#was MONUMENTAL. no pun intended.

[larsnicklas]

noted besties william nylander & rasmus sandin continue to publicly be besties!!

#william nylander #rasmus sandin #toronto maple leafs #washington capitals #maple leafs #leafs #capitals #nhl #hockey #meg.gif #meg.leafs #meg.caps #meg.all #THEY ARE SOOOOOOOOO!!!! #rasmus you KNOW what u need to do this summer!!! woo him like you've never wooed before!!!!! #by the way do you know what a WIN it was for me personally. when rasmus came to the capitals. #was MONUMENTAL. no pun intended.

[generallemarc]

In our world, Ed Dwight preserves the past.

#don't even care about the article's tone #the man deserves more recognition #also as a Monument Mythos fan I'm over the moon #pun intended #monument mythos #the monument mythos #wendigoon

[animereaderinsertwriter]

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags/Warnings: bakugou x fem!reader, mdni, smut, group sex, almost crack treated seriously? whatever it's goofy and funny and lewd and doesn't take anything seriously at all so there's that, no beta we die like men

Final Word Count: 3k

Plot summary: Dynamight's agency has a reputation that they earn only once a year- and this year, you're invited!

Excerpt:

They called it the Love Shack.

You’d heard Mina talk about it forever and ever— this magical, midsummer day of sex and scandal— but never with any names, and never in any kind of detail. It was like a lewd fairy tale that your best friend told you at sleepovers to pass the time. It was a fun, juicy little piece of gossip, a part of Mina that you got to keep all to yourself. 

Until, one day, she asked you if you’d want to come with her.

(No pun intended).

There were… rumors about pro-hero Dynamight’s agency.

The ominous, omnipotent they said that there were wild parties at Mina Ashido’s place on every second Friday of the week— nothing illegal, sure, but plenty immoral, with everyone drunk and half-dressed and writhing—

Ahem. Right.

Other theys said that Red Riot was having an affair on his wife with his best friend, Dynamight; still others claimed the same of Pinky and Cellophane when Ejirou and Mina’s baby came out with a shock of black hair (nevermind the numerous brands of red hair dye that Red Riot publicly reviewed when he used them to cover up his own naturally jet-black hair). If a body looked hard enough, they might even find tabloid articles about Chargebolt’s drinking problem, Hitoshi Shinsou’s secret life as a rentboy, and Earphone Jack’s moonlight job as a dominatrix. No matter how you sliced it, there was one thing that all the theys agreed on:

As far as the public was concerned, Ground Zero was one giant den of depravity.

Why the theys thought this, it is generally unclear— though it was nonetheless true, if only for one day out of the year. For three hundred and sixty-four days out of the year, the members of Ground Zero behaved impeccably, navigating the world of pro-hero fame with dignity, grace, and humility; as far as anyone could prove, they were all perfectly normal. On the one day of the year that they were not well-behaved, well, no one else was around to see it. They traveled long and far to ensure that fact.

At least, that was the way it was supposed to be. Why the damn fools wanted to change that, Bakugou had no idea.

“It’s because you never participate,” Mina told him one evening, her hand gliding through her husband’s soft hair. “We feel like you’re left out.”

“I do participate,” he huffed, his infernal cheeks burning at just the thought. “Just— by myself.”

That is to say, he liked to watch. The idea of being touched by someone other than himself— by his friends— was entirely too much. There was a certain power in touch of that kind. Bakugou wasn’t interested in giving that up, not even to the men and women he trusted with his life.

“That’s exactly it,” she told him, and Enjirou groaned as she scratched his scalp. “It’s not that any of us mind, but you look— you always look pained. And lonely. Would it be so bad to find somebody you could play with while we’re all… indisposed?”

Bakugou tried not to think of those times. If he did, he’d pop a stiffy right here in the middle of the Kirishima family living room. 

“I’m fine like it always is— I don’t see why anything has to change, Mina. Really, just leave it.”

Mina frowned. Perfectly in sync with his wife, Ejirou shifted to look up at Bakugou with dark, pleading eyes.

“C’mon, man,” he said, that reflective gaze piercing Bakugou’s very heart. “Would you be okay with us just looking for someone for you? It won’t need to go any farther than that if you don’t want it to.”

It was a stupid idea. It was monumentally idiodic to even consider saying yes— but Bakugou never could deny his best friend anything.

“It’s three weeks until June,” he said, relenting. “You have until then.”

Mina beamed, and Ejirou gave him a soft smile that made Bakugou feel a little sick and squishy inside.

“Thanks, bro,” Ejirou told him, patting his thigh with a large, warm hand. “You won’t be disappointed.”

Bakugou wasn’t sure about all that. He was beginning to think he might be in some trouble.

***

They called it the Love Shack.

You’d heard Mina talk about it forever and ever— this magical, midsummer day of sex and scandal— but never with any names, and never in any kind of detail. It was like a lewd fairy tale that your best friend told you at sleepovers to pass the time. It was a fun, juicy little piece of gossip, a part of Mina that you got to keep all to yourself. 

Until, one day, she asked you if you’d want to come with her.

(No pun intended).

“And do what?” you laughed. “I’d like to be a fly on the wall, sure, but my tastes run a little more monogamous than that.”

“Well,” said Mina, leaning in conspiratorially as though the both of you weren’t cuddling on her bed while her husband rubbed her feet, “We have a friend who also likes to watch, if you know what I mean. He just— needs something a little… less than the group stuff. He sits in the corner by himself and fucks his hand until he’s nearly raw with it, but keeps on going because he’s just so…”

Mina trailed off, her eyes glazing over as she remembered some unspoken memory. After a moment, she shook her head and snapped out of it.

“He sounds kinda like a loser,” you admitted, cracking a grin. 

Mina laughed, and Ejirou chuckled right along with her.

“If only he could hear you now,” Ejirou laughed. “He’d either die of shame or implode the building.”

You frowned. 

“You’re not building a convincing case for him, Kirishima-kun.”

Mina rolled her eyes.

“Look, you said you’re in a dry spell?” she asked, and you nodded. “This guy will pop you like a fucking glowstick as many times as you want. He’s freaky good at sex.”

“And how would you know?” you demanded, shoving her lightly. “Apparently he won’t come within three feet of you!”

Things got awfully quiet, and Ejirou Kirishima’s face turned as red as his hair.

“No,” you laughed, but when no one denied it, your jaw went slack. “No!”

“Yes,” Mina replied, poorly stifling a laugh.

Ejirou hid his face in his hands.

“Guys, please,” he begged, but there was no way you were letting him go that easily.

“Oh no no, you’re not getting out of this,” you laughed. “Who is this mystery guy, and how do you know what he’s like in bed?”

“We went to U.A. together,” said Mina, patting her poor husband’s hand. “They had a whirlwind romance senior year, fucked like rabbits the whole time until he finally broke it off because they really, really were better off as friends. Otherwise, it got… obsessive. On both sides.”

You were burning with curiosity.

“Who? Who was it, Mina-chan?”

“You gotta give your answer first,” said Ejirou, propping up on his elbow. “Will you or won’t you?”

Oh, who were you kidding? You were fucking horny all the time, and besides, the suspense was killing you!

“Of course I’ll go—now tell me who it is!”

Mina smirked.

“Katsuki Bakugou.”

You nearly fell off the bed.

“Why the fuck didn’t you lead with that, Mina?” 

Your heart was racing. That evil, wicked, acid-slinging she-witch knew you’d had the biggest crush on him forever! Dynamight was the hottest pro-hero working, damn it— you'd have agreed immediately if she'd told you! 

“Because you needed to know he’s a loser!” she insisted. “Because he is a loser! A big one, that needs you to keep him from killing himself via orgasm!”

“Mina!”

“What? It’s the truth!”

“Mina!”

And that was how you ended up like this.

The room was cozy, complete with soft vintage furniture and colorful afghans. Somehow, the entire party had managed to fit comfortably into the living room of the quaint, countryside cabin, and you watched on in awe and wonder as everyone kissed and touched and let their instincts lead them as they went. 

"Can I touch you, Bakugou-san?" you asked, entranced. 

Bakugou, who was currently the color of a freshly-picked cherry, wouldn't even look at you. You tried not to take it personally when he replied in the negative. 

All around you, Bakugou's friends were in various states of undress. Hitoshi Shinsou was kissing Mina with a hand up her shirt as Denki Kaminari rubbed his long, bobbing cock against Hitoshi's boxer-clad ass. Ejirou's eyes were closed as Sero Hanta helped him out of his shirt, and Kyoka Jirou was fiddling with the buttons on Sero's ridiculously tight pants. They were all ridiculously, unfairly beautiful— and, unlike Bakugou, they were all sneaking nosy looks at you, curious and perhaps a bit hungry. 

In hindsight, it would have been a better idea for you and Bakugou to start alone together in a separate room. That would have allowed the two of you to get to know each other more intimately in a private setting, and surely it would have made him more comfortable, wouldn't it? Well, maybe that would have made it worse. You certainly couldn't imagine trying to take your clothes off in front of him if he was just as unresponsive then as he was now. 

Now, though, there were other folks watching— and you didn't see a reason to deprive them of a show. 

Slowly, you removed the silky dress separating your itchy, awful lingerie from the open air. Grinning at Mina, who was currently in the process of bending over a couch cushion, you unhooked the clasp of your black lacy bra, baring your breasts to the chill of the room. 

"Mira," Sero murmured to Jirou, his eyes fixed on newly-revealed flesh. "Isn't she beautiful?"

Jirou grinned, her eyes shadowed with a thin veil of appreciation. 

"She is. If you don't want her, Katsuki, we'll take her— no harm, no foul."

Your cheeks glowed at the compliment, heart racing at the thought. 

"Back off," Bakugou snapped. "You fuckers picked her out for me, didn't you?"

Still, he made no move to touch you— but his eyes were now yours, for better or for worse. 

"That's right," you agree, voice soothing and even as you smile at him. "I'm afraid I'm reserved for the day."

And just like that, Bakugou turned away, as though ashamed. 

This would not do. 

Projecting confidence you did not feel, you moved from your spot on the loveseat and onto the floor in front of Bakugou, kneeling sweetly. Crimson eyes watched you, guarded, wary; you placed a hand on top of his, testing the waters, and he allowed you to take it. Gently, you placed the callused palm of it on your cheek. It was warm and a little sweaty against your flesh, and heavy where you held it. 

“You have big hands,” you noted, turning slightly to press a kiss to his wrist. “They’re very pretty, too.”

Bakugou grunted, but did not pull away. Allowed this far, you decided to push for more; you pulled away, then pressed kisses to the pads of his fingers, allowing him to become acclimated to your touch. When he still did not resist, you figured it was all or nothing— you wrapped your lips around a long, thick digit and sucked it into your mouth, simulating oral.

“Fuck,” he swore, and you knew you had him.

Slowly, you pulled off of his finger with a wet pop. The next thing you knew, his mouth was on yours, the smoky scent of his aftershave enveloping you. Big hands caged your face, holding you still; surprisingly soft lips nudged against your own, and the moment was so tender that you nearly lost yourself in it, forgetting momentarily the larger context of what they were there to do.

A rowdy wolf-whistle made sure that didn’t last, though. 

Distracted, you turned to grin at Kaminari— doubtless the guilty wolf-whistler— but sudden pain burned in the form of fingerprints on your jaw, turning your gaze back to meet Bakugou’s. 

“Eyes up here, sweetheart.”

You shivered. 

“Yes sir,” you replied, allowing yourself a small smile, and Bakugou grinned in return.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

What came next was more than you had expected. With pro-hero strength, Bakugou lifted you bodily from the floor and sat you on his lap, your knees on either side of his hips. His sweats were soft against your skin, but there was little time to process anything else before his mouth was on your tits, tongue dragging across a peaked nipple. Startled, you moaned, and a large, warm hand squeezed at your hip, pulling you down to feel the hardness growing in his pants. The length of him brushed against your sex as you started grinding, encouraging his erection; the stimulation was muted but perfect as he played with your tits, leaving his mark across bare flesh with lips and tongue and teeth. 

"So fucking pretty," he murmured against your flesh, his breath hot and his hands heavy. "I want to fuck you." 

"That is what we're here for," you teased, but all laughter left as the thong you were wearing ripped beneath his hands, falling uselessly from your hips. 

"Turn around. I want you to watch them with me while I get you off."

You turned your head over your shoulder, following Bakugou's gaze. Mina was spread-eagle on the couch, watching you from upside-down as Shinsou ate her out. Somewhat strangely, his eyes were on you as well. This became something of a trend; you and Bakugou, it seemed, had the attention of the entire room. 

"Yeah," you agreed, dismounting his legs in order to turn around. "Yeah, I like that."

When you returned to your seat, facing the rest of the room, Bakugou's thighs were bare. The soft down of his hair tickled the backs of your thighs, which might have made you laugh if something warm and large hadn't brushed your entrance, forcing you to catch your breath. A hand moved to your hip, squeezing the fat of it, and then Bakugou was pushing inside you, filling you with length and girth that you wouldn't previously have credited him with. You felt… fuller than you had expected to be, and the sensation left you moaning at the penetration. 

"Mm, fuck yeah," he growled, his lips close to your neck, raising the small hairs there. "Moan for me, baby."

There was a noise behind you, and then damp fingers snuck around your waist and then between your legs, searching for your pleasure. His thick middle finger circled your clit, and almost involuntary, your hips bucked, shifting the long, hard cock inside you at a different angle. You moved again, chasing that feeling, and soon you were riding Bakugou in earnest, fucking yourself on his cock. 

In front of you, Ejirou was slowly stretching Sero"s ass, murmuring praise with a smile like sunshine. Sero, whose cock was in Jirou's mouth, made eye contact with you and winked, speaking fragments of Spanish that you couldn't decipher. Across the way, Mina was being spit roasted by Shinsou and Kaminari, who were sucking on each other's tongues as they took their pleasure from her. The whole scene was graphic and lewd and terrible and wonderful, and you couldn't think of anything that was quite so terrific when Bakugou managed to exceed your expectations, prying his lips away from your neck long enough to say,

"Fuck yeah, princess, you're so fucking hot. Lean back, lean back— I'm gonna hold you up and fuck you hard."

Before you could protest, he manhandled you backwards, crushing you against his still-clothed chest. He made good on his promise of fucking you hard— his hips rutted up into yours with strength and purpose, filling you up and stretching you out, forcing himself further inside with every thrust. His finger on your clit was relentless; it was all you could do just to breathe and tremble and shake and take all he had to give. 

"You close?" he grunted, never slowing. 

"Yeah," you confessed, almost embarrassed by it. "Yeah, m'really close."

"Good." Relief was evident in his voice. "Me too."

In the space of a few strokes more, you found your peak. With Bakugou groaning in your ear, you came hard and fast, your orgasm crashing over your head with the force of a falling oak. Bakugou, not far behind, actually lifted you up and off of his cock before he came, spilling hot seed over both your thighs. Really, it was ridiculous how much he came; looking at the volume he spilled, you almost wanted to feel it inside of you. 

In the afterglow, Bakugou was still a beast. Seemingly unbothered by the strength he'd had to exert in the last few minutes, he shifted you bodily until your back was against the loveseat and he was above you, straddling your thighs and kissing your mouth with the hunger of a starving panther. His cock, long and heavy even soft, twitched as you moved your hands up his thighs and to the curve where his hips met his back.

"I want to suck you off," you told him, filterless as you thought of his big, heavy-looking balls in your mouth. "Wanna feel you get hard in my mouth."

"In a minute," he said, taking his shirt off, expression tender  "I want to enjoy you for a little while more."

This part— the ravenous hunger followed by strange softness— found you woefully unprepared. Your heart pounded as his hands grew gentle, touching you like a lover would; how could you ever have prepared for such sweet exploration? Even his kisses had lost their bite, and were now soothing and something more than they'd been before. 

All around you, the others were reaching their own climaxes. Moans echoed throughout the cabin, but in the here and now, all of that seemed distant, fading. All of a sudden, you were intensely glad that Mina had asked you to come here, to experience this with them— but you were especially glad that it was just you and Bakugou, separate from the rest of them as he gave you his kindness and attention as well as his passion.

Really, you thought as Bakugou lowered his head between your legs, you wouldn't have it any other way. 

#bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou #bakugou x y/n #mha x reader #mha smut #mha headcanons #bnha smut #bnha headcanons

[popatochisssp]

I think outta the new boys Bram is my favorite. Is there anything else you can share about him?

I think on the surface, Bram (Descendtale Papyrus) would find a lot of fulfillment in work as a groundskeeper for the local cemetery!

He likes working with his hands and doing an outdoor physical labor job, and he gets to see the results of his good work in the well-maintained lawn and trees and shrubbery.

And the graves, of course! He loves the graves!

All the headstones and monuments are kept spotless under his watchful eye-socket and he loves reading all the lovely epitaphs people left for their departed loves ones.

He definitely knows more names of the people buried in his cemetery than he could be reasonably expected to know, but…he’s attached to them!

They’re like his charges, in a way—he keeps their space neat and tidy and picturesque for them and they keep him company while he works… albeit from six-feet-under and without conversation, but friends are friends, even the ones that don’t move anymore.

He’s almost certainly (unintentionally) creeped a few visitors out by promising to take equally good care of them when they move in, but it’s a genuine sentiment. He’d be mortified (pun dubiously intended) if his home was a mess when someone came to visit, and there’s a whole slew of people here who can’t clean the place up for themselves, with the potential for surviving family and friends to pop by anytime.

He’s providing a very valuable service and proud to do it!

#anonymous #headcanons #descendtale #d!papyrus

[xxguardiantreexx]

!!SPOILERS FOR OMFD S2 FINALE!!

I want to talk about the finale of OFMD, and specifically about why exactly Izzy's death makes me feel so despondent.

So I usually try to stay out of discourse, especially when it has a fandom as divided as this one seems to be now. And I sincerely don't want this to be taken as me being JUST ticked off or anything. But I feel like Izzy's death, while upsetting on it's own, speaks to a larger problem this season struggled with.

Season one, to me, was a gem. My mom's the one who discovered it and told me to watch it, we ended up watching it together and I was hooked (no pun intended) and flat out thrilled to be watching a show that so lovingly showcased positive queer rep and had a tight, hilarious, and touching storyline front to back. I was a wreck (why all the accidental puns today??) when it was over and couldn't wait for season two.

And season two WAS good! It was funny, I loved Buttons arc and Calypso's birthday and all the other great moments this season had. But to me, the biggest problem is that the pacing was really rushed and the writing too convoluted and crammed full of plot points that didn't fit together in the time allotted.

I've seen people on Twitter saying that the episodes never gave the story room to breathe, to let the audience finish reacting to One Thing before moving on to The Next Thing. They introduced new characters, villains, big monumental moments, and I never once felt like I had time to take any of it in with the love and appreciation I would have liked to because things just kept happening.

I don't know if this was a product of the writing itself being flawed on it's own, or HBO not giving OFMD the amount of episodes it deserves, or both. And just to be clear, I do not condone or agree with anyone harassing the creators for answers, or telling them they're dicks or whatever, because that's wrong.

But in my opinion, this season just didn't work. Season one did a great job of balancing it's episodic shenanigans with it's ongoing storyline, and while nothing is perfect, it was very well written and paced.

And that is why I have a big problem with how they handled the death of Izzy Hands being the completion of his character arc.

Here we have a very repressed, battered and broken man RELUCTANTLY coming back from the brink of death, struggling with his handicaps, damaged relationships and purposelessness on The Revenge. And we slowly see him begin to rebuild himself from the ground up. He creates meaningful emotional bonds with the crew he outright hated throughout all of season one, finds a place for his years of experience again when teaching Stede how to be a real pirate, and comes to terms with his relationship with Ed, and Ed's relationship with Stede. He makes peace with all of it and lets the love of the crew, of family, drive him forward for what little time he has left, because he was always on borrowed time by this point.

Ending a character arc with having said character die sucks, because it hurts when it's a character you care deeply about. But it can work, and it HAS worked. That's why writers keep torturing us by doing it.

The problem for me comes back to pacing.

It's the fact Izzy died by a random gunshot wound because he was standing in the wrong place. It's the fact Izzy died for what reads very much as a way to progress Ed's character arc, not end his own. It's the fact Izzy died and the reaction of the rest of the crew was shown so minimally, with nary a word said about it in the aftermath. It's the fact Izzy died and we were immediately swept off into the wedding scene and the introduction of the inn, without giving us, the audience, a quiet moment to grieve as well.

I'm not saying he necessarily needed a bombastic death scene, or for the season to end on an exceedingly somber note. But I feel like Izzy, for all he'd done this season and the growth his character attained, more than deserved a heroes death and clearer acknowledgement by his family. Not to give Ed, who's just kind of existed this season to me, a pep talk with his dying breath and for everyone to just move on immediately.

If there had been time given for this story to breathe, as much as it would have saddened me, I think this could have worked. I think Izzy could have died and it would have had more meaning, the meaning I'm sure they'd hoped it would when they decided to kill him off.

But it didn't work. Not to me at least, and I'm sad about it. A lot of us are sad about it, and will continue to be. Because we still need time to grieve before we can move on. I know it's just a show, and he's just a character in it, but it's a show that's meant so much to so many people, made us feel seen and accepted in a world where that's harder to come by than it should be. And to see a character so beloved get treated as a plot device to an extent at the end of his journey... I would have just loved better for him.

R.I.P. our brash, loud, exceptional unicorn, Izzy Hands.

#our flag means death #ofmd #izzy hands #israel hands

[brighteyedbushybrowed]

𝐂𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐲

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 On a cold evening in the cemetery, Sodo joins you and you tell him what's been on your mind for the past month.

𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 Cemetary.

𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐩(𝐬) Sodo x GN!Reader. I don't think I've used any pronouns or gendered terms for reader but please let me know if I've missed any!

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 Nothing spicy here tonight lads. Discussion of reader being a Christian in the past. Also discussions of questioning faith and not feeling worthy of who you believe in. A tiny bit fluffy.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 902 words.

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 Currently suffering with pain because when does my IBS not be an asshole to me? Irritable Bowel Syndrome more like Inconvenient Bitch Shit (pun not intended, or is it?). So this one is another short one because even though I'm unwell I wanted to write something for this Ghosttober prompt.

During the colder months at the ministry, everyone knew to wear layers under their habits and uniforms. While the heating worked just fine, the cold was unbearable in the early mornings and the dead of night, particularly outdoors where there was no heating or insulated walls to keep you warm. The rest of the siblings of sin tended to stick to the inside of the ministry during this time, but not you. To Sodo, you were the outlier and that was what made you so interesting to him.

Every evening for a month now, the fire ghoul had watched you from the ministry windows as you visited the cemetery not far from Primo’s gardens. You always wore a thick coat over your clothes, sometimes even a scarf and gloves, and never stayed any longer than twenty minutes each time he saw you. It intrigued him, unable to come up with a reason why you were there so often and for such a specific amount of time. You couldn’t have family buried there – you’d told him yourself that no family members had been laid to rest at the ministry. But if you weren’t there to pay your respects to your family, who were you there to see?

Sodo decided the next night that he would follow you down to the cemetery and find out for himself why visiting was such an integral part of your daily routine. Yes, he could ask you about it but he didn’t want you to think he was pressuring you to tell him if it was something you’d rather not talk about where others could listen in. The thought of someone spying on you brought on a sudden urge to protect you, anger bubbling in the pit of his stomach at the concept of your boundaries being crossed in such a way. And if it hurt or upset you?

The ghoul forced himself to calm down as he slowly approached the gates, spotting you at the far end in front of a monument that made him realise why you were there. It made him pause for a moment before he eventually forced himself to make his way over to you.

“I think I’ve told you before,” you told him once he reached you, not bothering to turn around as you continued to gaze up at the statue of Satan. Or at least a depiction of him. “I was a Christian before I joined the ministry. Born and raised, I guess you could say. I didn’t really know otherwise, and yet I still questioned it.”

Sodo kept his hands in the winter coat he’d wrapped himself up in, not daring to say a word.

“I wonder sometimes if I’m truly worthy of Satan. How could I, someone whose soul was made impure by a false god at birth, be worthy of His love? So, I come here every night to try and find the answer to that question. I thought that if I meditate upon this statue that maybe He would tell me or give me a sign.”

Furnace hot fingers intertwined with yours and gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “I think it’s normal to question these things. It’s healthy to have questions and doubts because that’s what makes you human. I’m not sure anyone truly has an unwavering faith in their god or deity or whatever they believe in. Part of human nature is to be curious and seek answers to the questions that others may not necessarily be able to answer.”

You glanced at him and found that he was staring down at your hands. “Do you have doubts sometimes, Sodo?”

“Sometimes.” He lifted his gaze, blazing red eyes meeting yours. “We ghouls are more like humans than some of you like to believe. We also question. We are curious. We crave answers and knowledge just as you do. Our Dark Lord undoubtedly understands this and is there to guide us, even when our faith begins to shake. It’s part of the lived experience of being on this plane of existence.”

The two of you returned to looking at the statue, a comfortably silent pause filling the air for a moment before you decided to speak up once more.

“Do you think Copia – sorry, Papa – has ever questioned his faith?”

Sodo’s laugh was abrupt but warm. “He’s human too, right? I’d be surprised if he’s never at least wondered about whether he’s worthy or if what he believes in is true.”

You chuckled along with him. “I suppose that’s true.”

“And for the record,” the ghoul said, his clawed thumb running over the back of your hand, “your soul isn’t impure or tainted just because of what you used to believe in. You get a fresh start when you join the Clergy. What is it that Papa says in that song? I know your soul is not tainted even though you’ve been told so.”

“That is indeed what the song says.”

“Well, there you go then. Even Papa says that you’re not tainted or impure. If you don’t trust what I say, trust him. Got it?”

You smiled and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Sodo. I’ll take what you’ve said tonight to heart.”

He hummed and pulled you against him, releasing your hand so that he could wrap his arm around your shoulders. “Good. Now let’s go inside. It’s fucking freezing out here.”

#ghosttober #ghosttober 2022 #sodo ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #sodo x gn!reader #sodo x reader #dewdrop x gn!reader #dewdrop x reader #the band ghost #fanfic #my fanfic #mine

[gsirvitor]

Another weird question when did the….uuuh…glamorization of the Roman civilization began? I thought the Roman Empire was a abusive regime (especially towards provinces like Britannia) to Western Europe. So when did the Europeans decided to romanticize the Romans?(pun intended)

Because Rome went from being one of many city-states in the Italian Peninsula to being the center of the most powerful empire in the world between the fifth century BC and the first century AD.

From Rome, Europe got its languages, law, philosophy, and most importantly Christianity, it was viewed as Europe's own cradle of civilization along side Greece.

Rome was no more abusive than any other regime back then, even the Gauls and other tribes were as bad, or worse, however, the people's conquered by Rome and living in its provinces enjoyed a much higher standard of living than those living outside of its borders.

Roman citizens paid taxes and in return enjoyed safety, stability, increased commerce, and the technological benefits of Roman roads and Roman aqueducts. Roman sanitation systems not only created a more pleasant environment, but also drastically reduced disease.

While some civilizations are remembered for massive monuments, the Romans are remembered as builders of civilization. We still use Roman numerals, and our calendar is almost exactly the same as the Romans. Our planets are named after Roman deities.

Rome’s advances lived on in the countries and regions that would come to dominate the world in a few hundred years.

Yet none of the successors of Rome were as grand, and as large and powerful as Rome in the period following the decline of the Roman Empire.

But to answer the question of when this started, it began immediately after the collapse of Rome, when the German chieftain Odoacer deposed the last Roman emperor of the West, Romulus Augustulus, 476 AD.

Odoacer became the first barbarian King of Italy, initiating a new era. With the backing of the Roman Senate, Odoacer thenceforth ruled Italy autonomously, paying lip service to the authority of Julius Nepos, the last Western emperor, and Zeno, the emperor of the East.

Rome never truly fell, its influence and name carried so much weight across Europe no nation or people would declare it was dead, instead each nation that gained power would declare themselves Rome's successor.

The most enduring and significant claimants of continuation of the Roman Empire have been, in the East, the Ottoman Empire and Russian Empire, which both claimed succession of the Byzantine Empire after 1453; and in the West, the Holy Roman Empire from 800 to 1806.

Separately from claims of continuation, the view that the Empire had ended has led to various attempts to revive it or appropriate its legacy, notably in the case of Orthodox Russia.

There's also Imperial Spain, Fascist Italy which was called Third Rome, Napoleonic France, Austrian Empire, the Greeks in 1844 through the Byzantines, and the German Empire.

Hell, Rome held so much weight that the Church is considered a continuation of the Empire, even Constantinople was considered the second Rome.

Today only one entity is trying to be like Rome today, and it isn't the US, it's the EU.

Memories of the Roman Empire have accompanied the European Union since its inception with the 1950 Schuman Plan. The Roman Empire has provided the European Union, like many countries, with Roman legal concepts and their language, Latin.

As such Latin has been used as one non-official lingua franca in the European Union, for example by EU Institutions using Latin concepts in texts and titles.

The comparison of the European Union with the Holy Roman Empire, in a both negative and positive light, is an all too common trope of political commentary.

The EU has been viewed as a reincarnation of a foreign and overbearing Roman Empire in some European countries, particularly the United Kingdom.

The 2020 withdrawal of the UK from the Union, or Brexit, has been variously compared with the Rebellion of Boudica or the end of Roman rule in Britain.

A different negative view of the EU as a new Roman Empire has been used in Christian circles in the US.

According to that view, the EU, like other supranational endeavors such as the United Nations and World Bank, by attempting to revive the Roman Empire, signals the approaching end time, rapture or Second Coming, these Christian circles are usually fundamentalist in their teachings.

Occasionally, the EU is portrayed as a Fourth Reich. This critique is often portrayed as fringe in media despite the fact the EU is Hitler's wet dream.

Oh yes, and we can't forget, the League of Nations, the UN's predecessors were seen as the start of a new Roman form of rule.

The French historian Louis Eisenmann, in a 1926 article titled The Imperial Idea in the History of Europe, chose to portray the newly created League as the modern expression of an imperial idea that had been degraded by the German Empire, Habsburg monarchy and Russian Empire.

He argued that the three empires' final demise and the League's establishment represent a renewal of the Pax Romana.

In a sense he was right, since the end of WWII, we have been living, at least in the west, in a pseudo Pax Romana, an era of unprecedented peace, though I suspect it won't last the 200 years required to be the Golden Age of Roman Peace.

[userparamore]

I feel like talking so, you're gonna get it.

This Is Why is Paramore's best album (and I am an after laughter truther), I was skeptical bc of CCC and the length of it but tbh, the album as a whole is so cohesive and flows nicely together. It's the perfect length for a drive, a shower, even doing the dishes. Some of their best lyrics (Crave & Thick Skull) to date... I wish I knew more about music theory so I could dissect it, but even the sound has matured. I truly think this is the beginning of their actual true sound..

Forgive me, I spend too much time on Reddit but people who hold on to brand new eyes and riot as their best are just wrong lol! I wish I could feel casual about this, but I've followed this band since 2007 when I was 12... and to really grow up with Hayley has been an incredible experience. She has inspired me in so many ways, I relate to her personal solo music and I just think she / paramore are one of the most authentic musicians of our time!!!

Anyways, Crave... all time song of our existence... truly their best song. Thanks for reading, love your blog! I submitted for the zine and can't wait to see everyone's work for this fantastic album!!!!

oh i welcome this ask with open arms! <3 if you're interested in music theory, stereogum did a piece on ROOT that was extremely interesting to read.

i don't know if paramore will ever develope a true sound? i think they're artists that are always on the search for new ways to express themselves through music. i think describing what makes paramore, paramore, is difficult as it's almost more of a feeling? does that make sense? i used to think it was hayley's voice, but then again i think no friend is such a paramore sounding song.

the people who think riot is their best album doesn't know paramore's discography and are just stuck in time. it's okay to love the sound of the record, and now years later it's a defining album for that particular sound in the 00s. but paramore then and paramore now are just so detatched to me. it's not the same band anymore. i agree that bne is one of their strongest albums but then you have AL and tiw who i think are both much stronger bodies of works.

i'm a little too young to have been here from the beginning, but they've been such a monumental (<- pun intended 😎) band to me throughout my pre-teen/teenage years and now young adulthood- just like you <3 every album have defined my life in different ways and i'm so happy to be a small part of the fandom here on tumblr.

and AH!! it makes me so happy to hear that you submitted something for the zine!!! <3 can't wait for it to be posted tomorrow (well technically today for me) so we can share all the great art and writing we've gotten! @ignorancelive have been working their ass off to put it together <333

here's to 1 year of this is why <3

#idk if anything i said made any sense #i just started rambling lol #ask #anon

[mrjadeleech]

if i may ask, how did it feel to become human? any feelings of anxiety or excitement? did you feel "welcomed" in your new body, so to speak?

Good day, anon.

It is a very strange sensation for my tail to become two legs. The feeling of anxiousness was inevitable; I was unsure of how quickly I'd adjust. It is great thanks to the many resources that were available to me at the time, that I was able to adjust in such a timely manner. I find that I still have much to learn, but the first "step" (no pun intended) was the most monumental.

#twst #twst asks #twst wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst jade #jade leech #mrjadeleech

[hathaway-hayes]

The Monolith

I take a gulp to wash the day down, So very far down and away from the Hollow faces and even emptier words That permeate the malls, halls and roads, Monuments to this silent kind of slavery Unknowingly embraces, we endure.

I take a gulp to sink even further unto Revolution, evolution, and nausea As I witness the promise, the knife, And lie once more into the back, Our collective back, apathetic, asymptomatic, Unnoticed, uncaring, and almost wished for.

I take a gulp, another a gulp, GULP! I finish it off.

I grab another, I finish that one off too; And another and another and another So that I may succumb to a stupor, Our different sort of sickness, surrender. Yet, It’s when the the cool air ushers dawn’s glow, That my red glare, no pun intended, Can finally coerce and suddenly see –

America’s an illusion And my noose is only slightly looser than yours. Until the drink may begin again.

- Hathaway Hayes (2013)

#writerscreed #poeticstories #poetryportal #twcpoetry #spilled ink #writtenconsiderations #writingthestorm #poem #poetry #poet #poets on tumblr #writer #author #writers on tumblr #addiction #betrayal #propaganda #the maze #illusions

[zabiume]

Day 1: Food

Happy IchiHime Week 2022! To kick things off, I bring you not one, but two fics for ‘Day 1: Food.’ This is the sfw fic. To read the explicit one, click here.

Sweet as Sugar | Forbidden Romance, British Bake-Off AU (Read on AO3)

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The first time they kissed was after the technical challenge.

After long and excruciating weeks of auditioning, tearfully pleading her aunt to please just give her a chance, just this once, flying out to the city with the last of her savings, and making it past prelims, Orihime didn’t think there was anything that topped being a contestant on the All-Star Incredible Bake-Off.

Her position on the show was on shaky footing right off the bat; she didn’t have the upbringing some of the other contestants had, whether it be the money or the loving encouragement it took to put your victories and losses out there for the entire nation to pull apart. The last anyone had even thought to push her beyond her nine-to-five shift at the bakery was Tatsuki, who said she was ‘a bit of a weirdo’ but made one hell of a bread pudding.

And so, given the circumstances, she thought she’d been doing swimmingly well.

Until she met Ichigo Kurosaki, that is.

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Ichigo was monumentally fucked. Not the kind of fucked that he could ignore and it would go away, oh no. He was quite literally in the worst predicament possible—for someone in his position, that is.

And yet. Yet. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t swiped his tongue across his bottom lip hours later, hoping to relive even a glimmer of the tartness, the softness that had unspooled a whole wave of emotion in his chest that he would much rather not have, thank you very much.

To say Ichigo Kurosaki had grown up knee-deep in confectioners sugar would be an understatement. Born to a pair of dessert aficionados-turned-food-bloggers, he’d spent his formative years being dragged around from restaurant to speakeasy, tasting all there was to taste in terms of culinary quality. It should have been no surprise then — a logical conclusion, really — that someone would catch wind of his father’s keen passion that was perfect for clinical judgment.

As well as his flair for theatrics and flights of fancy that were perfect for...television ratings.

In short, he really wasn’t surprised that NiceVibe Productions had asked his father to be a judge on the one bake-off that was considered a national pastime around these parts. He and his family were all too used to moving around, making brand deals and appearances and whatnot.

What did surprise him was her. Orihime Inoue.

It wasn’t a shock to anyone that she was the perfect candidate on the show. A boisterous, doe-eyed girl with a penchant for working hard and meeting every challenge with a smile. He’d admit to absolutely no one that a part of him had thought it was fake. There was no way you could survive as a sheep in a pack of wolves if you weren’t a little bit of a wolf-in-sheep's-clothing yourself. And as far as competitiveness went, All-Star Incredible took the cake for ruthless and catty attitudes hidden behind placid smiles. No pun intended.

But no. Orihime Inoue was just that nice.  

And he was absolutely, wholeheartedly in love with her.

To his credit, he’d tried to avoid it with all his might the first two weeks in. She was a contestant on the show his dad was a judge on. Any pursuit on his end would only reflect poorly on her. While Orihime was well-loved by half the country, she was a rather controversial candidate with the general public. Some absolutely adored her charm and the brimming enthusiasm with which she spoke to the cameras. Others loathed the way she risked breaking convention with her cooking, plating some rather hit-or-misses early on in the show.

And of course, there were some who had no reason to loathe her but the fact that she stood in the way of their personal favorites making it to the top. If the public caught even the slightest hint that she was seeing one of the judges' sons, she’d be crucified. He could see it already, the names they would call her. The accusations of seduction they’d throw carelessly, with no regard to her humble beginnings back home or the ignominy her relatives would have to face at their collective reputations being put on the line.

And yet. The day after the technical challenge, something had just demanded to be set loose. They were both the only ones on set, long after everyone else had bumbled back to their rooms, helping the cleaning staff with lights and wiring and stuff. Orihime had been hailed Star Baker that night, and despite spending most of the evening talking about things that were decidedly not the show, there was an undercurrent of happiness there, palpable.

“Ichigo, you’re stuck in the wiring,” she’d laughed behind her hand, and his cheeks were warm in embarrassment as he’d tried to pry himself off. With a little bit of her help, they’d tugged and tugged until he was let loose— until he’d been standing chest-to-chest with her, panting from the exhilaration of being stuck in one place, only to be frozen standstill in another.

“I probably looked like an idiot, huh,” he’d exhaled, trying to break some of the tension with a bad joke. Turned out, that was the most catalytic thing he could have done, considering Orihime came with a barrage of bad jokes herself.

“Nope,” she’d said, popping the ‘p.’ “You looked berry delightful!”

And really, he wanted to groan. Or quip back about the seemingly endless supply of bad puns she carried around. Instead, he’d cupped her face and brought her closer until their foreheads touched, a jittery sort of tension coiling in his belly at how close they were.

Her eyelids fluttered down, closed. It was as clear a green signal he could have possibly gotten.

But he had to ask. “Is this okay?” His voice was low with anticipation.

She nodded at once and he kissed her, his hand riding from her shoulder to her neck slowly, gently. She'd sighed softly, before getting on tiptoes and hugging his arm around her waist as they kissed again, fleeting touches that bloomed heat everywhere in the quiet of the room.

The truth is, he couldn’t help it. Spending all that time behind the scenes talking to her, just getting to know what she was like beyond the show and learning that she really wasn’t all that different from the front she put on — it was comforting. They were both of the same age — him, a college student on a gap year; her, a humble part-time baker, wading through the world of dessert industry. He liked how loud she was, how unapologetically herself she could be before backpedaling in sheepish self-consciousness. The pretty way she tucked her hair into her ears. The way there was always a smear of some ingredient or the other dusting on her cheeks, her hair, her lips, her clothes. There were so many things he liked about her that he could name, right off the bat, but mostly, he liked how easy it was with her.

Which was laughable, given the damn circumstances.

He was so, so fucked.

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Under the faint warmth of the camera lights, Orihime wiped a bead of sweat starting to build on her forehead with her apron. The challenge today was a little trickier than she’d expected — a ninety-minute taste test — and she really did feel for Kira, who’d been eliminated just short of semi-finals week. She herself had survived on improvisation alone, impressing Shunsui Kyoraku with an icebox cake that she’d practiced enough times to be passable, if not exceptional. Yet, it was too close. The numbers were dwindling down now, the pressure starting to feel a little more real than it had in her first week on the show.

Smiling in greeting at a cameraman, she ducked out of the set and towards the scattered crew out back. Immediately, her eyes caught onto Ichigo’s back, the familiar way he was slouched against a pole as he chatted with one of his sisters. She quickly snapped her gaze back to her feet and rounded a curve around the trailer park, knowing full well that if Ichigo was on set, his dad couldn’t be too far behind. She couldn’t dawdle to socialize because they were being careful, talking only when they were present in the company of others, or utterly away from the limelight. This was too important to her and she couldn’t risk behind-the-scenes pictures of her and Isshin conversing in any way that wasn’t expected of them to leak, even if the man himself had no idea she was seeing his son in secret.

Isshin Kurosaki was an unpredictable judge. He was warm and friendly during rounds — goofy, even — but undeniably serious when he was in the tasting chair. He hadn’t been too discerning with her, mostly keeping her in his good favor, but she knew tonight’s macaroon-stacked icebox cake hadn’t won her too many points in his book. A bit crumbly, he’d said, albeit kindly, and she’d internalized it.

Caught up in her thoughts, she slumped up the stairs leading up front to the residential units. Most of the other contestants stayed in hotels or rented apartments scattered in and around the city, but Orihime couldn’t really afford that — not with her paycheck-to-paycheck lifestyle — so she was bumming out where the crew lived, in a sparse room for a relatively lower price. It was a little embarrassing, but it was what it was and she’d heard that her relatively simple background was precisely what made her relatable to some of her supporters, so she took it at face value and worked with it.

Before she could flick on the switch, she felt a hand curl around her elbow.

“It’s me,” Ichigo said quickly, before she could be caught off guard. He jerked his head side-to-side, then appraised her with a small smile. She returned it in full, leading the way into her unit. He switched on the lights, and, before she could protest about his being here, he drew her into his arms for a tight hug. She tried to draw back and insist she was okay, but felt his head shake as his hair tickled her cheek. “It’s okay. It was a rough challenge today.”

Which, she supposed, was really code for ‘I wanted to be here for you.’

Her hands tightened on the back of his jacket. “Thank you,” she replied softly, eyes burning as she tucked her face into the crook of his shoulder.

“You did good though,” he said, releasing her and venturing out to her kitchen to pour himself some water. “Karin said the live audience was sympathetic about it, at least.”

Orihime’s eyebrows arched curiously as she followed him. “Your sisters talk about me?”

Ichigo paused where he was bent over by the fridge, cheeks pink. “You, uh,” he coughed. “They like you.” He drew out the bottle and pressed it to his lips, ignoring the happy squeal she let out. When he set the bottle down, he allowed himself to catch her gaze and his cheeks turned darker when she gave him a knowing smile. Damn. She’d caught onto his embarrassment. He averted his gaze and muttered, “Lot of people want to see you win.”

Orihime leaned her hip against the counter. “What about you?”

Ichigo scoffed, coming up to her and lightly knocking his knuckle against her hip. “You know what I want.”

Her eyes brightened as she hazarded an excited guess. “Me?”

He spluttered, almost choking on the water he’d just sipped. “No!” he said, mortified, before quickly adding, “I mean—I was talking about wanting to see you live your dreams and stuff! Not just—not just that. Or at least—argh!” He raked one frustrated hand through his hair.

Orihime laughed, shoulders shaking with glee at his reaction. “I know. I was joking.”

Ichigo’s eyes widened, before they narrowed into a line. “Joke—” He pinched her rear in retaliation, earning a small squeak from her as he dragged her with him to the living room. He would have never been as bold as to do something like that on a normal night, but with the shock she delivered to him constantly, he felt like she deserved it.

“You’re so mean,” she complained, waiting for him to land on the couch before immediately landing beside him with a ‘thud’ and cuddling up to his side.

"Hmm.” He was way past the conversation now, feeling content with just lazing around. “What do you wanna do tonight?”

Orihime turned her head on his shoulder and looked up at him. “How long will you be here?”

Ichigo sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “My dad wanted me back for dinner,” he informed her, watching her eyes falter for a second before shifting back to its usual roundness. “We could watch a movie?”

Orihime shook her head, giving him a small, resigned smile. “I’d love to, but I really should be hitting the cookbooks tonight,” she explained, feeling the knot in her chest tighten. “I overestimated just how much I could do proportions, and that’s something I want to work on before the showstopper challenge next week.”

He nodded. “I get it.”

"Sorry,” she whispered, hesitating for one whole second before leaning in and planting a firm kiss on his cheek. “You can still stay if you want.”

He gave her a small squeeze before letting go of her. “Yeah okay,” he agreed, watching her get to her feet and move about the kitchen. The reality was that a lot of people online were rooting for her, more so now than how it was in the beginning, but she was already so stressed about everything, he really didn’t want to add on to the pressure.

"Ichigo!” she called out, snapping him out of it.

“Yeah?”

“You wanna taste my monkey bread?”

He made a face but got to his feet. “Uh—yeah, sure.”

Given the fact that he knew his father’s tastes, she’d banned him from being her actual taste tester on the grounds of unfair advantage, but that didn’t stop her from shoving an experimental recipe his way every now and then. Half the reason he agreed to it was because he just couldn’t say no when she made that face, but the other half was because he knew, if he absolutely detested it, he could just kiss her until the flavor dissipated all on its own. Besides, it comforted him, knowing what she had planned before she actually went ahead and did it. It made him feel like he was in this as much as she was, proper 50-50.

He shook his head. He was so whipped.

"The key to a perfect monkey bread,” she was explaining, more to herself than him, hands pressing the dough down into quarters with her pink fingers, “is getting the dough right, see?"

The dough flattened as Orihime mixed it in with brown sugar water. Ichigo grimaced. Her eyes caught his expression and she knocked his cheek affectionately with the back of her hand. His heart fluttered up to his throat.

“I hope you win,” he said sincerely, and he meant it, even if his cheeks burned with the admission. He knew she had practically battled with her aunt for this opportunity and he was going to make sure there was absolutely nothing standing in her way, even if he couldn’t do much from the sidelines. Granted, he’d been tempted to ask his dad a couple of times about the next round in advance, but he knew she wouldn’t want to take favors like that and he wanted her to feel like she’d earned it, so he hadn’t.  

"The odds are tilted both ways,” she said modestly, though there was a hopeful gleam in her eyes as well, “I’m just nervous about taking on Uryuu Ishida, if I make it to the finals. He’s a pretty ruthless competitor.”

Ichigo shrugged it off. “Uryuu Ishida hasn’t got shit on you. You got this.”

“Ichigo!” she protested, but smiled appreciatively.

"Seriously, I can’t wait to see you kick his insufferable ass. He deserved to be eliminated the first week if it was up to me.”

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Unfortunately for Ichigo, Uryuu did not get eliminated in the next round. Nor the round after that.

“I’m not worried about my place on this show,” Ichigo heard him say coolly to the camera. “I’m simply worried for whoever has the misfortune of facing me in the finals.”

Ichigo gagged. “Pretentious douchebag,” he muttered under his breath, oblivious to Karin’s amusement. Unfortunately, he was Yuzu’s favorite, so Ichigo couldn’t air out his curses as often as he would have liked.

Orihime herself was faring rather well, earning modest appreciation from the three main judges as she smooth-sailed through rounds. Her popularity, too, had skyrocketed. This made Ichigo nervous, mainly because he felt like he had to walk on eggshells around her when others were around, but also because the more well-wishers she received, the more haters she roped in as well. While Orihime was impervious to most of it, Ichigo absolutely loathed reading it. He’d spent one too many evenings doom-scrolling on Twitter to be unaffected.

On Saturday, he arrived on set with an ice-cold water bottle in hand, fully intent on giving it to Orihime during shooting breaks. With the finale looming around the corner, she couldn’t as well go into the competition dehydrated.

Arriving around the L-bend of a corridor however, he suddenly halted when he heard a collective murmur of voices emerging from ahead.

“— I’m partial to a bit of chardonnay myself,” Kuchiki Byakuya was saying in that dry tone of his, flanked on either side by Isshin and Shunsui Kyoraku. Ichigo suddenly slinked back into the shadows, listening intently to what the judge had to say.

“You do like a good chardonnay,” Shunsui agreed wistfully, scratching his beard. “Though bringing in something experimentative this late into the show….I’d say that’s like shooting yourself in the foot.”

“Who knows? Orihime might still surprise us yet!” Isshin commented, with a sparkling gleam in his eyes. Ichigo’s breath caught, hardly catching on to the fact that his hand had tightened around his bottle.

"She’s got a lot of heart, that girl,” Shunsui continued, “but consistency is a baker’s strong foot. You don’t want to bring something new to the table on your final round; by now, she should have decided what her strengths are already and stick to them. I’d like to see her take the dough-based route at least, she did those rather well.”

“A pâtissier is only as good as their trademark,” Byakuya agreed, “Floundering back and forth between ideas will set her back, make her seem indecisive about what mark she wants to leave on the industry.”

“True, true,” Isshin said, their voices fading as they headed to their makeup trailers, “Now how about that sake you owe me, Byakuya?”

Ichigo slipped out of his hiding place, feeling his chest tighten. He most definitely should not have heard any of that, but he had. Sliding out of the corridor, he arrived backstage with a thoughtful frown on his face. It was only his luck that he ran into Orihime, who had probably just wrapped up giving her piece to the cameras as she arrived at her trailer.

“Ichigo?” she greeted, eyes gleaming in delight when she saw the bottle. “Is that for me?”

"Yeah,” he muttered, pressing it into her hand as they walked. Somewhere behind them, Uryuu was talking to the cameras as well, and the sight of him made Ichigo’s throat go dry. He suddenly caught Orihime’s wrist and dragged her behind a screen nearby, interrupting her grateful remarks about his thoughtfulness halfway.

“What’s going on?” she asked, eyes darting around in concern before settling on him. “Are you okay?”

A pâtissier is only as good as their trademark, his brain chimed.

“What are you thinking about making for the final round?” he blurted, feeling his fists clench as her eyes rounded in surprise.

"Oh,” she said, a note of relief coloring her voice before she became excited again. “I was thinking about a strawberry cobbler.” She pinched her fingers together and spread it out into the air. “Thin layer of cookie-crust, sparse spread of sugar, and just that fruity hint of strawberry to finish off with a ‘pop'!" She grinned. “I’m hoping I can pull it off, considering I’ve never done a cobbler on the show before, but I like the idea of it. It’s a bit spontaneous. If I manage to do it well, the real kicker will be the puff of cardamom — for spice!”

Ichigo tried to school his features into something supportive, but failed. He was sure his mouth had blanched the second she mentioned the cardamom. “Don’t you think you should be doing something a bit more...traditional?”

Orihime’s eyebrows knit together. “Traditional?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “I mean, Ishida’s probably going to go with a family recipe,” he guessed. “Something consistent with what he’s been doing so far. And you…”

“And I?” Orihime echoed, her voice thinning out slightly, hands on her hips.

“Well, you’re not exactly conventional,” he said weakly, his own words sounding a bit harsh to his ears as he quickly covered it up with, “Which is fine, I mean you’re a great baker, but it’s not too late to consider playing it a bit safe, don’t you think?”

The flash of hurt that crossed her features shocked him. He’d been expecting all kinds of reactions, but hurt was not one of them.

“I don’t want to play it safe,” she said, managing to sound strained and dumbfounded all at once. “I didn’t start baking just to be like everyone else — I did it because I had ideas and they were good ideas.” Her eyes met his and the way her voice went small made his chest hurt. “I believe in my ideas.” She hadn’t said it, but the ‘even if you don’t’ was evident in the way her voice faltered.

“I do too,” he insisted, reaching out for her hand. She gave it to him but didn’t seem to be into the gesture all that much. “Orihime, of course I do. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

He knew how much being on this show meant to her and seeing her lose, seeing her cry on national television would absolutely break him. It was cheating, and it was definitely an undue advantage, but was it really so bad to want to help achieve her dreams? She deserved that title more than anyone else on this show, more than all the bratty kids who’d had a well-spent youth much like he had. And he’d hate to see her pack up and go home after all of this.

But Orihime seemed a bit more put out at his suggestion than he’d been anticipating her to be.

He sighed, bringing his hands up to cup her neck. “Hey,” he said, cursing himself at how soft his voice had gotten. “You could put five hundred grams of wasabi in your cobbler and I’d still eat it.”

“You wouldn’t,” Orihime retorted flatly, but her cheeks were a soft, seashell pink at his flattery anyway.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t,” he agreed, making a face, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t support you. I’ve got your back no matter what.”

“Okay,” she said, with a small sigh of her own. “Can I get a good luck kiss?”

Ichigo grinned, before leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to her eyebrow. “Good luck.”

Somewhere behind them, he heard someone clear their throat. They broke apart at once and Ichigo’s stomach dropped violently when he turned on his heel to face their intruder.

“Ah,” said Uryuu Ishida. “What an interesting turn of events.”

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“This isn’t what it looks like,” were the first words that left Ichigo’s mouth, and really, there were no worse words he could have uttered at that moment.

"And what do you think it looks like?" Uryuu asked, setting his own water bottle down. "Because to me it didn't seem up to interpretation."

"Uryuu," Ichigo said slowly, his voice taking on a dark edge.

"Keep in mind, Kurosaki, you're in no position to be threatening me."

"He's right, Ichigo," Orihime stepped in guiltily, taking a shaky breath.

"No! Are you crazy?" Ichigo asked, impervious to her pout. "Orihime, come on. I haven't done you a single favor since you came onto the show! You know that. You deserve it, and I'm not gonna let this pompous asshole—"

Uryuu cleared his throat. "Are you done?"

Ichigo clenched his fists, but waited.

"It is true that dating a contestant is extremely poor judgment on your part," Uryuu began calmly, "but if you assumed I would credit that as a reason for Miss Inoue's success so far, you're a damn fool. I have no doubt about her worthiness as my rival." He nodded at Orihime. "However, even if I do trust Miss Inoue’s competency in clearing all the rounds so far, I refuse to leave my position in the finals up to chance.”

Orihime’s wrung her hands together guiltily. “What would you suggest we do to make it even?”

“I suggest you come clean about your relationship to the judges by the end of the day,” Uryuu said solemnly, “or I will have to tell them for you.”

“Are you crazy?” Ichigo demanded. “That might get her kicked off the show!”

“I am simply ensuring there will be no biases when the results come in,” Uryuu said, then regarded Orihime. “I look forward to seeing you at the finals, if you make it.”

Orihime's eyes widened. "L-likewise!" she stammered as they watched him leave the same way he came.

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To their credit, Isshin, Byakuya and Shunsui heard the entire story out without a single interruption. Although Orihime and Ichigo had decided to talk to them together, Ichigo had done most of the talking, his eyes fierce and his voice firm as he told them he loved Orihime, he was serious about her, and it would break his heart if something like this would cause problems for her in the finals. They hadn’t broken any rules—had rarely talked about the show when they were together in the first place, and it would be unfair if they would hold this against her.

“Wow,” Shunsui whistled lightly, after a long moment’s worth of silence spent just staring at them. “I mean, I’ve seen some desperate attempts up the ladder in my career, but seduction is a fun one. I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of that before!”

All three judges casted a glance at Orihime. Could this be a woman capable of manipulating Ichigo into doing something he didn’t want to do? Was there a hidden evil streak somewhere behind that seemingly harmless exterior?

Orihime blinked.

“No! There was no seducing!” Ichigo roared, ears pink. “Orihime isn’t like that!”

(Orihime wondered if he was going to pop a blood vessel, the rate he was going).

“Well, son,” Isshin said gravely, snapping her attention back to the man, “You know what you must do now.”

“What?”

“You must marry her, of course,” Isshin declared.

Orihime squawked, turning beet-red from head to toe. Marriage?! She didn’t even know Ichigo’s opinions on climate change yet!

Meanwhile Ichigo had turned an alarming shade of red too, but he straightened, meeting his father’s gaze with determination.

“If it’s to defend Orihime’s honor —”

“Enough,” Byakuya intervened, having had enough with the theatrics. “While judges are not allowed to engage in recreational relationships with contestants, there’s no clear guidelines on what that means for family members of the judges.” This troubled him greatly, as if there was anything Byakuya loved more than his own family, it was following a guideline.

"Well, what do you propose we do?” Ichigo demanded. “I am not letting you guys kick her off the show.”

“Give us time,” Shunsui said, albeit gently. “We’ll give you an answer once we talk it out among ourselves.”

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They had decided to do a best of three, but only the last round would air on television.

The first was a single-blind challenge, where Orihime and Uryuu would both have to bake something without knowing the ingredients beforehand. Orihime breezed through it, as the challenge played to her strength of being spontaneous. Both contestants made a battenberg cake each, but Orihime’s was chocolate-orange while Uryuu had opted not to use any of the fruits available to them.

The second, however, was a pressure test, where Uryuu fared better than she did. By the time the finals came around, they were evenly tied.

Ichigo thought it was pure torture, watching Orihime and Uryuu at their respective long tables now. Uryuu clearly had some sort of fancy whisking technique that was bringing out his batter in rich, creamy layers. That wasn’t to say Orihime was doing too bad; she’d picked out the ripest strawberries from the repository — and shot him a cheeky wink when the cameras had swiveled away — but it was clear that this really was going to be an all-out battle of the bakers.

“Back here in the kitchen, we have our finalists beating away against the clock as they race to the All-Star Incredible Bake-Off podium,” Keigo Asano said with great fanfare as an entire panel of cameras followed him around the set. “On my right I have Uryuu Ishida, a brutally skilled baker descended from a long line of the country’s most expert culinary artists — but one has to wonder: how does he see beneath those bangs?”

Uryuu scowled.

“I’m just kidding now, of course, aha aha,” Keigo continued, fanning himself indulgently before leaning against the counter. “Tell us what you’ve got in store for our judges today, Uryuu.”

“I’ll be baking a classic streusel cake,” Uryuu said primly, gesturing out at his ingredients, “with a side of cherries, to taste.”

Keigo let out a wolf-whistle, making a joke about cherries that Ichigo was sure they’d have to cut out from the final roll of footage as he skipped up to Orihime.

“Now, on my left we have the nation’s sweetheart, Orihime Inoue,” he cheered, with mild applause as he rounded up near her table, “Amateur small town baker and apple of my eye, how are we doing today, Orihime? What have you got in store for the judges?”

“I’ll be making a strawberry cobbler with an underside of cookie crust and cardamom,” Orihime said meekly, pointing at her bowl. “I’m looking forward to the challenge of it, but it’s a bit of a slippery slope, if I’m being honest!”

The camera panned in on Keigo’s face as he took a deep whiff of the ingredients and said, “Hmmph. Looks like she’s got a thing for strawberries.”

Backstage, Ichigo flushed.

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Orihime wrung her hands together, staring intently between the three judges as they tasted her food. To all intents and purposes, this was it. This was what everything was leading up to, this whole time.

Isshin smacked his lips first, leaning back in his seat as he appraised his co-judges. Shunsui shared an amused smile with Byakuya, while the latter murmured in curiosity.

“Orihime,” Shunsui said, resting his hands on the table as he pushed the plate back. “How do you think you did?”

Orihime pursed her lips, releasing a sheepish laugh when she looked between the judges. “I know my tastes can be a bit controversial, especially with the cardamom base,” she admitted, “but I think I did alright with the consistency?”

“Why did you pick the cardamom?” Isshin asked, scratching his beard wistfully. “You could have gone the more traditional route.”

“I could,” Orihime agreed humbly, “but then I’d be keeping the world from tasting new ideas that they haven’t seen before. Maybe they won’t like some of what I plate, but the fun in baking is having that freedom in trying things out — which I feel like you lose out on when you start to go corporate.” Realization dawned on exactly who she was talking to and she flushed as she quickly added, “Not that I think going corporate is bad!” She did, but that was beside the point. “I just think we’re so used to the usual comforts that we don’t give a chance to things we might like if we broaden our horizons.”

Isshin and Shunsui grinned. Even Byakuya seemed content with her answer.

“Alright, Orihime,” Byakuya said, with a curt nod, “We’ll be talking this over. Please take your place with the others.”

Orihime nodded, feeling a sort of resigned peace wash over her as she thanked the judges. The only thing left was to now accept the ebb and flow of things, however they worked out for her.

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“Ichigo, do you need to sit down?” Yuzu asked, dabbing his face with a wet cloth gingerly. “You look awfully ill.”

“I’m fine,” he grumbled, swatting her away.

“Because if you need to sit down—”

I’m fine, Yuzu,” he insisted, not wanting to move an inch from where he was standing until the results were out. Almost as if on cue, he saw his father emerging from one of the corridors, an important set of papers in his hand. He brushed his sister off and headed straight towards where his dad was.

“Ichigo!” Isshin boomed, “What a final that was! Tradition versus the contemporary! Beauty versus brains! Convention versus the norm! Why are you still here again?”

“Uh,” Ichigo replied, trying to squint at the paper. “I thought I’d bring you some water.” He quickly sidestepped and pulled a water bottle out of the hands of an unsuspecting crew member. “You must be thirsty.” 

“Oh, what a heartfelt gesture from my usually brutish son,” Isshin clapped him on his back, “Have you finally come over to your Daddy’s side?”

“Sure,” Ichigo deadpanned, trying to surreptitiously catch the names on the paper while his father rambled on about the heat in the studio.

“Ah-ah!” Isshin smacked Ichigo’s head with the paper. “You know Daddy isn’t allowed to spill any secrets. What a traitorous little dirtbag you are. I thought I taught you better.”

“I wasn’t trying to look—” Ichigo began, when his eyes caught the bold flash of words that made his stomach drop.

Orihime Inoue: runner-up.

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Orihime emerged from the washroom, face glistening clean after her refreshing wash. She’d barely managed to step outside when she ran into Ichigo, looking haunted.

“Ichigo? What’s wrong?”

“Orihime—” He sounded devastated, lost for words.

Orihime gripped his hand in hers and searched his face for concern. “What is it? Are you ill?”

Ichigo shook his head, unable to form the words that would break her. “It’s just…you. The results, I mean.”

“Oh,” Orihime said, sounding relieved. “Did I lose?”

“Y-Yeah!” Ichigo wondered how she could sound so calm about it, his chest pounding. He watched her face carefully, noticing it remain unchanged and still upbeat. “Aren’t you sad?”

“I think, if this had happened right at the beginning of the show, I’d be devastated,” Orihime said slowly, watching his eyes stretch in concern. “I came so far after all, and I’d always been so alone, I thought winning this show would help change my life dramatically. But then I met you, and I was really happy. I met Uryuu, who helped me improve as my rival. It’s true!” she insisted, when he scoffed. “I’m still young, and I have a lot to learn, but I’m not afraid of losing anymore. Not when my heart is already in the important things.”

Ichigo flushed.

“I have so many things I want to do,” she confessed, squeezing his hand in hers, a little sweet, a little shy when she met his eyes. “Is it alright if I do them with you?”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Of course. You know that.”

She smiled at him, then let his hand go to go receive her results.

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��2 years later

“Orihime!” Ichigo yelled over his shoulder, only to hear a vague and muffled, “I’m coming!” from somewhere behind stacks of boxes. He glanced up at the golden archway with the words ‘Highwell Bakery’ and smiled, snapping a quick picture with his camera. 

After the competition, Orihime had received an interesting proposition from Byakuya Kuchiki. Turned out, the man had a sister who hosted several high-society business meetings and fundraisers as a part of Kuchiki Enterprises, a business she took over from him while he returned to his lifelong passion — dessert.

Rukia Kuchiki was in need of a reliable caterer, and Orihime needed contacts. Running second place on All-Star had no doubt gotten some very wealthy people interested in her — all she needed was a platform to get in touch with them.

Suffice to say that had worked out incredibly in her favor. Soon, there were talks about angel investors and planners and whatnot, and Orihime had squirreled herself enough to land her first real bakery, while Ichigo himself had gone into freelance food photography — a surprise passion he had discovered as he accompanied Orihime on her many errands with the Kuchikis.

At present, Orihime emerged from the store, jangling a set of keys with her.

 “Guess wha-at?” she sang.

“You finally got the keys,” Ichigo said.

“I finally got the keys,” Orihime confirmed, looping her arm around Ichigo’s and regarding her bakery with pride. Bubblegum-pink outdoors, cotton-blue indoors, state-of-the-art stools, concealed lights, and a dozen or so paintings that made no sense but were certainly Instagrammable. They screamed ‘Orihime’ all over — a true manifestation of her ideas, her recipes, and her business. “Looks great, doesn’t it?”

Ichigo smiled at her. “Looks like a dream come true.”

#disclaimer: i have never watched tbbo and only vaguely remember masterchef #ihweek2022 #ichihime #myfic

[lilac-liliales]

This line works both ways for: 

"the ideals you fought for are for naught; you’ll die for them." 

"the Justice (Akechi) you believe in ends here."

Ren (Chinese: 仁, meaning "co-humanity" or "humaneness") is the Confucian virtue denoting the good quality of a virtuous human when being altruistic. Ren is exemplified by a normal adult's protective feelings for children [1]. Symmetrically, Goro Akechi stands as a monument to Japan’s sins: he represents Japan’s outcast children; the impoverished, the exploited, the orphaned, betrayed by the system over and over again.

I think the (possible) double-meaning behind Akechi’s phrasing exemplifies the relevance of Akechi’s characterization in Joker’s ideals: not only as an Arcana, but as the literal representation of Joker’s sense of Justice. The meaning of the concept itself, and the fatal ties between Ren and Akechi, fit Goro Akechi like a glove (pun intended), for Akechi’s very existence is the premise Ren builds his Justice on. Akechi embodies the children Ren wants to save, but can’t.

Akechi’s line is simultaneously “Your ideals betrayed you. You can’t save anyone.” & “I betrayed you. You will never save me.”

#goro akechi #ren amamiya #akira kurusu #persona 5 #persona 5 royal #p5 #p5r #gloves #Justice #thoughts #my thoughts #a monument to all your sins #i am vengeance #headcanon #arcana

[thevisibilityarchives]

George R.R. Martin's Curious Collection of Grotesqueries (1996 - present)

Disabled

With the premiere of House of the Dragon, HBO had its work cut out for it. Not only did it face direct competition from Amazon’s unprecedented Rings of Power –a monumental production of costly proportions with a five-season pre-order – it also had to contend with the reputation of its predecessor, Game of Thrones. GoT set a new bar for what a TV production could be, paving the way for RoP. More than that, its final season underperformed in a way not previously seen in a critically acclaimed television series.

Series finales are a tricky business. No matter how carefully handled, it seems that series with large fanbases are unlikely to come away with endings that fulfill the whims of everyone. Lost, Mad Men and The Sopranos saw notable complaints from fans regarding their endings. The GoT series finale proved a different monster with a critic's score of 55% on Rotten Tomatoes and an audience score even lower in the 30s. This was a notable fall from grace for a show consistently met with widespread acclaim for the bulk of its run until its tail end, in which its source content ran dry, and the creative reigns landed in the hands of two inexperienced showrunners.

For five consecutive seasons, the show stunned audiences, smashing streaming records and captivating audiences as it brought the high-fantasy tropes of dragons, battles, and strategized politics, to the late-night universe of corseted boobs, morally grey characters, and the darkest parts of humanity. 

Whereas Amazons Rings of Power could be enjoyed by most of the family, Game of Thrones was undoubtedly a series to watch after the children were put to bed, a welcome change for those who grew up playing D&D and then enjoying what Skinemax had to offer in the wee hours of the morning.

 Author George R.R. Martin’s writing of A Song of Ice and Fire (the series on which GoT is based) reflects the dynamism of our world, a complex tapestry in which nothing so simple as “good” prevails over “evil”. It is a world in which the “good” guy can die, the “bad” guy can be a knight in shining armor (or a powerful woman demolishing gender norms), and every expectation of conventional storytelling you have based on ratings can be upended. 

To date, research shows the greatest drawing point for both fans of Thrones and ASOIAF readers has been Martin’s writing of the characters themselves: a lush and seemingly endless array of diverse beings far beyond what high-fantasy readers were used to from 20th-century authors. 

A 2020 study for the Proceedings of the National Academy of Science of the USA analyzed the correlation between character arcs, deaths, and their relationships with readers. In this, the study found that the number of named characters within the series was nothing short of monumental, however, due to Martin’s habit of axing them off (pun intended), their deaths often occurred at the right time for the reader or watcher’s brain to develop a connection with a new character. Characters who were overall favorites (with rare exception) of course, tended not to die (Jon, Arya, Tyrion, etc.)

Other reasons many people tend to cite for their love of the series? It’s a realistic portrayal of morality, the inclusion of sexuality, a feasible depiction of racial diversity (there is work to be done yet on House of the Dragon, but that is a post for another time), war strategy, and for book readers, Martin’s well-written descriptions of food do often make for good home cookbooks. 

As a master of crafting personable characters who are complex and layered, with the capacity to be beloved and hated (looking at you Bobby B.), Martin introduced us to a new era of high fantasy writing that was bolder, brasher, and more suited to the 1990s and emerging millennium. With the passage of 30 years, perhaps faults can be forgiven then as we recognize the ways in which so few of his disabled characters achieve this masterful crafting, and question what excuse there is for House of the Dragon, and the creative liberties taken in its writing during the Era of Inclusion and Intimacy Coaching.

This essay will examine the way three particular characters fall into different stereotypes often bestowed upon the disabled community. Each character has been picked from a different part of the ASOIAF universe and as such may not be known to the reader: extra background will be given for context. 

              Larys Strong (House of the Dragon/Fire & Blood)

                                                   The Clubfoot

The first spinoff to land on HBO to much fanfare has been House of the Dragon, an adaptation of Fire & Blood, which retells the bloody civil war between two factions of the Targaryan clan which all but ripped apart Westeros some 167 years prior to the events of Game of Thrones.

For those completely unfamiliar with the narrative, the war is initiated when King Viserys I (for all intents and purposes the polar opposite of Daenerys’ brother), failing for years to produce a male heir, names his daughter Rhaenyra as heir to the Iron Throne. Despite Viserys’ intentions, the power of the patriarchy rules from the shadows as everyone from his new wife (and daughter’s former best friend) to his advisors and those he formerly considered friends conspire to install his new (drunk and disorderly) son on the Iron Throne in Rhaenyra’s place.

Two separate factions arise. On Rhaenyra’s side The Blacks, composed of Rhaenyra, her children, her husband-uncle (Targaryans, remember) Daemon, their cousins the Valeryons, and a camp of other royal families. The Greens are led by Alicent Hightower (who has assumed her maiden name upon Viserys’ death more or less), her father and Hand of the King Otto Hightower), her son King Aegon II (who is a lot more like Dany’s brother), Helaena (think a goth Luna Lovegood), Aemond (if Annie from Attack on Titan was a guy), Ser Criston Cole (the head of the Kingsguard and Rhaenyra’s ex-beau with an obnoxious grudge), and Larys Strong. 

Larys is known by book readers by another name: Larys Clubfoot, and this is how he is visually introduced on the show, limping into the godswood the very picture of the scheming disabled villain who has graced many a James Bond film. 

CTEV or Clubfoot is a common deformity that in our modern world is of course rectified with earlier onset treatment. Larys walks with a cane and from the onset is presented in juxtaposition to his brother, Harwin Strong: a handsome and charming man who becomes an eventual illicit lover to Rhaenyra. Larys has no lovers the object of desire to none. In his introductory scene as he limps into the godswood he is something like a creature of prey to the young Alicent, approaching her with a proposal as he offers her help for a price of which the cost will not be apparent for some time to come. 

Larys becomes one of Alicent’s most important council members, brokering information for her as well as executing covert assassinations of her enemies. In Fire & Blood, nothing he does is seemingly with any purpose, his reasoning left only to the gods themselves. He is a man shrouded in mystery and given that the text is more of a biased history book than anything, this makes sense. 

The show, frustratingly, also seems to take this approach to its detriment, and this also contributes to limiting him as a character. Unlike Varys whose machinations were often contributed towards “the greater good” and Littlefinger who sought to manipulate his way to the top for his own sake, Larys’ scheming ambles towards extremes for little reason, and what reason we are provided sets him over the edge into the territory of a freak-show caricature rather than a well-rounded character. 

Feet. 

It’s feet. 

He’s doing it for Medieval feet pictures, or some version of them. The cost we were speculating on? The wolfish leers he teased Alicent with weren’t promises of something so simple as royal bastards he could manipulate her with, but a desire to simply gaze at her perfect arches while he touches himself and spills the secrets of her enemies. 

The choice of writing a character with a disfigured foot as having a foot fetish is such an alarming choice it borders incredulity, particularly given that it was clear so much discussion was considered about diversity, sexism, and sexual assault in the writer’s room. 

In almost all scenes Larys practically creeps in corners like an Andy Samberg Saturday Night Live skit. This is not to dismiss or perpetuate the oft-promoted idea that people with disabilities don’t have desires, kinks, or fetishes as detailed by speakers like Dr. Danielle Sheypuk and by sexual psychologist Dr. Justin Lehmiller. 

There is something obscenely disturbing however about an able-bodied man portraying a disfigured character with a fetish related to that disfigurement which for all intents and purposes drives him to commit heinous acts–patricide included–that takes his characterization from one of Martin’s carefully crafted portraits to a questionable caricature whose 21st century writing ultimately lay in the hands of people who should have known better. 

               Tyrion Lannister (Game of Thrones/ASOIAF)

                                                         The Imp

Ask people about their favorite character from Martin’s high fantasy epic, and undoubtedly Tyrion will come up among the top three. As of 2021, community polling site Ranker still lists the character as the top ranked based on live voting results.  Beloved among book readers and show viewers alike, his character stands to date as a marvel of modern writing, brought to life by none other than Peter Dinklage in a powerhouse performance for eight relentless seasons. 

There’s a lot to praise here. There’s the fact that Martin wrote such a poignant character with Dwarfism who stands as a point-of-view perspective and is popular enough to feel relatively safe from beheading all things considered. He is a man equal parts charming and pitiable, enviable and intelligent. Had he been born in a different body he would be granted a much different life, and it is his disability that serves as a barrier despite all the privileges the last name “Lannister” bestows on him (which is a lot). 

Through the richness of Martin’s writings, there seep flaws in his characterization notably absent from the television show, which depict what can only be described as the best sides of him. He is “prettied up” of course in the way all actors are in a Hollywood show, his rougher aesthetic smoothed away by the handsome presence of Dinklage. Other aspects of his behavior however make no appearance, from cruder actions that make him appear more morally dubious to Martin’s fixation on forcing him to perform odd tricks and feats like some Florida carnival act, to his almost-rape of Sansa and the murder of the character Marillion. 

“Waddling” is a word often used to describe Tyrion’s gait, his POV chapters packed with allusions to the stiffness of his hips, and the aching of his joints. For those with physical disabilities, there is no mistaking or ignoring the reality of chronic pain or discomfort: life inside a tortuous iron maiden that all at once does not allow you to sit still yet punishes movement. Yet for no other characters are similar measures taken.

For instance, when Jon Snow loses the use of one of his hands, every other sentence isn’t dedicated to describing it, nor Ned Stark’s broken leg. Some descriptors yes for Martin is, as mentioned, a master of his craft, yet in Tyrion, there is an excessiveness to it, a level to which it is as though we are made not to forget he is different. 

Throughout the series he plays into the role further of the carnie, doing things like flips and mid-air twirls. The physical characteristics neglected in favor of Dinklage’s good looks reinforce the fact that in the books, he must rely upon the power of coin for a woman’s (temporary) love, unlike his brother Jaime who practically has half the women in the kingdom swooning after him. Even gold diggers after the Casterly Rock goods are suspiciously absent, as though Tyrion is so abhorrent none but the whores will have him, and so in equal parts, he becomes a character who we fall in love with while falling short of the true measure of all a disabled character can be.

                                               Patchface (ASOIAF)

                                                     The Lackwit

For the unread, Patchface may be a new character. He doesn’t make an appearance onscreen but is alluded to in a brief Easter Egg during Season 3 of Game of Thrones in a song sung by Shireen Baratheon.

Prophetic characters are a narrative theme throughout the series, appearing to sometimes guide major POV characters in what will inevitably be their most consequential decisions. Daenarys, Cersei, Jon, Stannis, and Arya all encounter characters entangled directly with prophecy, and Patchface appears as one of these curious figures whose overall purpose is more or less unknown but hinted at as something bigger in the grand scheme of things. 

So named for the colorful tattoos marking his skin, Patchface was freed as a Volantine slave by Steffon Baratheon, the father of Stannis, Renly, and Robert during a trip to Essos that resulted in tragedy. Recognizing the young boy’s brilliance, Steffon intended to bring him home to Storm’s End as a court jester for the boys. Upon his return, a storm wrecked his ship in the bay, killing him and his wife. From the ramparts, his sons watched as the returning fleet was demolished and in the ensuing days, the boys were forced to face the fact that they were orphans when naught but carcasses came to shore. 

Patchface was the only survivor, his formerly recognized brilliance replaced with cognitive and intellectual impairment from a mixture of trauma and oxygen deprivation. Henceforth he lost all memory and the ability to speak in coherent sentences, instead only communicating in short snippets sometimes regarded as prophetic by those who listened at the right time. 

Occasionally, his words alluded to the watery depths, and he was designated as the court jester for Storm’s End, eventually becoming a play friend to the young Shireen Baratheon. In some ways, Patchface’s existence (and by existence, that of Bran’s) can be seen as an extension of That Magical Cripple. 

Narratives centered around disabilities have often depicted people in a state of overcoming or possessing some type of superhuman ability that somehow makes them magical. Similar to the Magical Negro trope, they use this ability to the benefit of those around them, rather than themselves, selflessly repairing a thankless world because it’s not enough to simply be. They do not learn or better themselves in any way, but rather, aid the hapless and needy around them with superhuman abilities. It is not enough to exist as a person with a disability, especially within a quasi-Medieval world whereupon they are seen as a boon to society. Rather, they must possess some ability to furthers the progress of a hero beyond themselves.

In the case of Patchface, his prophetic abilities come to a head on a cliffhanger. A Dance with Dragons leaves off where Season 5 of Game of Thrones saw its conclusion: Jon’s confrontation with the mutineers at The Nights Watch led by Alliser Thorne, spurred by his decision to investigate the goings on at Hardhome. Patchface alludes to visions of “the crows…white as snow” and “the dead are dancing”, possible allusions of wights and White Walkers while at Castle Black. If there is one thing we have learned in the ASOIAF universe, it’s that heeding the advice of the eccentric’s omens may save lives. Aside from that though, who really is Patchface? What real desires does he have? After all, even people with cognitive disabilities want for something, as any caretaker regardless of the decade can tell you.

Throughout his series, George R.R. Martin weaves a rich tapestry of characters of many different colors, rich hues, and vibrant features. For the many complaints arising in a more inclusive culture that demands more of authors now than ever, we can recognize for what it's worth, he did a good job for a white man writing high fantasy in the 90′s when his predecessors had never deigned to feature a skin tone duskier than tan, a sexuality that wasn’t heterosexual, or a suggestion of life that wasn’t based on Christian morality. 

And yet for all this, Martin’s portrayal of the lives of disabled people is a one-dimensional portrait that turns them into a 1940s-style Freak Show in Juno, Florida. Lovable characters like The Imp, and reprehensible characters like The Mountain are painted as tropes defined by their physicality and the nature of their disabilities–lest we forget them and it is clear this bias extends to showrunners and directors currently working on House of the Dragon almost 30 years later.

As nature is a spectrum so is representation, there can be good, bad, and all manner of in between, and while we can find love and cringe-worthiness in the depiction of these characters, so can we find hope for the future disability in fantasy alongside racial and sexual diversity as well. 

Catch up on Game of Thrones and House of the Dragon via HBO or any of its streaming apps, or better yet, rent it for free at your local library along with the accompanying materials.

Citations:

https://uproxx.com/tv/how-much-did-lotr-the-rings-of-power-really-cost/

https://www.townandcountrymag.com/leisure/arts-and-culture/a41547050/rings-of-power-season-2-news/

https://www.rottentomatoes.com/tv/game_of_thrones/s08

https://www.pnas.org/doi/10.1073/pnas.2006465117

https://www.sexandpsychology.com/blog/2019/9/6/sex-and-disability-intellectual-disabilities-and-the-right-to-sexuality/

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7PwvGfs6Pok

https://www.ranker.com/crowdranked-list/best-game-of-thrones-characters

https://open.spotify.com/track/43sz4PFPSPqCzJVRnsgPXT?si=78ec2e67ed1949c5

#visibilityarchives #thevisibilityarchives #tva #house of the dragon #hotd #larys strong #tyrion lannister #patchface #asoiaf #grrm #disability #inclusivity #disability visibility #game of thrones

[chaoticunorigionalstranger]

BOM London 20/9/22 7.30pm

Cast: Stephen Rolley as Price, Oliver Jacobson as Cunningham, Stevie Webb as McKinley and Leanne Robinson as Nabulungi.

Finally got to see Rolley Price.

If anyone sees Rolley Price and are close enough to see his eyes - watch him. He really uses his eyes to portray Price's feelings and it's incredible (poorly used pun intended).

So, here is a summary of some of my favourite Rolley Price emotional eyes (I'm saving the best to last so these aren't in chronological order):

In TIO he looks really confused and a bit frightened by the whole thing. He mouthed to Arnold (Ollie) 'what's going on?'' in reference to the Elders all dancing.

He also was brilliant in the scene with him and Gotswana, his eyes really portrayed pain and fear. He also was gripping the gurney really tightly. He honestly looked in pain.

When Arnold meets him at the kafe he looks monumentally devestated. His eyes looked so sad as he lamented about Orlando and how he had been doing everything he was asked/told. When I say he looked devestated, I mean it. He looked like the world was crushing him and all the good things had gone.

IAHFY he looked so confused and then terrified by Cunningham.

And on that note: PRICINGHAM

Arnold almost kissed him. He tried to kiss him. In IAHFY Price looked terrified because after Arnold had tucked him in he was leaning over Price and moved to give him a kiss on the cheek, but Price put his hand in the way, and squeeked "what are you doing?"

And when they reconciled Rolley put his head in Cunningham's shoulder and Arnold stroked his hair.

Other notes about Rolley:

He played Price quite camp - from the hand gestures down to the way he walked. It was interesting to see because I've never seen Dom or Ben play up the question about Price's sexuality in that way.

McPriceley - not a huge amount tbh. But he grabbed McKinley by the face instead of shoulders, so McKinley leaning in seemed more of a natural response to the interaction. Ngl, my McPriceley trash heart got excited at that point.

His voice is the deepest I've heard in that role.

Ollie

Funny as always. I do love Ollie's Cunningham

Leanne

Amazing as always

Stevie

Without a doubt, he is one of the most talented people in the West End. That's all. Just insanly talented.

Special mention of Jed Hoyle (Poptarts)

He was really giving it his all. He had so much energy it was crazy. Honestly - I've seen Jed loads of times and he was on top form tonight.

He is now 2nd cover McKinley, third cover Price's dad/mission president and third cover Cunningham. I cannot wait to see him as Price's dad and Cunningham.

I honestly think he has an amazing career ahead of him.

#west end #bom musical #book of mormon #tbom musical #tbom #elder price #elder mckinley #jed hoyle #stephen rolley #pricingham #McPriceley

[pjsks]

Eden of the East (Eps. 6, 9, 10, 11) Blog Post

This was such an interesting ending to Eden of the East. I am not the type of person to theorize about how stories will unfold, but I felt like at no point during this entire show would I be able to predict its path. For only being 11 episodes long, this anime was just… crazy. One of our classmates guessed that all the naked guys in the photos from episode 1 were NEETs being used to do something to help save society, and much to my surprise, he was right! I think the fact that Takizawa was the reason that there were no casualties on Careless Monday is insane because the amount of coordination and planning that would have taken to brief these NEEts on their “job” as government officials to evacuate the citizens had to have been extensive, especially because they mentioned it was 20,000 NEETs. To coordinate that amount of people, you need real leadership skills.

We talked about this in class, but NEETs, or Not in Education, Employment, or Training, are people who do not actively contribute to society. They typically tend to be around the ages of 15 and 34. The idea of using NEETs, who are people who are essentially useless to society, to do something monumental as saving that exact society is really smart, but also extremely bold. I am sure that many people have thought about it, but Takizawa was the only one with enough balls (no pun intended) to actually go for it. By restoring the usefulness of NEETs to society, Takizawa has officially succeeded at doing something no one else has done to “save Japan.”

(And now he’s wiped his memories again and is now the king of Japan? What a dude.)

Finding out Mr. Outside was actually not even alive in the first place was also a shock.

#jpt1311

[ailogomakerr]

The Starbucks Logo: A History

Whether you’re a coffee connoisseur, a design enthusiast looking for emblem-making inspo, or just a casual reader that just came here for a little extra advertising knowledge; better brace yourself! And hey, speaking of advertising knowledge, don’t forget to check out One Cool Dir.com for more insights! We’re about to delve into an intricate trip through time and peek through the history and evolution of the Starbucks symbol. Apart from being everybody’s favorite cup of joe and go-to coffee shop, this industry giant offers a lot more! Its iconic symbol is not just an emblem of their branding, but a emblem of the branding’s journey through the ages. Ready to unweave the story of coffee evolution and the inspiration behind Starbies’s design?

The Perfect Blend: Starbucks’ Beyond the Coffee Counter

The year was 1971, the time when Starbucks set up a store in the lands of Seattle by its founding father; Jerry Baldwin, Zev Siegl, and Gordon Bowker. The first time Starbucks opened its doors to the public, it boasted a maritime-inspired two-tailed siren encased in a circular frame. It was a homage to the city’s nautical spirit. Who knew that the enchanting siren would eventually grow to enchant coffee lovers from all over the world? Before it was the insignia that reflects unparalleled coffee craftsmanship, first it was a humble brown-toned logo.

Design Evolution: 1971–1987

After a decade and a shy of a year, the Starbucks logo went through a subtle retiration. The first time the logo had its refresh, it refined the intricacies of some of the details the first logo had and preserved the essence of the original design. Of course the iconic Starbucks twin-tailed siren remained. Embodying allure and seduction, a visual treat to that became an irresistible charm for many Starbucks enjoyers.

Take a Closer Look: 1987–1992

Through the years, Starbucks went on to transcend borders. And as the branding and the name evolved, so did their logo. The siren morphed into an improved, sleeker, and modern form. Leaving behind excess details and negative spaces, this reborn was strategically made to create a logo that’s capable of traversing linguistic and cultural barriers. The branding did this refresh all while retaining the essence of the logo that came before it.

The Starbucks We Now Know and Love: 2011 to Present

Picture 2011, which is more than a decade ago now. I know, crazy right? That’s the year when the public witnessed a monumental shift in the Starbucks’ logo. Critics say that it is a bold move that echoes the company’s reputation beyond coffee. Removing the “Starbucks Coffee” from the logo proved just how renowned and iconic the green Starbucks siren came to be, and Starbucks the branding became more than just a cup of coffee. Extending their selections of teas and focusing on making their communal spaces cozier for their patrons. This strategic move marked the branding’s relevance into the future while paying homage to the roots that made the iconic symbol.

The Siren’s Tale (Pun Intended)

Beyond the band’s aesthetic charm, the Starbucks logo holds a compelling symbolism. The two-tailed siren serves as a visual anthem to the persuasion of coffee, drawing people in with its captivating gaze and the warm embrace each cup of Starbucks coffee can give from all over the world. The siren is actually the most ideal choice for their logo, not just because it pays homage to the location of their pilot store but because the creature evokes an irresistible allure. Putting coffee enthusiasts into a total chokehold!

Virtual Sip: A Brand Made for Screens

Wandering through the digital age, the brand’s logo proves that in the game of adaptability and recognizability, Starbucks don’t fool around. Wherever you place it, on a coffee cup, a storefront or glooming through a phone screen. The siren stays as a distinctive emblem. The latest design ensures Starbucks’ prominence in a world of digital platform dominance.

Designing Community and Connection

Beyond being a master in aesthetic and visuals, The logo went above and beyond its branding’s realm and transcended into being just a coffee branding to connect coffee enthusiasts from all around the world. Wherever you are relishing a cup of Starbies in. A latte in Seattle? An iced cappuccino in Tokyo? Lady siren unites all coffee lovers through a shared liking for quality coffee and the community camaraderie the branding cultivated.

Design Elements: Taking the Brand Apart

Allow me to dissect the elements of design Starbucks used that have contributed to their logo’s undeniable allure. The chic curvature of the siren’s tail coupled with the symmetry of her gaze. Every element serves a purpose and is strategically crafted. This is why it created a visual harmony that reflects the company’s commitment to excellence and quality.

To Conclude: The Overall Design Tale of The Industry Giant

With our scoop, or should we say ‘cup’ of Starbies Logo’s history in its design comes to an end, let us take this time to appreciate the rich details that are woven into their iconic symbol. From their shy beginnings in the maritime city of Seattle to its name becoming a distinctive emblem of quality coffee from all around the world. The Starbucks logo tells us the narrative of design genius, adaptability, and foolproof commitment to uniqueness.

The captivating evolution of Starbucks’ iconic siren reflects not only the company’s commitment to excellence but also its ability to resonate with diverse audiences that happen to be their patrons from all over the world. The logo, with its chic curvature like how it always is since the branding’s debut, and its symmetrical gaze, stands as a testament to the company’s dedication to visual harmony and excellence in advertising. Ready to explore more about branding and advertising? Dive into 1Directory.org for valuable insights

The next time you cradle a cup of warm Starbucks brew in your hands, before finishing off the entire thing be sure to take a time to pause and appreciate the design concept behind the siren smiling at you from your cup. It is indeed an emblem that goes beyond time, medium, and design preferences. Raise your cups and let’s cheers to the past, present and future of Starbucks logo! An inspirational design journey that is as rich and satisfying as the coffee they serve!This blog is from Ailogomakerr.com

#Logo design #logo creation tips #AI logo #logo maker #logo generator #logos #logo #graphic designer