#choosing to be kind and good for no reason; when the world has been awful to you; when u could easily go the other direction

[euyrdice]

i see ppl talk about how the morally good protagonist is boring villains r more complex ect ect and i get it i do. but i will always find goodness more interesting.

[beesmygod]

we can all look back on and laugh at this when im wrong, but it seems like social media in its current incarnation is dying an undignified and overdue death. it turns out throwing all of humanity into one room and expecting everyone to develop a single ethos was beyond insane conceptually and the artists who built their following on social media are probably in a tail spin right now. people jumping to bluesky are insane lol. did you forget jack dorsey is the idiot who got us into this mess in the first place. why would you choose to subject yourself to this shit again. for what purpose?

the stock answer i got was that "for discoverability/audience" and if that's true thats a problem. i've been hollerin about this to anyone who would listen prior to this but the customer base of twitter (and all social media) is its advertisers. they have not been shy from the start about that fact because its the only way they generate income, as far as i know. YOU (the user) are the product. YOU (still the user) are also what draws people to the site. there is not a social media website on earth that has figured out that making a good website (which would require hiring and paying for quality labor over an extended period of time) is more likely to result in economic success than exclusively courting the businesses whose interest is in making the website worse to use with ads. at no point were our interests ever a factor.

in fact, imo, the number of people following you is not an accurate representational sample of your audience. the reasonable assumption you should make is that the vast majority of numbers involved with any website (esp those with a vested interest in showing off big numbers to VC investors or advertising execs) are inflated or just outright fake. the numbers exist solely to drive you insane and make awful people happy. the numbers cause you and everyone around you to start spontaneously spawning myths about a beast called "the algorithm" that possesses the incredible traits of being both something you can game for success or blame for your failures. it coerces you into enacting out nonsense superstitions to try to counteract or appease it in the hopes of, let's be honest, breaking it big and going viral. this way, you, the creator, do not have to do the hard work of building up a rapport with an audience. none of this goes anything but adds more numbers for the ceos to look at and nod approvingly or disapprovingly at.

the people running the world today are, without exaggeration, cartoon villains. they are deeply stupid, devoid of empathy, and open about their intent to do deeply evil acts in order to further their economic interests. trying to derive some kind of financial benefit from the creations of these unapologetic losers was always bound to be a wasted effort. the best thing i can say about twitter, a website i was banned from countless times and returned to out of stubborn desire, was that i got to make some great jokes with friends and cause some chaos lol. letting people know i have a web comic was always a secondary function once the realization of what social media was turning out to be set in like 7 years ago. any artist who insists that you have to do this or that on this or that social media site is trying to drag you down into the quagmire of online numbers poisoning.

run away!!! children heed my advice!!! the joy of creation does not lie on a path that encourages you to cater to the lowest common denominators while casting your net. just fucking have fun with it. if its not fun then it wont even be fun to do financially anyway. and isnt that, like. the point.

[disaster-theysbian]

Gotta say, I've been out as a lesbian for 3 years and nonbinary for a year and a half. And I've noticed something.

Just because someone *always* gets your name and pronous correct, and angrily calls out anyone who forgets, doesn't necessarily mean they support you.

Conversely, just because someone struggles to remember your name and pronouns, or can't wrap their head around gender neutral/neo pronouns at all, doesn't necessarily mean they DON'T support you.

This is applicable to any situation really not just queer shit. Watch what people do, not just what they say, and you will find your friends. Someone might shower you with compliments and have common interests with you, but what happens when you tell them no? Do they get angry when they are corrected? Do they have kind things to say about other people?

My colleagues wouldn't know a gender-neutral pronoun if one hit them in the face with a dictionary, but they make sure I've had a lunch break and get home safely. They have my back if I have a difficult patient. They defend me against other staff members who like to create drama and bitch about people as if they're still in the school playground. If someone has something to say about me being a big ol' queer, they make it known that discrimination has no place in our unit.

My best friend in the whole entire world forgets my name and pronouns every day. When the organisers of her therapy group changed "men and women" to "people" and "he/she" to "they" in order to be more inclusive, there was outcry. Everything from the "it just doesn't sound right" grammar-policing nonsense to the "f*cking special snowflakes are offended by everything". She came down on them like a ton of bricks. She said if the organisers hadn't told them that it was changing, that they wouldn't have noticed. She told them they obviously haven't loved someone outside of the gender binary and they were missing out. She then told them how she had seen me grow and develop since I came out, and how in awe she was of the person I had become. No, she doesn't understand it at all, but why should that mean that she can't be there for me and appreciate how happy I am to be able to be me? Why should that mean, because you lot don't understand it, that someone with the same issues as the rest of the therapy group feels unsafe and unwelcome and doesn't get their issues resolved? As a result, a few of them changed their minds, INCLUDING HER OWN FATHER, and the rest at least shut the hell up about it.

ON THE FLIP SIDE...

A queer person who used my correct name and pronouns delighted in making me walk on eggshells, inventing reasons to be angry with me, convinced me I was a terrible person and even went as far as to try and turn me against my own therapist. They tried to tell me that my therapist only said I was a good person because she was paid to, and that because they themselves had a psychology degree that they could tell I had all these complexes and needed to work hard to be a good person, and it was unlikely I'd never get there. (I chose to listen to my therapist and stop being friends with this person).

A queer person who used my correct name and pronouns continued to do things that made me uncomfortable when I asked them to stop. Never said in as many words "you're not allowed to hang out with your friends" but conveniently had an emergency every time I had plans, and accused me of being uncaring if I needed my own space. They knew I had difficulty asking for help, but still got angry with me when I asked because I didn't ask "soon enough".

A queer person who used my correct name and pronouns told me they would look after me and they didnt. .

A queer person threatened to misgender me MORE when I corrected them.

I'm just saying, that if you choose to yeet everyone who doesn't get your name and pronouns right... that doesn't necessarily make you safe. We live in a very binary world. As much as we want that to change, it won't if we ignore or shout at the bits we don't like. (Believe me, I've tried).

[totallynotokguys]

Lego Monkie Kid Rewatch: Season 3

Episode 9, The King, the Prince, the Shadow Part 2/2

"Does anyone else feel like-" "We've been here before? Yeah. Its weird, right? But- I ah- know I haven't." "Me neither. And yet this place feels so familiar." "Nah. Not me, man. This is all new to me."

Remember when I said that a lot of characters keep wrongly comparing MK to Wukong, like MK is supposed to be the next Wukong. Well…. that wasn't just at the characters. That was at us the fans too. Up until this season, I too just thought of MK as the next Monkey King. It just felt right. Pigsy was Zhu Bajie, Tang Tang Sanzang, Mei as Ao Lie, and Sandy as Sha Wujing. Simplistically, I assumed MK was supposed to be this new version's Monkey King. But he's not. He's not like the rest. He's not part of their story- at least he wasn't supposed to be.

MK was never meant to be here... to experience this, or them. And this season is when the show really starts opening our eyes to it.

(Also… I think this proves pretty definitively that Sandy is not the still alive Sha Wujing. With his flashback in To Catch a Leaf, I was so sure. I mean, look at those old looking weaponry?!)

(But unless Sha Wujing has amnesia that conveniently lets him forget the Samadhi Fire incident, than he really is just the reincarnation instead of the original.)

"It is on brand for you to have a worse version of everyone elses powers."

Ouch. Also… is this a hint at Macaque having been a clone of Wukong once upon a time? Like, in Shadow Play, Macaque chooses to feature a lot of Wukong and his clones for some reason, especially when speaking of the Warrior and Hero being a team. Strangely, some of those clones look an awful lot like Macaque.

Or could this be a hint at season 5 where its revealed Macaque's shadow powers are more like certain other being who shall not be named for sake of spoilers?

Loud Annoying Wukong: "What? You got what you wanted, didn't you? Not going to gloat, monologue a little bit before scurrying off to your master?"

Inner Panicking Wukong: "Ah drat! He's totally gonna know those are fake. Quick! I gotta distract him into wasting more time!"

"Wukong!"

I'm pretty sure that's Ne Zha's favourite word. He says it almost every second. Might even be his catch phrase.

"Oh, so the piece of paper just magically made a bunch of light!" "That's exactly what happened and you know it!"

Ah, I love these two.

"Stop! If you hurt that kid I'll-" "What. Make things worse for MK?"

Like I said last time, bad hero, good mentor. He cares about MK more than anything else right now. This same kind of protective passion has happened before, back in the Journey to the West. Wukong is good at devoting himself to one person, and tolerating everyone else for the sake of that person.

"Glowy mystic symbol thingies are always never good!"

Proceeds to touch said glowy mystic symbol thingies.

AWWWW! Tang trying to protect Mei!

I love the majority of the adults in this show. They do their best to help the kiddos and protect them, even when those kiddo's are typically more powerful than them. Tang, Pigsy, and Sandy understand that young one's always need to be cared for.

THIS SHOT THIS SHOT THIS SHOT!

I totally missed this shot the first time around! OH MY GOSHNESS SANDY I LOvE YOU!

Once again Macaque forgets about Mei.

I'm starting to see why she and Macaque were put in a team together in season 4. She is, strangely enough, his blind spot.

And once again I am shaking my head at the way the show treated Macaque's supposed redemption arc. Look at the way he's treating her, the way he's treating them all! The fear and pain he causes them!

Bashes MK repeatedly into the ground until he is unconscious.

Threatens Mei's life while holding her by the throat.

Forces the parental figures to watch their kids get ruined.

Forces Tang to choose the life of his friends over the sake of the world.

The trauma this guy is causing them- and they just never bring it up? Mei should have held the largest grudge Katara style until Macaque made it up to her! Tang should be absolutely afraid to go near Macaque after the moral trauma the simian caused him. Pigsy should throw a spoon at him every time he darkens his door way with all his ping pong master might. Sandy should constantly keep Macaque between himself and the kids as a protective barrier everytime the shadow comes around.

Until Macaque makes it up to them, apologizes and tries to do right by them all... they should have continued to treat him with fear, anger, and wariness.

"But he was under LBD control' you say. 'He had no choice."

No he wasn't. This threatening, this danger he puts them in? That was for his own gain. Macaque wanted the Samadhi Fire to escape LBD. He was in control of his actions here. He was going to take the power needed to break her control over him and then dip, leaving the mortals to parish under LDB's rule. Sure, he was probably in pain and obviously scared for his life- but that doesn't excuse the choices he made and the trauma he caused.

It's like Macaque said last episode. You have to look out for yourself, no one else.

[anonymous-dentist]

Based off of @fagdykeroier’s dragon au:

-

When Cellbit was a hatchling, he remembers telling Bad, “I’m gonna kidnap a princess when I get out of here.”

Bad had rumbled and lightly bapped him with his wing. “Don’t be ridiculous. Dragons don’t kidnap princesses. We eat them.”

He had bared his fangs, then- still dripping with the acidic blood of the loser of his most recent fight- and, well. He had a point. Dragons don’t kidnap people. They eat them. They eat them because they’re monsters, and they need to be dealt with accordingly.

It’s been a decade since then, and now Cellbit is protecting a prince from the dragon that’s been kidnapping him biweekly for the past five years of his life.

Cellbit is also kissing the prince. And he feels awful about it.

Roier is a nice guy. He’s better than nice, actually. He’s beautiful. His smile could make an angel weep, and his eyes? They’re warm enough to make Cellbit’s fireproof bones turn to jelly. He’s funny and he’s smart, and he’s the nicest person Cellbit has ever met.

He’s also a prince. And dragons don’t kidnap princes. They don’t kiss them, either.

Dragons eat people. Because they’re monsters, and they need to be dealt with accordingly.

Cellbit forces himself to push Roier away, fists loosely curling in the soft silk of Roier’s shirt.

“What?” Roier asks. He’s frowning, and he’s somehow still handsome doing it. “What’s wrong, gatinho?”

Cellbit tears his eyes away from the prince’s and chooses to instead look out over the horizon. The sun is setting, and it almost makes Roier’s honeyed brown eyes burn as red as the flames burning in Cellbit’s chest.

He drops his hands, and he takes one step back. And then another, head dropping and hands shaking.

“…Cellbit?”

“I can’t do this,” Cellbit hears himself say. (Which is a fucking lie, but what else is new? He’s been lying to Roier the entire time he’s known him.) “You…”

The world is… distant. And warm. It’s so warm. Fuck, he needs to concentrate or-

Everything bolts back into clarity as Roier takes his hands and squeezes them.

“Hey,” he softy says, “it’s fine. Okay? If you don’t want to-”

Cellbit’s head snaps up. He meets Roier’s gaze and only halfway flinches as how caring it is.

“I want to!” he interrupts. “But- but I’ve been lying to you, guapito. Roier. You deserve better.”

Roier’s eyebrows furrow, but he doesn’t look angry. For some reason. Even though he hates liars- he hates liars! Cellbit deserves to be thrown off the balcony they’re standing on…

“Okay…” Roier slowly nods. “Tell me.”

“What? I lied.”

“Yeees, so tell me what you did. Then I’ll be angry. Maybe. Who knows?”

He smiles, then, and it’s as brilliant as the sun.

Cellbit wants. He’s never been the type of dragon to hoard, he was trained out of it before it could become a problem, but he kind of wants to put Roier in a cave somewhere and curl around him and never let him go.

But.

Of course Roier is going to be angry. Dragons are monsters. They’re nearly extinct for a reason. And he’s been regularly kidnapped by one for the past however many years of his life, of course he’s going to be angry when Cellbit tells him.

But.

Cellbit swore to Roier on his first night on duty as Roier’s personal guard that he would never lie to him. It’s been almost a year since then, and not once has Cellbit broken his promise… outside of this.

So he sighs and hangs his head and squeezes Roier’s hands once before letting go and moving to lean against the balcony with his face in the sun. It’s warm, but in a good way. The incoming night breeze is chilly, but in a better way. Maybe Cellbit doesn’t deserve the warmth.

“I haven’t been totally honest about who… or, rather, what I am,” he explains, slowly as he figures out the words. “Your fathers hired me to protect you from the dragon-”

“Melissa.”

Cellbit can’t help but smile. “Right, Melissa. But they don’t know that the reason why I know so much about dragons is…”

He sucks in a breath and lets it out slowly; it comes out as smoke, tinted green by his flames.

“…because I am one.”

Silence. Expected, really.

Cellbit’s eyes slip shut, and he waits for the inevitable outburst. Maybe he’ll get lucky and Roier will end him from behind so he doesn’t have to see the hatred in his eyes.

But then Roier speaks, quietly: “How long have you been my guard?”

The answer is immediate: “Nine months and two weeks.”

“And how many days have you had off?”

For vacation? “None. I had to protect you.”

Roier sucks in a deep breath. Oh, so he is angry, after all. (Of course he is.)

“Nine months and two weeks,” he says, voice raising in volume with every word until he’s shouting: “And you’ve been human this whole time!?”

Cellbit yelps as he’s forcefully spun around, and he’s expecting a dagger to the chest, but what he gets is… a hug. He’s pulled to Roier’s chest, and Roier hides his face in the side of Cellbit’s neck, and he squeezes him so tightly that Cellbit can’t breathe.

“Why didn’t you just say so, pendejo?” Roier asks. His lips brush against Cellbit’s skin and make him go weak in the knees.

That’s a stupid question.

Cellbit can’t bear to hug him back, but he can force himself to answer: “Because dragons literally eat people?”

(It’s not the real answer, but it’s what Cellbit can give without giving himself a panic attack.)

Roier pulls his head back and gives Cellbit an unreadable look.

“You,” he declares, “are coming with me.”

And, with that, he breaks the hug and proceeds to drag Cellbit by the hand off of the balcony and through the castle towards the stables.

So he’s going to kill Cellbit elsewhere. So be it. He deserves nothing less.

First kiss ruined…

-

The secondary location, for whatever reason, is the cave Cellbit first met Roier at on that first rescue mission. He’s only been back since a handful of times to rescue Roier from the dragon, Melissa, but it’s familiar enough to make him pause in the cave’s mouth.

“It’ll be easier to clean the blood up outside,” he helpfully says.

Roier groans, “How many times do I need to tell you I’m not going to kill you? Come on.”

Grumbling, he pulls Cellbit deeper inside the cave, still holding his hand as tight as he was holding it back at the castle. They even shared a horse to get to the cave so they could keep holding hands in some way; the horse is tied up outside by a fence post Cellbit had installed after his second rescue mission for convenience.

Cellbit never got a proper cave growing up. Admittedly, he doesn’t remember most of his hatchling years, but the years he does remember were all spent in a too-small cage miles underground surrounded by the rotting corpses of the dragons he’d killed.

He used to dream of having a cave. He wanted enough room to spread his wings for once, just like how Bad said he would spread his wings back when he was free.

Now, he knows better. What’s the point of the entire world being open to him if spreading his wings would get him thrown back into the ring?

Roier leads Cellbit past his usual “kidnapping bedroom” and through a large-ish crack in the cave wall. On the other side is an enormous cavern with fire-scorched walls and mounds of gold and silver and silks and satins piled into the center of the room like a nest.

Cellbit’s hand falls from Roier’s grip. He stares at the gold hungrily.

And then he screeches and covers his eyes and turns away as Roier pulls his shirt over his head and starts stripping.

“Roier!” Cellbit protests. “I’m- I’m really not into this kind of stuff, if that’s what you’re getting at!”

“Qué?” Roier laughs. “Relax, Cellbit, it’s fine!”

Oh, gods, maybe Roier didn’t drag Cellbit all the way into the mountains to kill him. Maybe he’s one of those weird humans into dragons. And Cellbit can’t judge exactly because he is a dragon and so he gets the appeal, but-

His ears prick up at the sound of crackling fire and the sudden rush of wind from the center of the cavern, a familiar magical sensation gently pushing against him as his own magic tries to push back in a similar way. He grits his teeth and forces his claws back to blunt human nails. Not now.

Hesitantly, he lowers his hands from his eyes, and he looks up at the dragon standing where the prince just was. Melissa.

Or, well.

Cellbit’s arms fall to his sides and he, frankly, stares.

The dragon has eyes the same red as the color Roier’s turn in the sun. Black and red scales meshed together like the end of a sunset.

“Guapito…” Cellbit whispers. He tries to go louder, but he can’t, so he says no more.

He stumbles forward, one hand instinctively outstretched.

Roier smiles and flops onto the ground, shaking it. He bows his head, purring as Cellbit places his hand on his snout and lightly strokes it.

Of course, Cellbit thinks. His first theory from all the way when he first rescued Roier is true. He’s a dragon, and he’s been kidnapping himself, the absolute freak.

Roier huffs out a puff of smoke right into Cellbit’s face as if saying, “What were you thinking about all dragons being irredeemable monsters, hmm?”

(Cellbit doesn’t need to be able to hear him speak to know what he’s saying, of course he doesn’t.)

Cellbit breathes the smoke in like it’s clean air; weirdly enough, it tastes a little like Cellbit’s own.

Cellbit’s forehead presses against his prince’s snout, and he sadly smiles. He’s going to need to protect Roier from much worse than a dragon, now.

“You’re very handsome,” he says.

Roier nudges him annoyedly. “Of course I am.”

“If you want to…” Cellbit lets out a breath and stands up, adjusts his cloak and the sword hanging from his belt. “If you would like to rest, I can go stand guard.”

Roier’s eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”

Cellbit takes one step back.

“It takes a lot of energy to change forms,” he says. Another step. “You need the rest.”

A third step, and then he’s turning on his heel and running for the exit because he knows what Roier wants him to do, and-

Roier roars and snaps at him, grabbing Cellbit by the back of his hood with his teeth and dragging him back into the center of the room.

Cellbit thrashes briefly, but he gives up as he’s dropped back at Roier’s feet.

“I’m not shifting,” he firmly tells him. “Someone needs to keep you safe.”

Roier rolls his eyes. “Shut up. You need to, and I can protect you, too, pendejo.”

He nudges Cellbit with his nose to the side towards the center of the nest. Cellbit protests, skittering and slipping on the gold coins and the soft fabrics. But Roier catches him with his teeth and sets him back upright.

A warm breath tickles Cellbit’s back, and it takes all of Cellbit’s strength to keep him from shifting right then and there.

He’s so tired.

But he tries one last time: “But I-”

But he’s interrupted by a gentle rumble and a flick of a cold forked tongue against the back of his head. “Rest. You can protect me tomorrow.”

But Cellbit won’t wake up tomorrow. He’ll be out for a week straight at least. He has duties to complete. He’s supposed to go grocery shopping this week, it’s his turn.

He sighs, anyway and shuffles out of the nest to deposit his clothes somewhere where they won’t get too charred by all the flames about to appear.

“Close your eyes,” he says over his shoulder. He’s blushing as he unties his cloak and casts it to the floor, and then he’s blushing harder as he pulls his outer shirt off and dumps it on top of the cloak. “We didn’t even finish our first kiss. Save the peeking until after we’re married.”

Roier’s eyes light up at the mention of a marriage, but he still turns his head away and makes a show of covering his eyes with his front feet. Cute.

Cellbit sucks in a deep breath and looks down at the floor. Okay. It’s just. The first time in eight years. Just that. First time willingly doing it in front of someone. Just that.

He lets the breath out, and green flames come out with it.

Undressed, Cellbit steps away from his clothes and closes his eyes, and he lets his own fire eat him up as he transforms. And it hurts, okay? It burns, and not in the good way. But-

A concerned noise from the nest as Cellbit lets out a pained grunt of a growl.

-but Roier is waiting, and Cellbit just wants to sleep.

Fully shifted for the first time in almost a decade, Cellbit doesn’t realize how scrawny he really is until he’s sleepily staggered up to Roier’s side and collapsed into the nest with an exhausted whine. He fits perfectly under Roier’s wing. He needs to eat more, Forever’s been saying as much for years. Now, Cellbit gets why.

A nose brushes the space between Cellbit’s horns like a kiss. “Sleep well, gatinho.”

Cellbit’s eyes slip shut, and, pressed against the man he thinks he could spend the rest of his life with, he finally, finally falls asleep.

[trappedinafantasy37]

Alright! It is finally time to face the Elder Brain and end this run. For a little disclaimer, I did complete this run just a few days before Patch 7. I just have posting paralysis and shit sits in my drafts forever before I post things.

Shadowheart tried to dominate the Elder Brain. But, her plan was an abysmal failure.

And doomsday has arrived for the city of Baldur's Gate.

Pro tip: before walking into the apocalypse, make sure your pet illithid is well fed. Locally sourced brains are the preferred nutrition, but store bought is fine.

Despite the apocalyptic scenario she finds herself in, Minthara is enjoying herself and having a grand old time. Definitely the kind of person who thrives in chaos and is her most calm when shit hits the fan.

At the beginning of this all, Shadowheart was alone, trying to navigate the dangers by herself. She felt that she did not need any allies as they would be nothing but liabilities. But Minthara was the one who, ironically, pulled her out of the darkness and gave her the push she needed to step away from Shar. She never could have made it this far without her.

A failed Sharran, a drow, and an illithid walk into a bar...

Meet my friends!

RAWR!

Now this is what I call some quality gameplay! No one can attack you if they can't see you. And even if they could see you, you've evoked the "you can't touch me" rules!

In a final act of desperation, the nether brain pleads for its life, trying to entice Shadowheart into becoming Absolute. Of course, Minthara wants Shadowheart to take the brain and they can rule the world as gods. Sadly, Shadowheart has turned into a helpless do-gooder and destroyed the brain. Lame.

Yay! They saved the city and Minthara unintentionally did a good thing! Now, she wants to get shitfaced so she can forget the awful experience of being a hero against her will.

So, Shadowheart sleeps and Minthara trances, right? Meaning Minthara wakes up long before Shadowheart does. Therefore, Minthara has spent at least 4 hours just sitting here, staring at Shadowheart and waiting for her to wake up. I mean, I would do the same thing too...

Babygurl, it is just me and you here. Who the hell do you think I've been partying with without you? Who are you so afraid of? Who are you trying to poison?

You know, Withers could have just visited the evil lesbians in Baldur's Gate instead of throwing this lavish and extravagant party in the middle of nowhere.

Whoooo boi! This has probably been the longest it has taken me to ever complete a run in Baldur's Gate. Not because it was difficult, but because I was fighting burn-out at the same time, and, well, life stuff happened. But now with Patch 7 being here, I can finally download and install some mods to bring back that spark and replay Daedra and maybe complete that Karlach origin that I keep putting off. This will probably be the last time I do a Shadowheart origin as I have already done it three times and I miss her as a companion.

This is my first duo run and I have had a lot of fun with it. Knowing that I only had two companions and limited resources really made me approach combat and scenarios more tactfully and prepare in advance. It also provided me with some really good RP reasons to make some not so morally good decisions. This was a run that started off with Shadowheart making evil decisions out of necessity and survival, but then her selectively choosing to be good and to be better as she knows she has the power to be better. And having a powerhouse like Minthara at her side certainly gave her the confidence. Of course, Minthara had to get dragged through all this character development, grumbling and bitching about it the entire time. Although, I do not think she learned the same lessons as Shadowheart did as she is still up to her same old drow shenanigans.

This entire run was completely inspired by a random Shadowthara gifset I came across months ago and I knew I just had to do it. Shadowheart and Minthara have very quickly become one of my favorite ships and is my second favorite ship for Minthara specifically. I always knew that Shadowheart and Minthara had some overlap in their stories, but I didn't realize just how much they did overlap. I feel most people probably would have had Shadowheart go the DJ route with Minthara (and would be the canon route if Shadowheart only had Minthara by her side). So I went the opposite direction and found a good RP motivator to make Shadowheart reject Shar instead. To be honest, I think Minthara and Selunite Shadowheart mesh better together than DJ Shadowheart (although DJ Shaodwheart and Minthara are delicious in their own way).

Now that the run is completely over, I will get to my final wrap up in the next coming days. I will also polish out the chapters I have already written for my Shadowheart fic and start getting it published. And for all those who have followed me through this run when you really didn't have to:

Thank you!

< Orin |

[lasiocampa--quercus]

For all those stuck in 2019...

I have been very reluctant to share any art / writing for — oof, five years. First because it was plain awful, then because it was not good enough. It still isn't, but as the years passed I got increasingly lonely on other social media, so this is my last resort. After I've failed smashingly here, well, I guess I'll just have to stop trying altogether.

Anyway, a first time for everything. So here's one for you.

[Detail. Scroll down (I mean to say, read the whole post) to see the full artwork]

We don't choose what we love, now, do we?

For five years I've been desperately in love with the idea of putting two brilliant characters — Eggsy from Kingsman (2015, 2017) and David from Bodyguard (2018) — into the context where they could meaningfully interact and explore one another's worlds. Such a context has been established (it is not the subject of the current post but I'd be willing to tell all about it later), resulting in their taking a shine to each other almost immediately. For Eggsy this acquaintance was something excitingly in between the two class extremes he was most accustomed to, sabotaging his life-long distaste for having anything to do with coppers. For David it was a breath of fresh air. He'd been two years well into therapy after the events covered in the series, and he was still struggling to get back on track when he met Eggsy, arch and lively, and at the same time so dashingly insightful as he was. Somehow it felt like they'd known each other for years as they talked throughout afternoons and after-work hours over a pint of lager somewhere in North London. David, usually rather inhibited, smiled and laughed at Eggsy's jokes, charmed by his candour and straightforwardness, taken aback by his astute remarks often delivered in a childlike unassuming manner. To be sure, he'd never met anyone quite like him. The prospect of friendship was an enticing one despite all their differences and despite the pressures of their jobs. While at first one was suspicious of the other's occupation (David, of course, more suspicious than Eggsy, being inherently averse to secrecy of any kind), they soon grew to respect the boundaries imposed by respective lines of duty (David was inclined to believe Eggsy's agency couldn't be that bad seeing as it employed such a brilliant lad). In effect, Eggsy trusted him more than he could ever trust any of his old mates and occasionally slipped into the conversation uncanny details of his field experiences. But best of all he liked exchanging ideas, relaying to David something that Harry had told — or taught — him, expounding on his reflections that were philosophical or even biblical in essence, although he couldn't ever say whom he unwittingly quoted. David would recognise a concept or two, but he never abashed him by mentioning the fellow's name. Over time the content of their communion had got more intimate, insomuch that Eggsy took to dedicating a huge chunk of time to moaning about his relationship with Harry which had gone on for quite a while after he split up with Tilde.

One such time, fuelled by a considerable amount of drinks, Eggsy set to illustrate the supposed reasons for Harry's recent aloofness. He clamorously hurled his jeerings and complaints at David, impinging on much-cherished privacy of the pub tables. Before it started to wear on virtually everybody in their proximity, David took his noisy, fairly plastered companion outside for a breather. The cool evening air didn't seem to have the desired effect of sobering him up a bit as Eggsy nearly blacked out after a brief (but crucial) exchange between himself and David. That occurrence prompted David to call a cab and take him to his place to recuperate. He reasoned it would not be wise to let him dart off home to Harry in such a flustered state, for it appeared as if the conflict between them was merely an ember, or rather, a heap of embers waiting to be stirred. From then on David's conduct was laced with strange acts of gracious benevolence, such as taking Eggsy's trainers off before laying him down, sleepy and a tad confused, on his sofa and leaving the keys to his flat for when he woke up and presumably wished to go home, with little trim notes strewn around telling about it, as well as where to look for aspirin if his head was giving him a hard time after the other night's drunken debauchery. At the time David didn't question his actions, although they clearly ran counter to his long-conditioned circumspection and, to a lesser extent, his vague views on male intimacy. If anything, the day when he, trying not to disturb Eggsy's healing sleep, snuck away for work he couldn't shake off a quaint feeling of invigoration which seemed to permeate his otherwise dull routine of desk duty. Later that day, confident that Eggsy had left, he got back to a startle in the form of his coyly looking, supper-serving friend with unkempt hair and a crumpled white T-shirt. Eggsy stayed not only to defer having to face Harry, but to show gratitude for David's kindness the best way he knew — by doing a kindness in return. He furnished their dinner table with a bottle of wine, promising to go easy on it and proposing a toast to David's general gemness. There they were, having another quiet night of good conversation, the homely setting and their tipsiness conducing to even more warmth and unrestraint, when Eggsy accidentally tipped over his half-emptied glass and stained his T-shirt. If one could ever be sure of such things, one would say that exact moment was the point of no return, the moment of truth. A simple, ordinary incident that tore down a facade with the light tinkle of glass as it touched the floor. From lighthearted jocularity Eggsy went on to unbosom his brooding insecurity. The change in his disposition was so thunderboltingly sudden it made David somewhat uncomfortable. It made Eggsy uncomfortable too. The only suitable course of action suggested they should comfort each other, so Eggsy placed his hand in David's. A bashful kiss ensued. Once it was reciprocated, little smiles creased their flushed faces. Both hardly had an opportunity to process what was happening, but it somehow felt ridiculously, madly right. And peaceful, too.

Well, now that all the heavy lifting is done by that snippet above we can sit back and (hopefully) enjoy this little picture depicting David and Eggsy decently progressed in their ‘comforting each other’. I must point out, however, that what you've just (hopefully) read is really only a summary, a squeeze if you will, of what transpired, produced specifically for purpose of acquainting you with the context. In actual fact the story is teeming with dialogue and detail which, with your kind permission, I would like to show you some other time.

[mercury101]

Hello! I want to ask you. How long does it take you to choose the angle and set up the camera correctly? How many photos do you take before you get the perfect one? I look at your photos and don’t understand how you do it? Are you a professional photographer? In any case, you have an amazing talent for seeing what others don’t see and catching moments that fly by unnoticed for others. I admire you. Do not stop. TS3 has never been as beautiful as in your photos. Thank you!

Hello Anon! I really appreciate your kind words. Now I'm gonna answerer them concisely. But pardon me for some incorrect expressions because I'm not a native English speaker.

▪️ How long does it take you to choose the angle and set up the camera correctly?

Firstly, it usually takes me 30-60 mins to take photos in a largest world with rich content. Then I usually wander around the world. (just like world overviews on ytb) When I find out a nice location or something appeals to me, I need to determine which part of the composition deserves the most attention. Different angles can make all the difference in the final outcome of a photo without doubt. For a lot with appealing details (such as a pool or a garden), I prefer to shoot from a high angle to show the entire expanse of the scene.

For forests, roads or a tall building, I prefer to shoot from a low angle create a sense of depth and distance in the photo. (camera mod is necessary)

In most cases, I take photos from a higher angle. I usually adjust the angle within 30s after considering the composition (within 1 min). It's a bit time-consuming to set up the camera correctly because of distorted perspective and high sensitivity of my mouse in tab mode. So it takes me 2 mins on average to take a photo.

▫️ How many photos do you take before you get the perfect one?

There are few 🆖 photos and I almost posted all pics I got before March. I normally only take one more photo in a same scene. But now some photos don't look impressive enough, or the reshade preset I used looks awful in my opinion. So I'm gonna post 60%-80% of a set of photos in every world in the future.

▪️ Are you a professional photographer?

lol of course not. Photography is just one of my hobbies irl. That's also the reason I'd like to do it in game. I follow rules and tips of composition and my aesthetic influences the screenshots naturally. There're some of my stuffs irl.

Of course, I really enjoy discover colorful worlds and record every good thing in ts3. Opening world always brings us incredible beauty and infinite possibilities<3<3

Finally, many thanks for your support again🫶! I hope you have a great day, and a great time in ts3😃.

[wayfayrr]

-motorcycle anon OMG I LOVED IT SO MUCH!!! i was also thinking of the scenario with Time [i have favoritism okay lol] BUT YOU ABSOLUTELY KILLED IT WITH TWI

yippeee

I'm glad you liked it motorcycle 💖💖💖 I've got your request here for Time, and it's been written as a continuation for the one with twi!!

“It’s good to see that you two are alright, the fact you two disappeared earlier was a bit concerning. Given Twilight’s shouting.”

“Sorry about that Time, Twi found my bike and well it kinda spiralled from there.”

Concern is still lacing his features although now he looks more curious than anything like he wants to ask something but isn’t sure whether he has permission to or not. He’s got every reason to be concerned, his “son” was screaming like he’d shattered his ankle earlier and then he wasn’t able to find him until we got in? Yeah, I’d be concerned if I was in his place.

“You clearly want to ask something. Time, you don’t need to be worried about asking me anything alright? If it’s bothering you, which it clearly is, you can just ask.”

“Okay [name], you mentioned ‘your bike’, may I ask what that is?”

“Ah, yeah I’m still not quite used to you guys not knowing everything about my world, not that that’s an issue of course! I can show you if you'd like?”

He’s perked up a bit at that, the same innocent curiosity Twilight had when I offered him a ride, maybe he’d like that... At the very least I should offer it to him, it could help him destress. 

“If you’d like I could take you out for a ride, there’s a lovely hillside road with a perfect view of the sunset. If we leave in the next ten minutes we should be able to make it in time to watch. I could even make up a flask of something warm quickly?”

His blush is enough of a tell that he likes the idea of that so without another word, I got back my safety gear from Twilight, passed it to time and then left the room to quickly make up a flask to bring with us. When I got back to Time it seems Twi managed to help him get everything on so I won’t need to waste any more time helping him with it. All that’s left to do now is get back out to my bike again. 

“Coming then, fairy boy?”

Is there something about me when I invite the boys out like this? First Twilight and now time, it’s like they can’t stop blushing around me and can barely speak. Not like I mind it though, makes it easier to get out and help him sit behind me on my bike and it also seems like Twi’s given him a pointer or two about the best ways to hold me when I’m riding that or he’s a natural. Maybe he has a couple of similar reactions to his relative as well, there’s no harm in pushing my bike a bit faster than I really should to see, is there? I know road safety, and these roads are exclusively used by bikers so nothing bad will happen. 

“This is how you normally travel then? This fast?”

“Not all the time, not this fast anyway.”

He does share their reactions, not all of them but enough to tell they’re family. Time’s more confident, or tries to come off that way although his arms tightening around my waist shows me that he’s not as calm as he’s trying to come across as. Travelling this fast in Hyrule is near impossible though so I can’t hold his fear against him, and he’s trying so hard to come off as brave. Them being adorable has to be genetic. 

“We’re almost there, don’t worry!”

Pushing my bike just a bit harder to get to the perfect viewpoint, he’s not taken my advice to heart choosing instead to hold me closer still. Until we’ve reached our destination, the perfect place to watch the sunset with someone. And with a few minutes to spare on that front, just enough time to find a nice place to stand and pour a drink.

“We're here so you can let go of me, fairy boy. Now tell me, do you think this view’s worth that journey?”

“I think I understand the kind of awe you had in Hyrule, seeing a different type of beauty like this, it’s incredible.”

He kept that slight smile the whole time we stood there through the sunset, I’ll have to drag him out to places like this more often now I know this is the reaction he’ll have.

[duckwnoeyes]

Sasha Archivist au

Tossing my hat into the ring to answer 'What would have happened if Sasha had been made archivist instead of Jon'.

Personally, I believe that Sasha as head archivist would not start the apocalypse, but everything would still be sad and terrible. Let me explain:

First and foremost: addressing Sasha James' character. Since she died in season one (crying), we actually have fairly little to go off of. In that one season, we can only say a few things about Sasha. BUT mag 161 then goes ahead and turns everything we know about her on its head. She tells Tim that there's really no such thing as a real you, and we get the sense that maybe we didn't really know Sasha at all.

So, what does this tell us about Sasha as an archivist?

I think the most important piece of information regarding Sasha James, as a character, is her connection to Gertrude Robinson in Mag 161 and 162, and I believe it tells us all we need to know about an archivist Sasha.

Significantly, Gertrude named Sasha as her successor. This little piece of info drives me up the wall bc why did Gertrude choose Sasha??? Gertrude purposefully left the archives a mess so I doubt it was because she thought Sasha was the best academic.

Gertrude dedicated her entire life to preventing the apocalypse, sacrificing literally everything to save the world. Gertrude Robinson, needed to select the right successor, someone who would carry on her work. And Gertrude Robinson, who was an avatar of the watcher, of knowledge, must have had a good reason to choose her successor.

Because it is so important that Gertrude's tape in mag 161 is intended for Sasha. Gertrude tells her that she is entering "A place that will often demand a high price from you. Pay it without hesitation, because one way or another, the world is now on your shoulders." Gertrude has seemingly handpicked someone who knows exactly what it means when she tells them "Do what you have to do."

Because whilst we, the audience, don't know a whole lot about Sasha, Gertrude did. And what I think Gertrude Knew, is that Sasha would be able to do the same thing as her. Gertrude Knew that Sasha James would be just as ruthless and pragmatic in dealing with the apocalypse. That Sasha would make any and all necessary sacrifices.

Sasha immediately saw through Gertrude's mask of being a frail old woman. Who knew that Gertrude purposefully left the archives a state, wouldn't do what Jon did and try to reorganise them. Sasha having experienced artifact storage, would wait and trust in Gertrude's system.

Sasha, who invaded her co-workers' privacy by hacking into their computers, would have little problem joining up with the eye. Gertrude Robinson who again, knows an awful lot, put a lot of trust in the hope that Sasha would be just as cutthroat as her.

Archivist Sasha would still be a tragedy, and would still mirror Jon's descent into monster hood, but it would be a different kind. It would be Sasha's descent into ruthlessness, her making the kind of choices that Gertrude made, the kind that would have the story end with just as many dead archival assistants as in canon. But, no Armageddon. Because if you thought Gertrude feeding Michael Shelley to the distortion was bad, imagine Sasha leading Tim with a detonator to the Circus of the Other.

TLDR: Gertrude choosing Sasha is incredibly significant and implies that Sasha actually was or could have been just as ruthless as Gertrude as head archivist and thus would have prevented the apocalypse by sacrificing all of her assistants.

[bakuliwrites]

Devotion- Cicero x Listener

Rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI)

Fandom: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim

Relationship: Cicero x Listener

TW: mention of some blood (nothing too violent though), smut, fluff

Summary: He worships her, every piece of her. All of his Listener must be worshipped, as ordained. Cicero, sweet Cicero, eager to please. Eager to serve. His lips on hers, his hands roving, searching, exploring. Venerating. He dies inside her, and it is glorious. He would die a thousand times in her, as many times as she wanted. Immolating in her light over and over and over again. Cicero is unsure of this new Listener, but his feelings are muddled and confusing. What will happen when the Listener is forced to choose to take or spare his life?

A/N: I have been trapped in an airport the past two days and am shamelessly writing smut in the terminal. I don't care, I'm so bored and thirsty for this mad jester. I had to do what I had to do, and if writing smut in the middle of the goddamn airport is what I want, then it's what's happening. As I write this, my flight has been delayed yet again. I'm losing my mind. As always, thank you for reading! Any likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I've loved Cicero for a long time. I know he's not everyone's cup of tea, but I've been desperately wanting to write for him. He's a favorite Elder Scrolls character of mine for sure. Thank you again! Hope you are all having a great end to the year! Lots of love <3

Read here in this post or over on my AO3.

Silence. Deafening, deafening silence. For so many eons it feels as if all Cicero has heard is laughter and silence. Echoing endlessly in his mind, filling it to the brim, pounding against his skull. He wonders, sometimes, as he lays awake at night if the silence and the laughter will be enough to rupture his skull. If they’ll pour out into the world and drown everyone with the jester’s final words to him. And then here she is, listening. Always listening. Hearing the very words he has longed to hear for over a decade now. 

And she’s so ignorant with it all. A rube. A newcomer into this underground society, stepping into his territory, granted with a blessing that should rightfully be poor, loyal Cicero’s. Cicero, who lives in abject silence, forced to watch as a stranger is gifted with the boon of Her voice. Mother always knows what’s best. He wouldn’t dare question Her, and he wouldn’t dare question Her authority on gracing a new Listener with the Gift. He’ll be loyal. Oh so loyal, as Cicero always is. But it does not stop him from hating her. Oh, he’ll serve her, faithful and devoted as he is. If this is what the Night Mother wants, he won’t question. He will only do as he is told. But he doesn’t have to like it. 

These months, he’s watched the new Listener with scrutiny. Watched as she’s gained the favor of the other members in Falkreath, as she’s wormed her way into the good graces of that harlot, Astrid. He doesn’t trust anyone here. There’s no reason to, not when they question the ultimate authority of Mother. Especially that Astrid. But the Listener… 

Well, Cicero isn’t so sure yet. Her kindness made itself apparent when she helped him on the road just outside Whiterun. He recognized her face immediately when he arrived at the sanctuary. She still had that look of bewilderment and awe that fledgling assassins always have. That he once had in his early days in Cheydinhal. Over the months, he watched the Listener’s dazzlement fade and be replaced with the acceptance of life, such as it is. Yet, there was a certain brightness in her that never seemed to fade. A gentility and strength. She’s been genial with Cicero, but he can glean little else from her. Is she a traitor or an ally? Someone he can trust to upkeep the authority of the Night Mother? Or someone who seeks to tear down everything he holds dear? 

The Listener speaks little to Cicero. She speaks little to anyone, really, opting to keep to herself on her downtime. She usually works alone, her skills honed enough to take on even the most difficult of contracts. It’s admirable, really, watching her work. He’s had the pleasure of witnessing her train with the others. From the corner of the room, his dark eyes fall on her, observing every swift motion, every swipe of her blade. And every once in a while, she catches his eye and a spark of something curious lights the facets of her irises. Heat blooms across dear Cicero’s cheeks. How confusing. How strange. Best not to think about it, he reasons, returning to his duties. 

“Do you ever have time to train, Cicero?” she asks him one day, innocent curiosity softening her features. 

“Oh ho ho!” he returns, confusion muddling his already muddled mind, but he wouldn’t dare let her see that, “Cicero has no time to train. Not when the Night Mother needs tending! Cicero has no need. He takes no contracts. Keeps to himself. Does what he needs to for our Sweet Mother.” 

Silence. Such deafening silence. But she smiles softly.

“Well, if you ever want to train, I’m always looking for new partners,” the Listener concludes before gliding off through the snaking corridors of the sanctuary. Cicero is left to stew in annoyance and confusion. Doesn’t she understand his role as Keeper? Doesn’t she understand that he doesn’t train anymore? Why does she ask him such things? 

This isn’t the last time she asks this question, and ones like it. Cicero is busy, he returns, but should the Listener require other services, he’s a drop of a hat away. 

***

She brings him gifts sometimes. Sweet rolls and honey nut treats, little flowers she stops to pick on her journeys across the continent. 

“I thought the Night Mother might like these,” the Listener offers, handing him a small bouquet of nightshade, their purple petals flowering out from their dark centers.

“Oh, yes!” Cicero greets, finding himself delighted by the offer despite his distrust of this woman, “Mother will most certainly love these! Thank you, thank you!” 

He places the flowers at Mother’s feet and watches as the Listener passes him a tender beam, before disappearing once again into the shadows. Cicero is even more suspicious. Is this her clumsy attempt to gain his favor? To lull him into a false security? This isn’t the first time he’s dealt with traitors and usurpers, false prophets and charlatans. But the Listeners words were the sacred words:

Darkness rises when silence dies. 

And she’d said it with such conviction. Surely, the Night Mother wouldn’t lead him astray.

“No, no. Musn’t question Mother. She knows all,” he mumbles to himself as he sweeps up the area in front of Mother’s coffin. He sweeps furiously, fragments of the booming laughter in his head falling to the floor, shattering into pieces and littering the ground with the final moments of the jester. He sweeps them away, but he just ends up breathing them in again, endless dust, endless laughter, endless silence. 

He wonders when the Night Mother will speak to Her Listener again. Wonders if he stood beside the Listener, pressed his ear to her, if he could hear the echo of Mother’s voice in her. If the Listener bleeds, will she bleed the Voice? In her final moments, would her death rattle exhale Mother’s words? Would he finally hear? He wonders if he pressed himself to her, tight and close, if her whole body would act as a shell at the beach, echoing Mother’s voice like the powerful waves of a dark sea. 

***

“Dear Cicero?” her gentle voice sounds from the doorway, halting his endless humming. He whips around to look at his Listener and freezes. Cicero hates when she prances about in her nightclothes. They’re billowy and thin. Revealing, in a modest sort of way. He can see the silhouette of her curves, outlined underneath her nightgown by the dull light of the sanctuary. The pinpoints of her nipples peek through the fine cloth, and her bosom rises and falls gently with each breath. Silence abates in him for a beat. The laughter ceases for a moment. It’s been a long time since he’s felt- since he’s felt whatever this is. And then she calls him, “Dear Cicero,” and it drives him mad. Mad, mad, mad. 

“Yes, my Listener?” he returns, ever loyal. Always ready to serve.

“May I join you? I can’t sleep and- I’d like some company,” she goes on sheepishly, eyes bright and searching. Cicero obliges. Loyal Cicero would never deny such an innocent request, but he wonders why she doesn’t ask Nazir, or Gabriela, or Festus. Why him? He’s wary, but he won’t fight it.

So she huddles up in a chair beside him while he works, while he tends to Mother and talks aloud to himself. The Listener says nothing. She sits in silence and watches curiously as the Keeper goes about his duties. Occasionally, she chuckles at a limerick or song Cicero lets slip from his ever chattering mouth. Her laugh is musical. Her laugh is grating. He hates it. He loves it. Cicero doesn’t know what he thinks.

Eventually, Cicero looks over and she’s fallen fast asleep, head resting against the chair back, knees huddled to her chest. She looks so terribly uncomfortable and yet, so utterly peaceful. Silence abates, laughter ceases. As if he can’t help himself, Cicero brushes back a strand of her hair, gloved fingers lingering for a moment on her cheeks. There is something lovely about this Listener, in all her silence and shroud of mystery. In her small kindnesses and attempts to befriend him. Perhaps Cicero is too cold. Perhaps he’s not cold enough. 

“Poor, tired Listener shouldn’t sleep in such discomfort,” he mutters, carefully lifting her from her chair. She stirs, but does not wake, sighing softly and snuggling up in his arms. Heat blooms along Cicero’s cheeks as he carries her towards her chambers. Gently, the Keeper tucks the Listener into her bed and leaves behind only a single nightshade on her bed stand. For a moment, Cicero knows peace. Momentary peace, a mind clear for once, before confusion takes over again. Maybe he hates her. Maybe he's infatuated. It all feels the same. That same deep cutting emotion. Friend or foe? Enemy or ally? Cicero has learned not to trust, but Mother wouldn’t lead him astray. No, Mother would never lead him astray. Right?

***

Sometimes, at night, when Cicero dares to sleep, he dreams of her. Of the Listener, beckoning him into her bed. Temptress, siren. His lustful dreams fill his core with a heat he’s not felt in years. Her naked form greets him, pulling him closer. She takes him in the sanctity of her bedroom, in his, in every room of the sanctuary. He worships her, every piece of her. All of his Listener must be worshipped, as ordained. Cicero, sweet Cicero, eager to please. Eager to serve. His lips on hers, his hands roving, searching, exploring. Venerating. He dies inside her, and it is glorious. He would die a thousand times in her, as many times as she wanted. Immolating in her light over and over and over again.

He wakes in a confused sweat, regretting falling asleep, and continues his duties. He tries desperately to push these lustful fantasies from his mind. But it’s so terribly difficult when she brushes past him, when she gifts him flowers and sweets. When she smiles at him and asks how his day has been. When she speaks to him like he’s a person, and not just the ghost of a jester long dead. 

***

Wrack and ruin. That devil Astrid is up to no good. Cicero knew never to trust her, he rages as he stumbles through the snow. Charlatan, pretender, imposter. And that damned sheepdog chasing after him, wounding him. Well, Cicero gives as good as he gets. Better, even. That stinking wolfman can’t chase after him now, not after the slash dear Cicero’s given him. 

Dawnstar is a wreck, but it’s better than nothing. Cicero clutches his injured abdomen, crimson seeping between his fingers as he staggers down the stairs and retreats into the inner rooms. He’s always known he wouldn’t get any sympathy, any understanding from any of Astrid’s underlings. But the Listener… Now they’re an entirely different matter. Will she believe that liar Astrid? Side with that devil? Or will she find sanity in madness? In Cicero’s conviction? In their beloved Night Mother? 

Protected by an army of ghostly assassins, a feral troll, and layers of branching corridors and locked doorways, Cicero awaits his fate. For hours, it feels, he shivers in the depths of the abandoned Dawnstar sanctuary, pressing his hand to his wound, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. He needs some amount of strength if the Listener chooses to end him. He’s not going without a fight. 

And then, after what feels like eternities of silence and of laughter, he hears the door to the sanctuary open, a distant creak . And he laughs. He laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

“Listener! Is that you? Oh, I knew you'd come. Send the best to defeat the best. Astrid knew her stupid wolf couldn't slay sly Cicero,” he calls out, waiting eagerly for a response. But he’s met with what he’s always met with: silence. No matter, he thinks to himself. He doesn’t need them to respond to make this entertaining. No, if he’s going to go out, he’s going out with a bang and a laugh.

He can hear them moving through the corridors, swiftly putting down the specters that haunt and protect this sanctuary. Cicero knows it’s the Listener. He can feel it in his bones. And their silence does little to assuage his fears. His death is coming. It’s imminent. 

“Oh, but this isn't at all what Mother would want. You kill the Keeper or I kill the Listener? Now that's madness,” he trails off. He doesn’t want to have to plead, but he will. Though he can’t hear Mother’s voice, he knows this isn’t what She would want. All Mother wants is to keep Her family together. Not see it destroyed. Not again. No, Cicero doesn’t want to be left alone again. 

“All right, so Cicero attacked that harlot, Astrid! But what's a fool to do, when his mother is slandered and mocked? Surely the Listener understands!” he begs. She’s moving so fast. He’s hardly gotten a chance to steel himself for the battle to come. Surely the Listener wouldn’t kill poor Cicero. She gives him gifts, asks for his company. Smiles at him, talks to him. Like he’s just as much a person as she is. As anyone else is. Not like some madman. Surely this kind Listener wouldn’t end his life so cruelly? Surely the two of them wouldn’t rip this family apart? Because he’ll be as much a part of this tragedy as she is.

The doors creak open and there she is. Relief and fear flood the Keeper’s heart. The Listener appears in the doorway, a shadow opposite the flickering light of the fire in the hearth behind him. Cicero smirks.

"And now we come to the end of our play. The grand finale."

Damn her, she still won’t talk. Her brows are furrowed, eyes lit with anger and mouth set in a deep frown. He’s never seen her look so upset. This is it, Cicero thinks. The end of the Keeper. The end of the Listener. He’s disappointed his Mother so deeply. How will She ever forgive him?

"You caught me! I surrender! Ha ha ha ha,” he chuckles before dissolving into a coughing fit. 

“There’s only one cure for your madness, Cicero,” she finally, finally, speaks, but it stings him, “ Me. ”

And then something wild sparks in him. Something fiery and warm. A devilish grin pulls at the corners of Cicero’s lips. His eyes meet the enigmatic gaze of his Listener. 

"Oh, I like that!” Cicero purrs, before loudly adding, “Very good, very good! Creative! But killing me would be a mistake! Oh yes. You would displease our Mother, hmm? For she's your Mother too, isn't she... Listener? Walk away! Let poor Cicero live! Tell the pretender Astrid you did the job! Stabbed, strangled, drowned poor Cicero! One little itty bitty lie!"

“You want me to lie to my superiors?” the Listener returns, something unreadable crossing her face as she strides purposefully towards the crumpled up Keeper. He gulps, unsure of her tone. 

“You, my dear Listener, are Astrid’s superior,” he reasons, trying to maintain the grin on his face, though finding it difficult in this moment of uncertainty. The Listener steps ever closer. Cicero grips the knife at his side. This is it. It’s the end for one of them. He’s failed his Mother so spectacularly.

And then, something strange happens. As she approaches, the Listener kneels down, features softening, brows relaxing and eyes filling with sorrow.

“You’re hurt, dear Cicero,” she breathes, looking at the crimson blooming through his clothes. She gently removes his hand from his wound, inspects the injury, and tugs off her gloves. She hovers her hand over the slash in his abdomen, Cicero watching with growing curiosity and confusion. A spell, radiant and warm, emanates from her palm. 

“I know that you are wary of me,” she begins, her voice quiet, “But like you, I hear a voice long dead. Long passed on. I know about the jester, Cicero. I know about your life before.”

“You- know about the jester?” he offers, wincing as his flesh repairs itself, stitches itself back together with the help of her restorative powers. 

“We are both Listeners, in our own ways. Heeding the calls, the orders, the perplexing whims of the past,” she continues, gazing into his eyes, some strange understanding glittering in her irises, “We do not always choose who we hear. But we do not have to be alone in our suffering. Or our boons. Whatever forms those take.”

“I am loyal to the Night Mother, Cicero,” she assures, pulling her hand away, satisfied with the closure of his injury. Good as new, Cicero thinks, poking at the newly healed flesh, flabbergasted by this odd Listener. 

“And I am loyal to you,” she goes on, “And should you need more proof, I would be glad to give it. Ask me to cut my hand, to bleed as a pact. Ask of me anything to prove to you that I can be trusted, and I will do it. You have shown me nothing but loyalty and kindness, dear Cicero. Your devotion is admirable. I know you have struggled to believe I am an ally. I have tried to show you, in my own clumsy way. But I assure you, I am with you. I am at your side, now until the end of us.” 

Silence. And then laughter. Endless laughter. Oh, how silly he’s been! How utterly silly, foolish Cicero has been! The halls of the Dawnstar sanctuary echo with Cicero’s maniacal laughter. What utter foolishness, imbecilic and doltish. This Listener, in all her kindness, would never betray him. Would never betray the Night Mother. She’s offering up sacrifices to prove it, and here Cicero has been, doubting her. And more confusingly, dreaming of her. Visions of adoring her, of knowing her and her knowing him, fill Cicero’s mind. 

“Your imprudent Cicero has been so utterly foolish, dear Listener,” he chuckles ruefully, “You’ve proven your devotion to our Mother well enough. Cicero is the one who needs to prove his devotion.”

Her fingers sweep a limp strand of Cicero’s copper hair out of his face, and he takes the opportunity to gently grasp her hand in his. He holds it by his cheek, a silent “thank-you” for sparing his life. Her pulse is quick, fluttering. Her cheeks are flushed and rosy. When he lets go of her, she does not withdraw, instead tenderly caressing the angle of his cheek with the soft pad of her thumb.

“Your devotion is unmatched, dear Cicero,” she whispers. A breathless tension hovers weighty in the air. A tension that has existed from the moment he set eyes on her. And she, him. Cicero’s outfit is hot, so hot, suddenly, when moments ago he was shivering from blood loss and the chill of winter. No, his devotion hasn’t been showcased nearly enough. Cicero’s Listener must know how utterly, completely, entirely devoted he is. 

And so show her, he shall. His lips press against hers, hungry, yearning, desperate. And she is equally as needy. Her fingers tangle in his hair, grip the short ones at the nape of his neck, knock off the cap that rests atop his head. 

“My dear Listener, my devotion to you is body and soul,” he proclaims, ripping off the bodice of her armor as she makes quick work of his trousers and shirt. She gasps into him, filling Cicero’s lungs with her warmth. He breathes her in like smoke, letting her ignite him. Destroy and rebuild him. Silence abates. Laughter ceases. The Listener is his sole focus. His loyalty is unsurpassable. 

Her skin is warm. So warm. So much warmer than he expected. Warmer than the cold flesh he’s been tending to this last decade or so. It’s been so long since he’s felt anyone’s touch, anyone’s warmth. So long since he could give any part of himself to another, other than as the role of Keeper, and Keeper alone. So long since he’s received. And her touch is so gentle. This savage assassin, brutal and cold, yet so tender and sweet with poor, dear Cicero. 

“My dearest Cicero,” the Listener coos, trailing kiss after kiss along his jawline, suckling at the tender flesh of his neck. He sucks in a breath through his teeth, digs his fingers into the supple flesh of her ass. 

“My sweet, loyal Cicero,” she praises, nails tickling the sensitive flesh of his thighs. 

“My Listener,” is all he can manage to utter, voice cracking as she sinks her teeth into his neck. Gods, he welcomes her markings, her claims on his body. She is his Listener and he is her Keeper. Bound to one another in a union that no one else in the whole world could ever understand. 

As Cicero’s hands rove over her body, his eyes drink her form in. He traces the branching veins underneath her skin, each wiry sinew of her muscles, the fibrous tendons of her arms. He can feel the pulse of warm blood flowing through her. Feel the thrum of her heart beating, strong and powerful, behind her ribcage. He lays his lips to the pert bud of one of her nipples and loses his mind at the sound of her keens and gasps. 

“Such a pretty voice, my Listener,” he purrs, “You should sing with dear Cicero more.” To this, she gives a twittering laugh. He’s forgotten what a pleasant laugh sounds like and basks in the glory of it. His mind quickly abandons this thought as her hand cups him, massaging and insistent. Gods, he’s so sensitive. It’s been so long. So very long. He won’t last much longer if this keeps up. 

Her fingers wrap around his dick, stroke up and down in a languorous fashion. He swallows up her gasp as he swipes a finger along her cunt. She’s so wet already, ready for him. Husky grunts and tiny mewls fill the room, mingling with the crackle of the fire, as she picks up her pace and he dips two fingers into her heat. He pumps, rhythmic and slow, each motion an attempt to show her that Cicero lives to please her. To venerate and worship his beloved Listener. 

“Cicero,” she whimpers, breath fanning softly against his lips, her breathing shallow and rapid. She’s close. He can feel her walls quaking around his slick fingers, and he’s not far off either. Her free hand grips his back, digging her fingernails into his flesh, a silent plea for him to fill her. And fill her he shall. Cicero would do anything for his Listener. He would lie prostrate at her feet if she asked him to. Stand guard over her until the very stars in the sky fizzled to nothing but dust. 

Cicero withdraws his fingers from her, frowning at the little whine she gives at leaving her empty.

“Hush, dear Listener,” he coos, drawing her in close, “I won’t leave you empty for long. Worry not. Dear Cicero isn’t that cruel.”

His lips press kiss after kiss down her abdomen. He feels her body shiver as he reaches her heat. Cicero’s eyes glimmer with mischief in the firelight, and hers with that ever-present inquisitiveness. She is a vision from any angle, but this one especially. Her breasts rise and fall with each labored breath. She is open to him and he will respect this with every fiber in his being. Now, to worship his Listener as she deserves. Cicero dives into her folds, tongue lapping her up. Her moans are enough to send him into a whole new kind of madness. A welcome, drunken madness. His tongue darts in and out of her entrance, nose bumping against her inner thighs. He grips her legs, tight to keep her in place, but not so tight as to injure her. The feeling of her fingers carding through his hair alone could make him finish. 

He lays her on her back, atop his discarded clothes. The floor is cold, hard, and covered in layers of ash and grime. He wouldn’t dare lay her down on this filth. Cicero wouldn’t dream of letting his precious Listener scramble around in the dirt. Cicero will take it all. All the pain of kneeling on the rough stone flooring, fragments digging into his skin. He’ll take the markings and the layer of dark soot that will stain his fair skin. For his Listener. All for her. And he would have it no other way.

This act is sacred. Her pleasuring him, him pleasuring her. This is a reverence he has never known. His tongue swirls around her clit and she breathes his name, a hymn in this temple of night and shadow. She tenses as she comes closer and closer to undoing, her legs shaking in his grasp. 

“I want us to finish together, my darling, Cicero,” she begs, and thus he shall oblige. He withdraws from her, licking his lips, lapping her up, luxuriating in the taste of her. She smashes her lips against his, sloppy and desperate. Cicero positions his Listener on his lap, lining her entrance up with his hardened cock.

The scent of iron hangs heavy in the air, his own blood mingling with soot and smoke. His hands grip the supple flesh of her ass and thighs. He kneads and massages as she lowers herself onto his erection, so painfully slow. He handles her carefully. Not like porcelain, no. The Listener is not fragile. Far from it. But he treats her like a fine, ceremonial sword: something elegant and sacred, but sharpened and ready to dole out damage when needed.

“Are you ready, my Keeper?” she questions, eyes dark with lust, cheeks flushed with arousal. 

“Cicero is always ready,” he growls. With this, she rocks her hips against his. Sheathed inside of her, Cicero knows what it feels like for the first time to be unioned with the Listener. This bond is beyond anything else he will ever know. 

She grinds faster into him, his tip hitting her deep, making her whimper joyously, aching and longing. He’ll gladly let her milk him for all he’s worth. Anything his Listener wants, he’ll oblige. His core tightens, releases, tightens. Her nails dig into his back, his knees into the floor. He’ll be so sore tomorrow, but he cares not. He’d do it again, and again, and again if she wanted. In the enveloping shadows, the Keeper and the Listener come undone for one another. Cicero spills into her, giving all that he has. She tightens around him, walls pulsing, drawing from him everything she needs. Everything he needs. He cries out her name, and she his, prayer-like and hallowed. This sanctuary has become a temple for devotion, for ultimate veneration and reverence. To the union of the Keeper and the Listener. 

As they settle, Cicero runs his fingers through her hair, presses kiss after kiss to her cheeks, to her lips, to her temples. Her fingernails tickle his arms, his chest, his cheeks. Is this what peace feels like? He knows the laughter, the silence will return. But for now, he and his Listener can bask in this new silence. This tranquil, unadulterated silence. When he pulls out from her, he lays his lips to hers, an apology for having to separate them. Cum drips down her thigh and he’s swift to help her tidy up. 

“My Keeper. My dear Cicero,” she whispers, beaming tenderly as she leans her forehead against his. 

“My dear Listener. My beloved Listener,” he returns, drawing her in, letting her rest in his protective embrace. He will protect her, love and cherish her, always and forever. Cicero’s devotion is unmatched, except perhaps by his dear Listener’s devotion to him. He knows the Night Mother will approve of this union. Surely, certainly, wholly and absolutely. 

[crisiscutie]

People just don't get that redemption isn't for everyone

Yes people can do it but sometimes it's best to say it's irredeemable

Sephiroth has been through so many tragedies to the point,it feels like redemption is one big joke to him,cuz he already reached the point of no return

Personally I feel like the trope of "everything is forgivable" is overused or overlooked way too often,there are things in the world that can't forgive and sometimes punishment is better than forgiveness

In Sephiroth's case, I don't think forgiveness will change anything,rather it's impossible,no one who knows him is willing to forgive him,hence some may say he has no faults at all like Hojo cuz that guy is messed up AF

Take it like this: If a guy who commits an unforgivable crime and someone says he should be forgiven based only on the fact that he was abused or insane or he went through some traumatic shit etc,it would not only feel ridiculous, it's outright selfish

Should Sephiroth be forgiven for the Nibelheim Incident just bcuz it was a crime of passion or he was mentally unstable and should get off free of guilt? No,cuz he did something terrible to others and that should be accepted

I've seen too many cases of normalisation or glorification or defence of characters' faults and apparently "you're a bitch for pointing out others' faults" these days and "it's not nice to have criticisms"

I saw some deep toxic shit about normalised toxicity in fiction lately

I mean I love Seph,but god I'm heavily aware he's evil as hell

-🌹

Yup. Sephiroth's path is set in his mind. For what reason would he deviate from his path? He decided to continue the cycle of pain. And Cloud could've continued that cycle after him if it wasn't for Tifa.

I want to state this: I'm against Sephiroth being redeemed. One reason is that no character ever deserves redemption. Redemption is a complex, grueling process that involves self-reflection, remorse, and a genuine desire to change. It requires a willingness to confront your actions and the consequences you inflicted upon others. Sephiroth, so far, has done none of this. He felt justified in his actions. And the few times when he does acknowledge what he has done? He rubs it in Cloud's face, for goodness' sake. He did this in Advent Children, 7R and even the original FF7, especially during that one iconic scene that shall not be named. Sephiroth has displayed constant cruelty to Cloud, his party and the planet. What on earth justifies him deserving redemption? Because of his awful and traumatic past?

Let me say this: the events leading up to and following Sephiroth's birth and childhood were undeniably tragic, and he cannot be blamed for them in any way. However, as an adult with the ability to choose his own path, he made the decision to inflict harm upon others, especially those who had no involvement in his suffering. As I mentioned in another post, introducing a potential redemption arc for Sephiroth would actually undermine Cloud's own arc and diminish its impact. Sephiroth serves as a warning to Cloud, acting as his dark mirror and representing the dark side of what a "hero" could become.

I would also like to mention Aerith, who, like Cloud, serves as another mirror to Sephiroth and had a deeply traumatic past. However, instead of succumbing to darkness like Sephiroth, she remained kind and hopeful. Sephiroth's redemption may also conflict with her story and role as well.

To sum it up, Redemption would require Sephiroth to question his beliefs and recognize the pain and suffering he has caused. He's not going to do that. He believes himself to be in the right, and the pain he caused to be "justice" in his mind.

And as you mentioned, it's clear that forgiveness is out of the question for him now. Cloud and Tifa, in particular, hold a deep hatred towards him and are determined to put an end to him. Tifa's grudge with Sephiroth has been largely overlooked, both by the fandom and CANON (seriously, what were the writers thinking...). But let's not forget the sheer terror poor Tifa had in 7R when she saw Sephiroth in front of Jenova's pod.

Both she and Cloud had been scarred (literally and figuratively) by this man for the rest of their LIVES. They deserve every blow they can get on Sephiroth...

Anyways, rant over. Please stop trying to make Sephiroth "work". He was a sweet baby that became an evil bastard. Let's appreciate the good and bad of the Crisis Cutie!

[marksbear]

hello hello!

i'd like to request hughie (if you do write for him) x a male supe reader who has kinda the same vibe as homelander, like a powerful, asshole

(and lowkey homicidal, but lets gloss over that 🤗)

who's more of a villain (basically w/ vought/ an antagonist against the boys and all that)

anyways main idea is that hughie isn't supposed to be fucking the reader 'cause they're not even on the same team 💀 but is anyways cause how could he resist

Finally a request for the boys it's been such a long time since I had one! 😭 Hey! I hope you are doing good Anon! And I hope you like the fic!

I made sure that the reader can choose his own powers but I added one so the story can be better! And H/n= Hero name!

I hope you don't mind if I do a oneshot if you want a headcanons just send in another request for a headcanons! I don't mind it at all in fact i'll love it. I just have a thing for The Boys - Love, bear.

Hughie Campbell x SUPE MALE READER

Warnings, y/n is homicidal, manipulator Y/n, two faced reader, fluff interactions with Hughie and Y/n, mean reader, Y/n has a secret power

All the boys were in Hughie's house for some odd reason and sitting on the couch all gathered up together watching the news. H/n just broke the world record for saving the most people under five minutes.

It was two hundred and seventy six people he saved in such a short time. Him just saving people made the whole world go crazy. Over two hundred people in just five minutes made the people love him.

Hughie gets up from his spot off the couch and goes outside to call boyfriend.

WITH Y/N

"AHAH You should have seen me! I killed half the other people I didn't save! I'm telling you I convinced the whole world I saved every single body but in reality I killed about eighty!" Y/n says an underground hero that's just like him.

"You know what kid, you're gonna be just like me...Not as powerful and good looking though." Y/n tells the young supe who worships him like a god. "You think so Mr H/n?!" The young supe asks with such excitement in his voice.

"Kid. I know so. When have I ever been wrong?" Y/n says smugly with an evil smirk on his face. The young look up in awe stuck in a trance until Y/n ringer goes off.

"Well kid I gotta go." Y/n pats the kid on the back leaving with an evil smirk and snaps his fingers getting the young out of his trance.

That's the one Vought didn't know Y/n has. He gets people into a trance like he was the most interesting and best person ever. Manipulating people with his powers was easy just look them in the eye and just snap his fingers boom there under his control like hes a king or a god.

Some of the good perks are that it doesn't matter every bad thing he does He can make anyone see it as a good thing and it saved man-kind. His favorite thing to do is trick someone to do his mission for him or make interviewers leave him alone. And he can add new memories to people and take away old ones.

The down side to his hidden power is the major headaches he has and fainting spells. His fainting spells always seem to happen during missions that's why he tries to save the people fast before he passes out.

(Okay back to one shot because his little power is gonna be important later!)

"Hello?" Y/n says answering his phone not even bothering to see who's calling him. "Hey Y/n! Uhm I saw you on the news!" Hughie says giddy and all smiley once he hears Y/n voice and his smile is bigger when he hears Y/n chuckle.

Female, Frenchie, Mother milk and Billy look outside the window trying to eavesdrop the conversation.

"Oh really? Did I look good for you or what?" Y/n jokes making Hughie laugh. "Of course you did! You always look great." Hughie compliments making Y/n's heart skip a beat.

Y/n knew who Hughie works with. Hell that's how they even met. He was about to kill Hughie once he had to look for him it was either capture or kill him and he chose to kill him. Y/n didn't know why he couldn't bring himself to finish him off. He had Hughie on the ground bleeding to death but once they made eye-contact they locked in.

Y/n met hundreds of handsome men like Hughie but he was different so he decided to spare him but with a cost. With the snap of his fingers he entered memories of Hughie and himself dating for a very long time. He gave Hughie his number and called the ambulance for him and wiped his memory of the fight happening.

"Hughie. You're too kind I swear..." Y/n face becomes hot and leans on the wall. "How about I come to your place later huh? If you're not busy that is." Y/n offers putting his phone closer to his ear.

"Sorry can't kinda busy with work." Hughie lies to his boyfriend. "Oh. Uhm okay." Y/n heart aches a little knowing that his boyfriend is hiding something and lying to him. But he can't judge he lied for this whole relationship to be a thing. "Well gotta go. Y'know supe things." Y/n jokes with a straight face.

"Bye Y/n love you----" Y/n cuts Hughie off by hanging up. Y/n looks at young supe he was just talking to and smirks to himself.

If Hughie was too busy with his boy band for him how about he has something else to keep him company and entertained. As soon as he makes his move Homelander stops him talking about something. Everything he said becomes muffled and his vision blurry makes his head feel dizzy. "John catch meee.." Y/n slurs out passing out on the Number one hero.

Homelander catches him swiftly with a sigh and picks him up taking him to the meeting room. Lots of the other Seven members ask Homelander what happened and is Y/n okay. Homelander places Y/n in his seat and goes to his own starting the meeting.

By the time Y/n wakes up its dark and he's all alone. Y/n looks around with a major migraine feeling like hes gonna die with every single movement. Y/n forces himself to get out of the chair and his leg wobbles out of the room and out of Vought.

Y/n calls a cab and leans on the wall from a random shop. Once the cab arrives Y/n gets in quickly telling the driver to go to Hughie's job. Y/n groans from the music in the car. Once they arrived Y/n snapped his fingers and told the driver to leave so he didn't have to pay. Y/n opens the store door and gets into defense mode once he sees all the Boys members in the store staring back at him.

As everyone gets into their fighting stance Hughie quickly gets in front of Y/n blocking him. Even though Y/n can easily defend himself against the whole group maybe even kill them all he appreciates Hughie's kind gesture. "Oi Hughie the fuck are ya doin?!"

"H/n isn't like the rest of them! Hes different I swear!"Hughie shouts at Butcher. The Boys stare at Hughie like he has three heads. "H/n he actually cares about being a hero! He actually saves people not for the money or fame to actually save them to save them."

Oh boy if only the world knew the real H/n. A real fuckin bastard.

"How the hell do you know? What he saved you a couple times and what now hes your ideal? " Mothers Milk says full of confusion.

"We have been dating for almost eight months now and he already knows that I'm in the Boys. If he was like those fake supe's wouldn't he already turn me in?" When Hughie said that he had proved a valuable point. Making Y/n smirk a little before raising up his hands.

"Yeah. So what hes fucking with the enemy. If I was like my co-workers all of you would have been dead right now. So how about we make a trounce until further notice." Y/n offers giving his hand out to Billy. Billy knew countless innocent lives were taken by those very hands. He knew the truth about him. He can see through Y/n's gentle face and his kind words from the news.

He knew the K/n was a cold blooded killer, one of the reasons why he became a hero was to get an ego boost and powerful. As he looks into H/n eyes taking his hand in a tight grip as they shake on it.

"Don't fuck with me H/n." Billy whispers into his ear.

"Stay out of my way." H/n gives Billy a fake smile.

THE END

Editor bear! I'm going to remake this tomorrow! I know I can write better than this 😭

[licncourt]

Have you read TVA and Blood and Gold? I would LOVE your rundown on all the historical inaccuracies in BaG.

Unfortunately yes, I have read those with my eyes :/

(the Marius/Armand pederasty conversation I've been meaning to have for like a year below the cut btw)

I wish I hadn't read B&G so young, I didn't have the breadth of knowledge or the foresight to mark anything for later when I was sixteen. I'd reread it for this exact analysis but really I don't think I have it in me so memory and ctrl + f to confirm will have to suffice.

Honestly, the biggest problem I had with it wasn't inaccuracies so much as the fact that the whole book reads like a Wikipedia entry. It's so clumsy and dry, it feels like AR just wants us to know how many Roman Facts she learned. It overshadows the story rather than adds to it. Fr, read this (if you can stand it).

There was not one reason in the world that she needed to explain the Battle of the Milvian Bridge in that level of detail, and that's coming from me. This sounds like a bad undergrad paper from a student who wants to prove they did the reading.

The whole book feels like this except when it detours into creepy and pedophilic, and I just don't need my vampire book to explain the Council of Nicaea AND the Edict of Milan AND the Parthian Wars AND the Vatican wall frescoes AND the Medici bank and a million other things to me like I'm in a survey lecture. It's mind-numbing for me and this is literally what I DO, so I can only imagine how other people must feel with no context or particular interest in this stuff.

It's not that she's WRONG per say, it's more that she clearly has no understanding of these subjects outside the rote recitation of facts. It's just regurgitated bullet points about Roman history and the Italian Renaissance. She also repeats some well known apocryphal stories in there, but I'm going to be generous and hope she doesn't think these are facts (like the Chi-Rho epiphany).

If anything seems sus and I don't remember it though, feel free to send it to me and I can yay or nay the information to the best of my ability!

*cw here for discussion of CSA*

With that said, I do think AR had a very skewed understanding of the pederastic dynamic or was choosing to ignore it, which is unfortunate considering how attached she was to the idea. A lot of my thesis research coincided with Greco-Roman pederastic tradition, so it's a pet peeve of mine when it's misapplied. It's not an uncommon problem (Call Me By Your Name has this going on too), but authors sending gay relationships with a rapey age gap through a "pederasty" funnel always pisses me off.

The history of pederasty is very long and complicated and ancient (we're talking Homer and Iliad kind of old here), but the bare bones explanation of the process and logic is this:

The ancient Greeks were deeply invested in turning their upper class boys into good citizens. To accomplish this, sometimes an established adult man would woo a younger male (most often starting at 14-19 years old) with gifts and attention over an extended period of time. Once the courtship was complete and the boy's self control had been proven, there were sexual relations between the two for a period of time.

The purpose of this relationship was ultimately to educate the boy, and the physical pleasure was used as a teaching tool to establish rapport and intimacy that could then be escalated to instruction on matters of philosophy and intellect in general. Essentially using the mastery and maturation of one's body as a stepping stone to the mastery and maturation of the mind. Once the boy was appropriately prepared to enter elite male society and/or had become physically developed as a man, the relationship ended.

It's pretty obvious that she's trying to do a whole pederastic erastes/eromenos thing with Marius and Armand, but she took an already very bad and gross practice from history and muddled it up with her own awful ideas about consent from minors and sexual fantasies of a kinky student/teacher savior relationship in her vampire books.

I hate the erotic and romanticized version of pederasty that's become weirdly popular in gay media, and AR was one of the first to really do this. It just picks up the historical thread of CSA under the guise of a kid's "consent" and continues to normalize it to modern readers with a new sexy twist. Using a bastardized version of a fucked up ancient practice to implicitly justify or downplay the severity of statutory rape is simply not the move, especially when gay and bisexual men already face stigma around being predatory and pedophilic. Just don't.

[girlwithwolftatoo]

So I had a thought the other day of how the moonboys would react to see Y/N killing someone after following her for being not herself. What are your thoughts?

I woke up tired, voiceless and sick, so I choose the path of angst.

For this request I though of two possible scenarios to explain why the sudden change in Reader's behavior, being one she's in a sidequest to help the Moon boys being safe that makes her become more careful and sneaky; the other option is she has problems by herself and doesn't want to involve the boys.

Steven Grant:

*His first thought is someone had hurt you, because, what could be the reason to find you shaking and covered in blood?

*Will try to soothe you, though he's not a fan of seeing such a gory scene, and then you confess, eyes filled with tears, that the blood is not yours.

*Now he's shocked. What do you mean? There must be an explanation, there must be an excuse, anything but the mere truth that you, the loveliest and sweetest person in the world, is actually capable to murder.

*After helping you getting back home and dispose the stained clothes (he's so horrified he needs your help for that), you sit together and drink some tea. You know he must be clueless and worried, so you try your best to explain what exactly happened, and besides, you swear he'll never have to pass through something like this again...

*"If... if the circumstances happen again... I promise I'll leave you alone, Steven" "What? No, no... it doesn't have to be like this..." "I don't want to hurt you in this way, please" "It won't happen again, yes, (Y/N)? I... I'll be with you neverthless what"

Jake Lockley:

*He's the one who handles the situation in a better, lighter mood. Yeah, you've been a little weird nowadays and now it seems you unlived someone, perhaps you needed to make some catharsis?

*Since he's used to this kind of scenarios, he takes you calmly to clean yourself and wash your clothes (and Jake knows how to leave even the white shirts completely stainless after a busy night). But also he wants to know, first hand, what exactly happened.

*"Oh, well, that explains a lot" he nods. Yes, probably later he'll make a retrospection and find weird your sudden hability to chase and destroy someone in such form, but meanwhile is not a big deal, and besides, is good to have your normal self back.

*You may believe he's not taking you serious for he's acting very calmed towards you and may be it leads to a sudden crisis. Don't worry, he's here with you, ready to make you feel better at any cost.

*"Calm down, bonita, everyone has had a moment in which they wanted to kill someone... I have that all the time" "Jake, I don't know if that helps me" "Okay, my bad, wanna watch movies and eat nachos?"

Marc Spector:

*He has a deep adult fear that quickly turns into a traumatized-child fear: at first he thinks you're acting weird because you grew tired of him, but then, when he finds out what's actually going on (perhaps during a Moon Knight shift), he drowns in pure horror.

*His first thought is, perhaps, you're exactly like him and you suffered from a disociation crisis. He even approaches you softly and asks "(Y/N), is that you?"

*Feels a little better when you claim you're still yourself, but now there's a new worry in his mind: if that's really you and you've been yourself all this time, why did you end up in a dark alley with the remains of a victim?

*In this case is you who needs to calm him down. He fears something awful is happening to you or even blames himself because he thinks being with you may influence bad things (even thinks Khonshu may be doing something on you). After you explain to him what happened he may return to normality, but still feels worried for some days later.

*Marc is very protective towards you, and will do his best to avoid you from suffering another situation like this one. Anyways, you must help him to understand you'll be fine and he doesn't need to push his limits away just to keep you safe. "I'm fine as long as you're for me, Marc, I swear"

[thebreakfastgenie]

Billy Joel songs as mash characters?

Darling this is not a simple question. This is a subject I have been pondering for some time.

Hawkeye - I Go to Extremes

Sometimes I'm tired, sometimes I'm shot Sometimes I don't know how much more I got Maybe I'm headed over the hill Maybe I set myself up for the kill Tell me, how much do you think you can take Until the heart in you is starting to break? Sometimes it feels like it will

This is hard because, a lot of songs fit him. I have, previously, associated Hawkeye with Tomorrow Is Today, Pressure, and Everybody Loves You Now. I also think there's something there for Code of Silence (which could also fit other characters, I considered it for Charles; it's kind of an all-purpose trauma song). I wanted to do something different, which is why I picked this one. I don't see it as being about mood swings, despite the chorus, but the verses really sound like Hawkeye to me. It's that feeling of constantly fighting something and being at a breaking point.

Tomorrow is Today Pressure Everybody Loves You Now

Trapper - Only the Good Die Young

You mighta heard I run with a dangerous crowd We ain't too pretty, we ain't too proud We might be laughing a bit too loud Aw, but that never hurt no one

Look, I know it's basic, but it fits. The melody and beat fit him too! He's might seem a little rough but he has a heart of gold and wants to have a good time! And he's a threat to good Catholic girls everywhere.

Henry - Big Man on Mulberry Street

Why can't I cool out? Why don't I button my lip? Why do I lash out? Why is it I always shoot from the hip?

It's just a vibe! I think the melody and lyrics both fit his kind of anxious everyman thing.

Radar - Get It Right the First Time

I'm not much good at conversation I was never to smooth at comin' on real strong If all it takes is inspiration Then I might have just what it takes If I don't make no bad mistakes and I get it right the first time That's the main thing

The lyrics fit Radar's interest in romance, but the melody as well as parts of the chorus also remind me of how seriously he takes his job as clerk and how busy he always is. Sexually the first time did not last for Radar, but you know.

Margaret - She's Always a Woman

Oh, she takes care of herself, she can wait if she wants She's ahead of her time Oh, and she never gives out and she never gives in She just changes her mind

Look, I know. But it's perfect. It's about a woman in a male-dominated field who was widely hated for being too assertive and generally for misogynistic reasons. She's all these things, but she's still a woman. Plus the vaguely negative vibe to it fits Margaret too.

Frank - Why Judy Why

I never thought that I would need, need a friend But I did, in the end Tell me why, Judy, why

I really puzzled over this one, but I couldn't think of any Frank songs that summed up his whole character, so I chose one that I thought fit a specific part of his story. I don't think Frank ever anticipated Margaret would actually leave him, and when it happens, he's crushed. He does need a friend and he doesn't have any. "Judy" could be Hawkeye and Trapper or BJ, or it could be his mom, depending on the episode. I chose to focus on pathetic Frank, but while he's with Margaret, Blonde Over Blue fits as well. There's also a demo called The End of the World that I like to associate with Frank's fears of Louise becoming her own person.

Klinger - You May Be Right

You may be right I may be crazy Oh, but it just may be a lunatic you're looking for It's too late to fight It's too late to change me

Choosing a song for him was so hard! I think the general vibe of this one fits with the melody and all. Obviously "I may be crazy" is very Klinger but I also think "don't try to change me" conveys his absolutely refusal to be turned into a killer. I also like She's Right On Time as a Klinger/Soon-Lee song.

Mulcahy - All About Soul

This life isn't fair It's gonna get dark, it's gonna get cold You've got to get tough, but that ain't enough It's all about soul

It's a romantic song, but you don't have to take it that way, and I think it describes Mulcahy's role in the group well. They need more than toughness and more than medical skill. They need a heart, someone who can look after their souls.

BJ - Temptation

'Cause I know what all of my friends say There's a danger in wanting too much But she's such a temptation

It's about his baby daughter. It's about overwhelming love, but it conveys a bit of a dark side, too. Being in Korea is even more painful because he loves his daughter so much, so I think that desperation and fear of how strong those feelings are suit BJ well.

Potter - Shades of Grey

Once there were trenches and walls And one point of every view Fight 'til the other man falls Kill him before he kills you These days the edges are blurred I'm old and tired of war I hear the other man's words I'm not that sure anymore

It just so perfectly encapsulates Potter's changing feelings about war as a career soldier who once believed in the romance of it. Billy Joel also has a demo called The Siegfried Line that fits Potter very well because it's about WWII.

Charles - Where's the Orchestra

After all, this is my big night on the town My introduction to the theatre crowd I assumed that the show would have a song So I was wrong

I assigned this to him once a while ago and I'm glad I remembered because it's perfect for him. The melancholy melody... the feeling of getting/having everything you want but something not being right... being out of place in the place you're supposed to fit... and the lyrics are perfect for him because of his love of music and experience with the musicians.

As a bonus, I've previously associated This Is the Time and Famous Last Words with the entire cast!

This Is the Time Famous Last Words

Goodnight Saigon reminds me of MASH a lot too, with the choppers and some of the lyrics, but it's very anchored to Vietnam. And of course I'd be remiss if I didn't mention his two songs that actually reference the Korean War directly, We Didn't Start the Fire and Leningrad.