#these things are put in for a purpose and I love dissecting things

[absent-o-minded]

Tiny YR S3 Analysis

Just wanted to compare the parallels between these two hand holds in 3x05 and 3x06:

(Please ignore the shitty screencaps, I tried my best)

In terms of composition, these shots are identical. A hand-hold centre to the frame, in a car with the camera placed in the middle. However, they're underpinned by different narrative contexts.

Here, the first shot from 3x05 is drenched in darkness. The actual lighting inside of the car is dim enough to obscure both of their suits, which almost blend them into the seats and so it becomes hard to distinguish between the two of them - The only focussed light is on their conjoined hands. Notably, the actual touch itself is tentative, almost like the bridging of an awkward divide on the way to the palace. Neither of them are sure what the touch actually means. Even their sleeves fall over their wrists and interfere with the actual act, so we only see the bottom half of their hands. Simon reaches out first and places his hand in the open sliver between the two seats before Wille accepts and laces their fingers together. It's an assured squeeze that reads as: "I'm not sure what will happen. I'm nervous." "I am too."

This scene has garnered a lot of analysis for its parallel to the Kristina x Wille car scene in S1 where people have commented on the reversal of blocking - Wille now assumes Kristina's position and Simon equally assumed Wille's. We now know that this arrives before the birthday explosion, and so it's also a touch that signifies confronting the inner workings of an oppressive environment (the palace). It's nerve-wracking and cautious and consolidating, but it's also doubtful. We, as spectators, pick up on visual and physical cues and so we begin to see the hand-hold as an visual indicator that the unity between the two characters is about to be disrupted.

~~~~~

However, the shot in 3x06 reads entirely differently. The first thing is that the shot is bathed in light. It's a bit like an embrace, contrasting the previous presentation of a cold backseat, Simon and Wille are literally basking in the sun. Most importantly, there is a light flashing on Wille as it seeps in from the windows, illuminating his spot as a person who is newly free. Simon sits to the left with the natural light (no abundance of light) because Simon has always strived to be free. He has never turned away from the light. As he said earlier in the episode: "I never gave up on us. I gave up on the royal court." For Simon, the issue was never the fear of being free, but the constraint of not being free. For Wille, fear hung over his shoulders just like a King's robe would. Being free was an aspiration, never a reality.

But that has all changed. The light is let in. It stands similar to a spot-light, where Wille finally lets the sun hit his body and not have it scorch him, but rather enlighten him.

The actual act of holding hands is no longer bridging an uncomfortable space; It's an assured togetherness. It is the two of them acknowledging everything that has happened and knowing that a future for the two of them is no longer a "possibility", but a truth. It's giddy and confident and safe.

It's also the final touch of the season, and so it had to speak louder than dialogue ever could - Which I think that it does. Throughout S1 and S2, we understood that physical touch was always done in private, or if not, it was done discreetly with the knowledge that it was fleeting. S3 saw the transition from private to public, but not without the fight to touch and not have it be seen as a revolution. To just let it be what it is. And THIS is what the show has been working towards for 3 years. It can all be summarised with this simple, final hand hold in a sunny car that's racing towards a future that finally, finally resembles their dreams. It's not overtly revolutionary, it's not a grand gesture; It's just theirs.

#yr s3 spoilers #young royals season 3 spoilers #young royals spoilers #young royals #tv analysis #young royals season 3 #this is all I could write amidst my burnout so I'm very sorry #I'm desperate to sink my teeth into the analysis of this season because it was fantastic #but also because the cinematography of this season was SCRUMPTIOUS it was beautiful #as we all know I love when parallels parallel because it's not only a great aesthetic motif but it's also narratively telling #these things are put in for a purpose and I love dissecting things #I hope to do some longer analysis' when I'm feeling more up for it but I hope this makes sense! #lisa ambjörn #rojda sekersöz

[futureplayboibunnie]

Heartless Pt. 4

Mafia Boss! Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

You and Miguel are married to each other…and it wasn’t because of love.

thank you for all the love so far! also this is my personal touch for this fic, but while i was writing it i was listening to the entire Honeymoon album by lana del rey (especially the instrumentals) i’d recommend listenting to it. it fits this vibe so perfectly, literally trying to encapsulate that feeling with this series.

“I'm in the middle of something.” You piped up nonchalantly, like being half naked and dripping with water in front of men was a completely normal occurrence. “Well, now that you're here, it would be nice if you were helpful by getting my bags.” You said with a wry, and slightly pissed-off smile. He just observed you with darkened eyes and a grinding jaw, if he pressed harder you would practically hear the bones crunch together. The look you gave him was an urging one. “So what will it be? Gaping at me blankly or being mildly helpful?” Your tone was aggravating, grating the inside of his head- your glib comments were making him realize that you were actually capable of disrespecting him.

Miguel didn't know what to make of you in his room like this, acting as if it were your own. It wasn't. But you were married now. Technically, what was his was yours. He didn't like it. He sneered, his features merely angry slashes contorting up his face. “I'm not your sniffer dog.” He barked, storming out of the room and slamming the door so hard that it closed and sprung back open. You rolled your eyes at his outburst, but you had to admit, it was a little unnerving to see him lose his temper that quickly. Miguel huffed, grabbed your stupid bag, and slammed the door open like a bull in a china shop. “Here, and get out of the room. It's mine.”

“What? I was in here first.” You protested in vain, you were the one who was dragged away on a honeymoon, you were the one who was being ordered around like a stuck-up child. The least he could do was let you sleep wherever you wanted to sleep.

“Well, I own the fucking building.” Miguel bit back deadpan, his voice flat and so sadistically arrogant, like money was all that made him. It was an insult to the whole idea of humanity to rely on something as belittling as money.

Miguel's head was storming, dissecting every single premonition about you and how you could so easily flip on him, he would tolerate your disrespect for now, you hadn't properly settled in yet, but if you made it a habit, he'd make you regret it. It should be funny, Miguel was so proper and particular about his women. There were things he liked and didn't like on women. He hated flats. He only liked certain colors. He hated jeans. He liked skirts and dresses for...easy access. He liked his women easy, and you were definitely not easy. You were making it difficult for him on purpose now. But for some reason, defiance suited you more than nonchalant complacency. It was more entertaining than the graceful, polite facade you shirked up.

“Can I put my clothes on now?” You objected, snapping him out of his pondering, looking like an idiot just glaring at you like this.

Part of him wanted to say ‘Well. No. I'd prefer you with nothing on actually.' His steely resolve almost broke at the realization, but he shook his head and pushed it down. Yes, you were attractive but your personality was a mystery for him, he was battling his own personal mysteries, and he didn't have time to psychoanalyze anyone elses.

-

You slept...okay. Miguel didn't disturb you or actually force you out of his room which was odd. He probably had enough of this senseless bickering, you'd probably just go back to ignoring each other, maybe at least try to independently enjoy this stupid 'honeymoon.’

The sun woke you up sweetly, and the soft gentle breeze billowed through the open curtains, offering the hum of salt air whispering through the room. You wanted to avoid Miguel as long as you could, so you decided to just go in the garden, sunbathe, read a book, do something meaningless to just forget about the fact you're married to one of the most dangerous men you've ever met.

You practically jumped out of bed, went to the bathroom, splashed your face with water, brushed your hair, and put it up in a claw clip with the speed of an Olympic runner. But what was all the hurrying for when you were completely stumped on what to wear? You tossed out your clothes and put them all away, you ultimately decided to wear a bikini and on top a cute mid-thigh sundress, you weren't going anywhere too fancy, the back garden wasn't exactly Paris fashion week. When you glanced outside the terrace, you were happy to see that the garden was adorned with carefully cut shrubs, willowing trees, orchids, and chrysanthemums. Considering Miguel rarely leaves for leisure, it was a surprise that is was being kept up - it must have meant a lot to him then. You grabbed your things and opened the door quietly, wanting to sneak out as soundlessly as possible in order not to attract attention from Miguel, or worse, be the reason to wake him up.

You padded away barefoot, feeling the warmth of the sun outside surround you as it seeped through every glass window.

Even though Miguel told you to get used to his lifestyle, you still hadn't settled in, something just didn't sit quite right with you. You were fortunate enough to come from a wealthy family but the way Miguel wasn't bothered by the sheer amount of blood money he acquired is...distasteful. Thinking of which, you peeked your head around the corner in order to see if Miguel was awake but instead you found something else. He wasn't in bed at all. He was asleep, his hands were crossed on the kitchen counter and his head was flat on his upper arm, fast asleep with his laptop open in front of him Jesus. He still hadn't changed. What was it with men not wanting to take care of themselves?

You shifted towards him, inching closer and closer to his sleeping form. Wow. He almost looked peaceful, not full of that mindless aggression he was known for. His copper hair was tousled and disheveled, his golden skin was creased but reflective against the light, and his breathing was slow and heavy- it was odd seeing him this relaxed when he wasn't even in a relaxing position in the first place. You raised an eyebrow at his disposition. Maybe Miguel wanted to outsmart and outwit sleep, he obviously had to succumb to its charms. You worked your way around the kitchen island, unable to stop looking at him like this, you grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and just stood and stared at him like a creep. You really should leave before he wakes up, but you didn't want him sending his capos combing the entire complex for you, so you just left him a note.

In the garden.

-

Miguel heard a gunshot.

It reverberated in his ears.

More gunshots. Thousands of rounds smoking away.

His eyes widened, and the sleep left his bones. His head spun around, shifting erratically, and he almost fell off the fucking chair. A tight anxiety squeezed the color out of his face, the heavy breaths wouldn't bring any solance to any of the fragments falling at his palms. His chest filled with panic, and the first thing that came into his head to find was you. He eyed your note and rushed down as fast as he could. He needed to get you out of here.

But then all he heard was silence when he stepped out onto the patio. A muffling silence. Then the sharp hum of wildlife, the birds chirping, the distant sounds of the beach, the flattening waves. The crickets trilled and the leaves rustled, the nostalgia of the oddly familiar sounds crept up on him like a disillusioning shadow. An itch he couldn't scratch. A never-ending nightmare he couldn't end. A man with everything he could ever want, but no clear consciousness, no clear mind. He was blind and tortured.

You were lying on a sunbed, and Miguel only caught onto your back and a little bit of your side profile. His eyes were dead set on you, contemplating you...and there you are, emerging in his eyeline. Those flashes of skin become a painting, a jigsaw puzzle coming together. He was slow in his movements, finally viewing you as you were. You were lying there, glowing in a small bikini, taking in the sun like a nymph. Your body was so….

Miguel frowned.

The apple you bit into was stuck to your teeth, you stopped everything you were doing, pausing for your eyes to follow from Miguel's thighs to his face. This was the moment where he saw you as if you were like a deer in headlights, like a naive girl who tries to hide behind back-talk and retaliation. The wide-eyed look you gave him, pupils glazing over, revealing no thought behind your eyes. But he saw you. He saw you being affected by his presence. He felt himself loom over you. Your eyebrows creased in pensive irritation, Miguel's face was hard and steely in something he couldn't quite define. You finished biting into the apple, chewing and just giving him a nonchalant look. Reverting back like second instinct.

“Did you rush out here to gawk at me again? Or to blame me for your lack of sleep?” You breathed out judgementally, but at that moment, the way your eyes connected sent a strange chill down your spine, even when you were lying out in the sun. Miguel felt it too. The scorching, pulsating beat behind your gaze was a never-ending maze, an attempt to figure out who was going to break first. Neither of you was willing to back down. It was sizzling…as wellias unsettling.

Miguel didn't know how to answer your question. He couldn't exactly tell you that his nightmares of the most traumatic thing that's ever happened to him tricked his head into believing he was hearing the remnants of it in real time. Part of him wanted to say yes to both. His sleep schedule was a nightmare in itself and the woman who is the bane of his existence has to be looking so...delicious when he was absolutely not in the mood. He wanted you with nothing on, maybe force you to look at him the exact same way he just found you...with his hand between your thighs.

Miguel shook the annoying, sleep-induced thought away. He was acting like every other man, their mind wandering to hell when they see any attractive woman- he won't fall for it. He won't. But you weren’t any other woman were you?

Miguel watched you bite into the apple and instinctively, he just grabbed it from your mouth, almost pulling at it. He watched your face flit into a multitude of different emotions at what he did. You opened your mouth to say something but you just huffed instead, glaring a hole into his face. Miguel took a bite out of it and tilted his head to contemplate you. He knew he shocked you.

You were really fuckable.

Extremely fuckable.

It was an objective statement.

But he still won't play into it. Nah. You wouldn’t be able to fix him. He was too damaged for you. He wouldn’t mind the primitive pleasure of fucking you. He just won’t do it. You weren’t as nice as before. You’d grown a smart mouth.

“Hm.” That was all he could say to you. “I want my room back.” His fingers reached out and tilted your chin up a little, he felt you flinch just a millisecond and that expression on your face was unamused, dead set looking up at him. It felt like you were holding your breath. He took another bite out of the apple. "Happy sunbathing carino." He yelled behind him as he walked away.

-

taglist (giggles) : @deputy-videogamer @aisyakirmann @idolautism @residentialcryptid @bunnyrose01 @hqllcheers @minalovesyoubabes @amelialysm @moonvoidpng @ahano @hanberkkk @lavenderslemonade @mynameiswilliamblake @gejo333 @leahnicole1219 @iite-cool @zaunsin @kkchgee @yujyujj @hazelnutbitch @hiraya1802 @leo-lvr @sh4nn @watyousayin @siidmm @ciwywt-com @death-moth-art @ihateuguys @enmuhusben @berry-potchy @s0lm1n @amelialysm @migueloharastruelove @lauraolar14 @tashames @soymiguelsesposa @noblesavagex @miguelsslutprincess @lilipads (sometimes i hate this fkn app it literally doensn’t let me tag other ppl why)

#spiderman 2099 #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara angst #miguel o’hara smut #atsv miguel #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara fluff #miguel o’hara x reader #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara

[coopers-hand]

mercury and why you're given your voice

TLDR: mercury in your natal chart is your mind and your voice, the very ability to speak the words and communicate the ideas. the sign it's in represents the purpose of your own voice, and the house represents the medium, through which your mind is spoken to the world. to gain more insight, look at the aspects, at you 3H and your 9H, as well as to the gemini-saggitarius axis in your chart🎐

~ what is your voice?

aries: your voice is straightforward, fiery and penetrating to the very essense of the thing you're talking about

taurus: your voice is comforting and soothing, bringing comfort and sense of stability to others

gemini: your voice is sharp, bright and even sparkly, if i may say so. it is like a ray of sunshine being reflected from all of the facets of the crystal, lighting up the minds of others

cancer: your voice is soft and muted, making sure that the message reaches only the ones that can truly appreciate it

leo: your voice is warm and cheerful, making the atmosphere of any room you walk in welcoming and lit up with your presence

virgo: your voice is sharp yet muted, dissecting the ideas with the precision of the scalpel

libra: your voice is harmonious and graceful, creating the atmosphere of harmony and concord

scorpio: your voice is deep and pervasive, uncovering every little thing that has been hidden

saggitarius: your voice is bright, loud and expansive, filling up the room with optimism and exploration spirit

capricorn: your voice is solid and robust, bringing up structured ideas and providing people with the sence of reliability

aquarius: your voice is like a lonely echo from up above, bringing up uncomfortable truths and ideas that cannot be brushed off and are in a deep need to be explored

pieces: your voice is a dreamy song of a magical creature, that sounds like a hallucination inside of people's heads

~ how does your voice speak to the world?

1H: your voice is spoken through your own self-expression, through embodying your true self

2H: your voice is spoken in a vocal way, whether it is a beautiful song or a magnificent speech

3H: your voice is spoken through your own ideas, your own words and speculations, no matter what form are they expressed in

4H: your voice is spoken through your presence by inviting people to see beyond your protective shield

5H: your voice is spoken through things you create, through every piece you've put your own soul into

6H: your voice is spoken through your actions, through the structure of your routine, through what you choose to vitalize and what to let sit dead

7H: your voice is heard through communication with others, through the ways you are directly relate to the world

8H: your voice is spoken directly from the depths of your being, raw and unfiltered, almost in a telepathic kind of way

9H: your voice is spoken from the tribunes, stages and places, where you stand in front and above millions of people, your voice is here to lead the humanity

10H: your voice is spoken through the projection of yourself you put into this world, through the ways you embody your perfectly curated highest version of self

11H: your voice is heard when you dream, when you are hopeful and excited about the future and the life itself. it is expressed through your highest vibrations of pure loving and ever-accepting nature.

12H: your voice is spoken in half-tones, through indirect and almost subliminal ways, getting straight into other's subconsious

#mercury #natal chart #astrology #natal astrology #astro notes #astro observations #astroblr #astro placements #astrology tumblr #astrology aspects

[mediacircuspod]

AJ Crowley vs Forgiveness

I need to talk about Crowley for a minute so buckle up or move on.

"It’s not so bad once you get used to it” from Season 1 Episode 1 and an early chapter of the book is something of a throwaway joke. But being damned isn't much of a joke to Crowley, even if he makes jokes to cover it up.

The first thing to understand is that damnation doesn’t end after Crowley either saunters vaguely downwards or is dropped into a burning pile of sulfur(conflicting accounts from the demon himself). Being damned is a continuous state of being AND something that could very well happen to him again. 

He was too ambitious for heaven—too curious. Something that he now knows is distinctly not a heavenly virtue. It’s just that those traits are also not virtues in hell either. And on top of that—he’s good. 

Which in his particular role, is an extremely dangerous thing to be. So he isn’t good, and he isn’t nice and he doesn’t feel trite things like empathy or love. Except that he knows intrinsically that all of that is utter bullshit. And if anyone who isn’t Aziraphale realizes this, he doesn’t really know what falling from hell would be like, but he doesn't want to be the first. 

Another thing to remember is that Crowley doesn’t understand why he was cast out. He understands that it was the questions, that it was his ambition to try and suggest improvements, but he can’t understand why. And the shame of that being yet another question is not lost on him.

The resentment there that has festered for millennia is understandable and expected and HES RIGHT TO FEEL IT. And it’s the reason why he has such a negative reaction to the concept of “forgiveness” but has a relatively amicable relationship with apologies. And I know this is going to sound crazy after nearly 400 words, but this is the actual concept I want to dissect.

Because Aziraphale’s “I forgive you”s of the past have never gotten a good response, but they’ve also never gotten a “don’t bother”. Aziraphale uses that phrase specifically against Crowley when he needs to put distance between them. When he knows that Crowley is right. And Crowley knows that Aziraphale uses that phrase for exactly that purpose because they have being playing their parts for thousands of years. And he’s always been willing to wait in the past. The dance begins with Crowley challenging Aziraphale with something tempting. 

The Great plan is dumb. What if we just left together? You’re being dumb. (I need to link that one Tumblr post that inspired this, just look at this.) Here.

And finally, desperately, This is what you’re giving up. Because Crowley doesn’t actually think it will work. He may hope it does. But he has played his part for long enough to know exactly what Aziraphale’s next line will be. And it still devastates him. And well, it’s his decision to be done waiting for Aziraphale to catch up. Being “too fast” has been his insecurity for too long, and he’s done slowing down just so Aziraphale can try and forgive him. He still doesn’t know why what he is, is wrong. 

(He isn’t)(I mean he certainly makes some unhealthy choices, and he isn’t exactly completely in the right, but he’s NOT wrong.)(Running away together ISNT the right move, but it is the more romantic one so take that as you will.)

The part that makes my brain buzz is that this aversion to forgiveness does not apply to apologies. Specifically it does not apply to the phrase “I was wrong” or "you were right" or the little dance.

This. Is. Interesting.

He doesn’t have a problem with apologizing, and he doesn’t have a problem accepting apologies from Aziraphale if that wonderful scene is to be taken at face value. The fact that the 1941 apology dance wasn’t shown is actually a crime, and you can’t convince me otherwise. And I think this is specifically because he’s not actually averse to forgiveness on the whole. It’s the idea that he needs forgiveness for simply being who he is that actually bothers him. And well. I guess he was tired of Aziraphale pretending that the concept had merit, too. 

For four years he's had the freedom to be exactly who he is without the fear of damnation even if he still has the baggage that went along with the first time it happened to him. And even though Aziraphale doesn't realize it, he's asking Crowley to do something impossible for him. He's asking Crowley to admit that he needs forgiveness, and come back to heaven.

Aziraphale assumes that Crowley would not only want that, but that being with Aziraphale would make it even better. But what the angel has actually done, is give Crowley's deepest insecurity wings. And given him a reason to step away from their millennia long dance.

Because Crowley has finally, finally, finally, found something that he can't give up for Aziraphale. It's extremely poetic that that thing happens to be himself.

And okay now I’m done. I’m gonna go scream into a void.

#good omens meta #good omens spoilers #good omens 2 #good omens 2 spoilers #go 2 spoilers #go2 spoilers #Aziraphale #crowley #crowley and aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziracrow

[eomayas]

Can you do when exo is angry? Like they and their s/o's arguments. I wonder what do you think. Who is the heartbreaker when he is angry? 😶😶

ok.. let’s see! thank you for the request 🩷 (hopefully this is what you were imagining)

exo when angry [req]

minseok: he would lose his patience fast, but he would never try to say anything that would hurt you or your relationship. he would definitely be using “i” language in order to keep your relationship from ending, but when he gets really angry it’s best to leave him alone. when it gets extremely heated, one of you always ends up leaving to give each other space, and when you reconvene you’re able to fully dissect the argument and talk about what went wrong. i think he understands that words have meaning, and he’d be aware of that even when he’s extremely mad.

junmyeon: he would try to stay level headed the entire time, and you would be the one to explode. he would retaliate and yell back, but you’re still the heartbreaker. junmy hates arguing, especially with you, and is more of a mediator but when you get mad he gets mad. he feels what you feel, but when you argue he knows at least one person needs to keep the peace, and it’s always gonna be him. but you hurt him :( and always apologize immediately.

baekhyun: baekhyun is naturally loud, so when you’re arguing he is more prone to yelling. this really upsets you because you don’t appreciate being yelled at, especially by your lover. with baekhyun, it’s really easy to get into screaming matches because you are both essentially trying to be heard but aren’t listening, which makes your arguments very tiring. i think you’d both say hurtful things due to the fact that you’re yelling over each other, and then it would kind of be a game to see who could say the worst thing until the other person gets very upset.

jongdae: this is a man who likes to be right, no matter what and that is typically the cause of your arguments. he’s kind of a “my way or the highway” guy when you’re arguing, and it’s not the words that he says that hurt you but his attitude towards the whole situation. he’s super stubborn when he’s angry, which makes your arguments frustrating and basically pointless. after you both finish arguing (cough cough you give up), he typically apologizes the next day, but it still stings knowing that he’s so hardheaded.

chanyeol: mutual heartbreak i fear.. you’d both be yelling and by the end, you’d both be crying and begging the other for forgiveness. it would start with you saying something about him, and then he would say something about you and it would just pile up until one of you starts crying, thus making both of you cry.

kyungsoo: when he gets angry, he gets scary. it’s never on purpose, of course, but he just gets mad and starts to yell, and his voice is already full of bass so it’s a bit much to see him like that. he would be a heartbreaker :( but would immediately freak out when he sees that dejected look on your face or tears in your eyes. by that point, he’s practically on his knees begging for you to forgive him.

jongin: YOU would be the heartbreaker in this situation! we know our boy is a crybaby (we love u kai), so arguing with you is already emotionally draining for him but any time you seem extremely upset with him and are yelling, it breaks his heart. don’t let you say anything mildly criticizing about him, because he’s in tears on the floor, his head in between his knees. jongin just loves you so much and puts up a front about how “strong” he is, but he’s a mess when it comes to you. you always apologize and hold him until he’s done crying, feeling very guilty to make him this way because he already struggles with crying as it is (y’all know the videos😭😭)

sehun: isn’t a yeller, but he definitely says things that hurt and what makes it worse is that he has an idgaf attitude about it. like, he’ll criticize you mid argument, his voice not even at a yelling volume, and say the most out of pocket thing about you, like he’s purposefully trying to hurt you. but he’d feel bad about it internally!!! but then it would be like a word vomit thing where he kind of keeps going as long as you’re still arguing.

#byun baekhyun #do kyungsoo #exo kai #exo #exo scenarios #exo imagines #exo baekhyun #kim jongin #exo sehun #kim junmyeon #exo suho #park chanyeol #exo x you #exo xiumin #exo x reader #exo chen #kim jongdae #oh sehun #kim minseok #exo angst

[kagoutiss]

I kind of love how you have all these interesting hcs for Ganondorf like animals loving him, his weird dynamic with Sheik, the approval he seeks from his mothers etc. while at the same time being like “he’s a horrible gremlin and bloodthirsty and no one would want to stay near him”. I feel like it really captures how absurd and chaotic he is. Thank you for your service.

oh…im holding this ask very gently…..this means a lot to me because like!! yeah all these things are sort of true to me and i feel like he’s one of those characters where the more you dissect him, the more discordant things you find, and yet they all somehow intertwine in a way that makes him compelling and whole :-) retroactively putting a warning here that i ended up talking a lot and going pretty off-track but. like,,, one of the main roots of his absurdity to me is that he just has these fundamental problems with connecting with people (outside of clever manipulation, which he is good at), which are very effective at driving people away, even when he genuinely loves them, and i think he does this thing constantly where he wants people to despise him and he wants people to think the worst of him, because he is so much more comfortable with that than just? learning how to actually differentiate between love & hatred? and to not immediately feel threatened by gestures of love as some kind of deception, because he probably can’t quite make out the difference? despite having such a high level of emotional intelligence otherwise? and this primarily ties in with the idea that the biggest most terrifying enemy he has ever known in his entire life has been the neighboring kingdom, which professes to be the epitome of love & light & benevolence while at the same time committing the most egregious hateful bloody acts of cruelty in the darkest recesses of kakariko’s catacombs

and like. i think all of his formative experiences have still led to him being fully capable of things like feeling love, but also consequently not having the faintest idea of what the definition of that actually is, or how it works, or how to relate to someone you care about without just projecting all your own experiences onto them, or communicating your affection in ways other than just. being mean. and him purposely antagonizing people who do love him and are kind to him is a kneejerk reaction that he might not even realize is nonsensical, just a way of avoiding the most fundamentally disconcerting thing he knows, which is the ambiguity of something that claims to be kind or good. and so i think he‘d find a weird comfort in things that either don’t have that ambiguity, or subvert it entirely

like animals! who are far less capable of deception, or monsters, who like him, are deemed inherently evil. or spirits, who shouldn’t technically even be bound by the concepts of good & evil, even less applicable to wayward souls than to living beings. above all other humans though, he is definitely closest to his surrogate mothers, who supposedly are the true highest authorities of the gerudo tribe, and who treat him more like a deity than a son, and might moreso love the idea of what they want him to be, rather than the person he is. and he is in fact mortal, and a human being, and extremely flawed, and prone to recklessness under stress, and makes silly mistakes, and is emotionally unstable, with an attention span that doesn’t actually seem particularly well-suited to politics or government. and i accidentally wrote way too much in one sitting again, but.

but yeah, he’s like. my point is he is so full of things. he is completely absurd and chaotic and yet also i think there are recognizable patterns in what he does, if you think about him way too hard for way too long. he’s an infuriating swiss watch of a person that functions with seemingly inexplicable precision, but is made to say rude things to you instead of showing you the time, and yet you can’t really judge him too harshly after making the difficult effort of trying to understand him, because it becomes more & more evident that. that’s just. the way he is. that that’s the inevitable way that he came together, entirely due to circumstance. he’s a reflection of the completely nonsensical universe that he lives in, an antagonist since the day he was born, defined as such by the world’s Inherently Good Authorities, who are themselves objectively guilty of mass kidnapping, torture, murder, displacement and genocide, and yet are still, by the immutable definitions of these words as they’ve established them, Good. and i NEED to go to bed but yeah i love him for being a horrible insufferable bitch, actually, because it’s meaningful in and of itself, and i love him for not being normal, and having unmanageable fears of inadequacy, and mommy issues, and ADHD and autism, and for bullying teenagers, and being more fond of monsters & parasites than people, and literally using his emotions as a weapon, and referring to himself as king of every evil thing in existence, and almost never bothering to explain his actual motivations to people who he knows have already decided that he is the crux of all the world’s problems, because he’s fully internalized that trying to be understood by anyone at all is completely pointless. wife material

#ask #txt #ganondorf #sorry. this activated something in me #im 90% sure ive posted some of these exact same sentences before but whatever

[yellowocaballero]

ORV Characters Ranked by Least to Most Likely to Commit White Collar Crime

You guys said you wanted my ORV takes, and I try not to say things unsolicited, so I'll drop the good meta-analysis and literary criticism that I'm known for. For comedy purposes please pretend that ORV is American.

Omniscent Reader's Viewpoint characters broken down by likelihood to commit white collar crime, least to most:

Lee Hyeonseong: he's convinced that he's never committed a crime in his life. Intentionally, of course not. Unintentionally, he takes shopping for groceries extremely seriously, and is sometimes so wrapped up in the fruit inspection experience that he'll leave without paying. Due to his innocent face, bulk, and sheer confidence, he's never caught. In an economically thrifty maneuver, KDJ always sends him on snack runs for parties and texts him math problems while he's there. He insists it's like couponing. It's not couponing.

Jeong Huiwon: similarly, of course she would never choose to commit a crime. Also similarly, when KDJ says, 'Hey, wanna commit a crime?' she always participates. Since the crime is normally targeted at rich people, KDJ can usually morally justify it to her. She calls this harm reduction. It's not harm reduction.

Lee Jihye: would love to commit a crime in theory, almost never in practice. She has an idealized image in her mind of the ideal high school experience and it involves grand theft auto. However, the worst she ever gets is breaking & entering and trespassing, mostly because she didn't stop to wonder if the building was abandoned or not. She can't even shoplift from Claire's.

Shin Yuseung: the kind of kid who sets the dissection frogs in the school laboratory free. Looks up illegal exotic animal trading on the deepweb and sighs in longing. But exotic pet trading isn't very Animal Rights of her, so she just leaks information to the CIA and busts the rings. Lee Gilyeong convinces her to track down shady sellers on Craigslist and bust their kneecaps. Neither of them view this as significantly different from the dissection frog liberation. KDJ gets her a rescued exotic cat for her birthday as a reward.

Lee Gilyeong: self-explanatory.

Han Suyeong: she's been pirating media since she was eleven and has never stopped. World-class expert in pirating everything. She's the unsung hero who rips the CDs and games and puts them online. Runs the pirating websites. Has never paid for a webnovel or manwha or manga in her life. Despite this, she insists that pirating books is immoral and that people should support small authors. The FBI knows she exists and has been trying to catch her for years. She brags about this constantly.

Yoo Sangah: has committed tax fraud before, will commit tax fraud tomorrow, is currently committing tax fraud. Embezzles her company's embezzlement. Insists that she's only committing victimless crimes, mainly because she doesn't view business executives as people. Her ability to evade the IRS is mythological and it's how KDJ got a crush on her.

Yoo Junghyeok: does not understand adult life well enough to knowingly commit any sort of white collar crime. He is this high on the list because he enables and helps KDJ in literally everything he does, especially using his clout as an influencer. This is because KDJ has convinced him that these things aren't crimes, and he doesn't understand adult life well enough to figure it out.

Kim Dokja: has done every white collar crime under the sun. I can't emphasize enough how much crime he does. He's currently blackmailing SYS's college tuition out of a US Senator. HSY makes the shell companies and launders so much money with him. Alternates between running a pyramid scheme and a ponzi scheme depending on the month. Started a cult that one time but we don't like to talk about that. Runs the betting ring for YJH's esports games. Fixes the games. YJH does not know he does this, but KDJ splits the profits and Yoo Mia also needs a college tuition so he decides not to think about it too hard. Big into crypto and runs every crypto scam you can possibly think of, which is normally where the the ponzi schemes come in. Steals YJH's identity often. Somehow everything he does is technically legal. The only crime he does not commit is pirating. Exclusively targets the wealthy and ultra-wealthy and has never stolen money from a poor person. Sugar daddies all of his friends and pays all college tuitions. Anonymously yet obviously sponsors huge amounts of money to YJH's Twitch streams, mostly in apology for the ID theft. Would really rather be living a quiet life in a big house with all of his friends, but that big house ain't gonna pay for itself.

#omniscient reader's viewpoint #orv #kim dokja #yjh #kdj #orv is about capitalism and systems of power and how they should be broken #and destroying the narratives of the powerful designed to keep us complacent and infighting and bootlicking #fucking shame how nobody's written a leverage au #'why do people tell stories' hope and love and the human condition :) #but also in order to control people determine their futures determine their fates #and even if the story isn't true you can make it true #like the fbi planting coke in black neighborhoods. #also hugely the capitalist exploitation of the entertainment industry #the chinese sweatshop worker makes the idol merchendise for the tired overworked korean #who works for little pay and no credit and overtime in the outsourced korean animation studios #for american cartoons that depressed americans watch because it offers a sliver of joy in our lives #bc the americans are being exploited by fascists and oligarchs #the korean idol is exploited by their superiors and dehumanized by their fans #i should probably make alla that a. different post jklasdf #anyway that's why they do so much crime fuck the system

[elizakai]

Greetings!

Was wondering if you would consent/allow me to use your Out of Pocket Dust entity design for a story? (Dustverse)

And if yes, may I know more about him (if he has an AU) or be allowed to expand on the concept?

Absolutely feel free to say no or ignore this ask

Have a wonderful week!

ABSOLUTELY YOU CAN!!!! I love that we spawned the dustverse LMAO

also ok i’ll be so fr, he spawned into the world as i was drawing, and thus has no au

however, allow me to quickly Bs the concept, and if anyone’s interested i can actually polish it later hee hoo (also feel free to use whatever concepts you like, it doesn’t have to be related to this if you’d prefer i don’t mind ehehe)

DETRITUS/ COSMIC DUST GUY INFO BELOW ⬇️

Detritus Is a Low-Level deity, at least in the hierarchy of other deities he is involved with.

He is an anomaly by their standards, the death of a star gave birth to this child of decay, he is reluctantly taken in by the others

He is younger, around 8000 years old id say😔

Detritus doesn’t know much about lower level beings, as the knowledge he has access to is rather restricted, furthermore, he doesn’t quite know his place, as he is not often given tasks.

he also doesn’t know much about just. normal life. he’s been shown things on. a very large scale but never when you zoom in and see the small things

Other deities claim grand titles and roles, but he is but decay, leaving him with no actions to take and no purpose to fulfill. they perpetuate this inaction with excuses

he befriends a star. this star is considered a lower being. this star makes him question the validity of the hierarchy of beings he’s been taught.

he begins to question why they are considered “gods”. who put them in that place? are they not just self assigning these titles and using it to justify causing strife? who are they to dictate lives. however he isn’t really sure on any of this

at some point due to these thoughts (and or an action) his friend the star is disposed of, and he is cast out. he is told he will live amongst mortal beings, to witness for himself their vileness and wicked souls.

He is but dust cast to dust

so taking on a more normal form detritus, taking being called dust LITERALLY, now adopts a new form and name. (he’s a silly little guy)

he meets a few mortals (ahem ahem you can guess who) (i’ll expand later if this interests anyone)

he is lucky for this, as he has no idea how their lives work and would just end up with someone sending him to a lab to be dissected for his “inhuman” um, abilities.

instead of learning of mortals wickedness, he only experiences kindness. he’s a bit curious, he tends to take things literally, but if you say something that is opposing to what he’s been taught, he will assume it’s sarcasm.

he’s quite funny but he has a weird sense of humor.

he’s under the impression that he’s fated to destroy any relationship he might have and thus feels guilty for making ties. he also expects to be taken home eventually

(honestly. they just wanted to get rid of him. don’t tell him that.)

Detritus, now Dust, doesn’t really have a solid form, so the one he takes on isn’t really as restrictive as you’d think. His body could contort like some demon from hell out of nowhere and then be completely normal the next second. he has to be told not to do this.

When he first took on said form, he couldn’t figure out how the fuck to form hands. his hands were very deformed and gross looking so he hid them. one of the first mortals he meets is in for a horrific experience until he figures out how to properly project how a hand moves😭

um. oh also, i keep saying he, but they’re semi genderless and wouldn’t bat an eye if you called him literally anything else. i don’t think detritus really understands gender, just things

he’s very thoughtful about inner workings of the universe but then doesn’t know what the fuck a comb is and continuously throws his new friend for a loop

he’s kind of skittish, like a cat that wants to dip its toes into the water and then immediately runs and hides but. will do it again five minutes later.

he’d probably think a butterfly is like an angel to be worshipped if he saw one

he doesn’t think mortals are evil, he compares them to his experience with the star.

he’s not immortal either, he’s more of a demi god then anything

he begins to wonder if he even wants to go home, or if it is his home, after a while of living with these new companions around. there’s definitely going to be some runs in with government authorities and cryptid hunters :))

ANDDD all of this is subject to change if i actually clean this up, as i sped typed this with very little thought beforehand ok BYEEE anyone can ask questions if you have any somehow and i’ll bs more lore 😭

#utmv #ut au #undertale #sans aus #dust sans #bad sanses #murder sans #detritus sans #idk what to call this #i’ll draw later if that’s interesting at all #dusttale #undertale aus #alternate multiverses my beloved

[tytoalbatross]

real talk i think more belos fans should like. explore how genuinely awful that Thing is

like i LOVE seeing aus and i'd be a damn liar if i said i didn't also love engaging in and making content where i put belos into various Situations

but at the same time IS BELOS BEING MAJORLY FUCKED UP NOT PART OF THE APPEAL...? dude is blasphemy incarnate, he stole his dead brother's fucking body and dissected it to create the grimwalkers, he brought back an extinct species for the sole purpose of experimenting on them to replicate their abilities, and that's not even the worst of it

idk!!! this might be my horror-liking friend rubbing off on me but i want to study canon belos under a microscope like a fucked up bug. genuinely how does one think any of this is okay and justified he's truly fascinating

#tyto speaks #like i said i love aus as much as the next guy and i even have one in the works with aforementioned friend #but BY GOD IS CANON BELOS A TREAT TO EXPLORE. what is going ON in there [taps his skull] #toh #philip #belos #philip wittebane #im shaking his fucking terrarium so he hits the walls like tinkt itnk tink tink

[kinkyintherealworld]

Sissification - a toxic construction of femininity or getting off on outdated social constructs?

Becca here. 😀

First… I LOVE THAT YOU STARTED THIS DISCUSSION!!!! Thank you so much @youngchastity - who wrote to us (and tagged us in a post) for some healthy discussion around the sissification kink. We’ve definitely had a few things to say about it on the podcast, as have our guests. You can read his post, that started this conversation, here

Rather than speak for both of us at @kinkyintherealworld, I’m going to jump in and answer this from my point of view.

@youngchastity I love your thoughts on gender - I totally agree. I actually reblogged a post by @necromimetics the other day that said: 

“can’t stop thinking about my friend’s cishet partner who said last night that he doesn’t think anyone is the same gender. god-tier take.”

And I agree - we’re all a wibbly-wobbly swirl of masculine, feminine, and everything in between energies, and everyone has their own unique blend. Trying to squash us into labels is lame as hell. 

I like to think I am never one to kink shame (keeping it safe, sane and consensual), and in world where I (and many other women) want to smash the patriarchy, I may be a bit more sensitive to kinks that look down on femininity - or that’s how I have perceived it to date. As someone who has struggled with gender equality issues in real life (your capitalism comment made me give a disgruntled, but amused, snort), it’s hard to not knee jerk react and feel like I need to defend womanhood/femininity. There is still a power imbalance in the world, and equality is still a goal yet to be achieved, but upon dissection, is in the bedroom, playing with kinks, even a place we need to bring this battle? A question that has been raised to me, even before your message.

It’s funny, because I have actually had your very points discussed with me, last fall with my partner, Misty (who if you have read my personal tumblr is trans-personality who enjoys both sides of the gender spectrum fluidly) - we were on a road trip discussing the two episodes you made note of in your post, episode #16 and #19. And Misty, like you, felt we were missing the mark. S/he felt that in no way does sissification for the purpose of humiliation somehow degrade/make fun of/make lesser femininity. For all the same reasons you stated. S/he and I actually talked about doing a podcast about it, to dive more into the topic, Misty felt that strongly. It should be noted that Misty is NOT into sissification or feminization for the purpose of humiliation, and still she felt that we gave the sissification kink a bum rap. 

Hearing her thoughts and yours, I think it is something that should be revisited and, for me personally, I need to take a closer look at why I find it uncomfortable.

Since you made such lovely points I want to try and address each one!

We’ve established that we both agree the trappings around what we consider to be masculine and feminine are made up (and ridiculous). I think, the kink we are talking about here is ultimately humiliation through outdated (but still most commonly accepted) societal norms. IF you get embarrassed about having those things stripped away, and “forced” into the opposite direction… good for you? I mean seriously, how fun is it to get off in weird and wonderful ways with someone who shares your kink from a slightly different perspective! The reality is, I believe, this isn’t hurting anyone. You want a person to lock up your dick, make fun of your little penis (your actual size is irrelevant), or put you in clothing that bends your mind with eroticism and makes you flustered with sexual need - awesome! Life is too short not to enjoy the kinks we have. The bigger question, if I want to dig into the piece that makes me feel uncomfortable is, “Is there misogyny in the specific kink?” - and the answer to that, for me upon reflection, is no. Misogyny comes from the person performing it. So yeah, some kinky things are done with TONS of misogynistic intent… but that isn’t concentrated in one area. Those assholes are everywhere.

To me, feminization is never something that goes hand-in-hand with sissification. My partner feminized himself (their pronouns are all over the place), in a loving way. To empower the feminine in himself. He has often described it as blooming or becoming a butterfly - his higher form of being. So no humiliation to be found, for either of us on either end. I find it hot as fuck when he is all dolled up. 

I haven't dipped my toes into the humiliation via feminization kink (...yet?), so it’s hard for me to wrap my dirty little mind around it. 

Weirdly I do have a bimbofication kink for myself… sometimes. 😁 If I am in a particular mood for the fantasy. I have never found the right time/partner/energy to explore that. Am I feeling humiliation when I go there? I don’t think so…? More the need to feel desired, trophied (yes I made up that word), and used in a deeply submissive way. I’m not embarrassed about that. ;)   I too would be interested in hearing from women who enjoy humiliating others through feminization/sissification, and how they feel about it. Awesome point! 😀

Celebrating feminization! Now that is my jam! 💗 Give me a soft cute boy, and let me make him weak with wanting to be pretty and obedient for me. To me this is a huge mind shift  - the key word “celebrating”, not shaming. Gosh, I could just sink into this topic like the perfect bubble bath. To me, this is a core element to gentle femdom. It is about making boys better… pretty, soft, sweet things that want to please - the D/s element being a key piece. The submissive to be absolutely loved and worshipped for their submission. No shame, not less than me, and certainly not shifting my own very feminine self. I love the feminine. I love to see it in men, and men embracing that side of themselves. Is this a form benevolent sexism? I don’t know. And more to the point, if I am engaging in it with my partners, writing about it on tumblr, and reblogging things that I enjoy around the topic, am I hurting anyone? Food for thought, but I am going to keep doing my thing. ;) I feel like you can look at BDSM here, and for those who wish to criticize it, could for its dynamics. But that feels like a giant, whole other post.    Another thing you mentioned in this point was the strapon, and it’s use as a symbol of power. I have never seen it that way. To me, it is my soul penis… and I love being able to be inside my partner(s). It is an act of love, and makes me want to bring them to amazing places of pleasure (while I get off too). I really don’t enjoy the pictures of women wearing strapons who look like they want to punish their partner with it. But that’s just me. I know lots of people must enjoy that because there is a shit ton of porn that looks that way.

Playing with gender. I like that - and I do it! I love being able to put on a penis!! I really enjoyed trying my hand at Drag King make up and going out as a boy (I’ll post my picture again). I LOVE seeing boys in make up and fucking gender norms right out the window. You said it in your post - gender is made up and stupid. So yeah, let’s play with it, and maybe even break the molds! Though then you’ll have to find something else to get embarrassed and turned on about. ;) Our kinks are about orgasms and pleasure. Let’s enjoy them. In the end, it is all about intent and the people doing it. Not about the kinks themselves. People who want there to be an imbalance of power between women and men will keep doing mean spirited things to keep that nightmare alive - in the streets and in the sheets.

I feel like I have answered your points (I may have jumped around a bit), and I don’t feel the need to argue any of them. Misty had already shone a light on where I may have not been seeing the bigger picture. 

I am SO HAPPY you wrote us a message, and that you took the time to write out your thoughts (that can be read here). So sorry it took me a while to see it and respond! I am always up for conversation and debating (with kindness) any of the points. 

I definitely feel this topic should be a podcast. Any chance you'd like to be on it @youngchastity? ;) 

Hugs! Becca

#kinky in the real world #podcast #podcasters of tumblr #matriarchy #smash the patriarchy

[hanayumi]

𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥-𝐣𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝

— bonten! sano manjirou x fem!reader x sanzu haruchiyo

part 1.5 of brittle to the bone || prev.

a prelude to your time with the man masquerading himself as your ‘guardian’.

wc. 3.5k

tags breathplay, toxic/unhealthy relationship dynamics, implied drug abuse, yandere undertones, haruchiyo pov, sfw

notes i really have no words except take this *drops the fic in your hands*

snapshot ;

It’s alien. Intangible. And as if bringing to light something that’d been kicking at the edges of his consciousness for a long long time, hinting at something his thought process was but a little slower to grasp, all at once Haurchiyo's brain flashes with the lingering memories of that same intimacy.

That tacit understanding. That silent obedience. Is it love that hides behind the way Mikey touches you when he thinks no one is looking — gently, like a lover, so different from the way he always does? At times commanding, as if bending you to his will (though he doubts you had any in the first place) — is it the way that, despite everything, you still come at his beck and call, ready to slide your arms around him at a moment’s notice even as your legs are trembling like they’re about to give out?

As far as Haruchiyo is concerned, Mikey has always been like this. Always stoic, always tip-toeing between the inconspicuous realm of boredom and apathy, and so little did he reveal his innermost thoughts. No one could ever dissect what was going on in his boss’ mind. He was unreadable to the point where it became his own trademark, with hands capable of far more violence than any of his subordinates combined. Perhaps in that invincible, impenetrable nature does Haruchiyo find solidarity: there is no one like Sano Manjirou.

But if there’s one thing that Haruchiyo has in common with his boss, it’s that it’s a losing battle to keep them listening during meetings. Frankly, if he were to be speaking facts, no one aside from Takeomi and Kokonoi bothers to pay attention. Who could fucking care less about those bottom-feeders plundering chunks outta their cargo supplies? This building, its occupants— the arteries. Drugs, inhalants— the blood. He could, theoretically (speaking in Kokonoi’s breath), put everything into its place, restore this apparently ‘delicate balance’, within a moment's notice with that gleaming steak knife of his. If only, if only they’d let him.

Money, women, drugs. That’s nice and all, but that’s not really why he joined Bonten. (Well, he might choke on that last one.) No, never, Haruchiyo isn’t infamously known as the ‘Mad Dog’ for no reason. He is a cruel, mad dog. He revels in the thrilling chase and the dizzying catch — the first strike, the feel of warm, real blood soaking his talons, and the sick wicked delight of toying with the limits of human endurance — and, guess what? He got none of that within the frigid meeting room.

What did he get instead?

Instead he got a mystery. One that eats away at him like maggots from the inside with every painstaking day. And the more he sees you, the more he is forced to remember this fact, forced to regurgitate it like a cow chewing on blades of rubber grass. Day after day after day after fucking day.

Because you were always there, your presence accompanying them more times than he can count (to serve entertainment on the side, he thought at first, except you did more than that. You distracted him. You kept his eyes on you. And you somehow chewed your doll-faced, mouselike way into his boss’ heart).

And the thought persists long after each and every meeting, sinks paranoia under his skin like pinpricks and suckerpunches to his gut; like the arctic chill circulating in the meeting room, penetrating through layers of clothing made for this sole purpose (because, he supposes, Mikey is so thick-skinned that even air-conditioning toils to have an effect on him).

He bided his time. He waited, patiently, just as his King filed out order after order — kill them, torture them for information, find out more about them, kill them…

But the order never came. It was never ‘kill her’.

(But what’s worse? That his King is taking an awfully long time to get rid of his plaything, or that said plaything can’t help but intrude his thoughts at every given moment? Desecrate his plane of thought like you had more power than everyone gave you credit for? Feeding into his horrible addiction and piercing his brain with images of herself — whimpering and snivelling, legs so shaky and fragile like a newborn foal, damp bottom lashes glued to her skin, and if he squinted he could see fresh tears brimming at the edges, eyes filming over like liquid glass — stop.)

He sighs and tosses a tiny, familiar oval-shaped object down his throat — one to last him the rest of the hour and half the bottle for the rest of the day — swallowing it dry with an exaggerated gulp. One after another, it’s almost like candy at this point. If he tries hard enough he’ll remember a time when he found salvation beyond this drug-induced haze, but at some point he stopped caring. Stopped reading the labels and recommended dosages. (Why bother? Why bother looking through the haze when he has a job to do? Especially, especially one that involves getting the answers he so desires.)

Fingernails tap a broken rhythm on the glass of a clattering pill bottle, slow and steady, like the eerie thrum of a premonition. A finely-pressed suit, dyed a deep violet with gold embroidery branching out in elegant water lilies — worn with pride by a gentleman who has known nothing but to stain it with savage killing. His elbow is propped up against the wall, and his emerald-toned gaze teeters back and forth between the other two occupants of the room. Tiredly, boorishly.

He’s tired of waiting.

Actually, more than that — he’s tired of so many things grating on his thinly-stretched patience. (He is not a man known for his patience.)

Today’s the big day. Mikey hasn’t said a word since Haruchiyo was called up to the penthouse. The top level has always been sacred — reserved for him and only him — but it’s no place that Haruchiyo hasn’t been in once or twice. Sometimes he simply sought orders in person or felt like snooping around. There was never anything of interest, though (well, nothing except you).

He fastens his eyes on you warily, keeping a reasonable distance and not making a move in fear of upsetting Mikey. Staring too much or showing remotely any interest in you always seemed a surefire way to set him off. It’s hard to believe that Takeomi was able to convince him to let you stay behind. Especially with himself, of all people. (Not that Haruchiyo thinks he’ll do a bad job. Far from that, actually; if Mikey told him to sit and stay he would do just that even if hail the size of a planet came hurtling down to earth.) He’s surprised, but he knows it isn’t like Mikey not to think ahead… perhaps, his boss has finally realised that you don’t need to be babysat like a fucking toddler.

But even toddlers have a mind of their own. Haruchiyo frowns when he looks at you, all jittery and silent, albeit for a different reason than him. You're waiting obediently by the door as Mikey throws his coat over his shoulders. He grabs his gun, his cigarettes (since when did he smoke?), his cellphone… Everything he does is agonisingly slow — every action deliberately calculated as if his brain was rewired to take the slowest route possible to the sleek black car waiting in the lobby. There must be something compelling his boss to stay, because no sooner when his hand touches the doorknob does he hesitate as it slips back down to his side.

Not again.

Haruchiyo’s chest heaves, puffs out by an inch as he gets ready to breathe a huge, exaggerated sigh — he sighs a lot these days — only for it to catch in his throat.

Mikey is hugging you.

Something does not click in him, does not register. Like a severed connection, Haruchiyo is made acutely aware that an anomaly has caused his systems to lock up and sizzle into haywire at the scene before him. Something is wrong here.

An indescribable sentimentality comes through in the way Mikey’s arms lock around you like a cage. Engulfing, territorial, as if he were trying to swallow you whole; and if Haruchiyo could see his face right now he is sure his boss would be drilling holes into his skull just for staring. Stop looking. He’s gonna get mad. But the amazement — as amusing as it is that Haruchiyo can even feel such an emotion — overpowers his obedience, when not a second later your arms come to creep around Mikey’s waist. Melding yourself into his chest, almost instinctively, as if it’d shield you from the harshness of what he’s become. Haruchiyo is almost convinced, from the compliance bleeding through your actions, that you’ve been doing this for a long time.

And, try as he might, he can’t tear his eyes away from the quiver in your bottom lip as you meet his single bewildered gaze from across the room, almost looking as if you wanted him to save you — looking like a tender lamb collected whole within the jaws of a lion. A fraction of a second, a near imperceptible intensity of emotion, and then you’re sliding your face into the side of Mikey’s neck, the subdued tremor of your shoulders the only evidence of your breathing. Everything looks of the frozen stillness of death; a snapshot taken in a graveyard, the headstone masquerading as Greek statues of lovers holding each other in death — in eternity, in life, being unable to part.

Mikey silently digs his palm into the back of your head, the small action nudging you deeper into his embrace as if the proximity wasn’t enough, never enough, and Haruchiyo feels his mouth going desert dry. Nothing makes sense. You, your presence, Mikey’s attachment to you — nothing fits together, it’s all a fucking mystery, just like the mismatched pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. (And now, it is as if he’s the toddler sitting hunched over children’s toys manufactured wrong, the miniature pieces fundamentally made to jut and protest against each other.)

He can’t understand.

It’s alien. Intangible. And as if bringing to light something that’d been kicking at the edges of his consciousness for a long long time, hinting at something his thought process was but a little slower to grasp, all at once Haruchiyo's brain flashes with lingering memories of that same intimacy.

That tacit understanding. That silent obedience. Is it love that hides behind the way Mikey touches you when he thinks no one is looking — gently, like a lover, so different from the way he always does? At times commanding, as if bending you to his will (though he doubts you had any in the first place) — is it the way that, despite everything, you still come at his beck and call, ready to slide your arms around him at a moment’s notice even as your legs are trembling like they’re about to give out?

Haruchiyo is stiff as a frozen lake, but his gut stirs with unease (why?), and for a second he wonders when exactly he became so observant to anyone besides himself and his King.

His eyes settle arbitrarily on exposed skin; it’s your neck. The same neck that Mikey now has his hand wrapped around, with the same palm that was but a split second ago caressing the back of your head. His bony fingers press deep into the skin, not hard enough to form bruises, but hard enough to aggravate the existing ones and pry a mousy noise out of you.

(How does it taste, to have the king of Bonten cradling you in his arms as if the world could collapse on you at any second? And in the next minute, have his hand around your neck, the pressure just short of suffocating you, tightening ever so slowly?)

Not that good, he supposes, because from the sounds you’re making (the choked whimpers) he’s sure that you’re terrified.

“Be good.”

Mikey’s voice drags through the silence like a thin dagger. Unsympathetic. Cold.

Haruchiyo’s eyes dart away from your neck to stare at his own hand — for some reason, it’s shaking. His breath is coming out in shallow patterns, but no one except himself seems to notice. It’s almost as if he were invisible, a ghost, like you could break free of Mikey’s grip and run straight past him.

The grip on your neck tightens taut. Haruchiyo imagines the veins that pulsate beneath Mikey’s skin, the blood, the resistance. An arm twists like a leash around your waist; you panic. You mouth half his name in confusion, but it’s difficult to speak when your airways are restricted, the second half teetering into a whimper as if your voice burnt off your tongue. You put your little hands over his, sliding underneath the gaps of his fingers in an attempt to loosen them. Pathetic, choked squeals gradually increase in volume, and Haruchiyo starts to feel his own breathing stutter, and he has to start holding his breath for fear of making his presence known.

Is this it? Is this where it ends? He has his hand on your neck, Haruchiyo swallows. You’re fragile. You will die. You will snap.

But before that— before the unthinkable happens— Mikey will decide to stop. He always does. That’s right, he always does.

The palm recoils, drops, retreats back into Mikey’s shadow, allowing you enough leeway to suck oxygen down your throat. He watches on wordlessly as you still clasp your hands feebly around his for balance, amidst jagged breathing, amidst wobbling legs.

It’s then that Haruchiyo sees them. Sees the grisly purplish swirls and bite marks decorating your neck like a collar, disappearing into the thin sheet of your nightdress where he knows there must be more. Deep violet mirroring the silk-like fabric of his clothing, replicated and imprinted onto once unmarred skin; looking at you makes him think of flowers trampled underfoot. Callously bestowed, deliberate bruises that Mikey lets you parade around in, worn like a brand. A mark of ownership. Oh, my—is that what this is? A show? A display of his King’s indisputable, iron-clad authority? Haruchiyo stifles a shudder.

Mockingly similar to reaching for a kiss, Mikey leans in, his lips hovering over the shell of your ear, whispering something too soft for Haruchiyo to hear that has you freezing on the spot. Your panting breaths almost halt momentarily. He waits for your reply, a tiny little nod, after which your eyes fly downcast, mouth still parted slightly with any possible parting words left unsaid… and Haruchiyo discovers that he is just the least bit disappointed. Empathy has never been his strong suit — never had to use it, let alone learn it. He wishes he could break free of this trance and ask you: how does it feel, to be the only woman that Mikey could treat with such gentleness?

The only one.

His jaw stiffens. Somehow, the bottle in his hands has grown slick with his sweat. Somehow, his adrenaline levels have spiked from watching his King put his hands around your throat.

Mikey’s dark shadow retreats from your face when he pulls away. Beige, watered-down sunlight filters in despite the drawn blinds and bounces off the walls, flicking a certain light grey sheen over his hair when he takes a few steps. He brushes past you without a second look, drifting like the afterimage of a phantom, before he pauses. His head cocks back just at the mouth of the entryway, empty stare boring right into Haruchiyo.

(So he had noticed his presence.)

That abyssal black — that bottomless pit of emptiness. Bare-bones sin that Mikey is on his way to commit. This is what you come close to every day. This stare. All Haruchiyo can do in the face of this radiating bloodlust is incline his head in a nod. And his King is quick to fade from view, having faintly acknowledged his second-in-command. The thudding of his steps — thump, thump — reverberate as if he were treading in a black swamp.

You don’t move, don’t break free from your position where he left you, and Haruchiyo doesn’t make a move either, as if the both of you suffered under the after-effects of the same spiritual possession. Until you hear the sound of the elevator dinging amidst pin-drop silence. Slowly, as if thawing out every inch of your ball-jointed body, your figure comes back to life, all in front of his eyes: ruby-scented lifeblood flowing back into the steep crevices of your fingers, your arms, your legs, your head which turns just a sliver of a fraction —

Only to turn stiff as ice when you’re met with him in your way.

Haruchiyo can plainly see how your natural instinct to bolt like a foal kicks in, dousing your body in a bonfire’s blaze — as if a switch was flipped in your head, detaching you from the perfect doll with a thousand-mile stare. An olive gaze burns into the glittering fear reflected in your wide eyes, the widest he has ever seen them to date. He takes a step forward. Then another.

They’re even more enticing up close, he realises. Pretty.

Are they as watery as they look?

If he reaches out he thinks he can juuust about graze the spinning globes in your eye sockets. And, fully intending to test this theory, his fingertips start to raise, almost like marionette strings tied to his instinct — inching and inching, closer and closer. But true to your own instinct you recoil in abject fear, backtracking only for your back to hit against the wall, your little half-squeak sending him hurtling back to reality and blinking twice and… oh. Well. Would you just look at that?

A curious smile upturns his lips; he’s got you cornered without trying. No fun, you’re no fun. He toys with the imagination of what you see with those doe eyes so big with terror — eyes that played witness to so many impromptu executions within the pristine conference room, eyes that bored into his sleep where he could only dream of tarnishing a beauty so unknown to him. But now you’re alone. It’s just you, him, and the sun straining through opaque blinds.

What do you see? A monster? A killer?

He can’t blame you.

“I’m sorry, I-I just, um,” you stammer, your throat bobbing as you swallow — a toddler’s first words? You’re on the floor now, soundlessly yearning to escape from him as far as you can because that look in his eyes cannot mean anything good. Your lips that parted just enough to let those few words slip into the tense silence remain agape, as if you were on the verge of pleading for him to spare your life. Your fingers twist in the material of your sleep shirt, clinging to the cotton, slowly retreating into yourself like a small mouse.

A giddy excitement shoots through his veins. He straightens his back and pops his joints, making a show of stretching the muscles that’ve gone stiff from waiting, the action accompanying a shuddery chuckle. Ah. There’s something innate about you that rouses sympathy from others. If he decides to scare you a little… he doubts it’ll take much work before you’re on your knees shaking.

The scarce luminescence in the room tumbles and shifts like the different stages of limbo. He continues to hold your gaze, admiring how your pupils reflect the light. A hand extends to you and you flinch fiercely, immediately, much to his amusement. “Hey hey hey, what’s wrong? No need to be afraid,” he coos, crouching down to your height, studying your shivering form. “It’s just me, little bunny. I don’t believe I’ve properly introduced myself.”

He feels the effects of the drug start to kick in, the sluggish blurring of his conscience, but more than that he feels the beginning of an urge to press his thumb into your eye socket. “It’s really such a shame, seeing how long we’ve known each other.”

It’s going to be fun— it’s going to be delightful, he decides. A delightful little side-project while his king is off setting things straight. By the time Mikey returns, he wants to have his fill of satisfaction. Of contentment. Life has been so damn stale as of late; nothing about tormenting glitzy prostitutes rings the bell of happiness in him anymore. Mikey will probably kill me, he turns over this thought in his mind, frowning, and decides he wants to live just a little longer — so, sadly, anything fatal will have to be put aside for now.

Just for good measure, just to show respect to the wicked plan solidifying in his head, he reaches for your hand (because it’s not like you’ll willingly offer it to him, right?). He curls the tiny little thing into his own palm, beginning to feel your pulse through a thin muscle in your hands, the rapid thudthudthuds pulsating like a tiny animal fighting to preserve its life. A single word surfaces in his mind: soft. Your hands are soft, tender, just like fondling translucent silk. Huh.

A little life in his hands.

“Bonten’s number two. Sanzu Haruchiyo. You’re in good hands.”

Oh, but truthfully, in everything he does, Haruchiyo tends to overdo it. If not by a teaspoon, then by an enormous handful — an avalanche, even.

next

#tw yandere #tw breath play #yandere tokyo revengers #tw choking #tokyo rev x reader #mikey x reader #yandere haruchiyo sanzu #haruchiyo x reader #yandere sanzu #chiyu; dark

[sasster]

Bloodbath

I wrote this and I convinced myself I could go to sleep without posting it, and that was just a silly thing I told myself. If you see typos, no you don’t mind your business In which we see even MORE of what life was like for Dr. Lycaon in the before times.

tw: blood, death, general mayhem

Another trip to the past, Time Hopper?

—

Of course tending to the dead is not enough of tribute to the Messiahs to leave room for one to shirk the rest of their responsibilities, and as much as the mortician would have loved more than anything to stay squirreled away in that basement morgue of his, he is still a member of a subjugating sect. And as such, he is still expected to pull his weight.

Get his hands dirty, so to speak.

Messiahs help him, he hates getting his hands dirty. But that’s the job.

The bar he walks into is supposedly a popular hangout spot for some rebel operation, pulled from some masterlist the empire pulled together that he could not possibly care less about. It is more importantly, for his purposes, a place where lowbloods tend to congregate in great numbers. Potentially because of the comfort provided by the aforementioned rebels.

Safety in numbers, they must think.

Fish in a barrel, the empire thinks.

What Thanat thinks is that that is a silly turn of phrase, considering who the ruling class is. No time to dissect idioms, though. There are fish in barrels to be shot.

A lot is left to be desired on tasks like this one, Thanat would be lying if he said he did not love the opportunity to take his subjug hat (facepaint) off, let his hair down (pull it into a tight bun to minimize the chances of catching stray splatters of blood in it), and put on his laughsassin hat (literally just plain clothes).  Of course, the gloves stay on during mass murder.

He has mixed feelings, sitting at the bar, without his facepaint on. On the one hand, having all the grease caked on his face all day is typically a textural nightmare. On the other, his naked face is now prone to the outside world without that layer of protection.

Oh how he hates to feel exposed.

So he sits at the bar, sharp eyes, concealed by bronze contacts, scanning for marks, feeling a heavy mix of free and naked.

It is as crowded as he was warned when first sent on his way, and that means that there are several trolls in the lot that would suit him and his needs. It was annoying that they wouldn’t just send one of the big guys with a club to go swinging at the unwitting masses, but he supposes that if you have a laughsassin at your disposal, you’re going to use them.

Shame that it has to be him, he feels his stomach lurch at the sight of the trolls rubbing elbows and dancing on each other.

Filthy.

Among the crowd are a burly looking blue blood that stands a good head or so above the gaggle of lowbloods that surround her, a stock bronze blood trying and failing to chat up a disinterested hemo anon, and a similarly built bronze blood seated alone in a booth. Excellent marks if he ever saw any. The mortician takes a pen from his pocket, one that he borrowed on his way in, between his thumb and middle fingers. Even through the protection of his glove, he can feel the grime of it attempt to assault him.

“You would think that thing was going to bite you, the way you’re looking at it.”

The voice that addresses him comes from, surprisingly, directly in front of him and he has to refocus to see the jade blood seated next to him at the bar, he was too busy finding his marks to make niceties before now.

“Ah, yes. I just remembered that it was out of ink, I would have liked to write something down.” He feigns disappointment, twirling the pen between his fingers now. “Shame.”

“You wanted to write, at a bar?” They ask, incredulous. Over their shoulder a purple blooded bouncer, traitor that he is to the messiahs, begins to make his way seamlessly through the crowd.

“Inspiration strikes on its own timing.” He offers, almost sheepishly.

What a rare sight, an uncloistered jade hanging out on the surface like this. Coupled with the purple bouncer and the blue muscle, this place must actually be one of those underground rebel locations.

Way too obvious.

”Right. Still a strange place to do it. Let me get you a drink.”

Thanat’s eye twitches imperceptibly, who are they to question him, and he shrugs.

“Maybe so. Forgive me, but I am waiting on a friend before I start.”

The jade sucks their teeth. “You a lightweight?”

“Something like that.”

He didn’t need to go making friends and potentially enjoying the company of someone that was about to meet the end of their life.

Now that’s just depressing.

Before long, the bouncer is at his side, staring at him with wide eyes and a mouth clamped shut. The jade next to him raises a brow as a wordless exchange is held between the two purple bloods.

A hair tie, a wallet, and a phone join Thanat’s disgusting collection and the bouncer is back off to man the door.

“Not your friend, I gather?” His neighbor, insufferable as they are, asks, doing their best to get a look at what was handed off.

Thanat pockets them all, fighting against himself to ignore how upsetting it is to have them contact his clothes. “No.” He turns his attention to the bartender now, who was just on the way to take drink orders. “May I borrow a pen?”

The bartender hands over a pen that sat behind his ear at the same time the unmistakable sound of a club bashing into something hard and wooden echoes over the music and chatter.

What timing that guy has, he didn’t even have time to disapprove of the thin sheet of sweat that coats his latest acquisition.

“There he is.” He says as he rises to his feet and joins the bartender behind the bar.

“Hey, what are you doing– ” Annoying, nosey thing that the jade blood was, didn’t even get the protest out before the bartender made quick work of snapping their neck and dropping them unceremoniously to the floor.

Between that and the threatening sound of a club slamming against the door, a heavy sting of silence blankets the crowd as worried and panicked glances are shared between the patrons.

Five items, five trolls, Thanat stretches himself to guide them with ease. He knows their movements like the back of his hand. Before total mayhem breaks out, while the patrons are still gathering their witts, the bouncer situated by the door takes out a handful more of the unsuspecting lowbloods, the mortician finding his concealed daggers suitable for the occasion and in the same instant the blueblood has done away with her gaggle of little ones, the ones that clung to her for safety all evening, with brute strength alone.

A mixture of different low and mid hues paint the floor and that is when all goes to hell. Chaos erupts, the betrayals so monumental that no one knows who to trust and immediately a brawl breaks out.

In the meantime, Thanat busies himself behind the bar, throwing together a quick gin and tonic, while the bartender fends off anyone that gets too close to him.

The solitary bronze blood had on him a firearm that merely gets put to use for buffaloing. Guns are hardly any fun, after all, even if the name of the game is fish in a barrel. The other sports a pair of brass knuckles that make them anything but a fair fight.

In all of this, Thanat can’t help but think about how easy it is to revert a troll back to their true nature. It only takes a little bit of violence.

Pacifism on Alternia is a joke.

It is only a matter of time before trolls are tearing each other apart, Thanat’s puppets pick up the stragglers, and any poor soul that had the presence of self to just go running out the door would meet the business end of a club. Now it is just a waiting game.

He stirs his drink idly as he watches it all unfold.

Simple creatures.

Then all that remains, with the smell of blood heavy in the air, are his puppets, well, four of them, one of his bronze bloods met a grizzly end when the leg of a bar stool was turned into a stake, staring at each other with wide eyes. All of them breathing heavily

Thanat takes a sip from his drink.

“I would say that I could not have done it without you,” he flashes a row of sharp teeth in a quick smile. “But that would be a lie. I am, however, appreciative of your assistance.”

He does not return their faculties to them, that would be a fool's mistake, but he does make three of their deaths very quick by utilizing the bouncer and his blood caked daggers on them.

And then there were two and this time when Thanat smiles, it forces his eyes into a squint.

“Terribly sorry, but my friend outside will be itching to get a kill himself.”

#coko writes sometimes #long post #thanat #puts my head in my hands #i will be thinking about thanat cosplaying as a brown blood with his hair in a bun for the rest of my fucking life #PLEEEASSEEEEEEEEEE i would ove to know how you guys feel about this one

[team-council-two]

There are ways to make Heavy – or any Russian character – sound Russian without making him swear.

When writers don’t ignore Heavy’s language barrier and unique speech patterns entirely – and that’s already a very generous “when”, - they have him use random Russian words with varying frequency. The two most popular choices are “da” and “net”, spelled “nyet” for reasons beyond my understanding. They’re seconded – thirded? – closely by swearing, with questionable accuracy.

It’s not necessarily a bad thing, of course. People do swear, Russian people swear a lot, and Heavy, given the nature of his profession, would hardly have it in his moral code to avoid swearing. Still, to me it rings… hollow. As if the best widely recognized purpose for my native language is in expressing one’s negative emotions in an obscene way. I think we can do better than that.

There are a lot of ways to make a person sound foreign without actually making them use foreign words. Valve uses grammar structure in clever ways that I’ll dissect one of these days, but I want to talk about phraseology, the science of fixed expressions.

You see, English has phrasal verbs and idioms. Little bits of sentences that make their way into our speech but make less sense the more you look at them. Saying someone is “sweating bullets”, or “kicked the bucket”, or is “drunk as a fiddler” shouldn’t make sense, and yet it does. Russian, by the virtue of being a language spoken widely over a long period of time, is also full of such expressions, except they’re… different. I teach English, and I couldn’t possibly count the number of times I’ve been asked to translate an expression that by all laws of language-centered sciences must never be translated.

So let’s translate some of them!

I'm gonna start from the beginning, from a clean paper sheet (с чистого листа). I’ll try to walk you through it step by step, sort it all on the shelves (разложить по полочкам). Do be patient though, the topic is so complicated the Devil will break a leg (чёрт ногу сломит). Not to mention, some Russian idioms are very similar to the English ones – similar like two drops of water (как две капли воды). I might mix them up here and there, but at least I’m making this post with soul (с душой), that is, with passion and love put in.

Speaking of souls. When someone is worried, he could say his soul is not in place (душа не на месте). Good and kind things would then warm his soul (греть душу), something touching and emotion-provoking would take him by the soul (брать за душу), while bad ones would tear his soul apart (рвать душу). Someone disastrously broke would be said to have nothing behind their soul (за душой). Two people living in perfect understanding and harmony are living soul in soul (душа в душу), while a person beloved by their friend group – or team, perhaps – would be the soul of the company (душа компании).

While we’re on the subject of describing people, a wet cat of a man could turn into a wet chicken (мокрая курица), or a moist chicken, if you’re feeling like being hilarious. Someone particularly lucky was born in a shirt (родился в рубашке). Someone who wouldn’t hurt a fly could be called God’s dandelion (божий одуванчик). A professional in their field ate a dog on it (собаку съел) – admittedly, not my favorite expression. Someone whose plans change frequently has seven Fridays a week (семь пятниц на неделе), and is throwing their words in the wind (бросать слова на ветер). Someone telling you shady unverified information is most likely taking it off the ceiling (брать с потолка) or sucking it out of their finger (высосать из пальца). Someone particularly annoying who wants to part-take in everything everywhere is like a cork in every barrel (каждой бочке затычка).

There’s a great idiom spinning on my tongue (на языке вертится), but I can’t quite remember it.

When it’s raining heavily, it’s like it’s pouring from a bucket (льёт как из ведра). There’s no smooth transition here, I just wanted to share it for the TF2 crowd, you know – a joke for our own (шутка для своих).

Light rain on a sunny day is a mushroom rain (грибной дождь).

A merc’s job is hard, it has one working like a squirrel in a wheel (как белка в колесе). Well, you know what they say – living isn’t digging potatoes (жить - не картошку копать), so don’t expect it to be easy. Either you kill or play into a crate (сыграть в ящик) yourself. Good thing wounds heal like on a dog (заживать как на собаке) with a good Medic on your team. And if you’re feeling all comfort-like and want to reassure someone there won’t be a scar left, you can tell them it will heal before the wedding (до свадьбы заживёт). And the job pays well – no reason to bite your elbows (кусать локти) with greed, everybody has a chance to get rich and roll around like cheese in butter (как сыр в масле кататься).

When someone’s particularly sad, there's no face on them (лица нет). You might want to ask them why they hung their nose (повесить нос).

I wanted to add more phrases but realized I could go on forever. Just so you have a clear picture, here’s a list of not all of them, in alphabetical order. And that’s not counting proverbs, of which there is another half a bajillion. If there’s a hypothetical concept within this universe, there’s probably a Russian idiom for it. Hit me up if you want to know more. I might make a part two after a rain on a Thursday (после дождичка в четверг). I don’t need to tell you about the absolute joy of comedic potential these phrases have, and it’d really make me happy if writers put them into writing along with, if not instead of, the universally beloved swear-words and ‘da-net’s.

Hope this was useful. Have fun writing!

#Heavy Language Post

[mihai-florescu]

i AM the previous anon about you talking like an enstars character and i always kin assigned you eichi in my head (NOT !! era just war and ! era) this is a compliment btw and also just an observation. also its all of your posts not just a specific post but id love to dissect why i think this way now that i was scrolling through… i think i read your posts as weirdly forlorn but like.. talking about everything as if its inevitable? you have european sadness in your eyes that i can see tthrough your posts

I once made a post about characterPs talking like their favs with seb as The eichiP in mind (/endearing). I guess i was blind to my own speech... im not sure how much i want to believe in fate, i suppose i do in the way we all hope there is something greater or a reason for anything, and it's definitely nicer than believing in gods, but i would ideally view myself as someone completely removed from the world, a spectator. Everything is inevitable in the way you know a book has a set number of pages and a purpose, and i find watching it unfold more worthwile than gathering up the energy to participate. But in that sense i think my views are completely antithetical to eichi's, and why he is a character im drawn to. Where ive decided to give up on trying and find it difficult to be a real person in a world i wasnt meant for, he forces himself as a protagonist and spins a new story. At least that is the point of ! to me and why i love it so much. Well of course i am real and he is not, im not so delusional to forget that. But really the only worthwile thing about being a person is getting to read stories. Ive lost my own spark to put in effort and im just trying to make it to graduation but i am grateful to all the artists and writers that dedicate their lives to their crafts and make my existence more bearable

#ask #anon #my thesis revolves around this but im too embarassed to talk about it with people #it's also quite personal so maybe thats why

[avi17]

Maybe I'm just seeing more of this than usual since I'm in my biggest fandom in a long time but like. I feel like the kids today have very much forgotten that you're allowed to just...ship a thing. You're allowed to think the characters had interesting potential and just. Do the thing. You don't have to dissect eye movement and body language and where people are standing and stuff to prove it's canon- that stuff is chemistry, and it can be real and present without it being intentional. Doesn't make it any less real, but also doesn't make it some kind of conspiracy- there are movies from 70 years ago where actors had interesting chemistry that comes off homoerotic, but that certainly doesn't mean they were playing it that way on purpose. You don't have to wildly skew stuff actors say in interviews either, putting words in people's mouths is actually a little creepy.

I think we're at the point with queer representation and canon queer ships where we've had enough of it turn out to be real that we want it to always be real, and we feel like we have to prove it is real to feel valid in shipping it. I'm here to tell you that you don't have to do that.

I'm not saying those ships SHOULDN'T be canon, I'd love them to be. In some cases the story would be way better if they were. But you don't have to prove they were Canon All Along to be allowed to enjoy them. And if you hinge your enjoyment of a piece of media made by cishet people on the idea that the actors are going to confirm your ship was canon, or feel like you have to validate your ship by insisting it will become canon, I feel like you're just gonna end up disappointed.

#stranger things #steddie #byler #stranger things 4 #st4 #like. guys #when Joseph quinn was asked about steddie he made a joke and then was like idk man people can dream #I'm glad he's not a homophobe and is cool joking about it but that doesn't mean it's canon or that he's the captain of the steddie ship #WE are the captains and that is totally fine #and the byler kids i just. i worry about you guys #i fully support you guys but i also just honestly don't think you're gonna get what you want and are so convinced will happen #and i feel like this fandom is gonna get NASTY on both sides at that point #i just. oof #queer shipping #lgbtq+ #ok addendum I'm seeing this post being liked by mileven people who are being dicks to the byler people #and just so we're clear this is not for you either #the fact that your het ship is likely to be canon in a story written by straight people doesn't make it better and you are also being jerks #gonna put all you kids in time out like mama Steve

[thelemoncoffee]

anyone remember like- a really long time ago how i said i had an au idea where kokichi wrote fake love letters as fictional characters as a creative writing hobby, but then had the bad idea to write a real one to Shuichi? remember how i said i wanted to get back to it in a later post but never did?

well look at me i'm finally getting back to it.

Okay so first things first, the actual process of witting his love letter was much more difficult than he expected: where his fictional ones are well crafted to be in character with set stage pieces and character analysis behind them, this real one has absolutly none of that.

he can't character analyze himself and Shuichi and how the two of them reacting to stuff like this to craft a scripted love confession, all he has is his very real and very messy feelings to put on a page. he despises the shocking lack of control he has over the situation.

i can imagine the first few drafts he keeps trying to make it staged but it keeps feeling wrong and bad in a way he can't explain, and the more he tries the more frustrated he gets. then he finally gives in and tries just once to just dump whatever feelings come to mind on the paper. it ends up being both the best attempt yet, and the most cathartic experience he's had in a very long time.

it's extremely raw and disorganized and sloppy, so he tries to make a second version where he rewrites the dump to sound more clean and purposeful, but it makes it feel wrong again so he just takes the original and sticks it in Shuichi's locker. it's unsigned cause he decided if he was going to give something with such raw emotion in it he wasn't going to reveal himself- that's pushing it too far for his comfort. he's content with Shuichi at the very least knowing he has a secrete admirer now.

now this is where it gets fun, cause now Shuichi's got it, he can read it and see all the pretty raw emotions, and his detective brain demands he figures out who made it. it ends up being harder than he expected, seeing as Kokichi's dishonest ass isn't exactly at the top of his radar for something so heartfelt. but there is one thing that tips Shuichi off-

remember how i said it was the original heart dump he gave? as in the one where Kokichi just wrote whatever he felt till he got it all out?

now it's not his neatest work, it has mistakes and scribbles in it. but Shuichi sits right next to him in class: he's seen Kokichi's messy "in the zone" notes in his class notebook, he knows Kokichi is left handed and smears ink when he writes, he knows he uses exclusively red ink pens, he knows what his handwriting looks like. if there is nothing else about the note that helps help him solve it, the handwriting is what will

after landing this conclusion, i imagine he'd probably spend a bit of time dissecting the letter with the perspective of Kokichi being the one who wrote it in mind for a while before confronting. considering how raw and unlike Kokichi it is, he'd need some time to think about what all is going on in it. he'd eventually either run out of speculation juice, or have so much juice he needs to bring himself in and mentally yell "too theoretical" at himself. either way at that point he'd decide he'd had enough and wants the truth, so he'd spend some extra time with Kokichi trying to slowly reveal his case to him.

how smoothly that goes is very much up to debate. he wants to conform his conclusion for sure (totally not because he has a fat crush on Kokichi and really want him to the the culprit), but doesn't want to scare Kokichi off by being too upfront. unfortunately Kokichi is also keen of eye and gets sus of him pretty fast cause why tf is Shuichi suddenly spending extra time with him- not that he minds, it's just bizarre for him to do and raises some flags in Kokich's mind

#danganronpa #ndrv3 #danganronpa v3 #kokichi ouma #shuichi saihara #saiouma #au prompt #au idea #au #kai prompts