#because for a second a SECOND you can forget that and just see this nameless bard meeting a wisp and finally having a friend

[cashewally-sarcastic]

Ventus, who has spent days on the streets of Old Mondstadt listening to the voices of the people. Who has silently watched as parents take care of their young. Watch kids escort their aunts to the stores. The wind around him is so cold

He plays his lyre. Its the only thing he has on him. He would rather die than say where he acquired it, and at the end of the day its his lyre.

Ventus closes his eyes. For the breifedt moment he couldn't hear the deafening gales around him. He is in the eye of the hurricane. What song is he even playing? He switched from one track to the other minutes ago and was now improvising a solo.

The families are still talking to each other.

At the end of the day, he is just background music

.

Then one day a creature bumps into him. Radiating the same warmth as a prayer and eyes akin to his god's. Was it a spy? Was it a child? Was it a puppet?

Wearily, he asks for a name. Smiling as he tells the sprite how he wishes to make ballads of the little thing. It flutters around him, occassionally stumbling in mid air like its drunk. It gives out a little squeak as it gestures to itself.

Ventus tries to mimic that chime, but his mouth can't hit the same notes. The sprite speaks more and more, yet Vrntus can't understand a thing. He just smiles and nods as he subconsciously plays his lyre.

Before he knows it, he can feel the chill of night. Or at least what he thinks it night. The elders of the city tell what night is supposed to be, but the winds had carried away those voices a long time ago.

Tales of an object called the moon. How it would shift as the weeks go by. How it could disappear and be reborn once anew- surrounded by her starry sisters.

Night.

He hated it.

He hates how cold it is. How dark it is. How every candle and life is snuffed by the wind.

Yet the creature is still hear, making a nest on his lap.

Its warm.

Letting go of his lyre for just a breif moment, he runs his fingers down the cloak of the sprite. Soft yet smooth. Was this what a bird felt like?

Tomorrow would be another day. Tomorrow he could try to pronounce his ... freind's name better. Tomorrow he could do so much.

Despite the being being on his lap, he felt a warmth in his chest. Something he has never felt before. Something that made him think of protecting this creature.

Ventus rests his eyes as he carries his first friend, unware he would do this everynight til the day he died

*cheers and applause amid tears and sobs*

MAN that was NOT was I was thinking about sad wise but FUCK that hurts

#ready for my tags of insanity until i hit the tag limit? here we go: #i love that there's like PEOPLE and INTERACTIONS there even when just described like 'children escorting aunts to stores' it's so nice #and that contrasting to ventus's loneliness and 'he's just background music' OUGH that hits #also hi in love with the use of a period as a paragraph that's an amazing way to make a pause i'm stealing that from you <3 #the way night is described as like...a mystical thing is so cool #'elders told of an object called the moon' like man. they couldn't see the sky. #and how venti makes little wisp noises bestie couldn't speak but i love that it's so cute #the way venti is described too as being warm and light and making little noises against the cold and dark and silence of night.... #and questioning if wispi was like a bird.... :( #PLUS i know i say this literally every time but i love repetition the repeating of 'tomorrow this' 'tomorrow that' like... #it brings questions!!! is that the first time ventus was thinking about a TOMORROW and not just 'the next day'? #and then the end of 'every night until he died' like fuck... #the way that's said as just a fact like 'yes. he dies btw. this is a sweet moment but don't forget the death' hits #because for a second a SECOND you can forget that and just see this nameless bard meeting a wisp and finally having a friend #and not being alone #but then BOOM remember reality. #he is dead. he died. #anyway i loved it :0 #hi steel! #sorry for my insanity

[thatoneguydownthestreet]

Hey so how would lilia feel about apocalypse yuu and the obvious world ending war and after effects from where yuu is from?

Thank you for feeding us apocalypse yuu <3

I started maniacally laughing as soon as I read the name lilia

FEM ALIGNED DNI

How Lilia Vanrouge reacts to the war and its effects: 

Lilia would say your relationship was pretty good. As nameless and as vague as it was. It was...peaceful. 

It was nice.

You were learning to trust people, to trust him. To let your guard down just a little bit more each day. To speak your mind and make decisions and to just simply walk with him without looking over your shoulder every few seconds. 

He’ll never forget that feeling of happiness and relief when you fell asleep with him right there next to you for the first time, or when you saw him enter a room and he saw your shoulders drop just that much. 

Once, in the pop music club room, Cater had asked him how he got you to relax around him so easily. He only gave a small chuckle and a vague response, as he himself didn’t truly know at the time. 

He still doesn’t. only having a few loose theories here and there, but he is grateful to be able to know you just a little bit more than the average person. To be able to live this long to see you come here, to this world, scared and confused and hopelessly, utterly lost, and then to see you start to really live for the first time.

He hopes he hopes that he’ll be blessed enough to live to see you thrive. 

Honestly? he thinks it’s because of something simple. So, so simple

He listens.

Not to say the others don’t of course, they listen!

they just ...don’t really believe you. 

Lilia doesn’t blame them, honestly.

It truly feels like you exaggerate your past and lack of knowledge at times.

The most obvious example he can think of is when epel, that pretty first year boy, gifted you one of those beautiful red apples that grew on his parents farm, only for you to look at it with confusion and distrust. 

You didn’t know what an apple was.

You didn’t know what most fruits were period. (Or cheese, or most meats,or most vegetables, he thinks he saw you reboot like an old computer the first time you saw milk) Often confusing the names and refusing to eat them if you forgot what they were. 

It was at that point where he could tell your rag tag little group of friends started to doubt your words. Just a bit.

He would have too, if not for the clear, heavy distress that simply couldn’t be faked that was ever so evident on your face when he'd asked.

“Perfect, do you really not know what any of these fruits are”, he has taken extra care to keep this conversation playful. He wasn’t trying to embarrass you after all. 

You simply huffed, a bit of frustration showing. 

Lilia ignored the little happy spark he got from seeing you show what you were feeling. You were getting better at that.

“Of course I don’t! we don’t have fresh fruit in the tunnels! Not to mention things like "cheese" and dont even get me started on good meat!”, you said it like it so obvious...

You never explained what the tunnels were. But lilia could guess.

He had a bad feeling about them either way....

So yes. The others listened. But you could both see crystal clear that they took what you said with a heavy grain of salt. 

Lilia on the other hand, believed every word. Or at least tried too.

So when you asked him to swing by Ramshackle saying you wanted to show him something, how could he refuse?

Really, how could he?

....

Lilia Vanrouge didn't know what he was expecting. He knew it was probably something big, judging from your earlier tone of voice.

But this....

this was just sickening.

you sat shirtless on the floor, with your arms out in the air in front of you. 

with your scars on full display. 

there were (oh great seven) there were slash marks all across your chest. Ragged and uneven and ugly. Looking like whatever cut them in took extra care to truly rip and tear your flesh apart.

There were burn marks on your shoulders and your stomach. Looking like they came from both fire and electricity. The electric burns spiderwebbing their way up the side of your neck and around your sides.

There were what looked to be claw marks and dog bites on your stomach as well, like you were almost frantically mauled to death and just barely made it out with your life.

There was a circular hole he didn't know the cause of on both sides of your right forearm, the underside scar being in the same spot but significantly worse.

There were like deep (deep) bruises that he could see everywhere on your body.

and then there were the marks on your back....

There were whip marks and lashes absolutely everywhere. Slashed across every which way, overlapping with each other and digging into your flesh. there were a few places that he swore had less skin than others. and oh God some of them only looked a few months old. 

Some of them were fresh when you came here.

Lilia didn’t know what the rest of your body looked like, but he already knew that your back was in the worst condition out of everything.

A small whimper snapped him out of his thoughts.

You were still on the floor, now sifting slightly, like you were embarrassed.

Embarrassed. What an odd little human.

Lilia immediately got down on the floor and sat in front of you, dust and possible bugs be damned.

He didn't touch you, only looking at your face and tried to make eye contact.

He tried his best to avoid looking at your neck. The lighting in this old dorm was bad but he swore he could still see a slash-

"Y/N....can you please look at me?", gentle. Just keep the tone gentle for now.

You still looked away from him. Lilia sighed.

Gently, oh so gently, he brought his hand to your face and slowly turned you head towards him.

You didn't flinch. Not once! And if lilia silently celebrated this feat later? Well, that was his business, and his alone.

Your eyes held a hint of fear when you looked at him. Fear of rejection.

Why would he ever push you away for something like this?

...Did someone do that before?

He heard you let out a faint, shaky breath, trying to find your voice.

He still didn't say anything. Just let you take your time. He couldn't rush something like this.

So he sat there, just out of reach as to not overwhelm you, as you took a deep breath and tried to compose yourself.

"So uh...I'm sure you have questions", you tried to say it in a way that lightened the mood, but your voice came out small.

It was fine. You couldn't lighten something like this either way.

The fae infront of you looked at you with the patients of a someone who's lived a dozen lifetimes and counting, which made you relax just a bit more.

Good.

"That I do perfect, but make no mistake, you are not obligated to answer"

"No! No, I- I want you to know. I wouldn't have shown you otherwise...", your voice trailed off.

Lilia took a deep breath.

Ok. Sharing scares.

Sharing memories.

Sharing war stories.

He could do that. He's done it before hundreds of times. He could do it again.

He just...didn't want to do it with someone so young. Someone who had absolutely zero business doing any type of life or death fighting.

Unfortunately, life was a total bitch and just loved putting him in these exact situations.

"Ok...ok. so why don't you tell me about...this one first", lilia pointed to the circular hole that went through your arm. He wanted to know what caused it.

(And maybe. Just maybe, find something that could heal it)

You sighed a bit. He thinks in relief? And smiled just a tad.

"Ok... that one was caused when me and a rescue team were trying to locate one of the medics that had gone missing during a surprise raid on the southwest base.... I wasn't even supposed to be there really...", you trailed off again. Your eyes glossing over a little.

Well. That couldn't happen.

The last thing he wanted here was for you to relive any one of these scars.

"What was the medics name?", it was the only thing he could ask, really. He didn't understand much of what else you had said.

You took a deep breath. Right.

You weren't there anymore.

"Caroline. Her name was Caroline. And she has a sister named Kate.... she's the one who put in the request for her to be found. Her body, at the very least"

Lilia began to wonder what exactly happened during these "raids". And why it required children to clean up the aftermath.

"Caroline. She was the medic. Ok.... you said you weren't supposed to be there?"

You looked a little sheepish at that.

"Yeah... our base was short on explosives manufacturers so they sent me. I was still learning but apparently I knew enough to go out there anyway. Heh...yeah, it didn't turn out too well"

....explosive manufacturers?

Lilia had met and worked with plenty if mages that specialized in more.. dramatic shows of magic. Especially during the wars.

How, lilia wondered, was something like that simulated without magic?

...He didn't know if he wanted to find out.

Instead of asking what in the seven an explosive manufacturer was, he asked:

"Why did you have to go though? Surely there were other uh...people in your field? That had nore experience", he kept his tone soft, trying to keep you unaware of the anger that was slowly building in his gut.

You silently shifted where you were sitting, looking like you regretted this more and more.

Damn.

Carefully, he added, "where were the others?"

"...active combat was getting more and more rare....no one thought- I mean- we just needed farmers and hunters and medics more than we needed weapons at the time"

The look on your face was...hard to describe as you struggled to explain your past situation as quick as possible. Like you would be punished if you didn't do it fast enough.

Hm...

"Y/N...", lilia started slowly

He had an idea of what your world was like.

He had a good idea of what your world was like.

And he was hoping that he wasn't right.

Your head raised a bit. Making eye contact with him and calming down just a little. Good. But he was going to feel all the more guilty about what he was about to say.

"Were you by chance, involved in any type of warfare?"

Lilia didn't know what you'd do. He had been ready for anything. For you to scream and shout and scratch and fight. For you to try and deny what you both already knew for whatever reason.

But you never did.

Instead, you just tilted your head to the side, like a confused dog.

Then you said:

"The war ended around...50 years ago? 60? I don't know for sure. The records were all destroyed, and the elders that fought in it are quickly dying out"

Lilia breath hitched.

All those scars. All their stories. Are from the aftermath? The aftermath of a finished war is still producing what lilia believes might very well be child soldiers.

And then you spoke again.

"When I was...I think twelve? I don't know. No one really knows their age. But I was definitely around twelve. The other manufacturers with more experience and a better idea if what they're doing got sent to the northern bases. They were needed there. They wouldn't tell me why"

...

...Twelve?

"Anyways, a couple months later -or were they weeks?- some time later, Caroline went missing"

Twelve?

"And I was really all they had to send"

Twelve.

"Now that I think about it...it was probably because they could replace me well enough if it didn't go as good as it did"

Fucking TWELVE?!

"As good as it did?!", lilias voice startled you out if your own head.

You looked at him. He looked back at you with an expression of exasperated rage.

You stopped talking.

"As good-as GOOD as it did!"

"Y/N. Y/N there is no good in this! This-" He grabbed your arm. Gesturing to the old, half healed scar that had started this whole mess "-is terrible! Dammit this is a crime against morality!"

...

...oh.

You looked at your arm. At the old shot gun would you had gotten after getting your arm stuck just outside if the entrance to the tunnel you and your temporary team had taken.

You could barely even remember why you had it out in the first place.

To throw a grenade you had put together on the spot? A stick of dynamite? You didn't know.

All you knew was that it hurt.

It still does sometimes.

You looked down at your own body.

They all still do sometimes.

....

Oh God...

You looked back at lilia, and the night resumed.

None of what you said will likely never be repeated outside if the walls of Ramshakle. Not all of it at least.

You didn't tell lilia about the scars on your back. You probably never will.

That was fine.

You told him what you had to do to survive, and he told you that you shouldn't have had to do that in the first place.

There were things that were never really explained. Like guns or grenades or that old, abandoned army tank that you played when you were a child.

("So it's a car...with a Canon on it?"

"Uhhhh. Sure. Yeah")

And other things...

Well. Turns out some scenarios are seen a bit different here.

You don't your age.

That's sad. Not bormal.

You don't know who your real parents are. The high infant mortality rate in the southeast base and the tunnels surrounding it that most mothers simply give away their children to avoid the pain of burying their babies.

That's a tragedy. A horrible, horrible tragedy.

Not normal.

Just like your life.

........

As soon as he got back to Diasomnia, lilia went to check on silver. Then sebek. Then malleus.

Silver and sebek were asleep. And he could see malleus taking a walk about the dorm from his bedroom window.

They were safe. Lilia felt his shoulders drop for the first time that night.

...and then he did something he never thought he would need do again.

Slowly, lilia walked over to his desk, lighting a tall, white candle and setting out an expensive piece of meat.

Wasn't the best offering, but it'll due for now.

He hoped it would at least.

Religion had long since died out of twisted wonderland as a whole, with only a few churches and temples remaining in certain parts in the shaftlands and a few of the older families in briar valley truly practicing in this modern age. 

Even so, later that night when his dorm and his children were all sound asleep, lilia knelt beside his bed and prayed to his old god for the first time in centuries.

He could only hope that they would be answered. 

#twst x male reader #twisted wonderland x male reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst lilia #lilia vanrouge #lilia x reader #disney twst #apocalypse reader

[just-jordie-things]

really lovvvve toxic ex megumi who can't stop being around you after you're break up. follows you to the parties you attend, meets with you, you both have an argument and then make out. <33

The cycle repeats until you take him back, you might as well anyway, it's not like you can get rid of him<3

godddd toxic ex megumi <3 <3 we'll always go back to uuuu

you see him before he sees you. or at least, he happens to not be looking when your eyes find him in the crowd. it happens too naturally for your taste. instantly there's something bitter in your mouth and you feel your eye begin to twitch.

but you play it off and try not to pay him any attention. you're at a house party, and you already found some eye candy that would much better suit your attention for the time being. would you see him after tonight? no, definitely not. but the more you sip your drink and flutter your lashes at him, the more appealing he becomes. especially now that you-know-who is here.

and who invited him anyways? your mind wanders even as you keep your eyes on the handsome company you forget the name of. all that matters is he's blonde- not a ravenette- and he's got brown eyes -not deep, beautiful ocean blue...- and what were you thinking about again..?

"she has a boyfriend you know"

you have to shut your eyes to regain some false sense of peace. otherwise you would've whirlled around already to try to kick the shins of the 6 foot toxic piece of-

"you do?" your blonde placeholder looks down at you with confusion in his eyebrows. your own expression is unamused, bored, and quite frankly you're not sure who to direct it at at this point.

"she does" megumi confirms. your elbow hits his forearm in warning, but it's not nearly strong enough to get him to back off. he's already made his stance clear in coming straight to you in this crowd of people, and your gut is already telling you that you're going to fall for it.

"i don't, actually," you reply, giving your nameless suitor a sickeningly sweet smile. "in fact, i'd even go as far to say i've never been as single as i am right now"

the blonde man clearly isn't in the state of mind for these games, his eyes shifting between you and megumi, and it's obvious to you both that he's made up his mind before he's even said anything. you don't have to turn around to know that megumi is glaring this sucker down until he cowers out.

and as expected, your once suitor bids you a fast, "well, have a good time!" before turning and booking it away from you and your baggage.

your baggage grins down at you as he takes his place. you huff and shut your eyes again, this time pinching the bridge of your nose as you wrap your half-drunken head around what just happened.

"what the hell do you think you're-"

"you look stunning, by the way,"

megumi cuts you off, he could skip the part where you chew him out for his behavior, it's nothing he hasn't heard before. you try to smack his hand away when his fingers tug at the fabric resting over your hip, but he ignores that too. he's far too interested in watching the short skirt of your dress ride up your thigh when he tugs on it.

"i like this dress," he mumbles out his thoughts, and you should smack him again, but you don't. his knuckles graze your skin and your thoughts start to go blurry. "haven't seen this before"

"well, it's been a month, so..."

your answer is weak and you both know it. you hate that when he looks at you, your heart starts to race. you hate that you know what's coming next, and that if you wanted to badly enough, you could stop it.

because when megumi says, "come with me" and beckons you to follow him, you do without a word. you follow close behind him as he wanders through the crowd before he gets to the patio door, and you stupidly follow him out through it, where you're both alone.

"you can't keep doing this" you say, but it's a mumble, and when you lean into the exterior wall of the house, he's in your space again in a second.

megumi's convinced himself that he's not manipulative, you're just so willing. why else would you wear that dress to a party you knew he'd be at? why else would you follow him somewhere where you could be alone? and you don't exactly push him away when he leans in close and tilts your chin up to bring you even closer. you bat your lashes at him and pout your lips- you're practically begging for it.

"don't be like that baby," he murmurs and you're melting before him. did you leave your drink inside? because now you find your hands empty and you need something to fiddle with or else they're gonna end up in his hair- "missed you, y'know"

you sigh, shutting your eyes and trying to tilt your head away, lean it back into the wall, but megumi's quick to cup his large palm around the back of your head and bring you back towards him.

or into him would be more like it, because his lips are on yours without any other warning.

you move your hands to shove him away, but they have their own will and they end up fisting his tee shirt to pull him in closer until you're so pushed up against the wall that your dress is being dragged up your thighs. the material wants to bunch up at your hips, despite your efforts to keep yourself partially decent, megumi has other ideas in mind when he decides to grab you by the legs and lift you. his hips pin you to the wall again with an ease you're all too used to, and it's around then that you don't care where the state of your dress lies.

he has the nerve to mumble nothings into your mouth as you sloppily meet his lips in every heated kiss. things you've heard too many times,

"see? you missed me too"

"i knew you'd want to get back together"

"we're so good together, baby"

and as you always do, you'll fall for it for however long it lasts this time. because no matter how many times you've broken up, you've never gotten over megumi.

#megumi brainrot #megumi x reader

[b1rds3ye]

a farah or valeria × reader perhaps? love ur writing btw ^_^

THANK YOU ANON!! Ngl I would've preferred more detail but I needed to write something for the gals ✌️

Taking What’s Mine

With the 141 being done with Valeria, she’s handed off to you and the Vaqueros to be sent to custody. You should have known better than thinking she would forget you.

Pairing: Valeria Garza x GN!Reader

Genre: Drama, Canon-Compliant, Enemies to more

Word Count: 2.1 k

Warning: Canon typical violence, yandere-ish Valeria? (Valeria's just generally a menace but better safe than sorry)

A/N: Italic sentences are meant to be characters talking in Spanish

You hop out of the driver’s seat of the black transport van to open the back door. Pulling back the door, you offer a mock bow, knowing whoever is entering is the infamous cartel leader, a rabid animal now restrained.

You barely have time to look as Alejandro all but shoves the package into the back seats. Only when you’re behind the package do you peer into the van at the poison of Las Almas. Turning around, she locks eyes with you. Your hesitation is quickly masked as you put your hands on your hips.

So this was the famed El Sin Nombre, who you now knew to have the name Valeria. She was formidable. Even sitting down, arms pulled behind her back, her attention on you had your hand instinctively covering your holster. Everywhere her eyes went was a purposeful action, picking apart every piece of the environment, every person. It settles on the space between you, Rudy and Alejandro - or the lack thereof - and you can see the gears turning in her mind. This was undoubtedly a seasoned fighter, finding potential weaknesses within a moment’s silence. Finding bonds, calculating potential damages. With no other form of retaliation, you slam the door shut, unable to see her reaction from the tinted glass.

Offering goodbyes and good luck to the rest of the 141, Alejandro and Rudolfo brief you for your next mission outside the van when your new allies leave. You’ll be personally keeping guard of Valeria for the foreseeable future until better arrangements can be made to detain someone in such high demand.

Alejandro drives, Rudolfo takes shotgun, and you’re given the unpleasant seat in the back beside the druglord. You figured the ride would be tense simply because the others had served together. Betrayal made the air heavy, it had Rudolfo dipping his head and exhaling heavily. Alejandro, ever the passionate one, was a lit fuse, jaw constantly clenched and screwing tighter with every second.

You were sure they had plenty to discuss, but what you didn’t expect - and prayed to not happen - was Valeria’s interest in you. You kept your head to the side, the back of the head is far less identifiable than the front. But you could feel it, the Nameless inspecting every aspect of you down to the pores of your skin, probably taking note of how you had forgotten to secure one of the velcro straps on your uniform. Amongst the silence of the van your swallow was audible in your ears and you swear she could hear it.

“I remember you,” Valeria states and you flinch. You can hear the smile in her voice. “I don’t remember faces often, they’re disposed of before they do anything memorable.”

You dare turn your head to look straight forward, only greeted with the back of Rudolfo's seat.

“Two months ago, southeast port, you sabotaged my shipment. You were pretending to be an independent vigilante taking matters into your own hands.”

You’re hyper aware of every process in your body. Every inhale takes a little more effort and your back is now straighter with every bump on the road unpleasantly smacking your spine. And you’re also aware that Valeria is tracking every single response, even the ones you're not conscious of, down to the hairs on your arm that now stand up straight.

“You don’t have the patch but I know a vaquero when I see one.”

Valeria turns back to the front, Rudolfo is eyeing her as Alejandro keeps driving.

“Alejandro. Dios mío, making your own a mercenary and having them do your dirty work. I thought you were better than that. I thought the Vaqueros prided themselves on cleanliness.”

“You can’t offer better,” you retort on behalf of Alejandro, to defend his honour. It came out before you could stop it but Valeria raises her eyebrows at you in amusement and you’re cursing yourself.

“I never said I could, but I don’t corrupt. Las Almas does that for me.”

Valeria shakes her head dismissively and she rests back in the seat. There’s a small smile on her face and it’s as dangerous as it is pretty. If you didn’t know any better you would think it was a smile of fondness.

“You even held me at gunpoint. Do you remember, vaquero? But then I begged and begged to return to my family and you took pity.”

There is only the sound of the van engine exerting itself through the crumbling terrain of Las Almas. You’ll no doubt end up discussing your mission once again with your colonel. Through the rear view mirror Alejandro spares a glance at you but there’s no disappointment, only understanding.

You grimace at the memory, that night at the port. It was early into your mission, the cartel weren’t even aware you were there hidden behind freight containers, save for (who you thought) was a single sicario stumbling into your little hiding spot. Even though you lost the element of surprise, you managed to bring her to her knees, gun pointed to her temple. But you did not operate like a cartel, you could not kill indiscriminately. You succumbed to those wide eyes that gazed up at you, frightfully admitting they were prey, and so upon taking all her weapons and military gear, you sent her off.

You realise now that you only shed off the sheep’s clothing and were now staring straight at the wolf. You can no longer call yourself a hero who delivered forgiveness. You mistook the shine in her eyes for tears when really it was the gleam of malice like a blade under the moonlight.

“How do you feel now, knowing that you were so close to ending El Sin Nombre but only lost from your own cowardice?”

“They have nothing to do with you.”

Alejandro’s grip on the wheel tightens until his knuckles are white. You want to speak up, to tell him it’s okay and that you can defend yourself, but you knew what Valeria wanted and you refused to give anymore.

“Oh but they do,” Valeria snaps and she regards you once again, you can see it in your peripheral vision. “You take away my profits and I will get them back."

Your square your shoulders, shifting in your seat. Your next swallow is so dry it hurts.

"See, I don’t forget fighters like you. People like you are risky for business. Like a cockroach you corrupt my supplies and never die.”

Her tone is teetering on a dangerous balance between spite and admiration. You suppose it’s not everyday someone screws up her orders and lives this long to tell the tale. Such skill and luck would be ideal to work in a cartel, you muse and just maybe you’re starting to piece her together as her unwavering gaze freezes the side of your skull. She’s already poking and prodding with her words, seeing if you can break, no, bend around this lawless nation. Las Almas can corrupt anyone, after all.

“I could make use of someone like you,” Valeria pursed her lips in contemplation. “I suppose you could say there are a few slots left open.”

Alejandro and Rudolfo had warned you of Valeria. In particular they warned you of her fire. She burned hotter than the buildings that baked under the Mexican sun. Her tongue held a venom that she inflicted liberally to anyone who dare cross her. And yet there was no aggression in her words. Her tone was deceptive all the same, but the sickly sweetness had you wondering what the hell you ever did to deserve such different treatment.

“I lost some of my best that day,” Valeria huffs like a child that lost their toy.

“My condolences,” you grumble half-heartedly as you focus on the individual fabrics of the back of the car seat. One piece of fluff is sticking out and you’re itching to pull it off, fingers twitching over your holstered pistol. “But you have the wrong person.”

But Valeria does not relent. Instead, she leans towards you, across the small middle seat that divides you and as far as her restraints will let her. Her breaths are heavy, strong enough that the tail-end of it warms your skin. Your cold sweat feels ever colder.

“Let me remind you, that I do not lose. I trade, cariño.”

“Leave them alone!” Alejandro bellows as he dares peel his eyes off the road and back at Valeria. His reaction is enough for her to pull away from you, bound wrists up in mock surrender with a satisfied smirk on her face.

“You’ll learn to accept losses,” you state, easing back into your seat in a pathetic attempt of confidence. “Solitary confinement teaches you a lot.”

“If anyone is learning anything, it will be you,” she argues. Shooting you one final look, she then switches her attention to the window, idly watching as the rugged yet beautiful terrain of Las Almas pass her by. “I’ll be out within twenty-four hours, and your precious vaqueros will be gone in half of that.”

So perhaps Valeria lied that time. She can only sigh upon running into her own men, almost mistaking them for other prison guards amongst the flashing red lights of a prison break. Months of suffering in a tiny cell that was as empty as your threats of solitary confinement, but even then the bite in your words provided her plenty of entertainment until the next time you’d pay a visit to her cell to make sure she was indeed still there.

“What the fuck took you so long?” She snarls at her own, already walking past them as they try to blurt out excuses for their tardiness. She only switches the safety of her rifle off in response and the rest of the cartel hurriedly follow her towards the exit of the prison. Stepping past fallen bodies and only narrowly avoiding the pools of blood that could dirty her boots, Las Almas cartel always knew how to make a statement. A sadistic smile settled on her face at what the Vaqueros would think of their parting gift.

Her reverie is broken by the distant call of her title and Valeria stifles a groan, stopping in her tracks.

“Is this the one?”

Valeria rolls her eyes before looking back at one of her lackeys, curses already on the tip of her tongue until she sees the little gift her subordinates prepared for her - upon her orders of course.

A man walks up to Valeria, hauling you in tow. He kicks the back of your knees, shins cracking against the cement floor. Your whole body joints at the pain, and you further jerk your bound wrists in a vain attempt to get free, but he only tugs back to contort your arms into an impossible angle.

“Fucker took out seven of us,” he spat at you, and even through the fear of being held captive you feel proud of the disdain in his voice, even as you feel the back of your head catch the offset of his saliva.

Valeria tuts as she walks up, spending a good moment with you having no choice but to look at her boots. Until her hand grips at the back of your collar like a baby animal, she yanks your uniform back to look at her as she squats down to your level.

“You are taking more of my assets,” she mutters and despite the chastising tone that coats her voice she doesn’t sound entirely disappointed. Her face is now closer to you as she inspects the blood that is dribbling down your temple.

With her other hand she wipes it away with uncharacteristic sweetness. She takes her time, as though there wasn’t a prison break and you weren’t her prison guard for the last half year. Even the dribble of her own subordinate is wiped off by her as she reaches over to the back of your head. The red lights cast shadows over her face as she looks down at you, but even through the darkness you can tell her features hold a smile only for you as her unkempt fringe falls across her face.

“Fortunately for you, that only increases your worth in my eyes, cariño.”

With no time to even question her, Valeria jerks her head as a sign for your handler to haul you back up to your feet.

“Damage the package and you will only be another ghost to The Nameless.”

You warily check the other cartel members but none of them look confused in the slightest, only nodding at the new orders. A bag over your head obscures your vision entirely and you’re shoved forward, being led to what you can only assume to be the depths of hell.

Call of Duty Masterlist

#call of duty x reader #valeria garza x reader #valeria garza x you #valeria x reader #cod fanfic #call of duty x you #cod x reader #cod x you #valeria garza #valeria mw2 #/*avery checks the mailbox*/ #/*avery actually writes*/ #anon mail ❤️

[just-some-random-blogger]

An angst where Dream and Y/N are expecting a baby, Dream misses the birth of the child because he was helping Calliope

First Love

Dream of the Endless x Reader

Summary: You saw the ask. Girl, what the fuck, why the fuck would dream do that to his fucking baby mama? -sincerely, me.

Word Count: 1k+

Warning: Mentions of pregnancy/birth pains/postpartum depression, fem!reader, established relationship, angst, clown shit, typos, etc.

A/N: I'm gonna say it anon, you got issues. i stared at this ask and wondered what i could possibly write for this. at some point i asked myself if i could even write it. here's your answer. suffer... ig... idk angst does not flow naturally from me lol [I JUST FINISHED WRITING IT HAHAHHAH SUFFER] i guess this goes out to all the mothers; idk if mothers read my fics but i see you and i salute you for going through birthing and/or raising children. i hope if you can relate to what reader is going through, you seek help. you aren't crazy. you just had a life altering thing happen to you. you deserve sanctuary. ALSO DO YOU SEE HOW SOFT THEY ARE IN THIS GIF WHAT THE FUCK WHY AM I WRITING THIS? I WISH I WERE CALLIOPE IN IT PLEASEEEEEEEE

He had been caressing my bump when he pulled away and looked afar. I asked him what was wrong. Dream told me she was in trouble. She was calling for him.

"Who's she?"

"Calliope."

Calliope. The muse. The beauty. The one he loved before me.

"Then you should go to her," I mutter under my breath, stoic, as I rub my belly.

"But you are due to give birth soon," his face tenses in concern.

I relax when he places his hand atop of mine and pulls me against him.

"Then don't go to her."

I feel him tense against me. My mouth goes dry.

I pull away from him and see his glassy blue eyes. I feel like retching. I suck in a deep breath and reach out to his cheek, "you are a king, and you said she was in trouble."

Dream's brows furrow.

"You know what it's like to be in trouble and helpless... I am sure she would not call to you if she was not desperate."

I do not know if I say this to soothe him or myself.

But it was apparently enough to convince him.

He grabs my face and kisses my forehead, "I shan't be a long."

But that was a lie.

One that would mark our end.

It all happened so quickly. It was like he left and then the next thing I knew I was giving birth.

I could do nothing but sink in my pain and heartache as I screamed for his name. I called him, Dream, Morpheus, my king, my lord, my love, but he did not come.

He did not come as I began to deliver our child. He did not come as I lamented over my agony. He did not come to me when the baby made it out to the Dreaming. He did not come to me when I stared at the nursing the creature in my arms.

He did not come to the mother of his child.

But then again I realized, so was she; Calliope also bore him a child.

The only difference between her and me was that when she called for him, he came.

And so, I did not want this... thing in my arms.

I did not want something who looked so much like someone who clearly did not want me.

I counted the moments of his return, every second, every minute, every hour; all I did was stare at the clock on the wall.

Lucienne begged me to eat, to sleep, and to nurse that thing and it was only because she wept on her knees that I even agreed to do any of it.

I did not understand... I thought I was meant to be fiercely protective of this creature I had carried inside me. He was made out of love. I spent days perfecting his room, going through countless books to prepare myself for his arrival, sifting through countless names. I thought I would be overjoyed by him, but I don't think I would even care if Lucienne tires of playing mother and forgets to have me nurse him... not even if he eventually stops crying altogether.

The boy was 'til now even nameless, and I could not care less.

"My love."

My whole world stills when I hear this.

He was here. He was finally here.

My breathing is heavy as I walk over to him. He has a smile on his face and even lifts his arms up for me. I do not fall into his arms.

"You've been gone for two days," I mutter over my heavy breaths.

Dream diminishes the space between us and swipe the tears streaming down my cheeks, "I apologize. I did not ex-"

"I called for you," I blurt, "I called for you for hours during my labor."

"And I heard everyone of them, but I cou-"

"But you stayed with her!" I shove his hands away, "but you did not come to me."

"The circumstances did not allow me to-"

Dream does not get to continue when the thing wails from afar.

Soon enough Lucienne comes to us, much more relieved about the return of her master than I. I feel a bitterness rise up my throat when the cries are quickly silenced when the thing is handed to his father. He seemed to recognize him, just as he was recognized.

Dream was clearly overjoyed by him. It was repulsive.

Lucienne calling my name is what brings her king out of his trance. She continues reluctantly, "he shall need to be nursed soon."

Tears continue to stream my face as Dream finally catches my expression.

"My love, I-"

"Do not call me that."

His face falls. His being darkens. His child begins to wail again because of it. The sound angers me.

Lucienne leans towards Dream and whispers something that makes tears streak his face.

I decide then it was enough.

Now that I had seen him, there was no reason for me to stay. I turn to the ring on my hand, the ring that allowed me to travel from his realm back to the waking world, the ring that reminded me of his broken promise to always be there for me. I rub it, willing it to take me away.

A portal opens.

Dream snatches my hand right after Lucienne gets his child from him. He calls my name, and it makes me recoil. I yank out of his grip and flare.

"I do not want to be anywhere near you or that THING ever again!"

"He is your child," Dream whispers as he reaches out to my face, "born out of our love-"

"But you do not love me!" I quip and shove him away, "you would not abandon someone you love!"

"No one is abandoned."

"YOU CHOSE HER!" I shriek, heaving deeply, more and more annoyed by the continuous cries in the air, "now I'm going to choose me."

"You are... unwell," Dream words carefully as he draws nearer.

"And you are nothing to me!" I spit back.

I watch him fall to his knees.

Lucienne gasps when parts of the hall begin to crumble, "my lord!"

"You were my everything. There was nothing, no one before you," I mutter as I rub the jewel of my ring one last time, "but now you are nothing, no one before me."

I slip my ring off and cast it away just before I disappear from the Dreaming.

#dream of the endless #dream of the endless fanfic #the sandman fanfic #the sandman x reader #the sandman x you #dream x you #dream fanfic #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless x you #morpheus x reader #morpheus x you #the sandman angst #dream of the endless angst #morpheus angst #dream angst

[a-little-lostecho]

(warning - HSR Belobog Arc Ending Spoilers)

I know they mention it a lot in canon but like… has anyone else ever really paused and thought about all the worlds we will have to leave behind as Trailblazers? Coming and going forever, only ever being able to truly call the Express ‘Home’ but even then, the words are heavy on the tongue.

Does anyone else think about how little time they really spend there? How many trails they’ve blazed before disappearing without a trace save for the changes they’ve since left in a domino effect. Belobog took a few days for the main quest alone — perhaps two weeks if you want to include the sub-quests and story quests. And then they never go back. 700 years they’d wait — Bronya said — and it wasn’t an exaggeration.

“Dan Heng how long can humans live for?”

“…Forever. But in those situations they wouldn’t be considered human anymore.”

It’s easy to forget that we may never see those people again in that world, as they are, as they’ve become, because we as the player can always teleport back with a few clicks of a button but the characters do not get the same liberties. They have left, to never return, lest they accidentally cause more calamity.

And few of Jarilo-VI have gotten to know them by name, as anything other than “the Outsiders” or, later, “the Trailblazers”. They’re not Nameless because they have no names, they are Nameless because in the grand scheme of things; no one will recognize them by name. Only by the paths they carve and set, by the view of their backs as they set off into the stars again.

Do you think about how quickly they accept the lost onto their ship — how quickly they accept the Nameless and allow them to stay with their own? Because they are all Nameless on the express. Wonderlusters, Lost ones, confused, fearful, grieving, lonely. They accepted the Trailblazer without a second thought, extending hands that were quickly grasped in return and have yet to be let go of. They are the Nameless, they are the trailblazers, they are the lost ones, and they are each other’s family. The Express is not ‘Home’ because none of them have that anymore, but they’ve found each other and in the wake of what they’ve lost or may not have never had, they’ve got each other. They’ve forged their own trail.

Trailblazers in their name and in how they love. Only another trailblazer can truly love a trailblazer. It’s why they gravitate so closely to one another. That small part of their souls resonating with one another and bringing them solace within the vastness of the universe. Pieces of their make-up so similar and lonely and lost that they can’t help but seek out others who are the same.

I don’t know where I’m going with this, honestly, but I’m absolutely enamored with the small feeling their presences makes me feel through the Trailblazer. Platonic, Romantic, or otherwise. Storgé — Is the word for familial love apparently but not found family, so I’m not quite sure it fits. Their impact as well in the universes, beyond their relationship on the Express. It’s all beautiful but always with a touch of melancholy when you sit back to think about it rather than just quickly passing through the planets and stars. It’s lovely, and I’m hard pressed to find a universe that makes me feel so small and important all at once.

Welt said something about feeling helpless when you first step foot on the planet and see for the first time everything that goes on there… and yet I find myself feeling more powerless when I look down from above rather than up from below.

In conclusion, Star Rail is lovely so far, I’m having a great time and will continue to brainrot about this and think too much abt it constantly for a good while <3

#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr spoilers #hsr thoughts #my thoughts #trailblazers #astral express #dan heng #march 7th #the nameless #astral express family #found family

[wasyago]

episode 110 spoilers

just like, random thoughts and stuff, mostly bits that i remembered

i sat down to write this i forgot everything oh my god--

in chip's flashback. the black rose pirates following the king to the big sakura tree, and arlin holding baby chip's hand. this. the cutest shit ever, i think i almost cried at the image of this big badass group of pirates and this itty bitty child led gently by his hand. even if i didn't cry before i sure will right now, baby chip you're so dear to me...

QUEEN! they didn't remember anything aughhhhh 😭😭😭😭 and their and chip's little talk about how they're going to put the pieces together :( and their hug :(

whatever drey, finn and earl are doing on the ship... like, what? hello? glad they're having fun tho lol. also wait hold on a second. how did drey answer the call? i mean, probably with his leg or something, if i had to guess. or maybe finn held it up for him. not sure if finn is at it enough to be able to answer the shell by himself, so earl and drey are the only ones who can actually use it. and seing how earl is in a... predicament. hm.

jay saying that when she looks at gillion she sees family. AUGHHHHHHHHHH AUGH AUGH OUGH jay ferin i love you. and this is so important to me not only because like hell yes they're more than friends they're a family, but also for jay of all people, considering her relationship with her blood tied family and how complicated her relationship with this word is.

also girl please do something about your leg, im begging you. the bone is visible, this shit is not going to heal up by itself. i dont know how you're still limping around this must hurt so bad. i guess adrenalin maybe, but still. at least get some bandages or something, i don't know... what is it with jay and her legs actually. she fell off a roof in edison kingdom and landed on a piece of metal that fucked up her leg, and now this.

oh my god niklaus, how could i forget about my babygirl. i mean, what can i say i love this guy. i dont know how many times ive relistened to his intro song, but definitely more than i should've... um. there was a lot of big important lore that i don't have the brain capacity to process rn.... i want to say that niki is the nameless prince and/or the thing trapped in the hole in the sea. because he can only interact with one person at a time by inviting them to his pocket dimension (even with jay it was said that the time around her stopped while she was talking with niklaus), implying that niki is trapped somewhere and this is the only constricted way he can interact with the world. and to answer chip's questions he said he wants freedom more than anything, again implying that right now he doesn't have this freedom. which makes sense, right? but then, the big bad thing was supposedly trapped thousands of years ago (i think?), but niklaus was a world famous pirate lord not so long ago and not trapped anywhere, so.....? idk im probably missing something. can't for the life of me find the moment where they read the nameless prince book so like, whatever.

that moment where jay talked to chip about how she thinks its all her fault and she should've just gave up her arm and leg. and how chip reassures her....... them 🥺🤲 kind of inspired by that post abt chip and jay i reblogged earlier, but these two talking about their emotions and feelings is so dear to me. just, being human with each other and opening up. gill is great ofc, but i feel like for these two its much easier to talk to each other to feel understood and heard. i love them.....

chip is still very much dead and probably won't be resurrected any time soon, so... hooray new undead chip design! but also oh my god my poor boy... forever 19... (also charlie and condi being surprised that chip is only 19. yeah </3) my poor guy my poor baby, he sounds so beaten and depressed in the beginning of the episode, its just breaking my heart qwq...

star and zamia <333 hehe

chip trying to marry igneous. lol. darling chill out, you just got out of one unsuccessful marriage and it didn't teach you anything, you're dead, you're only 19, you've known this guy for like, 2 days? don't get me wrong, godspeed to chip, but cmon man take him out to dinner first or something

and uhhh. the end, that's all i got

#yagotalk #jrwi riptide spoilers #jrwi spoilers #riptide spoilers

[ofcartographers]

○ behind a name — johnny “soap” mactavish/simon “ghost” riley — crack 「 “Oi, it’s ‘Don’t-Drop-The-Soap’ MacTavish!” A nameless Sergeant claps Soap’s shoulder from behind and narrowly avoids taking an elbow to the face when the Scot attempts to buck him off. “Awa’ an bile yer heid!” Soap splutter, but the man appears unaffected by the smaller man’s threats. The nameless Sergeant’s next move makes Ghost freeze: in a true act of brazeness, Nameless Sergeant drops his hands to the swell of Soap’s ass and squeezes. “Still got that fat arse I see,” He has the gall to sneer. --- ᴏʀ: Soap’s nickname is not from how quickly he cleans house, but rather on how he had the most fuckable ass in the SAS 」

The first time Ghost hears about the Scot’s nickname, he almost laughs at the ludicrousness of it. “What the hell kinda name is ‘Soap’?” He sneers instead.

He won’t deny the fleeting notion of it perhaps being related to the crude saying of “don’t drop the soap” but instantly dismisses it as such because surely no sane man would adopt a moniker with such an implication behind it.

Price is quick to allay his uncertainty. “The lad’s called ‘Soap’ because of how quickly he cleans house. Nearly beat Gaz’s record during selection,” the Captain hums. “I handpicked him myself, so I don’t wanna hear shite from you, Ghost, ” he says, fixing the man with a pointed look.

Ghost lets out a huff of laughter at this. “Fair ‘nough,” he nods, taking a final drag of his cigarette before tossing it to the ground and grinding the smoldering butt beneath the heel of his boot. “So when do I meet this ‘Soap’?”

---

When Ghost finally meets the man, he’s nothing like he expected him to be. For one thing, he’s Scottish and a bloody loud one at that — especially for someone who’s meant to be quick and efficient at cleaning house.

He’s also much smaller than Ghost had anticipated — though most people seem small when compared to his own 6’4” stature. For what Soap lacks in reach he makes up for in strength with his strong frame, muscled arms, and thick legs that even once allowed him to pin the Brit himself in a sparring match. Just the once though and it had absolutely nothing to do with how the smaller man’s form felt against his own.

Ghost eventually forgets all about the nickname entirely — often preferring to address him as “Johnny” instead, due to the lovely flush that settles across the bridge of the Scot’s nose each time he says it — until they have a run in with a few of Soap’s former company, that is.

“Oi, it’s ‘Don’t-Drop-The-Soap’ MacTavish!” A nameless Sergeant claps Soap’s shoulder from behind and narrowly avoids taking an elbow to the face when the Scot attempts to buck him off. “Awa’ an bile yer heid! ” Soap splutters, but the man appears unaffected by the smaller man’s threats.

The nameless Sergeant's next move makes Ghost freeze: in an act of true brazenness, Nameless Sergeant drops his hands to the swell of Soap’s ass and squeezes. “Still got that fat arse I see,” He has the gall to sneer.

Soap lets out a strangled yelp at this and Ghost sees red . “Sergeant!” He barks, causing the group of men to immediately stand at attention, their backs ramrod straight. 

“I don’t know what sorry company you come from, but I don’t tolerate any of that shite here — Do I make myself clear?” He snarls into the face of Nameless Sergeant who’s trembling and swallowing nervously. “Y-Yes, Lieutenant!” The man’s voice warbles.

“Now get out of my sight!” Ghost all but growls and the group is gone. Soap is running a frustrated hand through his mohawk, the tips of his ears red with embarrassment. “Alright, So—” The nickname nearly slips out, “Johnny?” He opts for instead, especially given what just happened.

Soap is rubbing the back of his neck — a nervous habit of his, Ghost’s noticed — when he peers up at Ghost, his face is still slightly flushed. “Aye,” he nods and chews his lip for a second before locking eyes with the taller man. “I can explain.”

Truth be told, Ghost wasn’t intending on addressing the incident at all, given how upset it had made Soap — but curiosity gets the better of him. Before he can answer, the sound of booted steps echoing at the end of the hallway makes them both freeze. “Not here,” Soap hisses, gesturing for the taller man to follow.

They arrive at what appears to be Soap’s personal quarters, based on the amount of Celtic F.C. memorabilia on the walls. Once inside, Ghost nestles himself against the closed door. “Well, go on then,” he goads.

Clearly the smaller man is filled with nervous energy, as he begins pacing the length of the room, his hands moving animatedly as he speaks. “That bawbag ye met back there was from me time in the SAS. Blootered eejits came up with the name ‘cos—” And the Scot says the last bit in a flurry that Ghost doesn’t quite catch.

“Slow down there, Johnny,” Ghost drawls for emphasis and he swears the man shudders at the call of his name. Interesting.

The Scot takes a deep breath and exhales shakily. “They call me ‘Don’t-Drop-The-Soap’ MacTavish ‘cos I got ‘the most fuckable arse in the SAS’,” He says more slowly this time, emphasizing the last bit with air quotes.

With a booted foot, Ghost pushes himself off the door he was propped against and begins to stalk towards Soap. “Is that so?” He clicks his tongue as his eyes rove down the form of the smaller man — dropping his gaze to appreciate the swell of his backside.

Soap lets out what could only be qualified as an indigent squawk.  “Steamin’ bloody Jesus!” He squawks and has the audacity to cover his behind with his hands, like a nan clutching her pearls. “L.T are ye checkin’ me oot?” 

Ghost nearly lets out a chuckle at this. “Nothin’ to write home about,” He scoffs instead and that’s the wrong thing to say — or right, depending on how you look at it — because Soap flushes red and he’s pissed.

Suddenly, the smaller man is stepping into Ghost’s space. “‘Nothin’ ta write home aboot’?” The Scot spits, his accent thick — a common occurrence when he’s worked up — as he twists around and cocks his hip, jutting his ass out. “This?” He jerks a thumb backwards for good measure.

The hunger in Ghost’s gaze is searing hot as his dark eyes raze Soap’s backside like coals. Ghost’s hands itch at his sides for just a touch of the proffered Scot before him — like a feast before a starving man, ready to be devoured  — but opts for crossing his arms across his chest instead, his muscles tight with tension. “I suppose I could be convinced,” Ghost suggests with a shrug, the implication behind his words perverse.

Luckily, Soap is quick to catch on to the suggestive undertones of Ghost’s response. “Oh,” the smaller man breathes out, uncharacteristically quiet for once in his life — but only for a beat because within the next second the cocky Sergeant that Ghost has been captivated by is back with a wicked grin. “Aye, that can be arranged.”

#THERE MAY BE A PART TWO POTENTIALLY #ghostsoap #soapghost #codmw2 #cod mw2 #johnny soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #follow me on the bird app @xuannsong

[butterfirefly]

Who is it?

KNOCK KNOCK Yoojin: [opens the door] Dokja? Shouldn't you be at the suicide club? Dokja: Meeting's cancelled. One of our members is getting married. Yoojin: I thought Gongja got married last month. Dokja: It's a different one this time. You wouldn't know them. Anyway, did you guys hear the news? Some psycho's running around destroying the city. Cale: [closing his eyes and reclining on his rocking chair] Not my problem. Yoojin: [tapping on his phone] Oh, good! Someone's live streaming it. [The fourth wall is shaking faintly] Yoojin: Ack. Sorry. Dokja: It's fine. Yoojin: Ahem... H-here, let me bring the volume up. Nameless Instagrammer: [sounds of explosion] Holy ■■■■! Did you see that?! A whole building just collapsed! [phone shakes violently as they begin to run] ■■■■■. This swordsman's ■■■■■■■■ crazy... Trio: [instantly becomes hyperalert] Nameless Instagrammer: Bet he has a ton of fans though. Lots of shallow ■■■■■■■ in the world. It's me. I'm ■■■■■■■. [pauses to evade a flying debris] My friend managed to take a picture of him while he was demolishing her school, but- what? [reading the comments] No? I can't show you right now 'cause I'm trying not to die. Anyway, he's insanely good-looking. Like. Waaay handsome. Cale: [sags in relief] Dokja and Yoojin: [anxiety intensifies] Cale: By any chance... did either of you forget to inform your group of your whereabouts, too? Dokja: [hurriedly typing out a group text to his nebula] Not me. I'm not that stupid. Yoojin: Yoohyunie was in a dungeon, but I stuck a message on the fridge before I left... [shakes his head sharply] No. No way. That can't be Yoohyunie. Dokja: How can you be so sure? He many not be as han- Cale: [casts a shield around himself] Dokja: ... as much of a handful as Joonghyuk, but he's a [lowers his voice to a mutter] handsome swordsman, too. Yoojin: [pretends he didn't notice to keep his body count from rising and just shrugs] Because Yoohyunie promised. I told him after the mess in Hong Kong that if he wiped out another city again, I wouldn't hug him for a week. Cale: Okay. Let's pretend there's nothing wrong with what you said for a second. What about that monster pet you told us about that likes to eat everything? Dokja: Yeah. What if it ate the note? Yoojin: Chir- Nameless Instagrammer:Holy ■■■■■■■ ■■■■, he's here. The Swordsman: CALE-NIIIM Cale: [rushes out of the room] SONOFA-

#cale has to apologize to choi han Right Now for thinking he's not that handsome or I'm making him kiss white star next time I lose my sanity #yoohyunie is an angel and he'll never break a promise with his hyung ^_^ <3 #joonghyuk's out there. somewhere. #cale henituse #kim dokja #han yoojin #tcf #orv #sctir #I feel like I need to come up with a tag for these posts...

[tiredlittlewriter]

High & Low 🧡🧡Sannoh Rengokai Headcanons🧡🧡 for the main 6 + Naomi some happy, some sad

Remember: These are my own hcs and you don't need to agree with me! Just don't be rude or I'll make fun of you♡ I love my Sannoh Boys

Cobra🧡

- Constantly tired, but a happy tired now that the whole Kuryu thing is over

- Can do a handstand for 30 seconds

- Hates carrots unless Naomi mixes them really really well into whatever he's eating

- Speaking of food :[ has trouble eating anything he doesn't make himself or made by Naomi and even then... Yamato has to make sure he eats or sometimes he won't

- Passed out from that more times than he would like to admit

- Definitely undiagnosed depression. He doesn't think anything is wrong with wanting to self-sacrifice himself all the time. Noboru checks up on him anyway

- Cried when Smoky died (not in public though, someone needed to be strong)

- A great singer but only sings when he's drunk at karaoke

- Member of the alphabet mafia, which letter? Don't worry about it

◇◇

Yamato🧡

- A big baby, cries at movies

- Would clap at the end of a flight

- Empathy king!! Whenever someone is going through something he knows how to comfort them or give pretty bad (or good) advice

- Everyone in Sannoh respects women ofc but Yamato walks the girls of the Sannoh area home if need be. His big frame comes in handy

- Bumps his head on things

- Massively protective over Noboru and Chiharu. He sees them as one in the same sometimes, loves them a lot

- Despite all of the Mugen/Amamiya beef being squashed, he and Hiroto spar every now and then

- Doesn't drink a lot (only a social drinker) because he's afraid of being addicted to something the way his mom is pachinko

- Absolutely no way he didn't have a crush on Cobra for at least a little bit. I mean. Come on

- Alphabet mafia amen

◇◇

Noboru🧡

- Most normal Sannoh member (this does not mean much)

- Would probably try to go back to law school, he'd want to learn how to protect S.W.O.R.D on a different front

- Has nightmares about the day he found his gf. He's moved on from the event but the way he saw her stuck with him

- A ball of anxiety

- Sucks at cooking

- Knits when he's stressed (has a lot of scarves would you like one please take one he has too many)

- Semi-speaks English

- Works at a nearby library

- Forced Chiharu to get his GED

◇◇

Dan🧡

- mmm I don't have very many but

- A pretty solid painter, painted the sign for his shop

- Joined Sannoh because he felt like he felt that he finally had a place to belong

- Doesn't have that much family

- 2nd best cook of the Sannoh boys (Cobra is first best but not by much)

- Owner of at plenty Noboru Anxiety Scarves and puts the ones he doesn't want up for sale in his shop

- Plays the lottery and won 100 dollars once (spent it on Sannoh and never told them)

◇◇

Tetsu🧡

- Adhd all the way babey

- Oya High alumni (tell no one)

- Has at least 2k followers on insta

- Keeps airing Sannoh's business on socmed 😭😭

- Jailbroke an iPhone once before forgetting how to do it

- Is religious (not one of Those Types) and prayed for S.W.O.R.D whenever they had major fights

- Goes to Nameless City to help rebuild and bring food incognito (Rude Boys just pretend they don't see him)

- He's cringe so he probably has had a crush on the same girl since middle school

- Likes to scrapbook

- Stays watching horror movies

- PDA King if ur in Sannoh you've hugged him at least 10 times within the month

- Lowkey bumps to the Mighty Warriors music on Spotify

◇◇

Chiharu🧡

- After officially squashing the beef with Furuya, they got along as well as you can when it is Big Loud Angry Guy and Please Don't Guy

- Can and will eat you out of house and home

- Works part time at Yamato's shop

- Giving him the highest honour I can bestow (Trans)

- Told Sannoh and cried and then Yamato cried cause Chiharu was crying and Tetsu decided that was the best time for a selfie with everyone's ugly ass cries

- Kizzy probably knows

- Although not the sharpest tool in the shed he's really good at puzzles and riddles

- He's never really forgiven himself for betraying S.W.O.R.D

- Lightest of the boys, Cobra has thrown him before

- Considers them his family, since his own kinda gave up on him after dropping him at Oya

♡♡

Naomi🧡🩷

- "I am not a nurse" she says as giving stitches to her boys

- She's a certified women kisser idc argue with the waaaaallll

- Really loves her boys no matter how mean she is to them

- She's a Sannoh girl, of course she knows how to fight a bit

- She knew she couldn't go up against the White Rascals but if someone tried to rob Itokan all they'd be leaving with is an ass whooping

- Keeps trying new styles with her hair, did a side shave

- Probably has an infinity tattoo for her brother

- Has a custom made motorbike

- Forget Sannoh being protective of Naomi, Naomi is protective of her hoodlums and will in fact talk mad shit to anyone who disrespected them

- Has a running tab for each gang that happens to eat there, White Rascals has the lowest one because Rocky always pays + a nice tip and Oya has the highest because they have 5 dollars between the entire school

#high&low #story of sword #sannoh rengokai #cobra high&low #yamato high&low #noboru #noboru high&low #dan high&low #tetsu high&low #chiharu high & low #naomi high&low #i just love them okay #sannoh

[asterhaze]

There Will Be No More Strawberries

• Original Work •

Copyright © 2023. Aster Haze. All rights reserved.

I hate strawberries. Their dimpled outside squishes easily, even with a delicate touch, and their sickly sweet fragrance sticks to my fingers even after I have washed them ten times. There is something about their smell, their texture, all of them that seems so fake, so manufactured, so artificially perfected that I find it strange that others like them so much. Strawberries are my brother's favorite fruit.

I also hate bananas. It isn't necessarily their flavor, though bland and uninteresting, that disgusts me. It's their texture. So squishy yet stringy, too easy to eat, mush barely held together by near-flake fibers. They should be good, since they're okay dried, but they're not. Bananas are my grandmother's favorite fruit.

I hate chocolate the most. Sugary dirt. Gritty on my tongue even when smooth. Melts in your throat even if you try to swallow it whole. The smell is enough to make me gag, yet I am one of a kind. Unless they're allergic, I have found that chocolate is one of everyone's favorite treats.

In 90 seconds there will be no more strawberries. In 90 seconds there will be no more bananas. In 90 seconds there will be no more chocolate because no matter how much we love something, how much we care for something, how much we want those things to still exist for those that come after us, there are people like me who care so little for their existence that their absence will be of so little consequence that we will simply forget they were ever there. My life will not change if there are no more strawberries or bananas or chocolate or chocolate dipped fruit. My life will go on.

There is a man who sits in a fancy chair in front of a beautiful desk with his 70-year-old hand resting on the handle of a telephone. This man has a voice so powerful that he can command a dead hand to shoo away the lives of every living thing. Every human, every animal, every strawberry, every banana, and every cacao tree will have its DNA wiped from the face of the earth with the back of death's hand. Like eraser shavings.

There is a man who stands on a tall podium, speaking over the begging screams of his people, and he tells men and women in designer suits with important titles that if he doesn't get what he wants, he will forget us under lovely dots. There are lovely dots on the map. There are lovely dots on every country and every major city in the world. The humans and the strawberries and the bananas and the chocolate bars are so small, you can't even see them. Just the dots.

Will the people who take those lovely dots off of the map replant our fields after the dead hand moves? Will the man who wants to take us with him into the abyss if we don't bend to his will make us chocolate after the fires stop burning? Will the men and women in designer suits pass out bananas and strawberries when the winter fades and the door to their bunkers open up? Will they pass them out to us?

Do the faces of unimportant people with regular titles, bargain suits, and small voices matter if they live below those lovely dots? Are they as insignificant as strawberries, bananas, and chocolate? Less so since they're not the important people's favorites? Even less because they can always make more of themselves if the dead hand forgets to sweep them away?

One day the dead hand will move and it will keep its assured promise. The hand has only so many fingers to point with and can only smudge so many lovely dots away. Nameless faces will find a way to roam the earth again, to rebuild, to survive the poisonous snow and salted earth. Without fresh strawberries. Without bananas. Without chocolate.

But if my brother is still alive, God forbid, he will feel their absence and he will miss the taste of a ripe strawberry picked from his father's garden in summer to replace the ashen taste that rots his tongue. One day if my grandmother is still alive, God forbid, she will wake up hungry and wish there was something easy for her to peel and tear with shaky aged hands, and something soft and easily mushed with her tired gums. After midnight there are no more bananas, no more easy foods, and no more favorites.

Years ago someone found a tree with pods growing on its branches, cracked them open, and between them and their many ancestors they figured out how to make all sorts of chocolatey treats for me to hate and everyone else to enjoy. Hours ago someone looked at a green bundle of leaves with tiny red berries and spent the rest of their life experimenting, learning, and cultivating that tiny patch so the fruit would grow bigger and stronger. Minutes ago someone found out how to take the seeds out of bananas and then clone them so that every single banana that grows from a cloned tree tastes almost exactly the same. While all of this was happening, kingdoms and dynasties rose and fell. Countries were born, lived, grabbed by the throat, and took their final breaths as they were absorbed by countries with bigger hands.

All of this fantastic knowledge is kept in quiet books that were invented minutes ago. Since books are big and heavy, noisy devices powered by controlled lightning were invented seconds ago so all of that knowledge can live in our pocket. In 91 seconds the fires will start and all the books will burn and anyone who survives under the lovely dots won't want to read anyway since there will be nothing to read. In 91 seconds all of the smart parts of those noisy devices will melt like the small parts of people, only less goopy.

All of the records of those hours and minutes and seconds will be wiped away in 90 seconds so that when my brother and my grandmother and I die no one will ever think of strawberries or bananas or chocolate or America or Russia or Europe or China. Because after 90 seconds have long passed, after the dead hand lays mummified by the poison snow in the salted earth, there will be nothing left of this earth that any of us living now will recognize. And our descendents will have no strawberries, bananas, chocolate, or great countries' ideals to remember because there are also no books or noisy devices.

Only the silence, the lack thereof, the stories and the tales passed night by night as children are tucked in their rags.

#original writing #nuclear writing #writeblr #writing #writers of tumblr #writers #writerblr #write #writblr #writing community #post apocalyptic #apocalyptic fiction #there will be no more strawberries story #light horror

[galactic-magick]

I’ve been on the hunt for a new emotional support water bottle cuz my current one is nasty and I am absolutely losing my shit over this review. I’m sold

IMAGE TEXT:

I like a good water bottle as much as the next bottle enthusiast, but this isn't a good bottle. It's an amazing bottle. It's the bottle.

I have a friend, who will remain nameless, but for context he's got an issue. He's got a good size snoot, a honker if you will. We've known each other for the better part of a decade and even work together, but over the years he's had issues with other bottles. First it was a themoflask with a narrow spout. I would see him drink from this bottle sideways all because of his schozzle. I couldn't bear to have him drink like this, just watching him drink out of that bottle hurt me too. I sought out a wide mouth bottle to help fix the issue. When this second wide mouth bottle came along I recommended it to him and this seemingly fixed his problem. That was until my issue.

We were drinking out of our matching bottles one day, when the car in front of us braked. He left a sufficient distance to bake safely but this didn't stop the transfer of momentum. The water came rushing back through the wide mouth of the bottle, drenching me in ice cold water. Thus began another journey to find yet another bottle.

Days, weeks, almost a month of mind numbing scrolling through bottles went by when this bottle came as a recommendation from Jeffery himself. The Owala FreeSip. The name itself intrigued me so I decided to proceed. I was flipping through the pictures when the reason for the name sake finally hit me. It shook me to my core. The ability to drink from a straw and a spout? Could this be it, the bottle to solve both of our issues? I immediately clicked buy now, not bothering to waste time on adding to cart.

The next two days were excruciating. The human body can go about a month without food, but only about 3 days without water. Beginning to become dizzy from dehydration, I mustered everything I could to refresh the tracking page. Then it happened, the doorbell rang and I knew it was here. I rushed as quickly as I could to the door. With what little strength I had left, I grabbed the bottle, ripped open the packaging, and filled it. And to my amazement, it worked.

After draining the bottle and taking a moment to be more refreshed than I ever had in my life, I stopped. In this pause all I could think about was my friend. He had been struggling just like I had, but arguably longer and I knew that he must be on the edge just like I was. I ran to my keys, making sure not to forget the bottle, and immediately went to the office. I drove dashing from lane to lane knowing that I probably didn't have much time. After entering the building I ran to his desk only to find him there laying on a bean bag. I picked him up and gave him a drink.

Once he came to he said "thanks for the water and for not spilling any on me."

I replied "don't thank me, thank Owala."

And he said "who's Owala?"

All that I could do was laugh... Then I showed him. We both looked as we realized this solved both of our problems. I sent him the bottle just as Jeffrey did to me. And as he finished his last sip with the freedom to drink any which way he saw fit, we both stood up, jumped in the air and exclaimed "YIPPEE"

All that I can say is thank you Owala for saving not only me, but my friend.

#I love people who write unhinged reviews on Amazon

[projectbluearcadia]

Forgive? Forget? Haha, I Wish.

[ Trigger Warning - Severe overreaction to dark humor

Reader Discretion Advised ]

Mammon: This pipsqueak is the human we’re supposed to be protecting?

Lizzy: Hol’ up. Pipsqueak? Seriously?

Annelie: Well, you are shorter than me. 

Lizzy: Hushshsh. We don’t talk about that.   

Annelie: That said, Mammary, her name is Elizabeth, so please use it. 

Mammon: I’m going to call her Zabeth ‘cause that sounds cooler.

Lizzy: Uh... haven’t heard that one before. 

Annelie: Well, it’s better than his nickname for me. Levi, Satan, pay attention. 

Levi: But she’s a normie. 

Satan: Do I have to?

Lucifer: Honestly, you’re all acting like children... Belphie, I know you just got back, but stop sleeping. 

Belphie: Zzzzmnghs... 

Beel: He says he’ll be back in ten minutes. 

Annelie: You could understand that?

Lizzy: Isn’t the bigger question why he’s on the floor in a maid costume? I mean no judging anyways, but it smells fruity up in dis house. 

Lucifer: What? Fruity?

Annelie: Punishment I guess? Dia was trying to be creative, but after a while, I think Belphie just got used to it and was too lazy to take it off when he came home yesterday. 

Lizzy: Punishment?

Annelie: Non-sexual, to clarify. 

Lizzy: That didn’t even cross my mind. Pervert. 

Annelie: Well, anyway, the oldest here is Lucifer. He’s stressed 24/7, so please don’t bother him.  Second-born is Mammon. Don’t leave your money near him. Leviathan, will only talk about games, anime, manga, TSL, etcetera. Satan, will help you with your math homework if you ask really nicely. Asmodeus, who is currently in a bath towel why?

Asmo: Well, I would have dried off and did my hair and nails and skin if someone hadn’t rushed me out!

Asmo glares at Lucifer.

Annelie: Well, anyway, ask him about anything beauty-related. Beelzebub, very sweet and can be bribed with food for pretty much anything. Belphegor, basically sleeping beauty, wouldn’t ask him for anything unless you’ve got no one else to turn to. 

Belphie flips Annelie off in his sleep. 

Annelie: You’re such a brat, you know that?

Belphie smirks. 

Lucifer: I can smack him for you. 

Annelie: Why? That’s just how he normally is around me. One day he’ll be using my feet as pillows and the next he’ll be hitting me with backhanded compliments. I swear to Diavolo he’s a damn cat. 

Lucifer: And yet you like cats. 

Annelie: Actual cats preferably. Although Satan is a very cute cat. 

Satan flushes. 

Lucifer: He’s only cute when he’s sleeping. 

Satan: Oi!

Lizzy: Are we just ignoring the fact that half of Lucifer and Satan and Beelzebub are literally the same person? And what’s with the nameless—no offense, Simeon—angel? 

Lizzy points to Simeon even as Annelie bustles over to Satan to calm him down. 

Lizzy: Where’s Michael and Samael and all those guys? Also, what happened to the spinning wheels and masses of eyes? I really wanted to see those.

Simeon softly chuckles.

Simeon: It’s a lot less fun that way though. As far as Michael goes... he’s a bit busy right now, and I’m not too sure about who Samael is supposed to be, but I’m sure he’s a lovely person. 

Lucifer: Well, in any case, since Annelie’s has taken my job from me, I’ll take hers. She’s the head of the Human-Demon Relations Agency, and Solomon, whom you will be sharing a dorm with, will be monitoring the school according to her regulations. 

Lizzy: OOF imma die. 

Lucifer: Why? 

Lizzy: I mean Anne doesn’t really care about me, soooo~ 

Annelie stops in place as LIzzy makes a flippant head-cutting motion and sticks out her tongue pretending to be dead. 

I don’t care? Are you fucking kidding me right now? No, you never are, because you never thought I cared through all of those years. 

The brothers stir. 

Lucifer: Elizabeth, if you choose to make comments like that, please make it absolutely clear that you’re joking. 

Lizzy: Wow, look at you being all threatening. Way to reinforce that male dominance thing. 

Lucifer glances at her, and she steps backwards. 

Lucifer: I won’t say it a second time. 

Lizzy: ...jesus, I was joking! Excuse me! 

You weren’t joking. Unfortunately, I know you way too well. 

Simeon: Lizzy, I don’t think Annelie thought it was a joke.  

Annelie: It’s fine. Did you have any questions?

Lizzy: ...

Lizzy steps backward further. 

Annelie: What? 

Lizzy: Why are you... all glaring at me? What’d I do?

Annelie: Nothing. Guys, knock it off. 

The brothers begin to settle with the exception of Lucifer, who knocks a pencil off of the mantlepiece. 

Annelie: Lucifer, I didn’t mean that literally. 

Lucifer: Be more specific then. 

I have a feeling he’s going to make me spill my guts on me and LIzzy the second we’re alone together... 

Lucifer: Do you have any questions for us? If not, then join us for dinner.

He’s just going to brute force it, isn’t he?

Annelie: We’re not going to cook you, before you ask. 

#luci wants me to make friends #but will he succeed #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #fanfiction #shameless self indulgence #obey me angst #obey me #LuciAnne

[poppy-purpura]

A general question for you! What was your least favorite abnormality in Lob Corp?

Mine is totally “Express train to hell”, I always forget it’s existence and it murderizes my poor agents…the “Nameless fetus” takes a close second for just killing people randomly when it feels like it but at least I can forget it’s existence when I “politely” tell the department Sephirah to maybe please not have a mental breakdown while I try to pay my rent.

let me see i love train because design is so good i think i dont like abnormalities like button or you bald... And this one about xmas. Other abnormalities may be awful in work but i can understand their existence and they have good design. Xmas abnormality terrible for me. Bald thing just a joke. Button pretty useless and also a joke. and some old doodle

#lobotomy corporation #ask #pura

[dysnomic-absolution]

between the cracks

As a kid, I used to dream of flying.

My gods were mundanity, wonder, and loneliness. My prayer came as a warble in my mind, some coiled frailty in my chest, pulling me along. I balanced between this faith born of hope, of childlike certainty, and this secret awfulness. I wished on every star, begged a god that would not listen, and tried to find my way to faery through gaps in the brush. Escape came just as easily as idle worship. And I tried to bury my gods just as surely as I ran from the dark. What child isn’t afraid of the monsters they can’t see, while baring their necks to those stood plainly in the light?

I dreamt about weightlessness, about formlessness. I dreamt I could be as insubstantial as a breeze, faster than light. I lamented the heaviness of flesh and bone, my internment in a world that stood so solidly ‘round me. I stared through every desperate imagining and saw only my own eyes looking back at me.

If only I could fly away. If only, if only, if only.

Despite every bit of study, every ounce of intelligence, I didn’t know how to get free.

Not of a human body, not of childhood, not of individuals with hooks like claws sunk so deep I hardly ever thought they might come out. My mind was a grave, the dark earth tucking me in, walling me off. Chaining me to the ground, while my eyes roved hungrily over a midnight sky. I wasted, there, inside, myself and echoes for company.

Dreaming still, but quietly—so unsure, every second a stutter.

I got used to static, to numbness, anticipated the blank nothing.

Dreamless existence, sleep choked with nightmares.

Reality bent under the weight of my terror.

Fear swept in and out, this tide I had no name for—and no words to describe. I remembered only what was necessary for my survival, and dreamed about time like a lover—as if maybe, one day, I might learn every inch of her skin with my mouth. As if time were a taste I wanted to know with as much intimacy as blood. Daring only to dream of dreaming, taking nothing, asking only what was necessary.

Don’t ghosts fly? I wondered. Maybe if I really was nothing at all, nothing in particular, I could be free. I could go. There would be some release from the constant weight. The immovable object pinning my limbs and leaving my body exposed. My skin writhed with phantom agony, scar-tissue shining and silvery. Bleached white, but never erased. Ever-present.

How do I get out of here…?

Please.

Let me go.

I can’t anymore.

Who could ever withstand this much.

I need to find some way out.

Get out.

Leave.

GET OUT.

Bend reality far enough, and it

b

r

e

a

k

s

What’s a mind if all it can muster is the shattered pieces of a child that grew like weeds, scattered by a hurricane, by scavengers and opportunists? What’s a body that goes on only because it doesn’t know how to stop, a dream that swirls ‘round and ‘round, approaching the drain like an addict flirting with the edge? What is a wish that cannot come true?

What is forgetting your own name over and over and over again?

What is going unheard, yelling into a void choked with broken things?

What do you do, when you reach the end of your own capabilities?

I

sat

down.

And waited.

I collected my breath, and every whispered fragment that made it as far as I had.

I took one breath, then stood, and took a step.

I didn’t fight, anymore. Looked up from my path only to glimpse a sky made of blackness, interrupted only by gold veins—this glow like the stuff of pure memory. Made of nothing but the nameless dreamstuff, a whole mind’s eye of light.

I taught myself each new thing, each step, each hurdle—returned knowledge where I could, but left many areas dark and unlit.

Precautionary darkness.

Failsafe pockets, where I might bury myself again.

I didn’t dream of flying again. I dreamt of food, of water. I dreamt of rest without interruption, and silence that didn’t bite. I dreamt of lungs and hearts, of flesh and blood and cells. I dreamt of steady hands, and scrubbing the blood out from under my nails.

I took my time where I could, chest heaving.

Straining to continue—always with an undercurrent of weariness.

But time came to me like a dog, forgiveness settled gently ‘tween its teeth.

And together we went.

One foot in front of the other, that light filtering down through the darkness to brush the crown of my head only. A chaste kiss from hope and memory. A solemn promise.

#personal essay #did #queer writers #writeblr #kind of a poem #written by #txt. 🦝 #posted by #txt.🖤 #series: complex haunts #tw abuse

[someheroescarryfloss]

In Which I Complain About The Series Some More

When I watched the movies, I was under the impression that Santa had to have a wife because the first Santa had had one, and as such Santa and Mrs. Claus were a package deal.  I still choose to believe this, because I really hate the alternative.

So, in the show, it’s revealed that The Mrs. Clause was created so that Santa would have children, who would grow up at the North Pole and end up with magic powers.  

Two problems there.

1.  The concept of Mrs. Claus existed long before that, and they even made a few jokes about it.  Carol holding up the cookie tin and pointing to a grandmotherly old woman who quite clearly wasn’t her.  It was just the ‘character’ that the human world knew and accepted.  Carol was even forgetting her own name, and was justifiably upset that she was reduced to a nameless, faceless role.  It doesn’t make much sense, and it’s disturbing that her own identity is being erased.

2.  But even more disturbing than that?  She was brought there to essentially be a brood mare.  When she complains about these things, she’s either contradicted or brushed off completely, as if she’d never spoken.  As if she has no personal agency of her own, and it’s played for laughs.  Who okayed this???

I’m not a militant feminist, but I’m not at the other end of the spectrum either.  I think I fall somewhere in the middle.  I think that men and women bring different things to the table, and are both equally important.  And there is a lot of overlap there as well.  Women can fix cars, men can knit, etc.  Here, it’s played for laughs, and it’s just insulting.  

Carol getting a fight scene was...well, hear me out.  As cool as it was to see her getting to kick some butt, it made ZERO sense that they would have kept those toy soldiers!  What were they saving them for?  There was no reason for them to be there at all, other than to let Carol have a ‘girl power’ moment, only to have Santa Scott make a Mrs. John Wick joke.

They made her a joke.  La Befana got very little screen time, and they had her stupidly lose the coat to Simon in probably the dumbest way possible.  This character could have been awesome, and she literally had nothing to do!  Her inclusion in the series was reduced to her and Carol lamenting the fact that they were secondary to the men they were surrounded by, and no one learned a thing.  It was just...icky.  I thought at first that they were pandering to feminists, but it ended up more like a message of, “It doesn’t matter what you do or how much butt you kick, you’ll always be second best.”  

Not cool.  Not cool at all.

#Ooc #The Santa Clauses #The Mrs. Clause problem #Feminism is a joke apparently #Feels bad man... #Finding it hard to pick out the positives in this series!