At least in Fates, no one will try to defend Garon because he is a cute empress
The closest comparison that people make will be Conquest!Corrin, but even then, that game spares no efforts at making Corrin take responsibility and feel bad for what they do. They aren't victim blaming like Edelgard is wont to do, they get called out by named enemies frequently, and they actually feel for the people they've hurt, even the generics.
Like, I've seen people make fun of Corrin for crying over not just their loved ones but also civilians and complete strangers, because damn, god forbid a character not sympathize or be emotional over terrible things happening. Compare to Edelgard where she doesn't give one fuck about Randolph or Ladislava kicking the bucket, and really only cares if Byleth is in trouble, and the game then expects me to sympathize with how hard it must be for her lol.
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trick or treat!!! 🎃🎃🎃
(and thank you for your comments on my lil drabbles!!!! i loved reading your tags & thoughts<3<3)
(<3 i'm glad! i love reading your stuff!! it's always so good! & ty for ur tags on mine, i appreciate them sm <33333)
this is a snippet from a wip i've been working on for... i think about a year now, lol. working title is "slipping tongues" & is v loosely inspired by that one panel, where jason calls himself "daddy" while defusing a bomb xD
i shared a slightly earlier snippet of it here~
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Of all the things he could have said—
It’s all Tim’s fault. He’s been driving Jason crazy all night. It’s Jason’s fault, of course, for agreeing to Tim’s idea all those weeks ago in the first place. He’d been complaining, again, about his nights at the lounge, and at the time… Well. He hadn’t seen how Tim playing as Hood’s arm candy could go wrong.
Big mistake.
He’d forgotten just how much effort Tim put into his undercover identities.
Or—
No, that wasn’t quite right.
Jason had been expecting Tim’s identity to cater to their audience. And in a way, it did. There was nothing threatening about his appearance, the act he put on. The amount of conversations that had taken place right in front of him, as if he wasn’t even there would be infuriating if it wasn’t playing right into their hands. But the appearance of the disguise…
That was tailored specifically to Jason.
Subtle makeup to soften his face; just enough padding to give him the illusion of curves. Small breasts, a black wig, just a bit longer than his natural hair—and jewelry to draw the eye from anything he couldn’t disguise. And—look, okay. Jason is biased. He thinks obsessive, 72 hours no sleep, wearing his rattiest clothes, caffeine-addled gremlin Tim is hot. This Tim? Dolled up in provocative outfits and sultry make-up? He’s a goner.
And Tim knows it. He walks a fine line, teasing just enough to drive Jason mad without also compromising his persona as Hood. It’s maddening… and hot as hell. Could anyone blame him, if maybe his brains were a bit addled? Or if maybe, just maybe, he wanted to turn the tables on Tim, even if just for a moment?
Jason doesn’t think so.
If Tim asks, Jason will tell him it was a slip of the tongue. He got too deep into the Hood headspace. Otherwise—they can just… forget about it. Pretend it never happened in the first place.
Yeah. That sounds good.
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i wish i had more josh mutuals that don't seek to include chris in everything like. i don't hate chris at all or dislike cc, i said this already but. just clarifying again.
i don't like how most ppl who like josh don't even really like him. they usually like josh if chris is also there. like y'all don't get me. i'm here solely for josh and i like to have fun w characters on their own. i don't get why most interpretations of josh always include sam or chris.
and abt ppl only liking josh when sam or chris are there-- i don't mean to be rude, but josh is more interesting than those two combined, bc of the stuff he has going on beneath the surface. he doesn't need them to be interesting, he's already compelling enough on his own.
im still insecure about posting in this fandom even tho i do it every day. but i'd be less nervous about posting my josh stuff if the people who claim to "like him" weren't so. odd. cuz the josh mutuals i have rn (who solely like josh on his own...) are okay with every silly doodle i draw of josh, bc they don't care. they're here for him and they just like him
meanwhile cc likers that i've met are really. not people i get along with. bc like i said, they kinda only like chris and josh and that's it. id go as far to say they don't even like the game lmfao bc they only like it for cc.
idk... real josh fans are ok with seeing him in a dress from time to time lol. one of the main reasons i can have fun with his character is bc i know Allll there is to know about the source material + josh's canon depiction. which i honestly love, i don't need to change josh in order to like him. but i feel like some ppl do that and those r the people i can't get along with
i wish ppl were more open to having fun w these characters. posting them in silly outfits and such shouldn't be like, anxiety inducing lmfao i want to have fun and i wish others would be more open to that but as of rn, it just doesn't seem that way.
it's hard to tell if i'm making this up or if my anxieties are real, but the thought of it being real is enough to have me stress over it every time i think of posting or if i'm drawing something.
but everyone who follows me for ud-- hi, thank you for following and liking and reblogging my stuff, esp thatoneudguy cuz he supports like everything i say and make lol (and special shout out to queerkearney for always complimenting my work, its rly motivating <3) y'all are cool!!
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I am having A Moment with this fic and feel very much like a loser hack fraud, so here's a bit of the beginning which I'm proud of and the only part I'm confident about not changing because if I don't post something somewhere I will go insane.
Summary: In a certain town in a certain island of the Grand Line, a young waitress thinks she’s got Sir Crocodile figured out. She couldn’t be more wrong.
Week 1
In a certain town in a certain country of the Grand Line, the arrival of ex-warlord Sir Crocodile just a few days after the events of Marineford caused a stir. Norah, waitress at the seaside cafe-slash-bar Caffe Dante, pretended to read as her fellow townsfolk gossiped about their encounters with the scarred man in town.
“That warlord is a hell of a smoker. Bought up all my cigars,” said Luka, the smoke shop owner, while drinking bourbon.
“They came to my shop for custom suits,” said Giovanni, the tailor, over a glass of wine. “Didn’t say much. Bodyguard flinched a bit when I measured him. Seems like they’re injured from the war and recovering here.”
“Then this is the perfect time for the Marines to come get them!” cried Bianca, the hotelier, banging her stout onto the counter. “Corner them in their room! They could slip out any day now!”
“Then why don’t you call?” asked Leo, the bar owner and Norah’s boss, drying glasses behind the counter.
“Hell no. Don’t want to get mixed up in that high-level stuff. Besides,” she added with a whisper, “what if they found out?”
Then Norah saw them herself.
She was alerted during her mid-afternoon Wednesday shift when the patrons inside started murmuring and casting fearful glances toward the outside seating area. When she looked up, her heart dropped.
Norah played rock-paper-scissors with her fellow server Marlon and lost.
“W-what can I get for you gentlemen?” She clung to her notepad like a shield. He was her height when sitting down.
“Whisky,” said the warlord around his cigar, draping his fur-lined coat over the seat. It probably cost more than she made in a year. He didn't look at her as he flipped open the newspaper and leaned back, making himself comfortable.
“Tea, please,” said the bodyguard, arms crossed. His face was unreadable from behind his sunglasses.
Norah got the drinks. Her trembling hands caused her to spill tea on the newspaper skewered on the warlord’s golden hook. When she looked up, his eyes were on her.
“Nervous?” He sneered, blowing smoke in her face. She didn’t answer, blinking away smoke-induced tears and quickly walking inside.
“Are you okay?” All eyes on her. The patrons looked ready to bolt, if only they could leave without him noticing. She nodded, then rushed to dry-heave into the nearest trash can.
“I’m calling the Marines,” said Leo.
“Good idea,” she replied from the trash can.
-
The Marines weren’t coming. Something to do with structural reorganization and paperwork over a special bounty for the criminals who participated in Marineford. Ridiculous. “Try to keep him around,” said the Marine on the other end of the line. “It helps us to know his location.”
The warlord seemed to like Caffe Dante, to Norah’s dismay. When the customers outside abruptly left and she smelled that unique smoky blend of leather and tobacco on the wind, she knew they had returned without needing to look.
“Oh. You’re… back.” She couldn’t keep the disappointment out of her voice as they took up the same positions and casual attitude as last time. She went through the motions of tucking the serving plate beneath her arm and plucking the pencil from behind her ear to take their order, almost able to hide her shaking. Almost.
“Calling the Marines didn’t work, eh?” Of course he knew. And despite Leo’s warning not to say anything, she couldn’t help but deadpan:
“I didn’t call them, my boss did.”
He stared. Then, God help her, he cackled.
“Brave one, aren’t you?” He commented after calming down. “A rare find in a world full of cowards. What do you want, Daz?”
“Tea, please,” Daz said, uncrossing his arms.
“Whisky.”
She brought the drinks and made herself scarce. The rest of their stay passed without incident until he beckoned her with his ringed fingers to pick up the check.
Her eyes widened. “You tipped?” She blurted out, disbelief overriding any sense of fear or self-preservation.
“Yes?”
“You didn’t last time.”
“You called the Marines last time.”
Touché.
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