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#short story ig?
the-ow · 6 days
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ig destacadas ' ★
사랑
(⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀) : texto invisible
— art.
0:04
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— like or reblog.
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all the rise boys get done dirty on characterization by fandom in different ways i think. (not ALL the time every fanwork etc etc these are just like, trends i tend to notice?) every fandom suffers from losing character nuance.
- leo i’ve talked about plenty on this blog, how some of his canon traits (genuine belief in his skill and cockiness, capacity for joy, his manipulativeness whether for good or ill) seem to get watered down or wiped off the board and supplemented with generic sad boy. his struggles with purpose and identity and not wanting to fail somehow morph into “he hates and completely holds no value for himself”
- donnie’s canon personality gets blurred out and largely replaced with whatever list of Neurodivergent Traits. and i think there’s such a fine line to walk between exploring a character that’s been word of god confirmed as on the spectrum and overwriting what’s canonically there. it’s a hard needle to thread. it also feels like a lot of his canon emotiveness gets left off the table for some reason. bc he does have his moments of flat/deadpan delivery, but a lot of the time he’s honestly very emotive. he has the passion of a theatre kid and the vindictiveness of... also a theatre kid. and the mind of a scientist.
- raph loses so much of his rowdy teen boy energy it’s kind of wild? like interpretations sand off that he’s also impulsive and can be reckless and dumb and LOVES fighting and roughhousing and isn’t the most eloquent person. suddenly there’s this pitch perfect soft boy big bro who would never hurt a fly and always says the exact right supportive thing and singlehandedly raised his 3 brothers (which simultaneously sands off all the nuance of splinter’s issues emotionally connecting with his sons and how that affected all of them). and like i LOVE raph, he’s so full of love and care and anxiety, he clearly has learned to put a lot of work into being aware of his strength and size. but there’s a difference you know?
- mikey is like. where raph gets overparentified by fanon, mikey gets over “family therapist”-ed IMO. the impulsiveness, the goofiness, the powerful emotions including a VERY powerful temper, the flat-out dumb teen boy choices... they get ignored. suddenly there’s this only very sweet and earnest boy who has read a hundred psychology books and runs group family therapy weekly or something. he is crying in his room bc leo and raph are arguing about something. which is so. he IS very sweet and can be very earnest and is full of love! he HAS come in with his opinions and unsolicited advice a couple of times and life coached for the greater good. but there’s a difference between what he does in canon and the role he gets in fanon.
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freshdishs · 3 months
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No because I actually want to see a villain who’s both comedic and has absolutely no idea what the hell they’re doing
Like
Imagine they’re new to the city where the hero operates and they get caught in the crossfire during a fight
BUT
The villain acts on impulse and sticks their hand out to shield themselves from an attack
AND GUESS WHAT HAPPENS NEXT Y’ALL
They don’t feel like..uh..dying
So they open their eyes
AND FIND OUT THEY FRICKING BLASTED A HOLE IN A BUILDING
And the hero’s just gaping at them like 0-0 wut
So this naturally sets off a nation wide manhunt for the villain
BUT THAT’S NOT ALL FOLKS
While on the run, the villain encounters someone who treats them like a goddamn celebrity
Like this person legit idolizes their actions
The person joins the villain and becomes their self-proclaimed ‘sidekick’
Bonus points if more ‘sidekicks’ join and it becomes the most out-of-context cult(?) ever
AND ALL THE WHILE THE HERO’S CHASING THEM DOWN LIKE A MADMAN
I rest my case.
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minhocita · 6 months
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리노 ☆ !!
୨୧ ׅ ꒰ ׁ ⁩─ ♡ @realstraykids ︭ !
⠀ ࣪⠀ׅ ★⠀࣪ 가 ─ ꒰ #leeknow ꒱ ☆
౿  ׂ   ִ 美術. ✦ ִ   𝘀𝗼𝗼:𝗱𝗼𝗼𝗻𝗴:𝗱𝗼𝗿𝗶˳ ⊹
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.ᐟ ᶻ 𝘇. (`δ´)
₊˚𓂃 ✮ ୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ ⊹
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by minhocita ✮ !
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luminouslotuses · 18 days
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jaiden & jacob went to a hatsune miku concert!! :DD
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autixel · 25 days
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Made this venn diagram of the ships I think about most often and realized some trends. Spoilers for tged and orv. Yes one of these ships is not like the others I'm well aware
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ef-1 · 2 months
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A day after Daniel fucks over Yuki, you post a photo of yourself wearing enchante,, you're not slick
Skinny white girl like Ricciardo? Ground breaking lol
it's so tragic how you're just gonna have to die mad about it 💋
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i9evabae · 2 months
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╰┈➤ ig bios
1- ‗ ❍ 2- 247彡 3- : ̗̀➛baw
4- 𓆙
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Like or Reblog ...♡
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sheerakk · 9 months
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Baron strikes. Varian is the only person avaible to help Catalina although he's kind of sceptic the whole way through.
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tricoufamily · 2 months
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oc evolution tag, thank you @sikoi :))) <3
i randomly posted their real evolution a few days ago before we were doing these should have waited lmao. i did remake this edit at one point though!!! very cute
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milkbreadtoast · 8 months
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OC sketches after a million years... I'm soooo happy bc they're finally looking pretty close to how I imagined T_T I've had these OCs since 2018-2019 but never finalized their designs (and barely ever drew them...) bc I didn't have the skill lvl to draw/design them how I wanted... but ig I've finally improved enough to get p close AAAH🤧
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vacantgodling · 10 months
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worthless war
You never learn his name.
Your thoughts have already devolved into the most basic of actions to sustain you along. Eat. Sleep. Forward. Retreat. Swing. Parry. Kill.
There is a reason generals do not wear helmets. Their matted, blood soaked hair used to be windswept and glorious. They bark orders and their pawns follow; the matted grass of stinking, rotting corpses, the board of a most convoluted game of chess. In the beginning, how foolish your company thought, should you make it behind enemy lines that you would become kings. It didn’t take long to realize it didn’t work that way. That eyes cast up to the heavens stayed that way, glassy and unseeing in their swift death.
Your eyes weren’t adept at seeing anymore. Your helmet made the world dark and despairing, a fitful mirror to the fruitlessness of this Worthless War. It was a war of pride, not a war of glory. By the time you entered the fray, any semblance of morality had long fled; back to the homeland where praises were sung of a warrior’s valor and the duty of the sword. There was no honor in this place.
Except.
You met him when a stab to the side, under the chink of your chain mail made you kneel. In the centre of the battlefield, you knelt there, statuesque and unseeing. Was it your time to die? Maybe. You were so tired. This war has taken everything from you. You could still see the face of your dear sweet Lucasta*, rosy faced and bright, cheerful and kind. You had not kissed for she was chaste, but you held her hands tender as a newborn babe and bid her farewell.
I will return a hero! You said—what a fool you had been! Young and suckling like a calf to a teat; you knew not what awaited you, young lamb to the slaughter. You knew not of how this war would betray you.
But you felt an arm raise you up.
No words were spoken, only the gleam of his sword in his hand in the sunlight. His helmet was impasse, but his arm that held you felt like warmth, felt like summer, felt like the joy of a child. You leant heavily into him, and he supported you, and took you far away from the battlefield.
It was the first thought you’d had since your mind fell away some time ago. Where are we going? You could ask. Are we advancing? Retreating? How else would you know your place in line? Are you God? If perhaps, you were religious. You weren’t. But maybe you were—if only for the way he sat you squarely down on a rock in some remote and desolate field in some forgotten daydream. Even if the war raged, the clashes of swords and armor not too far off on the horizon, it was a muted murmur this far away. The war but a distant night terror. Your body felt lighter than air, your head clear yet clouded, perhaps it was the dizziness from blood loss.
He didn’t speak, but his hands were verbose. He left your helmet fast to your skull, but pulled you out of your armor, piece by piece. What an intimate ritual—you oft used to think of undressing Lucasta when the two of you were finally wed should you make it back from this war. From her corset and over skirts, to her chemise, her stockings; to unearth what bounty lay beneath cotton coverings, just the same as he unlatched your breastplate. Cool hands spread across your collar and chest, then came to the side just underneath your arm where blood, thick and viscous, stuck like molasses to your skin.
Where he retrieved water when rations were low, you didn’t know. For so long you have just been some spectral floating thing; only manifesting as a sword for your general to wield. But now you felt horribly human; your mouth dry with thirst and caked with dirt and grime and the sins of taking life after life. Heaven knew no prayers would wash you clean, but he did. He washed your wound and dressed it as best he could. He ripped pieces and pieces of his own spare shirt and wrapped them round and round your body, pressing until the blood stopped. Until the blood rushed from your head south at the novelty of another’s touch, never mind the touch was a man. This was the touch of your savior; your holiness, your shining grace given from Lucasta’s Lord above.
“W…” You managed to croak, and he stopped his ministrations. If you had hydration enough for tears, perhaps you would’ve shed them. Don’t stop. You wanted to say. Those glorious touches that reminded you that you were alive and a soul and part of this world. “Why…” Your voice was no louder than a field mouse.
Behind his helmet, he didn’t say a thing. Not a grunt, not a hum, not a word. He only kept dressing your wound. Round and round he twirled those makeshift bandages, and you imagined Lucasta on your long awaited wedding day, twirling in your arms as the blushing bride she ought to be. But here, and bare, and carnal, you felt you ought to be the bride. Why shouldn’t you receive such tenderness of a strong hand to your lips or touch to your brow? Why shouldn’t you linger in this comforting daydream where you were just a man, and the knight dressing you was another, and in the hay of this little barn of innocence you sullied it with passions that Lucasta’s God would blush at?
You gripped his hands, hissing as he bade you stand. It was always easier to suit standing. When he returned the chinks of your breastplate and tightened it fast, it was every deceleration of love you could ever hear. It was a proposal, a wedding, devotion divine. You took his hand. He gave you your sword. He led you back to the battlefield. Your thoughts returned lifeless, but when he took his place next to you in formation, your mind bloomed with flowers; roses and daffodils and forget-me-nots; an endless springtime where he knew your scars and perhaps, you knew his.
And as all evils do, the Worthless War drew to a close.
There was no grand finale. No heroes of lore or legend were born out of this war. You stood at the foothills of your hometown, with nothing but a small ration, and a few bits of coins for the trouble of it all.
You returned to Lucasta. She knew the light in your eyes dimmed. She spoke to you of the wedding, of babies, of summertime—but your life was paused; ever stuck and transfixed at that moment he took you aside to patch your wound. Suspended in that one shred of humanity that you felt in that moment, and the lingering warmth that you felt after, for the days and weeks until the war came to an end. He never spoke, but he was always by your side, and you fastly to his.
Your head was bare, but your soul never took off its helmet. At night, you lay awake with Lucasta’s head pressed delicately to your chest, dreaming of the metallic hiss of his breath in and out as he undressed your soul.
some footnotes:
* = the name Lucasta i lifted from the 17th century poet Richard Lovelace as the meaning is “pure light”. in this piece Lucasta serves two roles: as the bride to be the protagonist has waiting back home, but also represents his innocence that the war has taken from him. how even though he’s returned home and has his former life waiting for him how he can never truly regain that innocence.
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raapija · 11 months
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Jere training to become the ultimate BBQ-night dad(dy)
Also love how he is standing directly in the smoke and struggling to stay alive
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keeps-ache · 1 month
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blood of the covenant
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pollyna · 2 years
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Carole teaches a lot of things to Maverick, things that he's sure he's never going to use because he will live on a base, or on a boat, forever. He can't live on a plane because sadly that would solve half of every problem. But she insists and Peter can't tell her no, doesn't matter how much he tries. She teaches him how to make a roast, how to iron clothes, how to take away some strains and how others are a lost cause. A Sunday morning he teaches him how to shave someone else's face and here Mav is in the depth because why should he ever learn something like that? But he does, without shaving Goose because that's is a them thing, and learns how to shave in the most perfect of the ways because he's fucking Pete Maverick Mitchell and he is the best. He learns and puts away all this little domestic knowledge that will forever taste of Carole's pudding and smells like Goose's aftershave.
Then Iceman changes his plans completely and he finds himself using every little trick Carole taught him in the years: small thing but they make a Naval house their home. Shaving comes a bit as surprise but it's out of necessity and Maverick takes the first step: Ice's wrist is in a cast for two weeks and he has to make his one week beard go away because Monday and lessons and protocol. Maverick protest very loudly when his boyfriend announces so over breakfast and that he's going to get shaved in a little barber shop he saw the last time he was in town. No need babe, I can do it myself Mav announces and even if Ice is perplex he lets him do the work.
The works ends up being not half bad, shut that trap I did a perfect job, and he starts to get why Carole didn't let him shave Goose. It's strangley intimate for something so common to do, but being between Ice's legs, a razor in his hands and Ice completely focused on him and him alone? Wow.
We should do this again, Ice whispers before kissing him, once he's sure everything in Mav's hand is back in it's place, and his skin smells so good and it's so smooth under Mav's palms he could spend entire days just kissing this man and nothing could be wrong. Yeah, yeah we definitely should he answers before kissing Tom back again and again.
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to-to-karamba · 8 months
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The Unwanted Guest spoilers without context I guess
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