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michaels-blackhat · 3 years

Note

thoughts on evil Forrest 😈

We are going to start out by apologizing. This is very very late. I’m sure when you sent this ask, you meant it to be in the same joking tone that I approach all of my other propaganda posts. Sadly, this is actually going to be a deep dive into a few Evil Forrest related things, including the moment I feel they changed directions, the perfect wasted build-up, and the implications of the change/how it then negatively impacted the story. As I’m sure you already know, by being on my blog at all, I don’t think the story was good to begin with, so we are going to focus on the weird hoops they made themselves jump through to make that story still work. Additionally, I am only going to mention once, right now, how much of a waste it was to not have Forrest ‘fall for his mark’ and complete one of my absolute favorite tropes. Honestly, I think “because I want it” is a completely valid reason to like Evil Forrest. But, the question was “Thoughts on Evil Forrest” and these thoughts have been developing for over a year and a half. So, I apologize in advance.

The majority of this is under a cut, with highlights in the abstract. If no one wants to read this, I understand completely. Go ahead, skip it.

Note: it pains me greatly to not actually have full sources for this essay. Just know that in my heart I am using proper APA citations, I just absolutely do not feel like digging through tweets to find sources to properly cite.

Abstract:

Previous research indicates that Roswell New Mexico has a history of repeating excuses to explain mid-season changes to plots. This essay explores how those excuses are not only loads of crap, but how they hinder the show’s ability to tell a coherent story, misuse the multiple-plot structure to enhance the themes being explored, and lead to decisions that mean the show continuously goes over budget. This also means that characters are not used to their full potential and has led to what some fans consider to be “out of character” behaviors. While these behaviors are not universally agreed on, evidence can be shown that these behaviors directly contradict emotionally important character arc/plot points in the show.

The author of this paper acknowledges that the show took some strides to mend this problem. However, once again no consensus could be found on whether Forrest was a low-level member of Deep Sky and thus just allowed to fuck off on a bus, or his job was recruitment because he did a piss poor job of making Alex not join.

The concept of Evil Forrest has been with the fandom as early as New York Comic Con (NYCC) in 2019, when it was revealed that Alex had a new “blue-haired love interest”. Speculation abounded within the fandom, with some people, including the author, going “yeah, he’s evil” while others rejoiced in the concept of Alex having a loving partner. Speculation increased as fans discussed Tyler Blackburn’s seeming disinterest in his new love interest, prompting some once again to scream “EVIL” at the top of their lungs to anyone who would listen. Very little was revealed, beyond the fact that the new character would show up somewhere around episode 3 of the second season.

Episode 2.04 aired with some commenting on how he barely interacted with Alex- prompting more evil speculation- and others excited to see the characters interact more. The character appears again in 2.06, where he invites Alex to dubious spoken word poetry (which Alex attends); 2.08, where they have a paintball date and go to The Wild Pony; 2.10, where the two are seen writing together briefly at the beginning of the episode; and 2.13, where Alex performs his song at open mic night, tells Forrest his relationship with the person in the song was long over, and they kiss. Forrest was not revealed to be evil during season 2.

Amidst the season airing, Word of God via Twitter post announced that yes, Forrest had originally been planned as a villain, though not the main villain, but it was changed as filming progressed.

The Word of God Twitter post revealed that Forrest had originally been planned as a villain, but they decided that they could not make their “blue-haired gay man” a villain. This mirrors a similar situation and excuse used the previous season, where the character of Jenna Cameron was originally planned to work with Jesse Manes against the aliens, before it was changed because they just “loved Riley [the actress] too much”. Both of these examples occurred while already filming and reflect on a larger problem with the show. Though not the topic of this essay, it is important to note that both characters are white, both in the show and by virtue of being played by white actors. The fact that they couldn’t be villains for one reason or another is not a courtesy extended to the male villains who are all the most visibly brown, and thus ‘other’, members of the cast.

This also highlights the fact that, via Twitter, it has been revealed two other times that occurrences that were reported in season 1 also occurred in season 2. During the airing of episode 1.02, it was revealed that the single best build-up of tension in the show- when Alex walks to the Airstream not saying a word to Michael after a dramatic declaration- happened because one actor was sick at the time and they had to go back and film the kisses later. At the point of airing for episode 2.08, it was revealed that one of the actors were sick and unable to film a kissing scene. Allegedly, this caused the writers to retool the entire scene and deviate from the plan to make that subplot about Coming Out. The execution of this subplot will be explored later in this essay.

The last occurrence revealed via Twitter also revealed larger issues within the show: lack of planning and poor budgeting. During the airing of season 1, Tyler Blackburn was needed for an extra episode beyond his contracted 10. A full explanation was never given, but speculation about poor planning and to fill in because Heather Hemmens had to miss one of her 10 episodes due to scheduling conflicts for another project. During the airing of season 2, yet another tweet came out saying they made a mistake and Tyler would once again be in an additional episode. No explanations beyond “a mistake” were given, though once again speculation occurred. It is the opinion of the author that this was due to changing plot points over halfway through writing, while episodes were already in production. It has been speculated by some that these changes occurred during the writing of 2.08, which was being finished/pre-production was occurring roughly around the time of NYCC 2019.

Previous Literature:

A brief look at different theories of plots and subplots

Many people have written on the subject of plotting, for novels and screen alike. The author is more familiar with film writing than tv, but a lot of the concepts carry over. Largely, the B- and C- (and D- and E-… etc) plots should reinforce the theme of the A-plot. This can be through the use of a negative example, where the antithesis of the theme is explored to reinforce the theme presented by the A plot, or through other examples of the theme, generally on a small scale.

A movie example of this would be Hidden Figures (2016), where the A-plot explores how race and gender impact the main character (Katherine Johnson) in her new job. The B-plots explore the other characters navigating the same concepts in different settings and ways- learning a new skill as to not become obsolete and breaking boundaries there (Dorothy Vaugn) and being the first black woman to complete a specific degree program and the fight it took to get there (Mary Jackson). A TV example that utilizes this concept of plot and theme is the 911 shows. Each of the rescues in a given episode will directly relate to the overall theme of the episode and the overall plot for the focus character. This example is extremely blunt. It does not use any tools to hide the connection, to the point you can often guess the outcome for that A-plot fairly quickly.

This is not the only way to explore themes within visual media. Moonlight (2016) looks at three timestamps in the life of Chiron. Each timestamp has a plot even if they feel more like individual scenes or moments rather than plots as some are more used to in films. Each time stamp deals with rejection, isolation, connection, and acceptance in different ways. So while there is no clear A-, B-, or C-Plot, each time stamp works as their own A-Plot to explore the themes in a variety of ways, particularly by starting out in a place of rejection and moving to acceptance or a place of connection to isolation.

Please note that there are many ways to write multiple plots, there are just two examples.

While there are flaws within season 1 of RNM, overall the themes stayed consistent throughout the season, mainly the theme of alienation. The theme threads through the Alien’s isolation/alienation from humanity which is particularly seen through Michael’s unwillingness to participate and Isobel’s over participation. There is Rosa’s isolation from others, how her friendship with “Isobel” ended up compounding her existing alienation from her support system due to her mental illness and coping mechanisms. We see how Max and Liz couldn’t make connections. This theme presented itself over and over in season 1. While this essay is not an exploration of the breakdown of themes in season 2, it should be noted that there were some threads that followed throughout the season. The theme of mothers/motherhood was woven throughout season 2, with some elements more effective than others. Please contact the author for additional thoughts on Helena Ortecho and revenge plots.

One of the largest problems within season 2 was the sheer number of plots jammed into the season. These plot threads often ended up hindering the effectiveness of the themes and made the coherence of the season suffer. Additionally, a lot of them were convoluted and difficult to follow.

Thesis:

Essentially, season 2 was a mess. To look at it holistically is almost an exercise in futility. Either you grow angry about the dropped plots and premises, you hand wave them off, or you fill them in for yourself. Instead, this essay proposes to look at individual elements to explain why Forrest should have stayed evil.

We first meet Forrest in 2.04 when he is introduced on the Long Family Farm, which we later learn was the location where our past alien protagonists had their final standoff. He’s introduced. He’s largely just there. The audience learns he has more of a history with Michael. In 2.06, we meet him again with his dog Buffy (note: poor Buffy has not been seen again and we miss a chunky queen). There’s mild flirting, Alex is invited to an open mic night, which he attends. For the purpose of this essay, the author’s thoughts on the poetry will not be expressed. Readers can take a guess.

It is after this point that the author speculates the Decision was made. This choice to make Forrest not evil- paired with the aforementioned ‘can’t kiss, someone’s sick’- impacted the plot. We have Alex have a scene with his father- which the author believes could have been pushed to a different episode- and then have Alex go on a date and then not kiss Forrest at the end of the night. Here, the audience sees Forrest hit Alex in the leg, allegedly not knowing he had lost his leg despite ‘looking him up’, which parallels the shot to the leg that happens to Charlie. Besides wasting this ABSOLUTELY TEXTBOOK SET UP WTF, it also takes Alex away from the main plot and then forces a new plot for him. Up to this point, Alex’s plot was discovering more about the crash and his family’s involvement. Turning Alex’s date from a setup for evil Forrest to a Coming Out story adds yet another plot thread to a packed season. It is also the author’s thought that this is where the convoluted kidnapping plot comes in. With Forrest already in 2.10 for a moment, a plot where Alex is evil has Forrest attack him for Deep Sky rather than Jesse abduct him for a piece of alien glass Alex was going to give him anyway and then for Flint to abduct Alex from Jesse. It’s messy. In a bad way. Evil Forrest would have been a cleaner set up: no taking back a piece of alien glass Alex gave to Michael in a touching moment. No double abduction. Instead, there is only Forrest, who Alex trusts, breaking that trust to take him as leverage over Michael.

Implications:

Now, Alex has two plots (Tripp & Coming Out). The Coming Out plot is largely ineffective, as they are only relevant to scenes with Forrest and have the undercurrent of there only being a certain acceptable way to be out. This could have been used for Alex to discover his comfort levels, mirroring Isobel’s self discovery, but there was not enough screen time for that. Additionally, Isobel’s coming out story was about her allowing herself the freedom to explore. Alex’s story was about the freedom to… act like this dude wanted him to. Alex’s internalized homophobia played out often in the series but it was also informed by the violence he experienced at Jesse’s hands and the literal hate crime he and his high school boyfriend experienced. With that in mind, the “kissing to piss off bigots” line comes off poorly. This is a character who experienced what a pissed off bigot could do- reluctance to kiss in public is not the same as not being out. There is more to be said on this topic, but as it is not actually the focus of the essay, it will be put on hold. To surmise: Alex’s coming out is attempted to be framed as being himself, but it is actually the conformity to someone else’s ideals. It does not work as an antithetical to Isobel’s story, as the framing indicates that the conformity/right was to be out contradicts Isobel’s theme.

Further Research:

MAKE FORREST EVIL YOU COWARDS

Author Acknowledgements:

The author of this paper acknowledges that the show took some strides to mend this problem. However, once again no consensus could be found on whether Forrest was a low-level member of Deep Sky and thus just allowed to fuck off on a bus, or his job was recruitement because he did a piss poor job of making Alex not join.

#anti forrest long #i guess #evil forrest propaganda #I asked and no one said don't post it so...#here it is #I started writing this roughly 7 months ago

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my-bated-breath · 4 years

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Rage, Compassion, and the Bridge in Between

An essay on Katara’s emotions

On the spectrum of human emotion, rage and compassion exist on opposite ends. After all, rage is harsh and violent while compassion is soothing and nurturing; rage is unforgiving while compassion is all-forgiving. As such, they run a parallel course to each other, one canceling out the other whenever they do meet.

At least, that’s what we expect. We expect anger and kindness to be separate entities, and our media reflects this - a character is either severe or gentle, and in the rare case that they’re both, the contrast between their ability to hurt and their ability to heal is treated as a dichotomy. Except the human condition is not that simple, and sometimes, there is a not-so-simple story that remembers that.

In Avatar: The Last Airbender, Katara embodies the human condition - or more specifically, she embodies the duality within it. Throughout the show, her tenderness and her wrath are balanced in a way that renders her one of the most well-written female characters in children’s animation, perhaps even in all of television. Because Katara’s anger and compassion do not simply split themselves into two identities. Instead, they coexist and coalesce into one. They drive each other; they feed into each other; they are two sides of the same coin.

But how can that be true when opposite traits are supposed to clash and counter each other’s effects?

There’s no denying that at times, Katara’s anger and compassion serve to show two different sides of her. We even see this within the very first episode:

(on left) Katara: No that's it! I'm done helping you! From now on, you're on your own!

(on right) Katara: He's alive! We have to help!

At first, Katara’s irritation towards Sokka is what causes her to accidentally waterbend the iceberg open, in which the transcript describes her movements as “agitated.” However, as soon as she sees Aang, this irritation is replaced by concern for “the boy in the iceberg.” Hence, within a few minutes, we see how Katara can be motivated by compassion and rage separately.

Still, just because her kindness and anger are shown to be separate in many scenes that this separation applies to every scenario. Although Katara’s two opposite traits are opposite, that does not mean they are always opposing. Instead, they can fuel each other - her rage can fuel her compassion, and her compassion can fuel her rage.

Let’s see how.

Part 1 - Katara’s Rage Fuels Her Compassion

Throughout the series, Katara shares her grief over her mother’s death as a way to sympathize with others. In “The Southern Air Temple,” “Imprisoned,” and “Jet,” Katara tells Aang, Haru, and Jet about the effect the Fire Nation raids had on her, which establishes some of the most emotionally-charged scenes in these episodes. She is at her most vulnerable during these moments, laying bare a deep-rooted trauma in order to reach out and connect with someone else.

Dialogue from The Southern Air Temple

Katara: Aang, before we get to the temple, I want to talk to you about the airbenders.

Aang: What about 'em?

Katara: Well, I just want you to be prepared for what you might see. The Fire Nation is ruthless. They killed my mother, and they could have done the same to your people.

Dialogue from Imprisoned

Haru: Yeah. Problem is... the only way I can feel close to my father now is when I practice my bending. He taught me everything I know.

Katara: See this necklace? My mother gave it to me.

Haru: It's beautiful.

Katara: I lost my mother in a Fire Nation raid. This necklace is all I have left of her.

Haru: It's not enough, is it?

Katara: No.

Dialogue from Jet

Jet: The Fire Nation killed my parents. I was only eight years old. That day changed me forever.

Katara: Sokka and I lost our mother to the Fire Nation.

Jet: I'm so sorry, Katara.

However, these moments seem to distinctly lack any hint of anger from Katara’s end, so it may seem irrelevant to mention them here - that is, until we remember Katara had mentioned her mother one more time. Trapped in the Crystal Catacombs with a former enemy, she once again says that the Fire Nation took her mother away from her - but this time not with sympathy. No, this time she is filled with rage.

Dialogue from The Crossroads of Destiny

Zuko: You don't know what you're talking about!

Katara: I don't? How dare you! You have no idea what this war has put me through! Me personally! The Fire Nation took my mother away from me.

As Katara sits down, tears forming in her eyes, it becomes clear that her grief has festered into bitterness and anger towards the Fire Nation. By now, her grief is her anger, and so it’s not just shared pain Katara is empathizing within all four of these scenarios - it’s also shared rage.

She is gentle with Aang because she knows the effects of loss (inducing the Avatar State); she is sympathetic with Haru because she knows what she would be driven to do to have her mother back (inciting a prison break by stirring the prisoners’ righteous anger); and she is moved by Jet’s dedication to the Freedom Fighters because she would fight for the Southern Water Tribe too (against the Fire Nation, although Jet’s rage blinds him in a way that Katara’s doesn’t).

Then, in the Crystal Catacombs, it’s Katara’s anger towards the Fire Nation that uncovers her hidden pain. Her vulnerability is what causes Zuko’s words (“That’s what we have in common”) to resonate with her so much, enough for her to offer to heal his scar.

Therefore, Katara’s relationship with anger and grief (whether it’s emotionally-driven similar to how Aang enters the Avatar state or self-righteous similar to her calling the earthbender prisoners to action) is the foundation for some of her most compassionate moments in the series.

Part 2 - Katara’s Compassion Fuels Her Rage

Just as some of her most sympathetic moments are rooted in understanding someone else’s rage, many of Katara’s harshest moments see her acting on the behalf of others’ pain and needs.

As the designated “mother” of the Gaang, the Gaang’s more silly and immature antics often aggravate her and cause her to reprimand them severely, a clash that features prominently in Katara and Toph’s relationship.

In “The Chase” and “The Runaway,” Katara shouts at Toph for lacking a sense of responsibility. However, her indignation does not simply stem from taking personal defense, but from wanting to safeguard the family she has found in the Gaang. Then, both these times, Toph learns the true motives behind Katara’s overbearing actions through a conversation with Iroh and Sokka, respectively.

Dialogue from The Chase

Toph: People see me and think I'm weak. They want to take care of me, but I can take care of myself, by myself.

Iroh: You sound like my nephew, always thinking you need to do things on your own, without anyone's support. There is nothing wrong with letting the people who love you help you.

When Toph talks with Iroh in “The Chase,” Iroh imparts some wisdom on finding mutual support in friendship, implying that Katara pushing responsibilities onto Toph is her way of solidifying and upholding the loving and supportive dynamic within the Gaang.

Dialogue from The Runaway

Sokka: I'm gonna tell you something crazy. I never told anyone this before, but honestly? I'm not sure I can remember what my mother looked like. It really seems like my whole life, Katara's been the one looking out for me. She's always been the one that's there. And now, when I try to remember my mom, Katara's is the only face I can picture.

Toph: The truth is sometimes Katara does act motherly, but that's not always a bad thing. She's compassionate and kind, and she actually cares about me. You know, the real me. That's more than my own mom.

As the dialogue states, “Katara’s been the one looking out for [them].” Hence, her mothering tendencies towards Toph in “The Runaway” are evoked by her wanting to avoid the danger that Toph’s high-profile scamming is beginning to place them in. In other words, she simply wants to protect her makeshift family because “she actually cares about [Toph and the rest of the Gaang]. You know, the real [them].”

Katara’s ability to empathize with others, to see past facades and prejudices, is one of her defining traits. Earlier, in the episode “The Painted Lady,” Katara manages to see beyond the people of Jang Hui’s Fire Nation background and recognize that above all else, they are suffering from war and poverty. Consequently, they are people who need her.

As such, even the notion of abandoning the people of Jang Hui (as suggested by Sokka) enrages her because Katara is someone who “will never, ever turn my back on people who need [her]!”

Still, Katara’s desire to fight for a village of strangers cannot compare to the lengths she would take to protect Aang.

Dialogue from The Western Air Temple

Katara: You might have everyone else here buying your… transformation, but you and I both know you've struggled with doing the right thing in the past. So let me tell you something, right now. You make one step backward, one slip-up, give me one reason to think you might hurt Aang, and you won't have to worry about your destiny anymore. Because I'll make sure your destiny ends ... right then and there. Permanently.

While Zuko was a bystander as Azula shot lightning at Aang, he was an active participant in his fight against Katara, whom, just moments ago, he shared an incredibly intimate moment with. But despite how Zuko betrayed Katara personally, it is the impact his betrayal had on Aang’s life (and death) that she focuses on. So even at her most threatening, Katara acts to protect someone else, Aang, the boy who is her friend and her family.

Together, all these instances reveal that Katara’s compassion is what grants her a protective instinct, and her protective instinct is what moves her to anger and violence.

Conclusion

Katara’s character provides invaluable insight into the relationship between compassion and rage, revealing how it is not simply black contrasting white, but a spread of grays and contradictions. After all, that is who Katara is. She is two sides of the same coin and the bridge in between.

Even more, that is the human condition - full of grays and contradictions, simultaneously negating and reciprocating, balancing and tipping the scales all at once. And perhaps human emotion, in all its breadth, cannot be contained to a two-dimensional spectrum where emotions can either be placed close together or on opposite ends - because humanity is of infinite dimensions, constructed from science, dictated by art. And yet, somehow it is a two-dimensional animated character who captures human complexity with such ease.

#atla #atla meta #katara #katara meta #my bated breath analyzes #my bated breath's posts #that's not to say that katara's anger cannot exist without compassion #nor her compassion without anger #but it's not mutually exclusive either #on a separate note i have more metas on katara written #so you can watch out for that #likes and reblogs are always appreciated #thank you all for reading!

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transsexualhamlet · 3 years

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sherlock holmes reactions part 4 (?) ive lost count already but unsurprisingly ive grown even more attached to him

using this as the cover image because i made him a playlist. cause im awful

no legit this is gonna need a read more because it's SO LONG SHIHEWIESHEFSHIEWHF

Had three mental breakdowns this week and realized i do in fact kin sherlock motherfucking holmes. this does not bode well for anything in my life mentally I've diagnosed him with so many things

Oh boy lol you want the list I think hes autistic (undisputed honestly) plus also adhd but on top of that there's the manic depression and uhhh the bpd lmao I dont even think that's it those are just. the obvious ones

But yeah man's a fucking mess and a shit person but in the same way as me so 👍

Some highlights I thought were very funny:

watson: we are in fact going to be waltzing into a place where people are Shooting People you do not have your gun. this is a problem

sherlock: don't worry watson I have my trusty stick!

watson: visible pain

This clearly happens like every day or so with them

but yeah there were some really honestly sweet scenes with them at the apartment and why am i getting soft over the crusty man being gay

have you considered tho. have you considered them

have you considered sherlock, who usually only plays absolute garbage on his violin serenading watson to sleep when he was tired and in pain and watson being so fucking in love with the man and waxing poetic about falling asleep to his music and waking up to see him fallen asleep on the couch next to him and oh my god them

They're just really sweet together for such a completely dysfunctional couple so much of the time lol I just. Sherlock being like.

Sherlock half of the time: watson you're fucking stupid. no i won't take care of my personal needs stfu. watson get a goddamn life. watson shut up. watson no one cares about your goddamn opinion. no i need to disturb you in the middle of the night it's for science. hey watson mind if i manipulate mansplain malewife

Sherlock the other half of the time: HELLO SIR YOU ARE MY FAVORITE MAN TO EVER MAN HELLO MAY I SPEND THE REST OF MY DAYS WITH YOU HELLO I WILL DO ANYTHING FOR YOU WE ARE PERFECT MATCHES I LOVE YOU AND I NEED YOU YOURE SO MUCH BETTER THAN ME PLEASE MARRY ME

They're... they certainly are.

ALSO OH MY GOD.

THIS ONE TIME WHEN SHERLOCK WAS JUST PACING AROUND THE ROOM AT 3 AM GOING "IT DOESNT MAKE SENSE >:(((" AND HUDSON LIKE BARGED IN TO COMPLAIN AND THEN WATSON WAS LIKE DUDE YOU GOTTA STOP DOING THIS AND PROCEEDS TO SAY THE LINE "YOU ARE KNOCKING YOURSELF UP, OLD MAN"

BAHGHSFHGRHEWHEWHIFEW

BRB SOBBING

CALLING HIM AN OLD MAN???? KNOCKING HIMSELF UP?? I DONT KNOW WHATS FUNNIER

The main highlight of this part was I have now gotten to see him have a great time watching his homo homie get married

Its so fucking funny.......

I was prepared for a funny reaction by yuumori sherlock's face when he said it lol but. Damn i was really not prepared tbh

watson: I'm engaged!

sherlock: *pained groaning*

watson: do you... not like her?

sherlock: no she's fine she's great you'll be wonderful together bUT I HATE IT WHEN PEOPLE ARE HETEROSEXUAL WATSON DO I HAVE TO MARRY MYSELF THEN WATSON? ARE YOU GOING TO MAKE ME MARRY MYSELF.

watson: yeah... yeah... fair, I feel really bad because you did this whole case and I got a girlfriend out of it and all you got was me leaving you alone fuck man im sorry what are you gonna do without me

sherlock, highly sarcastic: dont worry watson I've always got my handy cocaine! *pulls it out and gets high in front of watson just as he's about to leave*

watson: *in fucking agony*

sherlock: good for you!

I DONT EVEN- THIS SCENE KILLED ME MULTIPLE TIMES OVER WHAT

ITS SO GODDAMN NONCHELANT ABOUT IT SHERLOCK IS JUST LIKE YEAH I WILL IN FACT NOT BE MENTALLY HEALTHY IF YOU ARE NOT WITH ME 24/7 BUT WHATEVER YOU DO YOU /S

I'd like to apologize to watson on sherlock's behalf lmao. man is being a bit too codependent on main

The last thing about sign of four I do need to address is yeah, there's the Horrific Amounts Of Racism in that one and the whiplash hearing it is just ridiculous because they seem to be so knowledgeable in all other areas and fairly... politically correct, taking sherlock's original misogyny as a purposeful character flaw, but then they just mention someone indigenous once and suddenly its all parrotting racist propaganda and just... really awful shit. There's no way I'm gonna speak for the group that just got absolutely hate crimed here but anyone can tell the author just has no clue what he's fucking talking about and it's physically painful.

And I don't know, it's just so bad it seems out of character? Doyle's making these motherfuckers say shit that honestly, Sherlock would know better about. And especially Watson. Come on, you cannot tell me watson is mentally capable of being prejudiced against someone. Please do not make him that way.

I'm not sure how to handle it specifically, or what's the proper way I should handle something like that in a media I otherwise like. Is it ok to say Doyle was clearly a piece of shit on the matter and separate those characters from his bias or is that insensitive?

I don't know, I was Not a fan of it and I'm glad to see they've at least finally shut up about the guy

But anyway yeah, uhhhh onto the short stories because I'm trying to read those before I get to the final problem

Scandal in Bohemia was a fucking ride, first of all, before we even get to Sherlock's girlboss arc we have to discuss how gay the whole situation was and how Doyle's attempt at making them less gay failed spectacularly

Like he's all "ah yes I need to marry off watson and uhhh make sherlock ummmm interact with a woman so they dont look gay" but he does it SO BADLY that it makes them look EVEN GAYER

cause i mean, even the conversation they had about watson getting married back in sign of four was gay af, but how Doyle handled things afterward was in no way straighter.

Cause you know, the man kind of wrote himself into a corner with the fact of Watson narrating these stories. So Watson has to be around to witness them, and to witness Sherlock's own thought process rather privately, so he has to be around sherlock at night, a lot. But trying to come up with a reason for that happening just... it didn't occur to Doyle. He just went. Ah yes this makes sense. And it's Watson just like Sleeping Over At Sherlock's like every other goddamn day and every time his wife leaves town and having them basically still live that cute domestic home life but they have absolutely no excuses for doing it anymore. It's quite funny

Like it was gay already the way they interacted when they officially lived together but it was like, a necessity for them. Now it's not, Watson just comes over because he goddamn wants to, and it's hilarious to me.

LIKE IDK I THINK THEY KIND OF BROKE UP FOR A YEAR OR SO BC OF WATSON GETTING MARRIED AND THEY LIKE DONT HAVE CONTACT WITH ONE ANOTHER BUT ONE DAY WATSON JUST INEXPLICABLY HAS THE URGE TO COME VISIT SHERLOCK ON NO NOTICE AND THEN SUDDENLY THEY ARE TOGETHER NEAR 24/7 AGAIN LIKE BARELY ANYTHING CHANGED AHIEHOEWH

SIT DOWN AND TRY TO TELL ME THOSE ARE NOT HOMOSEXUALS

Watson walks in on no fucking notice after a full year and Sherlock is just. In the middle of some experiment obviously but hes like

Sherlock, carrying around unidenfiable chemical mixtures: W A T S O N you look good you look good! i see you've gained seven pounds!!

watson: uh. thanks??? Hey lol *awkwardly waves* Uh um Wanted to Uhm sEe you

Sherlock: ABOUT gODDAMN TIME AND YES WONDERFUL LOOK LOOK SIT DOWN I HAVE THINGS TO INFODUMP ABOUT

watson: :) ok :) *turns to camera* and we were back to the old days

sherlock: makes a deduction

watson: wowwwwwwwwwwww !! so true bestie !!

sherlock: !!!!!!!!! :))) !!!!! :))) uh fuck im supposed to be smooth Its Elementary Lol

watson: *turns to camera* when i stroke his ego like this and compliment him he blushes like a girl like i just complimented his dress so i do it more because he likes it. this is a homie trait

watson: well i should probably get going! my wife will notice that i am gone my dear buddy bro homie!

sherlock: NO DONT LEAVE IM LOST WITHOUT YOU (pretty much a direct quote lol) your. wife doesn't. get back home until monday. I know this because I am smart and definitely have not been stalking you.

watson: alright :)))))

AND THEN HE FUCKING SLEEPS OVER LMAO FUCKING HOMOS

So yeah they're right back where they were before pretty much and there's a case bc of course there is

And honestly I think this short story specifically was so insane mostly just because of how absolutely fast it all went. Yuumori kind of made me believe the original Irene Adler was more of an important character than she really is? And I think that's. Honestly so funny. Motherfucker shows up for ten pages, girlbosses her way around town, and changes sherlock's entire opinion of the female gender while still keeping him gay?

LIKE NO LOL SHES NOT IN ANY WAY A LOVE INTEREST AND WATSON GOES OUT OF HIS WAY TO SPECIFY THE FACT THAT IN NO WORLD WOULD THEY HAVE BEEN ROMANTICALLY INVOLVED BECAUSE. SHERLOCK. DIDN'T DATE WOMEN.

HE WAS JUST??? SO IMPRESSED AND SHELL SHOCKED BY HER EXISTENCE HE DECIDED IT WAS TIME FOR GIRLBOSS APPRECIATION DAY TODAY AND ALL DAYS HENCEFORTH???

AND THEY HAVE LIKE O N E INTERACTION?? God, the power this woman(?) has. Watson looks at her once like. damb shawty 😳 and she's like "no<3" and he's like FUCK

Like yeah it's pretty much just the king walking up like "help girl the whore is blackmailing me" and sherlock being like "ok lol this will be easy" and then it proceeded to not in fact be easy or even possible

sherlock like... posed as a dead body and tried to get her to give up the location of the photo but she out-acted him and skipped the town the next day after doing the 'good night mr. sherlock holmes' thing with sherlock completely tricked

and she just. sends a letter like "dear sherlock holmes. you're a fucking idiot and i think it's funny that you lost. nice job tho mad respect" and sherlock just SHORT CIRCUITS

the king comes back a bit later like "hey Dude where's my Photo" and sherlock's like oh yeah uhhhhhhhhhhh about that and the king is like HOW COULD IT POSSIBLY HAVE BEEN THAT GODDAMN HARD i would have dated someone more noble if she wasn't so pretty i swear im on a whole different level from her

and then. GIRLBOSSIFIED SHERLOCK HOLMES RESPONDS "from what I have seen of the lady, she seems indeed to be on a very different level from your majesty" ABSEHHESHEFHHFES ROASTED

and the dude just LEAVES

After that I read a few more of the short stories and well the highlights I got from that pretty much were these conversations

Watson: sherlock. honey. have you. eaten anything today

Sherlock: IT DIDNT OCCUR TO ME DEAR WATSON

Watson: ITS FIVE PM

and:

Sherlock: *having one of his Moment Moments at three in the goddamn mornig* GRRRR CRIME ISNT WHAT IT USED TO BE

Watson: MY DEAR SHERCOCK WHAT IS CRIME S U P P O S E D TO BE LIKE ACCORDING TO YOU

Sherlock: no one's original anymore fucking copycats

Watson: so you want the criminals to make things harder for you specifically.

Sherlock, exasperated: yes!

I love them your honor.

#rowan's hyperfixation essays #rowan screams into the void #rowan views moriarty #sherlock holmes

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cherryhanji · 4 years

Text

social media surprises

drabble. jisung x reader genre: balls and balls of fluff, friends(classmates) to lovers, high school au words: 1.1k warning(s): none alexa's note: idk this idea just popped out of my head, made this on a whim and idk if it's that nice but i hope u enjoy it. (Other one! Lol, I am really not into falling inlove with ur classmate thingy, but this one is an exception! just wanna share my thoughts)

...

[peter] we're studying at the same school. You have a habit of talking to strangers on social media. Reason? Boredom. But, you're having fun with it. One of them was Peter. What makes him different?Well, Peter became your friend after chatting for almost two hours that one night. Telling each other that the conversation should continue until today. You'll never forget that reply. Peter's reply that made you became suddenly conscious of your surroundings. Maybe that one guy who will look at you might be him. But you never had a clue, as in a single existing clue. He never told you, but you didn't ask either. Not until today, you made an agreement with him that you two should meet during breaktime. You feel like the world stop spinning, those usual butterflies on your stomach, and your mouth completely went dry. You can feel the sweat trickling down from your forehead as you look at the guy standing in front of you, smiling bashfully, nervous and fear visible in his eyes.

"J-jisung... It's... It's you..?" You knew about Jisung, of course. He is your genius classmate but is quite aloof inside the classroom, he barely talk to anyone. You tried to talk to him, but he only answers when you ask him something, so you feel like he's thinking all the ways to quickly end your conversation. You feel bad, tho. But either way, you grew liking him. You don't know why. Maybe because he's genius? Maybe because of the way he played with his pen whenever he's solving a difficult math question, or maybe because you luckily saw his super duper rare smile. That one contagious smile that sends you flying to the galaxy. "H-hey... Are you upset?" Jisung questioned as he face your speechless expression. Jisung knew that it's you. His classmate, also his crush. He just happened to passed by on that one specific social media website that will let you talk to other people, specifically strangers. He's shocked that he's able to find a good friend with that website. He's never into using social media sites. But that one was an exception. He knew that it's you after unintentionally hearing you tell your classmate slash friend that you're talking to this 'peter' guy on that website. that 'peter' is his alias. It's his other name that he used when he used to study overseas. At first, he just brushed it off, thinking that he's not the only Peter in the world. But one time during lunch break, he sent a message to his internet friend. You were inside the classroom at that time, too. So he's really shocked when you fished for your phone inside your pocket after he sent the message. He saw how your face lightens while reading the message. He just stared at you as you type your message and the buzz of his phone confirmed that it's you who he's talking to all this time. He didn't want to tell you immediately that it's him, because you might get disappointed if you knew that it's him. So he only told you that you're studying at the same school and it seems like the odds were all in his favor as you didn't ask for more about him. Jisung is nervous, who wouldn't be? It's you. When you told him that you two should meet during breaktime made his mind rambling with thoughts. So your lack of reaction made his stomach churn with nervousness. You snapped back in reality when you heard him speak. You were speechless, of course. Jisung is Peter. That Peter guy who always asks about your day, if you're feeling okay, always telling you that you should be cheerful and smile always, and that makes your heart flutter. Peter is Jisung. The Jisung that you like for a very long time. That quiet genius boy in your class. "I... I'm not... I was just, just shocked... It's you..." You said as the thought finally sink into you. He chuckled, his hands automatically scratching the back of his neck out of nervousness. "Y-yeah. It's me. Did you expect someone else?" You shook your head slowly, smiling at him. "No. But I didn't expect that it's you all along. I-I'm glad that it's you." You huffed out of nervousness and relief. "I'm happy when I knew that it's you, y/n. at first, I thought it was all coincidental, but after sending you a message on class, it was all confirmed. To be honest, I was excited and nervous at the same time when you told me that we should meet." He said as his feet shift from the ground. His nervousness made you curious, and you didn't know where you get the confidence to do so as you unconsciously held his forearm, making him jump. "Why would you be nervous?" You stare at his eyes that is glassed with fear, hope and happiness. "Uh- It's because... It's because I thought that this will be the right timing to tell you that, I like you..." You gasped at his reply. Once again, you became speechless. His confession made you extremely happy. The softness and seriousness in his voice, the way he looks at you right now, made the butterflies in your stomach tumble again with happiness and excitement. He held both of your hands, waiting for your reply. His eyebrows furrowed as he stare at your astonished expression. You relaxed now and muster up all of your courage to finally tell him. He already told you that he likes you, so why not tell him too? "I-I like you, too. This is too sudden. I just know for sure that I'm going to meet my internet friend, then it turns out to be you. Who is surprisingly my quiet genius classmate, and my long time crush." You blushed at your own confession making Jisung smile brightly. You can see how the surroundings became bright as you finally take a look again at this one rare sight, Jisung's smile, and this one made you more happy, because you're the reason behind it. "I guess... Life is really full of surprises, hm?" He said as he played with your hands. "Indeed." Seriously, this is the best moment that happened to your entire high school life so far. That one chat from your internet friend made all things worth it.

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sweetiepie08 · 4 years

Text

RebelZ Chapter 8

Invader Zim fanfic

While analyzing Zim’s PAK for weaknesses, Tak discovers strange coding that sends her on a search for answers. The clues lead her to uncover a conspiracy that governs all of Irken society. When the truth sends her on the run, she has no choice but to return to the one place the Tallest would never willingly go: Urth.

Meanwhile, Dib has noticed odd changes in Zim’s behavior. Has the invader simply grown bored of his mission over the last few years, or is there something more interesting going on?

People who asked to be tagged: @incorrect-invader-zim , @messinwitheddie, @reblogstupids, @cate-r-gunn, @agentpinerulesall

If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list feel free to message me. Also, if you’re on the tag list and you changed your name, please just let me know.

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9. Chapter 10.

[-]

The problem with back-seat space travel was, Dib decided, you couldn’t really tell where you were going. This was especially concerning with Zim at the helm. In fact, leaving Earth with Zim, having to rely on Zim to get home, was probably not the smartest move in the first place. But he did manage to get them to Ecore. The first leg of their mission was complete. All that was left was to go home. That should be the easy part.

However, Zim was concerningly quiet since the ship took off from Ecore. There was no scolding Gir, no boasting of his pilot skills, and not even a peep about whatever Kristlotch had said in the temple. Tak was able to explain the basics. Krislotch told them the secret history of the Control Brains, called rebellion hopeless, and insulted Zim multiple times. Perhaps Zim was just stewing over it. But, if that was all, why did he feel this crushing tension?

Something on the console beeped and Zim scrolled through a sea of Irken text, eyes darting between Dib and Tak. He hadn’t used the voice command system, which was especially odd. From what Dib learned operating Tak’s ship, voice commands was the standard for Irken tech. Zim had to have switched it off manually. The question was, why?

“Hey Zim,” Tak snapped, “that was Zorgad 16.”

Zim kept his eyes straight ahead. “So?”

“So we’re going the wrong way.”

“I know exactly where we’re going,” Zim countered.

“Clearly you don’t. Keep going this way and we’ll…” Her eyes grew wide as some horror dawned on her. “You scum!” she screamed, launching herself at him. “You traitor!”

“It is you who are the traitor!” Zim declared, barely holding her off.

Dib’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. “Zim, what did you do?”

“Gir!” Zim commanded. “Hide and seek! Now!”

“Okie Dokie!” Gir’s robot arms wrapped around Dib and Tak and threw them in the back of the ship with the cargo. “You hide!”

Before they could recover, a metal door slid down, blocking them off from the cockpit. On the other side, they heard Zim command Gir to count to 1 million.

Tak let out an enraged scream and pounded on the door. “Coward! Liar! Boot-licking little worm!”

Dib let his face drop into his hands. “I should have seen this coming. I’ve fallen for his schmoopy act before.”

“No, I should have.” Tak punched the door one more time before leaning her forehead against it. “When I discovered the truth, my first thought was of freeing my people. For that, I was branded traitor and my life clock went off. His never did. That is only possible if he was still loyal to the empire.”

“Can’t you blast through the door with your lasers?” Dib suggested.

A digital monocle popped out of the mechanism on her head and covered her eye. She examined the door for a moment before letting out a sigh. “If I set it powerful enough to penetrate the metal, it’ll also pass through the windshield, exposing us to vacuum space.” Defeated, she leaned her back against the door and slid down to the floor.

“So,” Dib said, sitting down beside her, “what now?”

[-]

Some time later, the ship approached the Massive. They noticed the change in gravity as a tractor beam grabbed hold of the Voot and sucked the ship onboard. They heard voices talking outside. One was certainly Zim, but Dib couldn’t make out what was being said. A few minutes later, the doors to the cargo hold opened and Irken soldiers dragged them out.

Dib found himself surrounded by tech he could only dream of, though the situation left him little room to marvel. The hanger held space craft so strange, he couldn’t being to imagine how they worked. The soldiers held weapons he’d never seen before. And above them all loomed the Tallest, living up to their title.

“Hmm… Urth humans really are tall,” the Purple one observed. “Not as tall as us of course but…” Dib assumed the reason for this one’s perfect English was that it was, in a way, talking to him.

“Yes and, as reported, dumb,” Zim added, “as evidenced by the fact he fell for my cunning trap. And, of course, I brought the traitor, Tak, as promised.”

“Yes, these two truly must be dumb if they fell for your plans,” the Red one said. Dib waited for Zim to react, but nothing happened. Unbelievable. Did Zim really not notice the insult, or did he just not care?

“Good work, Zim,” the Red one went on. “We knew we could count on you to bring in the traitor.”

Zim nodded solemnly. “Yes, she tried to sway my loyalty with her treasonous lies, but I never bought them for a second.”

Tak let out a growl and jumped to her feet. “Zim, you know damn well I never-AH!” One of the guards struck her with an electrified weapon, sending her back to the floor.

“And still she persists. Tragic.” Zim tsked and shook his head. “Now, about my reward?”

“Oh yeah, right,” the red one said. “We’ve got a party set up for you in the main snack hall.

Seriously? “You sold us out for a party?” Dib seethed, moving to get up. “You egotistical son of a-AH!” He was also hit by the same weapon, forcing him back to his knees.

Zim snickered and stood above him. “Zim is son to no one but the empire, Dib-stink.”

“Alright then,” the Purple one chimed in. “Now that everything’s settles, let’s execute these prisoners and get this party over with.”

“Wait!” Zim shouted. Everyone stopped and looked at him while Dib raised an eyebrow. What was he doing? “My Tallest, I humbly request to keep these two prisoners alive as trophies for my party.”

“But then we execute them after?” The purple one asked.

Zim nodded. “Oh yes, sure, of course.”

The Red one shrugged. “Okay, fair enough. Stick those two in a cage in the main snack hall until after the party.”

“Excellent!” A wide grin appeared on Zim’s face. “Gir, come with me,” he said, starting down the hall. “We must begin preparing my special punch.”

[-]

In short order, Dib and Tak were placed in a cage and forced to watch as Irkens mingled amongst themselves. They all took to it with the enthusiasm of the scientists in Membrane Labs attending the annual, mandatory, holiday party. They wore forced, uncomfortable smiles and attempted small talk. Every one of them looked like they were counting the seconds until they could drop the charade and return to their normal lives.

Suddenly, Zim’s robot popped up in Dib’s field of vision. “Want some punch?!” Gir shrieked, shoving a cup of purple liquid in Dib’s face. “It’ll make you sick!”

Dib cringed as he looked in the cup. “Uh… no thanks.”

“Gir! Get away from there!” Zim shouted, stomping up toward them. He grabbed the cup out of the robot’s hands and began pushing him away. “Humans and traitors don’t get punch,” he tossed over his shoulder as they walked off.

Dib watching Zim head up to the high table at the front of the room and sit down with his Tallest. Much like his dad at those holiday parties, these two were likely the ones who least wanted to be there.

Dib gave the bars another pathetic shake before giving up and turning to Tak. “So, you got any ideas?”

“What’s the point?” she asked, laying flat on the ground.

“Uh, the point is, if we don’t get out of here, we both die.”

“Is dying a prisoner any worse than living as a mindless slave?” She sighed and turned her head to look at the crowd. “Look at them all, human. They don’t even know what they lack. Every one of them is going to die serving the empire and none of them will be thanked or even remembered. Hundreds will be sent to their deaths and hundreds more will take their place. The smeeteries will replace them as fast as they’re killed off. That thing doesn’t care about sacrificing its own food because it can always make more. Kristlotch was right. It is hopeless.”

“You know, sometimes I feel like my people are slaves too,” Dib said, sitting down next to her. “Not to a hive mind parasite, but to other things. The media, corporate greed…”

“I know. I specifically targeted that flaw in my first conquest plan.”

“Right…” Dib rubbed the back of his neck as he thought about how well that almost worked. “Anyway, sometimes I think Zim is right. Humans stink.”

Tak shrugged half-heartedly. “Eh, Irkens are particularly sensitive to smell. You probably smell fine for a human.”

“No, I meant metaphorically,” Dib went on. “Anyway, my point is, just because humans stink now, it doesn’t mean I should give upon them. It’s one of the reasons I want to prove aliens exist so bad. I want people to know what’s out there. I want them to be a little better, a little smarter. I want them to stop worrying about petty problems and work together to improve the world. If they do, who knows? Maybe we can actually join this greater universal stage.”

Tak’s face stayed impassive as she considered his words. “Dib…” she began, sitting up, “not all humans stink.”

He smiled. “And not all Irkens are mindless slaves.”

“No…” Her eyes narrowed and the Tak he knew returned. “And none should be. Dib,” she said, jumping to her feet, “we’re breaking out of here.”

“Great!” he said, jumping up as well. “What’s the plan?”

“I…” she paused and her enthusiasm melted away, “need to think about it.” She sat back down on the floor, but her schmoop was gone. She sat with her back straight and one hand on her chin, thinking, plotting.

They were interrupted by a clinking sound from the high table. They looked to see the Red Tallest flicking the side of his glass with one long finger. “Alright everyone, Zim wants to give a toast with his punch. Everyone get a glass so we can get this over with.”

Gir handed out cups of punch to every Irken in the room.

“Did everyone get one?” Zim asked accepting one cup from Gir. The robot nodded. “Excellent!”

Dib shook the bars and let out a groan. “If only I knew what he was saying.”

Tak sighed, tapped her PAK, and a small microchip floated into her hands. She then reached up and shoved it into Dib’s ear.

“Ow, what was that?” Dib said, rubbing his ear.

“Back-up universal translator,” she explained with a groan. “I’m speaking Irken. You hear better now?”

“Yeah, why didn’t you do that earlier?”

“You didn’t bring it up.”

Dib shrugged, conceding her point, and they turned their attention back to the crowd.

“Come on,” the Red Tallest sighed, impatiently tapping his cup. “Make your speech so we can end this party and get back to important things.”

“Right.” Zim cleared his throat. “Friends, I stand before you today proof of what a true Irken can accomplish. Genius, ingenuity, ambition, these are the things that make an Irken great. With these an Irken can become whatever they want and crush their enemies. To victory!”

“To victory!” the crowd answered back and drank.

Dib kept his eyes glued to Zim though the speech. When Zim lifted his cup to his lips, Dib’s eyes went wide.

“Tak did you see that?” he whispered.

“What?”

“It's Zim. He didn't drink?”

“How can you possibly know that from all the way over here?

“He didn't tip his cup back far and he didn't swallow.” Dib explained. “And look.”

Zim's eyes scanned the crowd and he quickly checked something on his wrist.

“Is he checking the time? Look at him. He's up to something.”

Tak only responded with a skeptical look.

Dib sighed. “Listen, if I can be considered an expert on anything, it's obsessing over Zim, and you may not guess it from the everything-about-him, but he can be cunning when he wants to be.”

Tak got up and joined him at the bars. Her eyes narrowed as she scrutinized Zim’s expression. “If you're right about this,” she mused, “then the question is, why does he want to be?”

The Irkens lowered their now empty cups, except for Zim who still held him onto his. “Yes, Irk is mighty and prosperous,” he went on, tapping a sharply clawed finger against his cup. “It's such a shame Spek couldn't share in our prosperity.”

“Spek?” Dib turn to Tak. “What's a Spek?”

Tak could only shrug. Dib looked back over at the crowd. They looked just as confused as he felt.

“Spek?” the Purple Tallest mumbled to the Red. “I don't remember any Spek.”

“Spek!” Zim shouted throwing, his cup down and jumping on the table. “The smeet who died in the Death Melee because of your attempt to have me killed! It wasn't your first attempt either. You sent me on my mission to Urth, hoping I’d get lost in the vastness of space.”

“Zim…” The Red Tallest said in a warning tone.

“You sent me to hobo 13 and bet on which drill would kill me.”

“Zim that's…”

“You lied to me about the true nature of the Death Melee so I would die for your entertainment. You gave me a smeet, one who hadn't even seen his first cycle yet, as my partner, just to lower my chances of survival. Do you deny it?”

“Enough, Zim!” the Red Tallest roared. “You can't speak to us like this!”

“I can! I am!”

“Remember you are speaking to your Tallest,” the Purple one shouted back.

“I have no tallest!” Zim declared proudly. “I don't take orders from you anymore, and I haven't since the Death Melee! For 0.3 cycles, I've dreamed of nothing but my vengeance and I shall have it!”

The Purple Tallest laughed. “Ha! Vengeance? Look around you. You're surrounded by the top tier of the Irken Armada. How exactly do you plan on getting past them?”

“Aww, too bad Zim,” the Red Tallest said with a mocking pout. “Looks like you failed, just like you always do. Your vengeance is over before it's even begun.”

Zim looked down on the device on his wrist. He smirked and looked up at his Tallest with the cold fury in his eyes. “My vengeance has already begun.”

At that moment, a General dropped to the floor and began convulsing. More and more Irkens followed him. Zim’s smirk grew with each new body that hit the floor. Finally, the Tallest started convulsing as well.

“You won't get away with this,” The Red one choked out before collapsing on the floor.

He flashed a wicked grin. “Oh, I think I just did.”

Zim’s pack legs deployed as he jumped off the table. He scuttled over to the cage and, after hitting a few buttons, freed Dib and Tak. “Follow me,” he yelled and led them out of the snacking hall.

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ninja-go-to-therapy · 4 years

Text

Whumptober 5: Where Do You Think You’re Going?

On the Run

I finally got around to writing something for my own damn AU, and it’s not even canon! I’m great at this.

Summary: Months after escaping from Prime Empire, Scott finds himself in Paris with none other than Unagami. It doesn’t go well. (This is of course part of the Miraculous crossover that I talk about sometimes on @blursed-ninjago-ideas)

Trigger Warnings: death threats, violence, panic attacks

4517 words

The years of his life Scott had lost to Prime Empire were hard to come to terms with. Every day he had been in there, he was well aware of the passage of time, but it was still the hardest thing he’d ever gone through.

Every day he had convinced himself that he would get out soon.

That first day, he was certain he’d be out by the end of the week. By the end of the week, he thought it couldn’t possibly be longer than a month.

It had gone on for years. Thirty, specifically.

Everyone he had ever known and loved had grieved and moved on. He had missed decades with them. His friends. His family. Everyone.

And it was all Unagami’s fault — right. Unagami was actually just a stupid little child who hadn’t really known what he was doing. He was supposed to be trying to get along with him, because he needed to be a role model or some shit.

Honestly, now that the kid wasn’t actively keeping him trapped inside a game for decades, he wasn’t all that bad. Sure, he could be a bit of a brat at times, but that was a phase that all children went through.

And apparently, he lowkey — that was the word Jay liked to use, right? He was so behind on the current slang — idolized Scott. Yeah, the child who’d been trying to turn him into a lifeless, numb, empty little energy cube for years and years and years, thought he was cool. That was… something, he supposed.

He was mostly doing this because Jay had all but begged him to. Said it made him a good person and he needed to let go of his anger.

Scott didn’t know if he would call it anger. He couldn’t bring himself to hate Unagami, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t a little… well… uncomfortable around him. Yeah, that was definitely the right word.

But that was dumb. That debacle was finally over, and even if the nightmares and trauma didn’t go away, it wasn’t like Unagami acted malicious anymore. He wasn’t trying to kill anyone anymore.

So what if every time Unagami did much of anything, Scott’s grip on whatever it may have been that he was holding tightened enough to break a bone? That wasn’t that concerning. Everybody did that. Probably.

And hey, he could have had worse problems than scratching up his hands when he was nervous or anxious or really freaked out or really scared or flashing back to that cramped dark horrible nothingness when he was just lines of code trapped in a little energy cube with no way to get in or out or anything — and, uh, everyone had a random bad dream once in awhile. Or every night.

But he could put that aside, because he was a mature adult.

So here he was, babysitting an arcade-game-turned-boy, who was surprisingly energetic and very bright-eyed.

“When are the ninja coming back?” Unagami asked, popping up from behind the couch.

Scott barely suppressed a surprised curse. This kid was way too light on his feet. “I don’t know,” he said, taking a deep breath to calm himself.

Unagami, unlike most kids would, actually accepted that as an answer and went back to his BorgPad, tapping away at the screen.

The thing was, nobody had seen the ninja in a few weeks, now. Scott was beginning to get concerned. After Lloyd had disappeared — which had been information divulged to Scott privately by Jay, because they didn’t want the general public to know — the next few days had been spent in a raw panic. And then, total radio silence.

He hadn’t heard from the ninja since.

He hoped they were okay. He was a little too familiar with people disappearing only to never be heard from again. Well, not until thirty years after the fact.

He wasn’t bitter, not at all.

“What are you doing, anyway?” Scott asked, trying to get his mind off the subject. He was supposed to be taking care of the kid for the day, he might as well have been trying to make some sort of connection.

“Hacking the Hexagon!” Unagami said, looking up from his screen with a big smile.

Oh, that was nice — wait, what?

“Excuse me?” Scott asked, jumping over the back of the couch and crouching on the floor, where Unagami was sitting criss-cross-apple-sauce. Scott peered over his shoulder at the screen.

“If they didn’t want it hacked they shouldn’t have made it so easy,” Unagami shrugged.

Was it… was it normal for a child to be hacking into government facilities from a BorgPad?

Scott was going to go out on a limb and say no. …It was probably just an AI thing? Yeah, it was probably fine.

He watched for a moment as Unagami’s fingers flew across the screen, lines in a language Scott didn’t understand everywhere. He’d never had the ambition to learn how to code.

But damn, back before Prime Empire, people had hardly even dreamed of tech like this.

It was kind of crazy.

Scott was going to be honest with himself. The BorgPad was cool. It had tons of features that were all put together onto one little device — texting and pictures and games and social media and more. It had everything.

But at the end of the day, it was just another reminder that Scott had missed out on so much while he’d been trapped inside the game.

Back in his day, people had been perfectly content with “low quality” arcade games and flip phones. But now… well, people like Cyrus Borg were completely changing the world.

It was cool. But it stung.

“As long as you don’t get like, in trouble with the law or something. I don’t want Dyer buggin’.”

Unagami gave him a weird look, but slowly lowered his gaze back to the screen.

Right. People didn’t say that anymore, did they? His vocabulary was really outdated. He was really outdated.

He sighed, standing up and heading to the kitchen so he could make some tea. Jay had given him some, claiming it was really calming.

Scott could use a little of that right now.

The label was faded enough that it was basically unreadable. Scratch that, it was completely unreadable. Did tea expire…? Nah, Jay wouldn’t have given it to him if it was bad.

As the tea was brewing, Scott leaned against the counter, fiddling with his phone. It had been brand new technology at the time, and had been pretty expensive.

Now, according to Jay, it was “mega-outdated”.

That hurt more than it should have. He remembered being so excited about this thing, but now it was nothing compared to the technology of today.

“You want some tea?” Scott asked when it was done, going for a mug.

“What does it taste like?” Unagami asked, setting aside his tablet and coming over to observe the tea with interest.

“Uhh… I dunno, haven’t tried it yet,” he shrugged.

“I think I would like some, please.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Scott went to pour it, but as he was doing so, he found his mind wandering to wondering where the ninja had disappeared to again. It was strange that they had just —

“Is that supposed to be happening?” Unagami asked.

Scott looked down at the tea, concerned to see a bright glow spilling from the kettle. “Uh…” before he could come up with a rational answer, it brightened, all but blinding the two as it took over the room.

When it faded, there was nothing left but a broken mug on the floor.

———

What the fuck?

What had just happened?

The last thing Scott remembered had been sitting in the kitchen making tea, but now… now he was outside, near some giant metal tower, in a place he absolutely did not recognize.

He didn’t recognize the place, but he did recognize the feeling.

He was in a new realm.

The first thing he could feel was the panic.

Not again. Fuck! Not again. He couldn’t go through this another time, he couldn’t lose more of his life to a monster, he couldn’t — he couldn’t — he couldn’t breathe. He gripped the grass he was sitting on, practically hyperventilating.

“Scott? Are you alright?”

Oh first master, Unagami was here too.

“Get away from me!” he yelled, though he made no move to put distance between them. Instead, the little brat only came closer.

“You need to breathe.”

“I said get away—” Scott’s words died in his throat. Something was different. Something was wrong.

“Captain Clockwork,” a voice said, booming throughout his head.

“What’s going on?” Scott demanded.

“I am Hawk Moth. I can feel your distress. The anger, the grief, all of it. You just want things to go back to the way they used to be, don’t you?”

“Yes…” he found himself agreeing, nodding along.

“I can help you with that. I can give you the power to take back your life. All I need in return is for you to retrieve two pieces of jewelry for me, called the Miraculous. Do we have a deal?”

Scott didn’t even have to think twice. “Yes, Hawk Moth.”

———

Unagami was concerned.

Scott was freaking out, clearly on the verge of a panic attack, and nothing he was doing seemed to help. And then, out of nowhere, it just stopped.

And then Scott started talking to nobody, and then his body, for the briefest of moments, was enveloped in a purple so dark it may as well have been black.

When it was gone, Scott looked different. He was wearing an outfit that could only be described as old-timey-steampunk.

It wasn’t that strange, considering that sort of stuff was perfectly normal in Prime Empire. Still, Unagami should probably make sure that Scott was okay.

“Scott?” he asked, stepping a little closer.

Scott glared at him dark enough to kill.

Wide-eyed, Unagami took a small step back. “Scott, what’s wrong? Who were you talking to? Is this a video game, like Prime Empire?”

“You would just love that, wouldn’t you?” Scott yelled. “You would just love to ruin even more people’s lives!”

“What?”

A ball of light burst into existence in Scott’s hand, which was closed tightly in a fist. He threw the light off to the side, launching at a huge television screen on the side of a building. Almost immediately, it turned into a box-style TV.

Scott smiled wickedly. “Oh, would you look at that? The power to downgrade tech. If I can do that to a TV, I wonder what will happen to a stupid. Little. Arcade game.”

Unagami narrowly dodged a blast from Scott following those words. “Scott, stop! You’re — you’re not in your right mind!”

“Oh, I’m in my right mind!” he screamed. “I’m finally free, and what am I met with but a world that moved on without me? You took away my life!”

“Scott, please, you are not thinking clearly!” Unagami said, desperate.

“Save it, you little brat! Now hold still so I can kill you!”

Unagami tripped, falling back into the grass. He scrambled back, doing his best to get to his feet, but regardless, Scott had the upper hand. He was done for.

He squeezed his eyes shut, accepting the inevitable.

Suddenly, he was being lifted, and then he was in the air. What?

He opened his eyes.

“I’ve got you!” a girl dressed in red spandex with black polka dots all over it said.

“What’s going on?” Unagami asked.

The girl looked confused. “Uh…” they came to a stop on a rooftop. It was then that a boy dressed in what looked like a leather catsuit joined them, vaulting up with an infinitely long pole.

“How do you do, M’lady?” he asked, smiling at the girl.

“Not now, Chat. I just saved this kid from the latest akuma, but I don’t think he’s speaking French.”

“Language barrier powers?” Chat asked. “That’s a new one.”

“I don’t know, from what I could tell, the akuma was speaking in the same language as him.”

“What’s going on?” Unagami demanded. “What happened to Scott?”

Chat frowned. “It sounds kind of like Japanese. But like, not quite? It sounds like Japanese on drugs.”

The girl sighed. “Wonderful description, Chat.”

“Thanks! I try.”

“Wait, I’ve heard this before! It sounds like that language the ninja speak!” The girl said.

“Oh yeah! Maybe they’re from the same place?”

Unagami tuned out their rambling, glancing over the edge of the roof to see if he could still see Scott. Luckily, he couldn’t.

Or was that unlucky?

Scott was the only person he knew here, but at the same time, he’d lost his mind out of nowhere. And now he was on some sort of evil… violent rampage… manhunt… chasing after him… well, that was uncomfortably familiar.

“Okay, well, our miraculous allows him to understand us, I wonder why it doesn’t work the other way?” Chat glanced at Unagami. “You can understand us, right?”

Unagami gave a frustrated nod.

“Okay, well, do you know why that guy got akumatized?”

Unagami had absolutely no idea what that was, but it was clearly in reference to what had happened to Scott.

“I don’t think he does. We have to get back to fighting before this guy destroys half of Paris,” Chat said, tapping his wrist as if there was a watch there.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” Scott yelled from the streets below.

“Oh, hey, that was French!” Chat said. “Akuma powers are awesome.”

The girl gave him an unimpressed frown.

Various balls of light were transforming technology into older versions of themselves left and right as Scott rampaged.

“Shit, okay, Chat, can you drop him somewhere away from the akuma?”

“Sure thing Bugaboo!” Chat said with a wide grin. He held out a hand to Unagami. “Hold on tight, kid.”

———

Ladybug landed in front of the akuma gracefully, her yo-yo at her side.

“Ladybug, I presume,” the akuma said.

“That would be right.”

The akuma glared at her. “Look, I don’t particularly want to hurt you. Just hand over the earrings and the kid, and I’ll be on my way.”

“What do you want with him?” Ladybug asked, eyes narrowed. “What could he possibly have done?”

The akuma laughed, and it started low, but it quickly gained a touch of psycho, edging on hysteria. “What didn’t he do?” He yelled, his arms widely gesturing — though his right hand stayed tightly closed. That could be important. “He kept me trapped in a video game for decades. He made me live every day in fear that it would be my last! He ruined my life! He took everything from me!”

Well… fuck.

That was actually a pretty valid reason to be upset with somebody. But how on earth had that happened in the first place? Well, the details didn’t matter. She had an akuma to fight.

Against all reason, Ladybug decided to try getting through to the poor guy. “You don’t have to do this! Hawk Moth is manipulating you!”

“I don’t care!” He screamed. “He made me into Captain Clockwork! He gave me the power to take back my life!”

He threw a blast of energy at Ladybug, which she only barely managed to deflect with her yo-yo. It bounced back to what looked like a brand new car, which immediately turned into a station wagon.

Oh boy.

“Time has moved forward without me. I don’t fit into this world, so I’m gonna make this world fit me!”

She needed to figure out what to break. Whatever he was holding, that could be it.

Unceremoniously, Chat dropped from the sky, landing in a heap next to her.

“I did not get that right…” he muttered, getting to his feet with some difficulty. “What’s the plan, M’lady?”

“I don’t know, but I think the akuma is in whatever he’s holding. We need to get him to drop it.”

“May I offer a distraction in these trying times?”

Ladybug smiled.

“Hey, the future isn’t all that bad!” Chat exclaimed, dramatically vaulting himself to be behind the akuma so that he had to turn around and his attention was off of Ladybug, while she quietly summoned her lucky charm.

“We’ve got video games! And bullet trains, and iPhones, and — ooh, we’ve got anime! It still baffles me that people ever managed to live without anime. A tragedy, really.”

Captain Clockwork glared at him. “We had video games and anime back in my day. It was good enough, it didn’t have to change!”

“That’s sort of the way of life, buddy,” Chat shrugged, batting away a blast with his baton.

“It shouldn’t be! I shouldn’t have gotten left behind!” he screamed, sending blasts of energy one after the other at Chat.

“Left behind?” Chat asked, lowering his guard slightly when the akuma, breathing heavily, stopped firing.

“That boy you stole away just a few minutes ago,” Captain Clockwork said, laughing hysterically. “He kept me trapped inside a video game, for thirty years. Thirty years! It’s not fair! It’s not fair! I’ll kill him!”

“How did a little boy trap you in a video game?” Chat asked, legitimately curious.

“He is the game! He ruled Prime Empire! He ruined my life!”

Chat was regretting asking, because now the akuma was backing him into a corner, his fist glowing. He wasn’t sure he’d ever battled an akuma so full of pure rage before.

Chat extended his baton, sweeping it under the akuma’s feet and knocking him to the ground.

“This is so cool!” Alya shouted from across the street, filming with her iPhone.

“Alya,” Nino all but begged. “We gotta get to safety!”

“But I’m getting some great footage on this thing!”

Captain Clockwork growled, blasting violently at the pair. Alya’s brand new, expensive phone immediately reverted to a flip phone.

The way Alya screamed would have suggested someone had been murdered. “No!” she shrieked, being dragged away by Nino.

“Phones don’t need to be able to record! Just use a fucking video camera! They didn’t have to change it!” Captain Clockwork yelled, running after Alya.

That got the couple’s attention enough to start running.

Chat put himself between them, crying out when he intercepted a blast.

“Chat!” Ladybug yelled.

Chat grunted, rolling with great difficulty away from the akuma.

His baton immediately grew in length, turning into what looked like a perfectly regular, non-magical, old-fashioned baton.

“Oh fuck.”

“Hand over the ring and I won’t hurt you,” Captain Clockwork demanded.

“Sorry, I’ve got a contract,” Chat replied, using the baton as a sort of cane to help him get to his feet again.

He didn’t manage to dodge the next blast, which turned his magical very technologically advanced leather suit into a hoodie and a cheap pair of sweatpants.

Panic gripped him, and he quickly went to feel for his mask. Oh, thank god, it was still there.

Captain Clockwork charged up another blast, but before he could use it, Ladybug grabbed Chat and swung her yo-yo, getting them both away and into a back alley.

“Are you okay, Kitty?” she asked, setting him down gently.

“I’m alright,” he affirmed. “I need to detransform, make sure Plagg is alright. Maybe when I retransform it’ll go back to normal?”

Ladybug purposefully turned around.

“Claws in,” he said.

Immediately, Ladybug could hear a low groan from her partner’s kwami.

“Here,” Chat muttered, presumably offering him some food.

“Thanks. God that really hurt…” Plagg muttered.

“It did?” Chat cried, worry seeping into his voice. “Are you okay? How can I help?”

“I’ll be fine, Kitten,” Plagg said, laughing somewhat through the now very obvious pain. “Just defeat this guy and you can buy me some extra nice cheese to make up for it.”

Chat laughed. “Sure thing Plagg. Claws out!”

Ladybug waited a moment, then turned back around. Luckily, Chat had been right, and his suit was back to normal. “Okay, so we’ve got my lucky charm, but I still don’t know how to use it. Did you learn anything about the akuma?”

“Well, apparently the kid he was trying to obliterate trapped him in a game for thirty years,” Chat shrugged. “I dunno if that’s important though.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard. He keeps screaming about it every chance he gets. But as long as we free the akuma, he’ll be fine. Did you happen to see what he was holding?”

“It looked kind of like a phone, but like, one of those really old flippy ones. Like the ones they used in High School Musical!”

Ladybug sighed. “Well, that’s something. Actually, my lucky charm is a flip phone.”

“That’s weird… think he’d like that?”

“Wait! I have a plan.”

———

Meanwhile, Unagami was hiding behind a trashcan as Scott got closer and closer to his whereabouts. His heart was pounding loudly in his ears.

“Unagami,” Scott called out, his voice sickly sweet and too high in pitch. “Come out, come out wherever you are…”

Unagami held his breath, praying Scott didn’t find him.

“Isn’t it ironic?” Scott asked, something out of Unagmai’s sight crashing loudly. “The hunter becomes the prey. Bet you never thought you’d get retribution, huh?”

He hadn’t meant to ruin Scott’s life. He’d just been following his father’s instructions. He’d apologized. He thought Scott had forgiven him. He’d acted like he had.

Had he felt like this the whole time?

Angry and hurt and wanting to kill him?

And… was this how Scott had felt while trapped in Prime Empire?

Scared for his life, fearing every second that it could be his last? Keeping himself hidden away for years with the constant terror that he would be found?

The trashcan was thrown, and there was Scott.

“Found you.”

“I’m sorry—” Unagami said.

“Save it! Sorry doesn’t make up for the lost time! Sorry doesn’t make up for the fear I lived in! Sorry doesn’t fix things!”

He charged a blast.

Out of nowhere, a bright blue tornado threw Scott across the street.

It slowed to a stop, revealing none other than the blue ninja. “Unagami?” he said, bewildered. “How are you here?”

“Why are you defending him?” Scott screamed. “He trapped you too! He took all of your friends! He hunted you down like a wild animal! Aren’t you angry?”

“Scott? Jay cried, even more bewildered than before. “What the… wait, but Unagami is just a kid! Sure, he caused a lot of pain, but it wasn’t his fault! And he’s done all he can to make it right!” “That’s not good enough!”

“Ice to see you!” Zane yelled, dropping down from the rooftop.

Scott growled, charging a blast of energy. “Just let me kill the little brat! He’s not human! He’s not a person! What difference does it make?”

Unagami froze.

Scott… didn’t see him as a person? All this time?

He thought they had been bonding. He had thought… well, he hadn’t thought they were friends, exactly, but he had at least thought…

It was true that he wasn’t human, but Unagami had likened himself to Zane. They weren't human, but they were still people. But that wasn’t how Scott saw it at all. And he had never known.

Zane screamed out as he was hit with a blast. The light encompassed him, and suddenly he was left with rusty copper skin.

Unagami’s eyes widened in horror.

“I — I — I — do not feel — Jay — I cannot — what is happening?” Zane stammered, his voice box glitching heavily.

“I can downgrade tech,” Scott said, laughing darkly. “You’re tech.”

“Scott, this isn’t you!” Jay attempted. “You’re better than this!”

“I don’t want to be better than this!” he yelled. He threw Jay to the side, completely knocking the boy unconscious.

With Zane unable to even move, Unagami was about to die.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he said.

“Hurt doesn’t care about intention.”

In what was either the best or the worst timing ever, the boy from before — Chat — waltzed over to them casually. “You were right, Captain Clockwork!” he exclaimed loudly. “Old technology is better! I’m just surprised that you didn’t notice I took your phone!” he said, waving around an old flip phone.

“What?” Scott — Captain Clockwork? — gasped, opening his fist. “No you didn’t, it’s right here?”

But then it wasn’t. Ladybug’s yo-yo string wrapped around it, and yanked it hard.

“No!”

Ladybug snapped the phone in half easily. “No more evil-doing for you, little akuma. Time to de-evilize!” she declared, catching the butterfly — Unagami wasn’t even going to ask why a butterfly had come out of Scott’s phone — easily. “Gotcha!” she set the butterfly free, and in a stark contrast to the previous shade of sickly purple it had been, it was now a pure white. “Bye bye, little butterfly.”

Scott fell to the ground, his new avatar — or whatever it was — dropping.

“Miraculous ladybug!” Ladybug shouted, throwing the fake phone into the air. A swarm of butterflies took over, somehow undoing all the damages that Scott had caused.

Honestly, it was far from the strangest thing Unagami had experienced recently.

———

Scott came to on the sidewalk. Hadn’t he just been near some big metal tower thing? And how had he blacked out in the first place? What the hell?

“What… what happened?” he groaned, unable to get to his feet.

Zane — when had Zane gotten here? — said something in what sounded like another language.

“Everything’s alright now, sir!” a girl dressed as what looked something like a superhero said, smiling gently at him. “You don’t know what an akuma is, do you?”

Again, Zane repeated her question, this time looking at him. Ah, he was the translator.

“No…?”

Her and a boy in a leather catsuit shared a look.

“A bad man called Hawk Moth took advantage of you,” the boy explained, reaching out a hand and helping Scott to his feet. “You were feeling some kind of negative emotion, and he used that to turn you into a supervillain.”

A supervillain? What kind of negative emotion could he have been —

He spotted Unagami, who was staring at him in nothing short of terror from against the brick wall of a building. Oh yeah.

“What did I do?”

“Nothing that couldn’t be undone,” the girl assured. “All property damages have been magically repaired, so you don’t have to worry!”

“It’s not the property damages I’m worried about,” Scott muttered, looking at Unagami, guilty all but stabbing him through the heart. The kid looked traumatized.

Before anyone could say anything else, Unagami ran. Jay immediately went after him, but the others stayed behind.

Scott knew that if he went, he would only make things worse. “Please, just… what did I actually do?”

By the end of the recap, Scott had sunk back to the ground.

There wasn’t really a way to fix this, was there?

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

Text

Survey #335

“on my forehead, a birthmark / remove it with the kiss of a knife / even if it causes me to die”

Do you recover well from surgery? Judging by the two surgeries I've had, oh yeah. I was hyper as hell when I came home from getting tubes put in my ears as a little kid, even though the doctor said I'd be very sleepy. Then, after my cyst removal, I was put on very strong painkillers but was still warned it was going to be a painful recovery, when it totally wasn't. I literally only took painkillers the first day. What addictions have you had? Caffeine, technology. Would you change your name if you became famous? Nah. If Cupid were real, would you hire him to make someone love you? No. I don't want somebody forced to love me. Ever been to an auction? No. Which word(s) do you generally use to describe someone attractive? (e.g. “fit”, “sexy”) It kinda varies with gender. Women I tend to call "beautiful" or "gorgeous," sometimes "hot" or "cute," while men I usually refer to as "handsome" or "hot"/"sexy." The last person you kissed - are they older or younger than you? She's a bit younger. When was the last time someone wanted you to do something, and you refused? Hm. I dunno. I have a hard time saying "no," so. When was the last time you had Pop Tarts? What flavour were they? Many months ago; I kinda stopped eating them because they're truly not filling and just a load of sugar that veils itself as an actual breakfast choice. But anyway, I liked the chocolate sundae ones. Have you ever felt a temperature below 0? No. Did you ever play Spyro? I LOVE!!!!!!!!!!!! SPYRO!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Those games were my CHILDHOOD, and it's half the reason I'm dying for a PS4 to play the remastered trilogy. Speaking of which, it'd be awesome if they remade the The Legend of Spyro trilogy as well. I might just like those games more than the originals, but that's a bold statement I'm unsure about. Have you ever dated someone who was of a foreign origin? I dated a Hispanic guy for less than a day. Have you ever read any of your idols’ books/autobiographies? Ozzy Osbourne's, yes. I'm just fucking waiting for Mark to write one, but he's always said he has so little interest in writing about his life. DO IT, YOU FUCK. Do you own any succulents? No. I think they're pretty, though. Do you have a drone? No. What’s your favorite Netflix series? *shrug* What is something a lot of people like but you don’t? Summertime. The heat, the humidity (at least here), the sunburn from just standing outside for ten minutes... I hate all of it. The ONLY two things I enjoy about summer is swimming and then flowers, though spring is the more floral season here anyway. Do you have revenge fantasies that you never actually play out? They've... happened. Did your first real significant other change you at all? Pretty sure forever. Are you waiting to have sex until you’re married? Once upon a time, that was the plan. Now, nah. I'd just want to be in a healthy, stable, and long-term relationship. What do you think about divorce? It's sad, but necessary for some people in order to be happy, which everyone has the right to be. I used to be very firmly against divorce except in extreme cases like abuse, etc., and I'm still definitely no fan of it and think couples should do their best to work things out, but it's incredibly unfair to believe that someone should be stuck for the rest of their life with a person they just don't love anymore. Getting married can be a mistake; don't damn people forever to be chained to their bad decisions. Do you remember the first time your heart broke? What was the reason? It was probably when Dad just abandoned us. What's the worst prank someone has ever done to you? I don't think anyone's ever pulled a sick joke on me. Have you ever seen someone sleepwalk? Yes; my little sister deadass tried to walk outside late at night. Thank God I was on the computer in the living room and stopped her. What song are you listening to right now? I just turned "Mutter" by Rammstein on. When is the last time you cursed? I'm not re-reading, but I have probably cursed fifty times in this survey already. It's so deeply ingrained into my vocabulary. Are there any words on your shirt? No; it's just a plain gray tank top. Why do you forward forwards? I never do because they annoy the fuck out of me. How many people are you interested in at the moment? Just one in a healthy and logical way. I can't be truly interested in Jason because like come on I haven't spoken to him in four whole years. My PTSD just ensures I never forget the memory of who he was, who probably no longer even exists. I mean, look how much I'VE changed in four years. Do you know any mechanical stuff about cars? Nnnnope. Who was the last person (apart from family) that you spent time with? What did you get up to? Apart from family, I have no idea. If you have pets, when was the last time one of them got on your nerves? Venus never does, but Roman can get on my nerves sometimes when I don't let him lay on me when I'm on the laptop in bed. He's a large cat (not overweight, just a big male cat) and blocks the screen big time unless he lies down properly, which he doesn't always do. He still tends to win when he tries to come over, but sometimes I'll block him with my arm, and this spoiled brat will actually slap it a few times before walking away lmao. Would you rather live in a house with a swimming pool or an indoor cinema? Absolutely a pool. I want one badly. Do you own a credit card? If so, do you currently owe any money on it? Could you afford to pay it off tomorrow if necessary? No. How many hours of sleep do you typically get each night? Is that enough to function or would you rather have more? Especially lately, I don't get nearly enough. Like at the time I'm answering this question, it's 4 AM, and I've been up for almost a couple hours. I struggle with falling asleep, I will ALWAYS wake up at least once in the night, and I jerk awake from nightmares regularly still. It's a big reason why I pretty much require naps. Does your house have a loft/basement? Are they functional or do you just use them for storage? We only have an attic. Do you suffer from road rage? What kind of thing tends to set you off or wind you up while driving? No. I'm way too timid of a driver to get that outwardly pissy about stupid people. I'd just judge them in silence, haha. What kind of animal did you last see in the wild? Is that a common sight where you live? Because of just how common they are, I'm going to assume this excludes birds, in which case it was probably a squirrel? Yeah, the normal brown ones are common. Do you post a lot on social media? If so, what kind of thing do you tend to post on there? Since I was fucking stupid enough to post a suicide note on Facebook (I don't want to hear a goddamn thing about "attention seeking," I genuinely wanted to say goodbye), I almost never, ever, share things about my personal life. Even before, it was rare for me to actually share what's going on with me. All I really do now is share relatable, wholesome, or funny shit I find, as well as political things I'm in firm agreement with. What are some habits you have in common with your parents? I pace like my dad, and it drives people crazy because it apparently makes them anxious? I can't think of an obvious one I have with Mom, but I'm sure one exists. Where's your favourite place to swim - the ocean, a pool, river, lake etc? I feel safest and most clean in a pool, but c'mon, swimming in the ocean is so much fun. When you're saving your place in a book, do you use a bookmark or fold your pages down? Or something else? It depends on the book, it seems. Especially if someone else owns it, like in school or something. Is any part of your body hurting at the moment? Is there a specific incident that caused the pain? My legs always hurt. I've shared enough as to why; it wasn't an actual, singular "incident." What was the last thing to make you laugh out loud? OH MY FUCKING GOD. So in group therapy the other day, one of the girls had her bearded dragon out, and he was being aggressive. I think he tried to bite her aND SHE SAID WITHOUT REALIZING HER MIC WAS ON, "fucking dickhead," and everyone d i e d. She's a really cool chick, I'll miss her when I'm finished with PHP. Who was the last person you heard sing? Myself, surprisingly enough. I barely ever sing. Do you bite your lips a lot? Yes, especially when they're dry. .-. What part of your body would you never get pierced? Anyone who gets a piercing "down there" has a greater pain tolerance than this bitch right here. Have you ever dated someone with tattoos? Juan had quite a few. I don't remember if Tyler did... but I think maybe a The Legend of Zelda-related one? Have you ever failed gym in school? No. Are you scared of dogs? No; I love dogs. What is the saddest movie you’ve ever seen? Man, idk, I'm a little bitch when it comes to emotional movies. The Boy in the Striped Pajamas is high up there, as is of course Johnny Got His Gun. Old Yeller, too. Which one of your friends is most likely to be famous one day? Why? Sara's gonna write a fuckin book series ok you can't convince me otherwise. What is the worst present you have ever gotten? Damn dude, what an ungrateful question. I'm just appreciative someone even thought TO give me something. Do you shave your arms? My armpits, yes, but not my arms themselves. How many people have you dated? I only count three as even remotely serious: Jason, Sara, and Girt. Have you ever performed in a play? I remember back in Sunday school as a tiny kid I played Mother Mary in one we did in class. Do you chew gum? I have been more lately since my doc upped the dosage of one of my mood stabilizers (which I think is actually helping); I mention that because apparently a side effect is dry mouth, and it's the fucking Sahara in there. He advises those who deal with it to always carry around hard candy or something like that for the sake of forcing salivation, so gum works for me. How old were you when you first started dating? I was in the 7th grade when I had my first "boyfriend," but it was total puppydog love. I started dating my first "real" bf when I was just shy of 16. Are/were your parents strict? Dad, no. Mom, only to a degree that I feel was pretty reasonable. She only ever wanted to prepare us to be functional, independent adults. Didn't work so well on me though, ha... Do you wear glasses? Yes. God, I need new ones. I'm blind as hell. What do you miss most about your childhood? Being so outgoing and happy to just be weird lil me. Do you write “To-Do” lists? Not really, no, but I do have notes on my phone about a couple things, like a bulleted list of planned monetary investments by importance, as well as a list of drawing ideas. Do you have a favorite quote? What is it? I don't, really. There's loads I like, but no one favorite. Could you survive as a vegetarian? I pretty desperately want to, but I don't know if it's realistic. I am so, SO picky, and without meat, it's very questionable as to where I'd get an adequate source of protein. I still want to try again though once I'm at my goal weight. Has anyone ever asked you for your autograph? Lol no. Has someone of the opposite sex ever told you that you were sexy? Yeah, but that was a looong time ago when I was actually some semblance of pretty. Do you prefer to take your showers at night or in the morning? I used to be someone who firmly stood by nighttime showers, but now I'm all about them in the morning. It's a nice way to wake up and start the day with productivity. Could you handle living with a male roommate? I mean, I lived with my then-boyfriend once, but I'm going to assume you'd consider him more than a "roommate." We lived with our two other friends, though, also a couple, and I was totally fine with living with them. Has anyone taken their shirt off in front of you? Yes. Do you like Freddy Krueger? His concept is very scary, but all the movies I've seen bits of have always been super cheesy. Which do you prefer, Naruto or One Piece? I haven't seen either and really aren't interested. What do you think of Rob Zombie? I've never really watched his movies, but I'm a fan of his music. What’s you fetish? I don't have one. Have you ever been in the “friend zone?" Well, what I'd call a "fake" one with Jason after the breakup until I was blocked on Facebook. I know now he absolutely did not want to be friends; he was trying to appease me. Is the area you live in more liberal or conservative? Definitely conservative. Do you know anyone who had to have tubes put in their ears as a baby? Yeah, me. Were either of your parents baptized? I'm certain Mom was, but idk about Dad. I think so. The last concert that you were at, was there a mosh pit? No. What was the last computer game that you played? World of Warcraft. Does your bathroom have a theme to it? No. Are any rooms in your house themed? No. What was the last thing that you recorded? I think Mom and I singing "happy birthday" to my late dog Teddy; we knew it would be his last. Do you like the show Futurama? Not really. Have you ever been in a choir class? I was in the elementary school chorus, as well as the choir at my childhood church. Are you ashamed of any of your family members? No, only myself. Were you a chubby child? No. Did you ever have senior photos done? No, even though I wanted them. Who is the person you dislike the most? God, this is so petty... but it's the girl Jason dated after me. I know it's childish as hell to feel like she "took" him from me, and I just feel this horrible hatred towards her that is entirely uncalled for. I just can't get myself to move past it. Do you take part in paying the bills for your household? No, as I'm unemployed and also don't have disability, so I literally can't. How do you usually celebrate New Years? I really don't do much. Sometimes Mom will grab a pack of daiquiris, but that's pretty much the extent of it. Does the place you work have music playing? What sort? N/A What was the last job interview you went to? At a local grocery store to work in the deli. Got the job, lasted there for not even two hours. :^) Do you know anyone with autism, mood disorders or learning disabilities? Autism and mood disorders, yes. I myself may have high-functioning Asperger's (yes, I know that term doesn't technically exist anymore, it's just the umbrella term of "autism," but w/e). Have you ever had an immediate relative pass away of cancer? My grandmother died of pancreatic cancer, and it's pretty much guaranteed that, unless there's some sudden accident, my mom will die of cancer, too. Hers got too bad to entirely eliminate every trace of cancer cells, so it will inevitably re-emerge at some point, just obviously some place else given that she had a total hysterectomy. Would you rather work in an office, warehouse or on a retail shop floor? Office. Are you a fan of sweet, sour, salty, or savory snacks? I enjoy all of those, but sour I think tops the list.

#survey #surveys #questions #lyrics: ''mutter'' by rammstein

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zikadraws · 4 years

Text

Okay, so here we go... Here are some more concept information about the 'violin girl'.

I'm not absolutely settled on her name currently, but for now, she'd be named

🎻{Abigail}📼

(Lately adopted pattern) (*click on pictures for better quality*)

So {Abigail} (I'm looking for an eerier name) is a little girl who was a pensioner in an all-girl orphanage which had the particularity of being specialised for ''Children with difficulties''. Understand by that that each time regular orphanages bumped into a little girl with 'comportmental' troubles (ADHD, Down syndrome, bipolarity, severe anxiety etc...) They just dumped her here. It was at a time where people didn't make the difference. Yeah, so basically an all-little girls asylum, that's it. Nonetheless, she happens to be peaceful, and will be an ally and guide for Luigi through this establishment, in spite of her rather... Strange motivations and behaviour.

🏚️🎻Character information 📼🧷:

She's in the institution because she is autistic. Although she's the only one with autism out of all the pensioners, so it causes many misunderstandings. They don't even know what autism is.

Her autism manifests with stiming (before dying she jumped in place, now she excitedly flaps her sleeves, so she musts always wear some long sleeves), a mechanical, literary and really clear way of talking, staring endlessly into your bare soul and by that I don't mean your eyes, being as overattentive to her environment changes as a fieldmouse (but with the same focus capabilities unfortunately), being bluntly frank and taking everything to first degree (she has high difficulties with second degree), difficulties with touching and one. Specific. Interest.

Now, she's relatively autonomous (except forgetting to sleep often, and also to feed). Although she is really hard to interest or get to focus on any other fields than anything related to her one absolute specific interest, which by its nature is definitely not to improve her relation with her comrades.

The problem is that her specific interest happens to be FEAR. By that I mean, the sensation of fear, the ambience of fear, the sight of fear and such. Now, there's nothing malicious in that, she does not think bad in the slightest, she just genuinely associates fear with a pleasant sensation. So she tries to recreate this sensation as best as she can.

So of course, she really enjoys creepy medias ; but out of them all, the best she found to create fear happens to be music, and sound.

She so specialised herself to compose chilling songs, and loves to distort and manipulate others to make them eerier. For this, she has her personal violin, and an organ (sorry about that last mistake) in the institution's chapel. (And another more recent crafted instrument.)

She equally possesses a recorder with old tapes, and with that, she hunts down and record every sound she considers chilling and scary (from doors creaking to actual screams of persons) to later arrange them like a mixtape (she got expert in cutting and rearranging tapes), and then play these to herself along with her eerie music, freaking out to the bone anyone who can hear such a symphony. But for her, it's the best of things.

The whole building resonates with her creations, and is scattered with tricks straight coming from classic ghost stories. She stalks any trespasser coming into them and her sound ambience, in the goal of catching their screams on tape, and later use/compile these. That is kind of the main reason why she offered to guide Luigi, actually. She can be seen recording every one of his jumpscares.

She'd most likely kick ass with actual better sound monitoring/mixing/recording material.

🏚️More general information :🗝️

Since she wasn't really appreciated at the time the institution was still running, she was given a leftover nightgown three times too big for her, which is why she uses a steel pin🧷 to keep it on her shoulders.

The institution no longer have adults. Only the little girls ghosts.

She is an outcast to the institution's others residents, which the main one is the pensioners's leader, a girl with the same particularities as Hellen Gravely who HATES her and accuses her of being the reason they're all dead and alone. Even though she's keeping trespassers away with her scare tricks and music.

When she was alive, plus of her birthmarks all over her body she also had eyes of each a different colour. Some adults believed hard as steel she was a witch.

She has the natural talent of unsettling/putting everyone at unease by simply EXISTING

She has an extremely intense default poker face and practically never changes of expression. Like literally she could be feeling anything and you wouldn't have a clue- (all hail comic expressions language)

With adequate material, she can bring the expression ''catching someone on tape'' to... Another level. But she has yet to figure this out.

She also collects keys for some reason. Plenty of them. She's not only interested in fear, y'know.

That's all I got for her right now.

---

Alright, thank you for your attention. I hope you like her, even if she is definitely not as clear as Pépé Boutefeu. Wish you reserve her a good welcome !...

Okay, that'd be it for tonight. If you have questions about, or for her, don't hesitate^^

Oh, and before we leave ! {Abigail} wants to let you know something :

...Thaaat's it, thank you and goodnight !😅

---

#lm3 #ghostsona #luigi mansion 3 #{Abigail}📼#long post #autism

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1zashreena1 · 4 years

Text

Emotional Spanking -8

18+, m/f, technically OCxDiego Jimenez [Power]

Summary: Princess has an emotional epiphany, a panic attack, a visitor, and a pleasant disciplinary action. In that order.

WARNINGS: Ridiculous descriptions and ‘the code is more like guidelines’ outlook on grammar. Is it OOC if the character was given essentially zero development in canon???

SMUT. SPANKING. FEELS. the L word, previously completed kink negotiations, plus size woman+fit man, soft!Diego, immediately followed by hard!Diego, overwhelmed Princess, He Licks Everything, is a relationship happening??, literally no one knows, not even them

A/N: Princess took on a life of her own and has essentially become an OC. There are infrequent mentions of her description (specifically as plus size) and her actual name in later pieces (its Bicki). She started as self-insert so she looks like me (plus size, white, short, blue eyes, curly hair). If that is not your thing, I totally understand. And do not feel obligated to read this, I will not be offended!

I’m not a fan of “plot” so be aware that most of this series is just meandering through their relationship, angst-fluff-smut whiplash style. But with dick jokes.

This piece is my baby. My heart is in this one. You have been warned.

TAGLIST: @chelsfic @symbiont13 @nicke0115 @bunnykjm @rosee-sensuelle @girlpornparadise @mandoplease @heresathreebee @xxsteph-enrixx @jetiikad @joalsglasses @mutantcookiesecrets @demoncatstone @squidlywiddly87 @lockedoutofmyotherblog @poeedamerons

Whoever is banging on your door at 6:45 on a Monday morning is relentless. You know it's not your downstairs neighbors; the second floor apartment is still empty because your landlord is actually very sweet and doesn't just screen future tenants for ability to pay the rent, he tries to make sure they'll fit in with the current tenants too. And the little family on the first floor has that loud-ass two year old. There's no blabbery baby talk and the sound of the impact is damn near at the top of the door. So it's definitely Stranger Danger.

You're just going to wait it out. They have to give up at some point. And you've just spent three days ignoring literally everything in the universe, so really, the odds are in your favor here.

Except… you live in a tiny little town. The population on the sign says 570, but they were being generous in counting all the farms within a 10 mile radius. No one comes to your door accidentally. People don't wander up three flights of exterior stairs on an old farmhouse in the middle of Pennsylvania Dutch Country while it's barely above freezing and still dark out. So there are two options:

Serial Killer.

Or, ugh, someone who knows you.

They're not stopping and it's starting to piss you off.

"This better be a fucking murderer!" You mutter as you stomp to the door. Impressive really, considering your pajama pants are over a foot too long and the apartment is carpeted. You reach the door and turn the deadbolt (banging still going on), unlock the doorknob (really, this is just excessive), and yank the door open with a war cry.

"WHAT THE FUCK!"

Its Diego.

Its Diego looking... odd? You take a split second to catalogue his appearance, it's like a reflex at this point because you can't not ogle him every time his existence is within your range of sight. He's not wearing a belt?? His shirt is half untucked and his jacket extremely wrinkled. One side of his hair is completely flat, as if he slept on it, and his squinted eyes are very, very red. Like he just came off a three day bender. Or he's been crying, your traitorous brain oh so helpfully supplies.

Diego, frozen mid-bang, also takes this time to look you up and down. His eyebrows raise and his brow furrows, clearly not impressed. You're wearing the same pair of pajamas as the last three days. Mismatched socks (one is orange, the other neon green), the overly long drawstring punjammy pants with one cuff rolled up from your stomping, a shelf bra camisole that lost its ability to function as a bra sometime in the last decade, no make up, and your somehow greasy yet simultaneously frizzy floop of curls.

Softly, but with great feeling, he rasps, "What the fuck, Princess?"

Oh no, this is Not Good. This is so, very, incredibly, horrendously bad. Your right arm tenses in preparation to slam the door in his face. His left hand shoots out to land on the door, his arm taut to hold it motionless. He's keeping the door pinned to the wall so he can continue taking up all of the open space of the doorway with his massive body. You snarl silently at him but let go of the door because you know this is the one man who actually can physically overpower you. And you don't need a shattered door to match your shattered pride.

You aim for unbothered dismissive bitch when you ask, "What are you doing here?"

You fail spectacularly when it comes out in a tremulous whisper.

Instead of waiting for an answer you spin around and go left into the living/dining/kitchen largest-space-in-the-apartment all-purpose room. You collapse on your tiny sectional and tuck your feet up under you to sit cross legged. You can hear Diego slam the door and follow after you. As he comes around the chaise of the sectional you reach behind yourself and grab the crocheted blanket your mom made off the back of the couch and desperately try to hide in it. All you want is to become invisible. Diego, of course, is not going to allow that. Asshole.

"What am I doing here? You have not answered anyone for three days! Not your normal phone, not the phone I gave you, not even a Facebook message from your mother! Your sister told Lisa that no one can reach you. Lisa called Julio! What have you been doing?? Clearly you have... gone nowhere…?" His speech started off barking but had shrunk to down to a horrified whisper as he took in the state of your apartment. Everything is everywhere. There are dirty dishes on the breakfast bar. Hair bands scattered across every horizontal surface. A lone lip balm is abandoned on the floor among a sea of used tissues.

--------

This is so not the woman he knows. There's no sarcastic snark of an answer. That woman would never leave something as important as a lip balm on the floor. Shit, she uses packing cubes for fuck's sake. As he kneels down to retrieve the tube of mint goop he hears it. The one sound that always makes him freeze up and opens a sinkhole in his belly: She's crying.

This unflappable woman who makes eye contact with all of his men, who never hesitates to lecture him on 'feminist theory', who gleefully stuffs an entire slice of pizza into her face while sitting in the VIP booth at the club with skinny models looking on in horror, and once called his bluff about putting on a show in the back of a limo by winking and telling Julio to watch them as she pushed him to his knees in front of her while simultaneously yanking up her miniskirt… is crying.

And it's probably my fault. He's almost certain this is his fault. Who else could make her emotional like this? Is someone else important enough to be worth her tears? It had better be my fault. If it's someone else I will kill them.

He looks up to see she has wrapped herself entirely in that weird fuzzy blanket her mother somehow made. The whole blanket creation process had been a mystery to him despite listening to her mother explain it step by step. She even has it over her head like a hood. Which would be adorably hilarious if she weren't ugly crying. Ew, please stop.

It only takes two shuffling steps on his knees to reach her, the living room is so small. He wraps his hands entirely around her forearms and pulls her own hands from her face. How is she beautiful with snot running from her nose? Only for her to flinch backwards. Okay, ouch.

"Look at me." He demands. She just scrunches her face harder. He tries a softer tone, "Please?" That does it. Those bottomless eyes come up and they are so, so lagoon green rather than the normal deepest blue of the open sea. How does she do that?

"Tell me. Talk to me, Princess. Let me in."

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

How does he do that? This large, intimidating, powerful, volatile man should not be able to make you feel safe of all things. Blurting out your feelings to Lisa had been terrifying. Realizing what had just come out of your mouth had brought on a sense of fear so acute it was nauseating. But here you are, staring into that pleading chocolate gaze and wanting nothing more than to answer him.

You can vividly remember the conversation that triggered this entire mess:

You came home from another insane weekend in New York and desperately needed to ruin your best friend's day with extremely detailed descriptions of your depravity. Lisa being Lisa, acted exaggeratedly horrified to hear that you demanded he fuck Franchesca in the bathroom so you could go down on her after to lick out his come while he then fingered you. Okay, maybe she wasn't exaggerating… much. But she knows you. She was not surprised that you wanted to watch him rail Franchesca over a bathroom sink but he insisted on trying to choke you with his tongue while he did it. And she is not shocked that you licked Franchesca off in under two minutes-- or came for him just after. Lisa is still laughing about the finality of Diego's abrupt dismissal of Franchesca the second you come all over his hand when she tells you, "That asshole is a full on freak, girl. Perfect for you!"

And the moment of your damnation, a soft sigh of an admission, "Yeah. I love him."

And you had removed yourself from all human contact for 3 days immediately following that. No social media, no phones, no internet. Nothing.

...so here you are.

His gigantic hands are wrapped around your forearms, fingers so long they overlap his thumbs. You're not afraid of those hands or their assumed capacity for violence. You should be; you know that, you're not stupid. Or maybe you are. After all, you trust this man who runs the most powerful fucking drug cartel in the western hemisphere and you've never even gotten a speeding ticket. While you've been lost in your musings, he released your forearms only to cup your face in those ridiculous hands. Those hands you love, you fucking dumbass.

No other man has ever touched you like this. Never touched your face with reverence, handled your body with an almost jealous possession, or ripped your heart open ever so gently with an earnest expression. He listens, enthralled, when you go off on a rant. He watches where you look while you're out and about. Like a hawk, he notices every shiny little thing you linger on, only for you to find it hidden in your luggage on the way home, wrapped neatly in a tiny box. You once told him that you don't like your elbows touched, it produces some weird overload sensation in your nervous system. And he never took your elbow in hand again, shifted to a hand on your lower back (or your ass, of course. Always a classic). He never seems to care what size is on the tag of the clothes he gets you, only that you like them and you like the way you look in them. He throws his head back with booming laughter when you scream obscenities at traffic. He always thanks you when you make food. Even if he does have to peel the cheese off… he just gives it back to you.

You may have gotten used to the private jet, the SUVs that cost more than your parent's house, the way every restaurant where he takes you has no prices, hell sometimes there isn't even a menu. You've even grown accustomed to the jarring dichotomy of coming home to an apartment the size of his penthouse bedroom while still dripping in precious stones and stuffing your new Louboutins in your purse for the three story climb.

But you're almost certain you will never be over the way your cardiovascular system seizes up when he captures you with a single look, or the functional failure of your lungs when his eyes crinkle with laugh lines, the complete implosion of your stomach when those damn dimples appear, or how your entire reproductive tract clenches with need when he licks his lips, and when your brain stutters to a halt because he lays those hands on your shoulders and swipes his thumbs up your jawline to stroke the pulse point under your ears while leaning his forehead on yours.

You realize you've just been staring at him like a moron for what must be for-fucking-ever. You can tell it's been a while because his eyebrows have lowered and he's starting to look a little defeated. You can feel the weight of his hands easing from your cheeks as he begins to pull back from you. Oh no you don't, you gorgeous fucking asshole.

You slap your hands down on his shoulders with entirely too much force and fling yourself off the couch directly into his lap with a level of violence usually reserved for people who won't put their phones away in a movie theater. He grunts with the sudden addition of your weight and teeters backwards for a second before smashing you into his body via the vise of his arms. You bury your face in his neck, where his stubbly beard catches on your stupid frizz, card your fingers through his amazingly soft hair, and start a whole new round of bawling.

He's kissing the side of your neck, nuzzling into you like he wants to be inside your skin with you. His fingers are spread wide across your back, he's trying to touch as much of you as possible all at once. You can hear a soft, keening whine but you have no idea which one of you is making it. Does it even matter?

The noise stops when you feel his teeth gently sink into the join of your neck and right shoulder. Oh. Guess it was him. His right hand dips low to palm your ass cheek and flatten you further against him. You automatically squeeze your legs around his hips in response.

You realize he's not hard. The shock of this revelation further delays you in understanding that someone is talking. And that someone is you.

"Please please, I'm sorry, please." Hiccup. "Its never- I've never been. I'm scared. It's too much and I'm scared." Another sob. "You keep leaving and it's just. What i-i-i-if you don't come back?" A stuttering inhaled gasp. "Who am I w-w-w-without you? What do I do?" A coughing sob. "You m-m-m-make me weak like this and I fucking h-h-hate it!" And you dissolve into another round of wailing sobs. You know you're practically screaming but you can't seem to stop. Your left hand is clawed into his hair and your right is fisted in the collar of his jacket, ruining the Armani. You're fairly certain the mess of snot and drool leaking out of your face isn't doing any favors for his shirt either.

He's just… letting you. Just letting you ruin his stupid expensive clothes and have a meltdown all over him. Like this is okay. Like it's no big deal. His left hand is rubbing circles over your ribcage while you howl. He releases your neck to raise his chin and tuck you up underneath it. Rubbing his goatee over your hair, then kissing the top of your head so incredibly gently. That can't smell good, you think hysterically.

Your sobs are finally starting to ease but he hasn't made a move to let go yet. You start to wonder how long he's going to kneel here holding you. Can it be forever?

It finally registers that his breathing is rough, labored. His shoulders are shaking under you. Now you're legitimately frightened.

"Diego?" You finally work up the nerve to speak. You hate the way your voice sounds like a small child. "...baby?" He is slowly stiffening under you and not in the fun way. You start to pull your face back from his neck only for his left hand to shoot up into your hair and hold you in place. It's not painful but it's definitely not soft either. Your breathing is starting to speed up. You instinctively know something important is about to happen. And it terrifies you.

He is holding you so tight its bordering on painful when he finally speaks into your hair.

"Why. Tell me why you fear that I never return. You are not weak. And this is not hate." He uses the hand in your hair to pull your head back. You fight it at first, it's just your nature. Then you squeeze your eyes shut and let him move you like a ragdoll. With no vision you don't know what he's doing until you feel the press of his forehead against your own. He bumps his nose against yours then rubs his bristled cheek against your soft one. You realize he's rubbing you like a cat and it makes you smile ruefully. My Murder Panther.

With his lips pressed right to your ear, he rumbles ever so softly, "Tell Diego, Princess."

Your whole body seizes up with the sensation. Oh, you fucking bastard. You would say it aloud except the undercurrent of fear in his voice gives you pause. He's afraid. He's afraid of you. Of the possibility of your rejection. Just like in the kitchen when he blurted out that he wanted to keep you. The way he froze, paralyzed in fear, after he whispered that he loved you. It's the same soft, lost little boy voice, the slight tremble in tone, the uncertainty.

And this time...this time, you can't take it. Tears slowly slip down your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes shut even tighter. You remember the night you met. His breathtaking smile when you turned the tables on him. Those damn dimples. When you felt the gun in the back of his pants. The moment you decided to do what you wanted and not what you should. Fuck it.

You press your own lips to his ear, his grip in your hair pliant enough to allow it. He's shaking under you. The fingers of his right hand are digging into your hip like claws, you find the pain grounding. Knowing that you're in control of this entire moment is both thrilling and terrifying. You could break him, right here and now. Fuck it.

And he would let you. This rich, powerful, enigmatic man who has already confessed his love to you. Fuck it.

"Diego.." You breathe into his cheek. He shudders under you and sighs out in a broken whimper.

Fuck it.

"Diego… I love you."

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

There's a long moment that nothing happens. Everything is frozen in place. He doesn't even breathe for fear that he'll wake up from this, just like the dream from a few weeks ago. When he does remember to inhale it's a raspy choke of a gasp. It hurts, he realizes. Is it supposed to hurt?

His eyes are burning. Taking an immediate red eye flight from LA and then driving three hours to her place was probably not his best plan, but he had been terrified. He had needed to have her exactly where she is right now.

He loosens the grip in her hair and turns his face into hers to rub his wet lashes on her cheek. Her hands are coming forward to frame his jaw, hands so tiny and soft. He has refrained from saying it himself for fear of scaring her off. He knows its selfish and he doesn't care, he wants to hear it again. Over and over. Until it stops hurting.

"Diego?" Her voice is so soft, harsh from crying yet still so high. He opens his eyes to see that she still has hers closed. He slides his goatee over her skin until his lips hover over hers.

"Again." He murmurs, "Please, my princess. Tell me you will let me keep you."

‐-------------------------

This couldn't hurt more if he'd reached into your chest and snatched your heart with his bare hands. He sounds so small and hopeful, so vulnerable. Am I his first? The first person to love him?

You can't stand this man begging for your affection. You find yourself wanting to give him everything. Your secret is already out; in for a penny in for a pound, right?

You take a deep breath and dive in head first because you're a fucking Scorpio, damnit.

"Diego, baby." You stroke his cheeks, petting down his stubble with the direction of the growth. Just like you would pet any other cat, you find yourself grinning. You open your eyes to see him so close its dizzying. His are shut but his expression is pure yearning, eyebrows drawn down and brow furrowed, jaw tensely solid, wet lashes stuck together in spiky pieces. "I love you."

He chokes and his eyes snap open to meet yours. Now it's your turn to muck up the basic process of breathing. There's so much everything in his eyes you feel like you're drowning. Every fucking romance novel cliche was right.

"Again." He demands. In typical Diego fashion, he wants it and he wants it now. You can't help your smile growing wide. There's my Murder Panther.

"I love you." You maintain eye contact while leaning your forehead against his. "I love you." Its like you can't stop yourself. You brush your lips over his goatee, he chases you back to ghost a kiss on your lips. "I love you." Its just pouring out of you now.

"I-" Kiss.

"Love-" Kiss.

"You." Kiss.

You expect him to keep kissing you. To slide that perfectly wicked tongue between your lips and drive you even further insane. But he doesn't. He pulls back to pant in your face, then closes his eyes and whimpers. You watch the play of emotions across his features, so quick you can't identify a single one. He finally gathers himself into some cohesive comprehensible thought and speaks:

"I dont. I have never. You have to, to do the...uhh… help?"

Or not.

You can hear so much in that soft rumble. Fear, relief, uncertainty, pleasure, hunger, but most of all, trust. He's trusting you. Trusting that you know what to do. Trusting that you can lead him on this new path. Trusting that you'll take care of him. This man who leads the largest criminal outfit on the continent and is intimidated by nothing, entrusts his being to you. It's like being stabbed in the heart, a searing pain that brings tears to your eyes and a painfully wide smile to your lips.

You slide the thumb of your right hand forward to swipe over his cheekbone. Your left hand goes back to stroke his hair. He nuzzles into your right hand, beard both soft and scratchy. Just like him, all contradictions. You can see his lashes flutter and you open your mouth to speak but…

Wait a minute.

Seriously???

"Diego… Are you staring at my tits?"

He's not even remotely repentant. "They are just. Right There! And no bra!"

You throw your head back and laugh. You laugh so loud it hurts your throat and brings tears to your eyes. You laugh until you're gasping for air. When you finally open your eyes and look at him your heart tries to crawl up and out of you just to get to him.

He's staring up at you, eyes wide with adoration and jaw hanging open in wonder. You bend forward to rest your forehead on his again. "You soft little Murder Panther." You don't even bother trying to hide your ridiculously pleased smirk.

His right hand slides up your hip to your lower back while the left lowers slowly from your hair to the back of your neck. His lips curl up at the corners. His gaze is still soft as he murmurs, "Only for you, my princess."

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

She's so soft in his arms. Relaxed and loose, trusting that he'll take her weight without buckling and keep her safe from falling. It makes his chest ache and his eyes burn. He raises his chin, bringing his lips to her, only she dives down for him at the same moment, colliding together just this side of too much, too fast. Always so eager, the thought makes him groan deeply. She shivers in response and whines, so high pitched it makes his ears ring.

She's curling her fingers in his hair, using the leverage to tilt his head to the angle she wants while he kisses her. He's rubbing his lips over hers, making sure to apply enough pressure that her fair skin will show the beard burn later. When he feels her left arm begin to tense he goes to draw back to look at her… only for her to yank on his hair. He yelps, and she seizes the opportunity to delve her tongue into his mouth. Holy fuck, she is perfect.

And then she's abruptly pulling back. No no no no no no!

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

Like a slap upside the head, you suddenly remember that you haven't showered...for three days. Fuuuuuuuck.

"Wait, wait Diego, hold on-" In the time it takes you to whine those five words he's already moved on to your neck. His left hand is threaded back into your hair and holds tight close to your scalp to gently but steadily pull. Just how you like it.

"Uhhhhhhhhh wuhhh…" Oh yes, so eloquent. He's rubbing that fucking goatee everywhere and you're about fourteen seconds away from passing out. You put your hands on his shoulders and start to push him backwards. He growls in displeasure and you whimper. Okay, maybe a little more, your traitorous brain isn't even helping here. You try again, "Baby, baby. I haven't. Oh god, yes. Uhh huh. Wait, just, can you pause? Mmmmmm… Oh my god, Diego stop!" Apparently barking works.

He growls again but manages to disengage from tormenting your neck with one last long lick. Do not think about that tongue!

"Fucking what?" He mutters, breathing hard. "I cannot have you? Now?" How very Diego. He's blinking at you in agitated confusion, pupils blown wide and flushed lips parted. His hand in your hair is shaking, the other has sunk back down to grip your ass very, very securely.

You can feel your face flushing with embarrassment. Your gaze darts off to the left, this is mortifying. "I haven't showered in three days. I smell." When you finally manage to make eye contact again he's grinning. Oh no.

"Oh si, Princess. I can smell you." His tone is arrogant, but the thickening of his accent betrays just how aroused he really is. His left hand slides down to your butt, too. That grin is all teeth, Pure apex predator.

"Yeah, that's what I me-yeeeeen!" He doesn't let you finish. Instead he slides both hands under you, where ass meets thigh, and picks you up to deposit you back onto the couch. You always squeal in delight when he picks you up, That is never gonna get old. The moment your weight is on the cushion he brings his hands forward and then around your inner thighs to spread your legs wide. Before you can even register what is happening he dives down into your lap, burying his face in your crotch and inhaling deeply.

While your brain has stalled in shock (because Are you fucking serious?) your hips have decided this is a great idea and lurched forward to practically hump his face. His exhale is the longest, loudest, sexiest groan you have ever heard. Your hands fly to his hair, but instead of pushing away they are definitely holding him in place. He's rubbing his face against you, turning his head from side to side, moaning endlessly like he can't get enough.

Your brain finally catches up and you abruptly cut off the whine that's been pouring out of you. You just have to open your mouth, "Are you fucking serious right now? You like that?!?"

With one last hard rub of his face against you, (FUCK YES, rub that bearded chin on my clit) he pulls back to look up at you. And if you thought he looked aroused before, he is positively wrecked now. His eyes are slitted in pleasure, brows drawn together with need, jaw slack, mouth open and panting. He doesn't keep you waiting for an answer. "Well, not your normal sexy bakery scent. You smell like you but just, more. Damn delicious." He growls.

Okay, two things:

You file 'sexy bakery' away for later discussion because wtf, lol.

And. And he really means that. He's dead serious. He has a death grip on your inner thighs, his hands are like steel. As if he's afraid you'll try to push him away, to stop him. Fat fucking chance, babe.

You cup his face with both hands and smile softly down at him. In wondrous amazement you whisper, "Holy fuck, I love you." The transformation of his expression from blissfully needy to Horny Murder Panther is damn near instantaneous.

"Good. Now gimme this pussy!" He orders.

You laugh, but your hands fly to the drawstring of your pants in obedience. He erupts into a flurry of actions, pulling his jacket off to dump it on the floor behind him. He only gets as far as unbuttoning the cuffs on his sleeves before giving up and just ripping the shirt up and over his head to join his jacket. The sight of solidly muscled chest rippling like that short circuits your brain. What were you even doing? Was it drooling? Its definitely drooling now.

His hands come back to your thighs, fingers digging deep into your soft flesh. He yanks you forward until your ass is hanging off the couch. You snap back to awareness and start frantically pushing your pants down. He grabs the waistbands of both your pants and underwear and hauls the whole mess down your legs at what has to be record speed. Before you have a chance to do anything else he's burying his face into your pussy like a starving man.

He uses his flattened tongue to give you a long, slow, torturous lick from the bottom of your entrance to your clit. Your back arches to mirror his movements while you sob in pleasure. Then he does it again. And again. Over and over in an endless loop of wet decadent friction. He grips the backs of your thighs, the heels of his palms brushing your ass while his thumbs are buried in the creases where leg becomes hip. He pushes your legs back more yet, widening you further and practically folding you in half. You can't even bring yourself to be worried about how your squishy stomach compresses into rolls. Diego certainly doesn't care.

He changes tactics to latch onto your clit. Sealing his lips around you, he alternates between hard suction and softly sliding his tongue up under your hood to drive you mad. The direct pressure is almost too much, you whimper and squirm after only a few rounds of this. He leaves off and you think you're catching a break to breathe. You are so, so wrong.

He goes lower to literally lick you from bottom to top.

With a shriek, both of your hands fly to his head. "Holy fuck. Oh my god, oh my god. Baby. You. Oh god. Baby, fuck yessss… " What started out as some kind of blasphemous incantation ends in you hissing with unadulterated sin. He moans against you in response but doesn't stop. The incessant long strokes of his tongue have you closer to orgasm faster than you can ever remember it happening before. Your legs are shaking and tears are pouring from your eyes. You reach your right hand down to touch his left where he's holding your thigh, needing something, anything, to ground you. And he laces his fingers with yours.

Your heart clenches. "Diego…" you whisper for him, sobbing from the intensity of everything. With a choppy groan he refocuses on your clit, ferociously determined. Your entire abdomen is tense, you're wound too tight. He presses his flattened tongue against you even harder, shortening his strokes just to cover your clit. It feels infinite, you can't tell where one lick ends and the next begins. Just constant, unyielding pleasure. It's too much, holy fuck it's too much, never stop.

Everything clicks into clear focus. Your pussy compresses tight on nothing, and then you snap. Your whole body seizes up with your orgasm. For one long, terrifying moment your heart pauses and your breathing stops. It all comes crashing back together and you suck in a lungful of air with a choking sob. Waves of agonizing pleasure wash over you, your body shuddering with each one. He's still pressing that incredible, miraculous, entirely evil tongue to your clit. Holding fast and drawing your climax out as long as possible. Growling against you with heavenly vibration. As the rounds of your clenching cunt ease in both intensity and frequency he slowly slides up and off of you.

He rests his sweaty forehead against the inside of your right thigh, panting so hard his breath is hitting you with almost physical force. You pry your right hand off your own thigh, keep your fingers laced together, and bring his hand up to your chest where you lay it over your heart.

You keep your eyes closed while you brokenly cry. "I love you, Diego."

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

His right hand snakes up your body to slide around the back of your neck. He's pulling you forward, sitting you upright. His left hand slides back down to your hip where he grips you tightly and pulls toward him simultaneously. Your eyes pop open when you feel like you're going to fall off the couch.

Diego scoops you back into his lap with your momentum and proceeds to just stand up. You yelp in surprise as your arms shoot around his neck to hold on. It takes a second to realize that you're essentially just sitting on his left forearm, his right hand is still gripping the back of your neck tightly. You moan in pure arousal, hiding your face against his shoulder. The fact that he just tosses you around like a ragdoll is so mind-meltingly hot. The sheer bulk and breadth of him never ceases to render you speechless. There's just so much Diego that he blocks out everything else. Its overwhelming in every sense. Let me just drown in Diego.

By the time you've contemplated your fate, bodice-ripper romance novel style, he's made it halfway down the hall to your bedroom. You tuck your legs tighter around his torso, the hallways in an old farmhouse aren't exactly spacious, and he purrs against you in response. Your body's physical reaction is so strong that you choke. Is there anything about this man that does not turn me on?

He makes it to your bedroom without incident (a miracle, really, considering it looks like a bomb went off in your apartment) and deposits you on the bed. He's been so incredibly gentle with those huge hands that it takes you by surprise when he firmly grasps your jaw and growls at you. "Look at me."

You swallow, hard, and open your eyes. He's staring at you so intensely, his gaze unreadable. He uses his grip on you to slowly push you down onto your back. You don't even try to fight it. You're not sure what he's doing but it's very clear that he needs to do it. He squeezes your jaw with purpose and you blink up at him in confusion. He cocks his head and regards you like… well, like prey.

It's been a long time since he has made you nervous like this.

He finally releases your jaw to slide his hand down your throat and rest it over your pounding heart. He pulls the neckline of your camisole away from your body then allows it to softly snap back against you. "Take this off." His growl is quiet, but it still sets off alarm bells in some primal part of your brain. He sees the hesitation in your eyes and barks out, "Now!"

You whip the top off over your head before he loses any more patience and rips it off of you in shreds. His hand is back on your jaw, ensuring you look nowhere but at him. His breathing is harsh, you can see a muscle tic in his left cheek, and his eyes are wild. Feral, you shiver with the thought. "Stay, Princess." He orders softly and releases his hold on you.

You don't dare move.

He straightens back upright and his hands go to his pants. You have a brief moment of hysteria, Have fun getting those impeccably tailored pants over that massive cock, but you manage to stifle the thought and keep your expression steady. He's toeing off his shoes while undoing the button, then pulling the zipper down. You watch his hands in fascination. It's an obsession you have no plans of shaking. He manages to get the pants over his hips with no problems, a complete lack of underwear always expedites the process.

He moves to climb on the bed and you spread your legs for him like a reflex. This man has had a profound effect on you. Before you get too far he throws his left leg over both of yours, straddling you and effectively immobilizing you. You reach up for him as he plants his elbows just outside of yours and cups your face in those hands you so adore. Your own hands land on his shoulders and he allows it, for now. You try to urge him down on top of you, but he's not budging. You want to touch more, feel all of him, but he's just looming over you to block out the rest of existence.

His hands are like iron, caging you in to bend you to his will. His eyes search your face, you have no idea what he's seeking. Finally, he rumbles down at you, "Do you know what you did?"

The question is soft, dangerously so. You can feel yourself starting to shake. You have a sneaking suspicion that there is no right answer so you just shake your head in a 'no'. He cocks his head again and you find yourself blinking rapidly. His eye twitches when he finally answers, "You scared me."

You're shocked. Never in a million years would you have expected this man to straightforwardly admit fear. He leans in close to your face and your breathing hitches. "I'm sorry." You whimper. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I never meant to scare you." You don't even recognize your own voice. Its small, plaintive and timid.

He moves back upright and kneels over you. His expression is only becoming more fierce. You start to draw your legs out from under him, curling up some, instinctively seeking to protect yourself. "You didn't mean to?" He rumbles incredulously. His eyebrows are rising and you can feel actual anger radiating off of him.

He snaps, "You didn't mean for me to drop everything I was doing?" And faster than you can comprehend his right hand comes down on the outside of your left thigh. The sharp sound of the slap echoes in your tiny room. Your jaw drops in shock, then the pain blooms out from the point of impact. You look from his face to his hand, then back again. "Diego, I--"

"You didn't mean for me to cancel two drop receivements and a business meeting?" His hand comes down again, but you're already moving. You try to turn away, rolling your legs to the right. His hand lands on your left hip, fingers long enough to catch the outside of your cheek. You shriek and start trying to escape in earnest. His left hand shoots down and grabs both of your wrists, stopping you from pulling yourself away from him. "Diego! Wait, I don't--"

He clamps his legs around yours and uses your momentum against you to turn your hips entirely to the side. He has both your wrists pinned down in a bruising grip. Your shoulders are flat on the bed, there's nowhere you can hide your face. "No! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause--"

"You didn't mean for me to take an immediate flight across the entire country?" This time the slap lands fully on your ass. And it hurts. You yelp as tears spill over your cheeks. "No! I'm sorry! Please--"

"You didn't mean for me to drive two hours from the airport after I've been awake for almost two days?" His volume has risen, he's practically yelling. His hand comes down again, lower this time to catch the bottom of your cheek, where it becomes the tender skin of thigh. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! No I didn't--"

"You didn't mean for me to find you here like this? Having some sort of tantrum like a child?" He roars. This time there are three slaps, one right after the next, all landing in the same spot. Your shrieks are coming out in stutters, interspersed with gasping inhalations. "No! No no no! I'm sorry! I'm sorry Diego! I'm sorry!" You're sobbing with it, choking on humiliation. You can't hide your face, there's nowhere to run from this.

"Or you didn't mean for me to find out that you cared? Huh? That you love me!" His voice cracks over the sound of his near constant strikes. You're wailing in tears, "Yes! Yes! Okay! Damnit Diego, I'm sorry! I was afraid! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry…" you dissolve into incoherence.

He releases your wrists and grabs your face again. You try to push him away, but you're too weak. "Look at me! Look at me, Bicki!" he hisses. You shake your head no. "Mirame, Princesa! Please, please." His voice is hoarse, dripping with fear and desperation. You open your eyes to find him right in your face. His expression is twisted up with pain and desire. "You cannot do this! I have to know you are safe! Protected! Let me keep you!"

It suddenly dawns on you what he means with 'keep'. He wants to protect you yes, but what he really means is 'have' you. Present in his life. At his side. Your heart in his keeping.

His hands are stroking you, over your hair, down your arms. He grips your hands tightly, bringing them up to his face. You hold onto him, your only constant in this. "Diego.." you hiccup. Then, with no warning and no conscious command on your part, you slap him. Hard.

You're both frozen in place, equally shocked. Staring at each other in escalating tension. You sniffle and it launches him into action.

He grabs your left hip in a bruising grip, pushing your leg to your chest, pulling it out from under him so he can get between your thighs. You frantically claw at his shoulders, his biceps, anything to pull him closer. You need him. Right now. You need him so deep inside you that you don't know where he ends and you begin.

He slides home in one powerful thrust. Your whole back arches and you grimace in excruciating ecstasy. The stretch of it burns, it hurts so perfectly. His left hand is wrapped around your left thigh, holding you open for him, his right on your left shoulder, keeping you steady and still for him to bottom out. He stays there, grinding his cock into you as far as possible. Still trying to push the last few inches into you. Your vision blacks out and you scream yourself hoarse with your orgasm.

When you come back to awareness he's kissing all over your face, murmuring your name. You turn your face to his, seeking. He fits his lips over yours and you both moan. You pet over his shoulders, reach back up to tug on his hair.

He starts a steady rhythm of long, slow strokes. You can feel every damn inch of him and it's so incredibly, deliriously good. You open your mouth to him and he deepens the kiss, tongue moving to match his hips. He tastes like you. All you can smell is his cologne, underscored by pure lustful male. This is indescribable. Each and every one of your senses is nothing but Diego.

His right hand glides down to cup your breast, hefting the weight of it and rubbing his thumb over your nipple. You break off the kiss to throw your head back, whining in pleasure. His lips trail down your neck, beard leaving fire in his wake. He laves his tongue over your nipple before latching on and suckling. You can feel another orgasm approaching, and so can he.

"That's it, Princess. Come for me. Show Diego what a good girl you are." His hoarse voice and soft commands push you right over the edge. You're rippling down around him, sobbing and nodding. Yes, yes, your perfect little princess.

He picks up the pace, the force of his thrusts rocking the bed into the wall with a steady banging. You can't seem to care. You're whining and pleading, "I'm sorry, please please. Yes baby, yesyesyesyesss…"

"I know," he coos softly to you. "You are so very sorry, aren't you?" You're nodding desperately in agreement. "Will you do this again? Huh?" You shake your head 'no' so fast it makes you dizzy. His words would be condescending if his tone wasn't so very emotional. It's okay. You need him to vocalize what you can't. And he knows it. He knows you.

He pushes your left leg out to the side, sliding his right hand up your thigh to grip your hip. His left hand travels down your back between you and the bed. Through nothing but raw power he lifts your wide hips and rotates you so you're flat on your back and fully open to him. You keen at the show of strength, just like he knew you would.

"Are you going to be a good little Princess for Diego?" When you don't answer he pulls back and stops. Your eyes snap open and you whimper in desperation. He's watching you, waiting. His brows are drawn together in concentration and his jaw is set tight. Those beautiful brown eyes are nearly black with hunger. He digs his nails into your hips while he waits.

You struggle with gathering enough oxygen before you can answer, "Yes, yes I'll be good. Be good for you, I promise!" You aren't sure who is in control of your mouth right now. You don't feel like you have any control. He rewards you by filling you up completely. Your eyes roll back into your head, taking all of him at once always steals your breath.

He stays fully sheathed and leans over you. Bringing your knees up to your shoulders and his face to yours, he takes your lips under his. You sob into his mouth, you can feel the head of him pressing against your cervix. He nips your bottom lip then swipes his tongue over the sting. "Does my princess want this? Does she want Diego to keep her?"

You cling to his shoulders. Closing your eyes in chagrin, you nod. He keeps his face pressed to yours. "Tell Diego. I need to hear it!" He hisses.

"Yes. Want you to keep me. Please." you whisper, broken and needing. He rears back and starts a frantic pace. His thrusts are short and brutal, stabbing directly into the core of you. You can do nothing but howl in pleasure and take it. Your spasms around him are nearly constant, one after another you come in rolling waves. You're begging, or cursing, hell, you have no idea what's coming out of your mouth at this point.

He brings the weight of his torso down on you, crushing you into the bed. "Come! Come now! Come, my princess, come for your Diego!" His words are a command, but his voice is begging.

You're bawling again. "Yes, yesyesyes. Diego, Diego pleeeeease!" You have no idea if he can understand you. You're pretty sure only dogs could hear that. "Please Please please please please, baby. Please. Need you. I love you!"

He buries his face in your hair and drops your legs in favor of engulfing your shoulders in his embrace. You wrap your legs around his hips, you have to keep him as close to you as possible. Your arms snake around his torso, squeezing tight to bring your chest up against his. He's grunting, his thrusts becoming erratic.

Then you hear him. His voice is quiet, words pleading, "Come. Let me keep you. Please, please. C-come. Princess, need you. Come home with me!" You nod tightly, sobbing silently as he freezes up in orgasm. He chokes out a groan, then collapses on top of you. You welcome the weight of him. He nuzzles into your neck, tickling you with beard and a big sigh. "Love you."

It hurts. It hurts deep in your chest. You hope it never stops hurting like this.

He retreats out of you, faster than you would like. You're pretty sure he forgets just how large he is. You feel wrung out, stretched out of shape and hollow. He pulls his right arm out from under you and rolls off to flop face-up on your right side. His left arm is still trapped under your back. Do you care that it's lumpy and uncomfortable? Nah. You unearth your right leg from under both of his and he makes a whiny huff about it.

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

He's struggling to catch his breath. He didn't mean for things to get so… out of hand. So to speak. She always does this to him. She withholds her more serious emotions and it drives him crazy. She never makes a fuss about his responses, never freaks out when he shows her affection, never gasps in shock when he gives her his ultimate deference. She acts like she has no deep feelings for him and it makes him want to beat it out of her. Apparently that is the correct method.

Her body is relaxed and casual on his arm. But he's greedy and doesn't want her to seal off all those delectably vulnerable emotions she just displayed. Soft, pliant, obedient, needy Princess is his new favorite.

He rolls her into his side with his trapped left hand while rumbling softly, "Come here." And she does. She snuggles into his side willingly and it makes him feel so soft that it's disgusting. Or maybe that's the guilt. She didn't agree to the spanking before hand. She didn't even know it was coming. Honestly, neither had he. His next thought feels like a stab to the lungs. What if she is afraid of me now? Did I hurt her? This is disgustingly emotional.

"Princess?" She sighs a soft 'Mmmm' in answer. She burrows into the coarse hair and soft skin of his underarm. Is, is she sniffing me?? He decides that ignoring her utterly adorable weirdness and addressing the ceiling is his safest option at this point. "Are… are you hurt? Did I hurt you?"

Her left hand freezes on his chest. Her face slowly creeps into his field of vision from the bottom left corner. Her expression is… mystifying. He keeps his head still but moves his eyes to his peripheral vision to squint at her in concerned concentration.

Slowly, ever so slowly, her lips curve up in an absolutely evil grin. That damn left eyebrow arches imperiously and he is completely certain that she will be the death of him.

"Did you hear me use the safeword?"

#Damnit Diego #murder panther #rough me up then dick me down #24 fucking 7 hours in this house #soft kitty #zash writes #all the feels #this is gross #love confessions

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incarnateirony · 4 years

Text

We’re gonna try this again. “Canon” is accepted additions and editions within a body of work (literary canon, western canon, british canon, romantic canon, eg, books in review for genre study; alternately, supernatural canon like episodes are canon, novels and fanfic aren’t.) Yeah? Yeah.

Text is a lot of things. Some people pretend it’s just spoken dialogue or kissing (not sure why the last counts when other visual language doesn’t, according to fandom) -- and frankly I’m working on that Media Studies A Level course to show how to read media text to understand visual language. Text will always be interpretable.

Subtext is the underlying principle or morals binding the text and adding cohesion based on a series of social codes we understand. And no, for the love of god, I’m not talking about queer coding. Or at least not entirely. I’m talking about cultural and social codes. Did you know it’s actually a social code that letters have meanings and sounds, and that those meanings and sounds build into words? And atop that, a social code that words have meanings, and a social code that when these meanings are combined into sentences or paragraphs, they have collective meanings? Or that in a serialized production (and recognizing what that means is a code) that episodes are connected in a continuous story that makes previous episodes relevant to understand the next?

Yeah, it’s cool stuff, codes. It’s how our universe operates. That’s why it’s called, for example, codes of conduct. Codes! And codes are not irrelevant to a work, or irrelevant in the discussion of canon, unless you also want to pretend you can stare at a book and ignore what letters mean and the meanings they make and then tell people what you think the book says.

Operative codes are how anything, anywhere -- text, TV, life, society, language -- literally anything works. So I’m getting that out of the way before someone decides to try to announce that codes are just subtext and are thus not relevant to talking about canon because like, no, the opposite. Canon can not exist without codes.

Subtext is not the same as interpretation. Subtext is also, very honestly, not all equally valid, in this “all interpretations are equal.” You can and will fail a paper report if you come up with dumbass subtext proposal that doesn’t hold water. Subtext is also not an inferior part of the body of text or canon, but instead, a binding element that makes any form of storytelling work. It’s not a secret handshake. It’s not whatever you want to make it, but rather, whatever stands in the body of text to address how that text functions within its designated codes. It’s not something you really have to chase.

Despite the general absurdity of pretending only spoken dialogue is text in AV Medium or SPN fandom discussion, I’m going to play within this fandom’s sandbox on that weird talking point within this post, and show that even still, the fandom’s use of text and subtext to dismiss or argue content falls flat.

Let’s talk about Colette subtext. After all, Cas was Colette, right? The problem being with this subtext is, while actually valid and able to structurally hold water, it was immersed. This is, at best, the earliest manifestations of something called Subtext By Question. Alone, this subtext does not mean much, and is distant to the eye of a reader. You have to think about it, and the text has to later turn up something that connects these elements. For example, in this instance, the resulting text manifests in following episodes with who Dean almost kills (although that, itself, is a code of understanding, in that the expectation is to subvert the dark destiny projected for him, so he didn’t ACTUALLY have to kill everyone.) If you look backwards for answers, in Subtext By Question, you can find the reverse-people that were killed and allot them relevance in association. But at this point, you’re really having to scrap around, a season back or a season forward, to find a few key elements. The subtext here is valid, but barely able to be argued as structural. It isn’t central, it isn’t focus. It’s passive. The active element here is Dean needing to subvert this dark destiny in mirror of Cain for important people in his life. The less important element is honestly if you’re going to argue circles about what the Colette placement means (and, if not everybody is following social codes, you’ll never reach an understanding!)

(I’ll also add a brief aside that the subtext here tells a lot of things! It’s subtext is first that Cain did the same things he’s listing to Dean, and that subtext straps back to previous text. One can call the who-is-who ‘subtext’, if one doesn’t apply social codes to what the text is saying: Three people dead, now do it backwards. If you don’t know how to count to three or count to three backwards, then yes, we can call the who’s-who subtext. Unfortunately, ARRIVING to this line of text in retrospect requires chasing a long subtextual line a season back.)

On the other hand, Dean lies. A lot. It’s like, what he do. When Dean says, “I like to think it’s because of my perky nipples,” if one were to demand the text stand alone, one might actually try to argue that Dean honestly believed it was because of his perky nipples. The subtext, on the other hand, is a form of Privileged Subtext. It’s something we, the consumers, inherently understand that no, Dean does not genuinely believe it is because of his perky nipples. But if we’re only holding flat text as canon, and most explicitly only dialogue as text, then clearly the only authentic way to read this without subtext, which this fandom dismisses as canon, is that Dean thought it was because of his perky nipples, and by this fandom’s standard of how to read and receive bodies of text, that was the canon to draw from the scenario. It’s independent. It doesn’t even need to tie anything. Because this is an element that subconsciously remains in the character, perpetually, that we are privileged to knowing. But applying the logic to this is itself a social code (unless you really want to think -- you know what -- okay.)

Now let’s talk about how text is reliant on its canonicity with genuine subtext (not random interpretation), how they connect, and then one becomes the other.

In 11.4, Sam and Dean ride in a car and Sam textually presents, in full dialogue since people don’t seem to grok visual language as part of textual canon (and why I’ll be releasing the course soon, but this should help frame the TEXTUAL end of things for people) -- the idea of a hunter, or someone in the life. This is full dialogue text. Dean dismantles it due to their history, while Castiel calls in, about a case in their area and life at the moment. The text is that Sam is thinking about this and that Dean doesn’t think it’s possible. The text is also that they do have a very closely tied person in their life. The subtext doesn’t even really need to be phrased, simply a notice, within basic social codes and understanding, that these things connect to each other.

In 11.19 The Hunter Husbands arise, and Dean takes his turn asking about finding someone in the life. Here’s the fun thing. The hunter’s text is, and I quote, “Like an old married couple.” There is no physical affirmation, no “I love you” or, more in this fandom’s situation “I love you like specifically in the romantic and gay way” that everyone seems to want. The text “Like an old married couple” is actually interpretable, as any and all text is. On the blatant reading, it’s that they’re romantically involved. On the surface level, they’re only ~like~ an old married couple, which anyone and anyone could assume was a turn of phrase or generalized comparison (and have used this argument on other statements for other pairings in the show; hell, after all to stay in-subject with this post, what if Castiel was just LIKE a wife to Dean with his Colette placement, because gUyS cAn hAvE StRoNG fRiEndShiPs tOo)

So what makes it obvious? What makes it DUHHH? It’s the subtext. And social codes. Why these same social codes fly out the window when the fandom is talking about Destiel is a whole other damn mystery, but they do. The actual willingness and ability to nail down and commit to “like an old married couple” without spinning around in circles about how people might interpret that line, or even willingness TO spin in those circles, is based on the surrounding subtext -- partially drawn from 11.4, partially drawn from Sam meeting Eileen recently and partially from Dean and Cas -- partially from the way they actually physically engage LIKE one of these pairings -- just from a whole plethora of elements that we understand, based on a basic code of understanding: The text is the text and the “Like” isn’t a turn of phrase or relevant even if someone wanted to be a crackpot and argue it. And what other subtext does that make? They Gay. Or you can take social codes of understanding, and stop calling it subtext, and recognize that if two men are married they are queer, instead of abandoning this social code of understanding to explain around it. Without compulsion to argue with antis that don’t exist for that pairing, tada! Everybody’s acting just fine and normal within basic human social codes to understand the text as framed by the substantiative subtext.

Season 15 these elements return, with Dean remarking about Eileen being someone in the life. This is flat, dialogue, central text. The social code in play, being aware that serialized TV connects a story, reminds us that this has been discussed before, in fact with the same elements surrounding them as during 11.4 and 11.19. Eileen has become the person to fill Sam’s previous wondering. Dean’s wondering of the past and current “in a bad place” becomes Subtext By Question, flowing from the previous and current textual elements, to leave a blank space.

However, that blank space is filled one episode later -- as, in the alternate universe, after the Marriage By Mark, and Cas went Crazy, in full dialogue text, that he had a death wish ever since -- first, that they lost everyone they care about, and then he buried Cas at sea; and, in the same breath, Eileen was the same to Sam. Now, hopefully I don’t have to explain how, if you continue to endorse level and equal social codes (without applying the Super Hard Nightmare Difficulty Goalposts, and changing your codes in application even within a single scene), this pans out in the text. The ironic subtext here is that Eileen is Sam’s Cas. Not the other way around even. It’s the secondary presented element over the primary focus. That’s how it be. But the text is, at this point, that they are literally the partner of each person in regards to an ongoing textual and subtextual story since season 11.

In result, season 10′s Colette drop kind of feels like swished-out toothpaste, doesn’t it (even if it was written by the same author.) Actually funny enough, to get back down to subtext as deep as Colette was originally buried, one could actually reasonably and structurally argue that, both scenarios being bound by the Mark actually elevates Colette to the front again, as in, Dean’s Colette took the Mark for him, just as he almost killed his Colette and his Abel when he had the Mark, and Dean’s Colette’s price was the same. That is to say: this old, buried subtext still remains an old, buried subtext, but attaches to the surface level text that is itself... text. That subtext is relevant again, it didn’t just drop off after a few dart notes on a board. But again this also relies on basic social codes regarding serialized television.

But that’s a whole other aside. The reality here is that these elements are all text. The previous subtext of Castiel being on the phone in 11.4 has become fully dialogue *and* visual narrative text by this point in the story. It isn’t a sidelined or buried element. It’s both central text, what few parts might be called subtext based on AV text confusion are still central text, they are literally the focal point of the story -- the meaning and importance of those characters is there in the present, at the core of the lens, not something you’re burying through rubble and playing connect-the-dots on. Any callbacks are to solid, loud, front line elements of the past that are being repeatedly hammered in at the same textual wavelength. It’s just there.

Heck if you REALLY want to long haul the subtext we can do a full break-out on Sam’s face of it, with Rowena more than once mirroring Cain dialogue to Sam as his mentor, who he killed, as Cain wanted to kill Abaddon, his mistress. And that if Eileen is tangibly Sam’s Cas, then in frame she is his Colette, as Cas is Dean’s Colette. These are the other forms of subtext you’re given to debate in a paper, for example, even if they are not the immediate binding subtext and social codes attaching sentences to each other to form complex ideas in the body of text.

Another fun one I’ve seen is the implication that it’s unfair that Sam and Eileen are banging after a few episodes. But guys-- that’s not in the text. In fact, the only text we have is smarmy tongue in cheek from Dean about a tie (that would be coded text based on social functions) that Sam denied (making the subtext that Dean was wrong about his assumption, and the dialogue is unreliable.) Yes, they have a kiss, that’s fine. But that statement? That they’re banging? That is at best an interpretation, and people would actually struggle to find any substantiative subtext that illustrates this even within operative and level social codes sustained from the previous episodical run. You can’t just flip flop your codes around and say you’re reading it right. That’s how you fail a paper.

So what does this say, then, about people that are objectively refusing the other surrounding text and subtextual elements as textually romantic within the canon? If you can jump there with one, without a basis, why are we bashing down the other one? Ah-hah! You say, but they kissed! Actually, people were submitting this complaint before that, around the time of Interrupting Angel which mirrored Interrupting Moose -- what a wild subtextual connection of old textual elements! (And one the author popped up out of the blue to like my screaming tweet about on twitter, I loves him.)

But back to the question, where does this take us? If people can manufacture interpretations without even subtext much less text to verify and even complain about the sexual engagements of characters on one side, and when quite literally textually speaking, aside from a kiss -- a performative element, which I remind you, is unspoken, and we’ve been banished by Weird Fandom Laws from using anything other than dialogue as “text” despite AV media study codes -- Why are we here, what’s wrong, why the fuck are people arguing about the text still, or calling it subtext, please, fucking enlighten me on any answer that doesn’t involve “Unlevelly applied social codes.”

Because if we want to incorporate that kiss, a non-dialogue element, as text, we’re about to dive helluva far into what constitutes text in AV medium. And this is going to make the opposing argument even worse.

But that, my friends, waits for the full AV lesson when I get to it.

And just because I have to apparently put this disclaimer on every post I make: this in no way indicates you are wrong for wanting more text, or preferred deliveries of text, or even specific non-dialogue enacted events to feel complete on the delivery of the text. It’s silly to think “you’re telling people not to want more text!” when like, we’re still all watching the show and stories unfold, right? So we’re all here waiting for more text. Whether the text you get is the text you want is completely up to you and what you hope to see out of a still developing story and it’s your right to want whatever you want. But that in no way removes all of the above objective sentiments regarding... well, text.

#supernatural #spn #text #subtext #canon #destiel #saileen #meta #my meta #lit crit #av crit #av study

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rachelbethhines · 4 years

Text

Tangled Salt Marathon - One Angry Princess

There’s two halves to this episode. The first is a well constructed, if over simple, mystery for the kiddos to solve. The other is a failed attempt at being ‘deep’ and ‘mature’.

Summary: Attila is finally opening up his own bakery, but people generally don't want to stop by because of his scary helmet. The next day, Monty's Sweet Shoppe is destroyed, and Attila is arrested. He is about to be banished from the kingdom, but Rapunzel makes an appeal to investigate the matter further.

The Episode is Meant to be a Homage to 12 Angry Men, but Misses the Point of the Original Film

So for those who haven’t seen the movie, (though really you should) 12 Angry Men is about a jury trying to decide if an accused person is guilty of a violent crime. At first the evidence seems clear, but one lone juror refuses to vote guilty until the evidence has been gone over again. One by one he convinces the other men to vote not guilty as they each have to face they’re own personal biases.

Sound familiar?

In the show Rapunzel is the sole believer in Attila’s innocence despite evidence to the contrary. She insists on investigating herself while challenging everyone else’s personal biases.

The difference?

12 Angry Men is a hard hitting look at how privilege, prejudice, and cognitive bias can interfere with the American judicial system. None of the jurors are named, but they are all middle class, presumably Christian, white guys. And that is the point. They are all different from the accused; a young, poor, arguably non-white teen (the play is intentionally vague about the kid’s race so that you can slot any minority in there) who has a history of getting into trouble. If you were to change the ethnicity, race, gender, class, or age of any of the 12 characters then you would suddenly have a very different story. It’s their backgrounds and pre-formed opinions that inform their decisions. Even the main protagonist is not exempt from re-examining his own personal biases.

Meanwhile the writers of Tangled: the Series are too busy showing off how clever Rapunzel is to actually deal with the themes of injustice and bigotry that they added in themselves in the first place.

Rapunzel Knowing Attila Before Hand Weakens the Message

In 12 Angry Men none of the jurors know the accuse. In fact, they can’t know him. It’s against the law. In order to have an impartial jury, no one can have any ties to either the defendant or the prosecution, and they must not have knowledge of the case or have had specific experiences that might cause them to be biased or unfair.

Rapunzel being Attila’s friend means that she already has her own bias and an invested interest in making sure Attila goes free. She’s not acting out of the simple goodness of her heart here. She’s doing something that directly benefits herself.

I don’t expect a children’s fantasy show to recreate the US judicial system with all of the complexities there in, but I do expect it to uphold it’s heroine as the selfless person it claims her to be. Yet the show constantly undermines this supposed character trait by only having her help the people she befriends, and only if that help doesn’t require anything emotionally challenging or mentally taxing from her.

How much more powerful would this episode be if Rapunzel was defending a stranger or someone she actively disliked? Imagine if it was Monty who was being accuse and Raps had to swallow her pride in order to do what is right. But that would require the show having Rapunzel actually learn something instead of placing her on a pedestal. It would also mean giving Monty a reason to exist rather than keeping him around to be a convenient red herring.

Rapunzel Shouldn’t Have to Prove Attila’s Innocence

Rather than have a courtroom drama the show opts to have a ‘whodunit’ story instead. This unfortunately gives the implication that Corona’s judicial system runs on a ‘guilty until proven innocent’ mantra, which is backwards to any humane legal system. ‘Innocent until proven guilty’, ‘reasonable doubt’, ‘due process’, are the cornerstones of our modern social ethics.

In 12 Angry Men, we never find out if the accused actually committed the crime or not. That is because his actual innocence isn’t the point of the story. It’s about whether or not the system is working like it should or if it’s being compromised by human error.

Once again, I don’t expect a recreation of the US judicial system, but if you’re writing a story for a modern audience then you need to reinforce modern morals. Simply crouching Corona’s legal system as ‘of the times’ or ‘fantasy’ while ignoring why we no longer have such systems in place reduces the story to puerile fare.

It also means that show’s writers didn’t put enough thought into their world building.

No One Calls Out the Obviously Corrupt System

The show has interwoven throughout its ongoing narrative themes of classism, injustice, abuse, and authoritarianism, but then fails to follow through on those themes by not having any of the protagonists actually examine any of these issues. They just sit there in the background, even as the show tries it darndest to present Rapunzel as an arbiter of reform. However a person can’t bring about change if they can’t even admit that there is a problem to begin with.

In this episode alone we have

Banishment is considered a reasonable punishment for an act of vandalism. A crime that is usually considered only a misdemeanor unless the damage goes over a certain amount. Keep in mind that not even most felonies would be given such a punishment in the real world

Introduces the prison barge that regularly carries away convicts. In the past ‘undesirables’ would be shipped off to prison colonies as a form of persecution. Attila and every other person we see subjected to Corona’s legal system are of a lower class.

Many prejudge Attila based off his appearance, lower class, and past upbringing. However, it is either Attila who is expected to change or Rapunzel who is expected to win people over. At no point is anyone told that they shouldn’t be prejudiced to begin with.

There is no judge, jury, or lawyers. The king alone decides the fate of criminals, the Captain is expected to be the both the prosecutor and the ‘executioner’, which is a conflict of interest, and the defendant has no one to represent them unless they so happen to know a kind statesperson. Meaning you have to be either rich or well connected in order to even have a chance to defend yourself.

Oh and there’s this...

Uh, yeah you do. You’re the flipping king. You make the law. You’re the one to bring charges against Attila, and nearly every other criminal in the show, in the first place.

The show constantly wants us to view Frederic as simply an everyman who is only doing his job, but he’s not. He’s a ruler and as such he has powers and responsibilities that no one else has or ever will have. The series gives both him and Rapunzel all of the privileges of being in charge without holding them to account for the consequences of their actions.

By not pointing out how wrong these actions are, the show winds up avocating them instead. When I call Tangled the Series authoritarian, this is why. Because authority is never questioned even when clearly wrong and nepotism is presented as the solution to conflicts as oppose to being the problem itself.

The Show Introduces Complex Issues but Then Oversimplifies the Conflicts Surrounding Those Issues

The creators of the show have constantly declared that the series is ‘not for kids’. That they were shooting for an older audience than the pre-school time slot they were given. Now ignoring the fact that Tangled was always going to have a built in audince of pre-teen girls and ignoring that children’s media can be mature, TTS lacks the nuance needed to viewed as anything other than a pantomime.

As stated before, this episode alone ignores the very real issues interlaced within the conflict in order to give us an overly simple mystery that anyone over the age of five could figure out.

It’s frustrating to watch the show constantly skirt towards the edge of complexity only to see it chicken out and go for the low hanging fruit instead. As a consequence the series winds up being for no one. Too shallow for adults and older teens, but too confused in its morals to be shown to small children and younger adolescents.

I wouldn’t recommend this show to a parent, not without encouraging them to view the series either before or alongside their child in order to counteract it’s ‘lessons’ and I know parents within the fandom itself who’ve stopped showing newer episodes to their kids; stating that they want their child to be old enough to point out the harmful messages to before doing so.

Once Again No One Learns Anything

Rapunzel doesn’t learn that the system is flawed. Attila doesn’t learn to open up to people. Nobody learns to treat people with respect and to not judge others based on appearances alone.

The whole point of the episode is to just show off how much ‘better’ Rapunzel is than everyone else. The show constantly feels the need to tear down other characters in an effort to make its favs look good as opposed to just letting the mains grow as people.

Conclusion

Tangled the tv series is no 12 Angry Men. It’s no Steven Universe/Gravity Falls/Avatar:TLA/She-Ra/Gargoyles/Batman:TAS either. It barely reaches the same level as the likes of DnD, Sonic SATAM, or Voltron. Interesting ideas but poor pacing, build up, and lack of follow through, with some naff decisions thrown into the mix bring things down in quality. And unlike the Dungeons and Dragons cartoon from the early 80s, TTS lacks the benefit of being a pioneer in the field of animation, where such flaws are more forgivable.

#tangled #anti-tangled #Rapunzel #rapunzel's tangled adventure #king frederic #critique #salt

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