in the Society doing fuck all. We've seen no sign of his contribution anywhere.

And in a story about mentorship, that says something.

Anyway. This is long. Again fiosfgihrgirturetuier I'm SORRY

Once again, Fuck Peter B. All my Hobies hate Peter B. (not a typo)

He's worse than Jess.

And he's not worse than Miguel but I like Miguel more and it's not because of the ass that's just a bonus Miguel is cool (but also very wrong. but like personality wise we're cool).

Ummm I feel like I got off track here. Oh well!!

Damn he be doing Miles dirty. SMH

Bye.

#Gwen Stacy #Peter Parker #Jessica Drew #Miles Morales #Miguel O'hara #miguel o hara #spiderman #atsv #marvel #spider man #across the spiderverse #across the spider verse #atsv analysis #peter B Parker #no proofread

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doodle17 · 7 months

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Okay I gotta ask what's your opinions/thoughts on Helluva boss and Hazbin Hotel?

Short and frankly nicest answer I can think of: I'm glad it makes at least someone out there happy

Long and frankly honest answer: I don't like them. And no, it's not because I'm Christian or anything like that. I actually enjoyed the pilots for both, and the ideas themselves are very interesting! But, I mean... Just look up Vivziepop/HH/HB critical on here and see for yourself... it'll save me a lot of ranting...

Viv herself isn't the best person, which really sucks cause she was a big inspiration for me when I was younger and saw her old animations, and zoophobia comic. Its really one of the things made me want to become an artist, so seeing how she acts these days is really heartbreaking.

The pilots were both very good imo. I loved the characters in the Helluva Boss pilot, especially Moxxie and Stolas. It's sucks what they've been turned into. I loved Moxxie as this tired employee who disliked his boss and was constantly on the verge of having a panic attack and was just- so grumpy yet enjoyable to watch! Now, he's a whiney, pathetic wet-cat who wants validation from his boss and everyone around him, is afraid to get angry and now is absolutely hard to watch without cringing. I'm not a fan that he's a character associated with one of the GODS OF VOICE ACTING Richard Horvitz, Because he has voiced waaaay better characters...

And Stolas! What in the hell happened there? I would've been all in for him being an obstacle/minor antagonist in the series (like he was supposedly revealed to be in the pilot) but we once again got another pathetic depressed guy who just wants love.

I thought the show was supposed to be a spinoff from HH that followed a bunch of demons who assassinated humans for money? That premise would be absolutely hilarious if it was done right, and with the RIGHT AMOUNT OF ADULT HUMOR,that wouldn't make me physically flinch, I would've watched that show ASAP! If it the episodes were just about the hijinks they get up too, and it wasn't treated as it's own series once again, I would've enjoyed it.

But no. It's crude and not in a fun way, the jokes to emotional scenes, back to jokes, will give you such tonal whiplash it'll make your neck hurt, and it's constanly being watered down by its relationships.

And I'll just come out and say it: the animation and character designs are not as good as I think everyone makes em out to be. The animation is nothing to shake a stick at, but it isn't horrible. But the designs are just... Ouch

#I already know hh is probably gonna have the same issues #I know for a FACT that even though Charlie is the main focus #She'll get sidelined for angel or alastor #It's just gonna be hard to watch #And it really sucks that that's the standard for indie animation apparently #Because of course vivziepop is the first person to make a good webseries #“Good webseries” my ass #This show is like watching a car wreck #Doodles rants #helluva boss #helluva boss critical #vivziepop critical #hazbin hotel critical

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scooter-ing · 9 months

Text

another silly rant.. . but this time its NOT about wenclair??

jesus, i just rewatched little witch academia after YEARS, and the pure sapphic energy radiating from that show is craaaazy yo. (heed my spoiler warning for lwa)

yeah so.. diakko. kay. now that that's out of the way

i actually loved akko's character as a whole, as ambitious and stupid as she is, i can totally see some of myself in her. i never saw her as a selfish person, i feel like she always considered and appreciated those around her. every time she cried and demeaned herself (especially in the second half of the show) i was like "poor baby" bc she really didn't deserve it. sure, was she a tad bit impulsive? yeah. but her character is meant to be easily swayed and convinced. like how croix convinced her to go to the wagandea tree, and literally gaslighted her into thinking she shouldn't trust chariot (ursula). as a character though, she really, truly, just tries to help people and i think you rarely see characters that are as pure as that, you know? her dream is to make people happy, not some bullshit like being the strongest witch, or obtaining some kind of object. she just aspires to fill people's hearts with joy, and her intentions are set with that only. and she tries, and tries, and tries, despite people's discouragement. so every time she cried, i cried with her. sigh.

moving on to ursula, otherwise known as chariot. i loved her older sister-mentor role. akko definitely needed someone that would keep her in line, but also encourage her in her endeavors and keep her safe. my girl was ALWAYS there to save the day (and by gOD she was so fucking hot whenever she was fighting croix). ughhh i literally groaned out loud every time she got interrupted when she was trying to tell akko about her identity. idk, i kind of have mixed feelings about the dream fuel spirit shebang. cause, chariot had NO idea it was stopping people from being able to use magic, so it wasn't really her fault. croix manipulated her. and once she found out about that, she stopped using it. im glad croix had somewhat of a redemption, but jesus she was such an asshole when she revealed that ursula was chariot. like, a royal asshole. bc that was not her secret to reveal, you know? and she left some very important pointers on the table. though, i felt terrible for akko.

mmmm. diaaaaaaaaana. diana cavendish. i had a massive lesbian crush on her for the whole fucking series. oh my god. especially in the two-part episodes where it's set in the cavendish estate? so, so, chivalrous, and dashing, and royal... and skdjhfskjlhf (totally referencing that one scene where diana defends akko infront of aunt daryl and offers her arm for akko to hold). poor akko, oblivious to like... all of the massive lesbian signals wafting from diana. she literally had big neon signs that said "akko you fucking idiot im gay for you."

all jokes (and thirsting) aside, diana and akko's growth as a pair is really touching to me. diana was never outright rude to her bc of her inability to properly use magic, i saw that she was more judgmental of her character as a person instead. (e.g the samhain festival episode in which she calls akko pathetic for "leaving" lotte and sucy before her performance). and i can totally see that it was reasonable. later in the episode, after akko finds the second Word or whatever, she goes on to think, "what is this emotion i'm feeling?" as much as i would want it to, i wouldn't say she was in love at that time, considering her harsh judgment earlier in the episode, but akko continues to grow on her from then on. i haven't mentioned this yet, but the episode (sorry that i keep saying "that episode" the site that i watched it on didn't have episode names) in which the faeries ordered a strike against the witches, was actually less goofy and funny than it was made to be. akko really took time to understand where the workers were coming from, and being their representative was really thoughtful? when diana came to tell her off, she deadass started making fun of her bc shes an aristocrat. and telling her she doesn't understand the woes of the working class bc of her wealth. which is just... so... real? and diana gets all flustered, which leads me into the topic of:

Diana Literally Only Blushed Because of Akko. she just gets all flustered when akko calls her out on her shit, like she's not afraid of her. everyone else is. even the godforsaken teachers are. she only ever truly worried whenever akko was hurt, or in some form of danger. she completely remains indifferent to everything, even when things happen to hannah or barbara she really doesn't give a shit. (at least not in the way she does with akko, she's probably loyal to her friends and shows it in her own way). which segues me into the episode "yesterday," in which akko goes "missing" and jesus christ diana's dialogue with chariot is really touching. from "akko needs you more than anything right now!" to "what could possibly be more important that akko right now!?" and "i'm more disappointed in you than i am of your past." she's just so well spoken in the most disastrous and telling moments, and it really shows how strong of a character she is. she remains level headed when lotte and sucy consult her about akko, and kindly offers them tea, along with reassurances. despite her generally not hanging out with akko's crowd of people, she's still kind and considerate when people need her. her words to chariot/ursula are so powerful because she's depicted as so stoic and indifferent but completely tells her off when she knows what ursula is doing is wrong. i hope that makes sense? from an apathetic elitist to a passionate worrywart - all over akko. and once she finds her, she basically acts as her caretaker, in that moment. and i'd be lying if i said i didn't cry, because god. diana knew exactly how to make her feel better, and man is that not an indicator to how perfect akko and diana are for each other. her confessing that she felt envious of akko's determination and closeness to chariot, and confessed to wanting to get away from akko bc of it, but ended up just getting closer to her.

in the last episode, in which they stop the missile, i was just so happy to see where their growth led them. them holding each other while doing the shiny arc thingamajig? awesome. akko catching diana when she falls? diana screaming for akko when akko falls? which inevitably leads to her falling because she's crazy for akko? really hit me in the feels. undeniably happy. joy. the parallels between chariox and diakko are like, super obvious. except for the fact that diakko was the better example, in which they worked together instead of one envying the other for their power. like how diana initially said she envied akko for having the shiny rod, and croix getting jealous of chariot bc of it too - except diana learned to accept it and support akko and work with her. bc red and blue gays. ygm.

i'll talk about andrew and the rest of 'em later bc im fairly tired but. im sorry for the excessive tangent. i likely left out a lot of what i wanted to say bc big gay brainrot, and i'll spew that out sometime later.

thank u for listening to my ted talk stay gay!!

#diakko #little witch academia #atsuko kagari #diana cavendish #chariot du nord #chariot x croix #akko x diana #croix meridies #lwa #sapphic #gay girls #gay tangent #i love girls

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nalyra-dreaming · 3 months

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Hey. I originally sent this ask to virginia bc a lot of what i see usually comes from her asks, but it is also relevant to your s2 rant so wanted to ask you this too. I don’t understand what you mean by the show people are “making up in their heads”. I watched the show and then went online which was a mistake since a lot of book content was being revealed to me, so I read a couple of the books for context. Still I disagree with a lot of the takes I have seen. How is lestat being “big bad patriarchal” something that people are making up in their heads? Why is it that when the vamps are having good moments we can agree “that they are married!” and “that’s their daughter!” but when it’s bad moments all of a sudden it’s “they’re vampires so it’s not domestic abuse and lestat is not big bad patriarchal”? I understand that a lot will be revisited in s2, but s1 is Louis’ account of things and what he is showing us is very much big bad lestat so idk how that can be something people are making up in their heads. I’ve noticed that while a lot of the speculation for s2 draws from the books (obvi), they don’t take into consideration that some things just don’t work anymore because of the change in the level of violence shown, and bc these characters are Black! Like Louis or Claudia lying about their abuse would be incredibly problematic, so would a revisit of Lily showing that she’s shady/a villain. (And i feel like you agree with this so idk why you say you’ll block ppl who say this). I understand where the theories are coming from, but having these things play out would actually be racist and calling it bad writing if it happened would be very valid criticism! It’s very important to be critical of these things even if it comes from an otherwise very good show!

I’ve also seen stuff about making fun of people complaining that Assad and Jacob are not being paired together, when that is also a valid complaint/want (and I��m positive they’ll be paired together more as they keep promoting s2). I’m excited for loumand even after reading some of the books and knowing that Loustat (or just lestat) is the center of the VC, but the second half of book iwtv definitely centers Loumand, and even before reading the books my expectation was still a centering of those two characters. Don’t get me wrong I am a huge jam reiderson fanatic (literally started watching the show bc I saw that trivia with jam reiderson video) but I am also excited to see Jassad!!! Another incredibly important reason that people are excited for this pairing is of course that they are a queer interracial poc couple!! In fantasy no less!! So it’s understandable that people (myself included if you couldn’t tell lol) would be excited to see them together outside the show as well!! And making fun of them looking forward to it is like not great. So far the stuff ive seen ab press pairing is ppl being eager to see Jassad, but over here it reads as “haha no jassad we told you so” which is so incredibly weird. Again, I’m trying not to come off as like aggressive, and I get that being accused of being racist is obviously not a great thing to receive, but I do think that a refusal to examine or question why people think certain decisions would be racist is also not great.

I feel like a lot of the times when fans are pointing out the racism in the fandom and stuff, it gets taken as them being hateful and aggressive etc etc, but like idk it’s hard to be nice when you see things that are clearly so problematic and it gets glossed over in the fandom. Idk if you’ll answer this but I just thought it was important to share.

Okay, you know, I'll bite. Once.

"Making fun of people is not great". "being accused of being racist is obviously not a great thing to receive, but I do think that a refusal to examine or question why people think certain decisions would be racist is also not great"

"I’ve noticed that while a lot of the speculation for s2 draws from the books (obvi), they don’t take into consideration that some things just don’t work anymore because of the change in the level of violence shown, and bc these characters are Black! Like Louis or Claudia lying about their abuse would be incredibly problematic, so would a revisit of Lily showing that she’s shady/a villain."

Let's examine these, shall we.

Just because Louis and Claudia are black now, they are NOT different characters. If you had read my rant, and listened to the sources, read the interviews, then you would KNOW that. You would know that JACOB (and Bailey) have said that. LITERALLY.

A certain part of the fandom keeps saying this, but that is just... not it. And I get where it's coming from! But they already confirmed that the characters are still the book characters. And the people (including you?) who keep worrying that point just don't want to acknowledge their stance being wrong.

But that is not something that >I< am making up.

Which, in turn, negates your argument.

Also, everything shown in s1 will be put into context in s2, as already said - also something I more than laid out in the rant. That includes the "violence". Again, that's been said.

When the racial changes became clear for Louis and Armand (and Claudia) some of the book fans winced, NOT BECAUSE OF THE CHANGE ITSELF, but because you know, we KNOW what's coming.

All the show fans now claiming Lestat was sooo bad for Louis... oh you haven't seen Armand. Armand will literally gaslight Louis, make him do things against his will (things that will have Louis say he lost the last of his humanity!), isolate him by KILLING CLAUDIA and the coven (intentionally! so he can have him to himself!), and spell-bind him, repeatedly. Armand will chop off Claudia's head and sew it onto another's body to see what happens. And then send her into the sun, to burn.

He will also, as has already been made clear now, "tinker" with Louis' memories.

You think that's cute?! Wholesome? Because they're POC now? Oh sweetie. This show will pull the rug out from under you. And that is not meant as belittling. These things will happen. They dialed up the (absolutely existing) themes to 10 in s1, they will do so once more in s2.

And lastly, re the fun, and being accused of things.

Go and read through the comments of "Laden as the sea". Read what I wrote in the notes, and why, and then what people threw at me. Come on, go ahead. It's a ride. I did not delete ONE comment. None. They're all there. Some of the commenters have edited their comments, so the still-up one is not the one they initially wrote, but I get mails for all comments, so... I've read them.

And I'm not even talking about the shit here.

Oh, and I didn't say that the patriarchal and abuse themes were made up. Which you would also know if you had actually read my rant.

And, again, if you had really read what I've written, you would know that I wrote this: if I‘m going to see anyone scream “bad writing“ or “Louis being made a liar or the memories revisited/changed is racism“ when the changes will hit I‘m just gonna block you.

And that... has nothing to do with the problematic things that might arise from the revisits, because of course there are many traps there to consider, because of the racial change. That I agree with.

But it's not bad writing, or racism, if and when these things happen.

It's just not what some people want to happen. And that is what I mean with the "story made up in their heads".

If you really read the books, then you would know what's coming.

Because this show is made by book fans. It might be good to remember that.

#Anonymous #asks #ask nalyra #amc iwtv #iwtv #amc interview with the vampire #interview with the vampire amc #iwtv amc #iwtv 2022 #interview with the vampire

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