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#me saying i miss writing
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we really need more ship whump. ocean whump. stuck on a boat. whumpee going outside at night because there's not really a reason they should be restrained. because all the can see around them is the pitch black ocean stretching into infinity
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nomazee · 23 days
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enough to make me cry
blade is your only roommate, your only friend, and your only way home from this terrible party you found yourself in.
blade x gn reader — 3.3k — college & roommates au!, very americanized college experiences, frat parties, mentions of drinking & vomiting, could be read as platonic but there are definitely romantic undertones, feelings of inadequacy/being out of place, hurt/comfort, social anxiety, blade is probably ooc i'm gonna be so honest, mild kafka & reader friendship, erggg im probably missing something
notes: no i have to be so honest blade is probably completely out of character i have not played a single side quest with him in it but i just think he has reluctant roommate-to-best friend potential and i wanted to pour that into a fic,,, this is mostly unintelligible but i did proofread! love you all
—°+..。*゚。*゚+.*.。.—
A warm hand rests on your shoulder, and the first thing that you think is Blade’s hands are supposed to be cold.
It’s really pathetic. You’re somewhere in a stupid frat house, the thrumming of music around you. There’s the flashing colors and sounds of Mario Kart on the TV, the smell of puke (probably yours) and corona lite, and a hand on your shoulders that you’ve discerned is not your roommate, Blade’s. 
Looking to the side, you follow the hand (painted, manicured nails, definitely still not Blade’s), and it leads up to an arm up to a shoulder up to a face, and—oh. 
“You’re—” you pause, getting your words in order before you puke them up, “you’re Blade’s pretty lady friend?” It’s supposed to come out as a statement, but leans more to a question. She looks down, a bit of a teasing grin on her face, but her eyes are a little soft so you trust her. 
“Is that what he calls me?” she jokes.
“No, I’m— I came up with that.” If you had any dignity left in you, you’d be embarrassed to admit that to her. Unfortunately, you’re pretty sure that Kafka (the pretty lady friend in question) just held your hair back and wiped your face as you puked into a frat-house toilet, flushing your dignity away with your dinner. Your eyes burn with tears and mortification, and you pray that only Kafka saw your embarrassing mishaps.
“I called him to pick you up,” she tells you, already looking away from you and scanning the room as if looking for something, or someone. “I would take you home myself, but I’ve got some things to take care of. And I’m assuming you didn't bring your keys with you?” 
A quick pat-down of your pockets confirms that, yes, you somehow managed to leave your keys at home, the one personal necessity that you were supposed to bring besides your phone. Which, thankfully, you do at least have.
“Umm, the…” you mutter, tongue tangling uselessly as you try to find a way out of here without facing the impending doom of Blade’s aggravated scolding and his I told you so’s. 
A week ago, you went to him with an invite to this frat party and begged him to come with you, saying something like You don’t go out much, this is your chance! He’d adamantly refused, calling it a bad idea and rolling his eyes whenever you brought it up. But you were stubborn, and you wanted to have a fun college experience, so you forced him to drive you to the party with the promise of paying for his next gas payment and getting your own ride back home at the end of the night. 
“I can go,” you finally tell Kafka, mind stringing along memories and thoughts and alarm bells of get your ass home before you have to sit in an awful car ride with Blade, “It’s, like, a fifteen minute walk, don’t call him.” 
“It’s a little too late for that, kid,” Kafka drawls, amusement in her words. She’s smiling down at you, and you’re reminded of how small you feel. “He’s already on the way.” 
“No!” you protest, a little too loudly, but not loud enough to be heard over the thumping of music and bodies and voices. “It’s— Kafka, please, just tell him to turn around, I really don’t want him to deal with me today.” 
If you knew her even less, you’d misinterpret the twitch in her expression as concern—but you’re not too dumb, so you read it as amusement. “Trust me, he’s not going to have a problem with that. You’ll be fine.” 
Whatever that means. Kafka’s too cryptic for your liking, but you won’t complain. She wiped up your vomit from the dirty bathroom tiles and stayed with you to make sure you didn't get trampled, and she didn't complain about any of that. In a week, when you have enough strength to face her again, you’ll treat her to a good, expensive, flaky pastry. She seems like the kind of person who would love those. 
Her phone buzzes with a text notification, and she clicks her tongue, standing up and pulling you with her. Her hand is still warm, seeping through the sleeve of your shirt as she takes you by the forearm, gentle but guiding. Your stomach churns at the thought of seeing Blade, the thought of him seeing you like this. Freshly-puked-out with a nasty stomachache all because of a party that he told you not to go to. 
You hold back your protests as Kafka leads you through the still-crowded frat house. What time is it? Has nobody gotten bored yet, seriously? At least you didn't kill the mood by running to the bathroom and weeping into the toilet. It seems like nobody noticed, except for Kafka, and you don’t know if that should make you feel comforted or just more upset. 
The cool air of the night hits you as you step through the front door, eyes tracking your feet as you walk down the concrete steps. You see the silhouette of Blade’s ugly blue car in your peripheral vision, but you don’t want to look up in fear of seeing the disappointment on his face so soon. He’s going to rip you a new one, and then call you a slob and kick you out of the apartment and say I can’t have a party fiend living with me even though this was your first party ever, honest. 
You barely register that you’ve reached the passenger side of Blade’s car, only coming back to awareness when Kafka opens the door for you and starts nudging you into the seat. A really pathetic part of you wants to grab onto her arm and cry hard enough that she just relents and lets you walk home, but you’re already half into the passenger seat, looking everywhere but Blade. 
“Take care of them, won’t you, Bladie?” Kafka commands lightly, her hand leaving your arm as you get situated and buckled up in the car. Blade lets out a little huff in response and your stomach sinks. He’s already annoyed. 
The car ride to your apartment is only five minutes at this time of night. You just have to survive five minutes in silence and pray that he doesn’t tear into you and scold you like a disappointed parent. A glance at the clock on the car’s console confirms that it’s half past midnight. What the fuck. What were you even doing at the party for that long, besides vomiting and crying? 
The car rumbles, exhaust sputtering a little bit as Blade pulls out from the side of the street and drives slowly, carefully, as if not to rattle you, and you really just want him to speed up and throttle the car around so you feel more guilty about waking him up in the middle of the night to come pick you up. Blade goes to bed at eleven, the latest. You can’t imagine why Kafka thought it would be a good idea to call him, of all people, but then you remember that you kind of don’t have any other friends on campus. Your chest tightens at the thought. 
Blade makes some kind of sniffling noise, his way of trying to initiate some kind of conversation. There’s not even any music playing, because he always drives in dead silence because he’s abnormal, and on any other day you’d tease him about it like you always do. You see him turn his head to you in the corner of your eye, but you refuse to acknowledge him. You wish he’d just start scolding you, yelling at you or something. 
Tears prickle behind your eyes, painfully so, but your hands tighten around each other in your lap as you will yourself to not cry like a baby in front of your roommate. He lets out another sigh, but it doesn’t sound angry, just tired, and somehow that makes you feel worse. 
“What were you guys even drinking?” is his question of voice, and it’s the one question you didn't want him to ask, and you can’t help it when the tears spill over and you bring your hand up to wipe them away frantically, hiccuping a little bit as your gut churns. 
“What—” Blade stutters, and he never stutters, and you see him whip his head around to look at you, crying into your hands over a simple question, and you just want to leave the car and walk home like you told Kafka you would do. He pulls over to the side of some residential street. There’s a dog barking in a yard and wind chimes clinking together, and you think of your handmade bottle cap wind chime hung in the balcony of yours and Blade’s apartment, and it just makes you cry more. 
The car comes to a full stop. Blade puts it in park and turns completely to you. You spare a quick glance at him through the gaps between your fingers, and there’s something like worry on his face, which you’ve never seen before. His face is pinched, lips parted as if wanting to say something, but he can’t. He’s waiting for you. 
“I didn't drink anything, Blade,” you sob, feeling miserable at the state of yourself, at how you went to a frat party with nobody you knew and just walked around like a lost child, too scared to drink or talk to anyone, too anxious to say a word. “Not even a shot, or a sip, nothing from the fridge. It was so stupid, you were right, okay? It was a stupid idea, and I shouldn’t have gone.” Your breath catches in your throat, and the car is dead quiet as Blade lets your words sink in. 
You try not to make so much noise when you cry, but you’re sniveling and wiping your face and wishing that he would just stop looking at you like that. You can still see the ruby-red of his eyes even when you can’t bear to look up at him, and it makes you so viscerally upset. 
Blade is beautiful, really, and it makes you so upset that he looks better than you right now despite him being dragged right out of bed by Kafka’s phone call with a request to pick you up just minutes ago. You, who spent hours selecting an outfit, just to feel inadequate and wholly ugly the minute you walked through the door. It felt like you were back in middle school, spending hours with your parents picking out an outfit to a school dance, looking through ties and pants and shoes, just to show up and feel both overdressed and underdressed, feel like a fool, feel like you just can’t look the way everyone else does. Like something is always a little wrong. 
“Kafka said that you got sick. You didn't drink anything? You’re sure?” 
“No,”  you confirm pitifully, wanting him to just drop the topic and drive the rest of the way home and never talk about this again. “I was just anxious, and I puked like an idiot. Kafka helped me, she was the only one that I knew at the party. I don’t know. I don’t remember anymore. I was just anxious.” 
He says your name, not unkindly, but with a prying tone that just makes a fresh wave of tears stream down your face in rivulets. “Why would you go if you didn't know anyone?” 
“I don't know!” you shout, heated with embarrassment. You’re acting like a child, throwing a tantrum and crying and shouting in Blade’s car. The seatbelt is too tight on you. You fiddle with it, pulling it from the juncture of your neck and shoulder and loosening it, scratching your bitten nails against the scratchy cloth and looking out of the car window so that you can avoid Blade’s awful, terrible, intrusive gaze. 
“I just wanted to be normal, or something. I don’t know anybody from any of my classes. I don’t talk to anyone from my major. And then I got the invite for the party somehow and I just thought it would be fun. I don’t know, Blade, I know I should’ve listened to you, I’m sorry.” 
“Stop,” he says firmly, fully turned to you now, as if he wants you to look back at him, to listen to whatever he’s going to say, and that’s the one thing you don’t want to do. You hate that he’s being kind. You wish he’d be sarcastic and mean and cruel, bite into you and feed off your self-pity. But he’s being nice, nice in the same way that he’s nice when he buys the right brand of milk for you (because the others make you sick, and the taste is different), or when he drives you places in his car when it’s raining so that you don’t have to take the buses everywhere, or when he comes home with your ridiculous coffee order that costs a hellacious amount of money with all of your substitutions and additions and flavorings. 
“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” he says resolutely, leaving no room for argument, “Just— I didn't know you were feeling like that. I would’ve gone with you if you told me you needed someone. I assumed you were going with a friend.” 
You don’t respond with I don’t have any friends, because you’re pretty sure that’s clear enough by now, and you don’t want to confirm what’s already been confirmed a million times over just from the way you act. The way you cling to yours and Blade’s apartment, the way you never spend a second longer than you need to in any of your classes, the way that sometimes, when Blade goes out for class or work, you sit on the couch in silence with your laptop out, doing your work for the week and checking the clock and taking naps so that you don’t have to feel so alone for so long. 
“You didn't want to go,” you say instead, “I wasn’t going to make you just because I’m— I don’t know.” 
“I would’ve gone for you,” he tells you, really tells you, with a force in his words, like he wants to drive the point into you with a stake, driven right through your heart. “I would do a lot of things if you asked. You just need to ask.” 
You don’t— you really don’t want to think about what that means. What he means. You rip your eyes away from the car window and turn to face him. He’s not too close. You almost wish he could be closer, but you would suffocate under the pressure in your stomach and behind your eyes. 
He shouldn’t say things like that, things like You just need to ask, because you’d ask for a lot if given the chance. You’d ask for him to come to parties with you, stay by your side, let you put a hand on his shoulder and guide him around another disgusting frat house as if you know what you’re doing. You’d ask him to sleep in the same bed as you some nights, just a foot away from each other, backs turned to each other but still close enough that you can feel the unnatural coldness that radiates off of Blade. 
You’d ask him to introduce you to Kafka and that other girl they hang out with, to say something stupid and funny like This is my abhorrent roommate, be nice to them, and that way you’d have more contacts in your phone that aren't just Blade and your parents and two old high school friends who you haven’t spoken to in a year. You’d ask him to be a lot more than just a plus-one to a party full of people you’ve never met. 
“I just want to go home,” you breathe out, a guilty confession burning your gums and leaving a sour taste in your mouth. “I’m sorry.” 
“Stop saying sorry,” he asserts for the second time tonight, making your lungs squeeze as you puff out a tired exhale. Blade turns back in his seat, taking the car out of park and heading back onto the road—driving slowly, yet again, avoiding cracks and potholes in the road. “You need to eat something. You’ll wake up with a hellish headache if you go to bed dehydrated.” 
“I don’t think that’s true.” 
“I said it, so it’s true,” he says petulantly, turning the car down into a road that’s definitely not in the direction of your apartment building. To your hidden delight, the glowing sign of a twenty-four-seven ice cream store comes into view, and you sit up just a little bit. Blade slows the car as he turns into the drive-thru, glancing at you with an eyebrow half-raised. 
“What do you want? I’ll order for you.” 
“I don’t have my wallet,” you admit, just a little bit embarrassed. “I didn't even bring my keys with me. Do you think they take Apple Pay?” 
A breathy laugh escapes him, and you catch sight of a dimple pressed into his cheek, and you want to press your thumb into it and look at his smile, just for a little longer. “Don’t be dumb. I’m paying,” he tells you, the same way he has every time he pays for your cafe drink, or when he comes home from work with your favorite, and says You’re broke enough without having to pay for these drinks, don’t pay me back in that snippy way he shows his care. 
You ask for a medium vanilla milkshake, with sprinkles, and he gets you a large instead, which you’re more than grateful for. He refuses to let you look at the receipt for the total cost, and hands you the milkshake with a comical severity that you often see in him. The sweet drink washes away any bitter taste left in your mouth, and you feel a little better, a little nicer in your haphazard party outfit and under Blade’s fleeting gaze. 
A deep sigh escapes you, one of relief, when the car finally parks at your apartment building. Blade puts a cold hand between your shoulder blades, unobtrusive and leading, and it’s a comforting contrast from the heat lingering on your skin from the party and the closed car. It feels right, more in-place than Kafka’s warm hands were when she wiped your face and kept you steady, though she was just as gentle. 
Blade all but tosses you onto the couch, claiming that it’s much too late for a shower and he’d rather not deal with you collapsing from exhaustion in the tub. You relent easily, the exhaustion of the night hitting you and soaking into your limbs. 
“I’ll let you sleep on the couch,” he says, and it’s a good and kind thing, because he knows that sometimes you hate your bedroom because it’s just too empty, and the constant sound filtering into the living room puts you at ease. He never lets you sleep on the couch, because it’s bad for your back, and he jokes about you developing adult onset scoliosis with the awful way you sleep. Letting you do it, just this once, is another one of his small mercies. 
The TV is on, humming at a low volume, and your legs are thrown across Blade’s lap. You’re shocked that he’s willing to fall asleep with you like this, but he’s kind, sarcastic and biting but kind all the same, as much as he loathes to admit it. It’s not too lonely, you decide, hearing the bottle cap wind chimes on your balcony clink together in dissonant harmonies. 
(There’s a missing text from a new contact on your phone when you wake up, coming from pretty lady friend, extending an invite to brunch in two days, and you kick your legs on the couch in giddy excitement, thinking about how you’ll rope Blade into coming with you, too.)
—°+..。*゚。*゚+.*.。.—
taglist: @tragedy-of-commons
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aromanticannibal · 1 month
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tbh I think as bkdk lovers we don't use izuku calling katsuki an idiot often enough
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starry-bi-sky · 3 months
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Danyal Al Ghul's missed potential - this kid is not gonna behave like his canon self if he's with the league of assassins until his late formative years, and my reasoning why
(feel free to take this all with a grain of salt this is just my thoughts on it, this is all mostly amusing to me and isn't trying to be negative towards anyone else)
similar to how i was talking about how danny growing up in crime alley would affect him, demon twin aus with danyal al ghul make me laugh a lot (affectionate) because... whose teaching danny to unlearn all the ecofascism he picked up from the league of assassins? whose teaching him to be kind? to be gentle? Not the LoA thats for certain.
(you could plausibly say Jazz but she's only 2 years older than Danny and do you really expect a fellow child to properly explain why X is wrong to another child and have it be 100% effective? i don't doubt it'd help to an extent, but not in the same way an adult explaining it would)
plus a ton of other things, like whose teaching him to value human life? not the LoA. Whose teaching him how to adjust to living with American society after he ends up with the Fentons when he's 8-9-10? Who teaches him that killing is wrong, whose enforcing that?
(not the Fentons if you're going the neglectful parent route, and Jazz can try but i really don't think Danny is going to listen to her, a stranger who isn't even part of his grandfather's league)
How do you teach a child to value human life when the greatest development window for that opportunity has closed and he's already formed his own opinions?
You're not gonna get a Danny whose exactly like his canon attitude if he's staying with the league during his formative years (0-8 years old). you're not. You could get someone LIKE it, potentially, or someone who has traces of it or is similar -- like danny's wit and jokes and sarcasm, and on some level his kindness. but you're not gonna have a carbon copy. Development doesn't work that way. "nature" can only do so much in the face of nurture.
If anything, it doesn't even have to be a major change -- in the league he cans till be kind, but it's probably going to manifest in a different way than what is considered normal. Tough love, for one. But there's gonna be something that affects him negatively. Why make him 'always good/kind' when you can make him a brat who develops into a kinder (if spikier than in canon) person?
TLDR: Danyal Al Ghul would not be like how he is in canon if he's with the league until his late formative years -- not without any lasting pr permanent impacts from the league at least. Missed potential to make him an absolute nightmare like damian was -- especially in his early years when he first arrived to the Fenton house.
(this doesn't apply to danyal al ghul aus where he's either given to the fentons as a baby/is reincarnated/etc. this is mostly aimed for danyal al ghul aus where he fakes his death at like, 7-10 and somehow ends up, personality-wise like his completely canon self by 14 without any differences.)
(and even then if he's five or four, or even three, he would still be traumatized and influenced by the league. he'll just have more time to adjust. the sooner he leaves the league the more likely he is to be like his canon self, but not like an exact copy)
(more under the cut)
Anyways what I'm saying is that there is prime missed Danyal al Ghul potential to make him an absolute NIGHTMARE to the Fentons however way he ends up with them, just like Damian was with the Waynes! Cuz why does Damian get all the fun? Danny got the same training and endoctrine as him! He is also an ex-assassin! Why is Danny the only one who is 'well adjusted and non-violent' hm? Hmm?
Why can't he also be mean, and stabby, and a total stuck-up in some way or another? Have fun with his characterization, its prime opportunity to play play-doh and clay with him! If he starts out as X how does he get the personality traits of Y, and thus become XY?
Like take this with a grain of salt if you will, but make him arrogant. Make him an asshole! Make him a bad person at first! Because he will be! He's the blood son of the batman and you mean to tell me that damian is the only one arrogant about it at first? Make him stabby and mean even at 14 when he's begun to chill out! Have fun with it! If he's with the Fentons at any point past the age of four or five then he's gonna be a nightmare to handle because he still remembers the league and his time there.
(and while it gives him more time to chill the hell out, his time at the league is still gonna leave an impact on him.)
also what im saying as well is have him and sam potentially get along like a house on FIRE. Again, Danny grew up under the views of an ecofascist cult and nobody to challenge those views to him until he got to amity park at whatever age in late formative years he was at. He could be about as intense or even MORE intense about environmental awareness/rights than Sam is!
(also him being supremely unimpressed with Sam's wealth. he gave up a palace in the mountains for this town. because that's funny to me - like let his past have more influence on him! it'll be fun!)
you could have a danny who doesn't kill but doesn't fully understand the value of human life because jazz is like two years older than him and isn't that good at explaining why people's lives are important. he won't kill but he's not morally opposed to it. there's very little chance he actually gets bullied at school because he nearly killed Dash the first time he tried anything.
Danny could have scars, physical ones, because its implied in multiple canon that training starts at toddling (my best bet is 3 at minimum and ~maybe~ 2 but only on the later side of 2. Good fucking luck getting any infant under 2 to do anything you ask, ESPECIALLY assassin training. They're gonna stick the weapon in their mouth sooner than they're gonna do katas. This is coming from a daycare teacher.)
there's more examples of how danny being at the league during his formative years would affect him, but those are just some of them. he could have a sword! An appreciation for weaponry and nature. Maybe he still speaks all shakespearan and formal, does he still make bodily threats to people? If Damian is still threatening people at 14 why can't danny?
#dpxdc#dp x dc#dp x dc crossover#dpxdc crossover#dpdc#tldr danyal al ghul has a ton of missed potential of what his behavior would be like if he left the league mid-to-late formative years#this post is specifically directed towards those danyal al ghul posts where he ends up with the fentons when he's like. 8#like great. who taught him to unlearn all of the LoA's programming#how is he exactly like he was in canon despite being with the LoA during his early childhood#source: i've taken multiple child development classes#this isnt to bash those aus at all its just me thinking its hilarious that danny would even remotely be like his canon personality#especially if he's in the league long enough for damian to remember him#like i love danyal al ghul aus i just think there's not enough being taken into account about how the league would permanently impact him#especially if he leaves later on in life#people are not ponds they are puddles of mud. if you drop a rock into it it's gonna change its shape#its also good creative exercises on how to flesh characters out better and better understand how things in a story may impact a character#good thought exercises with the additional bonus of making danny a violent gremlin like damian is#i dont wanna say this is bashing but i guess it is kinda a criticism on the writing in those aus because you’re telling me this had NO#affect on danny on his personality beyond just ‘oh league bad. league scary’?? cmonnn have some fun#like you mean to tell me that being a child assassin had no lasting impact on him or his personality?? like at all???#he doesnt have an ounce of self-importance/arrogance/anger like damian did?? like none of that *stuck?* he’s just the normal and sane#sibling right off the bat??? five years with the fentons turned him into a complete blankslate?? he has no lasting impact from the league??
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veggiecorner · 3 months
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Food for thought but what if the house in Hateno was just Zeldas at first? Link wanted to give Zelda a place to stay where she can rest without being reminded of her duty every 5 seconds (which was why staying in Kakariko didn't work) and he knew he's not the type to sit around and rest. He does want to stay by Zelda's side however, but also felt awkward about living with her. So he does this thing where he just checks in with her every few weeks/months but travels around doing tasks for the people. Whenever Zelda wants to travel he's immediately by her side, but once she's back in Hateno he's just "...okay see you later......" and leaves. Zelda wants to tell him to stay a bit longer, but is too uncertain to break that boundary between them. Also she doesn't really want him to feel like he has to stay by her side. She wants him to have his freedom.
But suddenly him being gone for 2 months becomes 6 weeks...then it becomes 1 month...then 2 weeks....then a week...and one day he walks up to Zelda and just says "...can I stay over for the night?"
And so the house in Hateno starts to feel a little less lonely from then on.
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gunsatthaphan · 6 months
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I hate their asses sdkjhgf
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topaziraphale · 7 months
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"Stop saying Crowley won't help Aziraphale in S3 he'd go back to him in a HEARTBEAT and nothing would stop him" I get it no one likes the idea of Crowley being bitter after what happened for a long period of time but like can we at least acknowledge that he's currently going through probably the most emotional pain in his life since falling? Can we agree that he's opened his heart entirely - something you couldn't pay him to do unless the world is literally ending and he's desperate - to Aziraphale, and got shot down? Can we understand that he did it AGAIN only to lose Aziraphale again? Not that what Aziraphale did isn't without Crowley's own shortcomings (hiding the truth of Heaven's cruelty from him) but like,,,,
The appeal here isn't Scorned Crowley Doesn't Love Aziraphale Anymore, or Never Wants To Help Him Again, the appeal here is Crowley learning enough self respect to not just walk back right to Aziraphale like nothing happened after Aziraphale has had a pattern of consistently refusing him. Going years ping-ponging between "We're not friends I don't even know him" to "That's what friends are for right?" and "We're friends, why would you even say anything?" and "Friends? We're not friends. We are an angel and a demon!"
Like I get it, Crowley is a heartbreakingly forgiving person. Of course he's gonna forgive Aziraphale, I'll be surprised if he didn't forgive him by the time he walked out the bookshop door, but gdi he could at least grant himself the luxury of being at least a little irritated for longer than however long it takes to make a globe and some books float and angrily cry out to God in his flat. But due to the change of pace and dynamic that is establishing part of the conflict for Season 3, I just really like the idea of him for ONCE prioritizing himself and being like "Okay, fine. We'll get back at it when you're ready, then," instead of just taking Aziraphale back like his words and actions meant nothing to him, when clearly they have an effect on him.
What is Aziraphale going to learn if Crowley just accepts what he did so quickly, like he always has the entire time they've been friends? Idk maybe I'm just projecting too much darkness on their dynamic but I mean, if the pattern of Aziraphale pushing Crowley away/disrespecting him one day and then being fine with his friendship the next + Crowley never stopping to be like "Hey, that's not cool, at least give me a little credit" or smth was fine all along and will continue to be fine in the future, then why, after 6,000 years of being friends and loving this demon, can Aziraphale still not accept that Crowley is just fine the way he is, and instead got excited to promote him to an angel in a heartbeat once the opportunity presented itself? You can't blame all of it on Heaven when Aziraphale has demonstrated his free will/defiance to Heaven so many times. Or, I don't know, I guess maybe we can? Maybe I'm just craving too much angst to the point where I'm letting it cloud my analysis of canon. Idk.
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harbingersecho · 2 months
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I don't feel pain I never escape I'm under the bed I'm licking the floor
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blondiest · 3 months
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i tire of posts complaining about the quality of other people's writing. a) this discourages new writers from sharing their work. b) fanfiction is free. c) you're killing the vibe and the whimsy. d) go do it yourself if everyone sucks so bad. bitchass
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pokimoko · 1 month
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Hi, I just saw your art of the snake and the pigeon with aromantic flags, and they look amazing! I thought that a pigeon done in the colours of the queerplatonic and/or oriented aroace flag would be adorable. Did you know that pigeons mate for life and often show affection to their partner by cuddling with each other and giving them light pecks around the neck and head? They also are apparently great parents, with both males and females taking care of the young, this load is shared almost equally between the sexes. Both parents build nests, sit on eggs, and lactate (well “pseudo-lactation” technically) to feed chicks. I just thought the idea of two pigeons in a qpr would be really cute.
Sorry for the ramble about pigeons, I just really like them.
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Don't apologise, I love me some pigeon facts. And you're absolutely right, two pigeons in a QPR would be really cute.
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crystal-jack-asripines · 10 months
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WHYYYY does Twitter have to be down on the day Dapper, Richarlyson, and BADBOYHALO HIMSELF are making a 4halo BUFFET
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golden-headband · 5 months
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Nap Time
Eternal Servants AU belongs to @emelinstriker
Scenario: Reader wants to sleep. Needs to have their favorite fur covered boys to sleep well.
You were lying down, trying to go to sleep. And yet it elludes you like water from a ducks back. You knew you were tired, yet your mind refused to turn off in order for you to get your REM sleep.
You finally breathed in and give a sigh of defeat. Lifting your head from the pillow and looked up. "Guys? Could you-?"
"Yes Master!?" Macaque knelt before you, at eye level where you were lying in the couch. You stared at him. Bemused at his speed. "Can i ask you, Wukong, and MK to come here for a sec?" That order request did not take long to be fulfilled.
"Is there something we can do Master?" MK asked, looking up at you. "It's not a big deal, just a lil thing." You assured the three monkey champions kneeling in front of you. " Um... Can I ask you guys to just... Lie next to me? Like. One on each side? I'm more used to my cats lying next to me while I go to sleep and uh..." By the look on their faces, they could feel your sorrow from missing your pet. You took in a deeper breath, held in your chest as you tried to speak. "I just need some company while I go to sleep."
" of course" you were so tired you couldn't tell if it was Wukong or MK saying this. You knew it wasnt Macaque since he wad always so loud and eager to please you. Eventually you felt Wukong on your left and Macaque on your right. Both nuzzling into your shoulder and side respectfully. MK was clinging to you while burrying his head into your chest. Right over your heart. All of whom had their arms wrapped around you ans their tails wurled either around your legs or your waist. It was... Soothing. In no time your eyes closed, and you drifted off to sleep. Feeling comfort in those around you.
And when you felt Wukong place a kiss on your head, it was over. You heard his voice before going straight into dreamland. "Have a good night Master."
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ganondoodle · 3 months
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im quite tired of talking about totk, like im sure you all know by know just how frustrated i am, but something i still strongly believe was the logical, and best thing to do in a sequel.. -
while botw was about you feeling lost in a strange world with neither you nor link knowing anything and both discovering it as you go, the theme of lonelyness and isolation, freeing the spirits of dead friends you need toremember again, in the end finally reuniting with one of the only friends still alive, after a 100 years
totk should have been about community, about working together with zelda at your side, as a companion, after having been seperated for so long, and seeing nothing of the time between titles, this should have been her travelling alongside you, after botw you'd WANT to spend time with her and get to know her more, her being the diplomat, the archtitect, the scientist, the translator of old texts, a historian trying to find out the truth about what her fathers kingdom was built on, to right old wrongs perhaps, for a better future- theres so much that she should have been, so much of her character was primed to go into this direction- and instead she is a pretty prize with no personality you get at the end like this is an 80s cartoon still
(this is disregarding the whole fact that ganondorf, AS WELL, should have been a giant factor in all this, in the history of it all, to explore his character and his actions, to have zelda research and find out about histroy clearly written by the victors- theres so much potential depth here that it dirves me crazy, botw was such a set up for more that was wasted, utterly wasted, for something i wouldnt even want to call paper thin bc even paper has more depth than anything in totk)
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13eyond13 · 3 months
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love it when a character that's hard to read intuitively for you has like a dedicated fandom interpreter who can just glance at their blank face in a panel and then give you a 3k word essay on their innermost thoughts & desires & fears and neatly tie it back into the themes & whatnot as if it's the most obvious thing in the world
#im talking about griffith btw#guts i feel i get intuitively - maybe because i have some personality traits in common with him#and we get more about his life concretely told to us in canon. so he is a bit easier to pin down as a character and feel attached to for me#but whenever i was reading the manga i just kept wanting more insight about griffith's actions and feelings#like ok yeah its fun to have mysterious antagonists and suspense /tension etc but its also fun to feel like you deeply understand them too#and i felt like that was a bit missing from him for me in canon#so reading about him in analysis and fics is the most fun for me rn#he always felt kinda half unreal to me- which maybe was the point of him - but i wanted a bit more about his childhood or something?#and wished we had more stuff explicitly from his pov in the story to read or explanation about his transformation or wtv#and now he's so much more closed off to me even than he was in the golden age. i keep waiting for him to explain stuff and he does not#ANYWAYS all this rambling to say some people out there are very good at interpreting him and making his like. insecurities#more obvious to me bc i didnt really get that side of him from canon intuitively well#also im really enjoying reading the first few berserk fics ive read#there may not be a ton of them out there but there is def writing talent in the fandom#i'll share some recs once i'm done sifting through most of what's out there to read#also (not to tie everything back to death note but it IS my home fandom after all)#i feel griffith is obvs the more light-like character here and L maybe a bit guts-like? but unlike berserk in death note#light is the one you get to know best and L is the mysterious / unreal one you don't get a lot of concrete insight into#and in the DN fandom I can read the more mysterious character intuitively but had to warm up to the less mysterious one instead#and the mystery of L makes sense to me and doesnt bug me as much due to like - he HAS to hide a lot about himself or else he will die lol#so some similarities there but also some opposite feels as well#berserk spoilers#p
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campbyler · 24 days
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help i didn't meant to send the out of focus eye to eye reference thing anonymously... well. it was me.. if im wrong don't post it😞
well don’t worry bc you absolutely got it right 🫡 ten points and a kiss to these other wonderful people in our inbox as well hehe i hope you guys had fun searchingggg 😚
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nylongenesis · 5 months
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Here’s the thing about Timothy stoker
here it is the tim post
People who say tim is an asshole are partially correct.
People who say tim is ‘toxic’ are INCORRECT.
I am very strongly about this because. listen to me. okay.
SPOILERS UP TO TMA SEASON 3 AHEAD
Imagine BEING timothy stoker. After whats probaboy the secondmost traumatizing experience of your life in which you almost die if not by the worms then by the MEDICAL EMERGENCY (respiratory acidosis is a medical emergency :3) your body was put into- plagued with nightmares and the pain of your body being covered in holes and your medical issues, you come back to the archives expecting to see your best friend, That will make it all better. It’ll be so worth it once you can see her again.
And then she acts so distant. And you dont know why.
And you have just lost your friendship. The one that’s kept you going this whole time. The one you were starting to believe might have been unbreakable. And you Don’t. Know. Why.
Eventually after many failed attempts to reconnect, you resign yourself to the fact that she just got tired of you. That you were right this whole time. That she just pitied you. You still don’t know what you did wrong and it’s eating you alive, but she won’t tell you, so you have to settle with pretending to be glad that she’s at least alive, All while your boss is literally going insane and STALKING YOU???
Only to find out after a YEAR of believing you were just unlovable that this person? The person youve been trying to ‘reconnect’ with? That isnt your best friend, Your best friend dies and you never noticed. How could you not notice? But when you see the real picture of her she feels like a stranger and you realize you have no fucking escape from your horrible, unforgivable sin of forgetting your friend. Because no matter what you do, trying to look back at your memories, that *thing* is there instead. You can’t even enjoy your memories before she died.
So you sit there, alone and afraid. Angry, grieving, everything else. What are you supposed to do but make the thing that has haunted you since the disappearance of your Brother feel the kind of pain it is making you feel?
Tim isn’t toxic. Hell I wouldn’t even say he’s that much of an asshole.
He’s a hurt child.
Mentally, especially in season three, he’s having the equivalent of a child’s breakdown. The kind they have when they don’t know how to express the emotions they’re feeling. These emotions- this grief, this anger, this pain- it’s so big, it’s so much, and he feels so small, so incapable and weak, and he cannot properly handle it. He cannot cope. Especially since he’s still somewhat trapped in who he was when his brother was taken.
Now im not saying the way he went about this is at all great, but yknow. Everyone forgives reactions to trauma until they’re personally inconvenient or ugly.
Tim lost everything, and honestly i would be pretty damn similar if I was in his position! That’s DEVASTATING.
In the end, there’s such a horrible tragedy to his entire character that goes almost entirely unnoticed unless you’re like me and you’re insane and overanalyze someone based on one word in an extra audio thats not in the podcast.
Anyways, that’s why I love Tim.
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