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#i should use these as references some time
puppyeared · 2 days
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i like him
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dc-comics-lover · 3 days
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More random hcs please, they are amazing
Thank you !! There you go ✨ (part 1)
More random things I like to hc :
- When she's training, Diana listens to binaural beats claiming that it gives her the opportunity to train and meditate simultaneously. "It's an incredible time saving.", she'd say. Bruce would roll his eyes.
- Oliver and Hal would beg Batman to install a confessional in the Watchtower, like in reality shows. Because he obviously refuses, they'd stand in front of any security camera and use them as one, rambling on and on about the other members.
- Dick is a total extrovert. When he has some time to recharge in between day work and night vigilantism, he lets off steam in nightclubs. He took Tim (who-recharges-when-alone™) once : he hated it.
- Most of the time Dinah would show up at meetings with sunglasses to look "mysteriously cool". Actually, she can't sleep at night.
- Booster would definitely refer to himself in the third person.
- Clark being Bruce's personal masseur is one of their rituals. Whenever his super senses notice a specific tenseness in Batman's body, Clark would end up joining him in the batcave and giving him a massage session. Bruce would just accept it without a word.
- When he's not the one leading the meeting, Batman is usually snacking on a bag of nuts.
- Alfred has a workshop in the manor where he makes pottery. He makes bat-shaped objects that everyone in the Batfam loves. He made mugs, plates, jars, etc.
- Booster would use Skeets as a soundboard to accompany his every actions and illustrate his jokes. Shayera lost her temper once and broke Skeets in half. No worries, Victor helped repair him, although it was still a traumatizing experience for Booster.
- Hal has a collection of Top Gun goodies. At some point, Bruce brought him the original G-1 jacket from Tom Cruise for his birthday.
- Batman is absolutely excellent at everything he puts his mind to, except the absolute purge that is the game Sekiro. It started when Tim was raging while playing the game. Bruce passed behind him and let out a fatherly "You should learn how to control your emotions better, Tim.". Cue Tim challenging him to play. Then, there remained Batman cursing at a screen, desperately replaying a boss fight for the nth time.
- Booster and Ted have this promise that if neither one of them gets married at a certain age, they'd marry each other. Although, Ted is still looking for love, Booster is satisfied with the idea he'd end up marrying Ted.
- Oliver's neck is very often covered in hickeys.
- Constantine and Alfred are actually good buddies. They facetime a lot when Alfred is busy in the kitchen and John has some free time. That's how John knows so much about Bruce.
- The batfam plays a game where they make up elaborate life stories for strangers they encounter in public. Using their detective skills, they later discover the real stories and the winner is the one whose made-up backstory comes closest to the truth.
- Sometimes, Victor and Clark play football together. They both loved it in the past and they both lost the opportunity to commit and progress in the field. It's just the two of them, but it still helps heal their inner teen.
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cripplecharacters · 16 hours
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The Mask Trope, and Disfiguremisia in Media
[large text: The Mask Trope, and Disfiguremisia in Media]
If you followed this blog for more than like a week, you're probably familiar with “the mask trope” or at least with me complaining about it over and over in perpetuity. But why is it bad and why can't this dude shut up about it?
Let's start with who this trope applies to: characters with facial differences. There is some overlap with blind characters as well; think of the blindfold that is forced on a blind character for no reason. Here is a great explanation of it in this context by blindbeta. It's an excellent post in general, even if your character isn't blind or low vision you should read at least the last few paragraphs.
Here's a good ol’ tired link to what a facial difference is, but to put it simply:
If you have a character, who is a burn survivor or has scars, who wears a mask, this is exactly this trope.
The concept applies to other facial differences as well, but scars and burns are 99% of the representation and “representation” we get, so I'll be using these somewhat interchangeably here.
The mask can be exactly what you think, but it refers to any facial covering that doesn't have a medical purpose. So for example, a CPAP mask doesn't count for this trope, but a Magic Porcelain Mask absolutely does. Bandages do as well. If it covers the part of the face that is “different”, it can be a mask in the context used here.
Eye patches are on thin ice because while they do serve a medical purpose in real life, in 99.9% of media they are used for the same purpose as a mask. It's purely aesthetic.
With that out of the way, let's get into why this trope sucks and find its roots. Because every trope is just a symptom of something, really.
Roughly in order of the least to most important reasons...
Why It Sucks 
[large text: Why It Sucks]
It's overdone. As in — boring. You made your character visibly different, and now they're no longer that. What is the point? Just don't give them the damn scar if you're going to hide it. 
Zero connection with reality. No one does this. I don't even know how to elaborate on this. This doesn't represent anyone because no one does this.
Disability erasure. For the majority of characters with facial differences, their scars or burns somehow don't disable them physically, so the only thing left is the visible part… aaand the mask takes care of it too. Again, what's the point? If you want to make your disabled character abled, then just have them be abled. What is the point of "curing" them other than to make it completely pointless?
Making your readers with facial differences feel straight up bad. I'm gonna be honest! This hurts to see when it's all you get, over and over. Imagine there's this thing that everyone bullied you about, everyone still stares at, that is with you 24/7. Imagine you wanted to see something where people like you aren't treated like a freakshow. Somewhat unrealistic, but imagine that. That kind of world would only exist in fiction, right? So let's look into fiction- oh, none of the positive (or at least not "child-murderer evil") characters look like me. I mean they do, but they don't. They're forced to hide the one thing that connects us. I don't want to hide myself. I don't want to be told over and over that this is what people like me should do. That this is what other people expect so much that it's basically the default way a person with a facial difference can exist. I don't want this.
Perpetuating disfiguremisia. 
"Quick" Disfiguremisia Talk
[large text: "Quick" Disfiguremisia Talk]
It's quick when compared to my average facial difference discussion post, bear with me please.
Disfiguremisia; portmanteau of disfigure from “disfigurement” and -misia, Greek for hatred. 
Also known as discrimination of those mythical horrifically deformed people.
It shows up in fiction all the time; in-universe and in-narrative. Mask trope is one of the most common* representations of it, and it's also a trope that is gaining traction more and more, both in visual art and writing. This is a trope I particularly hate, because it's a blatant symptom of disfiguremisia. It's not hidden and it doesn't try to be. It's a painful remainder that I do not want nor need.
*most common is easily “evil disfigured villain”, just look at any horror media. But that's for another post, if ever.
When you put your character in a mask, it sends a clear message: in your story, facial differences aren't welcome. The world is hostile. Other characters are hostile. The author is, quite possibly, hostile. Maybe consciously, but almost always not, they just don't think that disfiguremisia means anything because it's the default setting. No one wants to see you because your face makes you gross and unsightly. If you have a burn; good luck, but we think you're too ugly to have a face. Have a scar? Too bad, now you don't. Get hidden.
Everything here is a decision that was made by the author. You are the one who makes the world. You are the person who decides if being disabled is acceptable or not there. The story doesn't have a mind of its own, you chose to make it disfiguremisic. 
It doesn't have to be.
Questions to Ask Yourself
[large text: Questions to Ask Yourself]
Since I started talking about facial differences on this blog, I have noticed a very specific trend in how facial differences are treated when compared to other disabilities. A lot of writers and artists are interested in worldbuilding where accessibility is considered, where disabled people are accepted, where neurodivergence is seen as an important part of the human experience, not something “other”. This is amazing, genuinely.
Yet, absolutely no one seems to be interested in a world that is anything but cruel to facial differences. There's no escapist fantasies for us.
You see this over and over, at some point it feels like the same story with different names attached.
The only way a character with a facial difference can exist is to hide it. Otherwise, they are shamed by society. Seen as something gross. I noticed that it really doesn't matter who the character is, facial difference is this great equalizer. Both ancient deities and talking forest cats get treated as the same brand of disgusting thing as long as they're scarred, as long as they had something explode in their face, as long as they've been cursed. They can be accomplished, they can be a badass, they can be the leader of the world, they can kill a dragon, but they cannot, under any circumstances, be allowed to peacefully exist with a facial difference. They have to hide it in the literal sense, or be made to feel that they should. Constantly ashamed, embarrassed that they dare to have a face.
Question one to ask yourself: why is disfiguremisia a part of your story?
I'm part of a few minority groups. I'm an immigrant, I'm disabled, I'm queer. I get enough shit in real life for this so I like to take a break once in a while. I love stories where transphobia isn't a thing. Where xenophobia doesn't come up. But my whole life, I can't seem to find stories that don't spew out disfiguremisia in one way or the other at the first possible opportunity.
Why is disfiguremisia a default part of your worldbuilding? Why can't it be left out? Why in societies with scarred saviors and warriors is there such intense disgust for them? Why can't anyone even just question why this is the state of the world?
Why is disfiguremisia normal in your story?
Question two: do you know enough about disfiguremisia to write about it?
Ask yourself, really. Do you? Writers sometimes ask if or how to portray ableism when they themselves aren't disabled, but no one bothers to wonder if maybe they aren't knowledgeable enough to make half their story about their POV character experiencing disfiguremisia. How much do you know, and from where? Have you read Mikaela Moody or any other advocates’ work around disfiguremisia? Do you understand the way it intersects; with being a trans woman, with being Black? What is your education on this topic?
And for USAmericans... do you know what "Ugly Laws" are, and when they ended?
Question three: what does your story associate with facial difference — and why?
If I had to guess; “shame”, “embarrassment”, “violence”, "disgust", “intimidation”, “trauma”, “guilt”, “evil”, “curse”, “discomfort”, “fear”, or similar would show up. 
Why doesn't it associate it with positive concepts? Why not “hope” or “love” or “pride” or “community”? Why not “soft” or “delicate”? Dare I say, “beauty” or “innocence”? Why not “blessing”? “Acceptance”?
Why not “normal”?
Question four: why did you make the character the way they are? 
Have you considered that there are other things than “horrifically burned for some moral failing” or “most traumatic scenario put to paper”? Why is it always “a tough character with a history of violence” and never “a Disfigured princess”? Why not “a loving parent” or “a fashionable girl”, instead of “the most unkind person you ever met” and “total badass who doesn’t care about anything - other than how scary their facial difference is to these poor ableds”? Don’t endlessly associate us with brutality and suffering. We aren’t violent or manipulative or physically strong or brash or bloodthirsty by default. We can be soft, and frail and gentle and kind - and we can still be proud and unashamed.
Question five: why is your character just… fine with all this?
Can’t they make a community with other people with facial differences and do something about this? Demand the right to exist as disabled and not have to hide their literal face? Why are they cool with being dehumanized and treated with such hatred? Especially if they fall into the "not so soft and kind" category that I just talked about, it seems obvious to me that they would be incredibly and loudly pissed off about being discriminated against over and over... Why can't your character, who is a subject of disfiguremisia, realize that maybe it's disfiguremisia that's the problem, and try to fix it?
Question six: why is your character wearing a mask? 
Usually, there's no reason. Most of the time the author hasn't considered that there even should be one, the character just wears a mask because that's what people with facial differences do in their mind. Most writers aren't interested in this kind of research or even considering it as a thing they should do. The community is unimportant to them, it's not like we are real people who read books. They think they understand, because to them it's not complex, it's not nuanced. It's ugly = bad. Why would you need a reason?
For cases where the reason is stated, I promise, I have heard of every single one. To quote, "to spare others from looking at them". I have read, "content warning: he has burn scars under the mask, he absolutely hates taking it off!", emphasis not mine. Because "he hates the way his skin looks", because "they care for their appearance a lot" (facial differences make you ugly, remember?). My favorite: "only has scars and the mask when he's a villain, not as a hero", just to subtly drive the point home. This isn't the extreme end of the spectrum. Now, imagine being a reader with a facial difference. This is your representation, sitting next to Freddy Krueger and Voldemort.
How do you feel?
F.A.Q. [frequently asked questions]
[large text: F.A.Q. [frequently asked questions]]
As in, answers and “answers” to common arguments or concerns. 
“Actually they want to hide their facial difference” - your character doesn’t have free will. You want them to hide it. Again; why.
“They are hiding it to be more inconspicuous!” - I get that there are elves in their world, but there’s no universe where wearing a mask with eye cutouts on the street is less noticeable than having a scar. Facial differences aren’t open wounds sprinkling with blood, in case that's not clear.
“It’s for other people's comfort” - why are other characters disfiguremisic to this extent? Are they forcing all minorities to stay hidden and out of sight too? That’s a horrible society to exist in.
“They are wearing it for Actual Practical Reason” - cool! I hope that this means you have other characters with facial differences that don’t wear it for any reason.
"It's the character's artistic expression" - I sure hope that there are abled characters with the same kind of expression then.
“They’re ashamed of their face” - and they never have any character development that would make that go away? That's just bad writing. Why are they ashamed in the first place? Why is shame the default stance to have about your own face in your story? I get that you think we should be ashamed and do these ridiculous things, but in real life we just live with it. 
"Now that you say that it is kinda messed up but I'm too far into the story please help" - here you go.
“[some variation of My Character is evil so it's fine/a killer so it fits/just too disgusting to show their disability” - this is the one of the only cases where I’m fine with disability erasure, actually. Please don’t make them have a facial difference. This is the type of harm that real life activists spend years and decades undoing. Disfiguremisia from horror movies released in the 70s is still relevant. It still affects people today.
"But [in-universe explanation why disfiguremisia is cool and fine actually]" - this changes nothing.
Closing Remarks
[large text: Closing Remarks]
I hope that this post explains my thoughts on facial difference representation better. It's a complicated topic, I get it. I'm also aware that this post might come off as harsh (?) but disfiguremisia shouldn't be treated lightly, it shouldn't be a prop. It's real world discrimination with a big chunk of its origins coming out of popular media.
With the asks that have been sent regarding facial differences, I realized that I probably haven't explained what the actual problems are well enough. It's not about some technical definition, or about weird in-universe explanations. It's about categorizing us as some apparently fundamentally different entity that can't possibly be kind and happy, about disfiguremisia so ingrained into our culture that it's apparently impossible to make a world without it; discrimination so deep that it can't be excised, only worked around. But you can get rid of it. You can just not have it there in the first place. Disfiguremisia isn't a fundamental part of how the world works; getting rid of it won't cause it to collapse. Don't portray discrimination as an integral, unquestionable part of the world that has to stay no matter what; whether it's ableism, transphobia, or Islamophobia or anything else. A world without discrimination can exist. If you can't imagine a world without disfiguremisia in fiction... that's bad. Sad, mostly. To me, at least.
Remember, that your readers aren't going to look at Character with a Scar #14673 and think "now I'm going to research how real life people with facial differences live." They won't, there's no inclination for them to do so. If you don't give them a reason, they won't magically start thinking critically about facial differences and disfiguremisia. People like their biases and they like to think that they understand.
And, even if you're explaining it over and over ;-) (winky face) there will still be people who are going to be actively resistant to giving a shit. To try and get the ones who are capable of caring about us, you, as the author, need to first understand disfiguremisia, study Face Equality, think of me as a human being with human emotions who doesn't want to see people like me treated like garbage in every piece of media I look at. There's a place and time for that media, and if you don't actually understand disfiguremisia, you will only perpetuate it; not "subvert" it, not "comment" on it.
I hope this helps :-) (smile emoji. for good measure)
Mod Sasza
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You're All I Desire
(Dazai x reader: NSFW)
a/n: omfg it has been a moment since I've written a full fic but here I am !!! the idea for this one has been on my mind ALL DAMN DAY bc the Dazai brainrot has been so real lately my man <3 my man <3 my mannnnn <333 so enjoy some smut xoxo
cw: mention of masturbation (reader getting off by thinking of Dazai & Dazai getting off by thinking of reader), use of clit vibrator, gender neutral reader however reader does have female parts, Dazai refers to reader as "Bella" aka his famous Belladonna petname, Dazai eating reader out, thigh hickeys
word count: a tad over 1.6k
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You mentally curse yourself as you pull up to your apartment complex, putting the car in park. After turning off the car, you and Dazai begin heading up into your apartment. Of course of all the days in the world, the day you're assigned to help Dazai with a case is the day you leave all the documents you needed to give him at home. It already took you an entire week to convince Kunikida to let you take them home so you could continue work later into the night with the comfort of your own TV and snacks right at your fingertips. If only you had woken up ten or twenty minutes earlier, then you wouldn't have been rushing out the door this morning.
"Okay they should be-," your eyes widen at the disastrous sight that was awaiting you behind the door. "FUCK ME!" you exclaim as you throw your shoes at the entranceway, Dazai's faint laugher in the background as he follows your lead. "I promise it's usually this bad," you sigh as you turn to Dazai, turning back to the mess of an apartment in front of you. This week you promised to cat sit for your friend, assuring them the cat would feel right at home in your apartment. What your friend failed to mention was their cat's love for wrecking havoc in new places.
"It's cute~" Dazai chuckles as he looks around your messy yet cozy apartment. "You have a good eye for decor," he mentions as he begins walking around the living room, giving himself a self guided tour. You smile at his compliment, trying not to show how nervous having him in your apartment makes you.
It was pretty obvious to everyone at the office that you had a little crush on Dazai. I mean, how could you not? Not only was he beautiful, but he was funny and smart and so much deeper than the persona he puts on for the world. Something deep inside wants to unravel these layers he hides himself under, both literally with bandages and emotionally with his charming nature.
You only allowed yourself to fantasize so much about him though since you were unsure what he felt about you. Sure he flirted with you almost daily, but at what point is that Dazai just simply being Dazai? You always allowed yourself to indulge in his flirting advances, but never forgot that it was just a workplace crush.
"Shit and they were right here," you sigh, palm of your hand hitting your forehead in frustration as you stand in front of your desk. Dazai looked over your shoulder, scanning the desk covered in old papers, a random book, pictures of you and your friends, and random trinket. A small smile forms on his lips as he studies these items, imaging you sitting here at night hard at work. The thought made his heart skip a beat. You were too cute for your own good.
"Time to get searching then!" Dazai exclaims, a little too excited for your liking. However, he was right as these documents needed to be found as soon as possible. You began looking around the desk as Dazai trailed off to other rooms. Too focused on finding these documents and keeping your job, you didn't may much attention to him doing as he pleased. Dazai smiled and hummed to himself as he peaked into your bedroom, admiring how your personality was so clearly visible through your decor. He couldn't help himself as he began scanning your book shelf before moving to your bed, poking the random plushies threatening to fall off your bed. He then finds his way to your nightstand, chuckling at the random assortment of things you sleep by. After scanning the small table, he raises an eyebrow at the halfway opened top drawer. Curiosity getting the better of him, he opens the drawer fully. Oh and is he happy he did.
"Phew okay Dazai I found the papers! We should get going or else-," your jaw almost dropped as you stared at the sight in front of you. Never in a million years did you image you would walk into your bedroom to find Dazai sitting on your bed, twirling your vibrator lazily in his hand. "Put that away. We're leaving."
"But I didn't get a chance to play with my new toy," he pouts.
"Dazai, I'm being serious." You try not to show how embarrassed you are, knowing it will only fuel his flames.
"So I am," he smirks as you walk towards him, trying to take the vibrator from his hands. "Tell me Bella~ Tell me all the fantasies you have of me when playing with yourself~" he teased, waving the wand around. You go silent at his taunt, face feeling flushed as you try to get words out. I mean of course you can't help yourself some nights, allowing yourself to get fully lost in the idea of Dazai touching you, pleasuring you. His name leaving your mouth in a muffled whimper as you finally find release. But he didn't know this, right? Because that would be weird. You wanted to yell at him for even thinking such nasty things, but your face gave the truth away.
Dazai's heart nearly stopped beating as he watched you fight yourself at his taunts. You usually never get this worked up over him, that's when he realizes: you actually do get off to him. His head almost exploded at the thought of you alone in your room, desiring him and only him. He was only half way kidding when he made this comment to you, not realizing you felt as much for him as he did you. He's had a full blown crush on you since you began working for the agency, but never expected his advances to go anywhere. He also was guilty of getting himself off to thoughts of you, letting desire run rapidly through his veins most nights. However, he wrote it off as another sin he will one day have to answer for. He would have never expected you to commit the same sin. The idea drove him crazy. Without thinking, he pulled you by your shirt into a sloppy kiss.
Your eyes widen as he pulls you in suddenly, but it doesn't take long for you to melt into the kiss. He helped you get seated on his lap, your body slowly grinding against his as the kiss deepened. You wrapped your arms around his neck, hands tugging at his hair as you two continued making out on your bed, like two horny teenagers. The last thing on either your or Dazai's mind was getting back to the office as you felt a familiar wetness between your legs, and Dazai's hardening cock. The two of you pull away from each other's lips, a smile on his face as you pant.
"You're easy to get worked up~" he teased, making you roll your eyes and chuckle. Even in a heated moment he was too much, and you loved him for. "Here, let me help you." He shifts where he is sitting, lowering you onto your back. Once you're comfortably laying on your back, he slides your pants and underwear off so he can begin softly kissing your thighs. You whine as his lips leave soft, teasing kisses along your flesh.
"A-aah," you shut your eyes as he bites down on your inner thigh, sucking on the skin until a dark mark is formed. He chuckles before tracing the area with his tongue, leaving more soft kisses along this sensitive area of your body. "D-Dazai....please.....please touch me," you whine, becoming impatient as he repeats this process along your other thigh.
"How could I ever say no to you, ______~" he smiled as he turned the vibrator on, immediately finding the highest setting. You scream out as the toy made contact with your clit, an amused smile spreading across Dazai's face. He began moving the wand up and down, eyes glued to the way your body trembled as the vibrations shot through your body. Your hands began gripping the sheets as you quietly moaned out his name.
"That won't do," he sighed before applying more pressure to how he was holding the wand, increasing the vibrations on your clit.
"D-DAZAI!" you exclaim.
"Much better~" he teases as he continues playing with you, practically drooling at the sight of you. You're so close to coming, and Dazai can tell. You whine as he suddenly pulls the toy away from you, head shooting up to look at him and see what on earth he thinks he's doing.
"Dazai what the f-OH FUCK," you throw your head back as his mouth makes contact with your swollen clit. You moan as his tongue swirls around, his hands gripping your thighs to keep your legs wide open. You scream a mix of curses and his name as your legs shake, Dazai's face becoming slick with your juices. It doesn't take too long until you reach your climax, pulling at his hair as your thighs practically suffocate him. Dazai doesn't slow down, making your eyes roll back in pleasure as you ride out your high. Your legs continue to shake as you try to steady your breathing, watching as he sits up to wipe his face, massive grin shining on his face.
You smile up at him, starting to sit up yourself. "We should probably actually start hea-," you're cut off by him pushing you back down on the bed with one hand as his other hand begins undoing his belt.
"Oh, Bella," he smirks, "we're only getting started~"
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meiieiri · 7 hours
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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 [gojo satoru]
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synopsis: in every other universe and lifetime he has yet to lead, megumi will always cherish the painfully brief time he felt the warmth of a proper family and would have gladly referred to himself as the son of the strongest.
pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader | song inspo: chemtrails over the country club, scott street | visuals: megumi’s jacket
warnings: angst-ish, canon-compliant violence (mostly caused by our pookie wookie megumi who doesn’t tolerate scumbag bullies), mentions of bullying, and possible (bc i’m delulu) character death. | a/n: i just want megumi to have one last moment with his dad please, gege, i’m on my knees here. also hehe, get the title? ya’ll get it? someone please shove that arctic-haired freak to the NORTH! 🥹
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Nobara Kugisaki is the classic definition of an Instagram girlie with a passion for fashion.
Honestly, she could appropriately appraise clothes without a second glance, and she could differentiate big fashion brands just by the fabric and silhouette alone even without a brand logo.
It happened on a Monday afternoon while she and Yuji were having a quick coffee in the lounge. Yuji is currently playing one of his Nintendo Switch MMORPG games that he bought from the mall last Saturday while Nobara was scrolling through her phone, swiping left as she watches her mutuals’ Instagram stories. The trio is incomplete today since Megumi mentioned he’ll be running some errands with you and Satoru today.
After positively getting envious of Mei Mei’s supposed extravagant shopping trip in Ginza today, Kugisaki promptly mutes any stories from her for a full twenty four hours. Then, as she swipes left yet again, she nearly drops her phone on the ground which would pretty much set her off on a rampage because she just got its LCD screen fixed. But luckily, she holds onto it.
“Fushiguro has an Instagram account?!”
Yuji himself hits pause on the game he’s playing and leans over the table to see what Kugisaki is talking about. No way. Fushiguro? That sulky, couldn’t-be-bothered-to-care-but-I-actually-do-care embodiment of teenage angst having an Instagram handle? What would he even post on there?
Their questions are answered as Fushiguro’s feed pops up, and it’s filled with his pictures, but that’s not the issue. The two dunderheads didn’t seem to mind that in every photo, Megumi looked like a magazine cover boy, what caught their attention is the apparel he’s wearing.
“What the hell?! He’s wearing Arc’teryx?” Kugisaki couldn’t believe it. She zooms in on the candid shot of Megumi in what looks to be a ski resort and an audible gasp escapes her throat. No way. No frigging way. She does a quick image search and sure enough, she is redirected to Arc’teryx’s official website. See? Kugisaki never misses when it comes to fashion.
Yuji’s eyes nearly pop out of their sockets when he sees the price tag. “One thousand five hundred US dollars?!”
“And look at this! He’s literally tagged in Gojo and Y/N-sensei’s stories.”
Sure enough, the first they see is Satoru’s story which has a video of you picking out new clothes from the rack for Megumi to try on in the fitting room. You looked so cute and petite next to the teenager and Kugisaki giggles at the thought you walking around with two literal giants in the mall, one of them being your ward and the other, your arctic-haired husband of three years.
“There’s another one!” Itadori says excitedly. The next is a story you took, it’s a photo of Megumi and Gojo, their backs turned and their hands fully occupied by shopping bags, seemingly unaware of the camera. In the photo, they’re checking out new sneakers in Onitsuka Tiger’s storefront window. In a flash, Kugisaki switches off her phone, and immediately begins to head out the door. “Hey, where’re you going?”
Nobara knows that particular galleria, it should be in Tokyo Midtown. “Out, maybe I could borrow Gojo-sensei’s or Y/N-sensei’s credit card!”
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“Are you sure you don’t need me to come along?”
Gojo chuckles under his breath. It’s honestly amusing how you won’t normally ask that, given his newfound title as the strongest Jujutsu sorcerer of this generation. A skirmish with a grade two cursed spirit? Pfft. That’s practically child’s play to your white-haired boyfriend. A rogue grade one cursed spirit that turned out to be a special grade? Maybe you’ll sneak some bandages in his bag just in case. Bottom line is you wholeheartedly trust Satoru will always make it out of a mission in one piece.
But here you were seemingly more tense than usual which is incomprehensible because today’s hardly dangerous mission is simple.
Track down the son of Toji Fushiguro.
“I think I got it, babe.” Satoru leans his head in through the rolled down car window to plant a kiss on your forehead. He pats your cheek lovingly, setting off in the direction of the house after taking one last confirmatory look at the address written down in the file sheet. “Well, let’s hope he’s nothing like his dad. Promise you’ll check on me if I don’t come back in an hour?” he teases.
You lightly slap his wrist. Sometimes you wonder how you fell in love with this literal man-child. He’s just so insufferable. Gorgeous in every way but insufferable all the same. “I’m pretty sure a six-year-old boy isn’t gonna try to murder you. If he does, let the record show that I sympathize with him completely.”
“You meanie!”
Sticking his tongue out at you when you blow him a kiss, he disappears into the small street adjacent to the neighborhood’s main road. Coming here, Satoru was uncharacteristically nervous. At the rest stop earlier, you watched the scene tensely from the convenience store window. For once, the obnoxiously loud sorcerer was quiet, hands in his uniform pockets, his cerulean orbs trained on the pavement, his foot kicking the asphalt pebbles on the ground, deep in thought.
To be honest, he had no obligation to make the journey here even if this entire affair was born from Toji Fushiguro’s final words that sounded almost like a desperate plea. “In two or three years, my kid will be sold off to the Zenin clan. Do whatever you will with that.” Satoru doesn’t know why — he’s not exactly the brightest when it comes to his interpersonal relationship skills so he could be wrong about this — but those twenty one words sounded more like four simple words: “Please save my son.”
And so, in a matter of only thirty minutes, you spot Satoru from afar, his hand protectively around his would have been assassin’s six-year-old son as they walk back to the car. Looks like the little boy had made his choice.
And you could see with the way Satoru protectively held Megumi back from crossing the street on a green light that he has also made his choice. Just thirty minutes ago, you were bantering with the version of Satoru that would be reluctant to go out of his way to help someone, now, you were face to face with someone new, someone who has been changed almost in a blink of an eye.
Stepping out of the car, you make your way towards the pair, a faint smile on your lips at the sight of Megumi’s tiny backpack slung over Satoru’s shoulder. Your boyfriend gently nudges Megumi over in your direction, introducing him and you crouch down to meet the little boy’s hesitant eyes. “Hi there, Megumi.” Your voice is as carefully gentle as a psalm, you didn’t want to overwhelm him more than he probably already is. “I’m Y/N.”
“Hello.”
“Ice cold,” Satoru whistles, ruffling Megumi’s hair. But you figured that would be the case. A quiet breath of laughter comes from Satoru when you smile endearingly at the kid’s curtness.
As the three of you settle into the backseat, you and Satoru share a fond look when Megumi who has acted all guarded and silent the entire ride home from Chiba begins to drift off to sleep, his arms hugging his backpack but he was dangerously teetering off the seat, so Satoru gently picks him up, allowing him to lay his tiny head on his shoulder.
“He’s gonna stick around with us for a long time, huh?” you whispered, rubbing Megumi’s back as he slept soundly in Satoru’s arms, the three of yu blissfully unaware of just how much your life has changed. You came to Chiba and there was only you and Satoru, now, you were three. And though you know Satoru doesn’t intend to step in as a guardian, you could tell he was slowly settling into the inevitability of that fact. This boy needed a new start, a home, and people to guide him as he grew.
“…Yeah, he will,” Satoru answers, his eyes filled with wonder himself. Earlier when he first met Megumi, he told him to become strong enough to keep up with him.
But for now, maybe this was enough.
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For the most part, Megumi is a good kid.
He diligently helps you with the housework without needing to be told twice the same way he diligently trains under Gojo’s tutelage. He studies hard despite only being in primary school, and he’s well-mannered in every way…at least to you, the kid won’t pass up the opportunity to scowl and call Satoru a lanky freak when he’s being pestered by him.
Because he’s so young to be sleeping in Tokyo Jujutsu High’s dormitories, you and Satoru settled into the idea of renting an apartment near the campus premises. Since you and Satoru are eighteen years old now, it was high time that the two of you start growing into your roles as functional adults which means leasing an apartment, paying the bills, growing your careers and taking your relationship to the next level.
Of course, you and Satoru both piled in cash when it comes to raising Megumi. Satoru mostly shouldered rent, monthly utilities and Megumi’s tuition, being a rich guy like him, those were practically small beans to him. You, on the other hand, shouldered the groceries, Megumi’s clothes and other needs.
One day, while on your way to pick up Megumi, you pass by the trendy Daikanyama district due to a road closure leading to the Ebisu district where Megumi’s primary school is. The inconvenience is nothing short of serendipitous as you and your boyfriend really did need a quick breather and some time for yourselves.
“I feel like I’m gonna turn into a wine dad very soon. Who would have known enrolling a kid would be that tough?” Satoru huffs, his hand protectively around your waist as you walked past boutique after boutique. “Like how am I supposed to know what his blood type is for the school clinic record?”
You hummed, sneakily stealing a kiss from him to which he responds to by pulling you closer, and pretending to bite off your ear. “For all the school knew, Megumi is ours. That would explain why they felt a little icky towards us when they saw how young we are back in that parent-teacher meeting.”
“Mmph, fair point. A cute son will come from a handsome father after all—“
“—Oh please. You’re okay at best.”
“You didn’t say that last night when I had you all folde—“
“—Please do not finish that sentence in public.”
Digressing, Satoru sighs, planting a contrite kiss on your warm cheek as the two of you leisurely walk down the picturesque lane of Tokyo’s very own version of Soho. Once you reach the main road, a certain outerwear apparel store catches your eye. You stop in front of the store window, looking curiously at the displayed winter items. “Megumi’s birthday is coming up soon, no? We should get him something nice.”
“Hmm? Oh right, the 22nd is coming up,” Satoru hums thoughtfully, leading you inside the store. There, the two of you split up to look for a nice gift for Megumi. There, he is approached by a staff member who asks if he’s looking for anything in particular. Satoru clears his throat, nodding. “I’m looking to buy a gift for my son.”
Somehow, you heard that from across the store and you shoot Satoru an amused look when he refers to Megumi as ‘his son’.
“Right, and how old might he be? We have a batch of new arrivals that came in today. They’re perfect for kids aged four and above.” At that, you rejoin Satoru and the sales staff leads you to check out the items at the front of the store. You and Satoru sort through the rack and find one that the two of you agree on: a fleece two-toned gravel winter jacket.
After paying for it, the two of you rush to get to Ebisu elementary school. Making your way to the gate, Megumi instantly spots you and Satoru, the latter being very difficult to miss since he pretty much towered over everyone else.
“Hi, kid, d’you have fun today?” you crouch down to give Megumi a hug. Between you and Satoru, you were the more clingy one towards Megumi, there’s hardly any hesitation in your heart when you pull him in for a warm embrace or carry him in your arms. Luckily, he didn’t seem to mind one bit, but if Satoru did any of the those things to him, he’ll probably headbut him.
“It was fine,” Megumi says shyly once you pull away. “Oh and I got a hundred on the math homework you helped me with.”
“You did?” you smiled. “I’m so proud of you, Megumi.” Satoru smiles, going to ruffle Megumi’s hair only for the little boy to duck away from his hand and hide behind you.
Chuckling at the kid’s antics, Satoru concedes, putting up his free hand in surrender while his other one held onto the gift bag you got. Megumi reads the name of the store: “The North Face”. Following Megumi’s gaze, Satoru grins, handing Megumi the bag. “Here, we got you something. Call it an advanced birthday gift.”
Megumi’s expression screamed: “You didn’t have to.” but you don’t miss the look of surprise and gratitude that shined through his features. You gently nudge him to open it and his breath hitches in his throat when he sees the gift you got him — the first gift he’s ever received.
“Happy birthday, Megumi,” you and Satoru greet the little boy, with Satoru helping Megumi to try it on.
That was the first time Megumi initiated a heartfelt hug and the first time he ever included Satoru, his little arms trying their hardest to include the two of you, so you decide to help him out, and your and Satoru’s arms engulf the little one.
“Thank you.”
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“I don’t know what happened, but I’m headed there now. Alright, see you soon. I love you.”
Everything happened so quickly. One minute you were in Tokyo Jujutsu High’s teacher lounge organizing the first years’ missions for the next few days when you receive a call from Ebisu elementary school, informing you that Megumi got into a horrible fight and was now in the school clinic ready to be picked up, the next you were dashing out the door hurrying over to the school with your heart pounding in your chest.
There, you are the quintessential picture of a frazzled mother looking for her son in the school clinic.
“Y/N!”
“Megumi,” you breathed, your eyebrows knitting together in worry. Gathering him into your arms, you sit on the tiny hospital bed. “What happened? They said you got into a fight? And where’s your jacket?” He was wearing the jacket you got for him this morning when you and Satoru dropped him off, actually, he’s been wearing it a lot, indicating it’s one of, if not his favorite jacket.
Before Megumi could even speak, it looks like the kid that he got into a tussle with had already tattled on him to his mother and now said mother is furiously berating you and Megumi, not caring if anyone else in the clinic could overhear the scandalous remarks she’s throwing your way.
“I want full disciplinary action against this boy!” the middle aged woman all but screeches to the school’s principal, pointing an accusatory finger at Megumi who doesn’t flinch but you hear him sniffle. He’s never been yelled at like that before.
“Ma’am, please, let’s settle this like two rational adults—“
“—Oh I will, I can’t say the same about you! Are you not the least bit ashamed that you couldn’t teach your son good morals?” She then theatrically goes to place her hands on her son’s shoulders. And you have to be honest, with that bruised lip of his alongside his bleeding nose, Megumi had done some serious damage to the boy.
“I — Megumi is a good kid, not once, have we ever seen him hit someone for no reason—“
“—So you’re saying it’s my son’s fault yours is emotionally unstable? This boy doesn’t need a good talking to, what he needs is psychological intervention!”
“Alright, can everyone just please calm down?” The principal, too, seems visibly uncomfortable with the vile words the other parent was spewing at you like machine gun fire. “We’re all here to fix the problem, not make it worse.”
Pinching the bridge of your nose, you could tell this conversation has reached an impasse. Clearly, there’s no way you could reach a mutual understanding of what should be done to resolve the issue.
The older woman looks at you in disdain, grumbling under her breath at the humiliation of being scolded, “What should I even expect from an irresponsible woman who got knocked up before she was even an adult?”
“Don’t you dare talk about my wife or my son that way.”
Megumi looks up, tears in his eyes when Satoru strides in, his normally shining blue eyes dark with a fury that cannot be quelled. You can’t even feel the butterflies that went wild in your stomach when he accidentally referred to you as ‘his wife’ without so much as a stutter because you’re honestly this close to chewing the vile woman out. It didn’t matter if she insulted you, but if she does so much as insult and make your boy cry, you and Satoru will give the weasel a matching patch on her scalp where there should have been hair had you not ripped it out.
But now was not the time to prove her right.
People have always judged you and Satoru for being acting parents at such a young age, often giving you rude stares when you’re out and about doing the most menial of things like shopping at the supermarket or spending some time in the kōen, people found your current situation disgusting, borderline immoral, which is why you initially had trouble looking for an elementary school that would properly entertain you, Satoru and Megumi and not dismiss you three as a bunch of kids playing house.
“Satoru…” you rub your boyfriend’s arm soothingly.
“Babe, she insulted you and ‘Gumi,” Satoru whispers sadly. “I can’t just let her do that.”
All of a sudden, Megumi’s voice cuts through the tension in the room. “Daisuke was being mean. He ruined Hana-chan’s project and made her cry.” At that, the kid named Daisuke bites his lip, his skin turning pallid at the revelation. “And when I told him to apologize, he and Kaito…” Megumi whimpers, trailing off. He averts his gaze from your and Satoru’s, feeling guilty.
“Megumi-kun? We found your jacket, it’s not too damaged, but you may want to have your mama and papa wash it when you get home.” The school nurse walks in and hands you the ruined jacket, it had been cut all over but since it’s fleece, the damage isn’t too bad, not only that, it had crayon marks all over it and it smelled of the dumpster.
“…Daisuke and Kaito ruined my jacket and I punched him,” Megumi sniffles. “I’m sorry.” He wasn’t apologizing for punching Daisuke, that much you could tell, he was apologizing to you and Gojo for supposedly not taking care of the gift you two got him just last week.
The vile mother scoffs at your son’s apology. “Save your breath, you little liar—“
“—He wasn’t talking to you,” Satoru glares at the woman, effectively shutting her up. “Come on, we’re going home.” He gathers Megumi into his arms, being careful with him given his sprained wrist. You offer the principal a polite nod, indicating that you’ll cooperate with any sanction she seems fit for Megumi and Daisuke, before following Satoru and Megumi to the parking lot. You smiled sadly when you hear Satoru reassuring Megumi that you’ll just wash and mend the jacket once you get home to which, Megumi only buries his face in the crook of his father figure’s neck.
If there is one good thing that happened today, it’s the fact that you proved to yourself and to each other that, no one in this world is allowed to hurt or insult your family.
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Satoru wakes up to an empty bed and he doesn’t pretend to wonder where you are. He stays like that for a full minute, simply staring at the ceiling while your side of the bed slowly loses its warmth. He knows you’re hurting, and he knows just how much this entire ordeal has taken from you. First, you had to deal with him being sealed in the Prison Realm, now this…
You really just couldn’t catch a break, could you?
Slowly, Satoru gets up and pads across the hallway, entering a painfully familiar room. The owner of the room has only since recently moved out, but for ten years, this room is one he normally frequented with you, whether it be on Christmas mornings to greet the little prince that occupied such a special place in your heart or on nights when the three of you just simply needed to hold each other, searching for comfort, while you slept.
The door creaks open and Satoru’s eyes well up with tears, his heart plagued by the same emotional turmoil that was haunting you day in and day out. “I just want our boy to come home…I want our son back,” you cried as you held the jacket Megumi had outgrown, the same one he wore almost everyday that winter when he first came to live with you and Satoru.
Instantly, Satoru sits next to you on Megumi’s bed, hushing your cries, kissing away each agonizing tear that slipped from the confines of your sorrowful orbs.
“He must be so scared,” you sniffled, picturing Megumi in the darkest crevices of Sukuna’s soul, trapped and alone. “I don’t even know if he’s alright, if he’s even slept at all or if he’s being tormented by Sukuna day in and day out. What if he’s in pain? What if he’s cold?” you sobbed into your husband’s chest, your cries growing more desperate with each hour Megumi isn’t home safe.
“Shh, shh…I know, sweetheart…I’ll get him back, I promise I’ll bring him home.”
Or he’ll die trying.
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Somewhere in the void, Megumi Fushiguro is in a state of stasis. Is this what limbo feels like? He just wants to sleep, to give in and let Sukuna’s soul consume him.
No! He can’t give up, more than his desire to tap out and just live and let die…he wants to go home where he belongs.
You and Satoru must be so worried about him and he was worried too, what if something had happened out there while he was here? What if…something happened to the two of you when he hasn’t even done a thing to thank you both for all the love you’ve given him throughout these years?
“Mom…dad…please come find me.”
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jinkiezzsstuff · 2 days
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Is it okay to leave a vox x fem!reader request based on G.U.Y by Lady Gaga? You can do whatever you want ofc but in my head vox hires her as a singer at one of his nightclubs and when he gets a call from Valentino telling him how amazing this new girl he's hired is, he comes down to watch her perform her new song, G.U.Y and becomes infatuated with her? If not dont stress! 🤍
i fuckin loooooove this ideaaaa it’s so cute and i love a good singer fic i really do, and it’s vox eeee i haven’t got to post any of him yet! :D i hope it’s what you imagined i enjoyed writing this a lot i got a little carried away.
the song in question if anybody wants to listen quick
warnings: possibly stalky behaviour from vox, i mean obvi teehee, Female reader, swearing, drinking, possible cringe descriptions of song performances, reader is quite confident, mainly focused on vox and him becoming obsessed rather than the two together, NOT PROOFREAD lmk what i missed!
word count: 2.3k
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Vox rarely paid attention to the people he hired, at times he would do a quick scan of the person and then promptly send it off to whomever could waste their time on silly things such as resumes. So it was quite a surprise to him when Valentino continuously gushed about this singer he supposedly hired. “No~ You don’t understand Voxy, she’s a minx! A siren. You should listen; really she’s hypnotic. Yknow we get a lot of promo from her, and her little songs in the back of my pornos, mm mm.” Valentino purred, flicking his pipe around in his hand. Vox faced away from the moth, bending over his desk he was zeroed in on a spreadsheet for the next broadcast, eliminating any lesser cared about topics in favour of some newer hot topics.
Humming noncommittally, as his gaze flickered over to Valentino. Admittedly he knew that Valentinos genuine praise was rare, and he typically only gave such to his favourites like Angel Dust, or Vox himself. “Well, go on.” Vox urged flatly eyes narrowed, inwardly he scolded himself for loosing his poise, but the red fuck had him more tense then he usually was. “What?~ You don’t know who she is, you hired her.~” Valentino emphasised, saying his words in a sing song voice that made Vox eye glitch. “Val,” The man brightened his screen, his tone warning. In the back of his mind he worried about how it would look if it ever got out that he didn’t keep track of his employees. Surely some scummy sinner would make trouble with that, using their lack of attention to snoop around.
What if you were some spy, Valentino did refer to you as a hypnotic siren. Vox was pulled out of his paranoid sprawl by Valentino huffing loudly and dramatically. “I’m leaving, you’re so cranky boo~, come see her, it’ll be worthwhile.” With that Valentino strut out, his hips swaying as he exited. Vox stayed frozen in his hunched over position, his eyes void as he blankly stared into oblivion lost in thought. Now he needed to see you, there was no doubt about it. Sliding into his leather office chair, Vox leaned back sighing, he called on his assistant not needing to even reach for a phone thanks to his demonic abilities. Oh the luxury. The small shirt demon waddled in a clipboard in hand, after basic pleasantries about the workload in the building, Vox got down to business.
“Singer at my nightclub, when does she perform?” Vox tried to appear nonchalant as if he already knew, but his voice held an eagerness to it that was unmistakable. “Uh YN? Uh sir, she’s on every night? Y-you booked her to be?” The little demon was obviously scared, his speech was anxious and meek, uncertain of his own claims despite them being true. Groaning Vox closed his eyes and took a breath, he didn’t like doing scheduling he left that to some lower hire, obviously they’re dumb. Too much of a good thing makes it bad, if she’s as good as Val said she is, she needed to be yearned for, they’d need other singers to fill in her days off. Vox’s 40 yard stare made the assistant uncomfortable, not wanting to interrupt Vox’s thought process the room fell silent.
After a few sluggish moments, Vox shot up from his seat with a charming smile on his screen. “Alright you’re so right! My mistake, I'm going to go down for her performance tonight, see if this is something we can keep up.” The assistant mumbled words of compliance and flipped through a few pages on his clipboard. “Alright sir, tonight at midnight she’s performing, her voice is quite raw so she’s only doing a few of her songs.” The shark explained fumbling with his pen as he tried to stick it back into the clipboard. “Ah! Good, that’ll be just fine, reserve me a table for twelve thirty, she’ll be on still, right?” The demon nodded, making Vox clap his hands together in finality. “Great! You know what to do,” Vox flicked his wrist at the demon, making him mumble and exit Vox’s office.
~
The night club was booming, as it should, Vox was a businessman it would’ve been wasteful if it wasn’t packed. Vox enjoyed leisure where he could find it in his busy life, so he was more than pleased to be comfortably seated closely to the stage in a private booth, hugged next to a wall. The stage wasn’t grand or massive, but it was classy, surrounding the back of the wall was ads for Vox, Val, and Velvettes companies and products, the same was with the menus on the table. VoxTechs products were littered all around, from the radios to the tvs angled at the bar, which already had preprogrammed ads promoting the VoxTech name. Vox sat eyeing the stage impatiently, scotch sitting on the table in front of him on the table, there was a dance floor like area that stepped down from the platforms where the booths were, and in it sinners partied together, lewdly grinding on each other to the music.
No one dared to bother the TV overlord, however he kept his screen dimmed and slumped in his seat, the lowlight of the club making him feel the weight of reality. Sighing, he gulped down the liquid, it didn’t really burn, but then again he couldn’t really taste. Finally the neon lights in the club dimmed, a voice sounded through the speakers telling patrons to exit the dance floor, and announced your performance. Before he had came, he looked into who you were, he was shocked to find out you were a pretty sought out sinner, it seemed like most of your powers revolved around your voice too. You were sultry, fun, and demanding, in reality from what he could find, you were a colourful array of personalities, there was no one box he could place you in because you’d never quite fit.
Vox presumed you too had some kind of hypnosis, it was pretty obvious to him in the way people described you online, you even topped hellborn Verosika Mayday when it came to sales in music, and the microscopic rivalry bred many fans to speculate. It was pretty impressive for someone who wasn’t an overlord, it made Vox suspicious, with how the radio fuck was up his ass, he had means to believe this vocal gift to the radio in the form of you, was someone not to be trusted. The stage lights came on as did a smooth buzzing sound, as if somebody had dragged their fingers up the strings of an electric guitar. “Greetings, Himeros, God of sexual desire, son of Aphrodite. Lay back, and feast as this audio guides you through new and exciting positions,” Vox watched intently as you walked onto the stage confidently, the words fell from your mouth smoothly effortlessly, and a quick glance around the room told Vox he wasn’t the only one to think so.
You were gorgeous, the embodiment of beauty; even if it wasn’t to the typical standards. You were shrouded in pretty fabric that clung to your figure and left barely anything to the imagination, and the jewellery you had on from head to toe made you twinkle in the stage light. Vox couldn’t help but gawk, he felt as though he was viewing a work of art, some sort of ancient painting of a goddess come to life. Without control his fans kick started whirring loudly in the back of his monitor, thankfully Vox was rather secluded compared to the rest of the crowd, however it was still frustrating to be so worked up over some sinner. Suddenly the bubblegum pop music kicked in and you were going.
You sung like you were and killed to, and the way you interacted with the audience, facial expressions matching every coy insinuation from the song, your hands moving along your body as you sang on. You about wanting to be top, while being underneath a man, you wanted to be that guy, girl under you, it made him glitch at the thought of you wearing his bow tie and nothing else as he-, lord he had to stop. He could feel himself letting go of control which isn’t an ideal situation for being in a public club he owned. It was hard though, you were whining, begging in song to be fucked, and Vox felt entirely enamoured with the thought, especially the way you sung it.
Eventually as you strutted to the other side of the stage the song starting to wrap up, and finally you had spotted him. Vox immediately met your eyes, and you were very much beaming at the sight of him, the observant could actually hear you faintly gasp into the mic. Mic to your mouth, your eyes drooped looking sleepy and seductive as you looked at him, pouting you made sure all your attention was directed to Vox.
“I don’t need to be on top to know i’m worth it; 'cause I'm strong enough to know the truth, I just want it to be hot. Because I’m the best when I'm in love, and I'm in love with you.” You sung out, clenching your hand over your heart dramatically, a cheeky grin on your face. You were more focused on Vox at this point rather than the performance, after all he was the reason you accepted the job, and you’ve been working two months and have only just seen him. “G.U.Y- touch me, touch me- mount your goddess; touch me, touch me- a skimmer moon comes into full phase. Get on top of me, touch me, touch me; don’t be shy,” You swung your hips as you stepped off the stairs of the stage, intently focused on the glitching TV. Most patrons seemed too absorbed into their own fun to really pay attention to what you were doing, but there was an occasional person zeroing in on what you were up to.
Sitting yourself on the edge of the table your finger came up under his flat screen forcing him to peer up at your angelic form. “I’m in charge like a G.U.Y, I’ll lay down face up this time, under you like a G.U.Y; I wanna be that guy. I'll wreck you right up, guy, I'll lie down face up, guy, he girl under you, guy.” With that Vox immediately blue screened, smoke coming out from the back of his head.
~
Vox opened his eyes and was immediately greeted by the comfort of his personal lounge, in the tower. Sitting up he groaned at the immediate pain he felt in his body. “Finally, you’re up.” Valentino purred from his spot on the couch. He had been creepily sitting there waiting for Vox to wake, sucking in his smoke to pass the time. “What the hell happened?” Vox asked, standing from the couch, he slugged himself over to the mini fridge and grabbed a sparkling water, it was his favourite for tasting like static. “Oh you know, you just malfunctioned in the middle of the club~” Valentinos teasing tone told Vox that he wasn’t going to live this down anytime soon. “Oh great, that's just what I love to hear! Vox the powerful overlord- crashed by some singer cocktease. Great.” Vox spat pacing the room, his head buzzing painfully with every turn of his head.
His mind cycled through varying different scenarios and possible headlines that could come out of this- it was ridiculous, made him look like some horny teenage boy. Without another word to Valentino, Vox marched off to his TV room where he could monitor various sinners and places in hell, intending to do intense background checking on you. After all you had to be using some sort of hypnosis, there wasn’t any other way for Vox to overheat by a simple woman. Sitting in his chair he plugged himself in and sat back taping his claws against the arm rest as he waited for things to start up. His movements were rushed, impatient to find all he could about you, sitting back he walked old footage of you walking around, talking with friends, singing in the nightclub, performances you’ve done in other places.
He went through your photos; your entire sinstagram was such a treat to him, he saved your pictures in his files to use for later when he was alone in his room. Vox hadn’t realised how many hours he had been sat in his seat absorbing all the content he could of you, he even found himself reading what others had to say about you, mentally making notes for people to be weary of when it came to becoming a little too close to you. As far as he could tell you were in no connection with other overlords, and if you had made a deal it was kept under tight wraps, not something that you nor the overlord flaunted around.
The TV overlord suddenly jolted forward at the sound of the door opening, quickly he shut the screens off, leaving an ambient blue light keeping the room from going fully dark. Velvette was the one who entered, immediately bitching and complaining about the lack of light, and the “static slacker” that he was being. “What do you need Velvette?” Vox groaned, mind fried from being all consumed with you. “I need you to do your fuckin’ job, yeah? C’mon flat face it’s been six hours. Broadcast time.” She flung her phone flash all around making Vox wince from the obnoxious flashing. “Alright, alright, I was working on very important matters. Go bug Val,” Velvette scoffed as she walked to the door. “Stalking your little hummingbird ain’t it, get on with it.” She snapped looking behind her shoulder to shoot him a glare before promptly leaving the room with a slam of the door.
With a growl, Vox turned himself back to his monitors and began to prep for tonight’s broadcast. Maybe he’d leave a little message in it just for you.
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toskarin · 3 days
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»GET://NOISE« WORKING WITH RI47 HEAVY INDUSTRIES FOR PROFIT AND UNPROFIT
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so, I do feel like I should clarify my actual policy on using my tracks in projects. I do this every now and again, but to be fair, circumstances change pretty often
these aren't blanket licences or anything because honestly a few of these are like... complicated enough that it's literally easier to just talk to someone after the conditions are met and give them permission in writing. in nearly every single case, the first step is "contact me directly and we'll make things work"
if you're working on a project to raise money for Palestinian aid, I am especially interested in working with you. of course, I will be checking to make sure the money is actually going to help the people it's supposed to, as I'm unfortunately aware of how many people are trying to take advantage of these tragedies for their own benefit
a case-by-case reference with slightly more detail is included below
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if you want to download Ri47 music to listen to but can't afford it... legally, I care that you pirate my music. personally, never tell me about it. I don't want to see that, I'm not signed to a label that seeks out uses of my music, and I understand that the international economy is in shambles. ideologically, I am pro-piracy. don't do anything that will legally force me to care (using my work in a commercial project without permission, for example) and we'll both keep on living our lives as we were
if you want to remix a Ri47 track and need stems… I don't have the stems either. I'm bad at recordkeeping, tune my samples by ear, and primarily do my own last pass of mixing in audacity. I might have some stems kicking around, but the odds are that I'm as empty-handed as you are. sorry about that lol
if you want to use a Ri47 song in your freeware (read: not for sale) project... that's probably fine. contact me first, not because I'm going to spring a fee on you, but because a few of my songs are already licensed out to projects that make it a little more challenging to hand them out. this is mostly applicable if you're making rpgmaker games you don't intend on selling
if you want to use a Ri47 song in your small-scale commercial project... if you're making a promo video for a stream, need music for a podcast, or anything like that, contact me first. in almost every case, as long as what you're making isn't a persistent standalone work (read: something you are selling directly, with my music as part of the package) the most I'll usually ask is that you buy one copy of the album
if you want to use a Ri47 song in a more serious commercial project... you can contact me directly to get a licence. I usually don't work on royalties unless you are selling a product that I'd consider "reselling" my work (read: an OST album or other primarily audio-based product) and I'm happy to work with people to find a deal that works for them
if you want to use a Ri47 song in a project that is intended to raise funds for a not-for-profit charity, especially in providing aid to Palestine… the freeware conditions apply. let me know about your plans beforehand, because I almost certainly want to be more directly involved, but there are very few cases where I would say no to this sort of thing
if you need original music or sound design done by Ri47... I'm booked out about a year or so in advance, so I can't promise I can actually join a team actively, but this is extremely contextual. if you need some UI sounds or a handful of piano pieces to feature in a project, I'm much more likely to find time for that
if you want me to feature on an album or compilation, whether that be contributing a song or remixing one that you provide… contact me and let's talk. this one's the most complicated conditions-wise, but I don't bite
the bottom line being... I work within all budgets and project scopes. even if you think the answer is no, drop me a line and you might be surprised. if you're unsure, I'll happily help you figure out what exactly you need. it's easier than taxes!
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kerizaret · 2 hours
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Something about Tsukasa, the most show-off character ever, who always stands out and has so many of these flashy card, getting a fes card that's surprisingly... simple. Domestic. ""Plain"" even, in comparison to what we were used to (mostly the trained version but some could argue the untrained as well)
I know we were expecting something grand like Tsukasa himself and I see a lot of people being disappointed but honestly... I think this fits a lot actually. This might've just been the best choice for Tsukasa' fes
Because really, under all that attitude and boldness and showing off, Tsukasa's dream and feelings are kind of... simple. To make people smile. To be a world famous star, yes, but that's only the means to the goal of making everyone around the world happy
This is one of the most important developments of Tsukasa from how he was in the main story. Being a star is NOT just being a great, famous actor to him – he's proven it countless times. It's obviously a very big part of it, but if it was just about acting then why does he also constantly reference to being a "star" in more "mundane" situations unrelated to acting?
A star inspires. A star makes his sister smile. A star doesn't worry those around him. A star helps those in need. A star guides those who are lost. A star would choose to save the amusement park that makes everyone happy and means the world to his best friend instead of trying to win a contest to gain fame. These aren't exactly things related to being an actor or a celebrity
It's more as if a part of being a "star" is... being like a big brother?
Tsukasa's whole dream stemmed from just him wanting to make Saki smile; shows were just what proved to be something that could achieve it. Is it really such a surprise then that this is what his goal revolves around as well? What he believes a "star" should be when they're not on a stage? And what his fragment SEKAI bases on?
Not on being a flashy, famous star in the spotlight. But on being the person you can rely on that will take care of your worries and turn your frown upside down. Someone you will look at and think of home. And that's something so simple and domestic, and something I feel like is reflected really nicely in his trained fes
Hell, his outfit is called "Kind Brother" too. Because that's who Tsukasa is first and foremost, to himself
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If that isn't enough proof than idk what else is
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but the fighter still remains
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pairing: leon kennedy x chris redfield
cw: homophobia, dubious (at best) consent during past experiences, childhood trauma, referenced spousal abuse, use of homophobic slurs by unnamed characters, smut and angst, anal sex
summary: Leon struggles with his sexuality until he sees Chris after the events of Vendetta, and has his first consensual sexual experience.
a/n: This story does include homophobia by unnamed characters and internalized homophobia. It's meant to be an accurate depiction of the overt homophobia of the 90s and 00s. While Leon being gay/bisexual is a headcanon of mine, this story was never solely about Leon for me. Leon's sexuality crisis and realization of both his own queerness and the dubious (at best) consent of his past experiences is based on my own journey of accepting my own identity as a lesbian. That is to say that some elements in this fic might be uncomfortable to read, but it is not my intention to endorse or make light of the homophobia and other struggles that come with the queer experience.
also, the title is a reference to a lyric from the song "the boxer" by simon and garfunkel (you should listen to it if you haven't)
wc: 6.3k
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i. Raccoon City was the second worst beating Leon’s ever taken. The first was from his father. Leon felt guilty for secretly being happy about his father’s death. He’d never tell his grandmother that, but he’d also never tell her about when his father punched him so hard he couldn’t see out of one eye for a week. 
Leon’s not gay and that’s because he isn’t allowed to be. 
It was against his parents’ rules and their religion too. He doesn’t remember when he stopped believing in God, but that may have been the last straw for him. If my father is a good, god-fearing man, who’s on the right track to heaven, then who am I? Can I pray to the same god my father does after he hits me?  
Leon met a nice girl at church camp one summer in his early high school years. His parents liked her. They insisted that she come over for dinner to meet them. The first time they held hands was at the table when they prayed - Thank you God for this food, this family, and Leon’s new friend . The way his father chuckled after the collective “Amen” was foreign. He was happy his son found a girl, a hand to hold, a vacant ring finger. His father was more pleasant with the rest of the family than he had been in a while. 
Leon’s father didn’t hit his mother often, but in retrospect, the bruises on her arm weren’t from the car door like she told him they were. Leon’s father was lucky Leon didn’t see any marks on his mother by the time he was in high school. Maybe he knew Leon had been lifting. Maybe he knew why. Leon would’ve stood up for his mother in the way that he didn’t for himself. He would’ve come in armed - with a bat, maybe a kitchen knife - if it were his mother. His father had a gun and he wouldn’t have hesitated to shoot the son he never wanted. 
Leon’s dad thought he wanted a son until he met Leon. It took him years to accept the fact that such a pansy of a boy could be his offspring. Leon wished he’d never heard his father’s talk with his mother that night. It wasn’t that his father degraded him or was humiliated to have him as a son - what hurt Leon most was the fact that his father was convinced his mother must’ve cheated on him “‘cause that sissy isn’t my son”. The sound of a belt buckle sent Leon across the hall to his room where he could cry his mother’s muffled tears into his own pillow. 
Church girl was appropriately named “Faith”. The only “Faith” Leon ever had gave him a handjob in the pews. They sat in the chapel after bible study and she kissed him, joking that they should practice at the altar. The sounds of their lips smacking echoed off the tall ceilings. Leon felt a brief sense of relief when his zipper got stuck, protesting Faith’s deft fingers, thought to be already tainted by the french tips her mother hated. Her pale skin was painted by the light that passed through the stained glass windows, jewel tones that formed the image of the Virgin Mary. Aside from her hand stroking his length, Leon felt nothing at all.
When they got caught kissing in the basement, Leon got a stern talking to and Faith got sent home. It was when he got caught with a boy who lived down the street that he got the black eye, and the boy was also sent home. Leon begged his father not to call the other boy’s parents, and that was the one ounce of mercy his father gave him that night. 
The next day at school, the boy came up to him at lunch. “Your dad-” he said softly, gesturing to Leon’s eye. 
“No, I hit my head on the car door this morning. I was exhausted and out of it I guess.” Leon couldn’t look him in the eyes while he lied through his teeth. 
“I know that’s not the truth, but I won’t tell if you won’t say anything about what happened between us. I liked it, I like you, but-”
“Just don’t, please, just don’t,” Leon said, putting his hand out to stop him from talking. Anything that could come out of his mouth would only hurt Leon more.  
They couldn’t see each other again, so it wasn’t worth agonizing over it, was it? He caught Faith cheating on him with another guy and he pretended to be upset. He wished there was a non-offensive way to say “it’s actually better this way. I’m not mad at you at all.”, but there isn’t. 
When Leon mentioned off-handedly at dinner that he wanted to become a cop, the look his father gave him was the closest one to pride he’d ever seen. 
“I think that’s a great idea, son,” he said. The only other time his father called him son was when his application to the police academy was officially accepted. 
Leon knew that if his father had figured out why he was so interested in law enforcement, he wouldn’t have been so keen on the idea. “I want to fight crime. I want to make sure criminals get locked up, and I want to keep civilians safe,” he told a superior officer, who seemed to find his enthusiasm cute. 
I want to make sure criminals like my father get locked up, is what Leon meant. I want to learn how to shoot a gun and be able to bring it home just in case he goes too far and I need to defend my mother. 
ii. When Leon entered the police academy, he remained certain of his heterosexuality. Sure, he sucked dick at least a dozen times, but he wasn’t actually gay. He pretended not to like it, and sometimes he actually didn’t like it because a bunch of single guys stuck in dormitories aren’t great at washing their dicks properly. 
Plus, it was nothing more than blowjobs. One, he’d never been fucked before, and two, he hadn’t kissed anyone since that guy in high school. Well, he hadn’t kissed any guys since then. He’d made out with a few girls, mostly motivated by peer pressure. It was a path to popularity because popularity required normalcy. Or the illusion of it. He’d never been the one to come onto a girl, but he rarely backed down either. It was like a challenge, like the exercises they did in the academy. These hookups were exercises in composure and mental fortitude. Distress tolerance. 
During his time in the academy, Leon found out that it’s actually cool to not have a girlfriend. Leon’s “ a player ” and he’s “ not ready to settle down ”. The other guys were jealous that he fucked around. He didn’t fuck around that much, and when he did, he tried to be polite about it. He might not have been particularly aroused by the activity, but he was indifferent to it after a few beers. Once he got into liquor, it was just “whiskey dick” when he couldn't get it up. It’s not you, it’s me. It is him, he comes to find years later when he finally accepts it. 
When he was younger, Leon was easy. Reverse glory hole of sorts. He let any interested woman ride his dick. Physical interaction was nice, and if he closed his eyes, it wasn’t hard for him to get off. He lasted longer than most guys, which just gave women another incentive to fuck him, and men another reason to envy him. Oddly enough, being gay was one of the things that other men - unknowingly - envied him for. But, he’s not gay. Bicurious at best. If he were gay, he would never cum from a woman riding his dick. Having the girl on top was his favorite position. Drunk sex is easier when your job is to just lie there. 
Leon was a firm believer in ass over tits because tits lie too close to the face, and being face to face with a girl means letting her kiss you. Kissing was too romantic, Leon decided, and that’s why he disliked it. Lipstick tasted gross and it was hard to get it off his face. “It’s cute,” a girl once said, “It’ll be like a reminder of me”. And it was a reminder in the same way that a scar is. The lipstick remark came after Leon asked her not to leave a hickey on his neck. “We’re not in high school,” he said. It’s juvenile, we’ll look stupid, we should act like adults. A hickey is just a bruise like any other. Why do you have to hurt me for me to remember? Why do you have to leave marks? If you like me, why do you hurt me? Why does being together hurt? Can you like someone so much it pains you? I think it’s just butterflies in my stomach. I like you so much that I’m nervous. I’m not scared. I’m a man. It’s heartache, so it hurts. I’m lovesick, so it hurts. 
iii. Life was different post-Raccoon City. Training under Krauser was a paradoxical Hell. You had to get fucked in the ass literally - not necessarily by him - if you didn’t want to get fucked in the ass metaphorically. On the other hand, you were worse off liking it. You cannot be a fag in USSTRATCOM. 
So, he liked Major Krauser in a way that one is supposed to like their mentor – he looked up to Krauser. It was nothing more than that until they were both a few drinks deep. Like everything with Jack, it all went down like punishment. Krauser liked when Leon put up a fight – he liked when Leon used the skills he taught him for the never-ending “mission” against him. 
But, Major Krauser got too used to bloodshed and it started to look as sexy as anything else which is why everything went down the way that it did in Spain. Leon won the fight for the first time by willpower and luck. It was the fact that his mother was blonde like Ashley and there was finally a woman in front of him that he could save. After all the years he wasted fighting an endless war against Umbrella and whoever their successors were, he’d finally get some sort of justice for himself. When Ashley arrived home safe it was one of the only times he felt like he’d “won” anything - not the princess, but the pride of being the knight. The slight self-esteem boost was enough to keep him alive.
At this point, Leon considered the possibility that he might like guys, but he’d never fallen in love with a guy. It was nothing more than lust, possibly the pull towards romance, but he never let himself go there. Gay men fall in love with other men. Leon’s not gay.
If he were gay, he wouldn’t cry during sex. (It only took him a few weeks in the barracks to learn to save his tears for later. Crying in private would save him his last shred of dignity or self-worth. Everything else had been taken, nothing remained untainted). Leon considered the possibility of prepping beforehand to avoid the physical pain, but then they’d make assumptions, so he took it like a good little soldier. Bit the bullet while he got ‘raped’, as his therapist would later claim. Leon never trusted her, though, because she tried to tell him that women were taking advantage of him, but he assured her that he’d never said ‘no’. 
She was obstinate, too. “Have you always known you were gay?”
“I’m not gay.” Fucking invasive, repetitive questions. He would never have seen a therapist if the DSO wasn’t up his ass about it. 
He could give her a list of women he'd had feelings for - Ada, Ashley, maybe Claire, Shemei for a minute, but mostly she just reminded him of Ada (not because she was Chinese - Leon’s not sure that Ada is Chinese, or even named Ada for that matter - but because he could sense the betrayal before it happened and for some reason, it made the whole dalliance sexier). 
He realized later that the feelings he had for Ashley and Claire were mostly a strong platonic affection. Ada remained a mystery, as always. 
iv. In retrospect, the first guy he felt anything real for was Chris Redfield. Not STARS Alpha Team point man Chris Redfield, whom he would’ve met if Raccoon City hadn’t been blown to smithereens, effectively terminating his position as a cop on his first and only day. Leon caught feelings for Claire Redfield’s older brother, Chris Redfield. 
Leon and Claire shared a unique trauma bond, and he wondered at first if she asked him to hang out with her because he was the only one who she could relate to anymore, or if she actually enjoyed his company in any way. It took him years to accept that it was the latter. Leon didn’t have many friends, not many he really felt connected to, so he was surprised to have a certified cool girl want him as part of her posse. Claire already had a support system in the form of her brother, Chris, who had gone through hell more than once. 
When Leon met Chris on a night out with Claire, the first thing he noticed was the way Chris looked - hot. Leon assumed it was envy, when all along it was lust. “I want to be him” turned out to be a facade for “I want to be with him”, but it took well over a decade for Leon to come to that conclusion. 
“Claire told me you’re in STARS?”
“Yeah, I mean, I was.” Chris laughed, but grief hid behind his smile. “STARS doesn’t really exist anymore, since Raccoon City doesn’t really exist anymore.”
“Oh, yeah, slipped my mind for a sec,” Leon joked. He wished he could forget.
“It’s not all bad. That fucker Irons is dead.” Leon recognized that look. It was the one he had on his own face when his father died. 
“I had no idea he wasn’t a good guy until Sherry…” Leon couldn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t know the details of what did or didn’t happen. Leon never dared to ask. 
“The kid?” Chris confirmed.
“Yeah, I’m sure Claire mentioned her.”
“She didn’t mention Irons. Kinda sad he’s not dead. I wish I could kill him myself.”
“I’m glad I didn’t have the chance to meet him.”
“Anyway,” Chris said, “Let’s not damper the mood with all this morbid shit.”
“Amen to that.”
They shot the shit for a while and Chris taught Leon how to play darts - or how to play right since Leon couldn’t aim for shit until Chris helped him get his arm in the proper position. 
“How’d you learn that?” Leon asked. 
“We had a dartboard in the STARS office. We had more downtime than you’d think, you know, especially with your first day at the RPD being the most chaotic in history.”
Leon didn’t realize that to an onlooker it might’ve seemed like they were flirting because it felt so natural to him. When Chris went to have a cigarette outside, they were mid-conversation so Leon followed him. Leon was never a smoker, and quite frankly, hated the smell of cigarettes, but liked Chris' company enough to put those feelings aside.
A group of a few drunk guys started hollering at them, throwing around various slurs and making lewd gestures. Chris ignored them until they walked closer, clearly trying to start a fight. 
Chris gave the leader of the pack a look that said "what do you want?" and that was the last thing Leon remembered before Chris had one of the guys pinned to the wall while another tended to a likely-broken nose and the third was nowhere to be found. 
“Are we done here?” Chris asked. There was no response and he let go of the guy’s collar. He looked to Leon who was standing by in shock and nodded towards the door. Leon walked back into the bar and tried to wipe the look of bewilderment off his face. 
“What? Never seen a fight before?” Chris asked, in a more joking manner than one would expect from someone with bloody knuckles. 
“I have, but that was impressive. Does that kind of thing happen often?”
“More than I’d like it to. I don’t tend to start fights, but I don’t hesitate to finish them either.”
Before Leon could say something stupid, Claire stumbled over to Chris, practically falling into his arms. 
“Claire?! What the fuck? I told you one drink.”
“I only bought one,” she slurred. “Some guys bought me more.”
“Where are those guys?” Chris asked with a face that said he was ready for another round in the ring. 
“Oh c’mon, Chris,” Claire said, “You don’t have to be so ‘protective’. I’m not a little kid anymore.”
He sighed and took her by the hand, leading her towards the door. 
“Where are we going?”
“Home,” Chris said. 
“Want me to help?” Leon offered. 
“Be my guest.”
Claire ended up with one arm over each of their shoulders, and slumped over Leon’s lap in the backseat. Chris drove because it was his car and he was the most sober. 
Chris put a cassette in the tape player before he started the car. Leon could identify Freddie Mercury’s voice but he didn’t know the name of the album. He didn’t ask lest he embarrass himself. Freddie Mercury is gay and that’s why his parents don’t listen to Queen in the car anymore, he thought to himself. 
They got Claire situated in bed with a glass of water and two ibuprofen on her nightstand. Chris decided to sleep on her couch, and Leon went home for the night. 
“Need a ride home?” Chris asked. 
“Nah, I’ll call a cab. Wouldn’t want Claire to get into any trouble if you left her alone.”
“Fair enough.” Chris’ smile was warm under the porch light and Leon assumed it was no different from Chris’ regular smile. It was no different from the way he ever smiled at Leon . 
Leon felt his heart rate rapidly increasing when Chris gave him a hug goodbye. It was a friendly hug, but not the type that’s half-hearted, accompanied by a pat on the back that’s equivalent to saying "no homo".
v. The first time they kissed it was barely even real. It was a game and it was for the amusement of others. That’s what spin the bottle and truth or dare are - games, nothing more. Never back down from a dare. Leon was invited by Claire to another get-together, which was attended by a handful of people who would become long-time friends of Leon’s - including, and most notably, Chris. 
They sat in Claire’s living room, all a little buzzed when the master-of-ceremonies, Claire Refield, suggested a game of truth or dare, which most of the group was less than enthused about since it’s a game for teenagers. Barry set a rule that he wouldn’t take on any dares that would make him cheat on his wife and the group agreed unanimously with a collective “aww” at the rare good man. 
“I wish I could have a loyal man like you, Barry,” Claire remarked. “You will. Don’t settle for less.” Leon didn’t learn until years later how Barry was there for the Redfields after their parents’ passing. 
Claire was the one who dared Leon and Chris to kiss. It shouldn’t have been unexpected after she dared Jill and Carlos to kiss about three turns prior. Leon didn’t notice the tension in the room when he leaned in. It’s nothing, but it feels like something. The feeling of Chris’ lips against his that night was something that stuck with him for well-over a decade. His freshly-shaven face, his breath like beer and cigarettes since there was no time to disguise the taste with a breath mint. The tips of their tongues brushed ever-so-slightly and Leon only pulled away because he was worried he’d embarrass himself if he didn't. 
Leon tried not to think of Chris when he jerked off later that night. It was a futile effort. He successfully covered his mouth before he moaned Chris’ name when he came. He lived alone, but he didn't want to hear it come out of his own mouth. 
Straight women get off to lesbian porn all the time, so when Leon gets off to gay porn, it seems normal to him. Straight women don’t talk about watching lesbian porn, just like how Leon doesn’t talk about watching gay porn. 
It was the next century when Chris made a move on Leon. “Would you ever wanna go out sometime?”
Shockingly, Leon didn’t take the hint. Chris waited, teeth on the lip of the beer bottle, slowly regretting his words. 
“Go out where?”
“I mean, anywhere you want…” Chris is rarely nervous. However, he also rarely asks anyone out. He almost never gets asked out, either - at least, not by men. 
Leon cocked his head to the side like a fucking idiot. “Like, hanging out… or-?”
“Or…”
“Oh . You’re asking me on a date.”
“I was trying to.”
“I would, but I’m not gay.”
And that was the truth in his mind. 
“Oh. Forget I said that then. I assumed you were ‘cause I’ve seen you brush women off who are flirting with you. Now, I know you’re just oblivious.” Chris said the last bit with a laugh, hoping the friendly jab at Leon will lighten the mood, but internally he was beating himself up.
They parted ways and it was awkward. Chris confided in Claire, who went on to tell him an hour-and-a-half’s worth of awful dating stories. She’d had her share of times where she embarrassed herself in front of guys. 
Leon struggled to get off, sleep was nowhere in sight, and for the first time in years, he decided to pray. God didn’t respond. It was the last time Leon even tried.
vi. It was years later when they saw each other again in China. They fought over a woman, well, kinda, but it was still ironic enough that it made Leon laugh in hindsight. It was not the way Leon had imagined Chris’ hands all over him. They didn’t do that in China. 
Leon was too focused on 70,000 civilian deaths and the fact that he shot the president. It was not a John Hinkley Jr/Ronald Reagan situation. Leon knew the man as “Adam” not President Benford. It was personal. It wasn’t the first time Leon had to shoot someone he knew and it wouldn’t be the last. He was found “not guilty”, but he felt very guilty. About everything. 
Leon was way too focused on the fact that Ada may or may not have died - information he got from Chris Redfield himself, a fairly reliable source. We both want the same thing. Leon meant that in the realm of bioterrorism. They both wanted the other’s touch in a way that was hot, sweaty, rough enough to leave marks, but entirely differently from the way they ended up in the aforementioned tussle.
vii. They didn’t see each other in person again until ‘14, Colorado. Leon was the worst he’d been in awhile. The man he’d been lusting after for over a decade in secret walks into a bar mid-morning to find him deep in the bottle. Of course this shit would happen to Leon. They yell first, makeup later. After all the killing is done and the blood is off their hands. 
It’s easier to be angry than anything else. You don’t have to bare your soul to yell. Vulnerable, from the Latin vulnus - wound. Somehow new bruises are easier. Leon didn’t notice the ones on his knuckles until the next day. His headache was worse. The purple marks make him feel guilty, but they'll fade. They always do. 
Chris caught Leon with a flask in his hand the moment the op was “over” - nothing is ever really over in Leon’s life. Even the dead come back to life - undead on Earth, ghosts in his dreams, whatever the fuck Ada is and has always been to him. 
“Hey,” Chris said. It was neutral but Leon could hear pity in his voice. He fucking hated it. He didn’t want to be someone who deserves pity. Someone pitiful. 
“I almost pity you,” his father said. Leon was pitiful, but his father was cruel. 
“What d’ya want?” Leon said, not turning towards Chris, though he could feel his gaze boring through his frail figure. How funny it was that Leon was deteriorating. He should’ve been in one of those body bags. 
“I don’t want anything.”
“Then why are you talking to me?”
“I’m worried about you.”
Leon scoffed. “Don’t be.”
Chris stood over him and reached for the flask, but when Leon dodged his grasp, he didn’t force his hand. “You know it’ll hurt in the morning,” he said. 
“Think I can handle a little headache.”
“You think I don’t understand, but I do.”
“What?” Leon met Chris’ eyes. “You wanna have a sweet bonding moment? This isn’t an afterschool special. You can save your breath.”
“Why can’t you accept that people care about you?” Chris was indignant. 
There wasn’t much to say to that. I don’t care about me, he wanted to say. Leon sighed. Chris looked at the spot next to Leon, then at his face. “Can I sit?”
Leon nodded reluctantly. He set the flask down next to him, and put his head in his hands. Chris didn’t say anything. Instead, he placed his hand on Leon’s back. It wasn’t a pat on the back - empty, friendly, platitudinous. He didn’t rub in soft circles like Leon’s mother did when he was little - nurturing, familial, pitying. It was just his hand, placed firmly, not letting up, not pressing down - grounding, steadfast, sincere. 
Leon sniffled, wiped a tear from his eye with the back of his hand, and tried to half-laugh it off. 
“Just let it out.” I won’t say anything. 
The tears fell. Commanding officer even in friendship - or whatever this was. Leon leaned onto Chris’ shoulder, meeting him halfway. Chris pulled him into a hug. 
“This is pathetic,” Leon said into Chris’ shirt. 
“Only because you’re so resistant to it.”
“You’re gonna blame me for my own patheticness?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“I thought you were supposed to be cheering me up.”
“I never said that.”
“Then why are you holding me like I’m a fucking child?”
“Because you’re acting like one.”
Somehow crying turned to laughing. 
“I really am,” Leon said, lifting his head. “I even got snot on your shirt.”
“Not the worst thing that’s gotten on my clothes in the last 24 hours.”
“Glad I’m not as gross as a BOW.”
“Far from it.”
“Thanks.”
“I didn’t say how far.”
“What? Are you calling me ugly?”
“You’ve looked better.”
“So have you!”
“I know I have. I’m 40 fucking years old. But you look-”
“Pathetic?”
“Yeah, and somehow you still manage to make it work for you.”
“How’s it ‘working for me’? Am I wooing you right now? Do you enjoy watching a grown man cry?”
“You don’t have to ‘woo’ me. You did that a long time ago.”
It took Leon’s drunken brain a minute to wrap his head around the words. 
“When?”
“‘98.”
“That was…” Leon did the mental math. “Sixteen fucking years ago. And you never told me?”
“I asked you on a date, Leon. I thought it was clear.”
“Maybe I’m just an idiot.” A date doesn’t mean anything, he thought, I’ve been on plenty of dates just for the hell of it. 
“I think you might be.”
“Fuck. I’m ugly and stupid.”
“Just stupid. You’ve never been ugly. That’s how you get away with it.”
“Hey, fuck you!”
“I’d prefer to fuck you, but…”
Leon shook his head, snickering - mostly at himself. He took them both by surprise when he kissed Chris, hard on the mouth. It only took a few swigs from the flask to get him here. He was nearly sober, too sober in his mind. Chris’ hands were all over him and Leon’s dick wanted this, but something in his brain stopped him. 
“Wait,” he said, catching his breath. Nerves had taken over. “Maybe we should have a drink first, you know… to-to loosen up… metaphorically…”
Chris stared at Leon, trying to read his mind. “We don’t have to do anything. I’m not going to do anything if you don’t want to.”
“No, no, it’s not that I don’t want to- believe me, I want to,” he said, “but, uh, this isn’t really the kind of thing you do sober, right? Not like, entirely…?” It only sounded weird when he heard the words come out of his mouth. 
A moment of silence passed as Chris processed Leon’s unintentional admission. “You… don’t do these things sober?”
“No…?”
“Never? You’ve never done anything more than kissing sober?”
“I guess, yeah, but it was a long time ago… in high school, I had a girlfriend and,” he laughed, somewhat ironically, “she gave me a handjob in the pews of the church we both went to.”
“That’s it? Nothing since high school?”
“Well, there was some stuff at bootcamp, back in STRATCOM, and at the police academy, too…” he winced before he said, “it wasn’t exactly my choice. I would’ve preferred to not be that sober.”
Chris’s mouth moved, but he didn't speak at first. “I’m sorry that stuff happened to you,” he said, choosing his words carefully. 
“Why?” Leon said with such genuine confusion that it pained Chris.
“I mean, it doesn’t sound like you’ve had any good experiences… maybe not any completely… consensual experiences…” The last part sounded like a question, though he was pretty confident that his assumptions were true. 
“Are you gonna try to get me to “process my trauma” or are you gonna fuck me?” Leon said to avoid the awkwardness. Nothing like trauma to ruin a perfectly good moment. 
Leon captured Chris’ lips in a kiss, but Chris pulled back. “I have to know that you actually want this.”
“I’m the one who started it, aren’t I?”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Yes, I want this.”
Leon was ready to tear Chris’ clothes off, but again,  Chris stopped him. “We’ll go slowly,” he said, prompting Leon to sigh. “Or,” Chris continued, “I won’t fuck you at all.”
“You’d never turn down the chance.”
“Oh? Mr. Pity Party’s feeling so confident all of a sudden? Try me.”
Chris crossed his arms and stared at Leon, who eventually gave in. “Fine. Do you have more terms and conditions? Or can we get on with it?”
“Why are you so insistent on “getting on with it”? Why do you feel the need to rush things? Why not let yourself experience some enjoyment for once?”
“I enjoy it fast and rough-”
“No, that’s just the only way you’ve ever had it.”
The truth cuts like a knife. Leon didn’t know he was being defensive. Chris was right. He’d never had it slow or sober. He closed his eyes and nodded, trying desperately to accept the revelation he’d just been forced to have. 
Chris grabbed Leon by the back of his neck, seemingly pulling him in for another kiss, but he whispered in Leon’s ear, “I wanna make you feel good.”
The words sent a shiver down Leon’s spine. Chris’ voice was low in pitch and in volume, and Leon knew every word was for his ears only. It’s no longer reassurance, it’s flirtation, bordering on dirty talk. 
Then, Chris went in for the kiss with more confidence, dedication turned devotion. Chris was gentle when he pushed Leon onto the bed, so much so that Leon tried to find a joke somewhere in his foggy brain to avoid the fact that he felt like a virgin in the face of such tenderness.
“Any chance you have any lube?” 
“No, but I bet you five bucks that concierge does.”
Chris scoffed in disbelief. “Deal.”
Approximately five minutes later Leon returned with a bottle in his hand. 
“No fucking way.”
“Pay up, Redfield,” Leon said, holding out his palm. 
“Really? I don’t even think I have cash.”
“There’s an ATM downstairs.”
“How about I offer you something else, maybe another form of payment will suffice…?”
“Just this once. I’ll let you get away with it… because you look hot even when you’re all covered in blood.”
Chris’ lips curved upward into a smile so genuine that it was foreign to him. Leon realized that maybe he didn’t get complimented very often, and surely not enough. Leon didn’t have time to compliment Chris to the extent that he deserved - that would take a lifetime. 
Chris pulled Leon by the hand so that Leon was straddling his lap. Leon leaned down to kiss Chris with less force in the absence of haste. This time he melted into Chris’ lips. 
It wasn’t Leon’s first time being penetrated, but it was the first time someone cared enough to prepare him before shoving their cock inside him. Chris’ fingers, slick with lube, made him tense due to their gentleness. It was a novel thing to Leon. 
“You’re tensing up,” Chris said. 
“I’m not trying to,” Leon said, lashing out at Chris, though he was upset at his own inability to relax. 
“Just relax.”
“It’s easier said than done.”
Chris pulled Leon into a kiss and it seemed to help him, taking his mind off the fact that Chris’ fingers were inside him, slowly stretching him out. Leon’s breath quickened and he grunted into Chris’ mouth. 
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” Leon’s voice was shaky. “It actually feels… good.”
“Yeah? Like this?” Chris curled his fingers to meet the same spot, making Leon moan louder than this time.
“Yeah, right there. It feels really fuckin’ good.” Leon didn’t need to say it for Chris to know - the way his dick twitched told him enough. 
“Think you’re ready?”
“Hope so. I want it.”
Chris removed his pants and upon seeing what he’d been hiding under them, Leon changed his mind. “Maybe I’m not as ready as I thought.” He was wide-eyed and hungry for it, but more nervous given Chris’ size. 
“I’ll go slow,” he promised. “And we can stop whenever you want.”
For many years, Leon struggled to pinpoint his exact feelings for Chris. Was it lust? Affection? Connection due to their similar circumstances? The one thing he'd known from the start was that he trusted Chris. 
Leon gulped down his anticipatory nerves and nodded, giving Chris the go ahead. Before entering Leon, he was diligent enough to lube himself up, giving Leon a nice view.
Leon hissed at the initial stretch. “I knew you’d be big, but not this big.”
“Sorry, nothing I can do about it.” Chris laughed a little, forced to take it as a compliment. 
“It’s fine,” Leon said, though his words were beginning to slur. “It’s hot. Just gonna take a minute to get used to it.”
Leon learned that Chris likes to makeout during sex and he would’ve thought it was too romantic if Chris’ lips didn’t feel so good pressed against his. Eventually, they both were running short on breath, so they fucked forehead-to-forehead until they climaxed - Leon first, shortly followed by Chris. 
Chris collapsed next to Leon and Leon sunk further into the mattress. His eyes had fallen shut and his hands laid on his stomach, unsure of their place. Someone is supposed to leave now, he thought. That was the way it had gone every other time Leon had done this before.  
“You okay?” Chris’ voice called him back to reality. 
“Yeah,” he said. And, besides his confusion, he was. Very okay, which confused him more. It was the first time he'd felt truly at ease lying naked next to someone. He might be sore the next day, but only physically.  
“You look… awkward.”
“I’m not used to… this part.”
“Oh, yeah. It’s pretty easy. It’s similar to lying down alone. You just have another person there.”
“Thanks, asshole. I got that much.”
“Do you want me to leave you alone or…?”
“Are you asking me if I want to cuddle with you?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“If that’s what you want.”
“No, if that’s what you want.”
“I don’t care either way. I want whatever you want.”
Chris pulled Leon towards him in a way that would be startling if it were anyone else’s hands. 
“I knew you were too stubborn to say ‘yes’,” he whispered, answering the unasked question. 
“How are we supposed to do this?”
“I don’t think there’s a right or wrong way.”
Leon sighed, and Chris took it as a plea for directions. 
“I can hold you from behind like this,” Chris offered, manhandling Leon. “Or, you can lie on top of me.”
Leon rolled over and put his head on Chris’ chest. 
“C’mon,” Chris said, “You can’t crush me.”
Leon pretended to be reluctant when he wrapped his leg over Chris so that he was sprawled halfway across his chest. He admitted, accidentally, the next morning that it was the best sleep of his life. Leon locked eyes with Chris and noticed the way the corners of his eyes wrinkle when he smiles, how the demarcations have made their place more permanent over time, the subtle reminders of happiness becoming more prominent with age. 
It was about an hour later when Leon looked at himself in the bathroom mirror and noticed his own smile. His expression was so unusual it almost made him suspicious. He was under the impression that the previous night’s experience would’ve brought about some change within him. It was only then, that he realized he’s exactly the same as he’s always been. The only new thing was the certainty he felt when he stared at his own reflection. Denial was just a phase. 
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paradoxcase · 3 days
Text
Chapter 25 of Nona the Ninth
So this chapter has a broken Gideon skull, which in this book seems to mean people being deceitful, and something is definitely up because Gideon is like 2-3 times as much Gideon as she normally is in this chapter, and I don't think that's an impression I only have because I've recently been through 3/4 of book full of Nona POV
Throughout this chapter, Gideon is referred to as "the corpse" or "the corpse prince" frequently, and I just feel like I should point out that we've gotten to the point where there are actually two different walking and talking corpses in this scene and both of them could plausibly be referred to as a prince. Even though Naberius's body is not currently being controlled by Ianthe, Naberius himself was a prince before he died
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Hmm
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That's all the definitions, I think Gideon just made this one up. Also, it's not a good day when you learn a new ethnic slur from the dictionary
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Pyrrha acts like Gideon said "yes" here, but she didn't. That's like, a combination of "yes" and "nope"
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It's hilarious, and I think actually accurate, that she's still terrified of the needle even though she is literally immune to needles now
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"Judith Deuteros for some reason" really just sums up Judith's whole role in this story, doesn't it? It also would make a great blog title for a Judith fanblog, someone should get on that
Poor Judith! It's been a hot minute since Judith actually said something in a language that someone other than Nona can understand, so I really do hope it still is Judith in her body, and not someone or something else in there now
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Right, so this could potentially mean:
The whole time since she impaled herself on the fence (unlikely since Gideon was stealth-narrating the entirety of Harrow the Ninth)
The whole time since Pyrrha and Nona met up with BOE at the end of Harrow the Ninth (since BOE had Gideon's body at that point, I think it's entirely possible that Gideon's soul transferred back into it from Harrow's body when she came into its proximity)
The whole time since John reacquired Gideon's body and made his modifications to it, and possibly also brought Gideon's soul back to it at that point
She could also just mean "the whole time I've been in New Rho" or "the whole time you've been in the barracks" but obviously she's been awake for longer than that since she was around to receive medals and stuff from John
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Wiktionary says a "rusk" is a "weaning food for children" but doesn't give any kind of information on what specific food it is, or if it's just a general word for that kind of food
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So Ianthe can "shut her off" somehow. I'm not sure if I buy that it was Gideon's idea to come here. I don't think she likes Ianthe, I don't think she would have thought New Rho would be a fun place to be, and even if she actually wanted to go to Ninth House like she says later I don't think she could have predicted that she'd be in a position for that to happen here and there are much easier and more straightforward ways for her to get to the Ninth House if she'd stayed with John
An interesting question is whether or not she would have won a fight with Ianthe's entropy field. I tend to think not, because a literal bar of metal didn't survive the entropy field, and even though she has some, like, I guess artificial preservation from being John's daughter she wasn't immune to direct physical damage because of that and even John himself wasn't immune to being taken apart into bits by Mercy, and since Mercy made the OG entropy field I'm sure it probably works using the same principle as whatever she did to John. Gideon may still survive the entropy field somehow, but if the entropy field was still functional it would actually be a great way for Palamedes to get a blood sample from her for Tomb-opening purposes, and so I think John would be extremely against having any such thing anywhere near Gideon's body. So I'm sticking with my theory that this was Ianthe's idea. She intentionally showed Gideon's body during the broadcast, she did that on purpose, although I guess if Gideon was "turned off" during that time she might not know that
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Man, thanks for nothing, Gideon
Significant things that happened in the River at the end of the last book:
G1deon and a bunch of ghosts scared Number Seven off and it went to New Rho
Augustine was eaten by the Stoma
Harrow's and Palamedes' River bubbles ceased to exist
The Mithraeum was submerged in the River and sank very far down, unknown currently if John and Ianthe managed to save it
I can't think of why any of these things would make it safe for non-Lyctors to travel safely through the River. The ghosts all make themselves scarce around resurrection beasts, but I'm sure Ianthe and Gideon's journey didn't start out in the presence of a resurrection beast and I don't think the ghosts are the reason why River travel is dangerous for non-Lyctors
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Blatant lies, lmao
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She's so bad at lying, she starts off with "I don't want anything anymore" and finishes with "I want to go to the Ninth House because I have unfinished business there", and I suspect both of those things are at least partly lies. But I think she's right that John would probably give her a medal for killing this collection of people at this point, including Corona I think
But I suspect that she is the one who wants to go back to the Ninth House, for some undisclosed reason, and she's not acting on John or Ianthe's wishes here. If John wanted her to go back to the Ninth House she would already be there yesterday. If Ianthe wanted her to go there, I don't think she would have put up that entropy field, and she might even have tried to do some deal with BOE where she exchanged Gideon for the Sixth House. Also, I don't think Ianthe actually gives a shit about the Ninth House or anything that happened there. And there's no one else left in John's circuit at this point
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Man, when Pyrrha said she was heavy, I just thought it was because she was tall and full of muscle. How damn strong is Pyrrha, exactly?
No, hold on, let me math this
A normal adult human has 11 kg of bones. Cortical bone makes up 80% of bone mass and has an average density of 1908 kg/m3, and cancellus bone makes up 20% and has an average density of 1178 kg/m3, so that is an average density of 1762 kg/m3 over all. There are 1,000,000 cm3 in 1 m3, so 11 kg / 1762 kg/m3 * 1,000,000 cm3/m3 is 6,242.9 cm3 of bone. Titanium has a density of 4.506 g/cm3. 6,242.9 cm3 * 4.506 g/cm3 is 28,130.5 g or a little over 28 kg. Since bones usually weigh 11 kg, that's only 17 extra kg of bone, so she only actually weighs about 37 and a half more pounds than usual. She says "titanium plex", which is not a real thing, but I can't imagine that titanium plex would actually be more dense than titanium, so I think it checks out that she would just be somewhat heavier than expected and not ridiculously heavy or something like that
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That's a great question that I'd love to see answered. Is the fence also going to turn out to be some kind of holy object infused with a power even higher than John?
Speaking of holes, I remember back a long time ago I reblogged that one poll that mentioned stigmata sex, and people assured me that while the stigmata were actually in the book, the stigmata sex was not. Are Gideon's holes the stigmata? Does that count as stigmata? I think it's in the wrong place, isn't it?
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So, thanergy is cell death, but it seems like dead bodies radiate thanergy even if no cell death is occurring, because John's cryo bodies were generating thanergy for him even after he'd completely stopped them from rotting. So Gideon's body is somehow preserved due to being related to John, but in a way that doesn't involve being infused with thalergy as she suggests for the blood sample, because as we know from the last chapter, body + soul + thalergy = living person, and Gideon isn't a living person, so she must be missing one of those, and it's not her body or her soul. The preservation only applies to the bounds of her body, and her body is still radiating thanergy, apparently enough that it would kill the blood sample?
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She got her whole childhood fantasy of a famous and powerful parent who gave her everything she wanted, but that person turned out to be John, and now she's stuck with him and Ianthe and being used as figurehead for John's military, and he spent just enough effort on her to make sure that her body can't be used against him but didn't fix the gaping holes in her chest, and the person she sacrificed herself for is missing and possibly dead, and someone else is in her body instead
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I mean, Ianthe was keeping her locked up behind the entropy field. I wonder if she's had a lot of that from John, too
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Note
I am DEEPLY sorry about making you dive down this rat’s nest of a lore hole, but I’m back with another question that should be cleared up: Can You Fuck Shadow the Hedgehog?
I have a feeling this is gonna get complicated real fast…
I've had this one in mind for a while, so this shouldn't be all that hard to write.
CAN YOU FUCK: SHADOW THE HEDGEHOG?
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...
YOU FELL FOR IT! YOU ALL FELL FOR IT!
To any reasonable person, Shadow should have been included in the Sonic post, alongside Surge, Mighty, etc. But you want to know why I didn't? Because if I did, it wouldn't give me the proper opportunity to rant about something.
SHADOW THE HEDGEHOG IS NOT 50 YEARS OLD. HE NEVER WAS, HE NEVER HAS BEEN, AND HE WAS NEVER MEANT TO BE.
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This is a misconception that has permeated through the fanbase for Chaos knows how long, being repeated over and over and over again, ad nauseam.
Why do people even say this? Well, Project Shadow started 50 years before the event of Sonic Adventure 2. Which means Shadow's creation happened 50 years ago.
So, people take this as "Oh, Shadow was created 50 years ago, this must mean he's 50 years old!"
DO YOU PEOPLE NOT KNOW WHAT THE WORD "STASIS" MEANS.
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During Sonic Adventure 2, Eggman breaks into a military base to unleash a "top secret military weapon" for his plans. This weapon, is, of course, shadow. The screenshot above is from the scene where Shadow is released.
What does this look like those particles are? What do they look like to you? Usually, thick white air particles like these are a result of the use of cold to pause biological processes. On top of that, the shot right before it displays the object atop the machinery pretty well, although with some distance.
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This is a pod. Like, this is very obviously a pod. Shadow is even standing on top of it once he's revealed.
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And what does he say when he's revealed?
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Note how he says "Awakening". This is taken from a re-translation of the Japanese script, since the official translation makes him refer to being released as opposed to being awakened. Remember, translations for these games in this era were... Less than stellar.
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(seriously, don't go there yet? to the guy telling you he shouldn't have ever been born? like maybe you're right maybe you shouldn't have been born but we don't know enough to say that for sure. ok, buddy)
So, yeah, Shadow isn't 50. I've been saving this for a standalone post, because it is baffling to me how people still keep spouting that "Fact" over and over, even though it makes no sense. He was frozen. He didn't develop mentally or physically. I'm not a Marvel fan by any means, but this is like if you added 66 years to Captain America's age because that's how long he was frozen. For these characters, if you just knocked them unconscious and then sent them to the future, it literally would not make even a bit of a difference.
He's not 50. Moving on.
Oh yeah, uh. That whole immortality thing.
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(Source: Japanese dub, translated.)
Here and there, official material will mention Shadow as being "Immortal" or "Ageless". While never stated in the 2005 game, it makes complete sense, as Shadow was made with Black Doom's own genetic material. Black Doom is immortal, Black Doom's genes are in Shadow, thus, Shadow cannot die of old age.
There is, however, no implication that he does not mentally mature. In fact, it would make sense for him to start out quite young to then become more mature as time goes on, since part of the reason he was made was to accompany Maria, in a sibling-like relationship. Although it's unlikely that the Sonic Channel artwork is canon, most of it at least, it does convey a situation akin to this, which would be horribly out of character otherwise.
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Look at em! They're doing their homework together! And then a few years later, after Maria's death...
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Look at him! Using a minigun for the first time!
His maturity in SA2 also seems just about on par with Sonic's, so it's safe to assume that when that game happened, they were about even in terms of mental development. In general, Shadow is a Sonic counterpart. A very, very close counterpart.
... Very... Very... Ah screw it, let's just bite the bullet.
youtube
This happened! An entire Bumblekast episode dedicated to Sonic, Shadow, and mostly Sonadow. It's pretty recent, too! From 8 months ago! In fact, it was made for Pride Month 2023; after Frontiers released. So, Ian Flynn by then became not just a comic writer, but a writer for the games.
I'm not saying Sonadow is canon, obviously, but if the current writer of the games is willing to entertain it for an entire episode and even go as far as saying it's actually really easy to make happen and you don't need to do too much work for it to happen, then it's probably safe to assume the characters are on even ground in terms of maturity.
So, if Shadow can hypothetically, in a fully canon-compatible way, make out with Sonic, and Sonic is fuckable, then Shadow is, by extension, fuckable.
Honestly this is entirely longer than necessary. I could have brought this one up earlier and saved myself the work. Where's the fun in that, though?
Either way, verdict is;
You can, in fact, fuck Shadow The Hedgehog.
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imaginatorcreates · 3 days
Text
Commission for Toast aka @sketchy-tour!
Toast here asked me to make a tune for their Welcome Home OC, Dandy Leon, and the lovable Wally Darling. A sort of love song, if you will. Add on top of that an idea for a written scene between the two and you have this!
(Also I'm eating up your comments in Discord, please know that /pos)
This is my 29th creation. This is for Dandy Leon and Wally Darling. A song of spring, being in bloom, and many references to Dandy's Delights (for this is a tune with Dandy in it!). The goobers are waltzing in the garden and having fun little stumbles, but they're enjoying themselves because the world is in bloom.
Painted Flowers
25 March 2024 — 26 March 2024
Summary: Wally wants to paint someone to day. But who should he paint? Barnaby suggests to him, "Why not Dandy?"
Word Count: ~2.8k words
TW: None
Author’s Note: Enjoy! Also on AO3 as a gift.
One day, Wally Darling woke up and decided that he was going to paint today.
If someone were to ask him why, like his best friend did when the large blue pooch stopped by the painter’s sentient house, he couldn’t explain it. “I just want to paint today, Barnaby,” Wally said in his signature monotonous voice. He pocketed some of his paintbrushes and tubes of acrylic paint in the pockets of his blue cardigan as he added, “I have a problem, though.”
“Eh? What’s botherin’ my lil’ apple today?” Barnaby B. Beagle asked as he leaned against Home’s outer walls. The dark blue ear closest to the front door perked up as he joked, “Ain’t it too early to feel gray? I thought that was Frank’s job!” The dog howled in laughter, then in mock pain as Home lightly smacked him with his door. “Alright, alright! I get it Home!”
Wally laughed a quiet little “Ha ha ha,” even though he didn’t quite get what was funny about the joke. The few times he had asked Barnaby to explain a joke to him, his best friend had groaned and placed a paw over his snout.
“A joke ain’t funny if I hafta explain it,” he had said, “but for you, lil’ buddy, fine. I will.” Barnaby had patted his shoulder to show that he meant no ill will with his tone, but that night and for the next few ones, Wally had tried and failed to squash the thought that he might’ve ruined his best friend’s jokes forever.
“Home, I get it. No makin’ fun of the sourpuss– Home!” Barnaby let out a few more laughs, then thumped at his chest twice as he cleared his throat. “Lil’ buddy, ya said ya had a problem?”
“Oh, yes. I have a problem.” Wally wordlessly gave Barnaby a blank canvas, then his folded wooden easel. The former was off white and lightly textured, while the latter was light brown with splatters of miscellaneous colors. The hinges were squeaky with use and no longer smelled of wood but instead, it smelled faintly of chemicals from the paints he used.
It was bad for him, according to Frank and Poppy, but he found it comforting. Could something that was bad also be comforting? He would have to ask someone about it.
But, that was for later. Another problem for later.
“I don’t know what to paint,” Wally said as he grabbed his palette, stepped outside, and closed the door. He craned his neck up, took a few steps away from his taller friend, then craned his neck a little less. “I don’t feel like painting red apples. But I like painting red apples. I don’t feel like painting you, but I like painting you too.” He fiddled with one of his paintbrushes, running the clean bristles over his fingers as he asked, “What should I do, Barnaby?”
“Well, gee Walls.” Barnaby furrowed his brow as he exhaled through his nose. “How’s about ya paint one of your neighbors?”
“Oh. That’s a good idea.” Wally paused stroking his fingertips with the paintbrush bristles, then resumed as another problem made itself apparent. “But who? Who should I paint today Barnaby?”
“Well, you can’t paint me! You said you didn’t wanna.”
“I still love you Barnaby.”
“Yeah, love ya too.” Barnaby started to thump his foot on the ground, quietly letting out a low growl as he thought. “Who have ya painted?”
“I’ve painted you, Barnaby. I’ve painted Julie, and I’ve painted Frank. I’ve painted Sally, and I’ve painted Poppy. I’ve painted Eddie, and I’ve painted Howdy.” Wally counted off each neighbor on each of his fingers, and he was left with one finger left standing. “I’ve tried to paint Home, but Home is very large and requires a lot of time. I will finish Home’s portrait soon.”
Home creaked an apology.
“It’s okay Home.”
“Huh. How about ya paint one of our other neighbors?” Barnaby asked. “How’s about that one with the sunflowers in their yard? Dandy?”
“Dandy?” Wally stopped brushing his fingertips as the name bounced around his head, trying to attach itself to a face. Sunflowers in their yard…green…brown hat…flowers. But not Julie’s type of flowers. Julie’s flowers were loud and vibrant, brave and running towards what she loved. Flowers attached to Dandy’s name were bright, yes, but they were gentle. They curled away from harsh words and they bloomed in the quiet moments.
The painter gasped. “Oh! Yes! I should paint Dandy!” Almost at once, the floodgates in his brain opened. Ideas flooded his mind, breaking through darkness with shades of green and yellow and red. He almost wished that he was as big as Barnaby so he could walk further with each step. His plans of painting couldn’t wait!
Barnaby let out a howl of laughter and gestured to the main road with a jerk of his head. “C’mon lil’ apple. Let go get your sunflower’s portrait painted.”
“My sunflower?” Wally asked as the pair started on the journey to the gardener’s house. “Barnaby, the sunflowers belong to Dandy. And I will be painting Dandy, not their sunflowers.”
The blue dog snickered. “Alright lil’ buddy.”
Wally didn’t understand that joke either.
The sun shone down on the pair of best friends as they approached the earthy-colored house. Even from a distance, the yellow flowers stood tall towards the sun, almost greeting them with how they were turned towards them. Some were lightly tied to wooden stakes, but they still looked healthy.
Standing next to the sunflowers was a puppet with green felt, short and fluffy brown hair, and squarish glasses on their face. The sleeves of their brown cardigan were partially rolled up as they inspected some of the leaves of the sunflowers, their face deep in concentration as their mouth moved slightly with words that were too quiet to hear.
“Heya Dandy!” Barnaby barked out as the distance between the puppets started to close.
Dandy jumped and looked up from their work. Their eyes widened and they scrambled to dust off their clothes, roll down their sleeves, and step out of the thick of their sunflowers. “Wally! Barnaby!” they called back. “What can I do for y’all?”
“Funny, they called your name first Walls,” Barnaby murmured.
“That was supposed to be funny?” Wally asked.
“Eh.” Barnaby shrugged and turned his attention back to Dandy. “Wally here wants to paint ya.”
Wally watched as Dandy’s gaze rapidly turned to him, hovered for a moment too long, then turned back to his best friend. “Me?” the gardener asked as they pointed to themself. Their gaze turned back to Wally as they repeated, “You want to paint me?”
“Yes,” Wally breathed. “I want to paint you, Dandy.”
“I — ” The gardener's hands started to wave dismissively as their eyes dropped to the ground. “I don’t think I’m good enough to be painted! I’m a mess, and I have dirt on my hands. My hair is messy, and I have to send some flowers to Howdy’s — ”
With one swift motion, Barnaby unfolded Wally’s easel and placed it down nearby. He then patted Dandy’s head and chuckled at the yelp of surprise the gardener let out. “Re-lax Dandy. Walls here ain’t gonna eat cha alive!”
Wally’s fingers tightened around his cardigan for a brief moment. His eyes itched.
Not today. Not today.
Barnaby placed the blank canvas down on the empty easel and patted Wally on the shoulder before he bid the two shorter puppets farewell and walked away. “Peace out ‘n have fun! I’ll be at Howdy’s if ya need me!”
Wally waved goodbye to the blue dog, then turned his attention back to Dandy. “I will be painting you soon, neighbor.”
“Wally,” Dandy murmured. They kept looking at the ground, their voice even quieter than when Barnaby was there. Their brows were furrowed slightly and their mouth was pressed together in a thin line. “You don’t have to paint me. I think there are better neighbors to paint than lil’ ol’ me,” they chuckled. At the last half of their sentence, they sounded a bit like Eddie.
“I want to,” Wally countered. “I really do want to paint you.” He started to take out some of the acrylic tubes and laid them on the excess wood of the easel. He untwisted some of the caps to loosen them up, then carefully squeezed a bit of paint onto his palette one at a time. A bit of black and white in the corner for mixing, then green here and yellow there. Blue as well, and brown was very important.
“I woke up today and wanted to paint,” he confessed. “But I didn’t want to paint red apples or Barnaby, even though I love both red apples and Barnaby very much. Oh, thank you Dandy.”
The gardener blushed as they helped screw the caps of the paints back on. “I can getcha a cup of water for your paints. And a stool, if you want one.”
“A stool for the paint water would be nice, thank you.”
As Dandy hurriedly walked inside their house, Wally made it his mission to stare at the blank canvas with a paintbrush in one hand and his palette in the other. He had the subject, and he had the colors. He had the idea, no matter how faint it was. But now that he was here, with his subject nearby and with his colors laid out, the idea was rapidly vanishing.
His grip on the paintbrush tightened. The pose. How should Dandy pose? And any objects? Should they be holding anything in their hands? How much of Dandy should he paint?
He wanted to paint today, that he knew. But why was it so hard to paint?
“ —lly? Wally?”
The pompadoured puppet let in a sharp inhale of air and turned towards the voice.
Dandy gasped in return, backing away slightly. They bumped against the stool where an old cup filled with water sat, and they cried out to catch it as it wobbled precariously. “Golly! I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Wally said. He found his voice again — again; he was losing it…what year was it? — and forced himself to take a slow, calm breath. “I still want to paint you, Dandy. But, I’m having trouble imagining how I want to paint you.”
“Paint me however you want Wally, and I’m sure it’ll look nice.” Dandy’s gaze alternated between him and the ground, and their felt still showed hints of a blush. Pinkish, maybe red.
Like apples.
Wally slowly raised his paintbrush and started to circle it in midair, pretending that the ends of the brush were covered in red paint. He brushed an imaginary stroke upwards to make a stem, then two smooth lines to make a leaf. He liked apples. Those were the first things he painted.
What did Dandy like?
“Oh!” he gasped. “Dandy, can I paint you with sunflowers?”
“Sunflowers?” Dandy repeated. “The tall ones or the ones I picked earlier for Howdy’s?”
Wally paused. He looked at the sunflowers that towered above their heads nearby. Instead of looking friendly, they now looked intimidating. “I want to paint you with the sunflowers closer to your face.”
“My face? Oh, you’re going to paint my face?” Dandy’s hands waved, though not as erratically as Julie. “Can’t I hide behind my sunflowers? I’m a mess like I said and the sunflowers are more beautiful than I am and — ”
“Dandy.”
Dandy stopped.
“I think my neighbors look beautiful on my canvas because I paint what I see.” Wally’s smile widened as he added, “And I think the painting I want to do with you and your sunflowers will be beautiful too.”
If Dandy’s face could turn into a pretty red apple, it would. The gardener sputtered something before they stumbled away and stumbled back with a large bouquet of sunflowers in their hands. Dozens of yellow petals shone outwards, almost giving Sally a challenger for the brightest one in the neighborhood. In their centers, hundreds of seeds created a dark contrast.
In the middle of it all, Dandy’s face was buried in it.
Wally didn’t mind so much. He needed to paint the sunflowers first.
So began the long and slow process of mixing colors to create the right shade, then applying them onto the canvas in gentle strokes. The petals were abstract shapes at first, radiating from a circle of darkness in the center. As Wally switched brushes and added details, the sunflowers gained personality. Individual petals started to differentiate, and someone could pluck out the seeds if they wished to.
He dipped the brush in the murky paint water and started on the puppet. He looked around the canvas and saw Dandy’s face still buried in the sunflowers.
That was no good.
He placed the paintbrush on the stool and slowly approached them. “Dandy. Could you lift your face up please? I need to paint it.”
Dandy hesitantly complied, but most of their face was still covered by yellow petals. “The sunflowers are more beautiful,” they faintly insisted. “They’re in bloom.”
“You are in bloom too,” Wally said. Despite his brush hand smelling slightly of paint, he reached out and cupped his hand against Dandy’s cheek. He gently lifted their warm face up and out of the sunflowers and said, “You are in bloom, Dandy. Like the sunflowers, and the apple blossoms.
“I woke up and wanted to paint today. I wanted to paint, and you are in bloom. Why should I not paint a beautiful bouquet of sunflowers and the neighbor that grew them?”
A long, palpable pause stretched out between the two. Wally wondered if he made a mistake with this. He knew that Frank didn’t like to be touched very often, so what if Dandy was the same?
Then, Dandy slowly smiled. Their smile radiated through the sunflowers, and for a second, Wally thought that the gardener was the most pretty flower he’d seen.
His own smile widened and he withdrew his hand. “This…this is the most! I will paint this now!” He swiftly came back to his canvas and started mixing the right shade of green. The portrait slowly came together. First the general shape, then the details. The highlights came last. A few broad strokes for a blue sky, and…!
“Dandy, it’s done.” Wally placed each used paintbrush into the murky paint water, one by one as he waited for the subject of his painting to shuffle around the easel to look at his work.
On the canvas, were dozens of sunflowers arranged in a strong bouquet intermixed with delicate petals. The sunflowers themselves were made of strokes of yellow and circles of black, highlighted by elegant lines that made each detail pop. In the middle of it all, was a puppet whose smile was the centerpiece of the painting. Eyes slightly squinted shut from how wide they were smiling, a hint of red on their cheeks, and hands that held the entire bouquet together by their stems.
A gasp followed by a squeal of joy. Hand waving and heel bouncing briskly followed, alongside quiet bursts of “It’s so beautiful!” and “The detail on the sunflowers!”
Wally watched Dandy go through several levels of joy and awe, and the semi-permanent smile on his face softened. His partially-lidded eyes took in the small details: brown eyes that sparkled at the work of art on the canvas; the little yellow flower on their hat that never wilted; gentle flowers that reached towards the sun, fingers curling around the drops of light and holding it close.
Quiet.
“Do you want to keep it?”
“I…I shouldn’t.” The light was escaping from their fingertips.
Did he do that?
“I insist. I would be honored if you took it.” Wally gingerly took the still-drying painting and held it out towards Dandy. “I want you to have it.”
Dandy’s mouth pressed into a thin line as they looked down at the ground for a moment, then thrust the sunflowers in front of them. “Take these. I’d feel bad if you didn't have something in return. I can always get more for Howdy, it’s not a big deal.”
The next minutes were spent juggling an exchange; between trying not to touch any paint on the canvas and not dropping any sunflowers on the ground, the two spent an excessive amount of time trying to give each other the items. In the end, Dandy was left holding their portrait and Wally had a bouquet of sunflowers in his hand.
Dandy lightly bounced inside their house, and Wally was left outside with a sunny-smelling bundle of flowers counteracting against the chemical scent of his acrylics. He buried his face within the flowers and deeply inhaled. Between strong whiffs of paint, he breathed in drops of sunlight.
“The most,” he exhaled. “These are the most.”
For the next several days, anyone who peeked in the window of Home could catch a glimpse of a vase filled with cut sunflowers. They were perky and alive, and it certainly complimented a fresh red apple that always sat next to the vase for as long as the sunflowers lived.
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sudzymactavish · 3 days
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Bloody Love
Makarov x M!reader
This is a really graphic fic so if you're easily disturbed I REALLY wouldn't read this. :(. I'll make fluff soon 😌 ‼️
TW: blood, gashes, cuts, blood, gore, graphic depictions of murder, crimes, drugging, suffocating reader with rag, slurred speech, reader referred as a dog, teasing, reader feeling fear, reader feeling depressed, reader feeling despair, bribes/141 pays Makarov to keep reader, crying, abandonment, cursing, reader is put on a leash, dehumanizing reader, degrading reader (not sexual), reader referred as an object/trophy, reader bathed by strangers, sedating reader, referring murder to art, kidnapping, knives, bloodlust, military, dark themes in general. If I missed any, I'm so sorry. Please correct me if I missed any TWs.
Your shaky legs stumbled to the door, gashes and cuts riddling your body. A trail of blood followed you, barely making it back to your husband and collapsing.
Months before, you were a member of the 141. They were your friends. You could always trust them, and they could trust you.
Although, that changed when Makarov took you all for himself. Using a cloth sprayed with chloroform, he swiftly dragged you away and took you to his safe house in St. Petersburg.
Goodmorning, sergeant [name]. Makarov held your chin in his hand, cooing down at you. The chloroform still had an effect on you, so you slurred out threats; "you won't get away with this. The 141 will sav-" Makarov laughed in your face.
You silly dog. The 141 isn't going to save you he jeered with a smirk. Your heart beat a little faster at that, the fear setting in that they didn't want to come back for you.
"What are you talking about? They're going to come back. I came for them, they wouldn't just-" pay me to take you? Oh, you poor man. They did. One of Makarov's men showed you a briefcase filled with lots of money. About a million, if you had to estimate.
You can't belive this. You won't belive this. They wouldn't leave you like that. Your mind fell down the rabbit hole, and so did your tears down your face. You cared about your friends, and now they abandon you? Leave you with this.. bastard??
In a fit of anger, you tried to jump at him. To cut him, make him bleed, anything. Your attempt was stopped by a cold metal pulling your neck back.
Horrified, you reached up and felt the cool metal. Makarov had put you on a fucking leash!?
I can't have my favorite man escape, right? He pet you, ruffling your disheveled hair. You should get some rest now. I'll be showing you off tomorrow, my little trophy.
He left before you could say anything.
The next morning, you were bathed by his men (you had to be sedated multiple times) and put into a pretty little suit.
You were in despair. You were being paraded to his men around the safe house, that was more like a mansion. Being a criminal was easy money. But none of the money in the world could make your sadness go away. You missed home. You missed the loving feeling you got from the boys.
You ate extravagant food, but you weren't hungry. You just wanted to be home. To feel at home. Nothing could replace that.
One day, after a few months of this, you didn't crack. You were still severely depressed from your only home being ripped away from you. You know, I've seen your file, [name]. Your eyes widened. First of all, how did he gets his hands on that? Also, did he see your past?
In the past, you were a delinquent. Getting in trouble, sneaking out, getting pulled over, mass murder..
You had a really bad problem. You killed a few people—you swear you didn't mean to. You escaped that whole mess and joined the 141, half of you hoping to do good after your horrible actions.
But gosh, you missed that feeling. You missed the blood splatting all over you. You loved seeing that silver blade plunge into their hears. It was art. Red paint covering a canvas, your brush sharp. It was actually half the reason you joined the military, to continue your artistic passion. Would Makarov fill your bloodlust?
I DO NOT condone ANYTHING in this fic. Everything that is done to reader is NOT OKAY. Anyways.. that was really dark. How about something to cheer yall up??
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nightcolorz · 12 hours
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I must confess something, I do not understand white Vox lol is it just his VA? He may be just a TV with a body but his eyes seem to be drawn as east asian and thats his most prominent human feature. Majority of the time I see people draw him as a human they actually erase his real eye shape to (I assume) make him look more white. There's no real canon so people can hc whatever but I am so intrigued by how people are interpreting him white. I promise there are nasty tech/media ceos that overwork their employees all over the world... maybe im reading too much into it because the show is otherwise verrrry western-centric. Just curious how you view it, you're definitely in the majority and i realize people like me are the outliers but just saw your post and had to ask (if you didnt mind sharing).
Anon is referring to this post btw for context: https://www.tumblr.com/nightcolorz/746235899544813568/my-hot-take-is-that-i-think-that-a-vox-human?source=share
Anon ur hella polite and ik u got good intentions so I was stressing a little over how to respond without invalidating ur headcanon cuz like, I never want to be the guy saying “this character is white and u can’t headcanon them as a racial minority” cuz that’s pretty shitty no matter what. We definitely have different takes but when I’m explaining my interpretation I don’t wanna sound like I’m trying to boss ppl around and say there’s only one way u can see these characters. This is just my personal interpretation and I was being funny in my og post implying that my interpretation is the “correct” way. But since u asked I’ll explain my reasoning why I (and prob other ppl) see Vox as extremely white lol.
I don’t take Vox’s physical appearance into account at all when thinking about his ethnicity cuz in a show were everyone is pretty racially ambiguous design wise Vox is one of the most ambiguously humanoid characters, like my guy literally has a tv for a head with eyes and a mouth, and that’s it. I don’t see ur point about his eyes at all tbh, to me Vox’s vaguely slanted eyes have always come off more like a devious squint than an ethnic feature. Even still I don’t read slanted eyes as Asian automatically so it never occurred to me.
I don’t read as Vox as white bcus of his VA being white or him being a tech bro billionaire (but ig they play a part). I read Vox as white mostly bcus I see his background as a former religious extremist/cult leader from the 50s with a skill in life and in death for male manipulating ppl and using them for his own gain as very white and western. (I got this info from his official reference sheet for auditioning va’s, here that is)
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His capitalistic ideals and business practices r meant to mirror (extremely white) billionaires like Musk and Bezos, which adds to my perception of him. Of course being a billionaire tech guy is not a western white man exclusive thing, but I feel that if we were meant to perceive Vox as someone not from America that would definitely be coded or in some way communicated. And I say this with as little ill will as possible, but for me I wouldn’t want to perceive Vox as an East Asian tech bro billionaire specifically bcus there r negative stereotypes and connotations attached there. East Asian men have a history of being negatively stereotyped as corrupt tech business owners. I don’t think u are trying to imply those stereotypes with ur head canon (frankly it’s hard to avoid negative stereotypes in fiction a lot of the time bcus stereotypes encompass such a vast range of things that its hard to take them all into account). But regardless, it’s smth we should try to be conscious of.
Anyways, I also usually take these character’s personalities and values, self image, etc into account when im thinking about race, bcus race is more then color, and especially for characters with lives and personalities based in much less tolerant time periods, it’s significant to consider how race would play a role in forming the way they navigate the world. Based on how Vox behaves I can’t see him as being racially marginalized. I’m gonna compare Vox to alastor a little cuz alastor is canonically creole and I think he serves as a good reference for someone I perceive as not white in comparison to Vox and how I think he differs and contradicts the experiences of a racial minority.
Vox to me comes off as someone who thinks he is entitled to power, respect, privilege, etc, which is a very standard type of attitude for a white man who was alive in the 1950s to have. He’s very emotionally immature and volatile, doesn’t seem to concern much over his public image beyond petty dick measuring contests with alastor (he regularly publicly has angry tantrums and doesn’t break a sweat over how this will affect his status). He obviously cares about it (scolding Valentino for embarrassing him and such) but he doesn’t seem to worry about loss of reputation in any sort of real way. I get the impression that Vox has always had at least a standard amount of social standing and privilege and can’t see a life for himself without the fundamental privilege he feels owed there to support him. He’s basically a man baby, a man baby who still manages to garner power and respect effortlessly (it comes naturally to him) while remaining whiny and insecure. Very white man of him! White man behavior!
in comparison, Alastor, (who I do not read as white) is always frantically clinging to his composed self image and his power as if it will slip away from him if he loosens his grasp at all. He has an extremely firm grip on his composure to the point where he never allows anyone to see him slip at all, let alone frown (despite his mental health and emotional well being being equally fragile as Vox’s). Alastor understands deeply how little the world owes him and how difficult and unreliable his acquiring of status actually is. He is borderline neurotic about retaining his power and staying on top. Despite the smile, Alastor is always defensive and fearful, picking fights with anyone he thinks might be a threat like a small dog or a prey animal would. Meanwhile, Vox conducts himself like a man with nothing to loose. I feel like Vox grew up with money and doesn’t know poverty or a lack of privilege in any intimate way that would drive him to guard it in anyway beyond flippant. To Vox power, status, and privilege are inherent. Same can’t be said for alastor.
tldr in conclusion Vox’s brand of bad feels very specific to a white man, alongside his emotional immaturity and his attitude, mindset, and behavior. This is why I see him as white asf, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong or it’s in anyway less correct to headcanon him as a different race. That’s just how I see him. Thank u for sending the ask anon it was pretty interesting to write! Have a good day! (btw i love Vox he’s one of my fav character lol me calling him a white as shit privileged entitled man baby douchebag is out of love and all I find interesting and fun about him)
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autumnwhistles · 16 hours
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New excerpt from my Last Life musical! This is from Song 12, Their Dubious Game. Leading up to this, Joel has become the first Red name and the server is ostracising him, as per the rules of the season – however, Scott finds this a little suspicious, recalling his time on 3rd Life where Red-Green alliances were prominent. For the first time he starts to doubt if the games are really what they seem.
Lyrics:
SCOTT: In spring, I dwelled, with my husband long ago We lived among the flowers, no thought for sand or snow… But then he fell to red That should have meant the end If the world truly matched the rulebook in our heads Yet still we stuck as one Our tie was not undone* And looking back, I can remember A fealty shades could not dismember Red, crimson, gold, all indifferent we stayed  The king did not turn from his kingdom, With sun and sands, the swindler remained What changed were the rules, not the game we all played…
*thank you @rurus-kadoo for helpful tweaks with this line!
Extra notes:
THIS IS NOT THE FINAL PRODUCT! I'm not sure I'm entirely happy with all of this so there will be tweaks made.
The voices at the start are a chorus of players singing the previous song, "Green, Crimson, Gold", and will have lyrics as well but they're not included here possibly because I haven't written them yet, so they will sound less messy. This is because the two songs take place at around the same time and I thought it would be a good way to show it + it sounds cool + it shows Scott's attitude to the game compared to various other players, who aren't defying anything and are completely following the rules the game has set.
There are some glitches in the audio, eg 0:42, but they're either in the voice parts which means they'll be fixed during the recording process, or in the parts, which I can fix with splicing in production.
I don't think you have to watch 3L to understand this (though it would probably enhance it and I really recommend it, it's still my favourite Life series) – it is mentioned a few times in the musical but only as "the spring", and not extensively. Everything important that happened in it in relation to this will be explained in said song, and the first song implies that there have been multiple games and that this one takes place in the autumn "red leaves to mark the colours of the first to fall", so hopefully it's not too hard to figure out what "in spring" refers to. I'm following a headcanon I saw during Last Life that 3L took place in spring and LL in autumn, which I really liked but can't remember the poster (help would be appreciated).
That being said feedback on the above point (whether it's clear to understand or not) would be appreciated!
Likewise what it means to be red, etc, will be explained earlier in the musical.
I have alluded to a slight headcanon of my own in that (especially Last Life!)Reds aren't made aggressive, untrustworthy etc just by being Red, it's because that's what everyone just perceives of them as well (I have around 100 words of a fic I started for this actually...).
And yep there's a reference to the first song here (the titles of "the king" – ren, and "the swindler" – scar, being used hehe)!
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lunarspiral1127 · 2 days
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X-Men 97 episode 3, here are my thoughts. *SPOILERS*
Pros:
Goblin Queen got a magical girl transformation sequence. Dunno why this is a pro, but I like it and her outfit. See? A woman looking sexy. Now can the people talking about Rogue's looks can back off now? By the way, Madelyn was actually the Jean we saw this whole time....yeah, I'm gonna get to that later.
The mansion being haunted and the hell pit. The visuals were pretty good on that. I especially liked how each section was showing many of the characters' greatest fears and mess with their insecurities.
Bishop and Cyclops team up which Bishop got to do something cool.
Jean vs. Goblin Queen. It was good. Honestly, I felt bad for both of them Jean was held captive for who knows how long and missed out a lot. Madelyn didn't know she was a clone until Mr. Sinister revealed it to her since she believed to be the real Jean. Then she got brainwashed like a sleeper agent to do Mr. Sinister's bidding.
Forge! He's finally here!
A lot of comic references that worked pretty well.
There was more moments with Morph. He still got involved and despite what he went through because of Sinister, he was still willing to take the X-Men to where he is. However, I thought Morph would do a bit more due to his connection to Mr. Sinister. So, this is kinda a pro and a con to me. I just hope he doesn't get even more traumatized because of Goblin Queen brainwashing him when he was in his Magik form.
Cons:
I'll be honest. I liked the last two episodes more than this one. I think it's because the Madelyn/Goblin Queen storyline from the comics was resolved so quickly. The return of Mr. Sinister, the Jean we saw since episode one was a clone, Nathan going to the future to be cured, Goblin Queen, that all happened and concluded in one episode. Something like this should have some more buildup. Like, be a two-episode or three-episode arc. Many arcs from the 90s X-Men show has lasted for 2-3 episodes, so I thought this was gonna be that. But, I guess not.
Roberto AKA Sunspot was there in this episode, but he didn't really do anything aside from being saved. I thought he left the school, and I don't get why he had to be there when Beast was checking on Jean at the beginning since he's not a member of the team (not yet at least). Maybe he was there to hangout with Jubilee? Well, I just hope that this is building up to him using his powers and develop his character.
Questions
Will Gambit confront Rogue on her relationship with Magneto and will it go badly?
Again, WHEN WERE THE TWO EVEN A THING?!?! Unless this is a red herring.
When did the switcheroo happen with Jean and her clone? We don't know when so it could've been during the timeskip offscreen.
Is that it from Bishop? Was the point of him being there was to take Nathan to the future to be cured?
What the hell was Morph gonna do with those claws?! I know he can joke around, but hard to reach places?! With those claws?!
How's Forge gonna help Storm get her powers back?
Now that Jean knows how much she means to Logan, Cyclops having a son with a clone who he thought was Jean and knowing that some of the time he spent with her was a lie cause it wasn't Jean, and the last scene where they stood there awkwardly, is there gonna be even more tension between the three? Cause that's gonna be stressful to watch. I blame Sinister if more drama is gonna happen.
Logan's never gonna move on, is he?
And, that's pretty much it.
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