#her own 'mistakes' and yadda yadda

[shummthechumm]

yellowfang genuinely believing that because brokenstar was "cursed" and that her (being manipulated into) giving him up...her loosing her daughters at birth...and that this meant she was incapable of birthing and raising a cat like firestar....ooooo...

then later projecting herself onto leafpool having the three...which, as old as their prophecy is, i would imagine causing some unrest in starclan....her children having a "pre-determined" destiny, being born against the same rules that brokenstar was...

both leaf and yellow and their similar powers...its all too much really

[sciderman]

I really don't like how we're just glossing over the fact that Gwen cheated on Peter let alone MJ hiding this from him.

who's glossing? i'm writing a whole fic about it.

2. they were on a BREAK

3. you're forgetting that peter and gwen are dramatic irony the couple™ and at exactly the precise same time gwen had her tongue down mary jane's throat peter had his tongue down harry's. the exact same night.

the joke is that peter has been burying all this guilt for years thinking that he'd failed gwen and was terrible and dishonest and she was an angel who was too good for him until he finds out. gwen was always just as much of a messy bitch as he was. but he was too busy spiralling in his own messes to realise that gwen was just as messy as he was.

4. mj didn't tell him, sure. but that's because she assumed gwen told him. i don't think mj's the sort of girl to say "hey by the way i fucked your girlfriend shitlips" even if that would be hilarious. she didn't think it was a secret though and definitely thought gwen told peter.

and yeah. i'd hesitate to call it cheating - they were definitely on a break. they might not have laid down a law, and definitely both feel ridiculously guilty about it, but they. were. on a break.

i think it was just a necessary thing, for both of them.

i think for me, i'm not about the moral black-and-white of relationships - it always got me down when people point at the piña colada song saying it's terrible. it's about cheating. that's objectively bad and evil so says it in the bible thou shall not commit adultery yadda yadda yadda. no, no, shut up. that's not what the song is about. the song is about rediscovering there's stuff you've overlooked about your partner. that you can think you love someone, but not actually know them. and you can learn more about them, and realise they're not what you thought, and you can fall in love with them all over again. for me, that's like, the most romantic thing ever, actually. and those who look at it through the "this song is about cheating" lens completely sleep on how genuinely, sincerely cute and romantic it is. that it's a song not about cheating, but discovering stuff you didn't know about your partner, and falling in love with them all over again. finding out that actually, you're both the kind of person who's crazy and lustful for life enough to run away with a romantic stranger on a wild escape, but you were both too afraid to admit that to each other. i love that song. it's so much more sincere and human than any stupid love song. nay sayers get away from me.

i think peter and gwen are a lot like that piña colada song. neither of them are a villain. both of them make mistakes and both of them were messy and both of them had stuff to figure out before they could make it work together.

i... sighs... i'd like people to kind of stop expecting these guys to be right all the time. they're disasters. i wouldn't be interested to write them in any other way. and i promise you wouldn't be interested to read it, either. i'm here for the messy bitches who have stuff to figure out. shout out to the messy bitches who have stuff to figure out.

[si1verghosts]

you and me found love (lost under the shade)

re4r leon s. kennedy x fem reader (no use of y/n)

wc: 3.3k

18+ | cw: mentions of drinking, smoking, sex | tw: illusions to suicidal thoughts; author's general preoccupation with death and dying

read on ao3

title: falling asleep on a stranger by pierce the veil | art: taft bridge under the rain [#127] by carmonamedina

a/n: i honestly don't know if i am doing this whole tagging thing right idk how to tag on here so sorry if i missed anything.... anyways, this is the first thing i've managed to finish in months - i did not imagine the first leon fic i'd actually post would be reader insert but here we are!! i hope u enjoy :D

not beta read - all mistakes my own or done purposely due to my general disrespect for the grammatical conventions of the english language.

i do not own leon, yadda yadda, please don't sue me <3

please do not use my work to train any sort of AI chat bot and/or writing generator.

-----

"I can't be what you want," Leon had said, voice even. "Maybe you should try to find someone else; someone who can… be around."

Someone who can give you a straight answer. Someone who doesn't come home bloodied and bruised and can't tell you why. Someone who doesn't make you feel like it's all just a lie. 

You had never heeded any of Leon's suggestions before - "You should go," he had whispered after that first night, and the second, and the third - but you wish you had; so you give it a shot now. 

You let your friend set you up with the guy in accounting at her job she had been telling you about for months. "And get this - he always wears a tie bar! He just seems so put together," she had raved to you over drinks the weekend prior.

Accounting, tie bar, put together. Nice, neat, safe. 

You had shrugged, "give him my number."

He's waiting for you outside the bar when you arrive, jogs over when he notices you approaching, holding his umbrella out over you. It's unnecessary - the cold precipitation is hardly a mist, barely coating the strands of your hair. "You look beautiful," he smiles. It feels rehearsed, platitudinous. You thank him, letting him guide you inside. 

His hand brushes your arm as he helps you out of your jacket, skin soft. You pull away with the shock of it, covering with a small wave of beckoning. He falls in behind you as you traverse the familiar path through the room to your usual spot, settling in before he can manage to make a show out of pulling out your chair.

Same table, different seat; back against the wall - it's a whole new perspective. No longer focused solely on the person across from you, it's as if the whole world falls into your line of sight. It suddenly makes sense why you always found it so difficult to hold on to Leon's attention.

He slinks away to acquire your requested vodka soda from the bar. You pick at your nails until your fingers shake, shifting to look out the windows. The rain has picked up, pelting the glass and obscuring the view. You long for your car and the pack of menthols tucked away in the glove box, nobody to quit for now. 

He returns with your drinks, water for himself - "trying to cut back on carbs, you know? I've been making real progress with my lifts lately." 

"That's great," you smile. 

He leans in, beginning to chatter away excitedly about weights and protein and bicycles and Wall Street. His cologne reeks of business school, of polo shirts and white picket fences and 2.5 kids. You hope you are nodding at all the right moments. His tie bar catches the light of the Budweiser sign hanging behind you, silver glinting red, as if informing you you aren't.

It's hard, much harder than it reasonably should be but you've forgotten how to do this. Leon and you hardly spoke; the silence was easier - until it grew violent from your overreliance. 

You catch the ring of the doorbell over the drone of his voice, a familiar shape of blonde hair and brown leather entering your peripheral vision. You turn, a sick sense of satisfaction slithering up your spine. 

Shoulders hunched and hands shoved deep in his pockets, he shakes off the water droplets clinging to his hair like a dog. He picks his head up, blue eyes and dark circles meet your gaze almost immediately.

You raise a brow, I took your advice; happy?

He spins around, setting the bell off again as he slips out the door. 

"I'm sorry," you interrupt your date, who had been entertaining himself, seemingly never even recognizing your shift in attention. "I'll be right back." 

You are out the door a second later, shoving your arms back into the coat you thankfully remembered to grab, shielding your skin from the rain clouding your vision. Blinking away the droplets from your lashes, you spot Leon making his way down the sidewalk and take off after him, catching up as he nears the corner. 

You call to him, voice near enough to stop him, but only for a moment. "Go back inside," he throws over his shoulder, continuing forward.

You want to reach out and grab him, make him turn to look at you, but his shoulders are set in a tense line. Your touch is sure to set him off like a slingshot. 

Steeling yourself, you dart around him, blocking his path. You find yourself in front of him without any idea of what to say. You gape at him stupidly, chest heaving from the exertion of chasing him down; maybe you should've asked what's-his-name for a good gym recommendation before you ran off.

Leon entertains you for a moment before he huffs, eyes narrowing, "what are you doing?"

It's an excellent question - one you had never bothered to stop and ask yourself. 

What are you doing? 

Why did you agree to go for drinks? Why had you put on the dress Leon had carefully unzipped and let pool around your ankles just a few weeks ago? Why had you asked Mr. Tie Bar to meet you at the bar you knew Leon always popped into after work? 

Fuck. 

You swallow harshly, "trying." 

"Trying?" Leon reiterates, almost laughing. "And what is it that you are trying?"

Normal. To get over you. To make you mad. Honesty. To make you look at me. To make you want me like I want you. Safety. To hurt you. To get you to say something, anything. Trust. To get you to make me stay. To get you to stay. 

You feel yourself frown, the familiar pressure of tears building behind your nose. You try to swallow the feeling but it just mixes with the venom stuck in your throat, bubbling back up after mutating into a bitter twinge of anger. "What the hell does it look like, Leon? You told me to try to find someone else - that's what I'm trying."

He rocks back on his heels, crossing his arms. "Well, it doesn't really seem to be working out, does it?" 

"It was going great, actually." You smile, hoping it's not as hollow as you feel. 

"Oh, yeah?" He cocks a brow, lips pulling into a sly smirk. "Then why are you out here with me?

"You," you huff, at a loss. His words seem to be coming easier than ever while you choke on every one. You shrug, "You looked upset when you left."

"And I'm sure that's exactly what you wanted, right?" His smirk stretches into an acetous grin. "Came to relish in the tears, huh? Sorry to disappoint." He moves to brush by you, but you plant yourself in his path once again. 

"I can't believe-" you start, but stop short. Because you can believe he'd think of you that way - you'd never given him a reason to think otherwise. 

You think back to the silence that had made its home between the two of you, realizing you had used it as a confidant, letting it absorb everything you should've given to Leon instead. 

"I just wanted to check on you, see how you are doing." Your voice comes out as small as you feel under the weight of Leon's gaze. It's ironic - all this time you just wanted him to look at you, and now you wish he'd turn his eyes anywhere else. 

He snorts, short and irascibly, "I don't need you worrying about me."

"I know you don't, Leon," you throw your hands out, rainwater flicking off your skin with your exasperation. "You've made that very clear. But I can't help it - I'm going to anyways." 

"You shouldn't."

"Why not?" You half-yell, half-whine. You cringe at the sound, feeling slightly delirious; freezing cold and nearly begging him to let you care. 

 "Because you can do better." His voice is even once again, feelings stacked neatly away and locked up tight. 

"You don't get to decide that for me," you spit, ears ringing with the echo of your too-loud voice. 

"Yeah," he nods. "I do." 

He steps around you again, intending to disappear down the side street. But this time you grab him, fingers latching onto the slippery leather of his jacket, his arm as tense as a bowstring under your grip. 

"Let me go," he requests without turning to look at you, voice still even, even, even. It's a courtesy, he could easily pull free - but you are sick of his kindness, his courtesies; that's how you ended up here. You don't want them anymore.

"Make me." 

"Let me go," he repeats, slower and thicker. 

"No." If you want me gone, you'll have to force me. You don't say it, but you know he got the message when his shoulders slump, fight draining out of him all at once. 

With the thrill of victory that ripples through you, you make the mistake of loosening your hold on his jacket. He seizes the opportunity, twisting your arm and grabbing you by the bicep, pulling you close. He is running hot despite the chill of the rain, you have to force yourself not to relax into his heat. 

A moment passes, and then another. Neither of you move. The precipitation falls in sheets around you. You can't bring yourself to care. 

Your gaze slides from his chest to his neck to his jaw, backtracking the path of a stray raindrop. You chance a glance at his eyes, finding they are already on you, steely blue shimmering with the light of the streetlamp behind you. 

You love him. 

You wish the ground would crack open, allowing you to freefall straight down to hell. You imagine that would feel better - less painful - than this. 

You love him, and your skin burns with the feeling of it. You want to throw up. You want to kiss him. You want to pound your fists against his chest, curse him for doing this to you. 

You settle for allowing a sob to escape your throat. 

He releases you from his hold instantly at the sound. You scramble to grip his jacket to keep yourself upright - it's pitiful, the teeth of the zipper biting into the skin of your hands. The sharp pain comes as a tether, gifting you the space to ground yourself, to shove the tears back down. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers, tight and clipped. "I didn't mean to-"

"No," you cut him off, voice rough, grating. "It wasn't. You didn't hurt me."

"Okay," he mutters. 

You laugh. You love him and you can't help but laugh, sinking into the insanity of it. 

You feel him start to stiffen again, unsure. The feeling of his discomfort building under your fingers forces you back into yourself, realizing where you are, that you've been causing a scene on the corner down the block from his apartment. 

You release him, but you don't step away, tilting your head just enough to take in the sight of him - parted lips and a handful of freckles, blonde hair tinted green by the neon sign over the entrance of the convenience store a few feet away. 

"I'm sorry," you croak out, drifting back; wishing the rain would melt you down, suck you into the storm drain. That's the only thing that could pull you from him, you think; swirling down the gutters with the cigarette butts and the fallen cherry blossoms until you're laid to rest at the bottom of the Potomac. 

His nose twitches. "For what?"

That I can't find someone else, can't force myself away from you.

That I love you, but can't tell you.  

"For," you throw your hands out, weaker than before. "All of it."

He nods, "It's okay."

You don't want it to be, but you suddenly feel exhausted. Too tired to fight, to pull any more truths from him. 

"Take me home?" You request, you plead. 

He nods again, holding his hand out to you. "Yeah."

You intertwine your fingers with his own, the roughness of his callouses and scars soothing in their familiarity. 

The walk to his place is short. You don't bother trying to shake off the water before entering, leaving a trail of raindrops up the stairwell, down the hall, through his front door, across his apartment to the tiled floor of his bathroom. 

He reaches into the shower, cranking the hot water, allowing the stream to heat up as he helps you out of your wet clothes. He removes the drenched fabric piece by piece - jacket first, then your dress, unzipping it with even more care than the previous time. It doesn't slip off with the same ease, but his gentle fingers pull it from your skin until it falls away. He crouches to undo your shoes, allowing you to step out of them before reaching up and rolling your nylons, guiding them down your legs. 

He moves to do the same with your underwear, fingers resting on the waistband as he glances up to you, silently asking your permission even though he already has it, always will. There's no heat behind his actions, but the tenderness sears your skin all the same. You nod, a low ache settling into the center of your chest as he slides them off you before standing. You unclasp your bra; he doesn't comment on the matching set.

The steam of the boiling shower envelops you as you undress him in turn. You struggle with his belt buckle, stiff fingers uncooperative. He takes over and you drop to your knees to untie the laces of his boots, finding them mercifully secured with single-knots. You make quick work of them and he reaches down to help you up, moving you out of the way before he kicks them off. 

You assist him in pulling his shirt over his head, peeling the cotton away from his skin. You unbutton his jeans as he removes the clips from your hair, wet strands falling limply in front of your eyes. 

"Go ahead and get in, I'll go throw this stuff in the wash." His voice is mellifluous, sickeningly soft. 

It makes you feel like a kid, incompetent and helpless. You hate him for it. You hate yourself for twisting his kindness into something dark and disgusting. 

"I can help," you offer, because that's all you can do; already leaning down to collect your things. "You have to hang the jacket, it's-"

"Wool. I know," his hand brushes your back lightly, "it's okay. I'll be right back."

You straighten up, allowing him to guide you across the bathroom and help you into the tub. You slowly ease your way under the hot stream as he slides the shower curtain closed. 

You watch the shape of him through the cloudy plastic, shucking off his jeans and pulling off his socks. The sobs you had just barely choked down twice before make another escape attempt, clawing at your throat as you watch his shadow collect your clothes and move down the hall. 

You shut your eyes against the sudden emptiness of the room, against the tears and the silence and the panic; against the loathing and inferiority. You take the coward's way out, turning away from it all to hold your face up to the showerhead. 

He returns quickly, rustling around for a moment before slipping into the tub behind you. His presence awards you the bravery you needed to crack open your eyes, to clear your throat. "You're wrong, you know."

Exhaustion overshadows his amusement as he hums in question, "about what?"

Picking your hand up, you reach out slowly to slide your fingers along his collarbone, circle the puckered scar on his shoulder. "That I can find someone better." 

He scoffs, dropping his head, hair fluttering down to obscure his face. 

You move your hand to his neck, thumbing his jaw. "If anything, it's me who doesn't deserve you, Leon." 

He shakes his head, but you ignore the action, continuing before he can protest. "Nobody can take care of me like you do - not even myself. I'm sorry" - for needing you, for burdening you; for loving you even though I'm unworthy of it - "for pushing you. I understand there are things you can't share, but I want whatever you can."

You sigh, shifting your hand at his neck to pull him to you; he follows you easily, achingly. "Even if it's just this." 

He nods minutely, hooking his arms over your hips and resting his forehead on yours. Answer delivered on a breath that floats across your lips, "alright." 

You remain in his arms, his agreement echoing in your mind in time with the beat of your heart in your chest. Seconds morph into minutes, only moving when the water begins to grow cold. 

You wash first, your shampoo and conditioner still on the rack next to his own. Leaving him under the stream, you make your way to his room after wrapping yourself in one of the towels he'd brought into the bathroom. 

Home. You had asked him to take you home and he brought you here, despite your own place being just a few blocks further in the opposite direction of his from the corner you had been on. But his assumption was right; this - he - was home to you.  

The emptiness of his apartment was unsettling at first, but it quickly grew comforting - no regrets staining the carpet; no photos on the dresser of you as a girl you don't remember being. Here you could be untethered from the past you didn't want; white walls graciously offering a clean slate, even if you didn't deserve it, didn't earn it. 

There is a shirt of his waiting on the bed for you, a pair of your pajama pants in the drawer next to his. Your stomach turns at the sight - no wonder he had tried to push you away; you had subconsciously settled into his space, his closet and his bed. 

Your mug in the sink, your pills behind the mirror - the reckless domesticity of it all is startling, terrifying. He had given you an inch and you had taken a mile, too eager for the chance to be something new. 

You pull on the clothes, making your way towards the balcony, a wave of nausea rolling through you under the soft cotton. Outside, it's still raining, translucent ropes sluicing off the overhang of the roof. 

You almost immediately regret stepping outside, feeling as if it's a betrayal of the care Leon took to get you warm; but you needed it. The chill of the air forces your thoughts to line up, to wait to be addressed one by one.

His hand leading you home, your wool coat hung to dry, his shirt waiting on the bed for you to occupy - each act a silent invitation; the realization stirs inside you, grips your collarbones from the inside. 

Could it be…?

You should ask him, but you've asked for more than enough tonight. 

He slides open the glass door, sweatpants low on his hips; the lamp on his nightstand illuminates him from behind, feathering out all his sharp edges. Maybe it's not love; maybe it's just lust, desire - a need so great it's all-consuming. You have no point of comparison to use as a frame of reference, to assist in finding the distinction. 

"I was away for a few days, there's not much in the fridge. Is ramen alright or do you want to order something?" He asks and it's love, you are suddenly sure of it. 

You turn; the sight of Leon in the buttery glow of the bedroom acting as a beacon, guiding you through the terror. "Ramen is fine."

[vqrtualheartss]

Hii

Every Sunday, you scanned the church's congregation for a familiar face ― Aunt Rio's son, Miles. It seemed as though she barely managed to drag him every other week given the nonchalant look he always wore. You held him as a classification of a hallway crush, never daring to do much than pretend not to stare from the other side of the alter unless you were ready to meet the god you served. Well, the God your whole family served; yeaa, you're the pastor's daughter. And I think we know how that goes, being expected to keep Sunday school each and every week, not to mention that the simplest things were prohibited like music, talking in a "ghetto" way, blah blah blah yaddi yaddi yadda. And your absolute favorite ― always keeping your appearance up to posh

"I will not have my eldest dressing like a jezebel or some boy in my own home. Go and take that off right this instant"

Were the ever present words spoken by your mother if you made the mere mistake of wearing shorts or sweats' around the house. If anything, life felt like a Greenleaf episode and not in a good way. Ranging from the secrets and scandals behind the chapel's closed doors or the fact that multiple administrators like to front that they had the perfect, picturesque family. You couldn't tell which was worse; that they had nothing like that or the fact that your own family―. Nah, in this house you had no family, not since your sister Asaria left.

With tears in both of your eyes, she barely mouthed the words "I'm sorry" to you. It could be the fact you were just eight years old to register what she was apologizing for or that the tears bound your vision so badly you mistook the statement for something else. That couldn't be it, you could see clearly the disgust-filled scowls on your parents faces and they held you back. And like all the stupid rules enforced, your family forbid you from ever contacting her, brainwashing you that they were only trying their bests at raising you. Therefore, you pushed Asaria's words and underlying warning at the back of your mind, convincing yourself that she was just paranoid.. yea. Let's just say that all the delusion wore off when it was your time to take the mic.

You never thought that they'd do this, it felt unreal, like some book with a fucked up plot. But it was happening, you were being wed off at the mere age of seventeen. You know that like all the previous fights, you'd never win. Then again here you stood, behind the chancel, arguing about the dominant latter of your life. Did it even feel like you had one of your own? You felt like a puppet being induced to what was 'for your own good' as you helplessly bantered with your parents Mr. and Mrs. Larkspur

------------------------------------

"If both parents agree to it, you may be wed" Some mother you are "I was barely sixteen last week, how am I eligible to get married" "I suggest you fix your tone young woman" "THAT'S THE LEAST IMPORTANT THING RIGHT NOW"

The frilled dress I wore swayed with the movements my hand made justifying why what they're doing is absolutely atrocious. Why isn't stuff like this illegal? Tears swung from my lash line as I flashed my face from my fathers wavering hand meant to do nothing but harm. He wasn't one to put his hands on anyone but when he felt desperate or threatened to show dominance; like right now. My mother held onto her coat tightly with that same disgust she watched Asaria flea with whilst my father balled his fist. The claps of the congregation started to die down. Grunting, he walked out onto the nave, but not before giving me a scorning glare. She stood unmoved, dragging me to our house attached to the church by my arm to give the same lecture she had over a thousand times.

"YOU have full knowledge as to why we're doing this. You're father and I are growing grey and we need someone to take over the legacy of the church and with you as our eldest we cannot let you rule over alone or by yourself"

Because I'm a girl? I managed to keep up a neutral look, not an angry or sad one. I couldn't bear to show any emotions, they stripped me of them. The teachings of her scolding me for frowning or crying stood bold in the forefront of my mind. You'd think that she'd come with something along the lines of "Strong girls don't cry" or some crap like that but nope, her reasoning was that "Smiling and frowning makes frown lines and we need to look perfect" I shook away the thoughts as I listened to my mother spur verbal diarrhea.

"If I could I'd marry off your sister because unlike you, she has sense but you know what the church would thi―" "What is wrong with you― Nyla's been sixteen for only three months― Are you insane―"

She slapped me hard, a reminder that she― "Will not tolerate disrespect from a child". As much as I wanted to retaliate, I held out, rubbing the left side of my face as she continued.

"You WILL listen to you us and meet Mr. & Mrs. Nightingale's son tonight"

Oh great, the Nightingales. Another perfect family, I wonder how'd they feel if they found out that their precious son was really up to. What's his name again? Jevaughn? Jaxon? Do I even care? Mmcht

She did a once over of me before adding "Be in the church in less than 5, you will be leading choir today" Didn't even ask me to

We went separate ways; my mother to my father and I to a powder room. Composing myself once more, I hurried inside the church in front of the choir loft, feeling relief when I spotted not a questioning stare. I've learnt to hide how I felt truly behind a faux smile quite well If I do say so myself, but no matter how much I tried my eyes remained glassy― tears threatening to betray thr façade at any moment.

I gave a tight-lipped smile to the congregation as they welcomed my appearance with cheers. I laughed when Tía Rio moved to the front row in midst of the clapping, she waved to me and I did likewise but a little more erratically. She's an amazing person to know and really a nice woman, a great woman that does her best for her family. It painfully excruciates me how these women could sit on her name and belittle her as if they were someone to look up to. She's definitely a better individual than those in this church that like to claim they are combined. But the day I go off on them, I'll let them know.

After thanking the usher for the microphone I ran back to the choir unsure which song to perform. A few members suggested traditional songs and favorites, one stuck out most to me though: Man in the mirror by Michael Jackson. I bit my lip contemplating the decision, we just started to sing (somewhat) church-related pop songs in church so I was a bit hesitant; but as I said, relating, some of these people need to hear it.

I announced the choice to the band members before returning to my position, clearing my throat as I scanned the audience. No, I wasn't scared, I've done this too many times to be. Receiving a signal from the drummer I allowed the choir to voice the opening, joining when they started the second verse. Eventually, we approached the high note as I begged for my throat to not close up. I looked around the room.

“I'm starting with the man in the mirror I'm asking him to change his ways And no message could've been any clearer If you wanna make the world a better place Take a look at yourself and then make a change”

You're staring

You're still staring

Despite the song being half-finished everyone started to clap, giving a literal standing ovation. Did some of them finally heed the meaning? Coming down from the high, I took focus in my vision. Was I looking at Miles this whole time? Widening my eyes at the realization had him chuckling, he waved before continuing to clap.

First time without a stoic expression and I'm wishing he smiled more. I put a palm in the middle of my face to loosely hide my smile before waving back. A few of the young men waved even though it wasn't directed to them. Looking over to their spots Miles and I shook our heads.

Behind me, my father cleared his throat, the harsh sound reminding me of my earlier troubles. My expression died down quickly. Instead of beside my family I sat in the first row in the choir loft. Miles moved to the front of the church to his mother who began to question him about something. She turned to me and smiled, speaking softly "You did amazing" Although I couldn't hear too well over the preaching, I pieced out her words, thanking her in return.

Usually, I'd be somewhere discreetly using my phone but it was different today. My eyes moved back and forth from my father to Miles who did likewise; giggling each time we made eye contact at same.

-------------

Even though I didn't want to, I gathered the strength to partake in the seemingly mandatory post-service meet and greet

"'Ah dear, meet one of my good friends. Robert this is (y/n), (y/n), Robert"

The man whom he was introducing looked worn out, wrinkles showing in every crevice in his face despite (from what I've heard) being in his late 30's. He wore gold grills on his bottom canines, which I would hate to say matches well with his black and white suit.

"Hello, I'm (y/n). Pleasured to meet you"

"Likewise"

His voice came off hoarse, sounding as if someone who had smoked for a week straight finally took a breath.

Even though opting for a simple handshake, the man dragged me into an uncomfortable hug. And I mean uncomfortable, his hands trailed all about my back, quickening its pace heading underneath the mid-back vest I wore. I pulled back, crushing the man's toes with my heel as I did.

"I'm so sorry"

I innocently smiled at the grunting man that held onto his loafer tightly. With the hand resting on his left forearm I would've pinched him if my father didn't take him away. I saw my mother introducing Nyla to some boy of her age. Ew.

About 10 footsteps away I felt a warm hand on my shoulder that sent me tumbling. I probably would've fell if I wasn't caught by the hug afterwards.

"Tía Rio" I paused, resting a hand on my chest before continuing

"Hola hija"

She pulled me back into her embrace before stepping backwards.

"You were absolutely amazing out there― as always" "'Thank you tía, that truly means a lot to me" "Oh hush, I know you've heard that about a thousand times now" "Well, it means a lot from you"

We laughed a bit before she started to pat down her bag. "Before I forget" She dipped her hand into its largest compartment before taking out something wrapped in colorful tissue paper. "Here"

Handing it over I could tell by the texture that it was some type of food― cookies probably. At this point they were a symbolic part of our relationship.

------------ Flashback twin

The cold December air on the exposed skin on your knee was doing you no good. Said cold wind was what had you like this. With a snotty-nose you were headed to your mothers purse for a tissue. And when she was nowhere to be found, you frantically ran around in search for her, convinced this was some sick game of hide-and-seek.

Sitting in a random slide with your feet up to your chest, you felt tears rush when a boy with hair slightly longer than the others saw you crying and hurriedly turned back.

"If it's another stray cat we're not keeping it" "No mama"

The same boy came through the other end of the slide, pointing at you. Not knowing what else to do, you hid your head between your legs and chest, bringing it up at sudden speech directed to you.

"My mommy says you should come down. She wants to see you"

Bringing your head up by the slightest, you could see the boy's extending hand in front of your face. "You have to get out because mommy's too fat to fit in" The woman who you figured to be his mother had her mouth agape, her shocked expression turning soft when you two started to laugh.

Holding onto his hand you both slid down, the adrenaline numbing the pain in your knee. Immediately after standing up she noticed your blood stained shorts, rushing you to a nearby bench.

"¿Qué tal? How did this happen?" Even though opening your mouth for words none came out, 6-year-old you unsure how to explain the situation. Understanding your frustration she spoke up. "It's okay, you don't have to tell me" She gave you a comforting smile. Which in return had you smiling, then her son, revealing the front tooth he recently lost.

After she finished bandaging your knee she began to put her belongings back into her bag, leaving out just one thing. A floral pink and white decorative tissue. She handed it to her son who quickly hid it behind his back the moment it touched his hand.

"I wanted the purple paper mama. Pink is for girls" His mother crossed her arms, tilting her head "Do you want me to take them back?" He shook his head no, bringing out the stuffed paper with his free hand. His other was still laced into yours. He placed the tissue beside you, jumping up onto the bench so the pastries sat between you two. He brought one up to your face.

"Want one?" Being thoroughly instructed to never take anything from anyone in public made you decline― or try to. Opening your lips to refuse politely, he pushed quarter of a cookie into your mouth.

"MILES―" "Yes, mama" He smiled innocently, turning towards his mother. She stood shaking her head in disapproval, sighing in relief that you didn't choke.

"Do you like them?" He paused waiting for an answer, receiving a satisfied hum, he gloated "My mom made them" He looked at the cookies still stacked high "Want more?"

Even though saying yes once to the question, Miles seemingly made it a priority to ensure there were always enough cookies in case he ever saw you again. Given the amount of times he woke up to a fresh batch and reminded his mother of his constant request, it became robotic like clockwork to her.

''Mama, did you make enough for-'' ''Yes, I made enough for you and your little girlfriend"

------------

"Yeah huh?" The sudden high pitch of her voice brought me back to Earth. The one place I don't want to be right now "This is my son, Miles. I'm sure you remember him"

I hummed in response, turning my back to my family's faces to draw any unwanted press while shaking his hand. Retracting his hands he gave that signature one-dimple smile which I felt shy to return.

"Nice to meet you" He raised a brow

"We're met before, did you forget?" I literally proposed to you with a ring pop

"Ah my bad, we have to leave― Early shifts at the hospital"

"I completely understand, get home safely" She placed her hands over my balled fists, giving me a bright smile before departing. Her son lingering behind her followed in tow, waving as he left.

"What was that (y/n)? I hope you're not talking to those people outside of church matters" My mother stood closely behind my back, so she could freely show her disgusted expression without judgement. I turned to meet her wild looking eyes of age 38.

And I thought ursula didn't exist

"No mother, I would never do such things" She said nothing but a hum, which on her part would be 'not gracing me with an answer'

"Be at the south porch at evening. We have something to discuss"

What the heck did I do.

In the Larkspur mansion there's a total of four sub-buildings: The north porch used for house-warmings, general church meetings and such, pool house to the east, church to the west, and the south porch. The south meant nothing good, being the farthest sectioned from the house it was an analogy for things to be said in the dark and only in the dark, something grave like an affair. Things like that, things that could change a person's life and given by the term 'we', probably meaning my father, mother and I. I know that whatever they had to tell could change my life for the better or worse. But by now we know that anything 'for the better' would be just for them so that's not even an option.

----------------------------

Sitting down with his legs spread my father watched as my mother pranced back and forth the hardwood floor, prepping herself to say whatever it was. She looked as if the words she were about to speak pricked her tongue before they came out and whenever they did. I watched with a blank expression, hands crossed on my stomach as the fluffed material radiated heat to every crevice of my body.

"Cecelia" His paitience wore thin as the whiskey from the glass ran low. My mother repeated the same words she had over 100 times since we've been here

"This is ridiculous, certainly there's something else" My father sucked his teeth reverting all the attention to him and he chugged the last of the liquor. Although not meaning to I stared into my his eyes with some hope he'd continued what my mother couldn't start. His stare got intense, hardening every minute the contest went on.

My grandmother always told me that "It come like puss bruk coconut in yuh fada yiy" meaning that he was one with seemingly dry eyes or that he was an ill-mannered person to hold a stare to absolutely no limits or regard to who it be with. She always told me that it was something I inherited from him but unlike my father it looked better on me.

"You're changing schools"

I swear to you my eyes nearly dropped out of their sockets is a sign?

"Recently there's been a spike in teenage pregnancies at CHS and with such a tainted image we cannot have you attending there so, we had arranged a transfer for you to Brooklyn Visions"

Despite the sudden relief radiating from my body I sat still, muttering a compliant response before getting up to the exit. "And you're meeting with-" My father got cut off by my mother placing a hand on his upper thigh. Through my peripheral I could see her smirking as I went off.

I love my parents right, but sometimes (most times really) I swear— I'm going crazy in this house

--------------------------- like 2 days later

If it's one thing I know though— the sexism is gonna get you right. Long nails, lashes makeup and everything was one point but maybe there was one teeny tinyy thing you despised, clothes. You knew that Cinderella princess wardrobe of yours was too much and so you were going to argue for it.

------------------------------

As we were leaving I contemplated asking for some new clothes — speak now or forever hold your peace.

"Mother "

"Y/N?"

"Aren't we getting new clothes"

"And why would we do that? You have a plethora of dresses back home"

"That's it, the dresses are a bit.... pricy and might get the attention of the wrong crowd. I mean other than the great neighborhood around Brooklyn Visions there's its opposite too" I sucked in a breath knowing that this could go one of two ways— I could get what I want or they'd put an ankle monitor on me.

"I guess I'd never look at it from that perspective. Atleast that brain of yours works"

Excuse me.

Despite that little backhanded thing I smiled, that's 1 point for Y/N.

--------

So that's it, I'm too lazy to decorate ATM but I will

[miyuhpapayuh]

Can I be transparent for a sec? Mmkay.

I lost my job back in January over some racist ass mean girl shit and I haven't been able to find a job since then. It's almost may. By the grace of god, am I still held together but man if a bitch don't cry.

Bills never stop. Life don't stop. The fact that some over aged bully brought problems to her SECOND job and got an innocent black woman fired is crazy to me, I feel like they even blackballed me ya know? Nobody wants my ass.

Soon as I send the application off, it's coming back with a fat red NO on it. And I ain't never not do my job, so to pats that off as the THIRD and final excuse as to why you fired me is crazy.

Almost two years and still had that key in my possession til I brought it back to her ass, after she fired me. There's bitches that didn't even have codes to get in the building! I had that AND a key! Mind y'all, this was my second boss. First one got fired cause she truthfully ain't do her job, but me, always on time and ready to do my job.

We got paid $12 and hour! Who tf ain't finna do this silly shit? All I do and ring bitches up. So you saying I never rung a bitch up? Never opened/closed the store? Never cleaned my area? Never did a return? Never help a vendor? Never turn the fountain on/off? Never turned the lights on/off? Tv, either? Never put anything back? Never took something down for someone? Never carried something out for customers, which i eventually stopped on my own cause I ain't finna be no liability. This is not Lowe's. Never answered the phone? Nothing?! I just came to work and disappeared to narnia, apparently, and have y'all my ass to kiss? Yeah, okay. And how do y'all think that'll stand with no paper trail to back it up.

If I NEVER did anything, why was I still here and never written up a single time? You were my boss for five months and never wrote me up? Didn't confiscate my key? CONTINUED to let me open the store up? Tried to make me your errand girl? Picked a bitch who don't even clock ten hours a week your part time assistant manager but kept running to ME when shit would get weird and if redirect your ass to your OTHER assistant manager, because EYE do not get paid to be a secretary. Remember who you gave that job to, especially after being warned that she wouldn't be able to do the job.

Y'all, what the fuck is a part time assistant manager? Any other assistant manager we ever had clocked the full 40, cause it's a REQUIREMENT. Duh. Now part time and full time employees? Sure, but nothing else. Can't be a part time manager of a fucking establishment, that's so ass backwards.

So who would be asked to open the store a LOT if the other assistant was on vacation or whatever? Me.

If a bitch didn't ever do her job? Why call on me? Rely on me to fix problems with certain customers because you knew I'd handle it. Hell, I was helping this girl sell spaces in the store! If I never did my job? Why constantly ask me how many hours I wanted? Tell me about the other girls and how they're not doing what you want and yadda ya.

When girls started quitting, I took those long eight hour shifts to the chin to help you out. And you thanked me! Y'all she was on the phone talking to my assistant manager and they got me right before I left work to thank me for staying so late and being the only one to step up and be a team player and they appreciate me (mind yal I don't care about team player bs it just felt nice to hear that I was appreciated) and all that, just to turn around a MONTH later and say I never did my job?

I got fired over the phone because she knew how it woulda went down in person, but she also thought I wasn't smart enough to fight. First mistake.

This feels like a book lmao I'm knowing y'all prolly don't care but I just have to write this out somewhere, I just have felt so sad and angry.

Anyway. Painted tree is a boutique where people sale their wares, handmade jewelry, food, clothing items, candles, paintings, etc. you could either buy a kiosk or a booth and you were responsible for that and that alone!

So of course, there's vendors that sell shit outta their house cause they know nobody is paying attention, one of them any things this new manager was being brought in to fix cause it was starting to look like a hot mess, I'm not gonna lie to y'all, but I just worked there so whatever.

Of course me being me, I would also make a point to say something every now and again because you can't have us giving a spiel to the customers about the store, while not making sure that your current vendors are following those rules we're giving the new ones! Like???

Old manager was even telling her assistants to sale the spaces sight unseen and why make me privy to this cause you know ima tell y'all how illegal that is!

So the same part time assistant manager is involved in what ended up getting me fired. We started around the same time as cashiers and she's been trying her hardest to get this promotion at her other job, the full time job, but she's up against some sixty year old lady who's been in the company forever, so she's got seniority. Y'all already know how this ends up going. Shorty ain't get the promotion, right around the same time she gets promoted where we work.

On top of that, her husband should choke on something. I won't get into that but there was a point where she'd cry to us about him leaving her and even pimp herself to customers! I'm talking about"if y'all have any single daddies, older brothers, friends, tell 'em I'm ready to mingle!"

Inappropriate.

During the same time, Christmas Eve of 2022, to be exact, we get a text from our manager that the power was out and whoever was scheduled wouldn't have to worry about coming in. So I'm like sweet, see y'all Monday, merry new year whatever.

Of course this bitch gon text back and ask about the possibility of the lights coming back on and I'm like oh my god really. So managers like I'll let y'all know if I hear anything and get y'all to come in. Of course.

So what we ain't know was that this girl was camped out in the job parking lot, waiting to see if the lights came on.

Sure enough they did, cause why not?!?!? And she calls manager and tells HER that SHES gonna drop her kid off, change her clothes and come back to work! Told HER manager what the plan for the day was and you know it actually went down?!?? Cause she was a known snitch at head office, they don't like this girl! Our manager told us that they don't like her.

Anyway, so of course we have to come to work for like three hours and it's a waste because there was like 10 customers at most! My co worker and I are giving her shit because why were you in the parking lot waiting for the lights to come on?! You had nothing better to do cause your husband still hasn't come home?! DO NOT MAKE THAT MY FUCKING PROBLEM WHAT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK?!

She's telling the customers that we're making her feel bad and I'm just saying "good, I hope you do feel bad" got our asses at work for nothing, yeah feel bad! I could still be in the bed! Last minute Christmas shopping my ass! I'm mad!

So why does she end saying she wants to leave early?

Not the same person who said we should thanking her for getting us more hours? Not the one who was trying to gain sympathy from the customers? NOT THE ONE WHO CAMPED OUT IN THE PARKING LOT?!!!!

When I say my head swivelllllllled, it almost came off. All my coworker did was stare at her but eyeeee had words for her ass.

No way you just said sumn bout leaving early??? You literally waited for the lights to come back on so you could get us to come to work! We're here and only been here for like 2 hours, maybe her 3, and you wanna leave early?! You ain't going nowhere. If anything ima hitch a ride with coworker and we gon leave you here to lock up. That was funny of you to think you were leaving early.

Shoulda seen her face, like dare you!

I said if our manager goes for it and you leave early, I got words for her too. I bet she ain't get work early.

My manager and I even agreed that she was being ridiculous to even ask that question, being the one who made us come to work!

Yeah she ain't like me ever since that, but she also ain't buck her shit after that either.

So when we get our new manager, she feels like she got someone on her side because let me make note that the old manager was the best friend of the assistant manager that she works alongside now. So the playing field is leveled now.

So my sister and I have a kiosk to share, my art and her baking. We get both of the week and I make it look all pretty with our candy jars and cookies and paintings and jewelry that my mom made and what have you.

I come in a day before my week is up and my stuff isn't there. In fact, that now part time assistant is standing in front of a table, taking down a coffee display.

Do we do this on Saturdays? Absolutely. Do we use the other side to display our coffee so these booths of the week can still be presented? Also, yes.

So why is mine the one you MAKE SURE you take down? Right.

So I clock in and tell my assistant manager that I needed to go to my booth. I go to my booth and our stuff is out back crazy! I call my sister while I'm putting everything back. I mean candy dishes on the edge of the shelves, my paintings on the floor, cookies put behind things. Like she just dropped it off and kept it moving.

So were upset and I call my manager and let her know what's happening and she's telling me head back up front cause conveniently both assistant managers were leaving early so I needed to watch the front so I'm like okay just call her and tell her that I don't appreciate her just throwing my stuff around and she assures that she will.

So that ended up being translated like something to brush off cause when I had to call her back cause I couldn't find one of my stand to my paintings, which I ended up finding in the office on a shelf?! Which also ended up not being a big deal to my manager which I noted was not cool, she just kinda passed off a message like we she didn't know where your things went.

She coulda left my shit where it was sitting and let me know to move it when I got in. Could moved it into the office and let me put it back myself. I got agreement on this from my manager. So I'm just like okay whatever just tell her not to touch my stuff anymore if that how she's gonna do me. That was the end of it for me, cause just let me get my money pls.

So the next day we work together again, and like any other day we do not speak to each other cause she's wishy washy and I don't get paid to speak to you nor do you get paid to speak to me. So I speak to my other coworker cause she's not an asshole to me and I go about my day.

Why does the next day roll around and my manager asks me what do we need to do to solve the tension? I'm like what tension? I'm good. When she wants to start treating me like a human, then maybe she'll get so here with me but EYE am not the problem here?? I didn't do anything to her??

She's like, well she told me that you came in and didn't speak to her but you spoke to everyone else.

I'm sorry, I'm we in high school? Didn't I tell y'all that we are not friends? I know I've told y'all that so what's this about?

I told her that I'm not rolling out a red carpet for this girl and making her feel comfortable cause she's definitely not doing that for me! Like be real! Be serious! If I told you every damn time she ain't speak to me, you woulda been tired of me long time ago! I don't come to work for that! Tell her come talk to me and I get a comment about my attitude and I shrug it off like okay haha cause I'm not confrontational all the time, it didn't cost for that ya know? So the comment was unnecessary.

So a couple days go by and I end up texting my manager to chat when I got to work later that day just letting her know that I needed to get everything off my chest about this while situation cause it was starting to bother me how the whole thing was being handled.

In that conversation, I pretty much reiterated that I just would like to continue doing my job and not worrying about catering to anyone's feelings, cause we do not get paid for that. This girl had been treating me like an outcast for a whirl and it feels racist sometimes and she's quick to defend her cause duh and I tell her that I don't need anyone to tell me what they think about it so pretty much like girl save it, I still think it's racist and she tells me to send part time assistant manager a message to say like here's where we stand and we don't gotta get along but we gotta get back to work and let it be.

So I'm like ok cool, I type it up in my notes and send it to my homegirl like girl read this and lmk what you think cause she privy to everything that's been going on!

She like that's cool but I don't think sending her that will make a difference, cause I agree with you that she should do her job just mediate or something instead of getting you do it! Remember, YOU didn't do anything to her!

So my sister came right around that time cause she was picking me up, also putting labels on her products cause again we own a kiosk, and so I tell her about it and she immediately is like do not send her anything cause they can use it against you.

So part time assistant manager ends up coming in and when I say she beelines straight for the office, she almost hurt herself getting in there.

So my assistant manager ends up telling me that if I wanted to go home early o could cause we were really slow so I was like yeah I'll see y'all tomorrow, byeee

So a couple hours later, I get a text from my manager asking me if she could call me. I already knew what it was but I'm like there's no reason why she would do that.

So she calls me and someone from corporate was on the other line! wtf? So she goes into this spiel about cutting hours and then abruptly says that here's where we part ways.

So I'm like why am I getting fired? She dances around the question and goes on to say something about an attitude, and so I ask her if it's about the situation between we and ptam (got tired of writing that out) and if it is about that situation, is she also getting fired? Cause never did I speak to that girl about any of this, it was my manager and I talking. And she doesn't answer any of what I asks, she just keeps going back to its best that we do it like this and I'm like why? She then goes on on to say she knows I wasn't happy and I'm like how?? Why would I come to work to take your shift, both assistant managers and my own in this mf if I hated my job? Girl shut up! Like not making any sense?

So the lady from corporate takes over and starts talking like an inspirational speaker about how she met me and I can go anywhere and be the best I can be and there's better opportunities and I end up zoning out cause I'm just like how tf am I gonna pay my bills now? I don't have a job lined up. I cannot believe I just got died and she didn't even give me a reason— she thought I hung up and I'm like nah I'm here but I don't wanna hear anything else or continue this conversation, you want your key back? Cool. Do I even have a shift still, tomorrow morning? No, of course not. K, you'll get it back, bye.

Immediately I send a long email to corporate and tell 'em everything that's gone on, even told em how my manager has her boyfriend/fiancé drive an hour back down the road to another location for some damn labels because ours hadn't shipped out yet. This man is NOT employed there so there's no reason why he should be being employed to do her job for her!

I also terminated the contract for my stand cause now I'm no longer there to watch my stuff and if bitch gets away with throwing shit around once, she gon do it again. Told her rip that shit up.

Now my sister was mad at me but not for long cause she knew i was upset but I was NOT talking outta anger, I mean what I said but she wanted to see if she could figure out what's going on cause I'm not the only owner of the kiosk which is fair, so we head up to the job and the assistant manager that I worked closely with was there, looking like a deer caught in headlights. This is her norm but it pissed me off more than usual.

She tried breaking bad on me, telling my sister that I called this person and that person and told em all types of shit, now me being me again, I'm asking wtf I said cause when we first started asking her questions, she wasn't aware of this and that and wasn't even allowed in the email anymore lmao and for an assistant manager, that's a bold face lie to tell cause how the emails get answered? It's just you here, dummy! YOU KNOW WHATA GOIN ON BITCH!

So when I asked her what I said in the email she just said she wasn't allowed in, she gon smirk at me and say "you know what you said"... nah! Since YOU know what's in the emails, you tell ME what I said. After that she sobered tf up and that smirk went bye bye. She even backed away from the counter cause I was getting so agitated, and she's scared of me. We've also had it out before so she knows her limits and me not being her coworker anymore, she knew better than to test me.

So I end up separating from my sister cause the conversation was going nowhere, only for us to find each other again and assistant manager told her that I never did my job. Crazy as hell.

When I say I sent a total of three emails and called corporate and only one person responded to my email— the chief of staff, mind y'all! I'm thinking she finna come with it, right? Wrong. Everybody full of hot ass.

She telling me that there were concerns— none of which were brought me but ok— about my work ethic and there's claims from SIX of my coworkers that support me being away and not ready for work but clocked in, also multiple screenshots that support the idea of me not being fond of my job.

I asked that bitch to send me this concrete ass evidence so EYE can see what EYE said and y'all know I ain't get shit back. Not even crickets. Not even a tumbleweed, bitch.

One thing about me, ima ask to see the evidence. Y'all not finna act like y'all got something on me and not share it with the class?!? Come on, where's the fun in that?!

Couldn't take the time to fabricate some text messages or print out a write up and forge my signature! Nothing!

So when it came time for me to get my unemployment, of course they tried making that difficult too! But ima fight for myself. I've come to far in that, not to.

Got them ppl sending me questionnaires and in ever text box they provided, I went into lengthy detail about this whole situation, I was so tired of telling mfs that I wasn't aware of why I was even fired, it made me literally ill.

It was like I was talking in circles and nobody was listening to me, which is something that makes me physically violent. So something needed to be done asap, cause if I gotta sit my black ass at home, I'm getting my duckets in the meantime!

So I got fired of the 16th of January, right? On the 17th of February, I log into DES and guess who was approved for their well deserved mf money cause them bitches ain't have no evidence to support me never doing my mf job?! Yeah! YEAH!!!! I cackled all morning long bitch, it was so funny and hilarious and delightful!!!

But I've been looking for a job for the last three months and it's about to be May. By the grace of god and my mama do I still have money in the bank, but the unemployment is on its last leg and it don't know what to do. I just feel like a failure a lot of the time, it really sucks to keep getting rejection letters in my email but ima keep trying. Just don't know how much try I have left in me.

So yeah, if y'all made it to the end of my long ass diary entry, I appreciate y'all and hope y'all take care of y'all selves at these jobs cause they give not one fuck about ya, k? K, stay lovely and spicy 😘😘😘😘

[centrally-unplanned]

The Nimona trailer is just so funny to me; this is of course a product whose existence is a bit of a financial Frankenstein; a product of 2015 that went through development hell only to finally emerge in 2023, way past its sell date. Everything that made it has puffed up in smoke (hell, I remember Stevenson, aka "Gingerhaze" on Tumblr, doing Pokeymans ask meme drawings and the silly Lord of the Rings Modern AU comics, its born from *that* era). Look at this original page:

Real Hark, A Vagrant vibes on the dialogue, the bickering-couple quips paired with the stumbling mistakes of Buffyspeak put through a decade+ of evolution on the internet. Its interesting now to look back on them and see that it was an era, this kind of writing and artstyle peaked and fell away.

So since they fell away, the new trailer can't adapt this anymore! Meanwhile western TV animation has its *own* stylistic evolution, which means Nimona was made fit-for-purpose:

Hard to sell it in one screenshot but I think you get it. Now Blackheart is the "straight man" to her "manic pixie nightmare girl" comedy stylings; everything is louder and more aggressive, joke density is higher, more inequality exists in the dynamic (up to and including some 'girl power' sprinkles, gotta have those). Its how you write fun characters now, this is what animation *is for* in the medium in the west (in mainstream Netflix shows aimed at non-kids yadda yadda you know what I mean).

Obviously I am just spitballing based on a trailer, its just one scene after all. But idk man, if I had to teach a class on a certain kind of western commercial art this would be such a powerful exhibit of the confluence of eras and mediums.

(I do personally also *not like it* because I remember liking Nimona and don't think you should change it that radically, and the art style seems pretty cookie cutter, but that isn't too important)

[unfortunately-obsessed]

What Is Wrong With Us (1/3)

( Next )

Pairing: Batman x Reader

Warnings: blood, injury, weapons, death.

Word count: +2.4K | AO3 Link |

Request: Bruce x reader where reader is a suspect in a crime case so Bruce gets close to her to investigate but ends up falling for her

A/N: Did I go a little overboard with it? Creative liberties and yadda yadda (⁠´⁠ε⁠｀⁠ ⁠) . Please do warn me of any mistake, or to add any other CW.

The first time you saw Batman, you were in an ambulance.

Like most of Gotham's residents, you only heard about him and never actually saw him with your own eyes.

The ambulance's tires were screeching on asphalt, sirens blaring outside, racing through the city. Of course, it should have received a police escort.

But, in Gotham, everything goes wrong at the same time.

You can't say you were surprised when armed men stopped the ambulance, spitting that you need to hand them the man on the stretcher.

This is Gotham, after all.

Normally, you would comply. They train you for things like this, to stay calm and not panic, and to say the right things. Raising your hands carefully, men screaming at your ears to get out of the ambulance. And you would, even if the curiosity about what that middle-aged man did to receive this kind of attention would make you lose sleep.

You don't know what makes you not comply, the sound of the man flatlining or the fact this was already the end of your 12-hour shift.

When you start chest compressions, their screams turn louder. Your driver rolls his eyes, hands up, already outside the ambulance, half afraid and half tired of your stubbornness.

You're not nervous at the sight of guns. Growing up in the Narrow's stomach, where people are hungry, does this to anyone.

They scream at you like you ought to obey. The long you proceed, the more agitated and frantic they get.

The gun is fast to turn to you.

You wonder if it's worth it. Your life and the man's life.

But you don't stop. The action is exhausting, but you don't stop, mentally counting like you were taught.

They're screaming louder and louder. Feral with anger, aiming at you.

(Which, for you, doesn't make any sense. If they wanted that man dead, shouldn't they just kill him already?)

With your peripheral vision, you take a look at them.

They're not men, but the type that is born and dies in the Narrows. Young, scared, their anger is fear. They were ordered to be here.

And this makes you livid. This makes necessary a conscious effort to not put more strength in the chest compressions.

You have tired eyes. Your shoulders and arms burn with exertion . "I'm not leaving him," you bark, stubborn to the last hair.

So, like much of Gotham's residents, you never saw Batman before. And, much less, you saw him in action. For this, you half expected his eyes to be cold and calculating, to judge you with mightful justice. You expected him to be a manifestation of cold impartiality, that he would feel nothing at all.

You think Batman is the balance between merciless and mercifulness.

This is how you spend your nights, thinking, no one dies tonight. Because this is Gotham, and everybody, especially you, needs to make an active effort so this happens.

As fast as there's a gun threatening you, there's none.

No, not because you actively deserve to live. Neither are you applying CPR, not stopping for a second, because the man deserves to live.

Not because you're innocent.

But because killing, and letting other people die, is fundamentally wrong.

And Batman is fast. Is the first time you see him, the dark and the fact you're still applying CPR prevents you from actually seeing him, but you hear and you know.

And he doesn't kill those young fool men. Any other would if giving that much power Batman had.

You hear your driver thanking him seconds after. You see a shadow from the corner of your eye, towering over your colleague without meaning to.

Take life as it happens, is the only way to live in Gotham. You see Batman, for a second, his eyes. You knew by the second you laid your eyes on him.

Not that he's different. He's a man. A tired one, too. You don't know what you see, and really, you don't have time to care.

"This man needs a hospital," you sing-song between compressions. Maintaining a steady peace was getting nonviable.

The driver stumbles and you get annoyed at it.

You never grew used to it, to know that breaking ribs is okay. When you apply CPR, afterwards, you feel like the one that needs medical aid. The man's ribs break under your hands and you lose sleep anyway.

Batman makes you curious. He looks at you so intensely that you can feel burning.

Since this day, there's poison slowly stripping you away of common sense. You get even more reckless.

And you pity yourself.

------

It would be easier if you weren't drenched in blood.

Not drenched, as in looking like someone that was immersed in blood. This wasn't even close to the amount of blood that starts to make you uncomfortable.

The annoying part is that this was your best button shirt. Blue, and linen, high-quality and more expensive than you liked spending on something that doesn't look good on you, a gift. It's not your uniform as you made yourself the favor of getting all your shirts stained.

So, this was the annoying part.

And also the fact you that shouldn't have left revenge and anger take the best of the situation.

Because now you were being arrested for murder.

In the backseat of a police car, the heating is on. It's warm but the cold still creeps under your clothes. Half-congealed blood flakes from your neck when you watch the street passing through your eyes.

The handcuffs are starting to hurt, you're starting to feel how cold and harsh they are.

You don't try to chitchat with the officers, a bottle-blondie woman and a middle-aged ginger man, distracted only by the agonizing sensation of having linen sticking to your skin with gushing dark red. You want to scrub it off, underwater and three different kinds of soaps.

Of course, there was a plan.

You weren't going to pull the trigger of that old gun.

There was blood. Not even close to the amount of blood that makes you uncomfortable. You were wondering if it was going to be, though, almost wanting it to be, to have trembling hands and feel something about that one person dying.

The plan also worked around the concept that you weren't going to get caught.

But, oh well. Here we are.

You've been working around what you should say. I need a lawyer. I want a lawyer. Too nuanced. You got too quiet too fast, and this is normally what guilty people do.

Getting manhandled into a police car, your mouth dry. What should you say? You don't say anything as the ginger officer delivers the Miranda rights.

A car accident doesn't make your situation better.

In fact, it makes your life harder.

It happened fast, though. The police radio, Gotham's suave rain, the streets you grew up on. The two officers in silence, quiet, and you halfway expected them to be joking about your situation like they do in the dramas. The traffic light is red, it turns green.

You heard the screeching tires first.

Then the car rolls down the street three times.

You already saw the scene before it happened. This time, you like to think your attitude was still the same even if you were inside the car.

It felt a like a movie scene and an amusement park at the same time. You didn't like this horrific combination.

The blood runs copper-hot down your forehead, tasting it on your tongue.

Kicking the glass, dragging yourself out of the vehicle.

A semi-truck t-boned into the police car, you assess clinically. You bent down then, the police officers don't look too alive but who are you to judge?

Gotham is not known for having functional streetlights. The rain doesn't feel nice against you either. It feels cold, unsettlingly so. For your utmost luck, the street doesn't have one passerby that can call for help.

You feel tipsy, dizzy. Mind you, if you had drank alcohol you could have a solid argument in court. Not the time to think about this.

Your legs feel like noodles. Overcooked noddles.

There's a gash, not too deep, across your belly. You don't understand what made that to you. But you're not feeling pain yet.

At first, you stay in the same place. I need to get them out, you think, I need to call 911.

You don't move, hand clenched against the wound, and now, yes, you're drenched in blood. Your own blood.

Throbbing hot and red, it feels red, it feels burning. You didn't know you could feel colors.

You bent down again, reaching through a crack in the glass for the police car's radio, having to take a deep breath before pressing the transmission button.

"An accident occurred in the Fifth near the intersection with Robinson Street. A semi-truck crashed into a police car, which is now upside down." Holding the radio with one hand, you try to assess the officers with the other.

The female officer has a head wound and a possible broken arm. They both grunt in pain, their uniforms torn and dripping red from several cuts. Luckily, it means they're also very alive.

"Two officers are currently trapped inside," your voice feels firm, betraying how tired you feel. "They're not conscious and need urgent medical care."

Quickly starting to shiver, feeling the metallic flavor at the back of your throat, burning, signs of brain damage. Brain damage? Concussion? You probably need medical aid, too. But your eyes instinctively go back to the semi-truck, searching for a survivor.

The police car is destroyed, nearly split in half, upside down. The semi-truck is alrighty.

Ducking your head, looking for a driver.

A man gets out. Your first step is in his direction, raising, opening your mouth to demand his situation.

He has a machine gun in his hands.

Something along the lines of if you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear. You have a lot to hide and a lot to fear. The gun itself doesn't make you fear, you had seen a good amount of guns in your life.

What makes you shiver is how he briefly scans your face and, then, shows a clear recognition on it.

Instinct propels you to run.

------

It doesn't make your situation better.

Gotham is washing away the blood that is not yours.

And you can't go on forever, even if you try.

Dark haunting red against your skin. Gotham can't wash everything.

You're shaking and can't help it, wondering if it's the cold or the shock. You can't afford to go into shock, not with that gash in your belly. Cortisol won't treat you good.

The man is quick to find you, making you realize you had no idea why stop running was a good idea. He grabs you with no difficulty, by the neck, finger bruising your skin to the bone.

You flinch and you groan. A cold gun is pressed on your neck with no demand or explanation.

Frantically, he drags you to where you don't identify. You try to maintain the pressure on your stomach, starting to feel pain.

Gun never wavering, carrying you along, he's faltering but determined, shoving you to darkness. You have to bite down the urge to ask why.

Hearing sirens only to be distancing yourself against your will. You were crying now, against your will, too, a normal reaction when the adrenaline starts to wear off. Absently, tears are in your throat and you try to swallow them, too proud.

As fast as there was metal opposing your neck, there's none.

You fall without the man supporting your weight. Stumbling to the floor where is comfortable.

From your spot on the ground, you can't see anything besides bullets flying. Gulping air doesn't help you.

Batman, Dark Knight, Caped Crusader, whatever people were calling him that week. He's fast and huge, simultaneously making it quick and painful.

There's technique in the damage he causes, as far you can tell with blurry vision and rainfall on the way.

Batman lowers himself, methodically assessing your situation. You expected Batman to look unfazed and largely unsurprised.

No, there's method and practice on his expression.

"You're injuried," he says, a gloved hand touching your wound. His voice sounds exactly what you expected it to, a growling bass that makes you shiver.

All bruised, you think of something to say. Your throat is dry and you're still feeling the tears falling. There's this thing burning in his eyes, that is everything but uncaring.

There's nothing human or warm to reach out to. You try, too, searching in his chest and shoulders, and he let you, but all you find is Kevlar.

He's crouching in front of you. Through tears, all you see is a man that is oddly concerned. A sense of duty, you discern. Batman is surprisingly tender, his hands searching for any other wound you might have.

Batman is explaining that he will get you to the hospital. He's going to carry you to the Fifth again, where there are ambulances. You can doze off if you feel like it, he explains.

You try to question him about the officers, but again, you open your mouth to come back with a failed effort. He might have caught your attempt because he quickly explains that they were okay. His lack of elaboration does annoy you a little.

However, if not stubborn, you know this blurry vision and headache indicates how you're going to pass out.

Batman, surprisingly, knows how to deescalate the anxiety shooting through your veins. He talks to you like you're a child, like you would to any victim in the same situation. You stop crying somewhere there.

"I didn't kill him."

Your voice sounds little, shy. He looks back at you and there's a thick surprise between you two.

The reason why you justify yourself to Batman of all people is a mystery. Still, you shook your head slowly.

Throat so dry, it might be bleeding. Feeling blood at the back of your throat.

"I didn't kill him," you clarify again, suppressing a cough.

Gotham might try to wash away your blood, but it can't. The urge, instinct even, of acting creeps under your skin.

Batman narrows his eyes, it looks icy cold worse than water, a furrow in his eyebrows that goes past the cowl. He deflates a little.

"I believe in you," he assures confidently, soothingly. You blink heavy.

You try, ever so bravely, to keep your eyes open, because you don't believe them.

That's the man named Vengeance? You understand now why people started to see him as hope. A moment, brief and exhilarating, and he shields you from the world.

You don't know why he believes you, why anyone would believe you when everything indicates guiltiness.

However stubborn, you lose conscience the moment he raises you up.

Tagging: @diavolosbaby

[bookishfeylin]

I joined this fandom loving Feyre, loving Feysand, loving the IC, just overall loving everything about the books. As such, I looked at the super pro-Feysand and such content. This was a mistake, as the longer I spend on diehard stan content, the more I want to punch walls. There's nothing wrong with loving Feyre, or even thinking Feysand is a cute couple you ship, but there are people who just deny them of ever having done wrong (not even to each other, just in general), or that Sarah didn't make some major oversights. The big thing I think of is Feyre as a high lady. I actually liked the whole "high lady" thing when I first read the series, but now I'm realizing how stupid it is. Feyre is wonderful, but she is still a 20 year old who has no formal training in accounting, in leadership, in politics, or any of the necessary requirements. You can't run for president until at least 35 for a reason. She can be as sweet as she wants, and host all the free painting classes, and be as motherly as possible, but when push comes to shove that won't lead a country. These people out here claiming "ah yes, Rhysand is pretty much retired at this point Feyre leads the whole nation and she's just the perfect High Lady" yadda yadda yadda, no. Also, I've discovered some people stan her destruction of the Spring Court? I'm not even pro Tamlin and I can accept that is absolutely not cool. Was it largely his own fault? Sure! But there was a necessary catalyst, and that's what they refuse to accept.

Anyway I'm just babbling at this point, but very few people in this fandom actually accept that Feyre is capable of wrongdoing (and that's okay! perfect characters are boring to read! you can love characters despite them being flawed!) AND can bear to tolerate a difference of opinion. Curate your fandom experience how you want it's your life, but don't be shocked when someone comes in with a valid point.

You've probably answered this 8000 times before, but what's your opinion on the whole "High Lady" thing?

Hi anon! This entire ask was such a pleasure to receive, and your ranting is perfectly fine (goodness knows I rant a LOT on a lot of my analysis posts in particular—). I actually have feelings™️ about the fall of Spring (though that is a post for another time and it’s something I’ve talked about before but I’ll keep from discussing it here so this post won’t be too long lol), but the High Lady thing is also something I have strong opinions on as well.

While I do understand Feyre's age and political inexperience being something that people get hung up on, I haven’t talked about it as much mainly because it’s not as big of a stickler for me. The main issue, for me, with the title of High Lady is that it is an empty title. No amount of Rhysand saying “look you have droplets of power from other people clearly you’re a ruler” changes that Feyre was not actually hand picked by magic to rule as defined by the (admittedly barebones) magic system we get. I talk about it more in this post, but ACOTAR 1 spells out that Hugh Lords are chosen by magic and as a result have a unique connection to their land and people. (PLEASE go read that post for the exact quotes I use and my discussion of said quotes!) Feyre lacks this connection, and is therefore not a real High Lady in any sense. It is merely an empty title, given to her to placate her and make her (and by extension her fans) feel like she has more power in her unbalanced relationship than she does, which is why she and many Feysand stans were blindsided by Rhysand's actions in ACOSF.

I say this, not maliciously, because anyone who’s read my content for any long period of time knows I’m actually very fond of book 1 Feyre in particular, but to point out that it’s merely another tactic by Rhysand to manipulate her. Feyre is left completely vulnerable and completely at her husband's mercy due to her incorrect belief that she has more power in their dynamic than she actually does, a dynamic that is showcased and exploited to the worst degree in ACOSF, and it’s largely possible because Feyre is not a legitimate High Lady in the full sense of the title who is owed her subjects loyalty and devotion the same way her husband is. It’s very tragic, actually, and it’s wild to me that the whole fandom fell for it.

[sittiytaart]

There is Only 1 Sunset

In my MLP AU there is actually only one Sunset, Sunset as a young child was human and managed to accidentally phase through the portal and came to Equestria.

She was caught by the guards but was simply escorted out of the castle, where she struggled to live cuz she's a human child in a pony's body. However all humans have a hidden magic potential that they just can't use.

So after a few days of being homeless she manages to garner the attention of Princess Celestia after a magic incident (Which causes Equestria!Sunset's parents to never meet). And learning that Sunset is homeless Celestia decides to take her in as a student hoping she'd be the Element of Friendship.

Sunset forgets about her human life and lives well, Celestia makes a bunch of mistakes since this is honestly her first time being a 'Parent' to a filly and it sorta messes Sunset Shimmer a whole lot. Celestia sees that Sunset is a whole lot like her past self which freaks her out so she tries to steer her from her own path by showing her the mirror

And yadda yadda the plot happens but Sunset returns around the same age she should have been since entering the portal in alternate universe time so there it only has been a few years. Sunset has to be then Re-introduce to Human culture and is placed back within her family.

BUT IN SHORT:

Sunset is a Human turned Pony who forgot that she was Human turned back into a Human again. She's Special

[blueiight]

yk usually id go on a fake deep rant or two on how feminizing a character whos a canon misogynist & warmongering sex pest fall into fan perceptions of yadda yadda but yall. this mf reuenthal literally imagined himself as his mother& his mother’s paramour as someone strongly resembling his homeboy. like that fucking flashback sequence in ep 90whatever is insane in so many ways if i ever get into a rewatch again i will drop my thinkpiece on it line by line… all the flashbacks of his mom leonora (who in the ova. was left unnamed) he always creepily resembles her. or rather his brain warps her into resembling him. bc he literally could not have known what she looked like . like he even says the foundational flashback of leonora tryna kill his infant self is not something he could have remembered but he believed it & due to his father’s constant abuse of him in his childhood this attempt on his life as soon as he was born became a cornerstone in the development of his Ego (using this to mean his self). like the society he was born into is so reactionary & chauvinist like all the other women on the empire side besides hilda (whos established as an exception to the rule) have very long hair so it makes no sense for a nobless leonora to have short hair just like reuenthal & look just like him. this is literally just his twisted mind cooking w grease. its not only rationale for his misogyny in whats already a v misogynist fictional society.. its also how he defines himself in relation to his mother. the witch who tried to murder the product of her own infidelity & the witch’s brew, her lookalike son with the ever present reminder of her ‘mistake’, who managed to ruin anything good he had in his life by his own hands. imagine if someone introduced the spaceboy to hormones instead of battlecraft & a hypermilitarized space culture

[envysparkler]

this one’s a Tim & Dami one on being careful what you wish for.

the batsibs are on patrol and Dames rescues an old woman selling ‘magic’ trinkets.  she thanks him for saving her and gives him a charm that she promises will grant him whatever he wishes for.  Dami rolls his eyes instead of saying something disparaging--Nightwing’s disappointed eyes go a long way in reinforcing lectures on manners--and they resume patrol.

patrol ends, they all head back to the Cave, yadda yadda, Dick and Jason are squabbling over something, Tim and Damian get into an argument, Damian snaps at Tim, “I wish you were dead!”, flings the charm at Tim (who dodges) and stalks away.  Tim picks up the broken shards of the charm and throws them away.  and then he collapses.

Dick and Jason freak out and try to figure out what’s wrong with Tim.  they stay up all night, ruling out all kinds of things.  they muse that maybe it’s magic.  Damian, alarmed, fishes the broken pieces of the charm back together and tries to take back his wish.  doesn’t work.

Tim is comatose a la Sleeping Beauty while his family run like headless chickens to figure out what’s wrong.

Damian doesn’t tell anyone about the charm, but heads out into Gotham alone to track down the old woman.  he tries to steal another charm from her but the old woman stops him.  she asks him why he needs another one and Damian said he needs to fix a mistake.

“they’re for granting wishes, child, not for fixing mistakes.”

Damian gets on his knees to plead.  he wants to take back his wish, he made a mistake, please.  the old woman considers him for a long moment, and says that sometimes those who are lost need help finding their way back home.

Dami goes back home.  Dick is curled up asleep at the medbay, Jason is still frantically working at the synthesizer.  Damian goes to Tim and demands he wake up.  he says that Richard and Todd have lost their minds and Tim can’t just ignore all his responsibilities and “this is unbecoming of a Wayne, Drake, get up!”.

finally, voice cracking, Dami whispers that he misses Tim too.

Tim opens his eyes.  Damian snarls a long line of curses at him before clutching him to hear his heartbeat.  everyone is very confused, including Tim.

“tt.  I did not mean it when I wished for your death, Drake.”

“oh--”

“I will deliver your death with my own two hands, not rely on some weak and puerile magic.”

“uh, thanks?”

(“aww they’re getting along, look at them!”

“only you would consider death threats ‘getting along’, dickface.”

“well yeah, it’s how half my siblings show their love.”)

[offscreendeath]

I finally watched Across the Spiderverse after months of putting it off and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since.

There's few movies, in my opinion, that live up to their hype and this is one of them. I'm not going to bother comparing it to the first in the series -- there's already plenty of that going on. But beyond the appealing art direction, score, humor and easter eggs, one of the things that really stuck out in my mind was the theme of "acceptance", in so many words.

In the film, we are treated to the classic Spider-Man themes of great power = great responsibility, having to balance home life and a superhero career, yadda yadda, we know the drill, been there, done that, nothing we haven't seen before.

What I didn't expect was to see this theme turned on its head. Sometimes that responsibility is incredibly unfair, and we often don't have enough power to deal with it on our own, at least through conventional, socially acceptable means.

The big speech Rio gives Miles isn't like the rest of the other speeches we've seen various Spider-Men being given. Rio affirms that Miles is loved and cherished, that he belongs where he is, that his presence isn't, as Miguel later states, "a mistake". This resonated with me, as I'm sure it did other people, particularly younger black kids. I'll explain why.

Miles is from New York City, Brooklyn to be exact -- an area that has rapidly become gentrified over the course of a generation, but particularly in the last few decades.

This means, among other things, higher prices for housing and other necessities, displacement of historic residents of the community and homeless populations, as well as a cultural clash between wealthy yuppies and natives.

None of this is explicitly explored in the film, which takes place in a fictional version of NYC, but it is relevant context nonetheless. Black youth are routinely criminalized, brutalized, surveilled and killed by law enforcement, and made scapegoats for "crime" by racist "concerned citizens" and vigilantes.

When everything from hostile urban infrastructure and officers from abusive, corrupt institutions (and ninja vampire spider-men) are telling you that you "don't belong", someone telling you that you're accepted and matter, can make a huge difference and go a long way in helping to build your self-esteem. It's this expression of unconditional love that, I believe, gives Miles the confidence to finally confess and reveal his hidden identity to (a version of) Rio towards the movie's finale, regardless of the warnings Gwen gave prior to this happening.

The difference between Miles & Gwen is that Gwen's father discovered her secret totally by accident. She was forced to reveal her identity rather than voluntarily offering that information. Before she had a chance to explain her motivations for keeping this hidden life to herself, it was too late. Miles, on the other hand, at least has a chance to come clean -- though it remains to be seen whether The Spot will interfere with this.

The Spot also craves acceptance, in his own way -- feeling that he's a joke, he's desperate to gain enough power to prove that he's a formidable opponent. His conditions has left him unable to easily re-assimilate into society -- permanently disfigured and incapable of living a "normal" life, he doesn't have the family that Miles has, nor a society of others with similar experiences to provide mentorship or community. He is totally alone, angry, sad, and probably scared.

Like Miles, Spot was in the wrong place at the right time. The accident leading to Spot's new body only granted him great power -- but no responsibility except to himself. It's hard to not feel sympathetic to Spot. Like most villains on Spider-Man's roster, his story is a tragic one. Perhaps if there were someone in his life like Rio, who could've told him that he's not a "mistake", he wouldn't feel so rejected and alone. Also like Miles, Spot is himself a scientist, not lacking in any brilliance -- only healthy, loving relationships and the respect that comes with it.

Miles is also actively undergoing puberty, a process that involves physical change as much as social and psychological ones. It is an awkward time for most, and with the additional stress of having to go to school and be the city's only Spider-Man, the struggle is definitely real and palpable.

Dealing with the weight of his parent's expectations, and the expectations of a city in need, as well as a whole multiverse of other Spider-People, it makes sense that Miles would feel constantly out of place, outclassed and overwhelmed by the many changes in his life, desperately attempting to spin multiple plates at once. Rio's words offer comfort and reassurance, but it is Gwen, Hobie, and Peter whose actions ultimately prove that he doesn't have to endure this struggle alone.

Managing to outwit and evade the entirety of Spider-Society with no outside help, Miles has proven he has the technical skill and experience to be Spider-Man. He's far from an amateur, regardless of Miguel's scathing, callous criticism. Miguel's insults are brushed off as Miles once again slips through his fingers and defies his orders to merely stand by as his father dies.

It is perhaps true, though, that Miles is naive to the threat of the canon being broken, that he is ignorant of the scale of the problem and that the risk is simply too high to alter the timeline, but it is not in his character to refuse a call to action, especially when it is someone he loves who is in danger.

Miguel seems to be using Miles' existence as a scapegoat for his internalized anger and grief regarding his own mistake in breaking the canon and its consequences. Losing everyone he once loved, as well as condemning the rest of the universe to erasure in the process, Miguel isn't wrong to worry about what Miles' actions could mean for everyone unless he is stopped. Rather than work with Miles to find a solution, he instead opts to prevent him from having even the opportunity to explore solutions to the problem.

Even with amazing futuristic technology and an entire veritable army of superpowered beings (mostly, with the exception of Hobie,) at his command, I think it's bizarre that Miguel isn't even willing to hear out Miles' concerns and desires. Instead, his first instinct is to capture him while his father dies alone, in an entirely different dimension than his own.

Perhaps Miguel is like Spot -- desperately needing someone to reassure him that his mistake was honest in nature, albeit a bit selfish, but that doesn't mean he should suffer with the resulting trauma and mental anguish indefinitely for it.

Everyone, save for a few, seem scared of Miguel, and for good reason. He has great power, for certain, but perhaps bears too much responsibility, which has warped his morals and led to him becoming a dogmatic quasi-authoritarian -- or, in Hobie's words, a "self-mythologizing, narcissistic autocrat!" Miguel is fully aware that he isn't the only Spider-Man who has dealt with the pain of losing loved ones, but he has made it his duty to lead a team dedicated to making sure that this collective trauma unfolds without a hitch. Though this doesn't make him a villain, necessarily, he is certainly an antagonist.

Upon my first of many viewings, I was certain that Gwen's father, Ex-Captain Stacy, would become another antagonist. Willing to draw a gun on and consider arresting his own daughter, I didn't have much faith in his development as a character, until it was revealed that he quit -- choosing his relationship with Gwen above his responsibilities as a cop. Perhaps Miguel could learn something from him, specifically that our futures are perhaps not written in stone, or at least that we have some degree of control over our fates, even if it isn't total control.

Finally accepted and free of the burden of concealing her secret, Gwen's relationship with her father is restored. Though initially hostile and obviously shaken by the realization, Gwen's father proves that parents and other authority figures still have an opportunity to grow, learning to accept others for who they are, provided they have enough time and self-reflection, and perhaps a few well-crafted persuasive words.

Ex-Captain Stacy is not alone. Earlier in the film, Jeff questions his merit as a father and worries about his changing relationship with Miles, fearing that he's become too distant or has somehow failed Miles in a crucial way. Perhaps Jeff has his own expectations he must grapple with.

Miles and Jeff don't have much in the way of a heartfelt speech together. Miles misses Jeff's speech at the party celebrating his promotion. The talk they do have together happens without Jeff's knowledge, though his respect for Spider-Man obviously has an impression on him, with Jeff suggesting to Rio later in the film that they should take his advice in dealing with Miles (aka, himself), giving him more space and trust as he matures into a young adult.

Though I want to work out how Hobie's character fits into this theme, this post has already gotten too lengthy and he deserves a post of his own -- not to mention we don't really get much of a serious exploration into his background or character to draw many conclusions from.

Suffice it to say, however, Hobie's ethos and actions would suggest that it's not only possible, but desirable and good to carve a niche for yourself, and seeming out of place or being underestimated can actually work to our advantage. Throughout the film Hobie constantly questions the actions and motivations of others, particularly Miles. This isn't done to make Miles insecure, only to encourage him to act on his own authority and be a free thinker, an essential component to being Spider-Man, not to mention an adult.

Well true believers, that's it for now. Thanks for reading. Until next time.

To be continued...

(By the way, why is "marvel mcu" a hashtag? the "M" stands for Marvel! You wouldn't say "DC Comics".

[mauesartetc]

I've seen it stated in a comment on reddit that Blitzo "deserved what happened to him at Ozzie’s. He forced himself on M&M’s date and then went out of his way to draw attention to himself KNOWING fizz was there. The entire event was a result of his own actions. Hell, Stolas treated it as an actual date and at least tried to make an effort to be sweet."

They also said:

""I’d like an acknowledgment of Blitz being the one who was in the wrong and admitting it himself. Stolas may be an out of touch rich aristocrat yes, but Blitz was neglecting him and taking advantage from the start. Stolas arguably had no reason to suspect that objectifying blitz was a problem considering he never seemed bothered by it until Ozzy’s. I’d like to think the hospital scene is what is starting the process of Stolas finally realizing blitz can’t be helped until he helps up himself and deals with his issues."

And I'm like: wtf? Are you seriously making Stolas into the injured party despite all the cr*p he has done? Hes the one who has apologizing to do; for objectifying and fetishizing Blitzo all while looking down on imps.

The last part stinks of not wanting white/privileged people to take accountability for microaggressions based on the excuse of them being "innocent".

Sorry, I know this is wildly beside the point, but:

cr*p

Dude, this is Tumblr, not TikTok. You don't have to censor yourself here. You don't have to make every word you write commercially viable. It's okay. Be free, little bird! Spew expletives left and right if you feel so moved!

I want everyone to feel free to speak their minds on this blog, and if that includes a few naughty words, so be it. Besides, I'm pretty sure no one's getting in trouble at work for reading a post that contained the word "crap".

Anyway, to the more pressing issue at hand: It's important to recognize at all times that these are fictional characters, not real people. They are puppets whose actions are dictated by writers. Yes, giving characters the illusion of agency when writing stories is a great way to engage your audience, but when analyzing stories, you have to focus on why the people who wrote them made the choices they did. Debating which character was in the wrong, or which character was more wrong, or which one should apologize, yadda yadda yadda, is a futile fucking exercise if you don't include the writers' intent in that conversation.

Let's look at Blitzo. He pretty objectively caused most of what went down at Ozzie's. He followed Moxxie and Millie, he invited Stolas, he drew attention to himself when he knew people who hated him were present. Now that last one seems pretty stupid, like the kind of mistake no one of sound mind in the real world would ever reasonably make. We could spend all day speculating what about his personality would lead him to do this, whether it's zero sense of self-preservation, a subconscious desire for self-sabotage, or simple inability to keep his damn mouth shut, but here's the thing: Other Helluva Boss characters have the same problem. To reiterate what I said here:

"Why did Octavia fully forgive her dad, no questions asked, even when he couldn't explain why he cheated on her mom? If Loona hates being around Blitzo so much, why didn't she just stay with the succubi on the beach? [...] Why did Moxxie make a huge romantic gesture in an environment where such gestures are frowned upon? [...] Why did Stolas bring an imp to a couples-only club despite knowing it'd ruin his reputation?"

The answer to all these questions is "because the plot demanded it." The writers wanted a certain outcome and wrote themselves into a corner before they could reach it organically. Instead of putting themselves into the characters' shoes or retracing their steps to make the endpoint feel like a logical conclusion, they just said "fuck it" and brute-forced the easiest solution, causing the result to make no goddamn sense.

Given the level this writing is on, it feels kinda pointless to argue with internet strangers over which character was in the right and which one wasn't. Subsequent episodes haven't addressed the events of "Ozzie's" (at least not in a way that means anything), leading me to believe the writers never cared enough about them to spark any sort of in-depth conversation. So why should we?

Honestly, this person just sounds like a Stolas simp. It's kind of a leap to assume they don't want real people of a certain race and class to bear responsibility for their actions. It's not that deep. None of this is that deep.

[scintillyyy]

but what if reverse robins but lots of things stay the same

we start with damian wayne, bruce's age is *mumblemumble* to make this work. batman is working on his own and then talia just randomly drops him off one day and he insists on helping out as it is his birthright, becoming batman's partner robin.

things get tense as eventually he gets fatally injured and subsequently gets resurrected (we'll go with right away, by his mother), this causing a chasm between the him and bruce and causing bruce to lash out for damian's safety and fire him, causing damian to leave to his teen titans and find his own name, away from his father

bruce is sulky and sad that he pushes away everyone he loves when he finds a girl who is trying to DIY vigilante-ism going after her father, cluemaster. bruce, having learned nothing from his past mistakes, takes her under his wing as the new robin, in part to upset damian. this upsets damian greatly at first, although he eventually comes around.

bruce being bruce, however is controlling and paranoid after damian's death and resurrection and is quite dismissive of the girl. stephanie, being quite upset at this treatment goes out on her own to prove herself, getting ensared by black mask in the process. he tortures and seemingly kills her.

(she doesn't get sexually tortured, though, ew dc)

bruce goes on a rampage in his guilt, hitting harder and showing no concern for himself

tim drake, local batman and robin fanboy decides someone needs to intervene. he goes and finds damian wayne in an attempt to get damian to go back as robin, because batman needs someone there to hold him back.

damian says absolutely not, my father and i can't work together like we used to, things are different now. he doesn't like tim, necessarily, but eventually develops a grudging respect for him at his tenacity and faith that robin needs to be a thing. he eventually okays the transfer of robin to tim and helps to convince bruce to take on a robin again

tim gets lots and lots and lots of training to make sure he's as safe as possible. steph is a precautionary tale.

something something prodigal with damian and tim half baked idea utterly hilarious to me

tim and damian don't have the dick and tim dynamic but they settle into fondness and snarky comments about the other but still would 100% die for the other in a heartbeat

and maybe they bond over issues with their dads y'know?

anyways jack finds out and tim has to quit as robin!! oh noes

bruce deals with this in the most bruce way possible: by finding a kid jacking tires off his car and making him robin

unfortunately, this kid gets killed by the joker. tim returns, angry at bruce over everything that just happened, but the anger won't last long because immediately after this tim's dad dies and kind of overshadows everything else.

meanwhile, stephanie, having faked her death, comes back and is pissed because not only was she replaced right away, bruce seems to be putting much more care and thought into training tim

after she finds out she goes to the league of assassins to learn how to best get revenge on batman. she comes back and takes over black mask's gang and becomes the new black mask and yadda yadda yadda

anyways one year later, tim gets adopted (damian will never admit it, but this pleases him), and then bruce goes to the circus and meets dick grayson, only for his parents to fall and die and bruce immediately takes him in

which causes tim some insecurity because his place in the family seems so new

but unlike the super tense initial tim and damian relationship, every dick and tim brotherhood needs a healthy dose of hero worship

see, dick remembers very clearly the time that his parents won tickets to a baseball game from a charity event hosted by drake industries and it was a *big* deal. he got to meet tim there and ~take a picture together~ and he's just in awe of meeting him again

at some point jason gets resurrected. does he join steph?? maybe he settles into a role under oracle, the two brought together by their respective experiences with the joker

anyways bruce dies in final crisis. damian must take up the cowl. he chooses dick to be his robin because really, drake, i respect your abilities so much you are ready to spread your wings and fly now

tim then effs off to go find bruce in the time stream.

anyways he finds bruce, comes back, and settles into his role as red robin, mentor and big brother figure to robin. they complain about damian together, go train surfing, and push each other off buildings.

something something the end

[androgynousblackbox]

I looked into the video James Somerton talks about his HP merch in and made some screenshots. He's not full on bawling per say, but it's sure something. (An Over-Emotional Look at Why JK Rowling is Bad)

Screenshots: https://imgur.com/a/UwFPhZ7

He waxes quite long how for some kids HP was essentially a safe space from the real world, the characters were their friends and family and so on. The books are the fans' property now, she might legally own it but the brand is nothing without the fans, Hogwarts is home for an entire generation yadda yadda. You'd have to see the smug head shake when saying "I'm not letting her have the power to take it away from me", wow. Just wow.

Coincidentally, here's a 2 HOUR LONG video by the youtuber Shaun calling out just some of the weird and highly problematic shit in HP books: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-1iaJWSwUZs

Jesus fucking christ, what a terrible ass fucking video from a terrible ass person.

slow clap

Truly, how brave of Serial Plagiarist Somerton to decide that he, as a cis binary man, can wear his HP backpack without feeling like he is contributing and supporting TERF ideology. And how absolutely nice of him to not make a single fucking mention during this one hour jerk fest of "I am good, uwuw, believe me, I am good!" of how to actually support trans people.

A big chunk on the video relies on the assumption that Serial Plagiarist is NOT bad, okay? He is not a bigot, okay? He said so. He has trans friends to whom he wouldn't talk about Joanne Karen so OBVIOUSLY he couldn't have any hidden bias or blind spots. Forget the fact about how he denied that Rowling "did anything explicitely racist" at the start. He met his first black person at 16 so that means he is not a bigot. But as soon he tries to convince me of that, he does share the opinion that the phrase "people who menstruate" sounds "off", that it's "deshumanizing" (he ommited explain how me, a person who menstruate, against my will I might add, should care about what a cis man's opinion about a completely accurate description that is relevant to menstrual related health) so OF COURSE he understands why people had a problem with it. It's very fucking understandable. Nevermind the amount of trans people who were already calling that already or the mountains of afab people who defended the terminology as being inclusive and fine. Serial Plagiarist is not a bigot because he said so. That is the only thing you need to remember.

Strike one.

Serial Plagiarist of Queer Authors didn't talked either about the pen name of J. Karen is the name of a conversion therapy supporter, even though in Twitter trans people and actual allies who listen to us always point that out.

Strike two.

At some point he says that the fanfiction communities exploded only after the books were finished. I was on HP fanfiction communities at 14 before the fifth book came out and it was the largest fandom at the time. I am talking about the hispanic fandom so the english one must have been huge too. How does he have the confidence of just saying such blatantly wrong information, I have no clue.

Like, he says "we were loving, kind, accepting people… that is why we had to defend J. Karen" like… he actually is making the argument that he is a good person at heart and he had no agency, no responsability, no autonomy at all and no bias anywhere when he decided to defend J. Karen and ignore criticism until it was too late. It's giving Shane Dawson pushing for his shitty "I am such an empath uwuw" whenever people would call him out on blackface or whatever shitty unfunny joke he made. "I am a good person, therefore, if I did anything wrong it was a mistake and that doesn't reflect my values or who I am", like fuck it does.

That phrase "I won't let her take that power away from me" appears before on the video refering to trans people having HP related tattooes to spite Rowling. So he took this sentiment from trans people and decided to apply it to himself… a white cis binary guy, and he thought he was doing fucking something.

I swear I almost lose my fucking mind when this piece of shit really bring out syrian refugees grabbing HP books with them and being all "is it really fair to ask them to give that up?". The same man who literally groaned and complained about how he can't guy a fucking lego set has no fucking business in hell comparing his need for scapism with these people. He had no fucking business to pretend like he has the same power of reclamation that trans people have. He had no fucking business doing this whole fucking charade of "I am not letting her take that power away from me uwu" when he never, EVER, was the most affected person on any of this and NEVER had any power taken away from him. While he was playing the smallest violin for himself from the inside of his ass, he barely even touched on the real life impact that J. Karen had on making the lives of trans people actively worse. He didn't say anything about how laws are inspired by her or how hateful and violent people she had little tea parties with. It's like he thinks all she did was some offensive tweets, a bad books, a manifesto and done. That no further impact and didn't harm anyone.

He wants to play the victim on all of this so fucking hard and it's embarassing. This is giving me Sarah Z bringing up the fucking Turner Diaries to talk about problematic fanfiction. It's the exact level of otherwordly lack of self awareness. No fucking wonder they are best buddies.

[dimiclaudeblaigan]

This whole scene has... so much to it in such a small amount of time, both for Ingrid and Dimitri.

Even though Glenn and Ingrid were engaged for political reasons, they’re one of the rare couples (even in the FE universe) who actually fell in love despite having their relationship decided for them. That kind of thing has such a small chance of happening, but for them it did, only for Ingrid to lose Glenn.

She kept on after that, pushing herself to be better constantly, but you can tell losing Glenn affected her a lot. Her sacrifice in SB isn’t just because she’s “chivalrous” and yadda yadda. After losing Glenn, she just didn’t want to lose anyone again. In the battle she dies in, she dies giving Dimitri and Dedue time to escape. It’s not because she’s just planning to head out to die even though she knows that might happen. She wants to protect the people she loves because she couldn’t do that before.

Also, she’s super specific about training and learning all ways to grow and develop as a knight. When Dimitri says she faced life with strength and vigor, she really did. In both games she pushed herself to be better so she could be strong enough to keep her friends and family safe. Her reason for being a knight is to protect those people, and I do feel that Glenn’s death reinforced that in her a whole lot.

Even though she could’ve been a knight while married to Glenn and not just a housewife or something, Dimitri is right that she deserved happiness. It was essentially promised to her in that she would grow up with a big, living family and very close friends. Her life was laid out in front of her at a very young age. Not only would she be part of the second most prominent family in the entirety of Faerghus, but she was surrounded by powerful and good people. It wouldn’t have been like all the letters she gets for suitors in Houses from scummy people. None of those people would have dared even approached her through letters if she had been married to someone as important to the country as the heir of Fraldarius. In other words, she had a full, happy family on both sides and a small, tight knit group of friends.

Instead, Glenn’s death unraveled everything she had going for her. Her father kept trying to marry her off, even if it wasn’t for bad intentions, because they were basically financially damned when Ingrid lost her fiancé. The people there tend to starve and her love of food is because they live in such a barren land. Being financially stable and never having to worry about you or the people of your territory staving again would be great, but even better than that would be being in love with the person you were married to. She lost her love and her financial safety at the same time.

Felix became distant and cold, basically having shut down because of losing Glenn. Sylvain was the only friend unaffected by the Tragedy, and it’s clear he doesn’t know how to help them or how to interact with them on the topic, so he’s out of the picture for any comfort and is also in the middle of dealing with his own heritage problems and insecurities. Dimitri lost his father, step mother, best friend and a load of other friends from the castle.

The reason Ingrid tells herself Glenn’s death was honorable is the same as Rodrigue’s reason. It’s how they cope. Ingrid doesn’t want to see the truth about how her beloved died. She doesn’t want to accept how horrible and gruesome it was. While alive, she knew him to be a very great man and worthy of praise. It wasn’t his death that was honorable and glorious, but his life - and that’s what Ingrid uses to deflect whatever awful death he had. Rather than remembering his death for being horrific, she remembers his life as being gallant and chivalrous, and that’s where her mistake comes in in saying his death was also “knightly”.

It wasn’t his death that was knightly, but the man she knew in life that was knightly, and so her first reaction to hearing that her beloved fiancé died so terribly is to remember the person she knew him as and make herself believe that was also how he died. Like Rodrigue, she copes the only ways she knows how. In her case, this is also by constantly training and trying to become a better knight, to the point of being devoted to it obsessively so that she doesn’t lose anyone else and have to experience that again.

Dimitri on the other hand thinks he should have died because he believes Ingrid deserved a second chance at that happy future. The one she lost still could have eventually been hers again. If he died, she wouldn’t have been there to give him the time to escape. She wouldn’t have had to sacrifice herself to protect another loved one. She wouldn’t have had to die like Glenn did. His death would’ve meant her life, just as her death meant his life. Dimitri also has an overwhelming amount of guilt already from the Tragedy, so now he’s bearing this guilt on top of that guilt.

Count Galatea is also still alive, which means the man just lost his daughter, just like how his daughter lost her loved one. Not only has Dimitri’s family been protected by Glenn, thus causing Ingrid grief over the loss and a lot of financial instability for the Galatea land, but now her father (and siblings) will also grieve the loss of Ingrid who died to protect Dimitri. Not only did the man have to witness his daughter go through that grief, but now he himself also has to.

For Dimitri this is a LOT to handle. Someone died for him that caused sadness to someone very close to him, and now that same person has also died for him, causing grief to her family. For him it’s like a cycle that won’t stop. People around him keep dying and others are grieving. Ingrid’s father has been through and seen a lot, and Dimitri doesn’t feel like he can ever make any of this up to him. He thinks it’s his fault, and that’s a result of the burden of seeing so many people around him.

Mind you, he also almost died at Duscur and had wounds so bad he was barely hanging on. Rodrigue mentions it in Houses while speaking to Gilbert about the incident, saying that his wound left him on the brink of death. Had Gilbert not been there for Dimitri, he would’ve died of his injuries even if he wasn’t directly killed by an enemy. It’s not like he was just unscathed and walked out of it all wondering why he was the only one somehow untouched. It’s really not his fault, but knowing he was the only survivor has made him feel as guilty as Gilbert feels about not having been there in time to protect him and the king. Remember, Gilbert felt so shamed by what happened that he ran away. He couldn’t face Dimitri anymore, nor his home or family. Dimitri wasn’t in a position where he could run away, but his feelings are no less damaged than Gilbert’s.

Basically, Dimitri thinks all the death around him is his fault somehow, simply because he keeps surviving when others are dying. Sure, some of them died because they were trying to protect their king (both at Duscur with Lambert and in Hopes in this battle), but Glenn and Ingrid died trying to protect someone they loved. That was the kind of person Glenn was, and Rodrigue mentions something similar in his A support with Felix - that he doesn’t believe Glenn could live with himself if he had survived that and still lost Lambert and/or Dimtiri. Having been there but having failed to save his loved ones’ lives would’ve destroyed him. Ingrid is the same way, and she couldn’t have handled losing yet another person she cared deeply for.

Unlike Felix being huffy and puffy at Dimtiri and Sylvain being carefree and running around with girls at the Academy, Ingrid was the only childhood friend Dimitri had left who could level with her in conversation. There was no “ugh Felix stop whining and complaining” and no “ugh Sylvain stop messing around and not taking things seriously” between them. They were all broken, but Ingrid had a bond with Dimitri that was the least changed out of all of their relationships between the four. She didn’t want to lose that one friendship that stuck it out with her and didn’t change despite everything they’d all been through.

On his end, it’s guilt for another person dying for him, but she would feel the same way if he had died there. She’d have lost another loved one, another dear friend, another person she felt comfortable and happy around. Just like him, she couldn’t have handled that either. She would be as guilty as Dimitri feels if she had survived and he had not.

Unfortunately it was out of their hands, so it was neither of their fault, but they both still feel immense guilt and sadness in the same ways for the same reasons. Dimitri feels like he can’t atone for this because Ingrid and her family have been through so much and as the heir to the throne, he feels responsible even though it was out of his hands every time. Even growing up, he wasn’t old enough to assume the throne while Rufus was still alive (i.e. why he didn’t assume the throne in Houses while being “rendered powerless by age”, but assumed the throne at that exact age in Hopes), so there’s nothing he could do about Galatea’s situation.

Not only did Glenn die, but now his beloved betrothed also died for him. Ironically, Ingrid would have felt the exact same guilt if Dimitri died. She would have lost Glenn, then lost Dimitri who was one of the people Glenn died trying to protect. If that happened she would have felt like an absolute failure who had not progressed a day since Glenn died. She would have felt like she had failed as both a knight and a friend.

It didn’t matter who died in this situation when it came to guilt and grief. Regardless of who died, either of them would’ve had this exact same response to the situation. Both of them would have felt like they did wrong by the person who died and died their family, as well as Glenn. Glenn was always going to be the connecting factor here. When it comes to guilt, both of them tend to be driven by Glenn, and Ingrid would also have felt unable to atone to him if Dimitri had died. Similarly, she wouldn’t have felt able to atone to Rodrigue, Dimitri’s “second father” (how Dimitri refers to him in Houses early on into the BL route). Not only would Glenn be gone, but the person he died trying to protect would also be dead “because she couldn’t make it in time/protect him”, and “how could she ever atone to Rodrigue for two of his three sons dying because she wasn’t there to save one of them who she could have saved”.

No matter what, this conversation would’ve been the exact same thing. “How do I atone to Glenn and the dead person’s father/father figure?”