#he's a hooligan a fool a dumbass (affectionate)

[ironinkpen]

The interpretation of Rise Raph as a 'perfect responsible soft boy uwu' is so BORING I'm sorry, Raph is a rowdy adrenaline junkie with anxiety and I won't take this slander any longer

Raph secretly kept an enemy soldier in their actual literal house as a sparring partner. Raph glued his brothers together and dragged them out to fight crime. Raph once asked Leo to punch him in the face to prove he 'takes damage like a boss.' Raph tried to lift a school bus, twice. Raph offered to help his favorite wrestler beat his little brother up. When Leo suggests evacuating Bullhop, Raph says no bc the best defense is a good offense babey. Raph's idea of a 'friendly chat' with April's upstairs neighbor is to put on a black ski mask and go stand menacingly at their door. It takes Raph 10 episodes to conclude that they should MAYBE start training. Raph's plan to get a potentially priceless (and potentially FRAGILE) museum artifact is to punch a car in the middle of a busy street and also cut it in half with his brother still inside.

Raph's never met a problem he wouldn't try to punch in the face and does not know the meaning of the words 'excessive force.' He roughhouses with his bros and drags them out to fight villains and thinks any plan that doesn't involve an all-out brawl is boring and lame. He'll do anything to protect his family from harm and be a hero, but also he eats wet salami off the floor and once single-handedly destroyed a library.

I just adore how, at his core, Rise Raph is such a classic Raph—impulsive and stubborn and caring and passionate. He is a very sweet, strong, honorable guy who has a very powerful sense of personal responsibility... and he is also the exact kind of jock who throws you in the pool at a party without checking if you have your phone in your pocket first.

#rottmnt #rottmnt raph #raph #don't worry then he'll freak out and buy you a new one #anyway! raph rules!!!!! #and i think the movie has made some people interpret him as like the 'responsible mom' character which is a bummer #bc that's really not him at all #like this is not even NEARLY a complete list of raph's shenanigans #he's a hooligan a fool a dumbass (affectionate) #he loves big flashy exciting fights and does not spare a single thought to stealth 90% of the time #he gets distracted on missions taking selfies with pizza pigeons and wrestlers #and gets annoyed in eps like Bug Busters when leo suggests being more cautious #he would die for his brothers but also he's definitely the type to like. walk into their rooms and sit on them for fun #he values responsibility so much but also makes the most batshit decisions ever #and has probably caused the state of new york thousands of dollars in damages #and he's NOT the boys' dad jesus christ #he grows slightly more serious over the course of the series (out of stress :(() #but at his core he's just a kid who loves fighting and being a hero #and i love him so much ok!!!!!!

[fruitcoops]

ok but can you imagine the team recreating on ice the part in Hamilton where they go “We, fought with him. Me, I died for him. Me, I trusted him. Me, I loved him. And me, I'm the damn fool that shot him” and Arthur being like “I can’t believe I have to put up with these idiots”

I hope you’re doing well ❤️

This is perfect, especially after reading Haz’s updated roster! Thanks for sending it in, anon! Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove <3

Arthur Weasley squints at the camera and taps the screen. “Is this thing on?”

“Yes, Coach.” Marlene sounds as if she’s mere moments from laughter in the background.

“Apparently, some of you hooligans on the TikTok think Alastor Moody and I have the easiest job in the world,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “I’ll have you know that we are a well-oiled machine of hockey prowess, and that doesn’t happen without—”

A door opens and loud music interrupts him; he hides a smile behind a grumpy scowl. “Arthur, they’re doing it again,” Moody sighs.

“Really?” The music gets louder as they walk down the hallway from his office toward the ice. A jumble of voices shout along to the familiar tune. “Practice isn’t even over yet. Look at these idiots.”

“—ship is in the harbor now, see if you can spot him!” Half the team scream-sings.

“Just you wait!” the other half continues.

“Another immigrant comin’ up from the bottom—”

“Just you wait!”

The next lyrics get a little muddled, but Jackson Nadeau stays on-track the entire time, leaning on his stick like it’s a microphone. “His enemies destroyed his rep, America forgot him!”

“We, we fought with him!” The cubs shout at the top of their lungs.

“Me, I died for him!” Kuny slides dramatically onto his back.

Kasey Winter mock-faints into Sirius’ arms. “Me, I trusted him!”

“Me, I loved him!” Remus, Pots, and Talker wail around their laughter.

“And me!” Dumo skates forward and smacks the back of Nado’s knees with his stick, sending him to the ice. “I’m the damn fool that shot him.”

“Dumbasses,” Arthur mutters affectionately as they launch into the finale with godawful attempts at harmonies.

Moody gives him a skeptical look. “Didn’t you put that song on the playlist?”

The video ends after a moment of awkward silence.

[musicallisto]

G'morning :) Would a sweet, familial fic with our camp bby Jack Marston and prompt: "Look a shooting star! Make a wish!" be okay to write? Been feelin' low, nowadays. Need some fluff, if it's alright with you

I told my friend a few days ago that I really wanted to write some New Year's party with a Happy Gang(tm), and then your request came in. You must have read my mind! I would love to explore more parties in my writing because Happy Gang(tm) is all I long for. Anyway, hope you like this, even if the rest of the gang is not exactly central, and sending lots of love your way ❤

(F!Reader + would recommend listening to New Year's Day by Pentatonix because it's how I got the idea in the first place, and it made me emo)

"Thirty seconds left!"

"Everyone ready!"

"Ah-- crap! My-- where's my watch?"

"Shut up, Uncle, I can't hear Dutch counting down."

"Fifteen seconds!"

"Well I can't know how much time we got left if I don't find my--"

"Just listen to him, you goddamn fool!"

"Ten seconds!"

"Arthur, John, Uncle, will you please be quiet?"

"I'm quiet. They're bickering."

"Five!"

"Cheers!"

"Not yet, you dumbass!"

"Happy new year, everyone!" Dutch's powerful voice roars out to the night sky, discretion long forgotten, sorrows fed to the flames. A cheer erupts in response. Some grab their loved ones for a good luck charm - you think you see John try to nimbly evade Abigail's kiss, before sheepishly giving in when she pouts -, some down the remainings of their bottles in one big gulp - Karen is even faster than Bill, and her loud, careless laughter explodes like your own show of fireworks -, some embrace, a glint in the eyes that could be tears hidden in their sleeves.

"To another year," Dutch breathes out, almost disbelieving that he's still alive to utter the words.

"To another century," Hosea replies, repressing a grin as he pats his oldest friend on the back.

And some, like you, observe, chest filled with warmth and stars, as the minute right after midnight, the first minute of the twentieth century overflows with joy and wishes and fraternity and love. Your family, an odd one at that, but the closest thing to a safe place you've ever known, raises a glass and a cheer for the new dawn... and first, for the new night, clean of its old grime, ready to be made into whatever the Van der Linde gang imagines.

And you imagine it grand.

Even little Jack has stayed awake for the occasion, battling his drowsy eyes and the temptation of his mother's arms to witness the commencement of his world. Abigail, although reluctant to the idea of keeping the boy up way past his bedtime, with the rest of 'em hooligans, what's more, finally gave in after John convinced her that neither of them belongs in this era that starts when the sun rises, but Jack does. Still, you've been a reliable scarecrow, all evening, keeping Uncle away from the boy - Uncle and his so-called miraculous cures for sleepiness, Uncle and his brandy, Uncle and his "it's just a little sip!". In the fireflies that shine in Jack's little eyes, awestruck at the radiant energy that runs through his aunts and uncles, his mother and father, you have no doubt that it was all worth it. If this is the world Jack is meant to see, you'd rather it start with laughter, with hugs, with joyful tales of the old times, with Javier's guitar, with Charles's subtle singing, and with Mary-Beth and Tilly's sloppy waltzes.

"Y/N! Happy New Year!" an uncharacteriscally enthusiastic Arthur exclaims, going in for a hug before you can even register if his breath smells of alcohol. You laugh against his chest, though you recognize the happy fever of a man who has scraped death way too many times to be picky about what brings him joy.

"Are you drunk already, Morgan?" you playfully retort, but you can't contain your laughter at his falsely outraged expression. It's like on the moment that marks another year, he's lost fifteen in age.

"Course not. Who d'you think I am? I'm just... happy."

"Happy suits you, Arthur," you respond, an affectionate smile making its way on your face. Everything you've been through with Arthur and the others flashes before your eyes, and you decrete right then and there that you're owed some respite, and that joy is the color that compliments best the gang's eyes.

A few moments later, when the rest of the gang has lost itself in a frenzied and clumsy dance, the most dauntless attempting to balance their bottles as they move, you come to rest by Jack's side, sitting in the grass. The air is fresher in this part of camp, devoid of fear.

"Happy New Year, Jack."

"Happy New Year, Aunt Y/N!" he sings, nodding his head to the rhythm of the dancers' feet. "Look at my Pa and my Ma!"

Following his excited finger, your eyes find two silhouettes standing out in front of the campfire. Their feet are heavier than most of the others', but you can hear their tipsy giggling and softened hearts echo every time they twirl, even from where you're sitting.

"Your Pa can dance now?"

"No," Jack hastens to answer, prouder than he should probably be, "he's improvising. He told me earlier. He hates dancing, you know? But he said he wanted to make Mama happy. And they're happy! Everyone is so happy."

You can swear, now that you heard the little boy, that John and Abigail's movements grow in elegance, this touching and life-changing elegance that things bear when they are done with love. And a wind of this same grace weaves its way into your chest, hastily pushing the laughter out of your mouth. Jack doesn't ask why you suddenly laugh; instead, he mimics it, and soon you're two hunched figures in the dark, watching a party unfurl in a clearing somewhere in New Hanover, watching the people you love most meddle together, reminisce about the old times and trip over their own feet, and the only logical, sensible reaction you can muster is to laugh.

The air has settled again between the two of you, and Jack's eyelids flutter more and more frequently, when you suddenly point at the sky, way above the illuminated canopy.

"Look! It's a shooting star, Jack! Make a wish!"

His tiny frame sits up straight again, scanning the sky for the white tear in the navy blanket above your heads. His brow furrows in concentration, and after a moment he tightly closes his eyes, as if that could, somehow, catch the attention of the burning star so very far from you, make it listen to the dreams of a child among a bunch of criminals. You've passed the age of wishing upon stars, and yet the fact that you're all living and together to mark and celebrate this oh so special night is the very symbol of the impossible. Without averting your gaze from the star's resolute course across the sky, you murmur to yourself your utmost desire. Maybe you're wishing on yourself, more than the lightning bug.

You wish that as long as you breathe, you never stop fighting for nights like these.

"What did you wish for?" you ask Jack when he's back to his senses.

The wake of the star is now long gone in the night, swallowed by the ink, but something tells you that Jack will never forget its brilliance. He still sees it, anyway. Not above his raised head, but in the campfire where his family is assembled.

"I'm not telling you! Or else it won't come true."

Leaning in with an air of conspiracy, you murmur in his ear, a secret not even the night can hear:

"I'm friend with a few stars. I'll tell them to make your wish come true. You can tell me."

After a moment of hesitation for the safety of the most crucial and closely-guarded secret in the little boy's life, he finally gives in, his face mirroring the mischievous smile you offer.

"I said I want to be just like you when I grow up."

"Just like me?"

But his little arms encircle a space that is wider than just you, that engulfs the merry chaos above your shoulder, the quiet, observant birds in the trees, his aunt Sadie whirling her knife around her fingers, and his parents now huddled together in a remote yet familiar embrace.

"Like all of you!"

You don't let the twinge of remorse get the best of your heart. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow, the ghosts of what Jack's life could have been, had he been born in a regular family, gone to a regular school, and scraped his knees on regular grounds, would haunt you in your sleep. But for now, all you do is ruffle his hair, and bring him close to your heart for a hug.

"Oh, Jack. You'll be a hundred times better, I'm sure of it."

When your breaths synchronize, you can't help thinking that you have no desire to die, but leaving for this little boy - dying for life itself would surely be the most honorable way a lowlife like you could ever go.

"Now, mister Marston," you break the silence with a grin, standing up and offering him your hand. "May I have this dance?"

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #jack marston #rdr2 imagine #request #john marston x abigail roberts #mywriting