#ever-so-plucky

[keefechambers]

Bitch!

[stergeon]

before barovia

here we have rokas, my wood elf tempest cleric of kord!! i sure hope nothing bad happens to her when she goes to help those nice folks deal with that nasty vampire :0)

[waspgrave]

I said I was going to only get villagers through random islands and campsites when I restarted, but I’ve only been blessed. So now moving any of them out feels wrong and I’ll never get that random experience. Look at them :(

[luveline]

What about a lil fic of the first time bombshell reader gets mad at Spencer? Like it can be while they r dating or before and May be r is giving Spencer quiet treatment?

ty for requesting! ♡ fem, 1.3k

Spencer waits for Morgan to get up for a coffee before he gets up himself, tailing his teasing teammate to the microwave. He's hoping Morgan's in a sympathetic mood today, because Spencer is in dire need of some sympathy. 

"Loverboy," Morgan says, his voice steeped in suspicion. "Can I help you with something?"

"Do you know why Y/N's upset?" 

"You don't? You're the expert." 

Spencer rubs at his nose, the beginning of another migraine brewing between his eyes. The gesture draws a little more empathy than his misguided question. 

"You're gonna have to ask her yourself. I don't want her angry at me too, she's gonna fix my computer before Garcia finds out I fell for her phishing email test." 

"I've been asking her. It's making it worse. She won't answer my questions anymore. She just hums." 

"Silent treatment. Yikes." Morgan sips his tea through a grimace. "I mean, you must've done something bad. She's usually so–" 

"Lovely?" 

"–in love with you." Morgan laughs as he wanders off in the direction of the stairs up to Hotch's office. "Same thing."

Spencer decides to make a cup of bribery tea for you. He microwaves a mug of hot water and plunks a bag of your favourite blend in without ceremony, bobbing it up and down as he watches you from over his shoulder. You've moved desks upon request to sit with the rest of the team and opposite Spencer (against Hotch's self-proclaimed better judgement), your things set carefully in contrast to his books, a library's worth teeming on every spare inch. Some have even made their way onto your desk, pristinely stacked in wait of his perusal. It's one small gesture among the hundreds of kind things you do for him. 

"Here," he says, setting the mug down next to your mouse carefully. 

Your anger strikes him. Eyes frosted with an uneasiness he's not partial to, lips, so perfectly painted, screwed into a frown. It's not nice seeing someone he cares about upset with him, worse when he has no idea what it is he's done. 

"You're annoyed at me," he says. You wait for him to continue. "I don't know what I did." 

"That makes it worse." You frown at him. After a few seconds of this—your frowning, his looking sorry and confused— you sigh wretchedly (as in, he's never heard you sound that sad, ever, and he hates it). "Spencer, you stood me up." 

Everything in him goes cold. "No I didn't." 

Your sad frown melds again to anger. "Yes you did! I– I got my hair done at a salon, I bought a new dress, I bragged to all of my friends that my cute coworker was gonna be my date, and none of that mattered because you didn't text me back so I was worried sick all night that you were," —your voice drops to a private whisper— "in trouble somewhere, and then you come into work like nothing happened? Not even a hint of an apology? I thought you wanted to come."  

Your voice burns with embarrassment. Spencer can feel it in his throat, that plucky ache of someone letting you down. 

"That was last night?" he asks quietly. A friend asked you to their charity ball, not as ridiculously fancy as it sounds but an occasion of esteem and important to you nonetheless. "Y/N, I thought that was– I have it in my phone as next month. As November. I'm so sorry." 

"Why didn't you answer my texts?" 

He winces. "I had a migraine… Screens make it worse, and I haven't charged the battery yet because I was coming to work anyways I'm sorry, Y/N, really. I mixed it up. I should've asked you." 

You seem less disheartened at his admission. You cross your arms over your abdomen and lean back a touch in your chair, as if deciding whether he's being truthful. Spencer isn't in the habit of lying to you and anybody could tell you that, so after a few seconds you look away. "I asked you if you were excited yesterday morning. I told you my dress came."  

"I know." He can't believe he's gotten it wrong like this. Anyone can make a mistake, but he imagines you in your new dress with your hair done waiting for him in the cold weather that descended on Virginia last night and his guts twist into a knot. "I didn't piece it together. I didn't… I didn't…" 

Spencer can't remember the last time he let someone he loves down like this. His migraine spikes again like a needle in the eye, fiery agony that has him closing his eyes to cope. 

"Spencer," you say, softly admonishing. "Hey, it's okay." Your chair creaks.

"I'm so sorry," he says through his teeth. 

"I thought you were being a jerk, but I guess I should've known you wouldn't do something like that." You stand up and take his elbow into a very gentle hand. "I'm sorry for giving you the cold shoulder. It was childish. I was just hurt thinking you did it on purpose." 

"Sorry," he says again. "Migraine." 

Your hand rises to his cheek. "Yeah? Sit down, Spence. Take a breather." 

The doctors say that Spencer's migraines are psychosomatic. He doesn't get how something so odious can start from nothing. 

You seem twice as upset but in a different light, ushering him down into your chair. "Don't worry," you say softly, your hand falling into his hair, "I took a great picture. You can still see me in my nice dress." 

You're kidding but he's genuinely glad. Then the pain takes over and he can't see the other side of it for years. 

It only feels like years. 

When he can open his eyes, you've knelt by his chair. He hates to see you getting your pants dirty like that, hates worse that your eyebrows have pinched and the soft plane of your forehead has etched deep with concern. 

"You can still be mad at me," he says under his breath. 

"I'm a little upset," you confess, putting an uncharacteristically tentative hand on his knee. "It sucked, but not as much as this seems to suck for you." You're like an angel, all pretty and wide-eyed at his feet, your hand beginning a short path up his leg, a soft back and forth. "I'm sorry Spencer. I was punishing you for something that wasn't your fault." 

"You didn't know. How could you, I–" He winces as another wave of pain flares behind his eye, blurring your small smile. "I should've charged my phone." 

"Maybe. I can't imagine you had the capacity, Spence. Not if you're like this." 

"Don't just forgive me because I'm in pain." 

"I'm not, I'm forgiving you because even though it really hurt my feelings turning up alone, I'm not cruel enough to blame you now." You squeeze his knee. It's an instant balm, the chronic ache behind his eyes easing ever so slightly. Your forgiveness makes the rest bearable. "Can you forgive me for being so heartless?" you ask lightly. 

Your lips curve demurely around each word. Spencer scrambles to cover your hand with both of his, his neck craned forward. "Of course I forgive you." 

"Thank you." Spencer could collapse. "Drink some of this tea, okay? Maybe drinking something will help."  

Nothing ever helps, but he does it because it's your hands bringing the cup to his lips. 

"I know you looked beautiful," he says between sips. 

"I would've looked better on your arm. Too bad you're getting grievously attacked by your own brain. This is what happens when it gets too big, babe, it's trying to come out of your ears." He's a little sorry to have won you back this way, but mostly so, so relieved. "Anymore of this'll and you'll start messing up the months. Oh, wait!" You laugh as he laughs but soon scramble to apologise when the sound makes his head hurt. "Sorry, I'm sorry! Drink some more tea, sweetheart." 

[mutfruit-salad]

Long post ahead. My full thoughts on the fallout series. TW for references to Sexual Assault, racism, antisemitism. It's not particularly in depth here- but I do reference specific acts of violence done in the show.

I've had people insinuate I'm only mad because I'm a New Vegas fan, because I think they retconned the lore. I'm not upset at the fallout show for its dubious lore additions and reworks. I think they're quite bad in places, but they're by far the least of the show's problems.

This isn't a case of a New Vegas fan mad they messed with my game in a way I didn't like.

Please refer to literally any of my posts pointing out the racism and antisemitism in the show. They brand a black man in episode 1. They named the enclave scientist after a real life holocaust survivor and then spent most of the show lobbing around his decapitated head like a volleyball.

But I'd like to consider other elements of the show. View it as a whole.

Consider the inherent misogyny of having a female main character whose entire character arc is just her getting abused for 8 episodes. How the trajectory of her character revolves around not giving up on the humanity of the man who waterboarded her and sold her to organ harvesters. A female main character who is raped in the first episode and watches her entire community get brutalized and who comes out of it completely unphased- still as plucky as ever- just worried about her dad.

Consider the horror of having a black woman be the one to drop the bombs. Consider the horror of her leading a council of elites who have infiltrated and taken over the US government. Consider the ways this group is presented and shown, the ways every fault of the US government in the series is offloaded onto a shadowy group of elites.

Consider how the capitalist critique of the show only goes so far as saying there's a secret organization of bad people who must be purged. The antisemitism and conspiratorial nonsense inherent to that premise.

Consider the rampant classism with the show's depiction of Wastelanders as either animalistic monsters or too stupid to live.

Consider the ways the show punishes nearly every act of kindness- the ways the world rewards might-makes-right authoritarians.

Consider the way the NCR collapsed offscreen because a disgruntled husband was mad his wife left him, and how after it collapsed the army immediately became raiders and the survivors became blood drinking cultists. Don't give me "it's just shady sands that collapsed" because the NCR was a developed nation. If one of their cities blew up, they would send aid. They would assist.

Consider the way the show constantly uses sex crimes as comedy and horror- the incest jokes and the "chicken fucker" bit, and the Vault 4 monster impregnation and the main character's rape in the first episode.

Consider the ableism of the treatment of ghouls, how every ghoul is now a ticking time bomb, how Lucy helps free a small dementia-riddled old ghoul woman from a medical torture facility and then is immediately punished with the woman trying to inexplicably murder her. Thaddeus openly talks about ghoul exterminationism and it's never a joke or a bit- he just says it and nobody reacts or says anything.

Consider the way the Vault 33 town councillors use real world progressive talking points about restorative justice and prison abolition and multiculturalism- meanwhile Norm advocates for the death penalty and a closed society. How Norm is shown as good and righteous and the vault dwellers range from deluded to damningly stupid- how the mere concept of restorative justice is made a farce because the NCR raiders are screaming about eating organs and murdering people 24/7.

Consider the way they removed the Boneyard, and the Followers of the Apocalypse by extension. In New Vegas we heard about the Followers operating a university in LA. It's gone now. Not destroyed by bombs- but written out of existence because the Boneyard never existed, and Shady Sands is in its place. Consider what that says about this world- that the group most dedicated to peace and rebuilding has been surgically excised from the narrative- destroyed more wholly than even the NCR- written out of existence entirely.

This is the single most reactionary fallout story that has been produced. By a fucking country mile.

Whatever lore critiques there are should be secondary. The storytelling is reactionary in ways I straight up have not seen from other Bethesda entries in the series. It is cruel to a fault, and depicts a world that is incapable of healing or growing- where the best you can do is hold onto that small spark of goodness while every bit of the society around you tries to murder it out of you. This isn't a story about rebuilding, or about postwar politics, or about society- it's about dueling warlords and might makes right attitudes and grimdark views of the nature of humanity. It's fallout in aesthetics alone- and it's perhaps the most hateful thing I've seen come out of this series outside of the actual neonazis in the fanbase.

Whatever hope there is in Moldaver's final moments looking out over the glittering ruins of LA is undercut by the knowledge of what came before. What was destroyed. And it's undercut by the Brotherhood's totalitarian control. It's not hopeful, it's the bare minimum of survival. It's all the progress of the postwar world, 200 years of humanity and history, reduced to just barely getting the lights back on.

In the intro to fallout 1, "War Never Changes" is used as thematic glue. It ties together two concepts- past wars- and present capitalism and militarism.

Ron Perlman describes the Roman Empire, the Spanish conquests of the Americas, and the Nazi regime- and then he says "war never changes" and uses it to connect those past atrocities to the modern world of the setting- to the war that ended everything. The phrase existed to link the resource wars and their ensuing fallout to all the crimes of empire prior. War never changes wasn't a hard and fast rule of human nature- it was a specific condemnation of America.

Lonesome Road even ends with the phrase refuted. War Never Changes. But men do, through the roads they walk. There is hope. That's what this series has always been about. The Master died at the end of fallout 1 and said "leave while you still have hope."

In this show, the black woman Vault Tec exec who ends the world says the phrase. It's stripped of all meaning. Just a generic throwback because it's a famous phrase in the series' history. It's not a condemnation of America, it's a celebratory thing. Vault Tec toasting to the end of the world.

What a thing to see this series become. What a thing to see celebrated.

[seattlesellie]

imagine letting ellie hit for the first time and all she can see is your stuffed animals and plushies surrounding your bedd😭

an: i know i wrote something similar to this a looooong while ago already but i really love it cause it’s so cute !! dni if you hate fun and if ur a plushie lover i love u a lot k bye 💗

warnings: ellies a little mean 🙄 but shes so cute.

♡ firstly, you’d probably be mortified before you both tiptoed into your room. you’ve been sweetly (but fervently) making out on the living room couch for about ten whole minutes already. when ellie bounced you up on her thigh — and you moaned out her name, she huffed a breathy and teasing “oh, yeah?”, and you knew you were gone. you had constant battles within the realm of your head about needing to wait for “the right time”, but for some reason, with ellie, the right time seemed to be all the time. you’ve nearly let her have it in the backseat of her beat up honda, but you came to your senses pretty quickly (or you banged up your head on her inner roof which kind of made things awkward), and decided to actually wait.

♡ ellie pushes you up against the door, her knee snug between your thighs. you can feel her on your heat, and you’re pretty sure she can feel the actual heat on you. when ellie gives a slight swivel to the metal doorknob, you panic completely and shakily puff out a long held breath. “nono, my rooms… uh, untidy. s’messy, we can’t”, ellie raises a brow (and it tweaks a little because she’s just as nervous and it’s so cute), she grants you a little guileful smirk, “i don’t really care, so” — and as soon as she mutters that “so”, ellie opens the door and you shriek.

♡ at a full tilt, you try to cover up her eyes with your hands, shakily whispering “nonono, told you it’s messy, you’re being so rude!” but ellie — ever the speedster, pushes them off. when she’s faced with the hoard of plushies, sitting cozily on your bed like brave, plucky little soldiers, ellie seems entirely… amused. “so uhhh…” you stutter out, and ellie lets out an actual wheeze. she’s trying to cover up her stupid laugh and her smile by attempting to form it into a line, and you budge her forcefully on the shoulder and she barely even moves. “you didn’t tell me you had guests over, babe”, she turns to look at you — and you’re trying very hard not to throw an actual tantrum. you roll your eyes, and she takes your hands between her’s and gives them two chaste kisses. “okay, okay… didn’t mean to offend you…” she gulps down that damn laugh again, “just should’ve gave me a warning before i came in here trying to fuck y—“, your eyes nearly pop out of your head, “ellie!” you warn, and your voice goes nearly three octaves higher and now ellie’s fully just laughing at you. you furrow your brows and cock your head to the side. “well, technically, you’re the guest. they live here, so”

♡ “well… technically” ellie mimics and mocks, swallowing a small throaty giggle. you stare at her for a moment, giving her your best “i’m warning you — this is your last chance!” eyes, and ellie takes that warning very seriously, (because perhaps she’d been dying to fuck you), lifts her hands up in the air as if it’s to sign that she “gave up”, and shuts her mouth. “you done?” you question, raising your brows. “you’re the guest here, because they sleep with me every night, and you don’t” you smile impishly, followed by a sweet, satisfied little “hm”. ellie smirks and shakes her head, “every night, huh? you tryin’ to make me jealous?” then, she points at one of the plushies. “cause that little fucker over there is trying me, shit— i think his eye’s ripped off, what the actual fuck do you do with your dolls?!”

♡ out of amused anger, you try and push her up against the wall and she lets you. she hits it with a thud, and she rests her veiny hands on your waist and gives you a squeeze. you whimper, and she grabs your waist and pulls you closer. you try composing yourself, “y… you’re just jealous cause they get to sleep with me and you don’t”, but it all comes out of your lips too shaky and too sweet to be let known as teasing. ellie chuckles, and grabs the back of your neck. her lips are simply hovering over yours, and you let out a shaky breath and close your eyes. “open” she instructs, and you open them so slowly she nearly melts away like an ice cream cone in the middle of august. “just answer this one question i have, ‘kay?” she raps in her husky voice that makes you simply shudder. you hum, and she smirks. “do they fuck you every night too?”, she takes her bottom lip between her teeth and licks. not to seduce, simply as a casual gesture. nevertheless, it does seduce. “cause i might need to, uh…” and then — ellie places a small peck on your lips that you’re simply too eager not to try and follow up, but she meanly backs away. she chuckles and brings her head forward again, and lets out of a shaky breath. “might need to fuck them up, y’know? rip off their insides, stomp on ‘em, give them a nice little shake and —“ you cut her off with a whine, and her eyes nearly roll back. she takes your bottom lip between her top one and suckles and kisses you so deeply, “yeah fuck it, get on the bed, c’mon” — she pushes you forward between whimpers and more whines and you land with a soft thud, one of the plushies falls down on the floor.

♡ she parts your legs with her own, earning herself a sweet breathy gasp from you, and whilst she’s hanging messily off of the mattress— she kicks the plushie up on the bed, so it lands a mere centimeter from where it originally was. she can tease you all she wants, but it’s very soon that she memorizes all of their names. “do i need to cover up their eyes or are they used to this stuff?”, she knows they’re not used to it, at all actually, but you shake your head from side to side. she grabs both of your cheeks between her calloused fingers, gives them a forceful little squeeze that makes you moan, and looks up at one of them. “sorry for what you’re about to witness here, buddy”

♡ needless to say that ellie wasn’t a “guest” no more after that day.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

dilf jason, my love, my light, my life

fuck whatever bruce did to you and everyone else that didnt care enough to reach out

Jason booted up the little bank of computers and watched the lights in the house. Frowning when you didn't click out the bedroom light. You should go to bed. It was Just Dick. It would be-

"You know he was just... scared right?" Dick said, watching Jason work out of the corner of his eye. Looking at the couple wallet-sized school pictures and a wedding picture tucked into the corner of a bulletin board. Reminding him, Dick guessed of what he was protecting.

"And I figured it was time to retire. You know. Before I was too broken and decrepit to enjoy it," Jason said shrugging.

"Jay-"

Dick froze, glancing between Jason and the door and swallowed hard when you pushed the reinforced shed door open. "In here, baby," he confirmed.

"Does she know?" Dick hissed.

"Enough," Jason shrugged, pulling out a stool for you. Happy that you'd grabbed a shawl at least before coming outside in booty shorts and a tank top. "Where's Boris?"

"Guarding the stairs," you answer. "He'll come get me if the kids need something."

"Boris?" Dick asked, "Which one is that?"

"The wolfhound," you answer shortly before looking at Jason. "What can I do?"

"In the drawer by your knee there's a communicator," Jason said, "Pull it out for me. Then maybe make some coffee? I don't know how long this'll take."

You nod and grab the device out of the drawer before kissing his cheek, "Snacks too?"

"You're an angel," he hummed. You were his wife. This was Your house where you were raising your kids before he was ever even a thought. He couldn't tell you to stay away. But- if coffee and some snacks would keep you occupied a little longer, he'd ask for it. Especially if it meant keeping you away from his old life.

"Mhmm," you huff, eyes narrowing.

Jason half smiled and rubbed his nose against yours, "My angel."

"I don't appreciate the sweet-talking, Todd," you tell him, melting anyway. You know he wants you out of the way. But hell if you really want to go.

Dick coughed, "I don't mean to be rude but-"

"So don't," you tell him. Fixing him in your patented 'act right or catch a left' look.

"This could be a little time-sensitive," Dick said putting his hands up in surrender.

You look back to your husband and sigh, "And our wedding wasn't?"

"To be fair," Jason chuckled, helping you off the stool, "I didn't invite them. Bruce can be a kill joy."

"Still," you huff as you adjust your shawl, and hop off the stool"with his penchant for plucky orphans you'd think he'd wanted to have meet his new grandkids."

[bethanydelleman]

Hello!

I rewatched Pride and Prejudice and it's surprising how my thoughts on it changed over the years 😃

When I was a teenager, Elizabeth Bennet was the plucky heroine that I wanted to be (lol) , now I'm older with a mortgage and responsibilities/bills, I'm like what was her plan in life?

Because she wasn't really educated per se (im thinking about how she answered lady Catherine about what she has to recommend her re:drawing, playing the piano etc) so I guess a 'career'(no matter how little it would be available at that time) was out of the question, but accepting marraige to the (admittedly obsequious) Mr Collins was also out of the question as well as Mr Darcys first proposal (which I get why sge turned it down!) ...I guess I'm asking what Elizabeth's plan for her future.

I've heard this from a lot of people upon re-read, "Why isn't Elizabeth more worried about her future?" I think there are a few things to note.

Early 1800s or not, Elizabeth is 20 years old when the novel begins (the average age of first marriage for women was 23). 27 year old Charlotte is in more of a future panic, but Elizabeth is still young. She has done practical thing like learn to play piano, but like most young people, she's probably just hoping for the best. And it's not like there is much she can actually do, Elizabeth is putting herself out there, she's dancing, she's playing piano, but otherwise she can just hurry up and wait. Her mother's marriage schemes are seen as vulgar and mostly backfire, and we would hardly want Elizabeth to act like Caroline. We read across Austen's novel's that women are largely stationary and it is the men who move in and out of their lives.

Also, I think a big part of Austen's point is that women are in a position where they feel the need to accept any and every proposal, because as Mr. Collins says, they may never receive another, but that this leads to misery (just look at the older couples and how many of them are unhappy!). While somewhat foolish from a financial perspective, Elizabeth is thinking about her long term happiness. She has watched her father turn bitter in an unequal relationship, she does not want that for herself. Elizabeth is choosing possible spinsterhood over being married to a person she knows she could not respect. Marrying for love, or at least on a basis of respect, is a big theme in Austen's novels. Let me add this quote from Mansfield Park to illustrate this point:

“I should have thought,” said Fanny, after a pause of recollection and exertion, “that every woman must have felt the possibility of a man’s not being approved, not being loved by some one of her sex at least, let him be ever so generally agreeable. Let him have all the perfections in the world, I think it ought not to be set down as certain that a man must be acceptable to every woman he may happen to like himself.... And, and—we think very differently of the nature of women, if they can imagine a woman so very soon capable of returning an affection as this seems to imply.”

So yes, Elizabeth Bennet isn't being financially prudent but she is being sensible in preserving her happiness. And for realism, we know Austen made this decision herself! She turned down an eligible offer.

Next, Mrs. Bennet is somewhat exaggerating: they are very unlikely to starve or be destitute. While it is never explicitly stated, Mr. Gardiner seems to be doing very well, and would probably very happily take at least Jane and Elizabeth if Mr. Bennet died. Mr. Philips is also doing well for a country attorney, he could take in his sister-in-law and nieces. It is going to suck, the Bennets should have planned better, but it's not the end of the world. We also do not know Mr. Bennet's age, but he may well only be in his late forties. He's no Mr. Woodhouse who may die tomorrow in a stiff breeze.

So what is Elizabeth's plan? She doesn't have one, she's 20. She's hoping life will throw her a man with a decent income that she doesn't hate. It works out in the end, but I don't think she would live to regret either turned down proposal if she had never met Darcy again.

[artbyblastweave]

I've never made any connections between Worm and the Captain America mythos before. Spill some ink?

Okay, so from a purely aesthetic perspective, the gimme is Miss Militia. She's the most obvious "Captain Patriotic" in the roster, she has the power of GUN, she's the only one who actively buys into the mythology of America specifically. She's a Kurdish woman occupying an aesthetic niche generally held by a rugged squinty white guy. She's an output of the melting pot narrative. She's sort of a rendering of what a grounded superhero who somehow became very aesthetically into America might look like. Not in the craven marketing-driven way of Homelander or Comedian, not in the jingoistic maniac way of USAgent or Peacemaker. She buys it in the broadly left-liberal (USamerican connotation of that term) safe, friendly, reclamative way. Why, what a great rehabilitation of the archetype!

She's also deeply, deeply afraid of rocking the boat. She's got a deepseated childhood trauma related to the bad things that happen when she puts herself in a leadership role. She goes along to get along. When she's proactive, it's usually to point a gun at Tattletale to stop her from upsetting the status quo. She sits through a lot of situations where Steve Rogers, as commonly modeled, would probably plant himself like a tree by the river of truth and go, "Hey, this is fucked up." She more or less capitulates to Undersider domination of the city, in a way that predisposes us to think of her as a voice of reason after all these total nuts that Skitter's been up against- but would Taylor "to relinquish control is a form of ego death" Hebert really be willing to leave someone in charge of the local Protectorate branch who she thought couldn't be corralled? She looks like a beacon, but doesn't- indeed, probably can't- ever truly behave like one. I mean, you can debate the on-the-spot morality of any given one of her judgement calls, that's actually one of the less exhausting Worm Morality Debates to have- but in aggregate, a person in American flag garb who actually meaningfully criticizes the paramilitary organization they're part of is not gonna survive long in that role!

So again, she's the gimme from an aesthetic standpoint. But what I don't really see a lot of discussion of is how Cauldron plays into the riff.

Captain America is institutional, but in a comically morally uncomplicated way. The serum was originally mana from heaven, granted to a living saint, conveniently divorced from any nitty-gritty sausage-making process and even-more conveniently divorced from the horrible consequences of giving the, uh, the U.S government a replicable super soldier process. And in fairness to Captain America, this is 100 percent something the overall mythos eventually patched to my satisfaction; the sausage-making process eventually revealed as prototypical government fuckery driven by human experimentation on black servicemen, the overall Marvel Setting littered with failed attempts by the U.S. Government to recreate that golden goose so they can have their fun new jackboots. (In Ultimate Marvel, this is how almost all contemporary superhumans were created, and this is a state of affairs with a body count in the millions or billions.)

Cauldron draws you in with the same noble rhetoric about greater goods, the same one-off proprietary irreplicable formula- but you don't get the luxury afterwards of representing nothing but the dream. You aren't partnering up with a plucky crank scientist with a heart of gold. You're selling your soul to an organization with an agenda. The narrative makes no bones about the fact that everything you do is fundamentally tainted by the fact you opted into an end product created through torture, kidnapping and human experimentation. You don't get to pull a Kamen Rider by going rogue or opting out or making good use of the fruit of the poisoned tree; you are owned, and everything you do has this Damocles sword hanging over your head- when are the people who bankrolled this going to come to collect?

So that's the question of "who would willingly dress like that" covered, and the question of who creates a serum like that. What about the question of who takes a serum like that? I'd argue that Eidolon is the examination of that. Pre-Cauldron David reads to me like pre-serum Steve Rogers viewed through a significantly bleaker lens. They're both sickly kids desperate to serve, rocketed to the pinnacle of human capability by an experimental procedure. But for Steve Rogers, the crisis was that he had a specific vision of the world and was frustrated by his inability to carry it out. Before the serum he picked fights over what was right and wrong and got his ass handed to him; afterwards he picked those same fights and just started winning instead. The serum neatly solved a problem he had, and to the extent that his mindset is influenced by his pre-serum experiences, it's generally constructive; a desire to protect the weak, help the helpless, an appreciation for people who stand up for what's right even when they're clearly gonna get pancaked for their trouble. So ultimately there's no dark side, downside, or underlying neurosis ascribed to his initial impulse to take that serum.

But with David, it's not a tragic case of the spirit being willing but the flesh being weak. He isn't a preternaturally-noble soul, out to represent the best elements of the American ideal- he kind of represents the inverse, a guy who's been failed at every level while utterly convinced that he's the problem. He's actively suicidal because he's a wheelchair-bound epileptic in an economically-depressed socially-backwards rural town in the 1980s, and he's spent his 18 years of life internalizing the idea that he's worse than useless unless he can somehow find a way provide value to something larger than himself. Doctor Mother finds him in the aftermath of a suicide attempt spurred by his rejection from the army- and he didn't even want to join the army specifically, necessarily, he just needed his situation to be literally anything else, and he took what he thought he could get. And then he finds himself in a position to become a superhero, so he does that, molds himself into that, subordinates himself to that, builds his entire sense of self and values around the value he can provide in that role. No grand design or sacred principles carried over through the metamorphosis. Just relief at finally, finally having something that looks like an answer to the question of what he's supposed to do.

And you know, you know that if Steve Rogers was facing down the barrel of being depowered, he'd smile and nod, he'd Cincinnatus that shit. It's happened before. But for David, the emotional trauma and self-worth issues that caused him to roll the dice on a Steve-Rogers treatment never really went away. When would it? He's been Providing Value as a ten-ton Hammer Against Evil for thirty years. No family, no social life. Certainly, no incentive on his handler's part to lance his Atlas complex. So he barrels towards atrocity in the name of remaining useful. Admittedly, this is where the comparison breaks down in a significant way; Captain America is much more of a symbol than he is an irreplicable powerhouse, so it's not catastrophic if he's taken off the board. Eidolon is so unbelievably powerful that his myopia and self-centeredness actually do align with a real problem everyone else is gonna have if he loses his powers. But in terms of the starting points- I think that Steve Rogers embodies the myth about why you'd want to join the army that badly. Eidolon is, I think, much more closely modelling why you'd actually want to join the army that badly.

[tarjapearce]

Chapter 5: Another Pillar Crumbles

WARNINGS: Emotional distress, confrontations, awkward truth and talks, mentions of adoption, Implied mentions of abortion, character background, No Proofread.

Summary: Karma has begun it's harvest.

A/N: Thanks for the wait, had so much fun writing this one ❤️. Feedback is highly appreciated ☺️.

As much as hiding temporarily from society and their stigma seemed a too comforting getaway, the world and time didn't stop. Ever perpetual, ticking unceasingly through your daily basis. Withering and eroding everything within it's endless realm.

A pregnancy was just one of the many creative ways human beings had came up to measure the unstoppable force. Ten weeks. You were now ten weeks pregnant, even though baby bump was barely noticeable, you knew a creature grew and latched within. Depending completely on you.

Blissfully ignorant on the fact that you depended on many other things to keep you and itself alive. You sometimes yearned that blissful sort of cluelessness back. But plucky you had managed through the tides like an unwilling champ. Reluctant but victorious.

Alot was a limp and short statement of what you've gone through, but MJ, your rock, voice of hope and invaluable help have kept you afloat when you were drowning in a sea of uncertainty.

With a sigh and somehow nervous hands, you smoothened back the rebel baby hairs in the sides that stood proud and open to meet the air and sun. Image code still vividly present in the current underpaid job.

Once you were done looking less spooked and anxious, you entered your manager's office, to try and get some knowledge about the perks of your current condition and see if there was any changes, income wise. Maybe the benefits were as good as you've heard through indistinct conversations around the cafeteria, and mindless talk passing by your work station.

And perhaps you'd have the chance to actually increase a number on your paycheck or at least, see if you had any chances in that administration program.

Gotta dream a bit.

-----

Unlike the outcome of David and Goliath, David, meaning you, weren't able to defeat the giant behind the corporative desk and machines filled with shared data.

You didn't give details, just shared enough to get what you needed. Even though sharing pregnancy news before the twelve week mark was considered a tabboo and bad luck, it was merely out of precautions to deem the pregnancy certain and safe to continue.

Like an official confirmation since miscarriage lurked hard around during those weeks, you wanted to see if staying in Alchemax was worth the criminally offensive side eyes you'd get either from Dana or Miguel.

But this Goliath had been merciful enough to spare some slack and explain you a couple of tiny benefits that would serve somehow in a future. If you ended up being elegible for it that is.

Twelve weeks of paid maternity leave, protected job and reintegration to labor as soon as it ended. But even so, the talks about a raise were futile and the program had been postponed until further notice.

Optimism was lacking in big strides, not that you used it by feeling it constantly, but in this predicament you needed it. Specially upon looking at the expenses of giving birth to a baby the other day after MJ left.

Thousands after thousands over birth. If it wasn't for the community women care centers that helped you to ease the blows in your wallet, you'd be inevitably and irremediably financially fucked. Insurance could only cover up so much, and accepting aid from it's irresponsible sperm donor wasn't a choice.

Like if I would.

In truth, you hoped he'd forget about it and leave things as they were. It was clear Miguel didn't want you or his mistake snooping around his already tarnished illusion of a perfect man, for once you were mindful of his needs and kept yourself away in every possible chance, going to the extent to look up into his schedule to avoid him, even if accidentally for your mental sake.

The answer was clear so try and reason with him was a waste of breath. Not that you needed him, and if you did,  you'd get help somewhere else. Nueva York was full of willing hands to aid.

As soon as you came out from the manager's office, your phone buzzed, MJ's contact number shining in your screen as you took the device and opened her message.

Got some interesting adoption program's information you might like to take a look.

Just as she had promised, her help was unwavering, solid as the role she played in your crumbling life. Adoption didn't weight on your shoulders, after all, it was an all too familiar yet difficult old friend of yours.

Only one family from the previous five you had sojourned in had met the requirements for the paperwork, back when the sixteens were still a thing on you. But even so, the adoption wasn't available since mother was nowhere to be found to relinquish the full custody of your rights.

Eyes raked over and over the screen, rereading and learning unintentionally the message as your feet guided idly back to your work spot through the long and devoid of people hall, the sound of heels clicking echoed through closer and closer, but you didn't pay attention to the road ahead, until you collided with an unexpected someone. The smart device slipped off your hand to bounce on the floor.

"Shit-"

"No, no. Let me."

Dana wiggled her hands to prevent you from squatting as she quickly picked up the phone as she held a clipboard on the other hand. Her own meeting in the agro-market department had just finished, and she took the hall as a shortcut. Mind filled with mental notes of what she just discussed with her peers that quickly vanished upon stumbling on you.

Throat went immediately dry as the palpitations in your heart rumbled within the bone enclosure of your ribcage. Eyes darted downwards while accepting the trinket back, unable to meet her eyes; stomach churning at her undeserving and selfless act. Your eyes darted both ways of the hall, there was none around to prowl over the conversation that unavoidably was about to unfold.

You knew Dana was looking, seizing your presence with perusing eyes. Neither of you moved, either too unsure and stunned on what to do next, or too aware of what the accidental meeting epitomised.

Dana's lip twitched to speak but stopped, instead her hand rubbed her face, an habit Miguel had projected on her after so many years of living together.

Your jaw had clenched so hard your teeth ground together, breath hitched on on your windpipe. Palms began sweating, and still no visual contact.

Dana braced herself, and averted her sky blue eyes away from you for a second, only to land at your abdomen. The burn of her unceasing stare made you cover that area in a meek attempt to conceal your shame.

"Nine weeks, right?"

A shaky breath was released from you, to finally nod. Her shoes were the same as that fateful day you released her from her curse. Voice nearly a hushed whisper only you were able to hear.

"Ten, actually. But... I'm so sorry, Miss D'Angelo."

"Stop. Jesus, stop apologizing."

Blue eyes adorned with wispy eyelashes blinked away the emerging tears, to stare at your face.

Blameworthy, ashamed, confused and definitely scared. The remnants of her slap long vanished; and still you looked ready to take another.

"Sorry for the slap. Should've-" Dana swallowed with difficulty. The name in her mind brought too many memories that she still struggled to flush away out of her system through an emotional detox. Mess still way too piping hot to swallow. But even so, guilt from that slap had chipped away her conscience.

"Should've slapped Miguel again."

"It was never my intention to come between you two."

"I know. I" She paused before heaving a defeated breath, "I believe you. You didn't fight back. I wished you did though."

Of course you didn't, if one thing you were taught through your different stays at the fosters homes was to own your mistakes. Even if them costed you big time and consequences were hard.

"That way I wouldn't be feeling guilty for hitting you."

Dana's lips pursed once she locked eyes with you. Both pairs full of mutual pain and a twisted sense of understanding, empathy and a guilt. Her once misdirected hatred and resentment had returned to the original source, leaving her with a cautious and curious gaze when it came to you.

"You... Will you get rid of the baby?"

You had to blink a couple of times before eyes widened at her, to then look down. Letting the new wave of shame wash over you with its coldness. The windows rattled softly as a gust of air blew over them, dividing your attention in their direction for a second before returning to the woman before you.

"I-I tried."

Dana couldn't help but let the tears she was trying with all her might to keep inside to flow, quivering mouth covered with her dainty palm, while her perturbed gaze turned into a judging one that faded on your next words:

"But I couldn't. I... I can't." Another sigh, "I won't."

The brunette voice cracked as she wiped her eyes, "Why?"

"Not to spite you, that's for sure. I was too much of a coward to do so."

"Then why keep the baby? It makes no sense, unless-"

"No, no. Let me stop you right there, Dana."

She flinched at the way your voice pronounced her name. It wasn't disrespectful but rather firm, drawing a boundary she clearly was pushing by the implicit accusation between lines.

"I've worked in this place for two and a half years. In those years, I've never seen Miguel. Hell, not even you knew who I was until you heard my conversation with him in the parking lot."

Dana's throat also became arid upon remembering that all too vivid scene she hoped to forget one day.

"You really think I'd like to involve myself with him after what he did? Miguel never explained what truly happened. Hell, I was on contraceptives and he used protection, but here I am, knocked up. You really, really think I'd want someone like that?"

Dana kept wiping away her eyes the more she listened to you. Truth permeating her to the core, and it proved to be too much for her squishable heart.

"I don't, and I mean it. I don't know what kind of relationship you two had, but I'd never, ever would pursue something with a compromised man. Let alone with one that was about to get married! I just wanna be left alone."

Your hands moved while gesturing as Dana's hand raked a bit rough on her scalp. She wanted to rip her hair and cry until her tear supplies were dry. She had been the winner to wear the fool mask Miguel invested upon her.

"You think it's easy to see you around? Knowing that you'll be a mother of the man I loved?"

Although her words were clearly trying to provoke, you didn't bait into them, since you knew that she was also having issues assimilating these too hard to swallow pills.

"I know you're angry. I understand, but  what would you do if you were in my position? Let's stop being hypocritical and pass the blame ball to eachother for a moment. What would you do?" Dana's arms crossed on her chest, she was now the one unable to meet your eyes

"I'm not scared. I'm terrified! I wanted to disappear forever when I saw the results. But that won't solve shit. You think I don't feel bad? I feel dirty, ashamed, used even!" The hushed whispers evolved into a firmer tone

"Cause every time I see you, I feel like a fucking homewrecker! But I had no idea!" You hissed, trying to keep the conversation between the two of you, "And now I am to see how the fuck I'm gonna deal with all of this mess the coward of your ex did, cause he was thinking with his dick, until adoption comes."

"A-Adoption?"

The word alone had frozen the brunette's raging and conflicting emotions almost instantly.

"You're-"

"I'm giving the baby for adoption."

This made Dana stare almost too incredulous at you.

"A-Are you?"

Your head gave a brief nod.

"I promise that I won't come close to you or Miguel. I truly don't want anything to do with you or him."

"No, no.... You... You must keep the baby. I could never-"

"You could never, that's true! You. But not everyone wants to be or knows how to be a mother, Dana. I'm so sorry if you aren't able. I wished, believe me, I wished this" you pointed at your abdomen, "Was where it belonged. Inside you. Not me."

Dana's reasoning bubble had been popped with your words. An abysmal difference from your own progenitors. While yours had tried to strangle you in a frenzied and abstinence episode from her addiction, Dana's was brushing her hair and showering her in affection.

"Not everyone is a good mother. And keeping the baby to find out is not only selfish and stupid. But so very damaging, you have no idea" Your own voice cracked, trailing off  in a muffled whimper upon the last syllables, it took you some seconds to regain the strenght in your tinge, "That's why I'm giving it for adoption."

The pain behind your final choice prevented her from doing more questions. Your own musings had tugged  her heartstrings.

"I'm truly sorry you had to know this way. I wanted to tell you but, he always intimidated me."

Dana truly didn't know whether to thank you or shut you up, because every time you opened your mouth to speak, a new trait of Miguel she never knew and he never exhibited appeared. She had been gulled the past few months to believe that everything was going alright.

But she didn't need convincing words from others, not when she had experienced and heard in the very front seats, live and on spot, the true colors he hid underneath his sultry exterior.

She was about to marry a liar, deceiver, cheater and phony coward, that attempted to pay you to erase his biggest fuck ups. And now, said outcome gestated within you, growing stronger and taking shape with each passing day.

Dana wondered briefly if the baby would look like him, but the road ahead you had started to pave was everything but  easy. The implications of your disturbing awareness made it clear there was something else in between lines, but it would mean to push a boundary she had no right to cross.

Not when you were assuming the consequences, unlike Miguel, that had tried to talk her through it. Really believing he still had a chance to win her back.

Dana knew that there were times when Miguel thought her stupid, but bright enough to keep his ego stroked on the constant praise she gave at his intelligence, that rightfully had earned him a spot at the lab research department.

Her father, Darko D'Angelo, was one of the council members in Alchemax. One of the few that actually had a final say on everything. He'd demote Miguel to a lesser charge, but sadly, firing was not an option for him. The eldest O'Hara had proven to be one of the most proficient agents within.

Sadly, his personal life was an ugly and jagged mess, and if anyone knew, many things surely would change.

"I don't know the reasons, nor your circumstances, but good luck."

It was all Dana could say before leaving you alone in the hall. Each parting in opposite ways, the talk had been talked and hopefully this gave a better perspective on each. Your feet hurt from the standing.

She wanted a child, but you didn't. Yet was civil enough to empathize for a moment with you to not pry further behind your choices.

You returned to the reception and Dana to her office.

--

The elder men didn't understand why they were gathered in one of the meeting rooms, instead of a lab.

The projector was turned on as each was given a fresh copy of a paper file by Miguel. Some of the higher ups had greeted him with enthusiasm, others were genuinely confused at their presence there, but were polite enough to remain quiet and watch the exposition unfolding before them.

The Biosynthesis of Insulin Within The Human Body

The title said. The window's electric curtains were drawn, leaving the room in a dim light to redirect the focus back on the enlightened board.

Miguel stood proudly on a side, with a laser pen, ready to show his investigation through.

"Good evening, gentlemen. Thanks for making a time in your busy agendas to be here this evening."

The men smiled politely at him, one of them took a swig of the bottled water as Miguel continued talking.

"I've been working on this research on my own for quite a time. And now that it has reached it's completion, it's fair to share it with you. Let us begin."

The sterile air in the room was polluted by the variety of colognes trying to make their presence known, some smelled like expensive whiskey and cigars, others like sweat and anxiety, but most smelled like power. A smell Miguel sure believed it'd be better on him.

He was already the third in command in the lab, a manager of the sorts, but he wanted the chair the old retired man left vacant. That's where he felt more comfortable in.

Not his simple and secluded office, like the rest of workers. He deserved more, so it was his turn to get it. Miguel was set to get that chairman position, and his confidence only grew when he saw Darko among the powerful lot.

He started the exposition by giving a simple context that slowly and with the right words evolved into something that would definitely make Alchemax a main supplier to a bunch of pharmaceutical chains.

Miguel then explained the pros and cons, and how the pros weighed more than the cons. In simple words, how using a bacteria would make them richer.

And all thanks to him. Miguel's heart bounced in joy whenever he saw the higher ups discussing and making numbers, and nodding to eachother.

Almost there.

He could already feel the different airs of a new office in the upper floor, the vacant spot for a new assistant, and the new title in his paycheck.

He was already Dr. O'Hara, a PhD backing him up, hung on his dull white office wall.

By the time the presentation ended, the round of applauses filled the room. Miguel's lips stretched in a fake modest yet proud smile.

"In my long career years here in Alchemax, never have I known a collaborator that offers so much potential, like you do, Dr. O'Hara."

Miguel ignored the collaborator part and nodded politely at the chairman as they shook hands.

"It's one of the many projects I have under my sleeve, sir."

"Oh please, I'd be more than willing to put this one in my agenda. Have you presented this to your boss?"

Miguel stared at the shorter man, confusion fogging his mind.

"Excuse me, uh, what? What boss?"

"The Chairman from the Lab Research department."

An awkward titter escaped Miguel as he removed his glasses.

"I... I think there must be a mistake, as far as I know, the chairman position for the Lab department is still available, right?"

Most of the men before him frowned briefly to then chuckle, finally getting the hint at where his words and the whole thing was going.

"Oh no, Dr. O'Hara. That position has been already occupied by Dr. Delgado."

De todos los que pudieron elegir, escogen a ese pendejo... (From all they could've picked, they choose that dipship)

Miguel forced a gentle smile in his face, "Ah, I see. Excuse my confusion-"

"Still, I'm sure this project would make a fantastic addition to the main files in the headboard."

"We'll let you know about the upcoming meeting."

Darko spoke as Miguel tried with all his might to not look as rigid as the marble statue in the corner of the now emptying office.

Some even dared to pat his shoulder and congratulated him for being a remarkable employee. That only fueled his rage.

One of them, Sully McCain, the one that had fed his hopes up approached cautiously, with a sigh.

"I tried my best to suggest you-"

"Suggest!?"

Sully flinched visibly upon having Miguel’s glare on him.

"You think that we're all taken in consideration when it comes to big decisions? Ha..."

The elder man pulled a small whiskey container and took a nervous swig.

"That's not how it works, Miguel."

"You said that I was going to be the next chairman."

"That until the rest had a secret meeting and the new chairman for your department was picked."

Sully shrugged nonchalantly.

"I really tried to bring you in, but-"

"But what?! You think I worked on this to get a well done star on my fucking forehead, Sully?"

"I think you are starting to forget one little detail that can screw you over."

Miguel's hands fisted into tight balls in each side of his hulking and ready to pounce form.

"Are you threatening me, Sully?"

"No. I'm just reminding you that even though we're somehow colleagues, I can still fire you."

Sully didn't know if it was the alcohol pushing a bit of more bravado in his veins, or the constant push and trample he often received from the rest that finally made him lash out. Miguel's arrogance had been the last drop.

"But let's not dwell into it. I'm sorry that I couldn't fulfil your goal. But based on your reaction, I can tell you're not ready for such responsibility yet."

Pouty and meaty lips gaped in disbelief, Miguel could only watch Sully go, leaving him alone with his turmoil.

Without knowing, McCain's talk had touched a sensitive nerve within. A nerve that had him heaving infuriated breaths, baring his feet to none in particular but himself and his mind racing with so many things it was impossible to shut it off.

Fuck him.

Shaky hands squeezed the projector's remote a bit too tightly to turn it off, to then be passive aggressively placed where it belonged.

Paper files long forgotten on the desk, except for one. All of it a waste of his money. He threw one at the trash.

His resources, he tore another. But most importantly, his time. He slammed the rest of files to the trash.

All to waste. His shoulder's rose erratically as he closed a bit too forceful the briefcase. The insides of his cheek were chewed to the point of copper blooming in his taste buds.

The petty in him wouldn't share the project, in fact, he'd make sure to delete the emails with the digital copy he sent to the old bunch. If they wouldn't have him as an equal, they wouldn't have his ideas nor his intellect.

But Sully, oh fucking Sully McCain. How could he be so gullible enough to fall for promises of power when not even he was considered in the decision making of Alchemax. When he was mere a public figure that occasionally displayed the little power he had.

But how dared he threatening him? How that old sag of flesh and bones had dared to threaten with firing him?

One of his main pillars crumbled, the opportunity of growth he was promised when he started working for the multinational, laid shut in a casket, that he was forced to bury, since the rest just gave him a pity but mocking look.

He was the fool for them, a buffoon to believe in such politician-like premises. And now, he was left empty handed, intellectually drained and physically strained.

Idle walks wired his way to the parking lot. Steps nearly turned into jogs, he needed to get away from that office and from the building. His car came into view but also something else. You.

Too absort with the bagel in your hand and eating against your car's door that didn't notice his glaring across the parking lot. Eyes raked over your stomach.

Have you gotten rid of it? Probably. You couldn't also fail him in being even more stupid, but a little voice in his head, echoed inside his mind with a simple word.

Karma.

He scoffed while deactivating the alarm in his car.

He didn't believe in such foolishness. To what people called karma, he just called it people being stupid and taking the wrong decisions. Maybe he was stupid to believe that a weakling in the chain of command would get him places instead of trusting in his instincts.

But the adventurous and subversive part of his brain that harbored his intrusive thoughts, wondered if everything was more than a coincidence.

It is not.

It was not. He refused to believe in anything that wasn't measured, quantifiable or supported by facts.

You had supported every single word that came out that pretty mouth he enjoyed devouring, but that now bit him and his ego so hard that he could still feel the wound pulsating and

He wasn't whoring around like you assumed. That's why he had Dana for. He was selective, even when it came to women, and to his luck, you had been exactly just that. His type. Gorgeous and ready to get what you wanted.

It only added a new wave of heat to his already scorching fury.

You weren't his karma. And certainly didn't believe in such buffoonery that had people acting righteous in order to avoid it.

No, the people he had the mistake to confide in were simply morons to not take him instead of that Delgado guy. Aaron Delgado. He had worked with him before, and if there was something life could give Miguel some credit for, was that he actually worked unlike the bastard that surely had to sell out either his ass or his competence to get that position.

The bootlicker could finally brag about it to the rest of the lab. The briefcase was tossed in the passenger seat, while his eyes remained on you.

You looked concerned, but the little piece of bread smeared in something sweet seemed to comfort you enough while you now scrolled through your phone. Cheeks a bit chubbier than the last time he recalled, a natural process of pregnancy, but even so, you looked good, lovely even.

He glared.

You'd get rid of it, he knew so. You had to. Even if the rest of his life was taking a sour turn, he knew you would get what you needed to live your life the way it was.

If he could, he'd pat himself in the shoulder for such feat. If he was a different kind of man, he wouldn't even had offered his help. You got inside your car while taking a call.

He huffed, and got inside into his. He had to pack in and return to his old place. Roomier and more to his likings, secluded from prying and judging eyes.

Maybe one day this whole fiasco would be forgotten and he'd find a better position within the Alchemax hierarchy.

But right now, he needed to get some plastic containers to start officially his move out. Even though relearning how to manage on his own proved a tiny inconvenience, he was more than capable of surviving alone.

His engine purred alive, and he drove off, hoping that Dana's place was alone. He didn't have the mind for her accusing yapping.

But little did Miguel knew that life had him on his sight, and karma had already indicted him. And he was found guilty.

---

Taglist:

@death-moth-art @miss-taura @serpentstarr @randomnobody187   @8xbygirl   @del-ightfulling @iytatsworld @moonzuzuu @huehuehuehuehehe @ryk-mt @deputy-videogamer @sizeablysized @katitakenway @stealyourblorbos @beingdeluluisthesolulu @death-moth-art @obsessedwithromance @crybabiix @taeecups @tremendouswolfsaladranch @cherrycosmos392 @sbrn0905 @xylianasblog   @elgatofx @eepiebeepie @vonev @tatatida @freehentai @scaryplanetdestroyer @minalovesyoubabes @emeloyy @migueloharastruelove @jdbxws @m4dyy @nyxzoldyck6 @fruitychae @francesca-the-1st @siidmm @ana-paulinathe-arts @artyanimi @damhanallagorm @lauraolar14 @what-is-your-wish @oharasfilipinawife @jellyboob @aockskcw @ittybxttykxttytxtty @smartyren

[spikemd]

The best thing about Dracula Daily is that I’m learning that despite this being an iconic novel that has been adapted countless times, I’ve somehow managed to avoid absorbing any information about it beyond 1. there is a count and 2. he is a vampire.

Like, I don’t even really know the genre — is this a tragedy where everyone involved is going to turn into a vampire or die? Or is a band of plucky heroes going to stop the Count? Do the characters ever converge in one location? Why do I need to know about the fly-and-spider-collecting man? What will happen to the London polycule? How is Jonathan writing journal entries when all of his notebooks were confiscated?

So many questions and I absolutely refuse to sit down and read the book in its actual order because this is far more entertaining.

[besttropeveershowdown]

The Best Trope Ever Showdown: FINALS

Found Family

Propaganda:

Well all know it, we all love it

the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb

Forming a bond with friends or strangers so deeply they become your family!!! Choosing the people you want to support you, to be your backbone, to care for you and be cared for by you in return!

literally the experience! characters may not come from the best past but they grow together and give each other the support that they can't get otherwise. the attachments that form are usually amazing and I guess just. yeah! + platonic/doesn't need romance involved which I guess is a plus for myself???

Because its so cute! It's sweet, and kind, and forgiving, and just asdfghjk its just the best. Without FF we wouldnt have shows like The Owl House so think about that okay?

I mean, come on. A pair or group of people that know little about or nothing about each other become fiercely protective and loving towards the others. They consider each other family through shared experiences and traumas, loving and caring for each other as if they were kin.

Battle Couple

Propaganda:

Two people fighting side by side, or back to back, trusting the other to have their back, even while bickering. Amazing. And if they kiss, surrounded by enemies… perfection ❤️❤️❤️

Reformed, but Not Tamed

They're not Evil anymore. But like, they're also not Nice really. Still a jerk about it. (No TVTropes page submitted)

Propaganda:

All the coolness of a redeemed villain but without losing the spicy villain jerk charisma they had before. Often called The Vegeta. Get to have your cake and eat it too.

who doesn't love a villain kinda sorta turning good but being annoyed about it the whole time

We all love it when the bad guy joins the Plucky Team of Heroes because it is a) hilarious or b) reaaaaally interesting character dynamics, and "reformed but not tamed" is the superior way to achieve this. You get all the fun of having the bad guy join the team WITHOUT having to sand down everything that MAKES the bad guy interesting. In this house, we like a "domestication" arc more than a "redemption" arc. He's still an awful little shithead, but now he's OUR awful little shithead.

[annabelle--cane]

as a reminder, a bunch of the tmagp leads have been in other rq productions already, so if you like what you're hearing and want more of them, voices you have already heard include:

shahan hamza (sam): plays sivapathasundaram in trice forgotten, a plucky young cartographer on the run from the british after escaping execution for a crime he didn't commit. anxious and insecure with a tendency to run his mouth at all times, siva either instantly charms or makes enemies of everyone he meets.

sarah lambie (lena): plays octavia in cry havoc, sister to the triumvir gaius octavius. a bit of a champagne socialist who expresses her frustration at the roman political sphere through writing plays, octavia is trying to reconcile her position of vulnerability as a woman with her position of privilege as a noble, mayhaps finding love with an actress in her company along the way 👀

ryan hopevere-anderson (colin): plays sextus pompey in cry havoc, notorious pirate with a notoriously good ass. he's dangerous, he's sexy, he gives good relationship advice, he's here to kidnap the triumvirate's nearest and dearest for a hefty ransom.

kazeem tosin amore (teddy): plays mark antony in cry havoc, triumvir of rome who "doesn't do numbers" because "there's millions of them." he loves rome and he loves his wife, but he trained for the battlefield, not admin, and would rather do almost anything than have a conversation about negotiating supplies of grain. he's brash and impulsive, but a hard backbone runs through him, and there are certain moral lines he cannot ever bring himself to cross, even when he wants to.

[ticktockheartstop]

I haven’t seen anyone point this out but, uh, there’s something(s) suspicious about “Muriel’s Perfectly Plucky Playlist.”

Yes, it’s a cute playlist of upbeat songs whose first lyrics perfectly spell out “Hello, hello, hello,” reminding us of our cheerful little angel from season 2. But let me first point out that “plucky” is not necessarily a perfectly happy word.

As anyone in the Good Omens fandom should know, Heaven is not a very happy place, and I think that’s why people love Muriel so much. They have managed to keep a very positive attitude amidst an oppressive regime in which they are VERY low on the totem pole. But it is really sad to have the fact that Muriel has had to be so determined and courageous in the face of difficulties blatantly pointed out, especially since it’s kinda easy to think of Muriel as a happy little child of an angel. Who would ever want to hurt them? (Michael and Uriel and the Metatron and everyone else in Heaven, apparently)

So, back to the playlist itself: we start out with very happy songs, which is all great and to be expected from Muriel. BUT THEN “Dog Days Are Over” by Florence + the Machine comes along, and…. Well…

With that meaning behind the song, you start to wonder if Muriel is really listening to the lyrics, or if they’re just jamming to the happy, upbeat rhythms and notes of the song. (Much like Neil said about the Almighty enjoying The Sound of Music for the nuns and singing and ignoring everything else)

Next on the playlist is Everyday by Buddy Holly, which we are all very familiar with at this point. The song itself is about waiting for love and the hope that love will persevere. With Gabriel and Beezlebub, love did persevere, so I can only hope that it will for Muriel someday as well. It’s just sad to think of our lonely little angel waiting to be loved.

Song number 8 is Another One Bites the Dust, which I think is the least traditionally happy and upbeat song on the playlist. Just take a closer look at the lyrics:

Not a happy song! And the lyrics that really stick out to me are: “how do you think I’m going to get along/without you when you’ve gone?/you took me for everything that I had/and kicked me or on my own” because that’s exactly what the Metatron and Heaven did to Muriel! I think our angel is harboring some serious bitterness!

This point is only farther supported by the next song, Demi Lovato’s cover of “Let It Go.” The fact that it is Demi’s version is significant, because there are some different lyrics than those heard on the Disney movie.

These lyric changes make the already rebellious, freeing song even more so. And we all know that the Good Omens team didn’t choose this version by mistake.

So, what have we learned? I think Muriel is going to see some serious character development, and become quite an important player in season 3. Either that or this is just further proof that all angels are traumatized (or both!)

[pianokantzart]

Something I love about the Mario movie is how is basically squashed any kind of ideas of Luigi being jealous of Mario from the get go that fans have come up/theorized throughout the years.

The whole “Luigi is jealous and tired of living in Mario’s shadow” has no leg to stand on when it comes to this movie.

In fact, Luigi is actively the one singing praises towards Mario, he knows that his brother dreams big and has a big heart, he knows his brother is amazing and he loves him for that.

Does he have low self esteem? Absolutely. But there is absolutely not a single bit of jealousy/envy towards Mario, Luigi loves and adores him far too much to ever be jealous and angry at Mario, someone who means the absolute world to him.

Oh don't you get me started.

Too late, I’ve gotten started. YOU ARE SO RIGHT. The movie did to theories that Luigi's “bitter and jealous” what it did to theories that Mario’s an antisocial asshat.

There are two things I can point to that are to blame for the theories that Luigi is bitter and jealous:

The description of his Negative Zone final smash from Super Smash Bros. Brawl:

"Luigi's final smash. As exotic music plays, he performs a dance befitting a sorcerous incantation. A barrier envelopes him, negatively impacting all in his area. Random effects include getting launched, sleeping, moving in slow motion, tripping, fainting, and losing attack power. This technique is a reflection of the dark side he embraced in his brother's shadow."

2. His characterization in Paper Mario

But there’s like… almost 40 years of games to glean from. You can literally pick and choose whatever you want to form any sort of theory (like a certain internet man did when arguing that Mario is an animal abusing sociopath). But 99% of the games show about as much evidence that Luigi is bitter as they do that Mario is a bad person– none at all. Quite the opposite, in fact.

As for Paper Mario, it's the only time Luigi is directly characterized as envious... NOT jealous. He still loves his brother and sees him as worthy of the praise he gets, but he feels bad being stuck at home, and desperately wants to be brought along for the adventure– to have his opportunity in the limelight. But Paper Mario is kind of its own thing, established to be a separate universe from the mainline Mario games. In the Super Mario Brothers RPGs– which delve deeper into the bros character while remaining more aligned with the classic "canon"– the dynamic is quite the opposite! Mario dives headfirst into danger while Luigi desperately avoids it unless there is no other choice. In Super Mario Brothers Superstar Saga he tries his darndest to not be taken along for the adventure, confident that his brother can handle the task.

But one consistent across the Mario games is Luigi being the underdog of all underdogs; unlucky and clumsy, the butt of the joke, and constantly undermined. Naturally this causes people to get defensive of him– get angry for him, and project their feelings onto the character himself.

But tHEN WE HAVE THE MOVIE!!!!

Nintendo is given a chance to craft Mario and Luigi into fully fleshed-out characters with motivations and backstories, not just plucky videogame personalities for people to project themselves into, and boy oh BOY did they knock it out of the park.

While Mario is still a headstrong hero with a never-say-die attitude and a heart of gold, everything he does is for his brother. Mario has insecurities about feeling small and wants to prove himself to his father, but in the end his love for Luigi is his main motivator. Mario can handle being threatened, made fun of, and told he’s crazy, but if you want to truly hurt him, tell him his actions are hurting his brother. Try hurting Luigi directly, and Mario will tear you a new one.

In return, everything Luigi does is for Mario! Lu’s not the willful ball of determination and gusto that his brother is– he has always been nervous, softhearted, and sensitive, which is why he lets his brother lead the way. Luigi’s not living in Mario’s shadow, he’s thriving off of his confidence! He recognizes Mario as his best friend and greatest source of strength, and will follow him absolutely anywhere.

There is no sense of Mario being treated like the beloved star of the show while Luigi gets the short end of the stick. They are both downtrodden, both learning, and both dependent on each other. It's not just Super Mario, it's the Super Mario Brothers, who equally inspire each other to be the best version of themselves.

[yourheartonfire]

Reporter finds out that their city's hero is corrupt, and they make it their goal to expose them to the public. Somehow they fall in love. (Can go plucky reporter who openly confronts Hero, or cautious reporter who knows a corrupt hero is dangerous, so they get close under false pretenses to find evidence.)

Prompt courtesy of @thepenultimateword

"Wait. No. What is...?" The reporter's throat had gone dry as sand. They slapped the composition book shut, thrust it back into the gold paper wrappings. But it was too late. Afterimages of dates and names and dizzyingly high sums danced before their eyes - all in the hero's own neat handwriting.

"It's the proof you wanted, darling," the hero said, a dreamy smile on their lips as they gazed at the reporter through the candlesticks. "All the money I've been extorting from our city's villains in exchange for turning a blind eye to their wrongdoing. Happy one year anniversary."

The reporter stared from the hero's face back down to the gift, so beautifully wrapped. They had gotten the hero designer sunglasses. "You knew," they said. It was meant to be a question but... no. This was not a surprise. Somewhere over the past year, this had become an inevitability. "You knew I was..."

"Investigating me? Seducing me?" The hero chuckled and rose. The reporter managed to quash their flinch as the hero picked up the reporter's empty plate, then their own. "Darling, I spend my life foiling schemes. Yes, of course I knew."

The reporter sat, flooded in an adrenaline rush so strong they wondered if they were having a heart attack. The door to the hero's penthouse apartment was forty feet behind their back. Their fingers itched to grab that notebook and run - but some survival instinct kept them frozen to their chair as the hero prowled the dishes off to the kitchen.

"So," the reporter said evenly. "You've just been... toying with me, this whole time?"

"Toying with you," the hero purred, returning to cock a hip against the table and give the reporter that half-feral smile they had only ever seen behind closed doors. God help them, the reporter felt themselves blush. "Yes. That's a good word. You decided you'd try to seduce your way into my confidence, to uncover my secrets. So..." The hero traced a finger along the reporter's temple, teasing a lock of hair out to run between their fingers. "...I set out to seduce you back. And you win."

The reporter blinked. "What."

"You win." The hero gave a fond little tug to their hair and then let go. "I've fallen in love with you. So."

"You cant love me! I'm here to expose you!" The reporter scrambled backwards, clutching the notebook to their chest as if the hero hadn't just handed it to them, literally gift wrapped. "You've been blackmailing villains!"

The hero shrugged without a blush of shame. "Only those who would have bought their way out of the justice system anyway. Why shouldn't I cut out the middleman and use their money for crime-fighting?"

"Crime-fighting? You're lining your pockets!" The reporter waved a hand wildly at their luxury surroundings as they backed away. "The food, the clothes, the whole lifestyle!"

"And I'm the last hero of my generation still standing," the hero said, calm and steady as they paced forward. "You think that's a coincidence? Or you think it's because you and I both know sometimes doing the right thing means bending a few rules along the way?"

The reporter stopped dead again. "What are you talking about?"

The hero's hand closed on the reporter's wrist and - yanked was too harsh a word. It was a pull and a spin, like the sun dragging a meteorite into its gravity well and suddenly the reporter was wrapped up in the hero's arms. In their lover's arms, their back pressed to the hero's chest.

"This," the hero hummed into the protagonist's ear, swaying them both to the soft music trickling from the hidden sound system. "A year of lies and blurred lines and compromises to get your story. Hardly the stuff of journalistic ethics seminars. What would your friends and colleagues say?"

"So it's blackmail," the reporter whispered.

"If that's what you want. We could destroy each other. Or..." The hero's mouth pressed to the sensitive spot on the reporter's neck. They almost melted. "Or we could see what happens next, with all our cards on the table."

"You can't be serious." The reporter jerked away. The hero let them go. "You want to keep dating?"

"Of course. You're gorgeous, clever, a little reckless, and you have that flexible morality thing. It's like you were made for me. Like we were made for each other." The hero gave them a once-over so blatant the reporter blushed again. But they didn't move to corner the reporter. "Go home, think about it. Take the notebook."

"You won't chase me?" the reporter said before they could stop themselves.

The hero's grin widened. "How about I give you a head start?"

The reporter fled to the sound of the hero's laughter rattling in their chest.