#its still a really good idea and ill die on this hill

[alkhale]

paper heart (1/3) Portgas D. Ace/Oc - Memos AU

im finally working my way back through the ko-fi requests again, i promise i didn't forget about a single one, ill die before i let any of them not get written

the request was for really sad ace/hoku angst, so i took some liberties and ran with an idea i've had for awhile. the inspo for this one was a question i was asked once about whether Hoku could make a human from her drawings and the Black Mirror episode "Be Right Back"

i hope this works for you! thank you for reading and hope you enjoy!

Note: This an AU to the Memos Timeline, taking place sometime after the time-skip, in the midst of maybe post Punk Hazard.

-------

Hoku leaned back against the cushioned bench, tracing her fingers over the lip of the bottle beside her.

The crow’s nest was empty tonight since she was taking the first watch. Zoro’s absurd weights were piled in the corner, boxes of everyone’s different training gear or stretching mats pressed against the wall. Hoku kept one of the windows cracked open, letting the salty breeze filter through.

The dimmed lamp on the small table cast little shadows against the wood paneled walls. A bit of moonlight shone still through the windows, the entire sky clear as a mirror tonight. Hoku could see stars scattered as far as she was willing to look. Down below, the lulling, sweet sound of Brook’s strings made its way up to her ears. She could hear Nami and Robin chatting something soft by the tangerine grove.

She couldn’t hear Luffy, which meant he was either lounged across the top of the Sunny’s mast or busied in some way below deck. In a little bit everyone would start to trickle back inside and head to bed. Hoku wouldn’t have to expect anyone till morning.

It was the perfect kind of night to mourn.

Hoku quietly pressed her head against the cool pane of glass. One of her sketchbooks laid spread out across her lap, loose papers crinkling at the corners. The occasional breeze ruffled the pages, revealing the previous sketches beneath.

A curling smirk revealed itself for a breath. Inked black hair and scattered freckles. Another image of a bright, boyish laugh. A sketch of a broad back, one hand waving lazily in the air. The drawing of a young man over the crest of a hill, holding his hat so it wouldn’t be snatched by the wind.

The pages fluttered back into place as Hoku smoothed her palm over the top, hiding them between the folds of each other. She stared down at her fresh page, expression void of emotion while she brought her bottle to her lips with her free hand. The familiar, sweet sigh of kiionohi berries slid with a smooth burn down her throat.

“You’re such a lightweight! Don’t ever go drinking alone, you got that?”

“Who’re you to tell me what to do, brat?”

“I’m older than you!”

It was good that she was a lightweight. It meant it wouldn’t take long to forget.

Hoku had found it easier to do this pitiful ritual days away from the true date. Any closer and the crew would notice in a glance. They never spoke of it aloud, they never pressed, but they all knew. If she were to go sneaking off to the crow’s nest on a day like that, someone would come following after her—they’d never let any of them be alone. Sanji would pile Luffy’s plate extra high. Zoro would train a little harder. Brook would play something beautiful while Usopp and Chopper took turns trying not to work each other up into a fit. Franky would tinker a little more. Nami would speak a bit softer. Robin would sit a little closer.

Hoku loved them for it. 

For Luffy, a day like that was passed as a day like any other, only a soft brush of wind against his hair, pulling the light curl of his hat, and a single glance out against the sea as the sun bore down on the x-shaped scar across his chest. A day like that was only completed with Hoku finding him in the dark, quietly curling against his side and shutting her eyes as she laid her head over his chest, listening to the rhythmic drum of his heartbeat—her fingers splayed across his chest.

For Hoku, a day like that needed to be mourned days earlier. A single night to herself. A bottle of alcohol she’d never finish by the end of the night. Scattered drawings she could either burn to the wind or tuck somewhere far away.

Hoku took another long sip, swallowing mouthfuls as she set her bottle down. A bit of it trailed down the side of her mouth and she wiped it away, already feeling a hot flush down her neck. It spread thickly across her cheeks and Hoku took up her pencil again, pressing it to a fresh page.

“Can’t you draw me doing something cool for once? You always like drawing me like this!”

Hoku’s stomach lurched, threatening to be nauseous. She shut her eyes, shaking her head. Don’t think about it. Just draw. Just draw. You don’t need to think.

It was easier to draw. Drawing was like pushing all the memories that threatened to flood her eyes with tears out into the pages. She could leave them there and let them go before it hurt a little too much, before she cried a little too hard.

She didn’t know why tonight was a little harder than most.

The pages against the side of her hand sliced sharply against her sliding palm. Hoku pulled away, dully looking down now at her bleeding palm. She dropped her pencil, using that hand to grab her bottle and take another long drink.

“Shooting Star.”

Hoku choked back a sob. She shut her eyes now, pressing her palm to her paper as she leaned forward, trying not to think.

But even her eyes betrayed her.

In her mind she saw the memory of that broad back. Of scuffed boots and sculpted calves, of ink black hair and curling wisps of flame at the corner of his boyish grin—

Hoku pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead, shaking her head. Stop. Her mind was already starting to feel thick and foggy as a result of too much alcohol too fast. Hoku let out a shaky breath, reaching out for the bottle again to try and finish the deed. Tonight was just too hard to draw. She could live with that. It was a different kind of night where she needed to shut her eyes and let the morning take it all away.

Hoku paused just before taking another drink, looking down at her paper.

She froze.

A perfect rendition of him was laid out beneath her palm, hidden beneath the cage of her fingers. Her blood continued to pulse across the page, swirling and curling as it took shape against her will. Her sluggish thoughts did nothing to hinder the perfect clarity of his image, his entire likeness the most lifelike she’d ever drawn it.

He laughed, his smile hidden beneath her index finger. Hoku hesitantly lifted it up.

The drawing peeled at her touch, pulling outwards with a soft pop!

Hoku instantly recoiled, curling her hand away as though she’d been burned. The now dimensional drawing laid over the top of Hoku’s paper, casting his own shadow. It laid there, unmoving, no bigger than the length of her hand. Almost like a sick, perfect rendition of his own doll.

Her head was starting to spin. Hoku continued to stare at the now dimensional drawing, unknowing when her hand had reached out once more for it. She wrapped her bloody fingers around it, cradling it softly as she laid down against the cushions, holding the drawing before her eyes.

He laughed back at her.

Tears began to spill from the corner of Hoku’s eyes. She choked another sob, laid sideways agains the cushioned bench while she brought the drawing to her chest with both hands. She cradled it gently against her heart, tears sliding sideways down her face in a steady stream. Hoku shut her eyes, head spinning with alcohol and tragedy.

I’m sorry.

Hoku squeezed her eyes shut, crying softly as she held the drawing to her.

I’m so sorry.

The drawing warmed beneath her fingertips and Hoku held it reverently between her palms, protecting it the way she had originally failed before.

Brook’s soft melody went silent. Hoku let her mind slip into the dense fog of alcohol, falling asleep to the world.

In the morning, her tears would be gone.

I’m just so sorry.

-- --- --- ---

In her dreams though, she couldn’t escape.

Hoku stared, almost confused against the long stretch of coastline. It was a sight she couldn’t quite understand, a dreamscape drafted up by some inexplicable imagination. Not Artopoki’s shores, which she’d become almost sadly fond of dreaming. Not any other island she’d known. Dozens of different flowers lapped overthemsleves like a thick canopy of leaves to her right while the water lapped at her left. Beneath her a long path of sand stretched onwards.

She froze at the sight that awaited her.

He stood just shy of the coastline. The wind tousled lovingly at his hair. He slowly turned, as if sensing her stare.

Hoku found she could not move. Her voice caught in her throat.

His smile tugged at his lips. That cocky little curve, an almost soft whisper of a laugh ready to leave him.

“You know,” Hoku froze at the sound of his voice. Her eyes flooded with fresh tears. “There was something I wish I told you.”

Hoku choked. He grinned.

“Shooting Star—”

-- --- --- ---

“Shooting Star?”

Hoku’s head hurt. She kept her eyes welded shut, refusing to open them as she curled in on herself. The slow steps to waking up were bringing with it all the consequences of her actions the night before. A steady throb pressed against the side of her temple. Her mouth felt dry, lingering with the faded sweet tang of her kiionohi brew. 

I think this is my worst hangover yet. She felt as though she’d almost lost something. Like all her energy had been seeped out of her and then some, barely leaving her with enough vitality to complain. Her body ached, one hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose as she groaned. Outside she could hear the annoying cry of gulls, their chatter ringing back and forth.

“Stupid woman has done stupid thing!”

“World will be upset.”

When am I not doing something to upset the world? Hoku sighed defeatedly. She laid limply against the cushions, trying to figure out what time it was. It couldn’t have been too late in the day. On of the earlier risers would’ve slipped up here to wake her up and tease her for falling asleep on watch. Just before dawn then. 

Sightly calloused fingers pushed a chunk of her sweat slicked hair out of her face. Hoku’s brows creased, mouth twisting a bit.

“Ugh… I didn’t even hear you come in…” Zoro? It was a weirdly tender gesture—he normally would’ve let her fall off the cushions—but Sanji wouldn’t go this long without saying something sweet.

It didn’t smell like Zoro either. It smelled only like her blood and kiionohi. Hoku rubbed at her puffy eyelids, trying to ignore the throb in her head. Maybe he saw… “Just give me… a second…”

“C’mon Shooting Star, what’d I say about drinking alone?”

Hoku stilled.

The cool, crisp breeze of dawn blew in from the window. Hoku could feel its chill against her skin. The pain in her head was real. The dull ache of her body. The familiar sound of someone below on deck waking up—a sweet whistle telling her it was Sanji, making his way to the base of the crow’s nest. 

Hoku was awake.

“You gonna ignore me? Don’t pretend to be asleep! I need your help figuring out what the heck happened… I think I was visiting… did we party so hard I blacked out?”

Hoku slowly opened her eyes, pulling her hands away from her face.

Her heart began to pound. Something frantic started up inside of her.

He sat on his haunches only inches away from her face. Messy, thick black hair tousled freely around the sharp cut of his jaw. His tanned skin rose and fell with each breath of his chest. His broad shoulders blocked part of her view before her.

Freckles dusted his face, a little constellation across his cheeks.

He turned from rubbing his chin in thought to bring his bright black gaze to her.

No. Hoku thought brokenly. I’m still asleep.

It was a moment where her dreams still clung to her just waking mind.

Because a moment like this couldn’t exist otherwise.

Hoku hesitated, her heart loud against her chest, threatening to crack under the pressure of her ribcage. She reached out then with both her hands, past the soft tickle of his hair and cupped the warm touch of his cheeks on either side. He blinked, looking curious as he leaned into her touch to one side, lips twisting up into that easy grin.

The realest dreams only hurt the most, Hoku realized. 

Tears streaked down Hoku’s face. She gazed quietly at him, unable to speak. She held that face in her hands, his expression going blurry as her eyes filled with tears.

“Aw, come on, what’s this?” his laugh was a little breathless, gaze teasing as he rose from his crouch and hovered now a bit over her. Hoku followed him, unable to pull her hands away. She could feel the warmth radiating off his skin. “You cryin’? Always crying in your sleep—Luffy won’t ever let you live it down. You want to be the new crybaby?”

Even now she still couldn’t find the words to speak. Hoku could only shake her head. He looked a bit surprised at her subdued display, blinking once before he coughed into his free hand, using the other to brace himself over her and the bench.

“Alright, fine,” he said, sighing as though it were troublesome to him. Hoku almost laughed, her heart twisting with pain. It was the kind of thing he would’ve said back on Dawn Island, amidst the cover of trees while Luffy cried. “Move over.”

Hoku pressed her back flush against the bench. His brows creased, examining what little space still remained. He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting once to the side before skittering back to her—it was a guilty sort of tell of his. “Well, since the space is tight…”

Hoku didn’t even have the heart to bully him then or shove him to the floor. He grinned a little, a bit impish, the top of his ears dusting red—they would’ve caught like an ember by now, she thought absently— “It’ll make more sense, you know. I’ll lay down first and you can lay down on top—”

His fingers lightly brushed against her hip, as though to reach around Hoku and lift her up. His lids lowered as he gazed down at her. It was a gaze Hoku had never looked at properly. She tried to understand it now, since there was no too late in her dreams.

His fingers touched a bruise Hoku had gotten just the morning before from smacking into the corner of the table by Nami’s tangerines, earning a laugh from the navigator.

Hoku felt pain shoot up her spine like lightning.

She froze.

Pain.

That’s right… she felt… pain.

She’d been trying to ignore it, but not once had the throbbing in her head receded. The dull ache a distant thought in the back of her mind when sadness had been the forefront.

“Hoku Honey!” Sanji called sweetly. “Shall I get your breakfast ready?”

Hoku looked up at the man hovering above her, still grinning.

Cold washed over Hoku. It conflicted with the warmth of the body before her.

What?

Hoku’s throat went tight. Her mouth dry. Her pulse picked up in speed. The throbbing against the side of her head was almost murderous. She felt sick.

This isn’t right.

“C’mon,” he laughed, a bit coaxing. “Help me out—”

His touch seared against the bare skin of her back. The bruise throbbed.

Hoku’s palms shot out, shoving hard. His eyes widened, startled as he let out a squawk and fell back onto the floor. He looked up at her, affronted and a little betrayed, but Hoku wasn’t thinking about his expressions or his face—she was sitting up, scrambling onto her knees and bringing her shaking palms up to her face.

Dried blood lined the long cut along her palm.

Wait.

Hoku’s head started to spin. She felt sick. Ice cold water rushed down her spine, dousing over her head while her temple felt like someone was drilling a rusted nail into it. Her entire body was beginning to shake now, disbelief and fear and—

Hoku looked at him, eyes wide, frantic. His body. His face. His size.

He looked back at her, miffed betrayal becoming slow, curious confusion. Concern laced his features.

“Shooting Star?”

“Hoku Honey?” she heard Sanji call again. “Is there someone else up there? No, wait… there is? Hoku Honey—”

Hoku almost felt a whimper leave her lips. Confusion pounded against her head. Fear began to color her face. She shakily looked down at the bench and the floor, eyes darting from paper to scattered paper until she landed on one in particular.

An emptiness was left where she had pulled a drawing free.

No, this can’t be right. 

(This isn’t possible.)

Paper. It had been paper—

(Paper made by your hair. Mixed with your blood. Your special blend.)

Hoku’s breaths began to come staggered, sharp and uneven. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. Her eyes filled with tears while her face twisted into one of insidious horror as she looked back down at the man before her.

(Something she had never thought was possible. Something she’d only thought in passing, when she’d been asked. A thought she was never supposed to entertain. A thought Hoku had never once had, because even she knew playing with such an idea was wrong. Wrong and forbidden. Wrong and—)

Hoku slowly looked back at her hands. She flexed her fingers, carefully until her nails bit into her palm. Blood dripped down the side of her hands. Pain pricked her mind.

She was awake.

This was real.

Oh, oh goddess. Oh, goddess, what have I done?

“Hey!” he looked shocked. “What are you doing—”

Hoku tore herself away from the bench, away from him. He looked at her with wide eyes, confused and a little hurt but Hoku didn’t care. She staggered back a few steps until her knees gave out on her and she collapsed, falling back onto her palms.

“Hoku?”

Ace reached a hesitant hand out for her.

Not a drawing, but flesh.

Hoku screamed.

-- --- --- ---

Hoku had done a lot of stupid things since she’d been brought into this world.

She was sure there would never be anything beyond this.

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

Portgas D. Ace was dead.

“Fire Fist” Ace had died on the battlefield in his beloved brother’s arms, with an eternal smile across his bloodied lips. A smile that belonged to a man who had died knowing he had lived a life where he was loved and was able to love in turn.

And Hoku had watched, bleeding blood that would stain the ice forever until it was melted away. And a part of her had died that day too.

Portgas D. Ace was dead.

He had been so for over two years now. 

This was an indisputable, undeniable fact.

Hoku sat now in the far corner of the galley, unable to bring herself any closer as she held her throbbing head in her hands and glared across the room. Robin sat quietly beside her, a soothing hand splayed over her lower back, fingers occasionally rubbing soft circles, lightly against her side. 

That thing sat at the table, looking only a bit miffed, widely curious, and perhaps rather excited.

It grinned and Hoku felt sick to her stomach.

-continued in (2/3)

#memos au #kofi request #portgas d. ace #hoku #memos #ace/oc #portgas d. ace/oc #StarFire #i think we had another ship name for them too but i forgot

[stonemags]

SUGAR BABY AU

Ch.4 Leeway

Characters in this series: Reader, Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff, Carol Danvers, Darcy Lewis, Maria Hill, Kate Bishop, Pepper Potts, Valkyrie, Shuri

Summary: As a good friend you are responsible for people closest to you, right? But can you handle it all at once? For now, your friends are a priority.

Warnings: age gap relationships, sugar mommy/sugar baby relationships, swearing, aggression, cheating, all story is gonna be +18, you are responsible for your own ass. 

Word count: 6556

A/N: This chapter took a while and im greatfull for all your patience. This story is a proces and i go through it while writing, it growns on me with every sentance and page. Im happy i can share it with you. All ideas, theories, comments are welcome. Dont steal or claim my stuff as yours or im going to bite your ass off. Enjoy!

As always thanks to @charturnus for editing, helping to write and posting this fic. It wouldn't be here without you.

Previous chapter

CHAPTER 4

The next morning. You find Darcy occupied with her phone, laughing at something and scrolling down TikTok. You can tell which side of the platform she is on, and you smile under your breath, hearing the “woooo I’m mentally ill” sound, that both of you love. You gather yourself and enter the living room. You feel guilty, it wasn't right for you to speak to her this way, or say those things. Your opinions should never get between you and your friends, no matter what they do. God, you would help them bury a body without a question, why would you be a bitch about the way they decide to go in their life. That's not your place to say so, and you see it now, after a mostly sleepless night. You need to set things right, you need to apologize. You need to-

“Is this one of your ADHD things, when you just stand in the middle of the room and have a full-on conversation with yourself?” Darcy's voice breaks you out of your reverie, and you look at her with shocked eyes. You get lost sometimes. I guess it was one of those moments. 

“Yeah… I haven't taken my meds yet. Sorry about that.” You hang your head down and move closer to the couch that is occupied by Darcy and at least 5 blankets. Why would anybody need 5 blankets on one couch? It's not even that cold. Yes, it's November, but still, it's pretty warm for this time of the year.

“You are doing it again.” This time she touches your shoulder to bring you out and ground you, in reality a little bit more.

“Shit, sorry.”

“It's okay, what's bothering you?” She knows what, of course, she knows. The whole argument happened not more than 7 hours ago. God, you don't deserve her. 

“Darcy…. About yesterday…” You start fidgeting with your hands. Clearly uncomfortable, you are being eaten up from the inside by guilt. The fuzzy blanket that you are sitting on provides comfort with its texture. 

“About yesterday… I…”

“I know.” And you know she does, but she needs to hear it. You turn to the side to look at her, taking her hand into yours. You two were never touchy with each other. This is the kind of friendship where you would rather die than hug your friend, but you still would die for her in seconds. The older you two got, the closer you were, and the relationship between you two is far more mature now, you both are. 

“Still, even if you do, it wasn't acceptable for me to say those things. I don't have the knowledge of how it looks from your side. I have my own issues, I shouldn’t put that on you or attack you because of them. It wasn't right, and it won't happen again. I'm not going to judge any of you and if I'm going to be confused about anything I'm just going to ask. I was ignorant, angry, tired and rude. Nothing excuses my behaviour. I'm sorry Darcy.” 

She shifts her position and gets really close to you. You feel her arms around your neck and her face hidden in the crook of your neck. She feels warm, like home or fireplace, like the fuzzy blanket under your palm providing you with comfort. It takes you a second, but you practically scoop her up in your arms, hiding her even more in your chest. You stay like that for a little while and once you start pulling away you feel her grabbing you tighter. You don't let go.

“I'm sorry too.” You want to interrupt her, tell her that there is nothing to apologize for, that you were in the wrong, but she speaks again. 

“I said some shitty stuff yesterday. I don't want to talk to you that way. Even if I was a little bit right.” you both laugh at it, and the world gets a little lighter. The heavy feeling on your shoulders, it's always there, it always lingers, but now you don't carry it by yourself. When you finally pull apart, both of your eyes are a little bit glassy, you both notice it, but nobody will say anything. 

“You need to repay me, though. For the things you said.” Of course. You know that she is just using the situation and that you are actually forgiven, but you play the game either way.

“You have one wish. Shoot.”

“And no saying no?”

“No saying no.” 

“I'm going to set you up on a date. And before you interrupt me…”  You were actually going to interrupt her. 

“You have to be there for at least 30 minutes, and then I'm not going to set you up with anyone ever again.”

“Deal.” She looks at you like you’re dumb. This kind of look that tells you she is not done. You take a dramatic breath in.

“What else…?” She smiles and as much as you will never admit it, you want her happy. 

“Today Carol is having a small party with clients, friends, and business partners. It’s Bridgerton themed. You are going to be there, and you are going to like it. And no, you don't have to be there from the start, I know how you feel about all these business conversations. The party starts around 6pm and is going to last till 11pm at least. After that it's just going to be us, Maria, Kate, Pepper, Carol, Natasha and Wanda.” Hearing the last two names pulls a reaction from you. It’s one of the most dramatic eye rolls you've ever done. Darcy is laughing at you at this point, and you can't help but join her. You are not happy about any of that, but at the same time, you owe it to her.

“Yes ma’am.” The blanket beneath your fingers becomes overwhelming, so you start playing with your rings. 

“Good girl, now go because you have classes in half an hour.” She cares, and that's one of the ways she shows you that she does.

“Also, don't worry about your regency outfit! I’ve already taken care of it.” Your best friend tells you, not moving from the couch, as you stand up to take care of breakfast. She really gets on your nerves sometimes, but to be honest, you didn't even think about the outfit. You are grateful, even if it’s her that put you in this situation.

“Actually, I’m not going to uni today.” That's shocking news for her, and you get why she is surprised. 

“I also called off my shift at the bar.” Well that's a double shock, and it's surprising that she can take it. She gets off the couch and walks up to you, checking your temperature.

“Are you sick? Wait, you’re not dying, are you?” You love that dramatic bitch. 

“No, actually, we need to call a family meeting today.” 

‘’Oh,’’ Darcy breathes, realizing that the situation is serious. Only a few times before the meeting was called, this was the day Carol was introduced to all of you, or when Maria finally came out. This is an emergency only situation, and you are pretty sure that this one is justified. 

“Wait, family meeting? Someone died?” Maria’s sleepy voice flows through the room. Her hair is messy. Her silk robe flows nicely around her body. You always admired her confidence, and she is surprisingly kind for such an attractive person. Her hair is freshly cut, shoulder-length is the most comfortable for her, at least that's what she always says when they get too long. You like that about her, the way she knows what she wants, when and how. Even more, you don't understand why she would give control to anyone else. 

“Nobody died. Kate’s home?” You say. 

“Yeah, she came back around 4am.” Darcy's answer is followed by a big yawn. All of you can use a break today, and a little bit more sleep. 

‘’Could you please wake Kate up?’’ You say, turning to Maria. 

‘’I’ll get started on pancakes in the meantime.’’

She moves from her spot by the door and hurries to Kate's room. It's not going to be easy, but the longer you are putting off the conversation, the harder it's going to get. 

Preparing breakfast takes you little to no time, everything always goes by fast when you have Darcy on your side. You two work in perfect harmony, managing to cook, set up the table and even squeeze fresh orange juice for all of you. The scent of sweet citrus filled the whole room, bright sunlight falls aggressively through ajar blinds. Crispy air hits you as you move to close the window, trying to get rid of the burned smell of the last failed pancake. You are still going to eat it, you hate wasting food. 

Darcy is on your right, sitting cross-legged on a high chair with a messy bun and an oversized sweater stolen from Carol. She looks peaceful and warm. Maria sits half naked in front of you. She is always really comfortable in her own skin and it shows. Long pyjama pants and a bra are her go to outfits in the morning. It suits her. When Kate comes out of her room, the first thing that you acknowledge is her wet hair, indicating she just had a shower and dark circles under her eyes. She moves smoothly closer to where you all wait for her and as she moves behind you, she stops in her tracks for a second to wrap her arms around your torso from behind. She hides her head in the crook of your neck, and all you can do is put your hand smoothly through her hair, hugging her closer with one arm. 

“I missed you.” She whispers just for you to hear, and you feel tiredness and pain of the past busy weeks in her voice. It fills you with love, care but also anger for not being able to change it for her, or rather respecting the peace she chooses to live her life on. She needs to learn, and you will be here to catch her if she falls. And that's exactly why family meetings are so needed. 

“I missed you too, hun.” Her smile makes you happy and breaks your heart at the same time. You have been in situations when someone was trying to open your eyes, and you were taking out anger and pain on the messenger. Honestly, there is nothing she could do to push you away, but you know some part of her will hate you after this. 

“So what's the family meeting about? It sounds serious, you even took a day off.” 

“Let's just eat for now. We're gonna talk later.” 

****

You wash the dishes after breakfast while girls talk with each other on the couch. They offered to clean, but you needed a second for yourself to muster up the courage to tell her the truth. Giving yourself time is needed, but also creates moments like this. Wet sponge in your right hand, plate in your left, and your phone laying heavy in your pocket with evidence. You feel it digging into your leg through the material, kind of like pushing you to stop procrastinating the inevitable, so you do. 

You sit down on an ottoman that matches the rest of the couch set and as you sigh heavily, all the attention is drawn to you. Nobody’s rushing you to open up, it's one of the many rules of the meetings. They all wait for you, ready to provide comfort at all times. You lock your eyes with Kate’s, and as you almost always keep your posture and face up, your eyes water up a little, but not enough for them to notice. 

“Go on y/n. Lay it on me.” She is the youngest of all of you, but sometimes she is more mature than all of you combined. 

“Valkyrie is cheating on you.” You can see in her eyes that she thinks it's a joke, another dumb idea of yours to separate the two of them because you don't think her girlfriend deserves her, so you continue. 

“I was at the bar, had my shift with Steve, she was there. There was a whole group of people, God, all of them drunk out of their minds. She came to me and told me that you’re not texting her back. She wasn't too nice about it.” You take a deep breath in and grab anything you have close to you to stop yourself from standing up and pacing around the room. The plastic scrunchie provides some stimulation, so you look at her again. 

“At some point, she started kissing some girl that was in that group. I don't even know if they know each other.” Kate just listens, not taking her eyes off of you. You notice her lips quivering a little, but it's so slight that you’ve almost missed it. 

“Shuri was there, she can vouch for this.” 

“Wait, you saw your ex!?” Darcy jumps in but back off as soon as she can catch herself going off-topic, that's not important right now and she knows it. 

“Show me.” Two words you hoped you wouldn't hear. Speaking about it is one thing, but seeing it with her own eyes will be different. As the last resort, you try to play dumb, pretending not to know what she means.

“This is far too important for you not to have the proof. Just show me y/n, I’m a big girl.” So you do. When you hand her the phone, it’s already opened in your gallery. It's the last thing you recorded. The video starts with Shuri drinking her martini and talking to you about something happening at her university. However, as soon as you zoom into the group, she falls silent. 

‘’Oh fuck,’’ The girls can hear Shuri swearing, combined with your heavy breathing through the speaker in your phone. The scene ends with Valkyrie standing up and dragging the girl behind her into the bathroom area and Shuri’s voice saying “y/n don't do it”. 

“What did you do?” Maria asks what everybody is wondering. You answer her question, but all you say is for Kate and only for her. 

“I didn't do anything. I ended my shift and went home.” She believes you, you are always honest with her, always. 

“I wanted to tell you right after, but this is not something to do over the phone. Maybe I should have just found you at your job, I'm sorry but-” She's interrupting your explanation with the softest voice she has.

“It's okay, I know you are more of a face to face person.” The scrunchie is long forgotten on the floor, and Kate's hands are secured strongly in yours. You caress her palm with your thumb, providing as much comfort through the touch as you can, but she leans back on the couch. You expected anger, sadness, a breakdown or denial, but not this. 

“I mean, she was awful either way, right?” Both Darcy and Maria jump in with copious nodding and approval of that statement. 

“I guess it's for the better, at least I have a good reason to end it now.” With that she…. smiles? Something is wrong, something is very wrong. 

For the next 5 minutes your roommates rumble about how awful Val is, how much better Kate will be without her and how happy they are that she feels that way. Kate jumps in from time to time, smiling and telling them how right they are, and that's when you can't take it anymore. You start laughing, and it takes everybody off guard, to be honest it takes you off guard too. You don't explain anything to anybody as you stand up, take your hurt friend by her hand, and announce that you will be back in a couple of hours for dinner. You are much stronger than Kate, so manhandling her a little into her room is easy. 

“Get dressed, put some training clothes on and take your wallet. I'm taking your car keys, and I'm waiting for you in the car park. Don't make me wait too long.”

“Y/n I’m fine! What are you even doing? I don't understand.” You hug her really close, face buried in your chest, her arms hanging loose on her sides not really knowing what to do with them, but even when she’s not reciprocating you don’t let her go. Your left hand goes all the way around her waist, grabbing her side, while the right hand keeps her head close to you. Your touch feels hungry for closeness with her, while you almost shield her whole body with yours. When you let go, you grab her face into your hands, look deeply into her glassy eyes and smile with the most honest love you ever felt to someone. This kind of love is different from anything else you ever had. You imagine that's the way your brother feels when he looks at you. At least he did when you were younger. 

“You’re not Kate. And it's okay.” You kiss her forehead and tell her once again to get ready before you disappear from her room. 

*** 

The ride to the location takes you around 25 minutes. The whole trip, Kate is trying to get you to tell her where you’re going or what this whole thing is about, but you keep your mouth shut, which makes her more irritated by the minute. It's good, you need her to be irritated, you need her to be mad, and soon enough everything will become clear to why. 

You arrive at a big open space with one building that's in poor condition. Vines have taken over its walls, invading cement and binding everything together with nature. It’s a truly beautiful view if you can just stop for a second and try to understand what's in front of you. It's far, it's quiet, and it's your safe space, one of just the few that you have. You get out of the car, still not answering Kate's questions. She makes it harder for herself and as much as you get why she is doing it, you wish she would stop. 

“What's that place? It looks like a squat.” She comments, and she sounds unnecessarily annoyed.

“This is a place where me and Shuri were meeting for most of the time. It's a safe place and a safe space.”

“Safe for what?”

“To be yourself.” 

Your answer takes her a little bit off guard, you can see by the appearing wrinkles on her forehead that she really thinks about what you just said, and hopefully she will find some truth for herself in your words. She follows you into the building, you take out a bundle of keys, which is definitely too big, you don't even remember what half of them are for, you are pretty sure that some of them were found around here, never finding out their purpose, but the one that you need right now is easy to find. The red band on top of it makes it easy to spot. The word ‘’sanctuary’’ is hand-painted onto the key, and it fills you with warmth and gratitude that your last relationship ended up on good terms. You really appreciate having Shuri in your life, her and her family were nothing but good people to you, and you are glad to reciprocate anytime you can. You open a heavy looking lock and enter the building with Kate on your heels. 

Inside it is really dark and scary looking, dust covers the floors, and various types of glass, wood and all kinds of materials can be found on the side of every wall. Used spray paint cans decorate one corner, making the whole place more alive because of their colours. They also create a nice contrast to the surrounding chaos. All cans are securely stacked in a pyramid shape. A skylight lights up the middle of the room in a theatrical way. You love this place to the bone. 

As Kate looks around with a little disgust on her face she tries to appreciate you getting her out of the house, you collect some things from the locker and close it with a metallic clang. 

“Here,” you say into her direction, getting closer to her with two jumpsuits in hand. She looks surprised, but gets the general idea of what you want from her. She is obliging even if she is not fully sure why you are both here, she’s too shaken up to put it all together. Putting on a brave face is one of her greatest strengths and weaknesses, but you know every little piece of her. At least most of them. 

You start undressing while Kate is half ready with her suit on, you were always impressed with her physique. She’s the one who motivated you to go to the gym, taking you with her a couple of times gave you the kick-start that you needed to go on your own, you are grateful for that, not sure that she is aware of it. As you take off your shirt, you don't notice Kate's eyes lingering on your body. You are muscular it's hard not to be after putting so much work in at the gym, her eyes are tracing the tattoos on your body, from your legs up. You’re  turned away from her, so she has a perfect view of your wide back. She isn’t sure why she’s staring, but it seems natural to do so, so she lets herself. As you turn around to face her, you zip up the suit to your waist, looking for a shirt you took with you. You don't want to ruin your nice clothes, that's why you asked Kate to pack something up herself as well. You look at her. She seems to be stuck for a moment, and her face is red.

“Are you okay?” You reach out to her, worried that she might be on the verge of crying because of her breakup, unaware that the reason for her state is completely different. Kate on the other hand is trying to understand what's happening to her. Nobody was ever as sweet to her as you, so protective and caring. Nobody held her like you do, nobody was interested in her in the way you are. In the beginning she was trying to figure out if that's your way of hitting on her, but after she got to know you a little bit she understood that it's just your nature. It didn't change the fact that she always feels special when you act protective over her or caring in any way. Late night texts telling her to get home safe, to remember about lunch, calling her love. Or just simply sitting down together and letting her talk while you listen. Just the way you let her be with you is enough to get some ideas in her head. She has been questioning for a long time now if she is attracted to you, but even if the answer is yes, your relationship has always been platonic, and she is aware of that. 

“Yes, yes I am. Dress up, or you're going to get sick.” She stops the topic before you can ask her more questions, not wanting to fall into a hot mess in front of you. 

After you both get dressed and leave your stuff secured in the locker, just in case, you take Kate's hand and tell her to follow you. Her palm is soft but cold to the touch, instinctively you start to rub her hand with your thumb to warm it up and comfort her a little, sensing her nervousness. She’s still playing with her hands, grabbing onto her jewellery and loose strands of fabric fraying off of the partially torn jumpsuit. Your touch seems to bring her a little bit more back into the present. You can hear her taking a big breath in when you soothe her hand, and it seems like her arms are starting to relax a little. 

You moved further into the building, which leaves you in front of a massive, heavy looking reinforced door. Something straight out of the teen wolf series. As you open them, you are both hit with too much sunlight coming out of the skylights. Your eyes take a second to adjust and get past the sting of it, Kate tries to blink the pain away too. As soon as her vision is clear, she gets what all of this is about, and she doesn't know how to feel about it. 

“Wha…what? Y/n I don't think it's necessary.” She comments as soon as she sees a table covered in lots of different kinds of mugs, plates, dishes, boxes and bottles. It's warmer here than anywhere else in the building, probably because of the sun coming through the windows. She understands now why the doors are so thick. She waits for your answer, but you leave her in silence. You move to the deep right corner of the room and grab two aluminium bats and two helmets secured in the covered box. Your weapon is strictly for looks, you are not going to participate in breaking today, this day is all about Kate and you need to focus on her. 

“Take it.” She shakes her head, refusing to do so. 

“Kate, take it, please.” She does see that you are being really serious about it. It feels heavy in her hands at first, but her muscle memory is trained on such a good level that it takes her just a minute to get used to the handle and balance of the bat. 

“I don't need it. I know you think I'm sad and heartbroken but I'm not, okay?  It's for the best and we both know it yn.” She pleads with you, it all seems really unnecessary for her. 

“Kate..” you come close to her and put  your free hand on her cheek. “ You are heartbroken, you are tired and you are sad, but most of all you are angry. I can see you holding your fist together every time someone mentions your mother.” Exactly the thing she does as soon as the words leave your mouth. “ I know that you feel betrayed by Val, it doesn't matter if you loved her or not. She abused you for so long, just as your mother. Dont hate me for it but I think you chose her for a reason.” She looks at you not believing your words, and takes a step back. Her eyes ask you what you mean by that and you know she felt a sting because of your assumption. You straighten out your posture and keep going, gambling your friendship in the name of her sanity. 

“You have been controlled since your father died.”

“Stop.” Her voice is low but the tone of it is threatening.

“Your mother uses you as her personal project, to be honest I'm not sure if she was ever a real mother to you.” You continue not letting yourself back up no matter what. She needs this.

“I said stop.” Her voice is louder letting emotions take over a little.

“ Were you saying stop when Val hit you? Or when she was pouring alcohol in your system so she could take advantage of you? You didn’t deserve any of this” She is crying at this point and it pains you to see.

“All those times I was picking you up from her apartment seeing a new bruise on you, all those times when you got hell from your mother or from your girlfriend because you had to choose one and there were no other options in your life. This is not love Kate, it never was.” 

“Nobody asked you to take care of me!!” She is screaming now and you decided to match her energy. 

“BUT I DID! I was cleaning the fucking cuts, i was holding the ice bags and i had to watch you being broken everyday! I had to restrain myself of fucking her up everyday because of your feeling towards her!” Kate never knew about this, so that information is shocking, her head unfortunately for both of you took a defensive state so everything you say is taken personal. !!!

“ If that was such a fucking issue for you you could’ve just told me! I would never ask you for help if I knew!’ The bat in her hand is flying around, she always uses her hands while speaking so it's normal, in this situation though it's a little dangerous. 

“It's not about me ! Its about you Kate, about people fucking you over and over again and you allowing them. It's about the fact that you are angry and you don't let yourself go!”

“I'M NOT ANGRY. I'M IN PAIN! AND THEY’VE PUT ME THERE” With that she delivers a first hit to the stack of plates. It's not in the center so plates end up falling from the table while  breaking a couple of them. It's hard to aim when your face is covered in tears. You grab her arm before she can do a second strike stopping her mid flight. She tries to get out of your hold pushing you away with her other arm but you are one step ahead and you let go of your bat to grab both of her hands. You take her into a strong embrace letting her totally break down in tears. She cries, and it sounds like something she loved, someone she loves has died, maybe a part of her. Her voice is broken and you can hear her asking why, while you drop with her to the floor not letting go for even a second. She is still fighting to get out of your arms but you know that she is not fighting with you. You put your hand on her head closing any space left between you and you try to calm her crying a bit.

“I got you Kate… I'm right here with you, I'm not leaving…. ever. You can let go… just let go, I'm holding you.” And she does. She lets go of all the pain she feels at the moment, lots of memories coming back to her in a big feeling of chaos. It is hard for her to focus on one feeling, one problem, one pain so she grabs on to you tighter trying to ground herself in your touch. She starts paying attention to your fingers tracing patterns on her back, on your breathing being slow and deep and she tries to match it the best she can with her own. She focuses on the vibrations she can feel on her head that are coming from you humming her favorite melody. She finds peace in it and after a little while she slowly lets go of you to take a deep breath in and look at your face. You smile at her with the most genuine smile that she ever saw. 

“Why are you so happy?” She is teasing you, you know she is.

“Because I'm proud of you Katie… so proud.” Your voice is low and soft, like the silence after the storm, like the moment when the rain stops falling abruptly after ripping the sky open with its force. 

You help her stand up and that's the exact moment that she sees blood on your face. Her breath hitches while she points at your cheek. You touch the place and realize that while she hit the plates one piece of them got stuck in your skin. You take it out with almost no force and wipe already dried blood off of you. 

“That's why we wear helmets.” You pick up the gear that was left on the floor, and help her put it safely on her head. After doing the same you hand her a bat and let her have an outlet for all of the forgotten feelings hidden inside of her for so long. Sounds are loud, rapid but so satisfying. Pieces of glass are landing on the walls, the floor and your clothing. At first she was shy with her hits, but you can see that she got more comfortable with the whole idea and actually put some work into it. You hold your cold bat in your left hand, it's only a prop, because today it's about Kate…. today is about Kate yn… You tell yourself trying to suppress any emotions you might have with this whole situation. Stacks of beer glasses seem to have your name written all over them. The bat you are holding gets a little bit heavier in your hand when you tighten your fist around it. Your veins become visible because of the pressure and your eyes are focused on the target, never looking away from it but holding yourself back as much as you can. Just when you start to feel yourself going into emotions, all of the glasses break in front of your eyes. A big hit delivered by Kate crashes them into pieces and powder, and with that she says that it's the last one that she needed. It brings you back out of your head and you nod at her, pointing to the door. 

After leaving the room you give some time for Kate to change into her clothes while you are sweeping the floor to make it nice and tidy, mainly safe. You put down all the equipment and as you move into the room with a locker you can hear Kate humming the same melody you were trying to calm her down with. It warms you from the inside, the fact that you understand her and she trusts you enough to show you the most raw parts of herself. While you change Kate decided to look around some other rooms in the building. Some of them are holding more stuff to break, some of them have camping equipment, making her acknowledge that you probably spend some nights here. As you catch up to her you see that she found one of the most important places for you. The biggest room in this whole building has two chairs in the middle of it and 5 plastic boxes on the right side of it. Chairs are facing one wall, a wall covered in graffiti, with big sentences written in the middle of it. You lean on the entrance while Kate is trying to take it all in. 

“What's that? Ver- Verba Vo…” “Verba Volant Scripta Manent. Spoken words fly away, written words remain.” You explain to her, trying to get her to understand what this place is about. “And what's all over that?” “All the reasons why me and Shuri were coming here. Tony Stark, Loki, work, even when I was arguing with you guys.” You laugh a little at the memory. “Even your mom.” You see her go closer to the wall as she eyes your mothers name written on the wall in the most chaotic way she ever saw. She puts her hand on the cold concrete and touches it lightly, collecting some dirt on her fingers by accident. She doesn't seem to care though. She turns with glossy eyes to look at you and a second later you are holding her in your arms. She is not angry anymore, but sad. Tears flow out while you hold her and allow her to feel all the emotions at once. She doesn't have to pretend with you, she never should. She lets you go and look at your face. Her cold hand lands on your cheek as she is trying to take care of you, leaving some of the dirt on your skin. It throws you off guard for a second because you didn't realize you were crying with her. As soon as you do you whip off the tears that escaped and hand her spray can from one of the plastic boxes.

“Write Katie, everything that's on your shoulders, write it out of you. It will stay here, and you will move on without it.” “Verba Volant Scripta Manent.” She repeats your mantra butchering latin pronunciation, making you laugh. 

“Exactly.” You give her a nod and encourage her to start letting go of all the things that are in her heart. She is a little shy at first but gets a hold of it really quickly. She writes dates, names, words like work, comfort, cheating, fear. With each word she seems to be lighter and you enjoy the view. Carefully she writes everything down avoiding your drawing, your motto, which you really appreciate. As she finishes her work she takes a couple of steps back and enjoys the art of it. You join her, kiss the top of her head and take out of the box the last can, red one to put one last statement. She watches you really carefully as you go to her part of the wall and above everything she has written, you spray a big red word, saying “Rebirth”. As you turn around, a little bit dirty and tired, you feel happiness filling you in as she is smiling at you, in a way you haven't seen in a long time. 

After closing up everything and making sure that the whole place is secured and tidy you make your way to the car. Kate is surprised to see an emotional hangover setup at the back of her car. Bottle of water, her favorite snack and tissues waiting for her, set down with love and care. It always amazes her how you can think in the future. There were countless situations in both your lifes when something unusual, tragic or just really out of nowhere came up and you are always ready for it. At least you seem to be. You are not talking much to each other while going back, no words needed between both of you. Kate can sense that it took a hold on you too so she provides comfort by playing with your hair on the back of your neck while you drive. 

“I texted her.” Kates breaks the silence for a second, her voice barely above whisper. 

“What did you say?” 

“I broke up with her, I officially ended it, and I blocked her.” You put your hand on hers, letting her know you are right next to her. She expected you to be happy but you were always better for her then she anticipated.

“And how do you feel about it?” You ask tenderly. 

“It hurts… I know she wasn't good, she never was, but she meant a lot and it… it just hurts.” You nod your head waiting for her to continue, giving all the space she might need. 

“ But it's going to heal, and as much as it pains me I also feel lighter. I need it. Thank you yn, for everything.” She interviews her fingers with yours and allows silence to take over, leaving you both in each other's comfort. 

Next chapter

───⋆☆────────────────⋆☆────────────────⋆☆─── tag list : @autorasexy @lizziejolsen @natashaswife4125 @sayah13 @romanoffskisser @lijo-8 @jjiiuuisssagcebrcw @natashaswife4125 @dumbassbitchwithnotits @teenybean, @marvelwomen-simp, @ripofflizzie

#stonemags #sugar baby au #sugar mommies #kate bishop x valkyrie #natasha romanoff x wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff #darcy lewis x carol danvers #maria hill #pepper potts #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader smut #wandanat x female reader #marvel #fanfic

[revolutionary-star-luma]

Was just randomly thinking about it, how would you rank all the Disney Princess movies? Like from favorite to least favorite, numbered list, or like letter (A, B, C) tiers?

I hope it’s okay to talk about some of the placement reasons, we feel pretty passionate about this. Especially ones that are absolute favorites or might surprise others.

There is too much that has already been said about Beauty and the Beast. All I am going to say is that it’s one of my favorite movies, that I could watch over and over again. It’s also my favorite romance story in the franchise 👉👈

Little Mermaid also has been praised a lot too, so we will keep it brief. Ariel is my favorite Disney princess, because I love how flawed she is, and as a queer person I can relate to her relationship with her father with my own parents. This movie and Beauty and the Beast feel so queer to me, and we are glad that Howard Ashman’s influence and involvement were strong in them both.

Yes I put Cinderella 3 at Godtier I love this movie sm, and we know it didn’t need to exist, but we are glad someone made their Cinderella fanfic a reality. It breathes more characters into the prince (he’s the best Disney prince I will die on that hill), her step sister Anastasia, and even the king. Her step mom is even more of a threat in this movie too. Also this movie looks really good for just being direct to DVD. This movie also pokes fun of its classic fairytale ways, but in a more charming way like Enchanted does.

Sleeping Beauty is very high because this movie is fucking gorgeous, *eats all the bg art up* I also love how petty and bitchy Maleficent is. Also love that the movies real heroines are the three fairies, and you don’t get much movies were three older women get to be the protagonists.

In our opinion we like Frozen 2 better than one. We just like the settings and atmosphere more. We like some songs more too, like Into the Unknown and Show Yourself. I’m a simple queer person with the mental illness, so we really relate to Elsa, so we like that she has more focus in this film. Still this movie is kinda of double edged sword because some side characters like Kristoff and Olaf are actually so annoying in this movie, I never thought much of these characters before, but now I despise them. Also they took out some things that would have made this movie so much better, like a romantic song between Kristoff and Anna that honestly makes their relationship more endearing. Also the fucking castle would have been destroyed in the end, making this tale of colonialism much more symbolic. They weren’t brave enough to do that tho, or who knows higher ups probably didn’t like the idea.

Speaking of what might have been, I wish men didn’t meddle and take over a woman’s vision when it comes to Brave. It’s another movie were we feel in our opinion it could have been better than what we got.

I’m not gonna say much about Pocahontas, because it’s not really our place. We will just say as a child it never was a favorite of ours. I don’t like how the human characters look, a lot of the characters are weak too, the villian is so lame. The only positives I can say some of the music can be amazing, some of the visuals are gorgeous, and I like the animal companions. However both films especially the 2nd make me like 😬

Oh I almost forget Aladdin is not here, because I feel like I need to rewatch it again to see where we would place it. To be fair it doesn’t feel like a Disney Princess movie anyways, since Aladdin gets more focus than Jasmine. There are also some Disney sequels we have not seen that are not here.

#disney #disney princess #disney prinesses #thanks for sending this question it was so much fun to answer #asks

[hellboundhimbo]

okok im having Thoughts tonight and i usually save these for my notes app but ill post this one i think

i know the whole schtick with giorno is like oh hes dio but good (i am aware of the fact that is a very bare bones explanation of his character but bear with me its late,) but honestly he has the potential to be fucking terrifying.

i both love and dislike fanon portrayals of him leaning more toward morally grey, cuz on one hand that is so cool but also hes not fully, like that i guess? at least i think so personally.

in golden wind he reads more as an aloof, kind of weird kid with a big heart and deadly ambition, and doesnt really start shedding that persona a bit until the end, when hes faced with the death of his comrades and the weight of surviving. then we get into phf, and hes acting like dio suddenly?

not fully, but like the library thing felt like a pretty clear callback to dio's personal library yknow? like some parallels were being put in place. then at the end of the novel, the kinder parts of his personality start to shine through. this might sound weird, but while i was like "fugio rights slay" i was also kind of unsettled by giorno in a way?

like he seemed so ethereal, almost like a fucking god with his presentation (which may be a symptom of fugo being a bit of an unreliable narrator.) it made me go back and forth of whether or not giorno was really a good of a person as VA made him out to be.

honestly, i think it may be a trauma response on giornos end. he always seemed to float above it all, even in late golden wind, but i think we as a fandom forget that hes still a kid, sometimes (especially. some groups.)

from how he spoke and acted at the end of VA, you can tell hes a different person than he was at the beginning, and while I do really have my gripes as to giornos role as a protagonist that is a post for another day.

giorno learns what leadership truly entails and is subsequently scarred by the expirence, and i think thats most notable in his infamous monologues. in early VA, theyre usually charged by some kind of ambition, or hope for a noble change, but in PHF its moreof musings on humanity itself (if that makes any sense.) it's definitely different to dio's, giorno providing mostly words of wisdom and affirmation along with his funky little psychoanalysis

hes also scarily perceptive, which like he always has been, but when paired with his more serene presentation in phf, it gives the illusion that hes somehow omnipotent or something, like he knows everything about you (or like. fugo in this scenario.) i think it may show how his idea of what it means to lead has changed since the beginning, that while he does want to do the right thing he also has it in his head that tragedy along the way is not only inevitable, but expected.

this is what I mean, like hes definitely a bit morally grey but hes not like "ooh fugo im so fucked up the ends justify the means ooh imma kill people to stop drugs ooooooh" but hes also not a saint by any means. hes deeply traumatized and has effectively numbed himself to the concept of death his entire life, and i dont think his evolved stand and chosen career path much helped with that.

like. i guess the conclusion of his absolutely incomprehensible rant is that while giorno is still the person he was before VA in terms of his kindness and compassion, but his experiences in canon changed his world view immensely. he can be scary naturally, yes, but the way i see it? giorno is 100% dealing with some kind of trauma, and while the expirence of VA did help him grow, it also Fucked Him Up. consequences of skipling algebra 1 and joining the mob ig. or maybe it doesnt mean anything at all and I'm just dumb and tired.

ig this sounds kind of weird from the guy who will die on the hill that giorno as a character was kinda wasted on VA, but hes rlly interesting to think about i think.

#giorno giovanna #i am so tired #jjba #this is incomprehensible

[rippeds0cks]

11/1/2023

I didnt do anything today besides carve this pumpkin and to to the gym. Didnt know what to put on it so i just did a cat cause this was the first time i carved one in years. Plus i miss my fat ass cat penut. Love her but my bitch ex wife (lovely ex girlfriend) kept the kid (cat). Even tho it was MY IDEA to have her inside in the first place. I’ll die on that hill. Without me that little baby would still be outside only. Ive thought about getting a cat but not only do i not like the hair i also dont know how much longer ill be alive. I keep having this really tight feeling in my chest and i dont know if its indicative of something serious or not. Heart problems run in my family and i dont really have any of the genetic physical ailments my siblings inherited. I had collapsed lungs when i was born but i survived so its chill. My sisters both have really bad stomach issues from our parents. Little brother got the cancer when he had that cancerous tumor in his brain but we got that taken out n hes fine now. I mighta got the eye diseases and or the heart problems. I wouldnt be surprised if i did ive abused my heart forever now from all the drugs and alcohol and stimulants and getting hit there a lot. Im sure I’ll be fine tho im built sturdy. If i drop its cool too cause that means it was completely outta my control. I need to write my will soon tho. Today was really good in the gym tho. Worked really hard, saw some guys in costumes which was funny. Also caught this girl staring at me hard, when i turned n accidentally looked at her we made eye contact n both looked away. I just spent the rest of the time staring at the ground. She was pretty but im just now trying to not be cripplingly distraught over my ex so im definitely not ready for any new relationships or anything. If i were to start something now id just compare them to my ex and no one compares in any capacity so it would suck for me and wouldnt be fair to them. But i looked great in the gym today even if im fat rn. Other than that i just tried to be happy n all but it would rocky cause i was just thinking of how much i miss spending holidays with her. Its cool tho im feeling neutral rn. Feeling very tired

#Spotify

[denndrawings]

every day i wake up and i think about a dnd campaign in the grishaverse

#grishaverse #dnd #dungeons and dragons #no but like imagine it would be So Cool #maybe i can write an adaptation of the dnd rules for the grishaverse when i have time #i know the venn diagram of the grishaverse fandom and the dnd fandom are two different circles but #its still a really good idea and ill die on this hill

[lmaoplsdontlookatme]

i know nobody asked but heres this anyways

minors 🚫

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

itll depend on the kind of sex you have really.

if he wants to fuck you over the bathroom counter, hell kiss the back of your neck afterwards before tucking himself away and going about like nothing happened.

if youre in bed or on the couch and hes taking you slow and deep, hell keep you caged in until he comes down and afterwards, youd better not have any plans because youre likely not moving from the position until mikey decides hes ready (:

if he manhandles you and fucks you rough, hell keep a bit of a distance but still hover. like hell make sure youre okay by bringing you a towel and a bottle of water and turning off the light, but he wont join you under the covers - hell sit on the edge of the bed and watch you until youre asleep (and then prob for a few hours afterwards he just wants to make sure he didnt break you lmao)

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

mikey really likes his hands!! he likes how big they are when he holds your hands, he likes how his long fingers curl around knives and hammers and whatever tools and weapons he uses. he likes seeing his hands on your body!!! he looooooves to touch u ok but anyways he also really likes that his fingers can brutally destroy anything he wants but he can also be gentle enough to make masks and maybe he,, picks up gardening or smth ill get back to that

he loves ur hair,, idr who said it or where i read it and i think about it EVERY DAY and cry but once on the R A R E occassion EVER EVER EVER that youve heard him say anything, he had put his hand on the top of your head and you looked up to meet his eyes and he bent down to sniff your hair and he squinted and you SWORE he uttered ‘pretty’ and akdbdjsksj im so sorry i dont remember who i got this from but ill die on this hill 😭

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

(((: youre gonna be full all the time! surprise! michael definitely doesnt want kids and if u asked hed finish on your skin instead but if u dont mind BOY OH BOY hell fuck you silly and finish deep in your guts and then hell bring you a pair of underwear and just stare at you until you take the hint and put them on. you learn pretty quickly on that he really likes the idea of himself leaking out of you, its like his little claim over u <33

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

michael had definitely stalked you for a long time before you were together. even now when youre out and about, you get the feeling that hes watching you.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

awe the big guy doesnt have any experience. im sure he was never given a proper sexual education in the hospital! that being said, his mother was a stripper, his father figure was nasty and vulgar, and he had an older teenage sister. mikey definitely knows about fucking ok. hes just never done it!!!

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

again it all really depends on the mood and type of sex youre having! mostly though, he likes to sit on the couch with his arms wrapped tight around your waist while you rock in his lap and pant his name in his ear ((:

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

i dont think purposefully hed be humorous, but he would smile and give raspy little ‘hehs’ that you learn are his laughs when he would tease you or you would tell him you love him or whenever yknow - the longer youre together, the more comfortable hed be!

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

big hairey man ((((((:

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

again, it depends! mikey didnt have a healthy sex ed so hed probably in the beginning of ur relationship just fuck you from behind and call it good but now hes very touchy, he loves the warmth of your skin and how soft your hair is and how you smell so hed be a lot more intimate further in

sometimes hes like a little crow and hell bring you gifts of shiny trinkets he finds and hell just leave them on your side of the bed for u,,

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

honestly, who knows what kind of meds michael was on while he was locked up. obvs this is not a universal experience but its kinda hard to get it up and get off when youre on a lot of anti psychotics and anti depressions and whatnot. so he probably didnt jerk off a lot! i feel like he might have seen it as something to do to pass time rather than like, wanting to cum if that makes sense!

that would probably carry on a little bit after the hospital - i dont see mikey continuously taking medication so the urge would be there, but he would be so used to not jerking off that he never rlly thought about it

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

like i said earlier, he likes to keep you fullfullfull! hes a rlly big boy, he likes to watch and feel his cock through your belly when he fucks you deep and hell keep you full of cum every time yall have sex!

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

oh yall are gonna be fuckin everywhere <33

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

if u praise michael or offer to wash his hair or back or if you ask if he wants extra portions of dinner or i guess just,, treat him like a human 🥺 hes gonna be putty !! once hes sleeping and you bring him breakfast in bed and youve never seen the man so surprised!! he was too confused to eat for a moment but when you joined him in bed and fed him pancakes, he laughed! rlly raspy unused voice and he laughs and then fucks u then n there and he smiles the whole time 🖤🖤🤌🏻

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

i dont think mikey would want to share control or dominance during sex - hes in control and you obviously have say and consent, but hes the one pulling the strings.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

michael would probably be a little uncomfortable about you giving him head, at least in the beginning. you worshipping his body and cock would have really flustered him at first. obvs further on, he would die for the feeling of your warm lips around him and your hair between his legs.

on the other side, watching you come undone under michaels mouth is sooooo fascinating to him lmao hell go down on you for an hour

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

all depends on the mood 🖤

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

tbh u would both live for the feeling of each other whether that be fucking missionary for hours or michael shimmying down your pants to fuck you in the driveway before the neighbors see

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

yes ! mikey wants everyone to know youre his and if that means getting caught fucking somewhere,, 🤷🏻

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

at first michael could cum from dry humping you, grinding himself against you while you made out, poor big boy. the more youre together, the higher his stamina builds!

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

michael would like to get you off with his fingers and tongue and cock 🖤 but if you wanted to introduce toys i dont think hed really pretend to care either way but maybe deep down hes kinda jealous,,

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

again, depends on mood and length of relationship. michael would finger fuck you and eat you out until youre crying before he would finally Actually fuck you but sometimes, he doesnt rlly have the patience lmao.

dont u dare tease him tho he will just stare at you and then probably walk away lmao

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

hes quiet. the first sounds you ever heard him made were when he came during sex and even then, it was the lightest of grunts. very hot. as he gets more comfortable around you hes more vocal - obviously hes not going to talk to you, but hell give you appreciative sighs during sex and hum back at you when you tell him you love him and whatnot.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

*THIS IS SFW*

ok i said this earlier and its all i can think about. mikey has a huuuuge creative side!!!! he likes obviously that he can brutally destroy anything he wants with his hands, but he also really enjoys making things!!

at first youd find bits of ripped up news paper and glue bottles and then michael would have a new mask hanging to dry in the shower and after that you would bring home different things for him to try - knitting or painting or gardening!! mikey,, rlly loves to garden oh man 🥺 you get home from an errand once and the back door was open and you had a moment of concern before youd noticed michael on his hands and knees in the backyard, covered in potting soil, without his mask, his hair tucked behind his ears 🥺🥺🥺🥺 he would really enjoy the sun and the smell of dirt after being locked up so long 🖤 idk if hed take to knitting or painting, but he likes molding things with clay and youd noticed a few pieces of rough cut wood around the house in the shapes of random animals 🥺

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

come on.

hes long, hes THICK, hes uncut, and hes got huuuuge, heavy balls. when he gets hard and his head comes through his foreskin, its a good three shades darker than the rest of him. his balls are darker too. hes not very veiny!

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

sometimes youll fuck twice a day and sometimes you wont have sex for a week. lots of factors 🖤

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

you fall asleep before michael every single time without fail no matter how hard you try to stay awake, he WILL outlast you.

(ur always the first one awake though if mikey could he would sleep till noon every day hes not a morning kinda guy 🖤🖤)

#michael myers #rz michael myers #halloween 2007 #slasher #rob zombie michael myers #michael myers x you #michael myers x reader

[nuclearnerves]

INCOMING VAMPIRE AU THOUGHTS

Don't mind me I'm finally getting the ideas I had on this shit out so I can actually go forward with developing it as an AU. It's my usual mixup of fps protags, Gordon Guy and John, but I'm starting with Gordon as the Vampire and Guy as the Vampire Hunter.

absolute beast of a wall of text under the cut

What If Being A Vampire Literally Sucks All The Time Forever like chronic pain sucks. like THAT level of sucks. Like Here's what I was thinking of. Being a vampire isn't just "being alive forever but you need to drink human blood" It's like Oh man I have some lore you look at vampires and their main thing is that they're blood suckers right so lets start with a corpse dead body. cadaver. no longer with us. just some rotting meat. The brain needs oxygen as fuel. The blood supplies the oxygen through blood. The blood is pumped through the heart. The blood is made by your bone marrow. You die. Your heart stops beating Blood stops pumping Brain no longer has oxygen to think marrow stops making blood thats standard! Now, becoming undead, as a vampire, is a little more complicated. The long and short of it is: your body is FIGHTING ACTIVELY to be alive against all odds and wins every time (immortality), but it hurts the whole way

I have the gist of it. It's like. Your heart stops. By all means, you should be dead. but the magic kicks in, and you're still thinking. Your brain is still sending signals to your muscles to move. But using what oxygen to move? whats burning in you? You don't know but you know it's just enough to get to your next meal. So you ferociously eat something, and then find you can't swallow. You can't make saliva. You barely have the energy to chew, and once you DO get something in your stomach, it immediately comes back up. Why can't you feel your pulse? What's going on? You're out of options so you figure you might as well just lie down and die. You're too tired to keep going anyway. So you do, you lie down, and you close your eyes, and you quietly hope that death is as peaceful as sleep. You realize you've actually been moving around without breathing, which makes sense because you can barely flex your diaphragm for more than a shaky wheeze. How are you thinking with such little oxygen? But as you fade from consciousness, you can feel something in you, and it's so upset, it's crying, it's filled with grief, and you instantly can tell it's your skeleton. It's your bones. You're distraught down to your marrow. You're dying. You're dying! Your heart stopped and you have no more blood! You need blood! You need blood to move! To breathe! To think! You try to breath deep again for the voices in your bones, trying to comfort them, to sooth them with the repetitive motion in your lungs, trying to fill yourself with anything but grief, but they keep wailing. We make the blood, our creation, our child, what we put all of our work into is gone! gone! gone! We need it back! Anything! All of it! Find it! Bring it back to us! We're hungry! WE'RE HUNGRY!

and once you find yourself too exhausted to listen, to think, how badly you wish just to die already to cease hearing this wailing, you find your body moving without you. And it's hungry and it's searching and it's crawling on all fours and it misses its beautiful red life that made it feel so full before and it needs it back, and the next thing you know you're desperately grabbing anything with blood in it and shoving it in your mouth in a desperate attempt to sooth this cry for life, you don't want to die, you don't want to die, you worked so hard to keep up this body and craft it and LIVE with it and you're not going to go, and even when you try, even when you try to lay down and die, your body refuses, it takes the reigns, and it keeps up the work itself with or without your help. And it's not until your stomach is full and your teeth are stained and you feel a pulsating burning in your bones that you snap back awake, completely conscious, just fine. You're lucid, you don't feel any more pain. Everything around you is dead and drained and messy and your heart still isn't beating. but you can breathe now and holy shit you guess you literally need to kill to survive and the less you eat and the more you starve yourself the worse it gets when your body finally decides to take recourse.

my idea was like. "the vampires curse is actually stored in the bones, thats why the teeth get so sharp and also theres a connection between blood and bones with the creation via bone marrow" its literally like i was sitting there thinking "no no no, whats it like to be a vampire. what neurosis would you develop. How would you panic? What are common mistakes beginner vampires make" which, by the way, gordon is a beginner vampire

so now you gotta factor, what blood lasts for how long? how long can you go between meals? not only that, but what creatures satisfy the urge? How long can you go avoiding human blood? Does it work like drugs where you develop a resistance to the high, or is it like food where it will keep you moving until you eat again? How the fuck are you gonna get your hands on blood? Can you just eat raw meat? Does that count? and thats where im at lol

OKAY now. now thoughts on beginning scenes of vampire au

So my idea was this Doomguy is a vampire hunter independent and one of his buds says that some freak scared and almost attacked his daughter when she got too close to his old abandoned laboratory up the hill and hes like “he might be… you know… a problem. if you needed a lead” and guys like yeah i fuckin hate the undead ill kill this dude so he busts into old lab space and sees so many dead animals its actually mostly Bones and pelt that hes seeing piles of feathers etc so hes like yeah this is all telltale signs of vampire uhhh hes introduced to gordon SOMEHOW im not totally sure of the details but the working idea i have is guy falls into a trap gordon devised that restrains him suspended in wire or something and gordon like. limps/stumbles into the room and this dude looks haggard he’s breathing heavy, his cheeks are hollow, he’s bug-eyed and shaking while looking at this massive wall of meat in his trap and he bares a bunch of hideous teeth and grits them and looks like hes really struggling with somethin... Like if these dudes don't know each other then Gordon might give in and try to drain Guy, and Guy would absolutely do anything in his power to turn this new vampire into ash, im thinking the inclusion if g-man as a coven leader can fix both issues.

i like the idea of guy falling into gordons trap and gordon thinking about what to do with him before gman shows up and whisks gordon away for a “meeting” while complimenting him on his good work catching the most feared vampire hunter in the country and gman just leaving guy suspended in wires that he has to fight his way out of. Instant situation defuser.

Guy ends up needing to take care of other monsters before going back to Gordon, and he DOES plan to go back to gordon, because no vampire is a good one, especially not one associated with the fucking head of a coven, but next time he sees Gordon, Gordon helps him out of a scrape by attacking and draining a combine who was going to take Guy out or something and escaping before Guy can catch him, or otherwise seeing Gordon do something good with his insane undead powers and like, the third time he meets up with him is when they can actually talk, and Gordons fuckin SO haggard, he’s not even fighting back and he’s even going as far as to say “just make sure theres nothing of me left when you’re done, I don’t want anyone else getting hurt”

Side Note: Guy has a bunch of scarring on his body from dealing with vampires, cops, ghosts, werewolves, anything violent that kills people. I'm playing with the inkling of an idea that he has Divine Blood in him, so that any time something undead bites him or tries to drink his blood, it burns. We'll see.

Side Note 2: now i really like the idea of the combine actually being an organized faction of vampire hunters that are WICKED crooked and exploit people for all their worth in exchange for their “safety” when they kill a vampire They’re essentially loansharks and Guy fucking hates them and hates the name theyve given to vampire hunting

Side Note 3: You've probably noticed that I haven't said anything about John yet! He's in this too. His species is a surprise but I need to get to him later I have an idea for where he came from (Cortana too)

I still need a good reason for Guy to not instantly kill this vampire, if not it's just gonna be "Gordon Freeman escapes the countrys best vampire hunter like a seventh time" every time they meet and they end up being rivals. And it gives Guy enough time to look past the whole "undead monster" thing and start looking at the "Oh this dude figured out how to fight his ridiculous craving for blood in a way more humane than most and is actually staying out of peoples way and keeping to himself. Guess he's not that big of a threat but I still need to keep an eye on him in case he loses it. Turns out he's got a family (Probably Alyx, Eli, Issac and Barney) who's been lookin for him and cares about him as well, don't wanna hurt them". I like the idea of them ending up needing to team up to take out undead together.

And that's what I got so far!!!

#freeguy #gordon freeman #doomguy #vampire au #freeguy117

[iamanartichoke]

I wrote a Thing. It’s extremely long. I’d prefer it not be reblogged; I wrote this for my own catharsis and would prefer it not be circulated, bc of Reasons. 

I changed my mind, okay to reblog. <3 

Under a cut for (extreme, did I mention?) length. 

So I got about 12 minutes of sleep last night, as you do, and around 3am or so I found myself - out of sheer curiosity - going down a meta hole of Ragnarok discourse, trying to figure out where this "satisfying redemption arc" for Loki happened. (I mean, there's a lot of things I would like to figure out, but I started there.) Because I could. 

Basically I was looking for meta that went into detail about how Loki was redeemed in a satisfactory way. The ‘satisfactory’  is an important word here bc there is a redemption arc in the film, in that Loki starts off the film as an antagonist (kinda) to Thor and he ends the film as an ally to Thor, standing at Thor's side. In that sense, yes, there's a redemption arc. I didn't find much (and I had no idea how much people just despise Ragnarok "antis" [I really dislike that word] but that's another topic [that I don't particularly want to get into, tbh]) but I did find some. I read what I could find, and I read it open-mindedly, and overall I came away feeling like, okay, there are some valid points being made here and I can kinda see where they're coming from.

But it was a bit (a lot) like -- flat. Idk. The best comparison I can think of is that it’s like if a literature class read, I don't know, The Yellow Wallpaper for an assignment, and some of the students came away from it feeling like it was a creepy story about a woman slowly driving herself insane, and the other students came away from it incensed at the oppression and infantilization of women in the late 19th century -

- and neither side is wrong, but the former is a very surface-level reading and the latter isn't (bc it stems from looking at why she drives herself insane, why she was prescribed 'rest' in the first place, the context of what women could and couldn't do back then, etc; basically, a bit more work has to go into it). 

[Note: I am not disparaging the quality of The Yellow Wallpaper. At all. It’s just the first relatively well-known story that popped into my head.]

In this sense, I can see the argument for Loki's redemption arc, but I don't think it's a very good argument. Not invalid, but not great.

I mean, for example, I think the most consistent argument I found variations of re: Loki's redemption is that Ragnarok shows Loki finally taking responsibility for his bad behaviour and misdeeds. This includes recognizing that his actions were fueled from a place of self-hatred and a desire to self-destruct in addition to bringing destruction on others. That he probably feels awkward and regretful of these things and doesn't know how to act around Thor, but he figures it out by the end, and decides that returning to Asgard is the best way to show that he's ready to make amends. His act of bringing the Statesman to Asgard is an apology. He allies himself with Thor and ends up in a better place, both narratively (united with Thor once again) and mentally (having taken responsibility and made amends for his past).

And setting aside that he had already made amends by sacrificing his life in TDW (and also setting aside that the argument is made that Loki redeems himself in IW by sacrificing himself to Thanos but if that's the case, wouldn't that imply that he hadn't achieved redemption in Ragnarok or else there would be no need to achieve it again in IW? Or, if you think he did achieve redemption in Ragnarok, then what the fuck did he give his life in IW for? What was his motivation there, and why did the narrative not make it clearer? I digress.) 

- setting aside those two factors, I think this is a very fair argument. Loki is fueled by self-hatred, and he does want to self-destruct, and he does want to inflict that pain on others as well (particularly Thor). No lies detected here. 

However, I also need to know where that self-hatred and desire for destruction (toward himself and others) comes from and for that, we need to go back to Thor 1.

Thor 1. 

Loki starts Thor 1 out as "a clenched fist with hair," to borrow a quote from the Haunting of Hill House (that I tucked away in my mental box of Lovely Things bc it says so much so very simply). He's very used to bottling everything up, pushing it down; he slinks around behind the scenes, pulling the strings to this plot or that. He's "always been one for mischief," but the narrative implies that the coronation incident is the first time Loki's done anything truly terrible. And it all immediately pretty much goes to shit, so Loki spends the rest of the movie frantically juggling all these moving pieces while trying to seem as if he's got it all under control, every step of the way. That's how I view his actions. 

But I always come back to that quote where Kenneth Branaugh tells Tom, of the scene in the vault, "This is where the thin steel rod that's been holding your mind together snaps." In other words this is where Loki discovering he's Jotun is just one thing too many. He can't take it. But though the rod snaps, his descent isn't a nosedive. It's a tumble. As the story progresses, the clenched fist starts to loosen, the muscles are flexed in unfamiliar ways (that feel kinda good, after being stiff for so long), and it culminates with the hand opening completely and shaking itself out. All of that repression, that self-hatred, that rage and jealousy just explodes so that, by the time the bifrost scene happens, Loki's already hit bottom. It's not just about proving his worthiness to Odin. He wants to hurt Thor, too; he, essentially, throws a tantrum. (That's right, I said tantrum.) 

(Note: The word 'tantrum’ has negative connotations bc we normally equate it with a toddler stamping their feet and screaming in the aisle when their parent won't buy them the toy they want. But in itself, the word tantrum isn't infantalizing. It's an "emotional outburst, an uncontrolled explosion of anger and frustration" [paraphrasing from dictionary.com]. That's exactly what happens here [and why Tom called Loki's actions a massive tantrum, but people took that to mean Tom agreed it was childish whereas I doubt Tom meant it that way]).

He's been pushed past his limit, and he does bad things. He does really shitty things. He hurts Thor, he hurts his family. I'm pretty sure he knows this all along so this isn't, like, some revelation further down the line that "hey, those things I did were probably kinda bad." He got the memo already. 

Ragnarok 

Fast forward to Ragnarok, and we're introduced to a version of Loki who's had 4ish years to sit with everything that's happened. To sit with it and not do much else. The rawness of it has faded, and now it seems as though it's just become a thing, like when you move through life aware of your childhood traumas and have more or less just accepted them (and you probably share a lot of really funny depression memes on Facebook, which is kinda the equivalent of Loki's play, but that's probably just me). 

Loki has, more or less, chilled out. He seems more bored than anything else; he's been masquerading as Odin for longer than he ever planned or intended to, so he's more or less ended up hanging out, letting Asgard mind its own business, and entertaining himself with silly plays. This is the version that starts out the movie as an antagonist to Thor - a version that is, arguably, in a much different place [and is a much milder threat] than the version who originally did those Bad Things. 

And of course Thor is still mad at him, and of course they're going to butt heads, because that's what they do (and Thor's grievances are genuine, I’ll add, bc it's not really his fault he assumed Loki faked his death, nor can he be blamed for being pissed about Odin).

One argument framed this version of Loki as being a person who is facing the awkwardness of coming out of a dark place, which is fair. If we're going to frame his actions in Thor 1 as a tantrum, then Ragnarok would be the part where the toddler has been taken home, possibly has had some lunch and a juice box, and is now watching cartoons. They're over the tantrum, and would probably feel pretty silly about it if they weren't, yknow, toddlers. They probably can't remember why they even wanted that toy so badly. If they're a little older and self-aware, they might even be embarrassed for having melted down.

Like the word tantrum, this feeling isn't a thing limited to toddlers. I know I've had a few epic meltdowns as a grown ass adult, and I know I always feel deeply embarrassed afterwards - like, want to crawl into a hole and die. I've said things I can't take back. Adolescents and teenagers throw tantrums, mentally ill people throw tantrums, adults throw tantrums (I mean, my god, look at all the videos of Karens having screaming meltdowns - screaming! - over having to wear masks in order to shop at stores). Humans throw tantrums. And usually, after the feelings have been let out and the tantrum has passed, humans feel pretty regretful and awkward and embarrassed about whatever they did and said in the midst of their meltdown. 

I get all of that and agree it's valid and that Loki probably feels it. By the time Ragnarok happens, Loki's had some time to reflect and think hmm, yeah, probably could've handled that one a lot better. The argument further goes that in order to navigate this awkward period, Loki must come to terms with what he's done, acknowledge that some things can't be unsaid or undone, and begin to make amends. Supposedly, some people feel that Loki becomes a better person because he does "own" everything he did wrong and, even though he feels like a jackass (paraphrasing), he sets that aside to become a become a better person by choosing to help Thor and Asgard at the end. 

Thus, the overall arc goes like this. Loki, Thor's jealous little brother, 

throws a tantrum of epic proportions bc Reasons 

continues to act badly and make things even worse (Avengers) 

has to face consequences for his actions (prison sentence) 

ends up with a stretch of time in which he's free to contemplate and chill out 

feels embarrassed and awkward about how he's behaved

sees an opportunity to make up for it and decides to take it 

helps Thor, saves the day, and ends the film a better person. 

Redemption achieved.

None of this is wrong. The film supports it. It's a fair interpretation. But it leaves. out. so. much.

To circle all the way back around Loki being "a clenched fist with hair," and his actions stemming from his self-hatred, you have to ask - how did he get that way? He didn't end up with all this self-hatred on accident. Generally, one isn't born despising themselves, it's a learned behavior. (I realize chemical imbalances are a thing, obviously, as I have Mental Shit myself, but for argument's sake I'm assuming that's not the case with Loki [at this point in time]). 

Where did Loki learn it? From his family, from his surroundings, from his culture. We see examples of these microaggressions in the first, like, twenty minutes of the movie - a guard openly laughs at Loki's magic after Thor makes a joke about it (the tone of the conversation implies that Thor "jokes" like this often) and though Loki does the snake thing, the guard faces no real consequences. Thor doesn't acknowledge that anything went amiss. Not much later, on their way to Jotunheim, Loki's barely gotten two words out to Heimdall before Thor cuts him off, steps in front of him, and takes charge. Loki doesn't look annoyed at this; he looks resigned. 

Then, for absolutely no reason at all, Volstagg decides to make a jab at Loki ("silver tongue turned to lead?") just because he can. The ease with which he makes this comment and the way that no one else blinks an eye at it implies that this isn't out of the norm. And Loki doesn't react, not really. In the deleted version, he delivers a particularly nasty comeback but he delivers it under his breath, without intending Volstagg to hear it. In the final version, he simply says nothing, though his expression can be read as hurt or stung. Either way, the audience sees an example of Loki being walked all over by Thor and his friends and bottling up his reactions instead of standing up for himself. 

Microaggressions matter. They are mentally and emotionally damaging. They hurt. The implication that this is not unusual treatment for Loki means that Loki's probably gone through this for most of his life. It's like the equivalent of being, I don't know, twenty two and you're the friend who has to walk behind the others when the sidewalk isn't wide enough, and it's been that way since the first day of kindergarten. At this point, you're used to it, but that doesn't make it hurt any less when the jabs come seemingly out of nowhere, for no reason other than to make you feel bad.

(I personally identify a lot with this bc I experienced passive bullying in social settings for years. I was the 'doesn't fit on the sidewalk' friend; I hung around with people who'd pretend to be my friend and would be more or less nice to my face, but would laugh at me and make fun of me behind my back for whatever reasons. And often there'd be the random jabs at me, things that would come out of nowhere to smack me in the face, followed by the fake laugh and “just kidding!" so that I couldn't even get upset without being made to feel like I was overreacting and couldn't take a joke. I'd deal with this socially, particularly in middle school when girls are their most vicious, and then I'd go home and, because I was the only girl with a lot of brothers and because boys are mean and because I am who I am, the dynamic was that my brothers would just endlessly roast me to my face and sometimes it was a "just kidding!" thing, where I was the only one not laughing. But that’s beside the point; my point is that microaggressions, passive bullying, and consistent invalidation are harmful and that shit stays with you into adulthood.) 

So, yes, Loki needs to be held responsible for his misdeeds, and it's valid to say that he recognizes those misdeeds and wants to make amends. I have never disagreed with that. But the problem with this interpretation is that it lets every single other character who contributed to Loki's self-hatred and mental breakdown (let's just call a spade a spade here, that's what it was; he was broken psychologically) get off scot-free.

First of all,

Odin is not held accountable for instilling in the princes a mentality of Asgard first, everyone is beneath us but Jotuns are benath us the most, they are literal monsters. He is not held accountable for pitting his sons against one another (even if it was unintentional, he still did it) with "you were both born to be kings but only one of you can rule" being the general tone of their upbringing. He's not held accountable for his favoritism toward Thor.

Frigga is not held accountable for deferring to Odin both in supporting the above things and in keeping the truth of Loki's origins a secret while doing nothing to discourage the "monsters" narrative. 

Thor is not held accountable for his own tendency of taking Loki for granted (he assumes Loki will come to Jotunheim, he oversteps Loki constantly, “know your place,” etc.. He grants his implicit permission for Loki to be treated as the sidewalk friend in their “group,” a group which is loyal to and takes their cues from Thor as Thor continues to do nothing in his brother's defense).

[Note: Wanting Thor to be held accountable for things he's done wrong isn't vilifying him. Acknowledging that Thor benefited from Odin's favoritism and his own place as Crown Prince doesn't negate Thor also being raised in an abusive environment. I don't think anyone's saying that or, if they have, it's not something I agree with.]

Furthermore, 

Odin is not held accountable for his cruelty in disowning Loki (”your birthright was to die” is never going to be forgotten, speaking of people saying things that can't be unsaid or taken back) and in sentencing Loki to a severe prison sentence (life! only bc Frigga wouldn't let him execute Loki) for crimes that are no worse than what Odin himself has committed (around which the entire plot of Ragnarok revolves! Colonialism (and subjugation) is wrong is, like, a major theme [that people rush to praise, even] here). 

Thor is also never held accountable for not trying harder to understand what made Loki snap (fair enough, he didn't have a ton of time after returning from Earth, but certainly he had lots of time to sit around reflecting while Loki was being tortured by Thanos for a year). He knows Loki is "not himself" and "beyond reason" and accepts it at face value; he questions it once and then lets it go. He's fine with assuming Loki's just lost his mind, and isn't that a shame. (I realize I'm simplifying Thor's emotions but my point is that Thor could've tried harder to figure out that Loki was being influenced and/or not acting completely autonomously.) 

Thor is also never held accountable for - if not facing consequences for his own slaughter of Jotuns - then at least addressing why Loki can't kill an entire race even though Thor tried to do that, like, two days ago. (Granted, it’s difficult to understand how Thor got from Point A ("let's finish them together, Father!") to Point B (this is wrong!), but that failing belongs to Thor 1 (which is not, by the way, a perfect movie).

The interpretation that Loki is fully redeemed because he took responsibility for his actions, returned to Asgard, and allied himself with Thor to save their people is all well and good - but, why is Loki the only one here who has to take responsibility for their actions? 

What about all the loose threads in his story? 

For example, how did he get from: 

Point A (believing himself a literal monster, having a complete mental breakdown, getting tortured and further traumatized after that, etc) 

to 

Point B (Hey, yknow what would be fun? I'm going to write and direct a play about how I heroically died to save Thor and Jane, and I'll go ahead and have Odin say he accepts me and has always loved me. I'm going to do these things because Odin never said this in real life and instead of acknowledging my sacrifice, Thor left my body in the dirt, so someone has to validate what I've done right and that someone might as well be me. And hey, while I'm at it, I'm going to control the narrative on revealing myself as Jotun to Asgard, instead of living in fear of it being found out, and I'm going to do it in a way that they have to sympathize with me and revere me in death, bc they never bothered to do so when I was alive. And Matt Damon should play me, also.) 

to 

Point C (Yeah, I guess I feel kinda awkward about that whole tantrum thing, also I should help Thor and support him being king.)

? 

The answers to these questions are handwaved and the audience takes that to mean they don't matter. Furthermore, framing Loki's redemption around an act of service (more or less) to Thor makes Loki's redemption about Thor. Does Loki make this decision for the sake of Thor and of Asgard, or does he make it for himself? It's not super clear to me, and I think arguments can be made for both. Which, again, is fine, but - whatever.

If we're going to collectively agree, as a fandom, that Loki is complex, that he's morally gray, that he's worthy of redemption and therefore arguably a good person who's done bad things, then why is it asking too much to have it acknowledged that Thor (also a good person who's done bad things) played a part in Loki's downfall and has shit to apologize for, too? Bc one can only assume the reason is that you're taking a very gray concept and making it black and white by saying Loki has to apologize and make amends because he is the villain, and Thor doesn't because he is the hero (and it's his movie). And it's lazy.

This is where the crux of the issue lands. There's more than one valid interpretation, yes. And no two people (or groups of people, or whatever) are going to consume and therefore interpret or analyze the source material in the same way. I think I saw a post recently about how studies have been done on this, in fact. But, there is a lot going on under the surface that tends to get overlooked when exploring Loki's redemption arc in Ragnarok, as far as I can see, and that’s why I don’t consider it satisfactory. 

[I did read similar arguments regarding other issues that are often debated ('debated'), like Loki's magic and/or being underpowered, whether or not Loki's betrayal of Thor was the natural outcome of the situation on Sakaar or not, whether Thor actually gets closure with Odin [if he does, how does he reconcile the father he's idolized with the imperialistic conqueror he's discovered? Why doesn't he hold Odin responsible for covering up Hela's existence and the threat of her return, especially as he knew he was nearing the end of his life? Is Thor's "I'm not as strong as you" meant to imply that he acknowledges those shortcomings of Odin's and that he's okay with them, or that he's just overlooking them, or is he not okay with them but didn't have the chance to get into it bc he was in the middle of battle? T'Challa confronted his father on his wrongdoings in Black Panther; could Thor not have had at least one line that was confrontational enough to establish where he stands as opposed to this gray middle? Can someone explain to me how any of this equates to Thor gaining closure? Please?) but obviously I'm not going to go into all of them (well, I tried not to), bc this mammoth post has gone on long enough (I may not even post this tbh)]

- but my overall point to this entire thing is that when I say I'm critical of Ragnarok bc it's flawed, that Loki's arc was neither complete nor satisfactory, that many things went unaddressed and, due to all of these things, I do not think Ragnarok is a very good movie nor a very cohesive movie, this is where I'm coming from. I have not seen anything to change my mind to the contrary. 

But I am not saying that anyone satisfied with it is wrong, or shouldn't have the interpretation that they do. I'm not vilifying Thor in order to lift Loki up, just acknowledging that Thor is arguably just as flawed as Loki without the stigma of being Designated Villain. I think a lot of these arguments get overlooked or dismissed, and that's fine, but it doesn't make the people who do engage with them hateful, or bitter, or trying to excuse Loki's crimes, or feeling like redemption means that Loki's crimes should be erased rather than reconciled. 

And sure, yes, perhaps we are expecting too much and exploring all of these themes (or wanting them explored) means that somehow we think it should be Loki's movie (we don't). Loki is a supporting character, but he's still a character. And the movie itself doesn't have to delve into all these things - no one's saying that. (At least, I'm not.) We just want acknowledgement, from the narrative, that this stuff was an Issue. 

This could have been accomplished with - 

Some dialogue closer to the novelization (and original script), like Thor and Loki both acknowledging the harm they've done one another and their kingdom due to their Feels.

 A single line of Thor confronting Odin, or even asking "Why?" 

A narrative acknowledgement that Odin did both Thor and Loki dirty (”I love you, my sons” isn't an apology, because it doesn't acknowledge either that there's been wrong-doing or express regret for having done the wrong in the first place). 

A little bit more nuance in the way Loki treats his own past (ie, instead of flippantly telling the story of his suicide attempt, maybe - if it must be flippant - talk about getting blasted in the face with Hawkeye's arrow or sailing through to Svartalfheim [And in that moment, I sang ta-daaaa!]) or whatever. 

I recognize that wanting full, in-depth exploration on all of these issues regarding a supporting character is probably too much to ask or expect - but, I also feel like, if you're going to be professionally writing a narrative (or rewriting/improvising, as it were), it's not too much to ask that a little more care be taken in regards to all of the layers that have contributed to said supporting character's downfall and subsequent redemption arc. I don't think that's an unreasonable thing to want. 

And maybe if there had been more nuance and continuity in how these things were portrayed on screen (ie, if TW had actually done as good a job as his stans think he did), the fandom wouldn't have divided and conquered itself over which "version" of the same character is more valid and whether or not the film did its best to close out a trilogy (not start a new one), to the point where everyone in this fandom space makes navigating it feel like walking through a minefield. 

But, I mean 

(Again, please don’t reblog if possible.) 

Edit: Okay to reblog. <3 

#i tried to format this so that it wasn't just #walls of text #sooo #ragnarok critical #anti ragnarok #charlotte's loki meta #negative loki meta #fandom wank #i wrote this bc i needed to get it out #bc seeing some of those posts last night was rough #both meta wise and 'antis are horrible people' wise #it was cathartic #but i don't want it to be reblogged bc #people are mean #to put it very simply #so there we are #clearly i didn't have much work to do today #i don't know how else to tag this #anti anti anti #if you like ragnarok skip this post #i am criticizing ragnarok in this post #mood gif

[olivelo]

What are the demons slayer characters reactions to fireworks?

:0 e x c e l l e n t

I got a little carried away with it, sorry it took so long lmao ;-;

How I think the Demon Slayer characters would react to fireworks (canon universe)

The entire Kamado family loves fireworks, and they love to run around with sparklers and firecrackers.

Inosuke got scared the first time he saw a firework show, but after an explanation from Zenitsu he came to adore and respect these sparkly, flying gods of the sky.

Zenitsu doesn't like the ones with a really quiet and tense lead up (no jump scares for him, please and thank you) but he loves the really bright waterfalls of sparks. He'd give anything to be able to watch a firework show with Nezuko, just the two of them.

The really loud ones scare Kanao, but you can see her eyes light up in awe after they explode. She would have been timid at first, but after watching Tanjiro and Nezuko successfully throw and catch a sparkler, she joined in with their antics.

Genya and Sanemi both adore fireworks. They love watching the bursts of colour and light in the sky; it's calming for them. Sometimes, they'll take their family out to a peaceful place to watch the display and have a picnic of sorts.

It also helps both of them to occasionally go for a walk alone to watch from a distance.

Although he doesn't like to admit it, Giyuu is mesmerised by fireworks. The first time Sabito gave him a sparkler, he couldn't stop smiling. Whenever he feels down, he'll light a candle or something to remind him of those times.

Sabito laughs at Giyuu when he gets scared from a loud explosion (that is, until he gets scared from the next one).

When they were younger, Giyuu, Sabito and Makomo used to run through festivals holding firecrackers. Nowadays they go up to the hills and admire them as close to the sky as they can be (pls why did that make me tear up-😭).

Shinobu and Kanae love to go to festivals to watch the fireworks, and tease each other when they get scared.

If Shinobu is too busy with her patients, she, Kanae, Aoi, Sumi, Kiyo and Naho will hold a little festival of their own. It really brightens everyone's day, and the patients love to see their carers look so relaxed and happy.

Mitsuri and Obanai love to sit in an open field, cuddle up to each other and watch the fireworks. Obanai loves how Mitsuri's eyes reflect the intricate patterns of the sparks, and how her face just softens as she smiles.

Muichiro and Yuichiro love to watch the fireworks, and although they get caught by a few jump scares, they love guessing what colour the firework will be and what kind.

Himejima isn't particularly fond of firework shows, as sometimes the noise can catch him off guard. However, if he is with a trusted companion, he will ask them to describe it to him. He loves to hear the excitement and awe in their voice.

Uzui and his wives absolutely adore going to firework shows and just being able to relax as a family (it would be a beautiful moment to witness).

Rengoku would take Senjuro to festivals to see the fireworks. They’d laugh at each other when they got sacred, and overall, it’s a great brotherly bonding moment. 

Rui and his (human) family loved going to festivals together to watch the fireworks. Rui and other children liked to guess what shape the firework would be, and the adults liked to relax and admire the creations. It was one of the few things he could freely enjoy, being sick. 

As a demon, whenever he was lonely, he liked to set off a single firework and watch the rain of sparks from the top of a tree. He had to do this alone, as none of the spider family was fond of the bright light or the loud noise. 

Enmu enjoys sitting on top of a building or other tall structure and draw/photograph the fireworks.

In the Entertainment District, I would expect there would be a lot of fireworks, so Daki and Gyutaro are used to them. However, that doesn't take away the aesthetic value, and the two enjoy watching fireworks from a rooftop when they need a breather.

If you’ve read most or all of the manga, you would remember Hakuji’s (Akaza’s) promise to take Koyuki to see the fireworks, so obviously he loves them. However, they can also be a painful reminder of his ‘failure’ to protect Koyuki, so he is also somewhat scared of them.

When Akaza feels lonely, sad, or wants to reminisce, if he can light a firework or go see a firework show, he will. It helps him to relax and let out his emotions and internal pain (he just needs a hug honestly). 

Douma isn’t really a fan of the loud noise of a firework, he finds it distracting and somewhat annoying. However, he does admire their beauty, and sometimes likes to match the colours of his favourite firework with paint colours so he can really express its value to him. 

Yoriichi and Michikatsu (Kokushibo) used to watch the fireworks when they were younger, and they were always mesmerised by the power and beauty of such creations. They would speak of their favourite fireworks for days after seeing a show. 

Like Akaza, whenever Kokushibo wants to remember his past, or relive the feeling of being younger, he’ll light a firework, or find a display he can view from a distance. He can get rather emotional, so he goes alone. 

After Michikatsu (Kokushibo) became a demon, Yoriichi would often go to watch a firework show to remind him of his brother. It helped him to feel at peace. 

Tamayo and Yushiro like to light small fireworks for their patients, as the excitement and awe that fireworks can produce within people seems to help in their recovery. 

The two of them love to light a single sparkler every now and then, and set it in the ground and watch it slowly die out. After that, they love to sit on the stairs or the roof to watch the stars. 

When Muzan was human, I think that fireworks would have been a source of happiness and internal calm for him. Being terminally ill, he would have needed something that would help him to momentarily forget his inevitable death, and fireworks may have been just it. 

As a demon, I don’t think Muzan would like fireworks. They remind him too much of his past, and the bright light is a little concerning. 

How I think the Demon Slayer characters would react to fireworks (modern universe)

Uzui and Rengoku are the ones lighting the fireworks. Even illegally. They love it.

A sudden burst of fireworks will scare the absolute shit out of Zenitsu, so he'll usually ask Inosuke (or someone else intimidating) to go yell at whoever set them off. Inosuke would end up joining them, just to piss off Zenitsu.

Kanao and Nezuko often get caught off guard by fireworks, so they can be a little sceptical at the idea. However, once they get used to them, they have an amazing time.

Tanjiro loves fireworks. His parents took him to a festival when he was little, and he can never get enough of them.

Genya and Sanemi love going to see fireworks, but them moment someone sets one off in the middle of the night, they're both pissed.

Giyuu hates when random people set off fireworks. Even on Christmas/New Year's. He doesn't mind official firework shows though, probably because Sabito and Makomo force him to go with them.

Shinobu loves to watch fireworks, she finds them relaxing, and they distract her from the stress in her life. She usually ignores the random people setting them off, she doesn't have time for that.

If someone random is setting off fireworks near her house, Kanae will go outside to remind them to be careful. No setting fire to the park, please!

Firework dates are a favourite for Mitsuri and Obanai. They love to pack a picnic and gaze at the clearing sky afterwards too.

Muichiro and Yuichiro love lighting sparklers on special occasions, and if someone's setting off fireworks near their house, they're at the window in seconds trying to spot them.

Himejima likes to know what's going on when it comes to fireworks, so he will typically have a friend with him to keep him informed. He tends to ignore the random bursts of sparks at the end of the street on Tuesday nights.

Rui adores fireworks. Last new years, his mother gave him a sparkler to hold, and he's never been the same since. In a good way, I mean.

Enmu loves to go solo to firework festivals, and he brings a really expensive camera with him. He love to photograph the fireworks and post the pictures on his Instagram.

I hate to say it, but Daki and Gyutaro are those two problem children that go around lighting fireworks in the middle of the night, just to piss everyone off.

Akaza can and will fight anyone who disturbs him with fireworks, however, he gives the some leeway on special occasions. When the fireworks are legal, he doesn't mind them, and he loves to take Koyuki out to see them.

Douma loves to watch fireworks, and I think they would be an important aspect of celebration to him. He likes to listen to the distant crackle of a firework on a quiet night.

Yoriichi and Michikatsu, even as adults, will gladly run through the streets on special holidays holding sparklers. It brings back memories from when they were little, and the whole neighbourhood will join them in their antics. 

Tamayo loves to hand out sparklers to the children in the neighbourhood. Yushiro gets annoyed at the kids for giving Tamayo so much attention, but he recognises how happy it makes her, so he allows it. The kids end up dragging him along with them, and although he acts like he hates it, he’s really having a good time. 

Muzan still isn’t a fan of the loud, distracting noise, but he knows that on holidays, he can’t stop anyone from setting off fireworks, so he’ll just try to ignore it. 

Again, I am so so sorry this took so long. Hope you enjoyed!

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer headcanons #fireworks #canon universe #modern universe

[curious-menace]

Can you do headcanons of any Riddler getting cared for and gentle kisses from reader after getting beat up? He needs some loves.

SO I MAY HAVE SUGGESTED THAT MY ULTIMATE FANTASY IS TO GIVE RIDDLER A HUG WITH BACKRUBS AS HE TELLS ME ABOUT HIS DAY AND I STAND BY THAT WHOLE-HEARTEDLY .

i freaking love this stuff so im going to do all of them mwahahah

post asswoop riddlers getting loves

Arkham riddler

He’s VERY quiet, which knowing him and his inability to stop talking, is  bad news.

I paint arkham riddler as a cry baby and i stand by that. this is the hill i will die on. He’ll have dragged his sorry ass into your apartment or house , dripping blood on your floors but he wont bother calling for you. he’ll just sit at the table with his head in his hands having a lil pity party until you find him.

when you do finally get home, he’ll be looking like a kicked puppy. he’s gotten stuck in his own head, mentally beating himself up even more. he got a fright when you came in because he was so caught up he didn't even hear you at the door.

He’s literally sits there like a child with his arms up for you to come scoop him up. he’s not even sure why his first thought after getting beat up was to come here, he’s probably lead the cops here or something and that was so stupid and- you should probably give him a lil soft smooch on the head to stop him before he goes into a spiral.

he needs more emotional and mental care than physical. Talk to him while you're patching him up. any topic, it doesn't matter just keep him focused on your voice and not the one in his head calling him dumb.

he wont admit he wants to be held and coddled after something like this. get your softest blankie and 2 mugs of coco with marshmallows and just ramble at him. tell him about your day or ask him to explain something boring and complicated so he’s focusing on that rather than how upset he is. let him sit on your lap or between your legs on the sofa and watch how its made or mythbusters or something until he falls asleep. he should be ok again in the morning, he doesnt stay down for long. 

Blacklight Riddler

He’s used to getting his ass kicked, either by batman, the other rogues or once he’s a PI, by unhappy clients and the people he put away. He might be tiny but he’s pretty tough. 

even if he’s really hurting, his probably trying to crack jokes and tell blood and bruise related riddles. He doesn't like to see you worry so even if he’s in a lot of pain or a bit upset about things, he’s trying to make you smile.

he likes kisses on his bruises. even if he just banged his hand on the table he’ll come to you because he wants you to kiss it better. 

He’s a decent fighter, unlike a lot of riddlers who couldnt fight their way out of a paper bag. He can throw punches but he lacks in defence and with his bad knee, dodging can be a little hard. even if he wins the fight he’s still likely to need you to patch him up.

He likes kids plasters. like hello kitty and spongebob. no im not joking, he ALWAYS wanted them when he was little and his parents always said no. now he’s an adult he’s going to use them whenever he damn well pleases.

 if it was a particularly bad one, he’ll be ok in the moment even if he has to go to hospital. But he’s going to drop the facade at some point and let you see how upset he is. winding up in hospital after being beat was a common occurrence in childhood. even after doing it time and time again as an adult it doesn't make it any easier on him. he’ll want to stay in your bed, be close to you for few days until either he starts to heal or something snaps him out of his funk.

BTAS Riddler

he really prefers other people to do the fighting for him. well physically anyway. he can handle his own arguments...most of the time. He’s going to need you to nurse a bruised ego more than anything. he probably got dunked on my batman or crane and now he’s huffing.

i don't know if this counts as care and kisses but he clearly needs you around to keep his sorry ass alive. he hurt his side in a fight once and said he wasn't hurt. believable... until he started to act a little confused, a little dizzy. needless to say it worried you enough to take him to emergency care. 

He was obviously in agony by now but he was still fighting with you the entire drive there, insulting you and insisting he was fine. its a good job you took him when he did, turns out he’d ruptured his spleen and would probably be dead if you weren’t around to act like his common sense.

he still hasnt apologised for that. or any of the other times you insisted on medical care to stop him from pushing up daisies. he just pretends like you know he’s grateful so he doenst have to admit he’s bullheaded, stubborn and worst of all, wrong. 

if he has been seriously hurt, he acts more indignant about it than anything. he wants to be waited on and pampered while resting in bed. he can be a genuine pain to deal with, talking about how lucky you are to see him in such a vulnerable state and how you should be grateful he’s letting you do this for him.

He doesn't want to admit how much he actually needs you. his goons wont put up with him when he’s like this and he’s freaking paying them to do it. you do it for free and no matter how annoying he is you havent left him yet. he doesn't tell you but youve noticed he starts getting you more gifts about a week after he’s recovered. like its taken him a day or two to work out he should probably thank you for all you do.

Original Riddler

this riddler is just weird. like he gets a freaking hang nail and he pretends like he’s dying. but he could nearly lose a limb and he’ll say “tis but a scratch” and still try to hobble about like nothing is wrong.

actually he’s more like olaf “oh look i've been impaled.”. he probably tries to laugh off life threatening injuries like its nothing, taking maybe 3 steps before he collapses on his face in a blood puddle and lets out a tiny “help”

good luck moving his tall lanky ass around. better get a gurney and maybe those vets at the zoo who deal with giraffes. seriously if you want to take care of him you are going to need help or some sort of action plan and a go bag because with his limp butt this will not be easy.

he’s kinda like BTAS riddler in that he needs you to tell him the injury is serious. hes not dumb he just has a high pain threshold and genuinely doesn't realise that injuries are as bad as they are. 

he can be a bit of a baby while being patched up. he doesn't like a lot of blood or gore, it makes him feel a little sicky. better give him your phone to play with like a kid at the doctors or put the tv on for him to watch while you bandage  him. word of warning, he will pass out or throw up if you try to give him stitches.

i think you should focus your love and attention on him AFTER medical care. just focus on the job, be silent and as fast as possible to get it over with quickly. you should probably bring him something sweet too. no not just you, although you are sweet for looking after him. give him something sugary because he’s going to be light headed after seeing any blood. maybe you could give him a lolly for being a good patient. 

Telltale riddler

this riddler is essentially a metahuman. he can REALLY take a beating and bounce back fairly quickly. just look how many times batman punched him in the face and it barely stunned him! he doesnt usually need patched up after a fight. maybe just a lil smooch and some hugs

he did really need your help after the whole pact thing. having his friends abandon him hurt like hell, more than any physical injury ever could.

after that, he clings to you. almost obsessively so; we know he’s got some serious mental illnesses but he usually has the worst of it under control, even without meds. now? it seems like he’s experiencing ptsd and is afraid to go anywhere without you, like you might up and disappear if you arent in his line of sight at all times.

i think this riddler might need the most intense care from you. hugs and gentle reassurance wont be enough. you’re going to be responsible for taking him to therapy, keeping him taking his meds and grounding him to reality. this is the kind of responsibility you took on when you got involved with him but i doubt you realised how hard it would be. i cant promise it will all be worth it but i can promise he wont ever forget your kindness.

the kind of care he needs after such a hard knocking down is just stability. im not one for romance or any mushy gushy stuff but please just pour your love into the cracks in this poor mans soul.

its hard going, but he has his moments. his gallows sense of humor is still there and hey, after him being in and out and gone for so long, it might be nice to have him around more.  

Zero year riddler

INSUFFERABLE LITTLE SHIT THIS ONE. he could LITERALLY be bleeding out in your arms and he’d STILL be backseat driving on your medical skills. the temptation to just leave him there to bleed is INCREDIBLE.

he’ll drop the act eventually. he’ll ask and maybe even beg for your help. man has  no shame and all the self preservation instincts of a lemming. dont get me wrong, he can be a total coward some times, only looking out for himself . but when he’s actually hurt ? not a fuckin clue. does this head wound need an ice pack or heat pack? is this spurring blood wound worthy of medical care? no idea. he was a very sheltered child who never got so much as a bruise so he has no idea what to do when he’s hurt.

he gets the everloving shit kicked out of him on a clockwork basis. like you could hear knocking on your door at 3 am and already be at the table with a first aid kit like oh its tuesday riddler must have broken his nose.

he takes entirely too much joy in making you patch him up. youre starting to wonder if he’s doing it on purpose just to see you in your little apron and latex gloves . he’s getting off on this and you know it but god help you, you just  cant resist his dumb face asking for your help and would you also wear this pink nurses outfit while youre at it?

one time he lost a LOT of blood. he would be fine but he was pretty damn loopy from lightheadedness. while you were trying to get him into bed to rest he started flirting with you. can you believe the audacity? he’s lost 3 pints of blood and he’s still more focus on his libido? 

he’s actually going to be both humble and grateful for your help when he finally comes round. dont get me wrong, he’s still a bit of a prick but at least he says thank you for saving him before he demands you kiss all his booboos and ouchies. 

nonnie i am having a stroke. i was trying SO hard to just pick one but i COULDNT because i am WEAK for hurt and comfort.

theres a reason i have a tag that literally says “i have naughty hands and no self control”

someone needs to stage an intervention

got something you wana talk about? send me an ask or a dm! im always game to talk about our favorite curious menace 💚💜

#asks #riddler headcanons #riddler #edward nygma #edward nigma #arkham riddler #arkham knight riddler #arkham knight #blacklight riddler #blacklight au #btas riddler #btas #batman the animated series #original riddler #telltale riddler #batman telltale #zero year riddler #zero year #my stuff #my writing #my headcanons #headcanons

[hxneekyuu]

a mid-week date || oikawa tooru

request :  hii i love your blog!! Can i request a fluffy date with Oikawa plss?? With hand holding and smooches???

warnings : i will probably roast his ass at least once, roasting oikawa is in my dna

a/n : thank you sm for requesting!! i really hope you like it <33

the thing about oikawa being a total flirt 

is that hes also a hopeless romantic

so he LOVES dates and surprising you with dates 

he thinks about date ideas before bed, in the shower, during mealtimes

literally any free time he has , hes coming up with something to do with you

and somehow he always knows the exact perfect moment to take you out??

he doesnt even need to ask how your day was or if you’re doing okay

he can tell by the way you text 

so one day when you send your good morning text without the appropriate amount of heart emojis hes like

“you must be having a rough morning”

“ill see you during lunch!!”

youre confused and maybe even a little disappointed because he always makes sure to meet you at the seijoh gates to say good morning 

but hes secretly already skipping morning practice (without telling iwa) and can’t promise that he’ll make it in time to say good morning 

he might not even be on time for school

hes too busy tearing through his kitchen trying to find everything he needs to pack two identical lunches

mans doesnt know how to cook but hes going to try his BEST

hes absolutely late to school but its okay hes got two little perfectly wrapped bentos in his arms and he refuses to run because he knows he’ll drop them

so there he goes, speed walking through campus like a middle aged woman doing her morning walk 

all hips

he forgets that you and iwa are in the same class and you both have window seats

so youre both just watching him struggle to get to class with his little :P face

youre like “why is this fool late” and iwas like “siri how do i get away w murder”

you dont even notice that hes got two bentos, you just think hes carrying his own with Extreme Care today

when lunch time comes around you get a text that literally just says “iwa-chan?”

when you look, iwa’s staring right into your soul from his seat

squinting at you like hes waiting for you to leave so he can follow and find oikawa

so when you tell tooru that youre “being watched” and all you get is a “ok bet” text back 

youre like “oh this cant be good”

enter mattsun, looking Large and Confused

“i need your help going over plays for next practice.... apparently.”

iwa is conflicted but eventually puts his focus on mattsun, who really doesnt look like he needs help going over plays but hes been blackmailed so here he is

he will never admit what oikawa has on him 

when you finally sneak out of the room, toorus waiting just outside, a cute little smile on his face 

he smacks a really aggressive kiss on your lips and whispers “i missed you this morning!”

when he takes your hand you think hes going to just lead you to the roof to eat lunch like always, but he has his bag with him so youre like ???

he ends up leading you completely off campus, which is totally unlike him because hes a man of routine

theres this little park not too far away, but he knows you like how quiet and cute it is, so he takes you right to the hill in the middle of it, under a huge tree with branches that hang prettily 

when he pulls out a blanket and two matching bentos, you cant help but smile

because a date, in the middle of a school day?? unheard of 

he really is best boyfriend 

he lets you unwrap and look at the bento he made for you

and it’s just so pretty and aesthetically organized that you cant help how much you love it

even though you know it’s about to poison you

youve had his cooking before, you know he doesnt know how to measure 

luckily theres nothing in it that could actually kill you if its under or overcooked

so you dont mind that it either tastes like nothing at all or that theres so much salt you feel like youre going to shrivel up and die

he eats it like its totally fine, and you wonder how hes still alive

but hes cute so you let it slide

after you “finish” lunch, he promises to buy you real food after school with a little laugh and just puts his head in your lap

and then he takes one of your hands and puts it on his head for head scratches 

and he laces his fingers with your other hand

and then he whines until you bend your head down to kiss him because hes a brat

and when you pull away hes going to start whining again until you kiss him again

he does this every day he doesnt know why youre so exasperated

you two end up falling asleep and are both very very late for class 

hes got like 2 detentions and extra practice as punishment for skipping, but he doesnt mind <3

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu headcanons #oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader

[pengychan]

[Coco] Nuestra Iglesia, Pt 24

Title: Nuestra Iglesia Summary: Fake Priest AU. In the midst of the Mexican Revolution, Santa Cecilia is still a relatively safe place; all a young orphan named Miguel has to worry about is how to get novices Héctor and Imelda to switch their religious vows for wedding vows before it’s too late. He’s not having much success until he finds an unlikely ally in their new parish priest, who just arrived from out of town. Fine, so Padre Ernesto is a really odd priest. He’s probably not even a real priest, and the army-issued pistol he carries is more than slightly worrying. But he agrees that Héctor and Imelda would be wasted on religious life, and Miguel will take all the help he can get. It’s either the best idea he’s ever had, or the worst. Characters: Miguel Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, Héctor Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Chicharrón, Óscar and Felipe Rivera, OCs. Imector. Rating: T

[All chapters up are tagged as ‘fake priest au’ on my blog.]

A/N:  the problem with Ernesto’s murderous plans is that they tend to only have a 50% success rate.  Art is by @lunaescribe​ and @swanpit​​

***

“... And you killed how many Villistas?” 

“Ah, I lost count. At least thirty.”

“Five, more like!”

“Shut up! Maybe some were just wounded, but I killed no less than twenty of Villa’s bastards, at any rate.”

“Sí, sí, and then you wounded Pancho Villa himself. One would think that with such a warrior among us, getting through the Zapatistas on our way here would have been a child’s play. I didn’t see you hit a single one. Did you forget how to shoot in the meantime?”

“Ah, shut up. They fought better, is all. Everyone knows Zapata and his followers are twice the mad dogs as everybody else, and I did hit one!”

“Your own shoe doesn’t count, pendejo.”

“Shut your mouth!”

“You’re so full of--”

As an argument broke out, Héctor watched Gustavo sigh and fall back a few paces with his horse. His attempts at buttering up the soldiers to get any sort of useful information had amounted to nothing, when they hadn’t straight-up started an argument like that one. The only question he was able to get a real answer to was why Commander Hernández hadn't allowed them to spend the evening and night in Santa Cecilia before setting off. 

“Ay, he won’t hear of it,” a soldier had replied. “He heard of a battalion that was decimated like that - they stayed in a village overnight, but turns out it was chock-full of traitors and they called their friends in during the night, and the men were slaughtered before they could grab a gun. So he’s paranoid about that.”

The expression that crossed Gustavo’s face for a moment, that of a man who just sucked on a lemon, had been enough to tell Héctor that was very much something he had hoped to pull off in Santa Cecilia. Unaware of that, the man - “call me Chucho”, he had said - had added: “It’s a myth if you ask me, more likely all of them just got sick of this shit and deserted.”

“Can’t blame them,” someone had muttered only a couple of paces behind Héctor, only to be immediately shushed by no less than ten of his comrades. 

“Shut up, idiota!”

“You want the commander to nail you to a telegraph pole or what!”

“He’s off ahead scouting anyway,” the man had muttered, and promptly fallen in a sullen silence. Morale was low, Héctor had quickly realized; he had been aware of the fact the war was not going all that well for the Federal Army, but this was the first time he saw its effects on the troops. All things considered, he got the distinct feeling most of those men didn’t want to be there a hell of a lot more than Ernesto had. 

Only that Ernesto had seized his moment to escape, and they were still stuck.

“-- shoot that cigarette off your mouth from a hundred paces, and if you don't believe--”

“Amazing, think you can hit the men attached to the cigarettes every once in a while, too?”

“If what you're asking is a bullet through your brain--!”

“Brain might be a big word there…”

“Shut your mouth, Nachito!”

As the argument continued, Héctor did his best to tune it out and reached into his saddle bag for the water. They had been warned the water rations were scarce and he had been trying not to drink too much, but they had been riding under the sun for hours, he’d been sweating half his body weight, and there seemed to be no moisture left in his mouth. At least the sun was starting to get lower at the horizon, evening not too far away.

Héctor wondered how they’d spend the night. Would they make camp? Just sit around fires, rifle in hand, and try to shut their eyes for a few hours before they kept marching on? Surely someone would stand guard, were the revolutionaries really going to catch up as Gustavo seemed to think they would? Would there be a battle? How many would come? Or would they decided a few men off Santa Cecilia was not a big enough loss to bother--

“Water?”

“Huh?” 

Héctor looked up to see a man riding next to him, holding out a flask of water. He seemed about his age, maybe a little younger, an attempt at a mustache on his upper lip and an uniform almost as ill-fitting as his own. He tried to smile, grimaced at the heat, and awkwardly avoided his gaze at the same time. 

“You, uh. If you want water.”

“Ah. I’m getting mine, don’t worry. I don’t want to take your ration.”

“... Right,” the young man muttered, and kept riding by his side. Héctor took a couple of sips from his flask, just enough to make his mouth feel a little less like an entire desert had moved in, and glanced back towards the man. He seemed to hesitate, but as Héctor rather expected he finally spoke again. “So you are, uh, a novice?”

“I… I was, I suppose. I suspect leaving the parish to join the Federal Army means that’s going to lapse,” he said, trying to smile like the idea was funny. The man didn’t seem amused, and Héctor cleared his throat. “... My name’s Héctor, by the way.”

A nod. “Alejandro,” the man replied. “Look, me and the others - several of the others, we… I mean, back there, when the commander shot the gringo-- I mean, the priest, I would have never,” he finally blurted out, holding onto the reins so tightly his knuckles turned white. 

Ah.

Héctor had barely looked at Father John’s body on the cobblestones, focused as he was on the fact that man had Miguel, but the mental image had still been lingering in the back of his mind ever since they left. The pool of blood, the way it got into every crack, the sticky warmth of it through his robes when his knees hit the ground. 

Some men had taken him away to get him help, he knew, and the Federales had allowed it, but Héctor had no idea if any help would even be possible. He was probably dead, for trying to reason with someone utterly unreasonable, for trying to save Miguel. 

He found his martyrdom, at last.

Something in Héctor’s chest ached; the gringo was not a simple man to get along with, easy to despise and quick to judge, but he had tried to do the right thing and he did not deserve a bullet for it. Perhaps taking note of his pained expression, the young man fidgeted. 

“Maybe God will save him,” he murmured, and swallowed. “I… we wanted to ask… do you think God will curse us for this? For shooting down one of His servants?”

Why ask me, Héctor almost replied, but then again it was the sort of question one would ask to a priest and he was the closest thing to one those men had at hand. Part of him wanted to believe God would indeed curse them, all of them, Huerta’s damn Federales - but as he looked around himself now, those men who’d seemed to terrifying looked so tired, dirty from days of travel, many of them young and probably wearing their uniforms no more willingly than he did. 

How many had been taken the way they were in the first place?

“There is no mercy in war,” he remembered Ernesto saying when he was found out and they confronted him. “They die or you do. On and on, day after day, until you forget you’re looking at humans because it gets easier if you get that detail out of your mind.”

“... The Church says that as long as there is regret, all can be forgiven,” he found himself saying instead. Alejandro nodded, but he looked far from reassured and just fell silent as they rode on towards the top of a hill they were never going to get past.

***

“Those bastards were supposed to come through San Luz!”

Arms still aching and palms burning from the friction with the rope, Sofía made it down the belltower and to the churchyard just on time to hear the frustrated shout. Right before the church were maybe twenty men and women on horses, all of them armed, being filled in on what had happened by a few very confused bystanders who likely had no idea what was going on but were relieved that these new visitors were not Federales at least.

As Sofía approached with quick steps, the man turned his horse to face her. “Gustavo--” he began, and trailed off. He blinked. “... You’re not Gustavo.”

Sharp as a knife, this one. Nice to see we’re in good hands.

“Gustavo went with them. He told me to call for you,” she added, pointing up to the belltower, where the bell still swung slowly. “He said I should tell you to follow the trail.”

The man seemed taken aback, then he nodded. “Very well. What direction did they--”

“They took the road west, through the hills.” 

Imelda’s voice rang out suddenly, causing several heads to turn. She was riding an aging horse that had belonged to her family for years, but that was not what made Sofía raise an eyebrow.

The robes were gone, replaced by a gown and a blouse, a belt at her waist with ammunition and the pistol they had taken from Ernesto’s room. Her head was uncovered, her jaw set; the man stared at her a few moments before he tilted his head in recognition. 

“... Sister. I was hoping to meet you again in better circumstances than this.”

“José. You probably already gathered as much, but the Federales that took our men outnumber you, at least three to one. I assume you could use an extra pair of hands.”

“We could,” one of the women spoke up. She spurred her own horse closer to Imelda, a rifle slung over her shoulder. Her hair was braided back, showing a still healing cut on the side of her head. “How much practice did you get with that pistol?”

Imelda met her gaze. “Not much. I’ll have to hope what practice I could get will be enough.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“Then I die. Not the first or last.”

The woman smiled. “Very well. We’ll need someone to tell us what men not to shoot, after all, in case Gustavo can’t,” she added, and turned to look back at the man she’d called José. At this point, Sofía suspected she may have been mistaken in her assumption he was the leader there. “They can’t have gone very far, with the supplies and carts they took. We can catch up with them. Gabriel, you and I go ahead to dispatch anyone guarding the back of the column. If we don’t take them by surprise we’re fucked.”

“Well, you heard her, everyone. Let’s get going!”

As they kicked the flanks of their horses to get moving, Imelda looked back, and her gaze met Sofía’s. “... Sister,” she said, “I should mention this marks the end of my novitiate.”

Something gripping her throat - don’t die out there, she wanted to say - Sofía managed a smile. Trying to talk Imelda out of her plan, she knew, would be absolutely fruitless. “About time,” she said instead. “Go take back your stupid fiancé.”

The smile Imelda gave was sharp, telling her clearly that she wouldn’t go down without a fight. Not that Sofía had doubted that even for a moment. 

“You can be certain I will,” she said, and kicked the flanks of her horse, riding off.

“Ay, a novio,” one of the men muttered as he rode past. “And my heart breaks already.”

We had enough heartbreak as is for the day, Sofía thought, but said nothing. Instead she turned away from the galloping horses and let her gaze wander across the parish grounds. A few men were running off to grab what horses and hunting rifles they had and join the rescue party, but no trace of Ernesto. He’d returned, she knew, but no one had seen him since. 

Where in the world is that idiota hiding now?

***

Following the trail left behind by the column of Federales - the imprint of hooves, the wheels of carts, the cigarette butts they left in their wake - was easier than finding gonorrhea in a brothel.

Well, at least Ernesto supposed it was; he wouldn’t really know, as he had never in his life had gonorrhea or needed to resort to a brothel for pleasurable company in the first place. His good looks and charm had served him well enough with men and women alike, as Juan could testify.

Except that Juan was dead, shot like a dog in the middle of the plaza, what little color he had on his face draining away along with the blood; Ernesto had not seen it happen, but he could imagine it all too well each time he closed his eyes against the merciless July sun. 

Juan could never testify anything anymore, nor roll his eyes or start a lecture whenever Ernesto said something outrageous. He was far enough from Santa Cecilia that he could barely hear the bell anymore, but its toll was still ringing in his head, in every thudding beat of his heart. 

Dead. Dead. Dead.

I want them dead.

Sweat dripped into his eyes and down his cheeks, or so he told himself. Ernesto kicked the donkey’s flanks to make the stupid animal go faster, the reins of the other clutched tight in his hand, and wiped his forehead, teeth clenched hard. He clung to his fury, allowed himself to bare his teeth in something resembling a smile as his gaze fell on the caskets of wine. Holy wine, plus a special ingredient courtesy of the parish’s old rat problem.

He would see them dead. He would see them writhe and suffer, and he’d let them know it was by his hand; Juan would probably disapprove, that stupid stuck-up gringo, but he was no longer there to talk him out of it. He was no longer there to disapprove of him, and someone had to pay for it. How gracious of God’s church to provide the means to make it happen. Perhaps it was his will, after all, and who was he not to help along divine will?

Todo modo para buscar la voluntad divina, Juan had said.

Todo modo. Todo modo. Todo modo. 

Ernesto let the words echo in his head until they drowned out all noise from the bell, or perhaps it had stopped ringing, or he simply got too far for its sound to reach him anymore. He pressed on through the dusty path and up yet another hill until finally, finally, he saw it just below: a long column of men who were not long for that world. A few men at the back were looking up towards him, surely there to guard against rear attacks. But they saw no rebels there: only a priest, far more charming than the one they’d shot dead in Santa Cecilia.

Ernesto stared for a few moments, and finally let out a long breath, relaxing his frame. He wiped sweat off his face, opened his eyes, and smiled. A real smile, not a grimace; the easy, charming expression that got him in the good graces of men and women alike oh so quickly. 

Who would refuse a blessing in those difficult times? Who’d turn away a friendly face? Who wouldn’t accept some holy wine to wash down the dust and dirt? With some luck, it would be the last thing they’d do before they got to confess their sins to San Pedro himself. 

Good luck explaining away the murder of a man of the Church, Ernesto thought, and got the donkeys moving down the hill as quickly as he could. No turning back now, not anymore.

The thought did cross his mind for the briefest moment - what if they see through me, what if they recognize me - but it hardly even registered. At that point he was one deserter among thousands and he’d left his battalion as it headed north, with no plans to go back down towards Oaxaca. Chances any of those men came from his battalion were vanishingly thin, he thought, and to be fair he was almost entirely correct in that assumption. Just almost. 

Ernesto de la Cruz kept clambering down the hill on top of his donkey, with the smile of a friendly priest eager to deliver a very special blessing to the heroes of Mexico.

***

He wasn’t there, either. The slippery bastard wasn’t anywhere.

Santiago kicked his horse’s sides again, hands clenching on the reins. He had gone off ahead, ostensibly to scout for any sort of possible ambush, but truth be told it was only an excuse to be alone with his storming thoughts for a time. 

He already knew there would be no ambush: the idiots were still waiting for them in San Luz, or had given up waiting and were drinking themselves into a stupor, which was just as likely. A few more miles, and then they could circle back to take them by surprise in the middle of the night.He’d toyed with the idea before, but it was not the current plan: he and his men were expected in Yucatan within days, which left them short on time. 

But it was… tempting, nonetheless.

We could get some scum out of the way. And maybe de la Cruz is hiding there, or passed by. Someone might know something. Someone might talk.

Santiago closed his eyes and lifted his head, letting the sun beat down on his face. It had been a scorching hot day when he had found Alberto’s body, too, shot in the back of the head and left to feed carrion birds by the monster who’d greeted them that morning with a smile before they went off on patrol together. 

It should have been Santiago out on patrol with Ernesto de la Cruz  that day. It was his turn; it should have been him to fall face down in the sand with his brains blown out. But he’d pulled a muscle in his back the previous evening, riding felt like having hot rods pushed into his spine, and Beto had offered to take my place. 

Said I owed him a drink. What wouldn’t I give to pay back that debt.  

Monster, the gringo had called him. What sort of beast, he had said, but the idiota knew nothing of monsters and beasts that must be put down for everybody’s safety. He, at least, didn’t feign friendliness. He didn’t hide behind a smile. He warned before he shot, stated his terms and delivered on his promises.

If it made him a beast himself, very well; perhaps he was. Perhaps trying to take the child had been a step too far - but he’d sooner be a lion than a snake hiding in the sand. 

I cannot turn back anymore. No way to go but forward. 

But first, San Luz. If he’s there, I’ll smoke him out.

Santiago Hernández stopped his horse on a rocky outcrop and reached into the saddle bag to pull out his map, so he could work out the best route back for a quick attack. He opened it and studied it under the merciless sun, waiting for his men to catch up

It took him a while to realize it was taking them much too long.

***

“Oye! Come here!”

“There’s a priest!”

“We’re getting blessed, muchachos!”

“And we’re getting wine!”

“... Huh?”

As word travelled fast up the column, causing men to halt their horses and turn, Héctor glanced around in confusion. He looked over at Gustavo, but he seemed about as lost as he was at the notion of a random priest walking into marching Federales to offer blessings and wine. Where did he even--

“He says he’s the parish priest of the hole we just left,” someone added, and Héctor’s blood ran cold, something clenching in his stomach.

No, no, no, no. What is he doing here? They were looking for him. They’ll kill him.

“Padre Ernesto?” Francisco, a young cobbler who’d been taken with him that day, blurted out. Sidling up to Héctor, Gustavo elbowed him in the ribs. 

“What’s going on?” he growled under his breath. “Why is he here, and why did you get almost as pale as the gringo just now?”

“I…” Héctor swallowed, unable to force words out. Gustavo didn’t know, and this really was not the time to explain him everything. He needed to get to Ernesto immediately, warn him to get away while he still could, so he ignored Gustavo’s questions and spurred his horse to go back, towards the end of the column. The men there were already starting to gather, dismounting their horses… and passing around caskets of wine. 

Héctor braced himself for the moment someone would cry out in recognition and every man present would turn against Ernesto, but there was no such cry; the men were none the wiser as they talked and laughed, took the wine and kept gathering, all semblance of order gone. 

Above all, Héctor heard a familiar voice.

“... And once I realized I had entirely missed your arrival, well, I had to catch up with you,” Ernesto was saying, all charm and smiles as he helped unload the caskets of wine. “I couldn’t let my parishioners leave to serve this country without giving them my blessing, you understand. And you, of course, it is the least I could do - careful there, it’s heavy…”

It was like an impromptu party, but it was soon clear not everyone was simply in the mood to celebrate. Héctor did his best to approach, but he got knocked back by several men gathering around Ernesto. 

“Padre!”

“Can we have your blessing, Padre?”

“I have not had confession in months--”

“Haven’t heard from my family since March, I don’t know if they are well, pray for them--”

“What happened to that other priest-- the gringo, we did not--”

“Our commander lost his temper, a man of God, I would have never--”

“We would never--”

Ernesto turned to the men, and his smile wavered for only a moment. But then it was back, full of understanding. “... Padre Juan was a man of principle who did not always know when to hold his tongue, but he is with God now,” he said, and Héctor’s stomach sank. So he hadn’t made it. He was dead, and Ernesto showed no sign whatsoever of being affected. 

“His soul is safe, and I know he would want me to take care of yours,” Ernesto was going on, and he lifted his hand to impart a blessing, speaking loudly to be heard by all. He spoke in near-perfect Latin John Johnson would have been proud of, giving everyone present absolution before crossing himself. Many of the men mirrored the gesture, relief plain on their faces. Alejandro was among them, looking close to tears.

The blessing done, absolution given, Ernesto smiled and spread out his arms. “Now, let us all drink the blood of Christ and--”

“Padre!” Héctor finally cried out, pushing his way to the front, and Ernesto’s gaze turned on him. His smile grew even wider. 

“My child!” he cried out, and pulled him into an embrace. “Ah, what a relief, having reached you on time to absolve your sins and give you the Lord’s blessing!”

Face smashed against Ernesto’s shoulder, Héctor barely managed to whisper. “What are you doing--” he began, only for Ernesto to turn his head and almost snarl into his ear, his voice so full of seething fury it made Héctor’s heart skip a beat in his chest. 

“Saving your scrawny ass so I can kick it myself. Don’t drink the wine, none of you. Tell the others.”

“Wha-- Ernesto, wait, they’re--”

“Not a drop,” Ernesto hissed, and pushed him off before anyone realized they had spoken to one another, patting his shoulder with a laugh. “Go to the others, tell them they have my blessing and that the parish will look after their families,” he added, and before he could add another word Héctor was almost ejected from the small crowd, reeling. 

What does it mean? What has he done to the wine?

He looked around to see Alejandro taking one of the opened caskets, saw the wine flowing and men drinking. Héctor wanted to stop him, tell him not to - he was not a bad person, he could tell; many of them were not bad people - but he knew he couldn’t do so without alerting them all, and in the end he had to back away. 

Guilt twisted in his gut, but he knew he had to ignore it and move quickly. The wine was being passed around so fast, and he had to warn Gustavo and the others not to drink it before it got to them. Regardless how tempting it was not to tell Gustavo, of course.

No one has recognized him. Maybe it will be all right. Maybe whatever plan he has is going to work. Maybe it will make them pass out, no one needs to die, Héctor thought, and with one last glance towards Ernesto - he was positively holding court now, men around him laughing at something he said or crossing themselves and asking for a prayer - he ran back to where he left the others from Santa Cecilia, trying to reach them before the wine could.

Whatever Ernesto had done with it, he knew none of them wanted to find out the hard way.

***

What got Santiago to lift his gaze from the map and realize his men really should have caught up by now was a very distant sound, one he did not recognize at first. He put away the map with a frown, focusing, and for a moment he thought what he heard were distant screams. It made his blood run cold and his hands clench on the reins. 

Had his men been attacked? Could it be? Was there an ambush - had he walked right past the enemy without realizing as much? Heart hammering in his throat, Santiago spurred his horse to trot back, straining to listen… and finally he realized what he was hearing were not screams. 

Well, they kind of were, but those were no cries of distress; there was a rhythm to it, all voices rising up together and then falling, then rising again, like… singing? Was that bunch of idiots singing at the top of their lungs?

Have they all gone mad?

Stunned and furious at the same time, Santiago kicked his horse’s flanks to spur it into a gallop back the way he had come. He knew those men’s discipline was almost non-existent, but that was ridiculous. He would see them punished for it, he’d make them march through the night, he--!

Insortaron a Cortez Por toditito el estado: "Vivo o muerto que se aprehenda Porque a varios ha matado!"

Soon he was close enough to hear the words and, after turning a bend, he could see that the sorry excuses of soldiers he’d been leading were off their horses and standing around or sitting in the dirt, drinking and singing like they were off duty in a damn cantina. 

He opened his mouth to shout at them, demand to know what was going on in their empty heads, but another voice rose up loud and clear and Santiago’s own voice died in his throat. 

Decía Gregorio Cortez Con su pistola en la mano: "No siento haberlo matado Al que siento es a mi hermano..."

He knew that voice; he heard it before in the barracks, at campfires, whenever a comrade picked up a guitar. He never missed a chance to sing, turning each break in a performance. 

Alberto had found it endearing; he’d found it annoying. Now it made him feel as though the sweat on his skin had turned into frost.

Still atop his horse Santiago turned slowly, very slowly, towards the source of that voice. He had not expected the priestly robes, and he’d had a beard when he’d last seen him, but he would recognize that despicable face anywhere; he’d dreamed of it almost every night, grinning down at him as he kneeled over Beto’s body.

And now he was there. 

How or why he had come to be there, let alone in a cassock and singing along with his men as they guzzled down wine, Santiago had no idea nor he cared to know. All that he knew, all that mattered, was that he was there within his grasp, and that he would never escape again. 

Santiago Hernández bared his teeth, and reached for the pistol at his hip.

***

BANG.

The gunshot was distant, reverberating through the hills, impossible to mistake for anything else. It made Imelda’s blood run cold, but she didn’t slow down; her horse was in full gallop, right at the heels of José’s own - which, come to think of it, looked an awful lot like Ernesto’s own missing horse - and she spurred it to go a bit faster, just enough to sidle with him. 

“Was that one of yours? Did you prepare an ambush?” she yelled to be heard through the rushing wind and beating hooves, knowing full well what the answer was but still hoping against hope to get at least some explanation for the gunshot. 

José shook his head, his expression grim. “No such thing. There may be insubordination among them.”

“Does it happen often?”

“All the time. But we’ll only know when we catch up,” he added, and spurred his horse again. Imelda could only follow, and hope for the best.

If he gets himself killed, she thought, I’ll have to kill him again.

***

The gunshot was deafeningly loud, and close enough to make Héctor cry out - him, and several other men - and the singing to stop abruptly. There were confused cries, men jumping on their feet and dropping their cups of wine to reach for their own guns, turning around wildly to find out who’d shot.

They didn’t have to look far.

“Ernesto de la Cruz.”

Still on top of his horse, pistol raised in the air, Commander Hernández stared at Ernesto with enough hatred to make Héctor tremble. He was vaguely aware of Gustavo and another couple of men from Santa Cecilia talking to him under their breath, asking what the hell was going on, but Héctor was unable to speak, dread gripping his throat. 

He found him. It’s over.

He wanted to cry out for Ernesto to run, to do something, but there was nothing for him to do and he could only stand there, staring in horror. Ernesto had stilled, realization beginning to dawn on him that he’d been recognized, and that he was trapped. 

The soldiers around him were not quite as quick to grasp the situation. “What--”

“Commander, we, uh, can explain--”

“Shut up, all of you, and seize that traitor!”

“... Sir, that is Padre--”

“That’s no more a priest than I am, idiots! It’s the deserter we’ve been looking for!”  the man screamed, and leaped off his horse, pistol still in his hand. “ SEIZE HIM, I SAID!”

“Qué?” Gustavo blurted out somewhere on Héctor’s right, and it seemed that sentiment was prevalent among the Federales as well, most of whom kept staring at their commander as though he’d suddenly started speaking Portuguese. 

Then Ernesto tried to run, and all hell broke loose.

Héctor had gone hare hunting once, out of sheer curiosity, watching from the sidelines and not really doing much. The pack of dogs, all of them friendly mutts, had seemed comically clumsy, wagging their tails and snuffling about, seemingly more interested in playing than hunting… until a hare had burst out of its hiding spot to run away, and suddenly the entire pack had pounced. The chase had been brief, the screams unbearably loud, the outcome bloody, and Héctor had felt queasy as the owner of the dogs lifted the prey, grinning from ear to ear while his dogs went back to goofing off.

“This,” he had said, “is why you never try running before even the dumbest dog pack.”

Now Héctor watched Ernesto make the same mistake, and again the dogs pounced as one. The hare had no chance of escape that day, and neither did he now. 

“STOP HIM!”

“Got him, I got him!”

“Get your hands of me, hijos de--”

“Agh! He bit me!”

“Get him over here!”

If any of the soldiers had doubted Commander Hernández’s words and still believed him a priest, Ernesto thrashing and screaming insults to their entire lineage - through the flea-ridden Spaniards who’d forced their way between their great-great-great-great grandmothers’ thighs and all the way down to the Garden of Eden - probably took care of it. 

As Héctor stared, petrified and not knowing what to do, he was dragged in front of the commander and forced on his knees, arms behind his back. Hernández put the pistol back in its holster, walked up to Ernesto, and grabbed a fistful of his hair to force his head back. 

He gave a cold, too-wide smile that still did not reach his eyes and said something Héctor could not hear. Ernesto’s scowl turned to shock for a moment, and then his features twisted in fury. He screamed and tried to rise up to throw himself at Hernández, almost made it, but too many men were holding him down and he was pushed back in the dirt. Orders were barked and they began dragging Ernesto away from the rest of the still confused soldiers, off the path and towards a small grove of trees and shrubs. One of the men carried a long rope. 

They'll see me hang, Ernesto had told them after being unmasked, and God, he'd been right. “No, wait!” Héctor cried out and tried to run, but something gripped his arm, pulled him back. 

“Stay here, idiota,” Gustavo hissed, his grasp on Héctor’s wrist tight enough to cut off the blood flow. He glared. “Won’t let you become a martyr on my watch, you’re insufferable enough as is. Whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t do it. Did you know about him?”

“I can’t let them kill--”

“Did you know!” Gustavo barked, and Héctor fell silent, his expression probably speaking volumes. Gustavo groaned, rubbing his forehead with his free hand. “A Federale right under my nose and I never knew. Por Dios, José is never going to let me hear the end of it...”

“Gustavo, let me go, we have to help him--”

“Help is coming, idiota. Stay here.”

“But--”

“Help is coming,” Gustavo repeated in the forceful way of a man trying to will something into reality. “At least that damn liar delayed their march. Any moment now--” he trailed off when a sudden noise reached their ears amidst the confusion and exclamations, harsh and unmistakable - retching. Soon followed by another such sound, and another. And another. 

One by one, the men around them began looking very, very sick.

***

“Let me go! Let me go, you bastards--!”

Ernesto’s insults got him precisely nowhere, and his attempt at fighting off the men dragging him away was about as useless. Too many of them, too strong, his wrists already tied behind his back before they shoved him on his knees in the dirt before the cabrón who had somehow recognized his face.

When said cabrón stepped forward and grabbed his hair to yank his head back, Ernesto clenched his teeth to hold back a cry and glared up at him. Who was he? Dimly he knew he must know him, he looked vaguely familiar - something about the mustache, the unusually thin bridge of his nose - but he still could not put a name to the face the way that bastard had somehow put a name to his.

Unaware of his thoughts, the man sneered. “Ernesto de la Cruz - so the rat comes out in the open at last. What’s the reason for this masquerade? Did you think these robes would save you? They will not. I shot down a true priest today. Or was the gringo an impostor, too?”

Our commander lost his temper, one of them had said. 

That beast pulled out his pistol and… and… ay, I told you, he knows no God. To shoot a man of god like an animal!

YOU TOOK HIM AWAY!

With a wordless scream, Ernesto strained against the men holding him down, against his bounds, wanting nothing more than putting his hands around the man’s neck and choke the life out of him. He almost managed to stand, but the weight of several men was too much and he was thrown back down in the dirt.

“You, take him and follow me. Rojas, get enough rope to hang this bastard. Quick.”

“Yes sir.”

No no no no no!

Ernesto struggled, but to no avail. Bound and overpowered, he was easily dragged away from the path by the small group of men - towards shrubs and trees, where they could hang him by the neck and leave him to feed carrion birds. They would not give him a clean death, he knew. No fall, no broken neck. They’d string him up and… and… 

“Let me go!”

“Oh, as you wish.”

The men threw him down on the ground, and with his hands tied there was nothing sparing his face a painful impact. Ernesto ground his teeth to stifle a cry, only for that cry to be forced out of him when a kick in his side threw him onto his back. A knee pressed on his chest and the man leaned down, all his weight on Ernesto’s sternum.

When is the damn poison going to work?

Maybe the parish got scammed and that wasn’t poison at all. Wouldn’t that be a laugh, a fake priest dead thanks to fake poison. 

As he struggled to breathe, Ernesto blinked a few times to clear his vision and looked up. Seen up close there was something startling in the sheer hatred in the man’s gaze, and it caused Ernesto to still a moment. The soldier, John’s murderer, sneered once again. 

“Tell me, traitor,” he all but snarled. “Do you even know who I am?”

Don’t make him mad, part of Ernesto’s brain said, but the rest clung to the hope the poison would start working soon. Make him waste time.

“Should I?” he spat. A fist connected with his face as soon as the words were out, causing his vision to swim. Blood ran down his face from a split lip, went down his throat. Somewhere above him he saw the rope being thrown up over a branch, one end already tied in a noose. 

And then, before his eyes, the blade of a knife caught the sunlight.

***

He didn’t even recognize him.

Of all the ways Ernesto de la Cruz had wronged him, that somehow was the final straw, the worst possible slap to the face. He’d murdered his best friend since childhood and ran off, leaving him to obsess over revenge for months on end - unable to sleep without seeing his face or Beto’s body in the sand, or both - and now he dared say he didn’t even know who he was.

Ah, but he’d know. Before he died, when he allowed him to die, he would know. 

“I know who you are well enough,” Santiago snarled, and pulled out his hunting knife. “A coward, a traitor, and a murderer. You’re a Judas, and you’ll die as Judas did - and everyone will know why!”

De la Cruz tried to squirm beneath him, still dazed by the blow but all too aware of the blade of his knife. Santiago sneered, held the knife to his throat, and watched him grow still. There was terror in his eyes, unmistakable, and he savored it like a sip from a bottle of fine wine. 

“Ay, you’ll wish I made it this easy for you.” The blade slipped beneath his collar and ripped down through the cassock, baring his chest. 

De la Cruz tried to squirm again, this time with more urgency, eyes wide. “Stop!” he rasped.

Santiago smiled. “Why? Have you recalled my name?”

“I have done nothing to you. I--”

“Liar. I should take an eye for that,” he snapped, and brought the tip of the knife’s blade to rest right beneath a widened eye, drawing the tiniest drop of blood from his skin. “Think again, you Judas. Think of the day you deserted. Someone was with you.”

“What…” Ernesto de la Cruz paused and finally, finally, Santiago saw his expression change - from terror and confusion to realization. Of course, that must have jogged his memory: the two of them had barely shared a few words, but he must remember Alberto. And wherever Alberto went, Santiago followed.

Until, of course, de la Cruz had sent Beto someplace where Santiago could not follow.

You took him away.

Something ached in his chest, and all of a sudden Santiago felt ridiculously close to tears. But he had him now. He would see him die, Alberto would be avenged, and he would finally feel better. He had to feel better. He could not contemplate feeling the way he did forever.

“Thiago,” de la Cruz choked out, and he scoffed. Of course, even now, the self-absorbed bastard couldn’t be bothered to remember anyone’s name. 

“Santiago,” he snapped, and leaned in so close their faces almost touched, pressing the blade a little harder on Ernesto’s skin and causing another pinprick of blood to well up. “But it matters not. You know whose name I want you to remember, sí? That of the man you killed.”

De la Cruz swallowed. “Alberto,” he managed. “I-- I didn’t want to kill him. I swear. I only wanted to get away, I couldn’t stand it anymore, I... he would have stopped me, he--”

“And so you shot him like a dog!” Santiago screamed, causing that disgusting coward to wince. He pulled back, knees still pressed against his sternum, keeping him pinned down. The grip on the handle of his knife was so tight it ached. And he even had the galls, this bastard, to lecture him for shooting a gringo! 

“You left him dead to feed scavengers, and you really thought I would let it stand! You really thought I wouldn’t hunt you down like the beast you are! Tell me, did you kiss him the way Judas kissed Christ when he betrayed him?”

A shudder beneath him that may have been a sob. “P-por favor--”

“Oh, you’re begging now?” Santiago gave a loud, ugly laugh, and pressed the blade against Ernesto de la Cruz’s chest. “Very well, traitor. Go on and beg,” he said, and began to cut.

He did beg, but only for a few moments. For a good while, all he could do was scream.

***

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#pixar coco #ernesto de la cruz #hector rivera #imelda rivera #coco #fake priest au

[yumgrapejuice]

Okay so I did a whole analysis on Ranboo’s lore music so now it’s time to use that for an actual analysis/interpretation!

There are a few themes in the playlist and I’ll go over the ones that I found one by one. I’ll also mention the songs that correspond to each theme.

(quick disclaimer,,, I’m honestly just having fun here theorizing about whatever lol, I’m hyperfocusing aight, nothing what I talk about can turn out to be valid and I’d just go !!!! new theory time !:D, so it’s just that lmao)

/dsmp /rp

1. Blurring lines between dreams/nightmares and reality. The songs are “Introduction to the Snow”, “Dream Sweet in Sea Major”, “The Mind Electric”, “Stranded Lullaby”. I think this theme is the most straightforward and easy to interpret. c!Ranboo has been dealing with feelings of derealization for a long while and these songs allude to that. I don’t think I need to really get into this one that much given how obvious it is lol. Ranboo at times is having issues telling what’s real and what’s not. The fight with his mind is especially highlighted by the song “The Mind Electric” where he is, quite literally, losing hold on sanity. His “ill” mind is causing him to commit things he wouldn’t want to.

2. The need to belong, be liked, have someone close. The songs are “Ruler of Everything”, “The Bidding”, “Hidden In The Sand”. The theme of isolation also fits here, highlighted by Miracle Musical’s tracks. Ranboo is one of the only characters on the servers that is mostly generally liked. He hasn’t yet got many any enemies or anything of the like, really. It’s often joked that Ranboo has no spine, and that’s a big reason why he hasn’t yet gotten in someone’s bad books. It’s very easy to get him to do whatever you want, pull him to a side. If he protests, it’s only vocal and meek, and soon enough, he gives in. He doesn’t want anyone to dislike him and that can also play into why he has such a hard time to say “no” to anyone. 

But it’s all... very surface level. People don’t mind Ranboo, they might enjoy his company, but that’s about it. It’s unfulfilling, it can’t be satisfying. Based on his speeches about people, not sides, we can assume he does value connections a lot. However, instead of trying to form more strong bonds, Ranboo had started isolating himself, choosing to stay away (perhaps in fear of being pulled into a side). His own anxieties is what’s keeping him like this. The longing is still there, though. Now the situation is better with Tubbo, but that brings its own peculiarities. Ranboo’s ready to join a side, the Syndicate, to protect Tubbo, the one he’s most attached to, going against his morals. Sometimes, it’s impossible to choose people without choosing a side.

3. The divide between good and bad, a mindset of black and white. The songs for this would be “Turn the Lights Off”, “Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked”, “&”. As we saw from one of Ranboo’s latest streams (the one where he found out Tommy’s alive) and his other ones, Ranboo has a very black and white mindset. He has incredibly strong morals but they are also very skewed. I talked more about that in this post but in short, in Ranboo’s pov, there are the bad guys and then there is the rest. Ranboo seems... almost incapable of looking from a perspective that’s not his own or isn’t closely linked. He’s right in his own mind and that’s all that matters. The idea is that everyone has their own reasons for their actions and, if you looked closer, you could begin to understand them, but Ranboo is looking only through his own lens, is paranoid about making mistakes, and thus can get very harsh sometimes. Since the world isn’t black and white, though, and it’s never just their side or our, he often contradicts himself and goes against his morals.

4. A twisted sense of ego-centrism. My favorite and the one that’s most up to interpretation, I’d say. The songs would be “Killer Queen”, “I Can’t Decide”, “A Mask of My Own Face”, “I’m Gonna Win”. I’d say this one is least related to c!Ranboo as we see on stream, which leaves us with something else... That’s right, enderwalk Ranboo :D! I’d like to preface again that this is purely my own interpretation!! I like to do those a lot lol. But anyway—

A certain idea unites these songs, and it’s the idea of doing whatever you want for your own pleasure. Having no breaks. What’s most entertaining today? Oh, let me indulge in that. They’re also all about things that are actively malicious/frowned upon. Whatever you want to do without any regards to morals. And that got me thinking.

Let me talk about the idea of id, ego and superego. For those unfamiliar with these concepts, id refers to a person’s most primal instincts, their aggressive urges and hidden memories, superego is one’s moral conscience, and ego is the reality, the mediator between id’s desires and superego. The idea is that id operates on pleasures and the need to satisfy them immediately. It’s illogical, irrational, unconscious. Superego is the opposite, sort of—it’s a person’s moral system that dictates what is wrong and what is right, how one should behave. Ego controls both. So, I got thinking, maybe e!Ranboo is just... c!Ranboo’s literal manifestation of his id?

It’d make sense, I think! It’s still Ranboo, just “wild”, as he himself said. Uncontrolled. He has no regards for his image and indulges in his whims. Maybe it’s also part self-preservation. c!Ranboo is divided, he has barely any control of his life, people can make him do whatever they want whenever. And that must be frustrating. Maybe not consciously, but definitely subconsciously. That sort of frustrating of not being able to do what you want and always needing to listen to others could very well manifest as something like a whole different state where he does what he wants, maybe even purely for the hell of it. And to compensate for his id going out of control, he—his ego—might favor his superego, the morality part, more to compensate. That could make him harsher, too. More categorical. Causing a further divide.

And that’s about it for now, I guess. Yeah, this playlist really did... make me think lol.

(yes i am once again creating another theory for why e!ranboo could act the way that he does that doesn’t include manipulation idk sue me, i’ll die on this hill)

#dsmp #dsmp analysis #dream smp analysis #ranboo #ranboo analysis #ranboo theories #my analysis #long post #once again a single stream could wreck this whole thing but lemme have my fun while i can

[nordleuchten]

Hi ! Facts about the Lafayette couple. Thanks.

Hello Anon,

well, well, the La Fayette couple, Adrienne and Gilbert  - where to even begin with these two? Their marriage was arranged and arranged marriages were very common for the time and people of their position. A family with wealth, a title and influence was keen on preserving all of this – and tried to add to it by trying to arranging marriages with families who as well had at least one of these things. A truly popular combination was a family with a great name/title that had fallen on hard times and a very rich family without too great a name. Now, La Fayette and Adrienne were lucky in so far as that they really loved each other. Their marriage was far more than pure convenience. Still, not everything was picture perfect. La Fayette had different mistresses and although he loved Adrienne, I always feel like it took him quite some time to realise just how wonderful Adrienne truly was, how loyal and devoted. It was not entirely uncommon that a man and a women in an arranged marriage barely know each other prior to their marriage. That again was different with La Fayette and Adrienne. La Fayette actually lived with his future in-laws together in their house prior to the marriage. Behind the scenes everything had already been sorted out, but the bride and the groom were still none the wiser (although La Fayette was told before Adrienne was told). Partly responsible for this living-arrangement was Adrienne’s mother, the Duchess d’Ayen. She was the metaphorical lioness protecting her cubs. She was fiercely protective of her daughters and thought that Adrienne was still way too young. So La Fayette moved in with them, they had some time to get to know each other and to mature a bit. La Fayette also won over the Duchess, who was a bit skeptical at first.

When La Fayette and Adrienne finally married, she was fourteen and he was sixteen. Their marriage contract stated that they should continue to live with Adrienne’s family and that their marriage was not be consumed for some time. This rule again was included due to the input of the Duchess – who still thought her daughter way too young for any martial endeavours. Regardless of that, Adrienne became pregnant with the couples first child during this proposed period – the popular opinion is, that La Fayette after some time simply wanted to be with Adrienne and sneaked into her room (something that he supposedly confessed to later in life). Whatever happened, they both seemed quite happy.

When La Fayette departed for America, Adrienne was completely clueless, she said that herself but there is also circumstancel evidence to support her statement. She had a young and sickly daughter to look after, a daughter that would die a few months later when La Fayette was still in America. She furthermore was pregnant with their second child and Paris was on fire with rumours. Newspapers printed rumours about La Fayette’s death on the field or something similar every other day and she often had no possibility of hearing from her husbands for months and months (before La Fayette’s first return to France they had not heard from one another for roughly eight months). The news of the death of their oldest child Henriette reached La Fayette so late that he send Adrienne many letters asking about Henriette, asking if she was well, long after Henriette was deceased. But despite all of it, Adrienne put up a brave face in public and never complaint. In general, whether she agreed with her husband or nor, weather she liked what he did or not, she never criticised him in public, never embarrassed or questioned him in front of others.

After the conclusion of the war in America La Fayette and Adrienne together with their children moved into their own home. They were, for people of their time and status, very engaged parents. They started hosting their “American Dinners” on Mondays and Adrienne was also included in La Fayette’s “Plantation-Project”. La Fayette kept a lively correspondence with George Washington but Adrienne also exchanged letters with Washington. There is one lovely, humours account by Washington in a letter to La Fayette dated September 30, 1779:

“(...) But at present must pray your patience a while longer, till I can make a tender of my most respectful compliments to the Marchioness. Tell her (if you have not made a mistake, & offered your own love instead of hers to me) that I have a heart susceptable of the tenderest passion, & that it is already so strongly impressed with the most favourable ideas of her, that she must be cautious of putting loves torch to it; as you must be in fanning the flame. But here again methinks I hear you say, I am not apprehensive of danger—My wife is young—you are growing old & the atlantic is between you—All this is true, but know my good friend that no distance can keep anxious lovers long asunder, and that the Wonders of former ages may be revived in this—But alas! will you not remark that amidst all the wonders recorded in holy writ no instance can be produced where a young Woman from real inclination has prefered an old Man—This is so much against me that I shall not be able I fear to contest the prize with you—yet, under the encouragement you have given me I shall enter the list for so inestimable a jewell.”

This is just such a funny, carefree, teasing letter between the three of them. Its adorable. But these carefree times soon came to an end with the onset of the French Revolution (you could argue that the Revolution had already begun long prior to 1789 but in that year it rapidly gained speed).

La Fayette entangled himself in the political and military matters of the day and when everything started to go down the hill (from his perspective at least) he tried to fled to America and got caught before he even could reach a harbour. Adrienne and the children stayed behind in France. Now, it had became some sort of custom that the women of (aristocrat) man who fled France during the Revolution “divorced” her husbands. (“Divorce” because these divorces were often not real civil divorces in accordance with the law but more a sort of public separation from their “treacherous and anti-republican” husbands that could get these women a passport and/or out of prison. It also opened them the opportunity to marry again later in life.) Somebody proposed a divorce to Adrienne and she was absolutely repelled by the idea. She had married La Fayette for better and for worse and she would not, not under any circumstance divorce her husband. Period. In fact, she started signing all her papers with “la femme de Lafayette”, “the wife of Lafayette”. After and eventful and fearful time, Adrienne was eventually released from her prison in France. She gathered her two daughters (her son was safe in America with his tutor) and went to Austria were La Fayette was still imprisoned in Olmütz. She had some family connections to the court in Vienna and eventually obtained the permission of sharing her husbands imprisonment. Although accounts vary, all accounts agree that Olmütz was a true hell-hole. Adrienne and her children were treated better than La Fayette  - but the treatment was still not good. Soon Adrienne became ill and the prison doctor could not really do anything. Adrienne was told that she was free to go, leave this place behind, find a good doctor, settle down somewhere more comfortable. Nobody wanted to see her suffer or even die. The only stipulation, if she would leave now she was not allowed to ever return – and with that Adrienne stayed and suffered and hasted her death because she would not leave her husband behind. In my opinion her sacrifice at that moment made La Fayette understand just how incredible his wife was. He never forgot what she endured for him and her actions probably lead their relationship to unknown heights.

After they were eventually all released from prison they settled first in Danish-Holstein and then in the Netherlands before returning to France. Adrienne managed to regain a lot of the property that they had previously lost during the Revolution. Although she was successful in that regard, her health (and beauty) was forever ruined. Despite all that she took great joy in seeing her children marry and becoming a grandmother. When Adrienne died on December 24, 1807 La Fayette was absolutely shattered. He wrote a very, very long and very, very sad letter to a friend, retelling Adrienne’s last days and expressing his grieve:

“As yet you have always found me stronger than circumstances, but now this event is stronger than me. Never shall I recover from it. During the thirty - four years of an union in which her tenderness, her goodness, the elevation of her mind, charmed, adorned, honoured my life, I felt myself so used to all that she was to me, that I could not distinguish it from my own existence. She was fourteen, and I was sixteen, when her heart amalgamated itself with everything that could interest me. I knew I loved her, I knew I needed her, but it is only now that I can distinguish what life which I had thought was to have been entirely devoted to worldly matters. (...)”

The letter is really long but so worth the read if you are interested. Really! It is such an honest, open, affectionate and reflected statement of their relationship. Adrienne’s last words were “Je suis toute à vous” (I am all yours) and La Fayette had these words inscribed on a miniature of Adrienne that he constantly had upon his person. Here is an account of the portrait from Jules Germain Cloquets book “Recollections of the Private Life of General Lafayette, etc”:

“In his children he cherished the memory of their mother, (Mademoiselle de Noailles,) whom he had loved most tenderly, and whose name he never mentioned but with visible emotion. One day during his last illness, I surprised him kissing her portrait, which he always wore suspended to his neck in a small gold medallion. Around the portrait were the words, “Je suis à vous ,” and on the back was engraved this short and touching inscription, “ Je vous fus donc une douce compagne: eh bien ! benissez moi .” I have since been informed that regularly every morning Lafayette ordered Bastien [his valet] to leave the room, in which he shut himself up, and taking the portrait in both hands, looked at it earnestly, pressed it to his lips, and remained silently contemplating it for about a quarter of an hour. Nothing was more disagreeable to him than to be disturbed during this daily homage to the memory of his virtuous partner.”

I hope you have/had an awesome day!

#marquis de lafayette #lafayette #general lafayette #adrienne de lafayette #adrienne de noailles #george washington #france #austria #america #american history #american revolution #french history #french revolution #amrev #children #parents #marriage #1807 #letters #henriette de lafayette #anastasie de lafayette #george washington lafayette #virginie de lafayette #mourning #1779 #1789 #ask me anything #anon

[galadhremmin]

silm asks - 1, 9, 13, 22

1. Favorite Section (Ainulindalë, etc.)? The end, because it breaks my heart! The sense of loss is so palpable. You really experience a feeling of mourning for the destruction of a world that never existed in a way I have never experienced with other fantasy. I do love the Ainulindale because the idea of a world made of music and responsive to it is incredible appealing to me. ‘Is that not a silmaril,’ or! that sentence about the death of Miriel...  ‘ and the sky reeled, and the hills slid, and Númenor went down into the sea, with all its children and its wives and its maidens and its ladies proud; and all its gardens and its halls and its towers, its tombs and its riches, and its jewels and its webs and its things painted and carven, and its lore: they vanished for ever. And last of all the mounting wave, green and cold and plumed with foam, climbing over the land, took to its bosom Tar-Míriel the Queen, fairer than silver or ivory or pearls. Too late she strove to ascend the steep ways of the Meneltarma to the holy place; for the waters overtook her, and her cry was lost in the roaring of the wind.’ Painful; beautiful. But yeah, I can’t really choose. Though I’d still say the end.   9. What Age of Arda would you like to live in? I love reading about heroic and tragic events and enjoy dramatic irony, but I want none of those things in my own life! Years of the Trees in Valinor. Every time I try to think about what Valinor would be like in a slightly more concrete way it grows stranger and more intense in my imagination. Even if it would speed up my death-- fine. See Valinor And Die. ‘ And tales and rumours arose along the shores of the sea concerning mariners and men forlorn upon the water who, by some fate or grace or favour of the Valar, had entered in upon the Straight Way and seen the face of the world sink below them, and so had come to the lamplit quays of Avallónë, or verily to the last beaches on the margin of Aman, and there had looked upon the White Mountain, dreadful and beautiful, before they died.” -- That’s the spirit. If it actually existed I’d swim upstream towards the blessed realm like a salmon in season, right here right now.   13. Would you want The Silmarillion to be made into a film or tv series? Only if it was animated, and only if it was done by people like the ones who made Song of the Sea, The Red Turtle or similar. I don’t think the entire thing would really work in the same style; an anthology of separate stories by different creators might work best. The only live action version of a Silm story I’d like to see would be Del Torro in the spirit of Pan’s Labyrinth. But overall I think the Silm material and the way people interact with it would suffer from a big studio laying claim over it. Copyright and capitalism don’t go well with this sort of story.  22. What is your opinion of Fëanor? He’s interesting. This is getting a bit long, so cut.

I think it doesn’t do the character or the story justice to make his conflict with Fingolfin entirely about his father’s affection; there’s a interesting sentence in one of the versions of the stories that indicates Fingolfin was at least perceived as threatening not just Feanor’s but also Finwe’s authority, in favour of the Valar;  Whispers came to Feanor that Fingolfin and his sons Turgon and Fingon were plotting to usurp the leadership of Finwe and of the eldest house of Feanor, and to supplant them by the leave of the Valar-- for the Valar were ill-pleased that the Silmarils lay in Tuna, and were not given in their keeping. [..] on the high day of the Valar Feanor spake words of rebellion against the Valar, crying aloud that he would depart back to the world without, and deliver, as he said, the Gnomes from thraldom, if they would follow him. And when Fingolfin sought to restrain him Feanor drew his sword. ' Combined with from yet another version; 'said Finwë: ‘While the ban lasts upon Fëanor my son, that he may not go to Tirion, I hold myself unkinged, and I will not meet my people.’ ... I think there’s room for more than just a narrative about a child insecure about his father’s love. That is also there; and it is fascinating all on its own, because he is the first person in Valinor to lose a parent, the first for so many things. But this is there, too; a potential politico-religious conflict about authority supported by Noldorin tradition vs. the Valar. Given that Ulmo called Feanor’s birth a result of Marring and Indis line the good to come of it I think this makes sense on both levels.  Anyway, aside from that I think his devolving into a state of horrible, selfish paranoia and grief leads him to do entirely awful things in an interesting way. I don’t read the character as a parallel for real world fascists/nationalists because that just doesn’t make sense in context of, well everything. Being a King in a feudal society is only the start of it... But given Tolkien’s life experiences I’d say when he uses a sentence like ‘no other race shall oust us’ the wording is deliberate, and you’re supposed to feel those associations; the way his spirit starts to twist, the wrongness of the words he uses to motivate those not convinced by the need for vengeance etc. Feanor is a character who often plays the oracle without knowing it. He predicts his own son’s final fate (Maglor) without realising it. When he sees the future he doesn’t know it, and when he is justified in his emotions or even opinions he reacts in the worst possible way. It makes him fascinating. He is too much of everything, and you get the distinct sense that he doesn’t truly understand himself.  Aside from that; well, the slender dexterity of Feanor’s fingers... haha. He was Tolkien’s favourite, clearly, and it shows. I really love what seems like his intense curiosity and need to engage with the world he lives in. I love that his heraldry seems related to the spectrum of visible light, when so much about him is about light. I think Nerdanel might be the only woman in Tolkien’s work who is not loved for her beauty but her spirit, and that in turn tells me something about Feanor’s spirit. I could go on, probably verging into headcanons. I enjoy the character; I think of his actions and eventual implied ideology are indefensible. I also think that the circumstances being what they were (no one born in the blessed realm truly understood loss, or having to let go of a possession, for one) and with the qualities ascribed to him his choices make sense. 

#feanorianethicsdepartment #'her cry was lost in the roaring of the wind.’ is ....like what happened to all of beleriand. underwater ruins reduced to legend