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nereidprinc3ss · 2 months

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do you believe me now?

in which fem!reader is insecure around spencer until she finally asks him to take matters into his own hands (literally)

part two

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: inexperienced reader, fingering, softdom!spencer my sweet sweet beloved angel, sub reader, praise, you know he talks you through it, brief mention of drinking wine, i think that's it a/n: i hope u guys like this ! slightly different dynamic than my other stuff maybe but let me know what u think!! i love feedback and i love YOU!!!

“You’re so pretty.”

It’s the first thing Spencer has said since you two landed on his couch, exhausted from one of Rossi’s extravagant soirées. It was your first of many, if Spencer’s entire team is to be believed. More nights featuring Italian food and wine you could never afford don’t sound half bad—but for now you’re drained. You barely had the energy to kick off your heels and topple into Spencer’s lap five minutes ago. The silk dress still pools over his knees and your hair still falls in curls around your face. He brushes one aside as he continues.

“I mean—you always look beautiful. But I’ve never seen you all done up. You’re obscenely gorgeous.”

You groan awkwardly, burying your face in Spencer’s collar as your face heats. Taking compliments has never been your strong suit, especially from someone who you perceive to be so out of your league. The relationship you have with Spencer is relatively new, and sometimes you worry delicate; like one slip-up revealing the real you and he’ll go running. So far, though, he seems hellbent on proving you wrong.

His hand finds the bare skin of your arm, passing up and down gently. “Why don’t you believe me?”

“…I do.”

It’s unconvincing. Spencer scoffs.

“No, you don’t. You never believe me when I compliment you.”

The cadence of his voice is light enough, but it’s evident that there’s some genuine frustration there, lurking just under the surface.

Your head lolls over his shoulder and he angles his neck to look down at you. Hair falls over his eyes, and you’d fix it if he didn’t look so damn perfect. Everything about him looks intentional, like he was designed by someone who took great pride in their work. Not at all like you—a collage of features and spare parts you guess whatever force created you had lying around. Nothing about you feels on purpose. But that’s a hard thing to explain.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s impolite. It just feels disingenuous to accept compliments like that.”

Goosebumps arise on your arm where he touches you.

“You being polite isn’t what I’m concerned about. I just wish I could make you understand that I mean it when I compliment you. You’d know if I didn’t. I’m a terrible liar.”

That earns a giggle from you. Your boyfriend smiles, sparkling eyes darting over your face like he’s trying to bottle the sound, the memory—and you realize he probably is. What a terrifying thought. You look away, abashed once more.

“I’m a woman, Spencer. I’m not allowed to like myself. That’s the whole thing with Eve and the snake and the apple and whatever. Eternal inescapable shame.”

“Are you trying to justify your self-loathing by making it biblical? You know I’m the last person that would work on, right? Both as an agnostic-leaning-athiest and someone who thinks you’re beautiful and wonderful.”

Another groan claws its way from your throat as you slide down in embarrassment.

“You’re killing me here, Spencer.”

“What can I do to do to make you believe me?” he murmurs, carefully brushing tangles from your hair as you now rest practically prone across his lap. The ceiling light stretches behind him, haloing him in a soft glowing crown and making everything a bit more hazy and tolerable.

“It’s not your fight.” It’s meant to be playfully dramatic, but it hangs from your lips with a painful amount of earnestness.

“If it’s yours, it’s mine. That’s kind of the whole point of a relationship, right? Being a team?”

His fingers are nimble and warm between yours as you interlace them, steepling and bumping them together as you speak.

“Well, if you know so much, why are you asking me? It sounds like you know exactly what to do to make me magically love myself.”

A dangerous twitch plays at the corner of his lips as he gazes sleepily down at you.

“Oh, I have a few ideas. But I’m asking what you’d be comfortable with.”

“Whoa!” you blurt, giggling self-consciously, covering your face with your (and inadvertently one of his) hands. “Where did that come from?”

He smiles at your response to his mildly suggestive comment. “I lose my filter when I'm tired. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

You sigh gustily, dragging his hand down to fall over your collarbones. His fingers twitch over the delicate skin, like he’d graze it if your hand wasn’t weighing his down.

“No, no, you didn’t make me uncomfortable, you just… surprised me. I’m really bad at talking about this kind of thing.”

“Sex?”

You yelp, slinging your arm over your face and hiding in the crook of your elbow. “AH! Don’t say it!”

He laughs again, a little less reserved this time.

“What? You can’t even listen to me say the word?”

“No! Too scary!”

Eventually you peek out from under your arm to find Spencer still watching you. The humor has faded from his eyes and been replaced by a kind of serene calm. He brushes a lock of hair from your shoulder.

“Come here,” he says—a request more than a demand. With some wriggling and a bit of help, you manage to reorient yourself into a sitting position across his lap once more. His touch is warm even through the fabric of your dress when he kisses you, hand sliding over your waist before moving to trace your jaw and ending up on the back of your neck, urging you closer ever so slightly. You kiss him back without hesitation or restraint, as you delight in doing when he gives you the opportunity. What you may lack in experience and refinement, you make up for with affection and enthusiasm. He pulls away after a minute, much to your dismay, and brushes his thumb over your lips. For the first time, you think you see a hint of worry in his eyes. Guilt claws at your heart when he quietly asks, “you’re not scared of me, are you?”

“No!” You assure quickly, looping your arms around his neck. “No, it’s not you. You’re perfect and I’m sure you really mean all of the nice things you say. But I just… sometimes I worry I’ll scare you away once you realize I’m not as pretty or… good as you thought.”

“That’s impossible.”

Once more you let your head fall onto his shoulder. “You don’t know that.”

His hand begins running up and down your back, soothing your sympathetic nervous system in a way that all the deep breaths in the world never could.

“I know that I really, really like you. And there’s not one part of you that I don’t find genuinely beautiful. I can’t imagine not feeling that way about you.” Your eyes flutter shut and you hum against him—a non-answer, but he doesn’t push it. Minutes go by quietly, ticking later into the night as he continues mindlessly rubbing your back and watching you breathe. “Do you want me to take you home?” He finally asks after a long while. Again, you don’t respond. He smiles. “I know you’re awake.”

The corner of your lip twitches as you attempt to suppress a grin. Spencer sighs.

“I guess if you’re already asleep you’ll just have to stay here. But it would be convenient if you’d sleepwalk to my bed so that I don’t have to carry you.”

When you begin stirring and sitting up (one eye cracked to navigate) he laughs, hands on your waist. “Would you look at that. Who knew she would be so suggestible in non-REM?” You snort as you push yourself to a standing position using Spencer’s shoulders to support yourself, and ruining the whole act. He smiles up at you like you’re something divine and lets his hands trail over your hips.

“I sleep with my eyes open.”

“Do you often have coherent conversations in your sleep, too?”

You shrug. “I’m full of surprises.”

“I’m sure you are,” he agrees, finally standing himself. “I’m assuming you don’t want to sleep in your dress?”

“I have shorts on underneath I can wear, but a shirt would be helpful.”

“Then we’ll get you a shirt.”

———————————————

Ten minutes later you’re in Spencer’s bathroom, wearing your shorts and one of his sweatshirts (you cannot imagine Spencer in a hoodie), and wiping black sludge from your eyes with makeup remover he claims was left by a friend after a particularly festive Halloween party. Hopefully he’s telling the truth—you can think of more dubious potential origins of the eye-makeup remover in his bathroom. No toothbrush—you use your finger and a generous amount of toothpaste until the red wine stains fade.

Spencer is fixing the pillows when you exit the bathroom. You hold up your hands which are completely obscured and then some by the thick fabric of his sweatshirt.

“Fits like a dream,” you say. A smile tugs at his lips as he finishes his task, before raising his eyes to you. The smile promptly fades and it’s like the sun disappearing behind an oppressive gray cloud. In an instant your stomach curdles and you feel like crawling out of your skin.

“…what?” you mumble, absolutely terrified that the thing he’d said was impossible just minutes ago has already happened. Without makeup, without a fancy dress, you’re just you, and maybe that’s not good enough.

“Uh…” He blinks, as if he’s buffering for a moment, before snapping back into action, and notably looking away from you. “It’s—it’s nothing. Do you, um—here, I tried to make it—“

“Stop. Just tell me what that was. You got all weird.”

Another pause—he looks back up at you reluctantly with a sigh.

“I did not get all weird.”

“Yes, you did. You’re still being weird. It’s freaking me out.”

He’s utterly unreadable, which drives you fucking insane, when he eventually says, “come here.” This time, you think with a chill as you shuffle on your knees across the bed to sit in front of him, it really sounds like a demand. Spencer grabs your face in his hands, studying you intently. “I know you think I’ve finally decided you’re hideously deformed, but it’s actually just the opposite. I’m trying to figure out how to keep things polite for you.”

Realization dawns on you and the swarm of new butterflies in your stomach. The usual molten gold of his irises has been encroached upon, masked by blown pupils. Your face gets hot and your voice caves when you speak.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” he agrees quietly. “Do you believe me now?”

And to his credit, you really do. The hot skin, the vibrating cells in every fiber of your being, the racing heart—your body knows he means it. Part of you, the more confident, more desirous part, drags you closer to him, ghosts your lips over his. He chuckles.

“Now you’re getting brave?”

“Am I not allowed to kiss you?” you whisper, draping your arms over his shoulders.

“You’re allowed to do whatever you want.”

The words make you shiver—the lowered, gravelly tone of his voice you’ve never heard before snaps your resolve and you lean into him, connecting your lips with a deep urgency. Spencer inhales sharply, hands wandering to your waist and bearing down firmly as you press against him. When you lean back, he follows you, insists without saying a word that you don’t stop kissing him. It sends a thrill down your spine and between your legs, which both gives you pause and eggs you on. In the end, after a very brief internal struggle, curiosity and desire win. You drop to the bed and drag him down with you—he, your willing follower, blindly searches for purchase on the plush comforter. Now he’s on top of you, legs slotted together so that his thigh is temptingly close to your core. Too shy to actually do what you want to do, you clamp your thighs around his and tilt your hips, desperate for friction. He exhales heavily, slowly pulling his lips from yours like it’s the last thing he wants to do. Fingers dig into the flesh of your hip, not enough to ache but enough to draw your attention to your movements.

“What are you doing?” he asks, firmly, but not like you’re in trouble—it’s a probing question. He’s trying to figure out if you’re aware of the way you’re nearly riding his leg.

“I don’t know,” you admit breathlessly.

“You just told me you couldn’t even listen to me say the word sex,” Spencer reminds you. “You said it was too scary.”

A frustrated whine seems to catch him by surprise, and he laughs.

“That was a long time ago. I’ve matured since then.”

“Is that what happened?” he teases.

“Honestly, I’m just really turned on right now, please—" you cut yourself off, crashing your lips into his once more. And he almost relents.

Almost.

“Slow down.”

He ceases kissing you for a second time and you’re starting to really get annoyed.

“What?” you groan. “I thought you wanted this.”

His thumbs brush over the apples of your cheeks, demanding your attention.

“I want you. In every sense of the word. If you make a bad choice tonight and it means you don’t like me anymore tomorrow, that is the opposite of what I want. I’m not saying no. I’m just asking you to think about it for a second.”

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and attempting to steady your mind and see beyond the thick fog of lust. What you find is a (mildly surprising) complete lack of fear. You’re not scared, like you thought you’d be; you feel utterly safe underneath him, with his hands on you and his heartbeat against your chest. This is a kind of intimacy you want to have with him.

Your eyes open to reveal his, close enough you can see the tiny flecks of green. And so much warmth. Everything about him is warm.

“This is what I want,” you assert. “I promise.”

His gaze flits between yours for a moment, pulling the truth from your soul like he might be able to find an imperfection there. But you mean it—and he seems satisfied. He trusts you, like you trust him.

“Okay.”

A sigh of relief never quite finds completion before he’s kissing you again. Immediately the fire is stoked once more, the heat between your legs getting warmer when he experimentally pushes his thigh against you. You breathe into the kiss, pressing down on him and surrendering to the unconscious rhythm of your hips. He lets that go on for a minute or two until you’re so distracted that you can’t kiss him back.

Unexpectedly he pulls away, disentangling himself from your legs. You stammer in frustration until his fingers hook under the soft material of your shorts. “Hips up.”

Wordlessly you comply, succumbing to his gentle words and touch. He bows to kiss you as he slides the fabric down unhurriedly. Once the shorts are gone, he sits up, and carefully lifts one of your legs over his lap, gaze unabashedly glued between them.

“Eyes up here,” you try to joke, but it’s steeped in self-consciousness and your heart is pounding. He manages, stroking the inside of your knee with a thumb as he leans down again.

“But you’re so pretty,” he murmurs, before he’s kissing you again. “Just like I knew you would be.”

You whimper when his hand skates over your stomach, lower, and lower, and—

“Tell me one more time, sweetheart.”

Your plead is just as hungry and yearning. “Please, Spencer?”

It works for him.

When his knuckles brush over your clit, you forget to breathe. When they barely skim your entrance, collecting arousal to drag back upward, your brain malfunctions. It is not enough, maddeningly so, but when he finds a careful, introductory rhythm, it’s immediately bordering on too much, too good.

Your stomach tenses and you are surprised by your own sighs and hesitant gasps as you try to adjust to the feeling of someone else’s hand between your legs.

“Does that feel good?” he murmurs against your lips.

“Mhm,” you chirp. Slow but insistent circles elicit a cry that gets caught in your throat, melting into a hum. Your eyes are closed, but you can hear the smile in Spencer’s voice.

“You’re sensitive, huh?”

“S—sometimes.”

He hums contemplatively.

“Sometimes? Can you tell me about that?”

You can’t hardly think around those gentle movements of his hand, let alone speak. He touches you like you’re something delicate. It’s torturous and perfect. But you try to answer anyway, managing to keep the stammering to a minimum.

“About what?”

“I want to know what you think about when you touch yourself.” The smooth words in tandem with an incremental increase in pressure earn you first real moan. Timid and unpracticed, but very genuine.

The answer comes immediately afterward; thoughtlessly and on a shuddering exhalation.

“You.”

“Yeah?” he smiles. “Good answer.”

Your eyes open fractionally to study his expression. You’d felt so much shame every time you’d imagined him in your bed late at night.

“Really?”

“Really. And now look at you. Letting me do it for you.” As if to remind you, he speeds up the motion of his hand. On instinct you bring your fingers to your lips as you moan through a closed throat, partly to stifle the noise and partly because you don’t know what to do with the hand that’s not gripping the duvet. “Do you only touch here?” His fingers slide down to your slick entrance and your hips buck, mourning the loss of stimulation. “Or do you touch here, too?”

You shake your head, breathing hard as he teases a finger around the soft place you’ve never really bothered to explore. “Never feels good when I try.”

“We’re gonna make it feel good, okay?”

You nod hesitantly, leaning back into the pillows when he kisses you again.

His lips are so distracting, so intoxicating you almost forget what he’s doing until he does it. It’s a foreign sensation—not entirely pleasant or unpleasant. For a moment or two your brows furrow as you focus on the feeling, worried that maybe you’re broken just as you thought—until you feel a slight stretch and you realize he’s pushing a second finger into you now. A kiss lands on your cheek when you grab his arm with a choked gasp, and he mutters, “deep breaths,” into your ear. “I know it’s new, honey, just breathe.”

“Fuck,” you whimper as you look down, and you didn’t realize you were going to say it until it’s already passed between your lips. Pressure begins melding with the promise of pleasure, and something about watching his hand move between your legs—the tendons flexing and wrist bending as he eases into what is clearly a perfected motion—arouses you so much you moan at the sight alone. Flipping pages is all you thought that hand was meant for. It’s like a secret revealed as you watch it do something so salacious, and to you.

A hot spark of pleasure flares deeper in you than you’ve ever felt. It catches and grows faster than you’d of thought—suddenly you can feel everything and it all feels better than you thought possible. Your jaw drops and a surprised huff of air blows a strand of your hair away.

“Oh my god,” comes your breathy little whisper, unprepared for and intimidated by how good he’s making you feel. Filthy noises come from between your legs and you clench around his fingers. You had no idea you could make those noises. You had no idea you could get so wet.

“Yeah, there we go.” His voice sounds a little further away now. You manage to tear your eyes away from all the action to his face. Much like you, he’s transfixed by the sight, brow furrowed and pretty lips parted in what could be concentration, or some sort of empathetic pleasure. His face has more color to it than usual and his breaths come heavier—it’s a very pleasant sight. Suddenly his fingers brush against a spot deep within you and your hips cant upward, a mewl pulled from the depths of your throat that has more control over you than you do it. Spencer’s eyes flash back to you, a grin playing at his lips. He does it again, looking right into your eyes, and you whine so pitifully your face flushes.

“Too much?” he asks. You shake your head firmly, arching your back when he unconsciously slows down. At your response his fingers begin rutting into you again, committing to that spot inside you that makes you see stars. “Of course not. You’re gonna take whatever I give you, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod. You’d do just about anything for him right at this second. Spencer holds an immense amount of power over you in this moment, and potentially in all future moments moving forward. But you trust him with it.

“You don’t have anything to prove to me. I just want you to feel good. You’ll tell me if it’s too much, right?”

But it’s really not too much. It’s exactly right. Your verbal capacity is acutely limited right now, so you can’t exactly say it, but you lock eyes with him and whine shamelessly, hips twisting against his hand. You think he gets the message.

Hair falls over his face and he doesn’t fix it, opting instead to alternate his gaze between your cunt and face, cursing to himself lowly. You wouldn’t want him to stop and fix his hair—what you want is this, for him to keep pushing you toward that elusive edge and to keep looking at you like you put all the stars in the sky.

“Look at you, my pretty girl. I’m so proud of you. I know this isn’t easy. I know you were scared. Thank you for letting me do this, honey.”

It’s the unexpected tenderness of the words, perfectly misplaced in the context of the moment. It’s the devotion, the honesty in his eyes, shining through the haze of lust, which makes your stomach drop and all your muscles tense. A million thoughts jumble in your head, dizzying and thrilling and confusing, but mostly all you can think is Spencer, Spencer, Spencer. Is this how it always is? Your hands tangle in the sheets—and then all the thoughts vanish. Everything is warm and fuzzy and sparkling clean, no worries, no lingering thoughts, no self-awareness at all. It’s nirvana. It’s revelatory. It’s ridiculous that he did this all in under five minutes and you haven’t been able to do it once even with very concerted effort.

Slowly you float back into your body, breathing hard and watching through half-lidded eyes as Spencer gently pulls his hand away. Without him you feel weirdly empty and cold, like he should have been there all along. But his touch isn’t absent for long—he runs his hand over the bridge between your hips, little finger dipping into the crease of your thigh.

“That’s never… I’ve never done that before,” you admit, slurring your words only slightly.

His perfect features contort into a half-frown, half-smile.

“You’ve never had an orgasm?” You nod. His head tilts. “Really? You didn’t tell me that.”

“When would I have told you?” you laugh, finding his waist with your hand and encouraging him to settle his weight on you. He does, burying his face in your neck and exhaling heavily.

“Well?” you ask shyly, skating your fingers over his back. “Did I do it right?”

Spencer snorts, but presses a sickeningly sweet kiss to the curve of your neck.

“Did you like it?”

“Yes,” you admit, voice smaller than you’d have liked. He pushes himself up onto his forearms and kisses you softly.

“Then we both did it right.”

“But…” you stare up into his warm honey eyes, searching for any bits of hidden truth you can find. He brushes a strand of hair away from your face, utterly unconcerned. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” he agrees, “and I’ll say this because I know otherwise you’re going to worry about it forever.” He studies your face reverently for a moment, before parting his lips to speak. The words are slow to come, like he’s trying to figure the sentence out as he goes along. “You… are going to be, problematic, for me.”

Your whisper is almost as small as you feel under his heavy gaze. “What d’you mean?”

“I mean,” Spencer begins, voice low, “I think I liked that too much. Do you see why that’s troubling?”

The flame you thought had been quenched flickers back to life like a pilot light. Your thighs press together to alleviate a growing ache in a still sensitive area and you answer, “no,” with a small shake of your head. His thumb tenderly traces your jaw, ever-patient despite the fact that you’re obviously playing coy.

“Because I can’t have you all the time.”

“Yes you can,” you say without hesitation, though your eyes are fluttering. “You can have me whenever you want. Right now.”

He hums, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Not tonight. You’ve had enough. You’re tired.”

“I’m wide awake,” you slur, tangling a hand in his hair even as you lose the battle against your eyelids.

He sighs good-naturedly, gently wrapping his fingers around your wrist and brushing his lips over the delicate skin.

“You’re shockingly precocious.”

You hum.

“You just unleashed the beast. You’re like Doctor Frankenstein.”

He chuckles, sitting up and finding your shorts. You manage to be semi-helpful, lifting your legs at appropriate junctures as he tugs your clothing back on. “And you’re a nerd.”

“I don’t need to take that from you of all people.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Spencer says, and the smile in his voice makes you smile, a quarter asleep as he leans over to turn off the lamp on your side of the bed before tugging the covers over both of you.

He pulls you close in the dark, releasing a deep sigh as you curl into him. His heartbeat is steady against your ear, his arms warm around you. You can imagine making a home for yourself here. And you don’t know if he’s thinking it, but you hope he is, as you are silently repeating to yourself with every beat of his heart;

I love you

I love you.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine

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pupcuck · 5 months

Text

JINGLE BALLS !

ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. p in v, daddy-daughter incest, leon is creepy ngl, dub-con at first then consensual, daddy issues, you get compared to your mom lots, creampie, daddy kink

note. HAII sorry for this being late omg :3 umm this is weird and jolty and the plot im not totally happy with but :333 ignore typos or I will cry!! feedback and reblogs always so appreciated :3

tumblr removes fics that use tw non-con, tw incest and any nsfw tags in general. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags so i can have the same reach as other authors, please understand that these fics contain dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.

“Pumpkin!” Your dad’s embrace is stiff per usual. This guy - he seriously needs a lesson in intimacy. Can’t go hugging your daughter the same way you do a girlfriend. Dads shouldn’t put their hands below your midriff. They certainly shouldn’t grip your hips and pull you close with such fervour, now you’re tit to tit with the man who gifted you your pornstar rack. And it’s a bit awkward to say the very least.

“Hi, dad.” He backs off, skittish when he hears your tone of voice. Flat and clipped.

“Sweetpea, I’m so glad you’re here,” Leon starts, he’s laying it on super thick, “We’re gonna have a lot of fun.” Oh, you’re exhausted already.

“Mhm.” You nod in disinterest as you toe off your shoes, place them beside his mud-caked boots. Leon is your dad. Your dad is just a guy to you. One that’s around never, you see him seldom and from afar. He’s not exactly awful, but he’s nothing great. A little touchy if anything, and enthusiastic in a way that comes across as disingenuous.

The only thing you really know about Leon is that he’s your dad, he works with the government, and he’s still hung up on your mom. You can tell from a mile away. Looks at her like she crafted the earth itself, mapped out the stars, plucked them from the sky to make him a new moon. Totally whipped for a woman who forgets he exists until major holidays roll around. And you get it honestly, your mom is pretty, fun, and she’s all you’ve got. So you might take after dad in that sense.

You’ve seen the kinda women he brings home. That time you caught him mid disgusting, nasty, abhorrent sex act that you’ve only seen in porn. Had this poor girl’s head tilted so far back, blonde curls like liquid gold running along her back, brushing the swell of her ass, his arm wrapped around her neck - like, was he trying to fucking kill her? Well, she liked it clearly. That’s beside the point, when you saw her face the following morning, her sheepish smile and the slant of her eyes - you got it. Mom. She looked like mom. You overheard him telling her she was too young for him, a college girl, his daughter’s age - only after he came down her throat though. What a creep.

Then there was his girlfriend from a few years back, this chick who popped her gum too loud, bossed him around and got him to pay for a new set of acrylics weekly. It was uncanny the resemblance between her and mom. What next? You? Is it your turn to be pursued by Leon, by dad? The only thing you’ve got from him is tits, busty like your daddy, pretty like your mommy. And he fucking knows it. You know he does.

Leon places a hand on your lower back. Like, way lower back, the spot a boyfriend would touch when he wants to initiate a quickie. You shiver, glance at him through your peripheral as he guides you to the lounge, the wooden floor is so cold you feel it through the fabric of your winter socks. This dude is loaded and he can’t even get heated floors installed? Not even for lil ol’ you? His daughter? The one that resembles his one true love?

There’s a red box that contains a gingerbread house sitting on the coffee table, you groan inwardly. Here we go with the bonding activities, it’s so forced it makes your skin crawl. His Christmas tree is, well, it’s a tree alright, crudely and hastily decorated with a sparse amount of baubles and god-awful paper crafts you gave to him as a toddler. Aw, the sentiment is there though, kinda cute. You’ll cut dad some slack.

By the time midnight rolls around, you realise cutting dad even the slightest bit of slack was a mistake. “Take that off.” You jab a finger into his stomach, met with sinewy, toughened flesh. Woah, dad’s still got it going on. “It’s ugly, and I’m not twelve, dad.”

“Moving fast.” Leon - your dad, biological, held you as a baby, rocked you to sleep at night - wiggles his eyebrows at you. All while dressed in a Santa suit by the way, ‘cause that is one very important piece of information. He looks fucking ridiculous. It’s the same one he used to pull out when you were a kid, back when you actually gave a shit about him, what he thought about you, whether he even wanted you. ‘Cause if your daddy wanted you, why was he away so often? Told mom to jingle his balls once, an unsavoury recurring memory that you’d like to forget.

“Oh, dad, that’s actually really concerning, like, I’m not gonna lie.” You frown at him so hard the wrinkles that form on your forehead become permanent. “Don’t say that to me.”

“I was messing around.” He defends, “Christ, what is up with you today? Got a stick up your ass or somethin’? Y’know, in my day, kids used to be able to take jokes.” Now he’s pouting like a toddler in a sour mood.

“That was not a joke, dad!” You don’t mean to raise your voice, but it happens and within seconds he’s sat on the couch dejected. This fucking dude. Ugh. He’s pathetic. How did he manage to bag a hottie like your mom?

“I just want you to love me, sweetheart.” Here we go again. Leon sighs hopelessly as he slumps back into the cushions, and you can’t take him seriously when he’s wearing a fucking Santa hat.

“I do love you, dad.” And you do. Honest. Really. Like, pinky promise. You love him out of obligation - he’s your dad, and you’re meant to love your dad. Doesn’t mean you like him though. In your very objective-totally-not-biased view, your dad is just a bit unlikeable. A bit of a strange one.

“Yeah?” He lightens up, “You love me?” God, it’s like he gets off on it. Oh, you’re just being mean now. You scoot closer to him, lean in for an awkward side hug.

“I do, dad. I love you.” You don’t have the courage to look at him. Leon’s arm snakes around your waist, and you know what’s coming. How much do you love me?

“How much do you love me?” Called it. Up until now it’s been a harmless question, but when you face him, gaze flitting from his eyes to his nose to his lips, the general wear and tear of his aged face - it’s different. This time you won’t be able to get away with the regular bout of flattery, wax poetry about how much you love him, how you wouldn’t want anyone else but him to be your daddy. When in reality, you’d swap out Leon for any poor sod. They wouldn’t leave you hanging so damn often.

“A lot, dad.” You turn your head to roll your eyes, getting it out of your system proves worthy, now you can plaster your mommy’s smile onto your face, the one he loves so much. “So much, you know that, don’t you?”

“Just don’t seem like it, pumpkin.” Leon gives you a sideways glance, “I’m trying… I wanna make it up to you, y’know? For how much I was away.”

“Dad, you don’t have to do that. I’m over it.” You’re not. But, you’re good at pretending you are. “I don’t need you to make it up to me.” You do. Oh, you so do. You need it to a devastating degree. “Like, I’m not a kid, I don’t want Santa, and I don’t wanna make fuckin’ gingerbread houses, or watch Home Alone-“

“What, so you’re a big girl now?” He tilts his head to the side, there’s an edge to his voice that’s hard to decipher. Don’t know if it’s good or bad.

“Well, I’m not little anymore, dad.” You gasp when he tries to take a subtle glimpse down your shirt.

“I can see that.” Leon pokes his tongue into the corner of his cheek.

“Yeah, and I saw that!” When you go to stand, his grip becomes almost crushing, wanting to hold you in place so badly. For a moment it’s scary, only for a moment, this is just dad. Just Leon. He’s harmless. As lame as he is, your dad wouldn’t hurt you.

“I didn’t do nothing, baby, c’mere, don’t be like that.” Dad pets your head, and it reminds you of your childhood bedroom. “I’m sorry, alright? I never spent Christmas with just you, and I wanted to make it good for you.”

“I know, dad, and I appreciate it, just don’t need you to get all weird about it. Like, we can just— we can just be normal about it. Don’t have to do all this shit, I just want us to be normal.” Normal, huh? Neither of you can do normal, and you’re fully aware of that. ‘Cause your dad is a freak, and you can’t exactly drain Kennedy blood all that easy. You’ll be your father’s daughter even when he’s dead. “Like, I really, I really can’t deal with this whole Santa thing, did you really expect me to like it? I’m not a baby.”

“I just thought it’d be cute.” Cute? What is cute about a grown man in a Santa costume that’s covered in a thin layer of dust, dug out from the boxes he still hasn’t managed to open ten years after the divorce? “Listen, baby, I’m sorry, alright? I’m real sorry, look at me,” Leon cups your cheek, stares into your eyes with his gentle ones, “Dad’s sorry, yeah? I’m just stupid sometimes.”

“You are,” you nod, “but, I’m sorry too.” No, you’re not. Just saying it so he doesn’t drag this on, so he doesn’t call up your mom and tell her you’re not having a good time. Then your mom will be down your throat, your dad’s missed you, and you missed him too, you should be nicer to him, he tries his best, darling! “You, like, went through all that effort, and I didn’t even say thank you, I just got mad at you— so I’m sorry, dad.”

“Oh, baby,” he coos, shifts so he can bring you into his chest, cheek squished against one of his fat tits, god, why’re they so big, you swear it’s bigger than both of yours combined. “It’s alright, I know you’re growing up, and I’m sorry for treating you like a baby, it’s just, it’s hard ‘cause you’re my little girl, y’know?” Not true. You’ve always been a mommy’s girl. Dad is an acquaintance.

“Yes, I know, dad.” You blink at him, he melts, traces your cheekbone with his thumb. Thank god he took that dumbass hat off, you couldn’t take him seriously.

“Gosh, baby, you look just like your mama.”

“I know, dad.”

“Crazy, ain’t it?” Leon kisses your forehead, “Only got these from me, and nothin’ else, huh?” Dad gropes your tits. The man that put a baby in your mother, that baby being you, obviously, the man whose name is on your birth certificate— the man who has given you his name, is groping your tits. “Certainly not from mommy are they?”

You shake your head. In agreement though. ‘Cause you can’t deny it, your mom’s as flat as a board. It feels weird, yes. But not bad. Maybe you’ve detached Leon from the title of ‘dad’ to the point where it doesn’t even matter anymore. It’s wrong, so you go to stop him, but he’s unyielding in his perversion.

“You look like your mommy down here, baby?” Dad asks, he cups your pussy through your jeans with his big hand. “Can daddy see?”

You shake your head again. Slowly. This time a flimsy no, one that teeters on the boundaries of a yes. You do owe him, you’ve been acting like a bitch ever since you arrived in D.C. Making a right fuss the moment you stepped through the door. Poor guy put the rather intricate gingerbread house all together by himself, he’s dressed as fucking Santa, all ‘cause he thought you’d like it. How bad can it be? Not like fucking your dad could land the two of you in jail, right? Well, it could, but that’s not the point.

“No? C’mon, sweet girl, dad just wants to see,” Leon’s plump bottom lip juts out, you kinda sit there for a minute, then lay back on the couch. What have you got to lose? You have no emotional attachment to this man. You do. It’s not weird at all. God, it’s so weird you want to claw your skin off. “That’s a good girl.” He butters you up while he unbuttons your jeans, taps your hips so you lift ‘em up and off they pop, jeans thrown to the ground. “Oh, look at her, baby, how sweet, just like mama,” Leon rests your left leg on his shoulder, holds the ankle of your right one to spread you open. “You think she likes it like mommy did?”

“How did… How did mom like it, dad— daddy?” You correct yourself, feel this horrible churning in your stomach. Both nausea and need flooding your shaky body.

Leon presses his wide nose to the bump of your clit through your tight panties, there’s a wet patch that seems to get bigger and bigger the more he sniffs around down there. He lifts his head, rests it on your thigh as he slides them to the side, sticky, gooey arousal stringing apart, sticking to the seat of your undies like PVA glue when he separates the fabric from your soaked centre. “She liked it real sloppy, baby.” With that, he spits on your drippy cunt, runs his finger through your folds, pinches your clit. “Daddy’s gonna give it to you just how mom liked it, alright?”

“Okay, dad,” you tell him breathlessly, hands clasped together as you try to calm your nerves. The warmth of his breath on your puffy clit is enough to make you shiver, he spreads you open with his index and middle fingers, the tip of his tongue traces along the centrefold of your cunt. Then Leon grows agitated by the way your panties insist on snapping back in place, so he has a little wrestle with them and your limp legs, once they’re off he tucks them into his pocket for safekeeping. Santa’s back pocket.

Sweetly, he kisses your clit, sucks on it like he’s getting to the centre of your cunt, blows a raspberry on it - you’re so wet it’s pooling beneath your ass. Leon spreads your cheeks to lick into your cunt, press his nose into it real nice ‘n deep, smacks his lips against your fat pussy, stubble smeared with your slick. Leaking all over your dad’s pretty face, letting your dad tug your clit between his teeth and fuck his tongue into your tight hole. “Should stop shaving.” Is all dad says once you cream on his face, “Your mama didn’t.” Okay, didn’t need to know that, but here you are, dad’s fat cock hard and heavy against your thigh. So you guess fucking him comes at that expense - finding out all sorts of details about their wild sex life. To be honest, you pegged Leon as the kinda guy who knows what missionary is and missionary only, not that you ever thought about that before. He unbuckles his belt, unthreads the prongs from the holes one by one, and drops his red Santa pants. Good riddance.

“Dad,” you whimper when he sits you up, handles you like a dolly. The tight-fitted Santa coat stretches around his biceps when he scoops you up, puts you on his lap, gosh, you’ve never really noticed those. Maybe that’s what your mom saw in him. Big blue eyes and big tits and big fucking arms. This Santa attire is really fucking you up, it’s hard to take him seriously.

“Your mommy’s real good at riding cock, y’know that, pumpkin?” Leon squeezes your ass, you feel him. All of him. His clothed cock grinding upwards into your bare cunt, a toothy grin stretching his lips as he watches the way your lips squish together. Yeah, fat pussy, so what. Get over it, creep. “Best I ever had she was, best fuckin’ pussy,” he licks up the sweat dripping down your collarbones, “but you’re made for me, ain’t you, baby?”

“Yes, dad.” You don’t know what else to say, breath stuttering when he sits you down on his cock. Thick and fairly long in all the ways a dick should be, you suppose. Look at that, giving a review of your dad’s cock. How far you have come. Fucking degenerate cock critic. It sure does feel good, his tip nestled snug against your cervix, pulsing within the silky walls of your tight cunt. Feel every vein, how his tip leaks pre endlessly, how it twitches when you clench around him.

“Baby, you’re such a big girl now,” Dad kisses you smack-bang in the middle. On your pouty lips. The ones that remind him of your mom, same lips that sucked his cock in the marriage bed, same eyes rolling back into your skull when he begins to rock his hips into you. “Takin’ daddy’s cock so well, aren’t you? Better than mommy.” Almost, he wants to add. You know he does. He’s so predictable.

There are no words in your brain, only able to let out shaky breaths and the occasional yelp as he takes you, grabs your hips and bounces you up and down on his cock. “Fuck, wait, let me— let me-“ he doesn’t finish his sentence, instead he’s sliding you off and bending you over the couch. “Better like this.” That’s ’cause you look like mom from behind. Same hair, same hips, same perky ass. Leon fucks you harder, his strokes deeper, knocking his cock into your poor cervix with his brutal thrusts. Your nails scratch at the cracked leather of his couch, unable to help the way you moan for him, it’s so embarrassing, even more so when your hips begin to move on their own, fucking yourself back on dad’s dick.

Each thrust is harder than the last, god, is he trying to go through you? Put you in A&E ‘cause his cock got tangled in your intensities? “Is this… Is this how mom likes it, dad?” You manage to get out through a stifled groan, he digs his teeth into your neck, licks a stripe over the tender skin then tugs at your hoop earring with his teeth.

“Your mom likes it even harder, baby,” Leon snickers, “your mama is a dirty bitch.” You gasp, tighten around him involuntarily, your pussy behaves in mysterious ways. “She liked it when I did this,” his hand comes down on your ass hard, you squeal, almost lose footing and fall face-first into the couch cushions. “And when I pulled her hair, and slapped her tits, and spit down her fuckin’ throat.” Your mom is one nasty bitch, good on her. Personally, you’re new to it all. “You want that?”

“I don’t know, dad.” You say helplessly, thighs trembling when he reaches round with his nimble fingers to rub neat circles into your bud, so you come undone around his cock. Coat the shaft in cream, drip slick down his balls. You muffle your moans into a pillow, painted toes curling against the wooden floor, suddenly thankful for his lack of underfloor heating - ‘cause you’re sweating like a pig.

Your body trembles with aftershocks as he continues to fuck you through it, helps his little girl out by kissing the wet nape of her neck, a big hand on her waist to steady her. Sweat prickles your skin, jolting as he gives one last sloppy push into you, hips jerking as he unloads all he’s got to give and you milk him just right. ‘Cause you know, you’re his kid, made for him. That’s why he fits like a glove. Born to get your cunt bred by dad. You think he says your mom’s name into your hair, but you don’t question it, slumping over in exhaustion.

“Dad, can you just do me a favour and take that off, please? I’m really tired and it’s pissing me off.” You curl up on the sofa, uncaring of the seed that drips out and trickles down your plush thighs.. Leather’s easy to clean.

“Why? I like it. Don’t you think it’s cute, sweetpea?” Normalcy or what the two of you consider normal returns.

“No, take it off, or I’m taking the next flight home.”

“Alright, pumpkin.”

#leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

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taralen · 3 months

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Why I draw Spamton the way I do and in defense of the "Tumblr sexyman" Spamton G. Spamton. An ESSAY.

EDIT 2/3/24 - Fixed some grammatical errors, changed font colors to make them easier to read against a white background, and reframed some of my arguments, especially regarding the "Yaoi style" portion, as it came across as ignorant and spiteful.

I follow the #spamton tag here, and I hate to say it, but it's full of artists jabbing at other artists who so happen to draw Spamton handsome. I see comments like, "No, he's a middle-aged sleazeball who is grungy and dirty." Often, these depictions show him with graying hair, ratty clothes, and covered in filth and grime. While there is nothing inherently wrong about drawing him this way, I find it disingenuous that the same people who draw him this way criticize people who draw him more handsome and or clean-cut because this depiction is even less based on his canon appearance than someone simply drawing him more realistically proportioned and with a pleasing visage (the definition of what this is varies by artist, but they're all often reduced to just "tumblr sexyman.") I see similar comments by people who draw him in what they may describe as "disgusting" or a "dirty scammer."

If Toby intended for Spamton to look dirty and gross, he would have simply gone with a similar design route to this character as an NPC in Undertale.

Toby or other official arts never depict him with the following, even though I see it in fan art all the time:

Ball-jointed hands. Some artists draw them properly and make them look super cool. Simple lines aren't how they look in reality, but I get why people do that. Either way, it's not canon.

Dirty with tattered clothes. Spamton is only ever shown with a black blazer. It's debatable if he wears pants, but Toby has also drawn him with a collared shirt and tie.

Graying hair. Should be obvious. He's only ever seen with jet-black hair.

Overweight/Fat. While some fan depictions of this are cute, it's not canon. Spamton is always drawn thin but not necessarily in shape.

Buff. Same as the above. It looks really good in some fanart but is also not canon.

Tail. It can look really, really cute, but not canon for him or any of the Addisons.

Feathers. Only Swatch and the Swatchlings are depicted with feathers in Cyber World.

"40+ years old" - There is zero evidence of this in-game or in official merchandise or media. This assumption apparently comes from people assuming that his birthday would be the same as the first "spam email," which (at the time of this writing) was 46 years ago. This is a false equivalency since there is no indication that Spamton has any associations with our real-world history of spam emails. It should also be noted that this was not a true spam email. The only thing closest to Spamton in association with real spam email history may be his favorite year, 1997, in which spam marketing emails became frequent nuisances. However, actions to stop spam mail started in 1996, and it was by the 2000s that they became a serious concern because technology had since advanced. If he were truly born in 1978, he would only be 19 by 1997. While not impossible, it's not how most people see him in his Big Shot years of barely just entering adulthood. Also, as someone who has lived through most of the 90s, I can attest to a lot of this. Spam stuff existed, but news reports only heavily got into it by the 2000s.

100% Inorganic or Robot. While a cool idea, there is more evidence against this, like his ability to eat, sleep, and genuinely feel pain.

Boobs. I get most people who do this are doing it for fun, but it's not canon to his design, lol.

Tall. The most obvious one. Spamton is below average height, as made evident by his nearly 1:1 scale with Kris, a teenager.

Toddler-sized. Same as above. I won't lie that it can be drawn super cute, though. Haha!

With all that being said, why is it such a contention among his fans to depict him as handsome?

There is evidence to support that Spamton is at least, to some degree, good-looking but unconventionally attractive based on several sources. It should be noted that people often use his shop sprite as the best representation of his head, but this isn't accurate, either. In Undertale and Deltarune, because of its cartoonish sprites, it shouldn't surprise anyone that Spamton's are the most inaccurate and change frequently. Another user posted an entire comparison of all his sprites and how drastically inconsistent they are. I tried searching through my likes for this, but I can't find it. If anyone finds this, please link or reblog it to this post. Anyway, the intent of the post was to show artists that there are numerous different ways you can interpret Spamton's design with what's provided in the game, alone.

Stuff people often miss that is canon:

Lips. Believe it or not, this bastard's got kissable lips. Toby's recent art and his Neo attack are proof of this.

Eyes under the glasses. Seen in his sprite of going "BIG SHOT" the first time with Kris. It also hints at heterochromia because they contrast in color with yellow pupils under the pink and pink under the yellow.

NEO has no visible jaw hinge line. Only puppet Spamton does. Big Shot Spamton doesn't have one, either.

NEO's glasses' colors are reversed, and they are pince-nez style.

Androgynous sense of fashion. This is the least missed one, but it's worth mentioning. Spamton has no issues wearing pink, a color nowadays associated with women, and the NEO body has fabulous heels in addition to mostly being a magenta pink. The dress on the mannequin that greatly resembles him (and may hint at him being a white Addison before) shows a pretty dress that mirrors the one Mettaton wore in Undertale.

So then, WHY is he being depicted as handsome or unconventionally good-looking a BAD thing?

There really shouldn't be an issue with it at all. It's less offensive and technically more canon than many of the supposed depictions of him being a sleazebag who looks like he hasn't showered in a century and is hooked up on drugs or booze. You don't become a media darling without a charming personality. Mettaton only got successful in Undertale before he got his EX body because there was literally nothing else the people could watch. Spamton, on the other hand, was competing against many, so he had to stand out and look good even with the help of Mike (and possibly Tenna).

I often see people make this very reductive argument that it's a "yaoi style." This is by far one of the stupidest arguments I've ever seen. Drawing good-looking men is NOT equivalent to liking Yaoi. There are plenty of other genres of Asian-origin or Anime-styled media that feature pretty boys that have nothing to do with Boy's Love. Even Shounen anime has some bishies. Drawing bishounen-style male characters is a design choice and does not indicate someone's interest in Yaoi media. I swear, I have never seen this problem with Eastern fans. It's rude to lump people with similar art styles under something most people who make this claim don't even understand. I've seen people make upset comments about other people calling their style stuff like "Cal-Arts" even if they never went to Cal-Arts or like the media produced by them. It's the same principle. Stop lumping entire artists under one umbrella.

I draw him handsome because it's simply the way I see him. I love many other depictions of him, undoubtedly, and I even have a sticker set that depicts him with the graying hair, but it looks really good anyway. My point is, the fact that people who draw him dark and handsome shouldn't be scrutinized any more than people who draw him way more off base.

My personal contentions with the assumption he is a "dirty sleazebag old man."

I find this absolutely hilarious because this is a genuine stereotype and stock character of people similar to him. The douchebag salesman is a trope that's been around for a long time, but people don't seem to realize that this is a caricature and not representative of real salespeople.

Go to any @$%^ing department store or even an electronics one. Do you ever see anyone selling you stuff looking like they crawled out of the trash? Most are lower-class people who can't find any other job, meaning they are stuck with sales. It takes skill to be a good salesman, and I hate to brag, but I can probably sell you a #@$%ing soap bar and convince you that the extra $10 you're spending on it over a drugstore brand is better for your hands by deeply moisturizing them through herbal extracts and only "naturally" derived cleansing agents. Your hands are dry from the cold, drawing moisture out of them, so the investment would be worth it for the health of your skin during this harsh winter season. Why risk a drugstore brand that will only make your hands feel even rougher, flakier, and cracked? Stuff like this requires you to look someone in the eyes and observe who they are—their body language, way of carrying themselves, and the cadence of how they respond to your words. Does it always work? No. However, do you think anyone would $%^&ing buy ANY LEGAL PRODUCT if a salesperson looked like they were a shady crack dealer who was suspicious as %^&( to deal with? NO. It's a stereotype caricature for a REASON. It's meant to demean the reality of the salesperson who is forced to peddle a stupid product for a living. It's hard, and if anything, GET MAD at the people who are the ones making the crappy product! Yeah, some salesmen are bad at their jobs, but do you really believe that Cyber City's #1 RATED SALESMAN got there from being mediocre?! He may have gotten outside help for something that Toby never made clear, but he definitely does NOT lack the personality to make a great salesman. And believe it or not, there is plenty of evidence to prove he WASN'T bad at it! The other NPCs sell stuff that was once his goods but with his labels removed, and based on his statement of wanting to "make his own deals," this heavily implies he was NOT selling products he wanted to sell before he became a Big Shot. He has a strong sense of pride in the way he sees and presents himself, and I think this may be overlooked by people who make him look as ratty as possible.

I will also CLEARLY state this but this depiction overall does several of the following, which I KNOW many people will say is bad:

Ageism. Why do so many people, mostly Zoomers, assume that a man in his 40s is washed-up, gross, or even considered old? I've seen hotter men in their 40s than some young men in their early 20s.

Downplays his mental health struggles. One of the best things about Spamton is how he DOESN'T play into just the "sleazebag" stereotype. Once we go into his shop, we see that he is truly just a very broken man. His theme song is a FARCE to try and convince you that he's tougher than he really is.

Classist/Poor-Shaming. The assumption that a homeless person has to have no sense of cleanliness. Please, for the love of all that is good, meet actual homeless people. Not all of them are like this. Spamton clearly keeps himself rather clean for someone who dumpster dives. He is trying to stay true to himself, and his sense of self is one of pride. There is no dialogue or description to imply he smells or lacks proper hygiene.

Again, while there is nothing inherently wrong with drawing him this way, I just want people to be more aware of why they draw him this way. Think of it like a thought experiment to reflect on why you see him the way you do. How I draw Spamton comes from a place of deep empathy, love, and life experiences I've had in sales in addition to ALWAYS being customer-facing, meaning I know what works and what doesn't for over a DECADE. It's rather bizarre to me that people who claim to be big fans of him draw him in such a demeaning way that goes beyond the canon depiction and lowers him to absolute dirt, almost like beating this character with the ugly stick just because it's "funny." Is he a tragic character to you? Or is he simply a clown to laugh at for his failures and hardships? How we depict and see people is utterly fascinating because it reflects in real life, too.

You can take the exact same person and show them to different groups of people, and they will all see the same person differently. They don't have to be artists, but they tend to vary if you ask their opinions. For example, I think the actor Mads Mikkelsen is very attractive, but I know many who wouldn't understand why. A guy I've had a crush on for years is one of the hottest men ever to me, but a friend of mine called him "just a guy."

I fully understand that some people find the way I draw him stupid. It is what it is. I can't force you to like it.

I'm simply trying to point out my reasonings for why I draw him this way, and I would like others to think about their methods, too, and NOT to bash other people outright or go "ewww Yaoi tumblr sexyman" just because someone doesn't depict him with stereotypical traits or as "100% canon style" (which is mostly just copying the game's sprite style.)

#musings #character analysis #character design analysis #spamton #essay #spamton g spamton #deltarune #big shot spamton #spamton neo #sneo #cw long post #long post #art style study #art style

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quinns-shadowy-arts · 3 months

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Steve's Perfect Mixtape

Day 8 of @steddielovemonth‘s Steddie Love Month Event! Rating: General CW: None Tags: Getting Together, Love Confessions, Eddie’s a Romantic, Tooth Rotting Fluff. WC: 1,308 Prompt: “Love is the perfect mixtape”; Submitted by @thefreakandthehair and “Love is the heartbeat I can feel when I hug him”; Submitted by anonymous

Eddie’s been thinking about this for months. He’s had the small cassette tape tucked into the depths of his dresser drawer since March. He started making the mixtape the same week he found out when Steve’s birthday was.

It was the night of January 24th. Big, fat snowflakes were falling from the sky. Steve and Eddie were sitting on the living room floor of the Munson’s new trailer. They were passing a joint between the two of them, relaxing and listening to some of Eddie’s tapes. They were sharing secrets and stories, lips loose from the weed.

“I’m going to be 21 in April, isn’t that crazy?” Steve had asked. Eddie didn’t really think that was all that crazy if he was being honest.

“I was supposed to be in college right now. Studying to take my dad’s spot as CEO or whatever.” Steve had looked over at Eddie before looking back up at the ceiling. Eddie’s heart squeezed at the thought.

“Do you- Do you wish you were in college?” Eddie asked, looking at the slope of Steve’s nose; straight and gorgeous. Steve looked back over at Eddie, taking a hit of the joint he’d been hogging, before responding.

“I used to. I felt like a failure for not being accepted, still sorta do. But I’m happy now that I didn’t. If I hadn’t been rejected from all the schools I applied for, I wouldn’t have Robin. I wouldn’t have worked at Scoops and wouldn’t have ever met her, y’know?” Eddie nodded. Steve made eye contact with Eddie and kept going.

“I wouldn’t have met you either. I’m happy here, with you. I would kill to be here with you, sitting on the floor and shooting the shit, rather than at some stuffy school, studying for a boring future that I don’t even want. I’m more than happy, here with you.” Steve smiled at Eddie. Eddie pulled a chunk of hair in front of his face, trying to hide the heat spreading across his face.

“Aw shucks, Stevie.” Eddie teased. Steve chuckled at Eddie’s theatrics.

“When is your birthday?” Eddie asked, still holding the hair over his face.

“April 17th, 1967. You?” Steve quirked his eyebrow at Eddie.

“August 8th, 1966” Eddie responded.

The next day, Eddie was brainstorming things he could get Steve for his birthday. He toyed around with the idea of something sportsy, maybe some compression socks or something. But that felt too simple and disingenuous. It was a gift you would get for a coworker, not a friend you’ve spilt blood and battled demons with.

Eventually the idea struck Eddie like an arrow. Eddie loved music, believed it was one of the best ways you could connect with someone. You could learn a lot about someone from their music taste. So Eddie started crafting Steve's Perfect Mixtape™.

He spent weeks choosing the songs, listening to Top 40’s pop songs to assemble the perfect selection of songs. After choosing what he deemed were “the best songs” (and Steve’s favorites of course), he listened to them for hours on end, trying to figure out the perfect order. The order that would flow into itself in the most satisfying way.

By the beginning of March, he had perfected the tape. He had finally recorded all of the songs down onto one tape. He had labeled the tape as what it was, “Stevie’s Perfect Mixtape”. It held Steve’s favorite songs, such as “Head Over Heels” by Tears For Fears and “Sunglasses at Night” by Corey Hart. He tucked the tape into his dresser, hoping to keep it safe and secret until Steve’s birthday.

Finally, Steve’s birthday had come. Steve planned for everyone to come over, nothing too extravagant. He used to throw absolute ragers, back when he was King Steve, but he much preferred the simple hang outs with his closest friends.

Eddie dug the tape out from the back of his drawer and wrapped it in some wrapping paper he found in Wayne’s closet. He tucked the cassette into the pocket above his heart. He hopped into his van and drove over to Steve’s house.

Steve’s party was chill, including only the kids and older teens. They hung out in his living room, songs flowing from Steve’s speakers. They all played games and ate pizza, the older teens drinking mainly beer while the youngins drank soda. The party continued on until the late evening. Everyone would’ve stayed longer, but the gremlins had school and everyone else still had curfews.

Robin had gone with Nancy, Mike, and Lucas while Jonathan and Argyle carted Will and Dustin home. Which had left Steve and Eddie alone. Steve was happy to have the company still, wasn’t exactly looking forward to falling asleep alone. Eddie still hadn’t given Steve The Tape yet, had wanted to wait until they had some privacy.

“Hey, Steve?” Eddie called out. Eddie stood in front of the couch while Steve was in the kitchen. Steve walked into the living room at the sound of Eddie’s voice.

“Yeah, man? Is everything ok?” Steve’s eyebrows were furrowed with concern.

“Yeah, everything’s ok. I just had a present I needed to give you.” Eddie said. Steve’s concern melted away, making him look light and happy.

“Oh, you didn’t need to do that.” Steve said, but he smiled and walked towards Eddie. Eddie reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the little wrapped rectangle. He handed it over to Steve. Steve grabbed onto it and started pulling away the wrapping.

“Is this a mixtape?” Steve looked up at Eddie while tugging the last remaining half of paper off. A note fell to the ground as he did so. Steve looked down and picked it up, tucking it underneath the cassette tape as he read off the song list.

“You put “Bad Boys” on here?” Steve smiled up at Eddie. It was one of Steve’s favorite songs, he had only told Eddie about his love for it,

“Yeah, I know how much you love Wham!, and it reminded me of us a little bit” Eddie smiled at Steve, it was one of Eddie’s favorite songs now too. Steve finished reading off the list before pulling the note out from underneath the tape; he unfolded it up and began to read it.

As Steve read through the note, Eddie’s heart had started to pump at top speed. He pulled a lock of hair over his face, trying to hide his embarrassment. Steve’s wide smile morphed into something smaller; something private and sweet. He bit at his bottom lip, tears springing to his eyes. After a couple of minutes, he looked up at Eddie.

“Do you really love me?” Steve’s voice wobbled with emotion. Eddie nodded,

“Yes, Stevie. I really love you. I understand if you don’t feel the same way, I just needed to let you know. You deserve to know that someone loves you.” Tears trickled down Steve’s cheeks, his smile remained on his face.

He pulled Eddie into a hug, Eddie’s head landing against his chest. Steve’s hand held Eddie’s head in place, his face pressing against the top of Eddie’s frizzy hair. Eddie could hear the rapid thumping of Steve’s heart against his ear. He listened to the rhythmic Thump thump thump of Steve’s heartbeat while Steve pressed kisses against the top of his head.

“Thank you” Steve whispered out, voice overflowing with emotion. He squeezed his arms tighter around Eddie.

“I love you too, for the record” Steve smiled even wider, even though Eddie couldn’t see it. Eddie turned his head and kissed at the spot above Steve’s heart. He pressed his ear back to Steve’s pec. He listened as Steve’s heart calmed down into something tender.

Ba-bump Ba-bump Ba-bump

Both their hearts thumped with love, full of affection and joy. This really was the perfect mixtape.

#steddie fanfic #steddielovemonth #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #tooth rotting fluff #steve harrington loves eddie munson #eddie munson loves steve harrington

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ingravinoveritas · 4 months

Note

David and Michael get lots of acclaim and heart eye emojis for being adorably cute and proud and lovely and OOP! And as if by magic… #dontforgetaboutus

Oh, boy. Well, I was tagged in several posts about this and had it sent to me by several people, and it's just...going back to what I mentioned the other day about predictability, here is another perfect example of exactly that.

This seems to be a callback to Georgia referring to AL as "#mywife", and in both cases, the "flirting" between Georgia and AL feels very forced and disingenuous. I would say this is especially true of today's post, as it comes right on the heels of that photo of Michael and David on press night and how it has subsequently been overwhelming the social media chatter.

The problem here is that Anna's caption makes absolutely no sense at all. As it is worded, it makes it sound like Georgia has two husbands (if she has a first husband, then logically that would seem to mean she has a second one). So is Anna calling herself a husband? It seems like this is yet another attempt at her and Georgia trying to be like Michael and David, and once again, it falls completely flat. All of this is riffing on Georgia calling Michael David's "other wife," but that was never something Anna was originally part of--she never called Michael David's "other wife" or was included in any of the banter/exchanges between Michael and Georgia, and certainly not in anything involving David.

So the fact that people are now describing this as a "polycule" is sort of mind-boggling to me, because while calling Michael "other wife" was rooted in the unavoidable chemistry and powerful connection between Michael and David (on and off screen), in reality there is nothing to suggest Georgia or Anna are attracted to or even like each other as genuine friends beyond a superficial, surface level. And while many fans on Twitter are up in arms about people shipping Michael and David (who were just photographed actually looking into each other's eyes), it somehow is completely acceptable for people to tweet/comment about Georgia and AL "making out," asking if Georgia "can fight," and so on.

That all being said, what's really interesting to me is what Anna and Georgia haven't posted, which is any sort of personal pictures. The pictures AL re-shared from Georgia are production stills (rather than a picture with David backstage, for instance), and she also did not post a picture of her and Michael, which she did do when they went to see David in Good in October of last year:

There has also noticeably not been a personal picture posted of Georgia and Anna, and even more notably, no picture of Michael and David from last night. For me this calls to mind the recent blurry photo that AL posted, and the fact that it appeared to have been a sneaked photo that was taken without Michael or David's knowledge (which would explain Michael looking so caught off-guard/alarmed and David not even looking in AL's direction).

Thinking about the warmth and adoration on Michael and David's faces in the theatre photo, it seems like last night was very much "their" night, and so I do wonder if Anna--much to her chagrin, no doubt--was strictly told not to take any photos for the sake of Michael and David's privacy.

Whatever the case may be, it is definitely tiring to see this predictable pattern of behavior from Georgia and AL. I think what folks are missing is that whether Michael and David are together romantically or not, they do not care what people think of their friendship/relationship, because it is for them, not for anyone else. But Georgia and Anna seem to want people to think that they are close, and have created this "flirtation" for the purpose of public consumption and furthering a narrative.

So yes, those are my thoughts on the new Insta stories from Georgia/AL. Glad as always to hear from my followers on what you all think of these latest developments. Thank you both for writing in! x

#taraiha #rainbowposes #reply post #michael sheen #welsh seduction machine #david tennant #soft scottish hipster gigolo #georgia tennant #again if this was a one time thing i wouldn't even say anything #but the fact that it keeps happening is...yeah #the patterns are patterning #she also keeps 'joking' about leaving Michael #and usually someone doesn't do that if they are happy in a relationship #but what's the old saying: when someone shows you who they are believe them the first time #TL;DR: Michael and David are pure cane sugar and Georgia/AL are aspartame #so much cringe #relationships #anna lundberg #discourse

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esther-dot · 5 months

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I'm sorry, that's gonna be a really weird ask from one jonsa stan to another but I'm genuinely curious - is there any anti jonsa argument/claim that actually made sense to you? I'm really asking for the sake of, well, civilised discussion - because if there are arguments there ought to be reasonable counterarguments. And all that I see is the same tired old crap - "she's not his favourite sister" and "but they are relatives!" and all the other stuff. Given, of course I'm not hanging around jonry@ and jon@erys side of this fandom (dark things happen to any sansa and jonsa stans there) and have no idea if they have any reasonable metas. Or maybe if there was a moment that made you actually question possibility of jonsa happening in books? (once again - because I'm anxious like that - I'm not asking this to disprove something or make people question jonsa but because I wonder if you personally had this sort of experience).

Thank you and hope you're having a nice day!

No worries! I enjoy looking at things from different angles, so I don’t mind at all. Unfortunately, I haven’t read anti jonsa stuff that isn’t exactly what you described, so I can’t actually have the convo you want about this. I tried to go to some jonerys blogs but their anti tags weren’t what we’re looking for. There’s a blogger people view as neutral who other Sansa fans/Jonsas put on my dash, and a BNF who people I follow also reblog from, so I went over to their blogs to look around and they’re less rabid, but I can’t say they offered though-provoking pushback. I’ll share some snippets though, in case you’re interested.

There was the old "but their siblings" argument:

I, ah, I do not think Jon marries Sansa in any scenario. Regardless of biological relationship, they think of themselves as siblings. The people around them are also quite likely to consider them siblings or as good as, having been raised as such (see also Theon being accused of kinslaying over his apparent murder of Bran and Rickon). Nor do I think either would be in a rush to go back to the traditional “but the Targaryens practiced incest,” again considering that their society is strongly anti-incest. Jon and Sansa were raised together, in the same house, as brother and sister, and that makes a material difference.

But you know, raised as siblings and please nobody try the “but they weren’t close” with me, that’s so not true.

It’s interesting to see someone say they were close, that’s not something I’ve seen before. I suppose my biggest issue with this line of thought is that it feels true for a generic fantasy maybe, but hardly convincing when talking about ASOIAF? Martin wants to talk about incest. So far, we have all the bad, abusive variations covered. I think he’s gonna work some shades of grey into it the same way he tries to do with everything he discusses, and to pretend like he would never feels disingenuous to me. Even if he ultimately abandoned the initial draft, from the author’s mind came the idea of a Jon / Stark girl romance. He has entertained it. Secondly, Jon is a Targ and it’s reasonable to expect that to manifest somehow, or at least, for Jon to experience the fear that there’s something latent there. And third, if we’re gonna get a romance, I think Martin would write it with the complexity and inner struggle that he writes everything and fauxcest offers him that opportunity, not to mention all the parallels it would allow as well.

Let's see...I also saw that they object to the Beauty and the Beast reading of Jonsa:

And I've been searching but apparently I never posted the rest of my "Bear and the Maiden Fair" thoughts, but that's the in-world Beauty and the Beast story. Through that and looking at bears elsewhere in the story, you can track this idea of the beast not being a monster, but being perceived as one by society, an outcast, which is why the Hound, Tyrion, and Jon all fit the role/are related (in a way), and why Jon will be the final suitor or real bear/beast.

The next one, I’m just gonna post the whole thing:

I’m not sure if the best part is the implication that Jon/Dany (which they believe is inevitable) have what’s required to allow for “quick deep emotional connections” or if it’s reading the Hound insult and threaten and then finally put a knife to Sansa’s throat and deciding “romance! chivalry!” The Hound may be disillusioned, but the fandom has got to stop pretending like some of his espoused beliefs aren’t self-serving, a defense because he is a monster. We have Brienne and Jon showing us different versions of knights, true knights, so acting like the Hound is in the right is just bizarre.

Anyway, no, I’ve not read an anti argument that made me doubt it. I do doubt what Martin is aiming for at times, so I’ve vacillated between potential paths/endgames for them over the years, but the anti arguments generally are coming from a reading of characters and dynamics that’s disturbing to me which means I’m usually alienated, not compelled.

#dot chat #jonsa #anti asoiaf fandom

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ikinremu · 7 months

Text

KINKTOBER DAY 4: Billy Russo x Overstimulation

One More

Billy Russo x Fem!Reader

Tags: Overstimulation, P in V, Mentions of Fingering, Mentions of Oral (F recieving), Praise, Multiple Orgasms

! Smut Warning !

"Come on baby, y'gonna give me one more?" Billy crooned, a typical, playful smirk tampering with his lips as he softly - skilfully - bounced you on his cock, reeling your release nearer and nearer.

“I can’t..” You practically panted, showing a subtle, somewhat disingenuous, shake of the head, only saying what you were due to the overwhelming sensitivity of your body.

You’d cum several times already, and Billy was so unstoppably determined to anew them until you truly couldn’t take it anymore - this set to be the final one, clit swollen and cunt puffy with such hypersensitivity.

First release granted by his fingers, he’d so smoothly, so agilely, pumped his digits within the overflowing slickness of your hole, ably toying with your clit until euphoria hit.

Next, his tongue. Billy had trailed lengthy, pleasing stripes up your arousal, vigorously flicking his tongue over your clit before you were overpowered by the utter force of the orgasm, now vastly increased in over-responsiveness.

Third release brought by the combination of both of the previous, you were - much to Billy’s triumph - left incredibly sensitive.

And this was to be your fourth, tight, sopping hole so faultlessly filled by his bucking thrusts as he guided your bounces.

“You can do it baby..” He encouraged through a rich, tense groan, puppeteered by a blatantly smug grin, “Gonna cum for me again, huh?”

In a heavily untamed manner, you nodded, “Mhm..” the word floated like a mere breath, an unmistakable knot tightening inside your lower-stomach.

Cunt dripping around his length, you felt the tender convulsions of your distended clit, coil so abruptly snapping within you as bliss unwound, washing over your frame as your fourth and final orgasm hit.

Billy planted a speedy, quite lazy kiss to the severely flushed skin of your cheek, “That’s my girl, mm?”

Thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed! Please feel free to use the asks feature on my page for requests of oneshots/drabbles/blurbs etc.. would be greatly appreciated, though I will be responding to them after kinktober since i’m doing the full month! <3

#smut #smutty #drabbles #kinktober #kinktober list #billy russo #billy russo smut #the punisher

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controversialhpmemes · 25 days

Note

Obviously hate is never okay and that message is was super shitty, I’m sorry!

But it’s also very obvious that you think canon is superior. Even with the small things— like chocolate chip versus oatmeal raisin in your response. (i know i know it’s silly but…) Based on my experience with your page, you do shit on non-canon ships in your memes and you complain about people who like those ships.

(And before you say that you’re critiquing the ships— it doesn’t feel like you’re doing it in good faith. Good faith critiques come from a place wanting something to improve because you like it and want to be part of it. You’ve made it clear you don’t like these ships and it feels like you don’t want to actually engage in productive discourse)

So It feels like the “if people just tagged correctly” argument is disingenuous. Like how do you tag a character as OOC when they don’t really have a characterization to begin with? Not to mention— I feel like sO many marauders fics are tagged as AUs anyway because they don’t take place in the magical world.

There are also so many other tags you could filter out, such as any of the ships you don’t like. If you don’t like how Jegulus treats Lily and Harry, filter out fics that having Jegulus raising Harry.

To a casual (but deeply invested observer) it feels more like you miss the focus on the older parts of the fandom and are taking it out on the newer members. If you’re annoyed with the lack of content/focus/popularity, you’re not going to change that with anti posts. You just need to find your people (which you’re doing here!) based on what you all like.

To your jokes about marauders fans not understanding or knowing the canon… many marauders fans grew up reading Harry Potter and have since become uncomfortable with how JKRs views come through in the text. Many of us have since distanced ourselves from the original canon on purpose because of the transphobia, racism, and pro-cop content. (This isn’t me trying to say that canon lovers are endorsing this, but it also doesn’t feel right when canon lovers act like they have more of a claim to fandom spaces… so many people would have loved to continue being in those spaces, but feel like Marauders is a safer space)

I don’t get the impression that people are trying to pretend they invented Harry Potter, but to some degree they largely invented the marauders characters. Obviously some characters have large roles in the canon (you post a lot abt Remadora, which makes sense) but others are barely mentioned or are only shown through specific lenses.

Like I mentioned earlier, how do you tag something OOC when there’s no original characterization? But it’s not an OC, because you’re pulling bits of the character from the world and thousands of other people have the same character (or a similar character) in their heads.

This isn’t supposed to be a gotcha moment. I’m genuinely asking bc it doesn’t really feel like tagging is the root of the issue.

One last big point: Your blog talks a ton about misogyny and fetishization of gay men. These are topics that are much-discussed in so many spaces and not even the most fanon-focused marauders fans can agree on them, but I’d like to give my two cents.

There is misogyny. Of course there is. Even as people try their best, Marauders revolves around a group of boys (it’s in the name) and men will continue to be at the center of it. That will inherently attract and breed misogyny.

However, the canon treatment and characterization of women is also misogynistic. Lily, for example, is very flat in the books. She has a few scenes (in Snapes memories, mostly) and is otherwise talked *about*. She is held up as an idyllic mother and student and person, true, but that is not a well-written character. She isn’t really a person in the books as much as she is a motivation/plot device for men around her. And this is entirely a product of JKR’s inability to write women.

Again, all of this is par for the course, and most people would agree that canon marauders-era characters are often single-note.

What feels unfair about your arguments is that fanon has added so much depth to these characters and flushed them out as real fallible humans. It’s fair to point out that fanon does this more for the men, but it feels reductive to oNLY talk about the misogyny in fandom, when canon is just as guilty by nature of the author.

On the topic of fetishizing: there’s this idea that a bunch of creepy white women are sitting at their computers writing porn about gay teenagers… when that is really a straw man argument. Maybe those people exist, and I would be more likely to believe that that’s true in the broader HP fandom… but a majority of the marauders fic authors I know (including the ones who write filthy smut) are genderqueer (transmasc esp) and are actively experimenting with their sexuality and gender. Marauders fics played a large role in my coming out as transmasc.

It’s not fetishizing if the people writing these things are closeted gay men/nonbinary people. That’s just people writing the experiences they wish they could have had.

And that’s also part of why we—I, at least— distance from canon. JKR looms over a lot. Maybe you don’t feel it, which is great! I’m very glad. But please don’t shit on people who do.

Anyway, I know this is super long and idk if you’ll even read/respond to it, but thank you if you do. If you want to engage in more discussion, I will continue to check back and DM you if you want.

Canon is superior to fanon. I do complain about people who enjoy the ships. Not only because of mistagging. Mistagging is a band-aid for the problem. It solves the immediate issue of having a fanon fandom and a canon fandom under one umbrella. That is the tip of the iceberg.

I do not want to engage in productive discourse as you put it. Not on this page. This page serves a specific purpose for me. Venting. I do not start any post with "let us discuss" or "we need to talk about". Any engagement I get is from asks like this one. People come to me to vent. It is ok.

Because it is not productive to argue about canon versus fanon. I have tried. I have failed. In this fandom it is impossible to have a good faith critique of fanon ships. Too many people treat their fanon ships as markers of their morality or personality. A good faith critique of fanon ship becomes an attack on the shipper. It goes like this:

Them: "Jegulus could be canon IF. Or Jegulus could be canon, BUT"

It is the IF/BUT that makes the discussion impossible. I do not want to talk about IF/BUT. I want to talk about what is.

OOC and canon characterisation. There are some characters that have almost nothing. Like Evan Rosier. But what we do know is he was killed by Moody. He was resisting arrest. He blew off a chunk of Moody's nose. That does not sound like a spring flower who loves justice and Muggleborns.

I am angry with newer Marauder fans because they have taken these AUs as canon. Some have not read the books by their own admission and seem to be proud of it. How do you talk about canon James Potter if you only have fanfiction? We know enough to piece together a character. We know enough that he hated dark magic, loved Lily, loved his friends. There is never ever mention of Regulus by James.

To say it again. Mistagging is the tip of the iceberg. It can solve an immediate problem. It does not solve the problem of the whole fandom. I cannot solve that. I do not pretend to try to solve that. I am incapable of solving that. I can make memes that make me laugh, make others laugh, occasionally break containment. I have been blocked by loads of accounts. I expected this and am ok with it. I have also said before I will not do this forever. I am angry and taking it out with memes. Instead of going to individual ask boxes or fics or TikTok accounts or Twitter accounts or Discord servers and harassing individuals.

I do filter. The filtering makes certain tags walls of filtered posts. If you filter wolfstar and go to the Sirius Black tag page it is mostly filtered posts. That means the tag is unusable to me.

Filtering fics. This is easy enough in theory. But fanon characterisation has become ingrained. When I filter out all the ships I do not want, I still find OOC characterisation in fics. Overly-dramatic Sirius. Alpha male Lupin. Do-no-wrong Hermione. Stupid Ron. Those are not tagged. I do the sensible thing. I click out of the fic, do not leave a hate comment, do not engage with the author or fic.

Yet I can still be frustrated and make a general meme that is not specific to an author or fic to the best of my ability. Almost everything is tagged anti marauders fandom, anti marauders fanon, or anti ship, or anti X bashing. I make it easier to filter my controversial takes. This page, one more time, is not for discussion. I open discussion with asks but it is up to the asker to discuss with me.

I will push back on your interpretation of Lily. We know more about Lily than James. You pointed out the problem. By focusing on the Marauders (men) it does breed misogyny. But we know more about the Marauders than characters like Mary Macdonald, Dorcas Meadowes, Marlene McKinnon, Hestia Jones, Emmeline Vance. If we have almost nothing for Marauders and even less for the female characters, why is fanon incapable of doing as much for them?

We cannot do anything about the internalised misogyny and transmisogyny by JKR. We can and should criticise her and her dehumanising views. It seems hypocritical to me to say "well, the author is guilty of misogyny so we should be as critical of her."

We are. The reason I push harder on fandom than on JKR is that many parts of fandom are declaring themselves morally superior, morally better, more socially progressive than JKR. Which is true in many ways. But if this is the claim, I expect more from fandom than JKR. If you know better, you do better. The Marauders fandom claims to know better. So I push harder on fandom.

It is good that the Marauders fandom encouraged you to be who you are. It is good that you felt comfortable and supported to come out as transmasc.

However we all have our echo chambers. I am guilty of it. This blog is an echo chamber often. I respond to asks like this one that are in good faith and disagree with me.

Fetishisation to me is not about writing genuine experiences or wishful thinking or wish fulfillment. It is about using an identity as an object for pleasure. Only you can decide which one is which. I have been in fandom for a long while. It is not only middle aged white women who do this. White people fetishise POC. Het people fetishise queer people. Young people fetishise. Old people fetishise. Everyone is susceptible to using another person or identity as an object for pleasure. I have seen it all over many years.

You are welcome to DM me. You are welcome to send more asks. I expect you will find my response to be insufficient or lacking. You may even block me. That is ok.

#asked #answered #anti marauders fanon #anti marauders fandom #fandom wank #fandom discourse #fandom etiquette #fandom misogyny #harry potter #fandom critical #fandom criticism #fandom culture #fandom problems

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nothinggold13 · 7 months

Text

I said in the tags of my recent screencaps of Nick and Daisy dancing, "do you ever think. that all daisy really needed was a friend?" and apparently those tags resonated with more people than I thought they would. Now I think they call for a little elaboration.

On their first meeting in the book, it is established that Nick neither attended Daisy's wedding nor met her baby (who is 3 years old). Daisy says herself, "We don't know each other very well, Nick. Even if we are cousins." And yet in this same scene Daisy says that his arrival has her "paralyzed with happiness" and refers to him as "an absolute rose." She speaks of him and to him as if they are dearly close despite her own admittance that they hardly know each other at all. (Of course, this is easily explained when Nick says, "[She looked] up into my face, promising that there was no one in the world she so much wanted to see. That was a way she had." Daisy has a way of drawing people in, and making them feel important. I'm sure people make different things of this, some positive and some negative, but I won't dwell on it.)

But, perhaps more telling than the way she talks to Nick, is the fact that the first thing Daisy does when she has a moment alone with him is to confide in him. She says, "We don't know each other very well," and then, moments later, begins a story asking, "Would you like to hear?" She says she's grown cynical. She says she felt abandoned. She says — famously — "That's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool."

And then she laughs it off.

Nick himself calls it insincere, "[...]as though the whole evening had been a trick of some sort to exact a contributory emotion from me."

But... I don't know. I've been a Daisy defender since high school, and that's never gone away; Nick's perspective may communicate a lot of truth that we wouldn't know otherwise, but he is not infallible. And, personally, when it comes to the depths of what's going on with Daisy, I think he's rather blind.

Daisy has a philandering husband who a) physically abuses his mistress and b) canonically bruised Daisy in a way she brushes off carelessly but confesses, again, within her first meeting with Nick, so I don't believe it's a big jump to say he's likely been physically abusive towards her, too. And with that in mind, I think it's strange to expect anything Daisy does to be perfectly and infallibly sincere, when, at her core, she is always in a fight for survival.

(It's the same reason I believe she stays with Tom at the end, and lets Gatsby take the blame. Tom is the only security she knows. Gatsby hangs in the balance. She can't run away with him, now.)

So, to get back to my point, I don't think Daisy was being dishonest in her confessions to Nick. I think she was being painfully honest— so painful, in fact, that she had to cover it up with that cynical mask she's gotten so good at wearing. Daisy is not a beautiful little fool; she only wishes she was.

And then Nick appears, and they're not close, but they could be, and she jumps to trust him: to tell him everything she's scared to say aloud: to have him listen. "Would you like to hear?" she asks. It's more than a question. It's a plea.

I think of Daisy knowing her driver's name, and thinking it important to use it. I think of Daisy knowing Jordan's name when they were younger, when Jordan was two years her junior and admired her desperately. I think of Daisy calling Nick "my dearest one" along with every other kind word she ever said to him. I think of Daisy reaching and reaching and reaching, clinging desperately to anyone who might hold on to her.

And they all let her down.

I guess those who see Daisy as disingenuous at her core wouldn't read it this way at all, but I do. I think Daisy loves desperately, trying to fill a hole that is never filled; I think she's looking for someone to save her, and nobody ever cares enough to listen.

Not Jordan. Not Nick. Not even Gatsby, despite his obsession.

And maybe none of them could have saved her, but they could have listened. They could have cared. They could have asked her about the letter that made her nearly call off her wedding to Tom, instead of dressing her up and pushing her to go through with it. They could've supported her, and not gone out to party with her cheating husband and his mistress. They could've stopped asking for too much and accepted the fact she couldn't give it. They could've done something.

Because all Daisy really needed was a friend. And she never truly had one.

#thanks a lot folks now I'm back in my Daisy feels #the great gatsby #daisy buchanan #nick carraway #jordan baker #jay gatsby #tom buchanan #I just think that Daisy and Nick's friendship could've been something #that he could've offered her something #she never could've gotten from Tom or Gatsby #and my heart hurts about it #shoutout to the girl in my english class who accused me of rooting for the villains because I felt for daisy #tom literally exists but yeah let's blame the victim

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beautifulpersonpeach · 2 months

Note

I’m relatively new to the fandom and have really enjoyed a lot of your posts… I have a question that I couldn’t quickly find an answer to in searching through your tags…

What’s the deal with streaming? Like, I listen to BTS. I enjoy them a lot, I listen to a pretty even mix of all their albums though I probably like MOTS:7 era the best). Some days I listen to them like all day lol (if I’m cleaning the house or something) and I listen to them a lot in the car or while working. I’ve enjoyed some solo releases more than others so I naturally streamed those more. but like the more I start following accounts on here and on army twt the more confused I get about the intense pressure to stream constantly? I’ve heard that people play certain songs (or albums I guess?) on repeat on mute and/or have dedicated streaming devices they keep going all the time.

Not to be negative or rude at all but like…what? Maybe because I’m new to KPop and have never followed it until BTS but that just sounds so weird and… idk the word, maybe disingenuous? Again I do not mean this as an attack I am just genuinely confused. Wouldn’t BTS themselves want us only to listen if we were actually enjoying it and not out of some competitive attempt to get better ratings? It feels so odd to me, like that is not how I would behave with any other artist that I love. I would only ever listen to them out of a genuine desire to hear their music. But there seems to be so much weird shaming out there for when/if songs are not streamed heavily enough? And for any other artist I would just write that off as a difference in taste among the fandom, but here it’s treated like a personal wrong against the artist…?

But as I say that I’m sure there’s more to it… I have definitely seen people talking about payola or chart manipulation so idk. If I should google this instead, just tell me to, I just have already tried and didn’t find that much clarity, just a bunch of people on quora and Reddit talking about certain songs not getting streamed enough.

Anyways this is super long, sorry if it annoys you. Just thought you seemed knowledgeable and levelheaded enough to ask? Love your posts. All the best.

Ask 2:

Okay wait I’m the anon that just asked about streaming and I went and re-read your post about “inorganic success” — I had read it before but somehow I didn’t put together that the 24-7 streaming is an attempt to combat payola or like go up against it I guess. Okay. That makes more sense. I still feel like there’s a weird focus on charting but I guess if it’s about getting more concert venues and more radio play it makes sense.

You can ignore my last ask then I’m sorry if I’m being dense or something lol.

***

You haven’t at all asked a stupid question. Your confusion is easily explained by you being new to k-pop, and everyone new to this madhouse asks this question eventually. I’ve talked about this before, but can’t find the post for the life of me so I’ll briefly go over it again.

First, you need to understand what k-pop is. K-pop is a system that gamifies music consumption. Competition is something you’ll see in the music industry regardless. Western stans such as Arianators, Barbz, and the Beyhive have organized around streaming goals and efforts for at least 10 years now. But there’s no other music industry that explicitly emphasizes competition among groups and fans, the way the k-pop industry does.

Competition is baked into its DNA:

From the idol training system under agencies with supposed specialities that are treated like warring houses a la Game of Thrones (a mentality created by the Big 3),

to the music shows where fans are encouraged to vote daily and weekly for the best artists and where wins are tied to streaming numbers,

to the highly publicized year-end award show criteria that outline key metrics for wins in streams, sales, and fan votes.

Basically, the k-pop industry creates a clear hierarchy of talent and acclaim for artists in their system, directly stokes fan participation in buying into that hierarchy, and the numbers are the easiest litmus test/short cut to settle the question of who is at the top.

And all of this is served with a cocktail of parasocial delusion and entitlement that has (more easily manipulated) fans thinking their perceived investment into their faves, earns them the right to micromanage their fave idols’ careers. All of this benefits the labels and industry because they’d rather have you more engaged (even if toxically), than not.

Everybody here buys into this system despite what they’ll tell you, some just manage to keep their wits and perspective to prevent getting sucked in, while others fall headfirst into it.

And so, like I said in my ‘inorganic success’ post you referenced, the focus on streaming is part of fans really just playing the game. Excess is something you’ll see on the charts in any case, whether in k-pop or in the West.

The difference with BTS and ARMYs however, is in the why of how the fandom streams. Essentially, you’re more likely to find people just as passionate about the music itself as they are about giving that music its due in hard numbers and consequently, recognition. You’re more likely to find fans like this in the ARMY fandom, than any other, in my opinion. Some people forget that the og ARMYs were k-pop fans first. They were fans who intimately understood how this system worked, they understood why the Big3 maintained dominance in k-pop for literal decades, and they saw the worth in the music BTS made, loved it enough to invest time into the playing the game better than anyone else at the time - pushing BTS from nugu status to where they are now, competing well outside the realm of the k-pop system but in a space that remains complex and highly competitive.

Another aspect that differentiates how ARMYs stream vs other k-pop fandoms, is that due to the sheer size of the fandom in absolute numbers, the average ARMY typically streams less than a typical k-pop stan. Basically, in other fandoms the typical stan has to stream more per person to have even a fraction of the gains seen in the ARMY fandom. ARMYs also aren’t doing anything other fandoms aren’t doing, it’s just that so far, they’re more efficient at it and don’t have to worry too much because BTS makes music that keeps attracting more fans, adding to the size of the fandom. They’ve also generally stayed away from more illegal methods given the intense scrutiny and animosity the fandom has faced for being part of the reason BTS upended the ordained hierarchy in this space. It sounds silly but it’s true.

But that’s only one side of the story. The other side is that in the fandom, everybody here really just does what they want. And many people genuinely enjoy listening to BTS that much and that intensely. Going by personal experience in what I observed before I became ARMY, I noticed that many ARMYs are Type A and organized - people who like and study data. The first time in my life that I saw someone create a spreadsheet for fan theories on a k-pop MV, was when an ARMY made one for I NEED U MV. I’m not sure what it is about BTS, but from the beginning they’ve attracted the sort of fans who genuinely enjoy listening to music often, people who enjoy creating and playing around with playlists, and people who track and measure applicable data. So your assumption that the people who stream like this are people who don’t actually enjoy the music, is wrong. In my opinion. For a lot of ARMYs, streaming and appreciating the music isn’t mutually exclusive.

Personally, I listen to music a lot. And I’ve always been that way, so when I became ARMY, I just sort of naturally fit into that culture. The sort of music BTS makes is a joy to listen to, I play their stuff literally everyday and it feels like the most normal thing in the world for me to sleep to Serendipity sometimes (in my sleep playlist which includes brown noise and rain sounds), or to do laundry to Let Me Know playing, or to drive to UGH and Set Me Free Pt 2 playing. I have multiple accounts because I listen to all kinds of music all the time, and it’s just convenient for me to have things set up such that I can flip on a playlist in every situation I’d want one on.

But like I said, the reality is that everyone in this fandom does what they want. It’s true there are certain people in the fandom who obsess over streaming, these are typically chartmys and akgaes, but most other people stream however they like. Fandom in general is a pressure cooker environment so I don’t blame you for noticing that pressure, but at the end of the day you really should just do what makes the most sense to you.

ARMYs generally recognize the reality of the space they are in, they recognize what it means for BTS, and most simply tweak their normal listening habits to maximize the gain and support to BTS. Plus sometimes it’s fun to play into fandom’s initiatives as a way to connect with other fans (such as in streaming parties).

I ended up rambling but let me know if this answered your question.

#BTS #BTS army #bts fandom #kpop fandom #kpop industry #fandom behaviour #streaming

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oncewhenalongtimeago · 3 months

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I loved the last part of "Sorry, but I Think I Lost Your Plot" !

I'm excited about the continuation. Will Stoick "approve" reader for Hiccup? .🍬

Sorry, but I Think I Lost Your Plot pt 20

Pairing: Onesided!Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Modern!Fem!Reader

Words: 2,324

You have an eventful morning.

Tags: Time Travel, Reader into Movieverse, half-fill

You and Hiccup stood side by side as you watched Astrid and Stormfly become a dot in the distance.

You felt the wind blowing against your neck, cool and a bit more wicked than it was before, stinging your cheeks and your nose.

As the high you got from saving Hookfang came crashing down, your breathing slowed.

You couldn’t help yourself, overcome by a sudden jolt of grief. Albeit, it was a long time coming.

You wondered what it was like back home, where you’d come from. If it was going to be just as cold there as it was here, in the night.

“Do you think they’ll be alright?” You asked, sighing, trying to dissipate some of the pressure building up in your chest.

“Yeah… Yeah,” You turn to Hiccup, shoulders slumped, greeted by the sight of running his hand back in his hair, exposing a pale forehead dotted by freckles and the occasional blackhead, “I think they’ll be fine.”

He seemed incredibly relieved, still smiling as he kept his eyes trained on the rising waves, the sound of the crashing sea growing louder and louder, wind brushing against your ankles.

You believed him.

It was rough, but at least now you knew what to do, in the future.

That thought brought up other things, unbidden.

You felt great, having procured the honeycomb from the Queen, but there were many, many things that had been left untouched, questions unanswered.

They almost made you feel disingenuous. Plastic and see-through, in a sense. It was unfair.

And so, before you could stop yourself, you spoke.

“What if I knew your future? But just a little bit,” You asked casually, not looking at him.

The sky was more blues and grays then oranges now, the only bits awash with that same light being the orange ends of clouds just barely brushing the hints of reds and yellows, focused in a faded, circular just touching the sea, only barely visible.

“What?”

You nodded at the skyline, “Hypothetically, of course. That kind of thing is impossible.”

“Is it?” Hiccup asked with what you thought was a hint of sarcasm.

“I’m not superstitious,” You said as an excuse, very much not looking him in the eye. He didn’t seem the type to be superstitious, but you never knew.

You directed your gaze instead towards the waves below, black and roiling.

The two of you set up in a dry patch in the forest, a small clearing.

You would have camped back out on the cliffs but it became too windy. Both you and Hiccup were worried that it might put out a fire, or set fire to the local wildlife.

Which was bad. You didn’t have any blankets this time, after all.

Or the bucket’s you’d need to put out a forest.

The two of you had dug a pit on a particularly dry patch of ground, pulling large enough stones, about the side of your palm to just a bit larger than your hands, and stacked them around it.

Inside flickered a small fire, kept going using dry twigs and branches.

You painfully picked the dirt out from under your nails, wincing when the gravel rubbed your skin raw or you picked too close to where your nail met skin, irritating the divide there, laid out by the pit, thick leaves rustling above you, gnarled roots digging into the ground around you, bushes rattling with the wind.

“You ever wanted to go catch frogs?” You asked, thinking about earlier , when you’d been chasing after Fireworms with Hiccup.

“I mean…” Hiccup said in response, sitting with his legs spread and his elbows on his thighs, picking at the fire with a mostly dry stick; an unusual position for someone who was as twig thin as he, “No, not particularly.”

“Okay,” You said, voice toned acceptingly.

You listened to the crackling of the fire for a moment longer, dancing and swaying and giving off a light heat that tickled at your fingertips.

“So… Frogs,” Hiccup said, after a while.

You thought he didn’t want to go looking for frogs?

You looked up at him, meeting a face wholly interested, staring directly at you.

“So, do you… Do you want to go catch frogs?” You turned to look at him then, meeting a face that was half blank and fully interested.

“Maybe.”

No words were needed for what came next, as you stood up and kicked some dirt onto the fire, pebbles spraying as Hiccup did the same, brushing dust off his sleeves.

Jumping and wading around in the pond, running past packed, gnarled roots and sloshing through the muck; Hiccup had never really, truly experienced something like that.

It was something he’d brushed aside as lame at one point in his childhood after too many days spent running and wandering the woods alone, in order to compensate for something he knew he’d never have, then forgotten about it.

But he couldn’t help it.

It scratched an itch he’d never had scratched before, running around the village and in the forest pretty much on his lonesome.

He watched you bend, washing your hand in the stream, one that trickled slowly into the swampish pond, “I don’t want to get warts or anything.”

You both had nearly fallen asleep in the trees and, consequently, spent the evening running after frogs. You’d even caught a few together, two for him and three for you.

Then you’d have to let them go, after a short debate on whether or not they were edible. He voted no.

Hiccup tried to blink the weight away from his eyes as yellow sunlight began to peek over the treetops.

He was still thinking, too. About what you said- That you didn’t care. That you found him nice.

He had hopes; he hoped that he was, well, he was your normal too.

Praise Thor, he was so pathetic.

A slim, silver fish darted past his ankles, one flesh and one wooden, his trousers, damp and most likely ruined for the rest of the day, floating around them.

His boots lay by the shore and he treaded deeper, wading forwards in the pond, following the quick-moving fish with his eyes.

You yelped up ahead, the ripples in the water you caused displacing floating pond plants.

When you turned to look at him again, you were holding up a frog.

The common kind, brown with darker patches just under the ridges over its eyes, connecting to where its eyelashes would have been if it wasn’t, well, a frog.

“I found another one,” You said, standing and shifting as the early morning light began to filter through the packed canopy above.

A mini fall, short and trickling, ran a few long steps away, leaves rustling and turning from an almost inky black to a lighter dark green as night turned to morning.

He had to stifle both a yawn and a grin. Fighting back the force of nature that was sleep and the unstoppable motion that was joy.

The water began to still again as he stopped in front of you.

“I, ah,” Hiccup said, before he could stop himself, glancing off into the bushes, “So…”

He put his hands on your shoulders.

His palms prickled with unsurety, the hesitant grip he hand on your arm causing him to grimace and his fingers to twitch.

He glanced at your face, eyes trailing lower, towards your mouth, at the shadows falling under your top lip, the yellow light fading onto your bottom.

He leaned in closer and closer.

All he could see were your eyes.

His mouth quivered, “I…”

“What are you-?”

He was insane.

His shoulder jolted.

“Noth-nothing!” Hiccup trailed off quickly, waving his arms and bracing them against his waits, flicking back his vest.

Water sloshed around his feet as he backed away, stumbling slightly when his prosthetic got stuck in the muck.

He was such an idiot.

“I-” You stared.

Hiccup was filled with embarrassment, the pond with silence besides the trickling of the fall and the wiggling and squirming of the frog until- as it all happened in an instant- It writhed quickly and you struggled to keep it still until, after one hard last, slimy push, in leapt onto Hiccup’s face.

You spent the rest of the morning napping in trees, huddled on top of separate trunks, blocked by branches and bushes and not really looking at each other.

Toothless had wandered back eventually, and now he was sitting and temperamentally lashing his tail, mud and sticks stuck to his leathery, scaly hide.

You were in a much similar state, boots caked with mud, sticks sticking out of your tunic, stitches along the side torn and your sleeves slightly frayed, though most of that happened long before you’d been stranded.

Hiccup had a healthy number of leaves and sticks in his hair, woven into the roots and by his ends, split and not.

His face was some definite shade of puce, and he definitely couldn’t look you in the eye.

His fur coat, though already short and sopping wet, was plastered with mud in places so it looked nearly like leather, so close you might’ve assumed it was underneath the muck had you not known better.

The designs printed onto his boot, which you had not noticed until then, were smudged and scratched as he looked up at his dad with a guilty expression on his face.

But at least you had been found.

The Chief looked down at you from his perch on his dragon, expression unmoving, looking just as impassive and stern as he usually was, though you couldn’t help but notice a hint of touchiness, a severity and intense focus to his expression.

Instead of focusing his attention on his son, he was, in fact, judging you; his gaze was heavy and brown stern, creased as it always was, seemingly in a permanent manner.

You rung your hands again, resisting the urge to tap your boot against the stone below. Running around the swamp seemed much less fun when you were ice cold and very damp.

It was like being surprised by a math test; you were being judged for something you didn’t know you were supposed to study for.

“We had fun?” Hiccup answered his father, struggling.

You started, glancing pleadingly at Hiccup then back. You had, hadn’t you?

Then, Stoick nodded, attention drawn briefly back towards his son. He had landed, earlier, with little fanfare, spotting the two of you shuffling along on the cliffs.

You hadn’t noticed when he’d spoken before, too immersed in your nerves.

Hiccup’s twitchy demeanor -and other things you refused to think about- made you nervous, even more than you would have been just staring Stoick down yourself, if what you were doing could be called that

The Chief glanced back at you briefly, expression somehow less sharp than before, though no less concerned, wary or judging; the crease of his brows was lighter and the squint of his eye was no longer so severe, nor were the ties of his mustache angled down so extreme, in a way you thought might imply a frown.

He sighed heavily, shoulders releasing some stiffness, though still pointed at a severe angle, as if exhausted by the whole matter, before roughly patting Thornado’s back, causing him to nearly buck in irritation, “Well, go on, then.”

You nearly tripped as you walked forward, to boot scuffing against basalt and lugs struggling against sharp sea air, the winds much colder than they had been before, causing you to shiver, the water weighing down most of your clothes making your jaw clench and teeth chatter.

You hopped, not so much grabbing onto Thornado’s back as placing your palms along his black, the force generated by the suction of your slightly moist fingers and his dry scales being the only thing keeping you off the ground.

You wanted to bury your face into his spiky-flat side.

You had no idea how to get the rest of the way up, and you knew you’d get no help here.

You spent a moment hanging limply before you began wiggling your legs, both arms thrown over Thornado’s back, spanding yourself a moment limp before you grabbed onto a long spike and one muddy boot was able to grip his side so that you might’ve been able to clumsily crawl over onto his back.

“Settle down, beast,” The Chief grumbled gruffly as Thornado grumbled and stood higher, discontent made clear as you tried to scoot forwards onto the back of his saddle.

You settled an appropriate distance behind Hiccup’s father, shaking hands brought forwards, fingers clutching shakily and lightly at his fur cape.

You were sure your face was red enough to match a cherry, you were sure, with how on burning fire your cheeks were.

You refused to look down as Hiccup did his own shimmying up, though by the sound of it he seemed to have less trouble.

Hiccup was behind you this time, hands placed on each side of your waist, unsure and stiff at your role switched.

Your shoulders jumped as Thornado took off, wings flapping surely and with stern measure as he pushed into the sky, slow and with Toothless, which he snagged, wriggling below him.

And indeed Toothless was held by Thornado below, dangling like an unruly cat, his tail with the ripped fin twitching temperamentally, yowling and making many hissy burbling deep in his throat.

You let out a shaky sigh, though it sounded more like a song note or a whistle, hopefully not audible to anyone but you over the wind as you began to rise into the sky, face burning.

Your stomach swooped as you gained altitude, and you watched as Fireworm island became a smaller and smaller dot in the distance, feeling as if your internal organs had all fallen into the tips of your shoes.

Goodbye, Fireworm island.

#httyd #how to train your dragon #x reader #hiccup haddock #fanfiction #httyd imagine #hiccup x reader #toothless #fem reader #female reader

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glitteringpoet1685 · 5 months

Note

BEGGING you to drop your patho fic recs or the 5 you mentioned on that post please 🙏

(After a long silence, the Haruspex travels to the capital to seek out his old companion.)

I'm pretty sure everyone and their mother has read this but if you haven't you should because it's just that good. It will fuck you up. The ending is like a grand piano being dropped on your head (in a good way).

(“He wounds, Cub. You are aware of that.”

“Yes. But he also heals. What we saw of him back then was also a reflection of us. He became what he needed to be in order to do his duties. We were hostile to one another, Stakh. Imagine how it was for us and how it was for an outsider… how it still is for an outsider.” Artemy looked down. It’s been months since the plague ended and still others treated Dankovsky like a stranger. He treated himself as a stranger. Calling him any other thing would have felt disingenuous... but it still felt wrong.

“Of course. Humans need to adapt to their surroundings to live and survive. But snakes do not adapt when their skins shed, nor do they become anew. They become more of what they already are.” Rubin spoke slowly, choosing his words with either care or caution while looking at Daniil’s signature coat on the rack.)

Will have you saying "this can't get any worse" and then immediately things will get worse. So angsty but so very worth it in the end. One of the only fics I've read that truly captures the feeling of catharsis in pathologic.

The Town Theatre Presents: Orpheus and Eurydice by PlayerProphet (you need an ao3 account to read)

(Winter falls in the Town-on-Gorkhon. Daniil Dankovsky is told that his peer, Artemy Burakh, knows the secret to eternal life, but isn't aware that he knows it. Daniil vows to learn what Artemy knows-without-knowing, while preparing for his performance as the leading role in the town's production of Orpheus and Eurydice.)

My favourite fic that heavily engages with the meta side of Pathologic, specifically the "theatre of death" aspect of Pathologic 2.

(The blooming twyre dizzies, but the point of touch is grounding.

His words, still, come clouded and vague, “This has happened before.”

“Not like this,” Artemy’s voice is rough and curt. Hopeful again. “You never stayed.”

He blinks. “I can’t stay. It’s not how this works.”

[Or; Daniil starts remembering.])

Time. Loop. Angst. Will also fuck you up.

(On the thirteenth day the lights reignite and the actor Artemy Burakh takes the stage once more. In the Theatre reigned death and with them came the birds, seeking bones and carrion.

It was the taste of love that made the blood all the sweeter.)

Artemy must make the ultimate sacrifice to save the children, again.

(the major character death tag is for temporary character death btw)

#pathologic #мор утопия #burakhovsky #pathologic game #pathologic classic hd #pathologic 2 #artemy burakh #daniil dankovsky #ao3 fanfic #fic rec

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ironborealis · 1 year

Text

So this post appeared on my feed because I was dumb and said I was interested in things tagged "Severus Snape" because I forget how things work sometimes.

I gave them a long response but I think it's a banger so I've cleaned it up to share.

To preface, I'll say that I was still in school when the books were starting to come out, and so I was in school during the period the books are set. I wasn't in the UK and can't speak to specifics there, but my own.

Your question feels really disingenuous when you tag it #james potter supremacy but I am a fool and going to answer you honestly anyway.

I liked Snape the moment it was revealed in the first book that he wasn't the villain -- because it showed him as someone who gave no fucks about how others saw him. I had been violently bullied for years at that point, but was told that I needed to stop letting it hurt me or to stop acting in ways to invite the abuse. All I internalized was that it was my fault and I needed to change myself so that they'd like me. So meeting a character who just stopped giving a fuck about other people's opinions was fascinating.

The text doesn't, I think, intend for you to read Snape's behavior as incredibly abusive. A lot of his behavior to the students wouldn't have been seen as abnormal when I was in school. Unkind but within tolerance. He was a prick and the assumption with teachers like that was that A) don't take it personally B) If you can't do A then stay off their radar and count the minutes until class is over. I'm hoping that the sudden uproar about how abusive Snape is now is a sign that school culture has changed. Because you're right, it's awful, and shouldn't happen. But that's now, and not then. Then it was acceptable if not exactly encouraged behavior.

For me, Snape's teaching style would have been within normal limits and at least it wasn't false advertising. I saw popular "kind" teachers bully disabled students, throw coffee mugs, and choke slam 9 year olds. Those teachers were never punished. I preferred the hard asses who didn't pretend, but would restrain themselves to only demoralizing you with words. They never went half so far as those much beloved teachers. These were in schools that had long banned corporal punishment by teachers, by the way.

Plus, Snape's bullying is written in such a way that is so over the top and dramatic it's hard for me to believe that there's any real intent as he never follows through with most of his threats. He's amusing himself, which is fucked up, yes, but so is his situation being forced to teach children (a job he hates) by daylight and fighting a war as a spy by moonlight (a job he also hates).

When book 5 revealed his own history of being bullied the kinship I felt for him just kinda clicked. Game knew game, even if I didn't know it then.

What impressed me about Snape is that he made a terrible decision of joining the DE, he knows it, he regrets it, and most importantly he does something about it. He sabotages them and when he can't do that he tries to reduce harm as much as possible.

He joins a side lead by people who are responsible for his own traumas, who are unrepentant about their roles in it but still expect him to get over it. Snape isn't interested in pretending everything is fine with his allies when everything isn't fine and that's such a challenging and brave stance to take.

Because if I were in his shoes, my first instinct would be to swallow all my anger and stuff it in well inside me and pretend it doesn't exist so that I could be seen as agreeable and the bigger person. I know I'm not alone in that. However, that instinct has caused me so much damage that I will spend the rest of my life fighting that instinct tooth and nail.m, because what it means is that you are minimizing yourself and your safety in order to make other people comfortable.

Snape might have the right idea (but poor execution) when it comes to some people, but he falters when it comes to Lily. I was so disappointed with the reveal that Lily was his primary motivation, even if it's grown on me. He's so damned loyal to someone who wasn't even a great friend to him by the end. Lily smiles before she intercedes in SWM, which to me signaled that the whole scene was just a way for James to pull Lily's metaphorical pigtail (Snape) in their courtship and if I were the pigtail I'd be pissed too. It doesn't justify but it adds context for why he might want to hurt her then.

And Snape spends the rest of his life regretting his moments of weakness and giving his life to prevent Voldemort from winning, for a friend who failed him pretty spectacularly.

Most people don't do that -- they regret and then they try to get on with their lives. They don't want to talk about it. We're STILL finding guards from WWII concentration camps hiding out in suburbs after all. Snape doesn't choose that and that's brave as hell.

Snape's "redemption" is a hot debate, but I don't know that redemption is even his goal. He's just trying to do what's right. If he were really searching for redemption then certainly I think he'd have sought a more friendly relationship with Harry, if only on the side.

Which brings me back to how can you claim "James Potter Supremacy" when he's only seen in SWM, where he's a cruel bully to someone minding their own business (SWM takes place after the Shack per canon), and we only have the testimony of Sirius and Remus, a decade after his death, to say that he "got better" -- which meant not publicly tormenting Snape, but doing it in private. We never get to see this better version of James.

Sirius and Remus are highly motivated to put James in the best light possible to his orphaned son, which is natural, but it doesn't make it gospel truth. I think he may have become a better person with time, because that typically happens, and certainly he had the capacity for great kindness (befriending Remus) which makes his decisions to be so cruel even more painful. But he died and we never get to see any of him in canon except him being a complete asshole.

So why would you question how people can like Snape when there is so much more canonical evidence that Snape was a good person with serious faults than there is for James being anything other than a school bully who died young?

#severus snape #pro snape #professor severus snape #pro severus snape #The irony of All the Young Dudes written by #David Bowie #A perennial outsider to that point #Who's gender non-conformity was threatening to the establishment #Becoming so strongly associated with a set of characters who are emblematic OF the establishment #To the point that the Google tells me about the BOOK (their word) before the song #When the FANFIC demonizes the canonically gender nonconforming character.#Awful #flames on the side of my face #i don't want to live on this planet anymore

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