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idkfitememate · 3 days

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(My sincerest apologies, but this is a male reader! He/Him pronouns!! Anyone can read of course, but if I find any comments of a fetishized nature, your comment will be deleted and you will be promptly blocked! Thank you!!~)

Wendigo’s are spirits that claim body over the dead and force the risen corpse to eat the flesh of their brethren, turning others into flesh eating creatures such as themselves.

Changlings were many things, but the one thing they all had in common was that they were placed in the cradles of human children who were snatched away in the night by fairies. They had the innate ability to change their forms and appearances to become something they weren’t, to convince others they were that new form.

Now… what if these two creatures were to mate? A creature of infinite flesh and identities and one of never endearing hunger for flesh and a spirit of famine?

You would get the second in command of the young Schoenheit. Vil’s right hand man and assistant since birth.

(y/n).

He was of average height, average build, average hair color, average eye color, average everything.

Nothing about him stood out amongst the gorgeous crowd of those whom he would work with.

Though, he had an innate eye for beauty and details, even in the most of drab places. He had the ability to turn any old lump of coal into diamond. He could spot anyone and turn them into a star.

That’s why his parents worked out a deal with Vil’s.

(y/n) works with Vil to keep appearances and popularity stay shining, and Vil’s family will continue to house and tend to (y/n)’s.

Fair, yes?

Well it was, for some time anyway. Before Vil was whisked off in that Ebony Carriage guided by those horses of bone, off to Night Raven College, leaving (y/n) behind.

Leaving his friend behind.

At least, (y/n) would like to say they were friends, but he knew better. He was nothing more than another tool in Vil’s arsenal to keep him in the spotlight, but honestly? (y/n) couldn’t complain.

After years of being a glorified servant of the other, he grew an attachment to the blond/purple haired man. Seeing him everyday was apart of the fae boy’s daily routine and him being missing from it was already messing with him.

Even though Vil had only been taken shipped off around a day ago. But that wasn’t the biggest issue.

The biggest issue would have to be the fact that an Ebony Carriage had come for him a few nights before, and in a fit of rage he destroyed it.

Though he did more than just throw stones or bricks, he intended to send a message. YOU intended to send a message.

A message asking why the fuck they would dare try to separate you from your *kostbar schimmernder stern.

You broke the coffin in, shattering the glass surrounding it. You did torch the wood of the carriage, and completely destroyed the small mirror that rested on the top of that forsaken coffin.

You sent it on its way as a warning.

Only to come and regret that decision as you watched from the tree line as the carriage that now held the sleeping body of your friend rid off under the moonlight.

After his leaving, you barely left your room, only carrying out your job with… lesser clients via email or a messenger. Though if not in your room, you’d be in the forest, most likely with your parents.

Speaking of, all your life you kept your family heritage a secret. Whenever someone wanted to meet your parents - such as Vil’s parents - they’d speak through a servant or you. Not to say that they looked inhuman, in fact, they were like you in human forms. Both shockingly average.

But rather because neither, no matter how much practice they had, they could never get over their… urges.

Your mother was a very, very old wendigo, older than most fae really. You could hear her cries beyond the gates of the house, the signs of a successful hunt. Never was she not bloody, her hair drenched in the red, sticky substance and her teeth stained crimson. She carried the scent of death with her everywhere, and sometimes you could see her “fixing” her body, otherwise known as sewing her skin back together. She had made an effort to never allow you to see her “true” form, but that was for naught as very early on in your life you had seen her stalking back to the house, two dead bucks trapped in her maw as her bones and joints creaked with every movement.

Her bloodshot eyes meeting yours. Blood dripping off her skull and large, sharp antlers onto your dolls.

You personally could say the dolls looked better dressed in red.

And your father, ever the trickster he was. With a glance of the untrained eye, and he would seem entirely human. Though, by living with him you could both see and feel, deeply that something was wrong. How his joints would twitch and jut in odd ways, how his expressions were always just slightly off the mark. How he wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t drink. How he never slept or even breathed. If you pressed into his skin enough, you could feel a wooden texture beneath the flesh, and his eyes were dull, as if carved from stone.

His teeth twitched as though alive, and his throat would make the oddest noises, such as bark rubbing together or leaves rustling against each other. Sometimes you could find him staring into the forest, his eyes completely blacked out, his body changing and shifting. His arms too long and his legs too short. His hair both shaggy and sleek while long and short. Haunting noises scraping themselves from his throat.

And sometimes you could hear something respond.

After Vil left, you’d go hunting with your mom, seeing the love she put into every kill for you, as you began to eat with her. She forbade you from eating meals with her due to her diet, but seeing how upset you were, she made an exception.

The feeling of raw deer flesh on your tongue as you gnawed on bones to help clean your teeth, feeling blood run down your chin as you shoved your face into the neck of a fresh kill, your mother kneeled over in her true form, chuffing and licking at your back with love. The grime of dried blood and small hairs beneath your nails as you clawed deeper and deeper into the corpse.

You found a beauty in it.

The beauty of life and death; the circle of life, you supposed.

You’d do the same with your dad, him helping you with your magic output. Finding out that you had inherited your mothers instincts with your fathers innate ability to change. Not your signature spell, but a powerful magic nonetheless.

You spent your days inside or with your family as grief at the loss of your friend consumed you.

You regretted not going when you had the chance. You wanted and needed to find a way inside that damned school.

As you cuddled into the warmth of the pile your family had formed on a pile of blankets and pillows under a window that allowed sunlight to stream onto you, you began to form a plan.

Didn’t that designer work there? What was his name…

Divus Crewel?

‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧

It hadn’t been hard really, to get in contact with the fashionista, but after a couple emails you finally got one back.

The school year had started by now, so designing for him was more of a pastime right now rather than a job. But that didn’t stop others from making requests. And no matter how punctual he was with his years of experience, there would always be something or someone to throw him off. Having someone to manage a schedule and otherwise would be a large help, and with your rather impressive portfolio, you knew he’d be bound to say yes.

And yes he did say.

You were scheduled to move to NRC in a few days, packing your belongings in a large suitcase. You heard the door open to your room but didn’t move from your packing instead letting your mother walk to you. You closed the suitcase in time the stopthe blood splatter from the large dead bear she dropped to touch your clothes. Finally looking up at her, she had a small smile on her patchwork face.

“Eat.”

That was all she said but you understood. Usually - with you anyway - the hunts were small with deer or bucks, the occasional fox, wolf or small bunny for a snack. But a bear, that was something worth celebrating. Not to say your mother couldn’t catch something larger, but it was the largest thing she caught for you.

It was a parting gift.

You knew that hunting would become a scarce activity and that’d you’d once more need to get acquainted with regular foods, so this was a very welcome gift, as after this it’d be nothing but cooked meats for you, unfortunately.

Your hands easily gripped the flesh through It’s fur, tearing a large chunk off its neck. You ran a hand through the thick coat before tugging, and with a swift pull, nearly all fur came off the chunk.

You brought the bare skin to your mouth, sinking razor sharp teeth into it. You could tell it was fresh, from the mass amounts of blood that spilled down your chin. The disgusting sounds of flesh being chewed could be heard throughout the home as your father walked in, in his hands a box.

You placed your bite down and rubbed your hands on your pants, turning to him. He stepped over, not minding the blood now on his shoes, and crouched dow, placing the box in your lap.

He ran and hand through your hair as you took in the box.

It was white with a large red bow, small black accents patterned across the top.

Gently untying the bow and lifting the top, a butchers set and a makeup set lay before you, in the center a small gemstone mixed with purple and red sat before you. Picking it up you realized what it was.

When practicing your magic, your parents would offer up an old wand or pen, as was customary. You had yet to do anything with your own life, in the sense that you had yet to fly the nest.

And here you were, making your first decision for yourself. One that would lead you away from here.

From them.

A magic gem.

You could feel the power dripping from inside it, pushing into your being and forcibly flowing through your veins. Looking at the knife and makeup brush sets you noted the small indents in parts of their bases. You gently placed the gem in the sharpener - it was the most normal looking compared to the others, looking like a metal wand - and waved it a bit, small sparkles emanating from its tip.

You stared at the duel sets, then gently set the sharpener down, before leaping up and hugging your father. Your mother quickly got up as well, wrapping her much longer arms around you and your father, none of you minding the blood staining your clothes.

Tomorrow was a new day.

‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧

“Glad to see you made it in one piece.”

You stood before Divus Crewel, sciences teacher of Night Raven College and fashion designer. Together in the hall of mirrors, he motioned you forward and began to walk to another mirror, to what you only could assume were the teachers housing.

Dragging behind you were multiple bags, considering the contract you both came up with required you to be on campus the whole time you were employed during the school year, if only to keep you close. The black and white man apparently much more preferred face to face meetings over calls and e-mails.

Divus looked back at you. You had at least five large suitcases and a slew of smaller bags, but were carrying them with ease. By now you had both stepped through the mirror towards his current home and were simply walking the trail to the building, but you were keeping up with his brisk pace with no problem.

He’d be a fool to say he hadn’t heard of you. Just like all the models he worked with, your name was all over the high world of acolytes. You had clients in every circle, and not one of them was dissatisfied. One of the youngest in the business, at only eighteen, Divus would’ve expected you to be a bit ‘shaky on your legs’ so to speak, but you held yourself up high, no signs of stopping or of any fatigue.

Such an interesting boy you are…

“I meant to ask before, but what made you so eager to ask for this role?” Crewl was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. He knew Vil had just recently came to NRC, leaving you without your biggest star. So to reach out to Crewl just a few weeks later, he had a feeling he knew why you were here. But he wanted to see if you’d admit it.

“I had recently seen your work. And after… ‘loosing’ Vil, a lot of my work time has dropped. I needed to be busy again, after my few weeks of down time. I hope you understand, fashion is a bit out of my expertise, but I figured it’d be a fun new experience.”

Crewl opened the door to the rather large mansion-like building, guiding you down hall after hall, you immediately making note of every twist and turn as the salt and pepper haired man showed you to what you assumed would be your room for the rest of the school year.

“I see… well, these will be your living quarters till the end of our current contract. I will leave you to get situated for tonight and will show you around the school tomorrow. This weekend will be spent showing you around the rest of this building and fully ironing out your role and duties under me, understood?” You nodded.

“Good pup. Have a good night.” You stared at the back of his head as he walked out of the room and closed the door. You immediately looked around the room taking it in.

It was large, much larger than your own back home. High walls with near ceiling to floor length windows surrounded you, the walls painted in grays and black with hints of purples and golds.

A tribute to the Headmaster of this place, you assumed.

Your new Alaskan king sized canopy bed sat in a corner with sheets that matched to walls, the only other furniture being a desk with a chair, a nightstand, and a dresser. You sighed, knowing your pockets were about to be drained in order to personalize the room.

You walked over to a door, opening it to find the largest walk-in closet - next to Vil’s - you’d ever seen. The damn thing even had a couple levels.

Then you checked the bathroom, which had a glass shower with far too many buttons levers, a quite large and wide clawfoot bathtub, a large vanity with two sinks - why would you ever need two??? - and a towel closet that, again, was much to large for its intended purpose.

Though curiously, in the back of the towel closet, was a magic imbued safe. Quickly figuring out that it responded to a spell of the users choice, you choose a spell of Wendigo nature and unlocked it, walking back to the main room and taking out both sets of “wands” your father gave you. You removed the sharpener from the box and took the others back into the bathroom, quickly pushing them into the safe and locking it back up.

Now, it was time for a room makeover… or the best you could right now, anyway.

‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧

The last of your clothes are placed into the closet and sighed. All unpacked, all that was left was actually giving the room a makeover, you were just stuck between actually putting in some elbow grease and doing it yourself, or just magicing - is that a word? - the room and being done with it.

As you pondered, you glanced out the window, noting the moon was starting to rise, sky dark and shining with stars. At that same moment, your stomach growled. You huffed and walked over to the window, staring out at the back of the building, noticing in a forest behind it. In fact, you now recalled that a forest surrounded the damn thing.

How… convenient.

You grabbed your wand and threw on a pair of boots and an over coat that was already painted a deep crimson, as well as a small satchel, and stalked out the door, humming quietly to yourself.

You snuck through halls, hypersensitive to any boards that seemed a little too loose for your liking. You leapt over railing and fell to the first floor, opening the front door silently and closing it behind you. Your nail grew into a point, and you entered it to the lock, locking the door back into place. Then, you took off into the night, rushing through trees.

You dropped to all fours and ran faster, taking in the night air.

You heard your limbs snap as your form changed, long and jagged antlers protruding from your head as the skin melted off your face. Your limbs lengthened and your legs became unguligrade, bones cracking and rebuilding themselves. Your awkward run became a strong gallop, your body thinning until your ribs pushed through your skin and spine protruding from your back.

You sniffed the air, taking in the scents of different animals that desperately ran from you already, your presence already disrupting the peace of the forest simply by being there.

… a little doe was nearby.

Your head snapped in her direction. Skin that was still rotting off you flying off from the sheer force of your head. You leaned low, head nearly touching the floor of the forest, stalking towards her direction.

Your breathing was shallow, antlers lightly scraping the branches above you. Slowly, the doe came into view, lightly munching away on grass and flowers in the moonlight. Tan fur flowed in the wind, ears twitching and nose sniffing.

She was beautiful.

When you came into the clearing, her head perked up immediately, looking at you. You huffed and stayed low, tail wagging behind you in wait. She stared for a moment longer before quietly diving back down into her meal. If you had lips, you would’ve smiled.

You continued to crawl forward, the doe no longer caring about your being there, caring only for the flowers she feasted on. You finally came to a point where she was only a few feet away, her scent searing into your nose, making your already shallow breathing harder.

You stalled, letting the wind brush through your fur, before you strike. And the moment came.

You leapt from the ground, jaw crunching around her neck before she could make a noise. Blood licked your nostrils, splattering across your form as the sickening snap of her neck resounded through the forest.

Without hesitation you marred her pure flesh with your tainted teeth. You tore through her skin to the meat, biting down on her shoulder. You shredded the muscle, chewing till bone then working your way down till nothing but the guts remained, to which you began to shift back.

Your body was still covered in the sticky blood. You made sure all your clothes shifted with you, counting the layers in your head. With a nod you whipped out your wand and whispered a spell, the remaining guts and bone bunching themselves together. With the small satchel in hand, you scooped up the remains and began the trek back to the house, moon hanging in the sky, the only witness to your brutality.

You went the way you came once entering the establishment, steps light and airy. You made it to your room in record time, waltzing into the bathroom and hiding your cloak and boots in the back, near the safe. You removed the pouch from a pocket and set on the sink as you washed up, a quick shower rising you of your sin. You and the pouch made your way into the bedroom and the pouch made its way into a small drawer in your nightstand, a chilling spell placed over it as you snuggled up in the side sheet, satin pajamas hugging your figure.

It was only a few hours you slept, rising when the suns rays had just barely touched the surface of the world. You rose with no hesitation, wide awake almost immediately. You rushed to the bathroom and began your morning ritual, having picked up some tips from Vil as the years went by. Face creams and masks, makeup of all types. You’d gotten so good that you knew you could rush with no restraint.

You had more than enough time before school started, hell, you knew you were most likely one of the only people awake. But it was for a purpose.

You needed to be on the good side of the teachers above all.

You may have only been employed with Crewl, but throughout your day, you mostly only be speaking and seeing the teachers. Rushing to your drawer - without changing. There was no need right now - you took out what was left of the doe. You slipped on some fuzzy slippers and rushed down the halls, again, missing all creaky floorboards and sniffing the air, following the smell of herbs and coffee in the mansion.

You made it to the kitchen without trouble, opening the pouch and feeling around in the pouch, removing the intestines.

Sausage was on the menu this morning. You hoped no one was a vegan.

It was easy to begin cooking. Vil loved your cooking. No one could do it right like you, he constantly said. Once more, you were fast and effective, starting the coffee maker. You also started some eggs and hash browns, biscuits and chopping fruit.

You multitasked, buttering the biscuits and flipping eggs, making both sunny side up - a personal favorite for you - and scrambled. As you took the hash browns out, you heard shuffling behind you, as well as the meowing of a cat.

… Can cats eat sausage?

You turned around and met the gaze of an older man with greying hair and a black cat around his shoulders.

Mozus Trein… and his cat, Lucius.

“I assume you are Crewl’s new assistant?” Short sweet and strait to the point. You simply nodded, taking the fresh made sausage out the pan and letting it cool off to the side. With a step, you took the cup you placed from under the coffee machine, turning back to him.

“Do you like anything in your coffee? Or do you prefer it black? Or, would you prefer anything else?” Lucius jumped off from the older man’s shoulders onto the island counter, him taking a seat and crossing his legs. You noted he was fully dressed for the day, despite it barely being six am.

“Milk and two sugars, thank you.” He hummed. The glanced away before turning back. “And would you mind grabbing the paper? We get it delivered, should be at the door by now.” You nodded and took off, not looking back.

Now that it was light out, you took your time to examine the halls a bit more thoroughly. Paintings lined the walls, each of different landscapes that painted the world of Twisted Wonderland.

The most prominent being - of course - the seven lands in which The Great Seven all hail from.

The Queendom of Roses, Sunset Savana, the Coral Sea, the Scalding Sands, Briar Valley, and others.

Each portrait was lifelike. Each snowflake glinting back at you and each thorn looking as though you’d cut yourself if you poked at it. You could see each individual grain of sand and scale on a fish. It was impressive.

Finally making it to the front once more, you were met with a man who was getting ready to head out. He had dreads and was wearing something akin to a suit, though a waiter’s apron was tired to his waist. You had come from behind, so hearing you he turned, and you also saw he had white paint streaked across his skin.

“Now, who may you be?” He asked, you staring becoming blatant. Your eyes didn’t move from analyzing him, grunting. After another moment of silence and the man seemingly starting to sweat, you hummed, moving to the front door and throwing it open. You quietly picked up the newspaper and turned back to him.

“Crewl’s new assistant, (Y/n).” Was all you said, though you kept staring. After another moment of silence, he seemed to note that you were waiting for him to introduce himself.

“Well then uh… names Sam. I run Mr. S’s Mystery Shop. Pop by if you’re in the need for anything..?” He drew off as he watched you walk away, back in the direction of the kitchen.

“What a weird kid…”

Your steps once more echoed in the halls as you re-entered the kitchen, seeing that Mozus had helped himself and served himself up a plate. Before you could announce yourself, however, a large hand clapped itself on your back, making you stumble forward.

Without a word, you fell face first onto the floor, newspaper still in hand.

Still, quiet silence followed.

“Uh… you okay, kid?” Your grunted, still lying on the floor. A hand, the same one you guessed, grabbed you by the scruff of your sleep shirt and yanked you upward, you still like a kitten. When you were dropped back onto your feet, you turned and found the PE teacher, Ashton Vargas.

You nodded at him before he could speak and wondered over to Mozus, who was watching the whole interaction with little care. You gently placed the newspaper in front of him and he thanked you with a nod, Lucius meowing at you.

You then faced Ashton, holding a hand out. He grasped it and squeezed - though you’re sure it was unintentional - and shook it with vigor.

“Sorry ‘bout that! Ashton Vargas, PE teacher here at Night Raven. You?” You nodded in kind.

“(Y/n), Crewl’s new assistant. Pleasure.” Your face remained blank through the interaction, gaze breaking for a moment only to look at the breakfast you’d prepared, then looking back at the rather built man.

“I’ve prepared a breakfast if you-“ “I’m good, thank you.” Your eyebrow raised in question and the man laughed, making Mozus groan.

“I already ate about… twelve-dozen eggs this morning during my pre-school work out!” Your eye twitched at the thought. Due to your biology, you could ingest raw egg no problem, but to eat twenty-four strait raw eggs just sounds… you couldn’t do it. So instead, you simply nodded and walked over to the food, grabbing a bit of everything before looking back at the two.

“Where is Mr. Crewl’s room?” Ashton blinked before nodding towards the door.

“Just down the hall, he’s closest to the kitchen actually. Shocked he ain’t out here yet honestly.” You nodded and made your way out of the kitchen, walking steadily down the hall, balancing the plate on one hand.

Walking down the hall, you kept an eye out for the correct door. You didn’t want to open a closet or anything. But suddenly, someone crashed into you. Crewel fell from the impact, your form still standing strong with the plate of food unmoving.

“Where were you?!? I’ve been searching for ten minutes now!! Come come, time is waisting and I still have to put you in uniform.” You tilted your head as Crewel stood back up, walked behind you and began to push you to what you could only assume was his room.

“Uniform?” You questioned. Crewel sighed, but smirked as well. “Yes uniform. A little something a threw into our contract at the very end. You don’t mind, do you?” You grunted. Should’ve seen something akin to this coming, you supposed, but you couldn’t loose this. You hadn’t even seen Vil yet.

“Fine.” “Good, now, come along.” And off you both went, to gain your new uniform.

‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧‧꒰˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚꒱ ‧

The uniform wasn’t too bad. A fluffy tailcoat - with coat tails, not real ones - that went to the backs of your knees, a vest that was the reverse of his in terms of color, black dress pants and black dress shoes. You looked nice, in your own opinion at least.

As you looked yourself over in the mirror, Crewel sat at his desk, munching away on the breakfast you made.

“This is pretty good...” He mumbled as he watched you twirl in the mirror, taking in every part of your new outfit. He hummed, placing his fork down and grabbing his teacher pointer and standing.

“Come on, let’s not waste anymore time. I’ll give you a quick rundown of some things I’ll need you to do at the school, but as I said, we will fully go over your duties during the weekend. Understood?” You nodded and walked out with him, patting your body and sighing when you felt your ‘wand’ in your picket.

And off you both went. Walking the trail towards the gate that would lead to NRC.

To your new life for the next couple of months, maybe even years.

Something inside you, your heart perhaps, beat rapidly at the thought of seeing Vil again, even if just for a class period. You were… excited?

Yes, excited.

It was time to begin. To get your Vil back.

Nah I gotta split this motherfucker up because what in the hell-

I’m so fucking tied but I wanna continue this but it’s already so fucking long- eh I’ll finish it later have this-

Love you guys <3

#vil shoenheit x reader #vil x reader #vil schoenheit #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #x reader #yandere reader #male reader #x male reader

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lxmelle · 3 days

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I think it’s safe to say both Gojo and Geto had a problem opening their hearts after they separated. Like an emotional scar they never resolved.

It’s kinda Husband & Wife-coded imho. (Husband&Husband, Wife&Wife, whatever - you get my drift).

Geto at his death asked about his family. He wasn’t concerned about how they’d mourn for him or considered if they’d want him saved, etc. Like the scrolls adorning the back of the temple, he didn’t view himself to be much if he couldn’t be strong - punishment to the weak and foolish.

Gojo upon the lead up to the battle seemed to believe he would win either way (aligned with what he told Megumi) and that wasn’t bothered with his body - but he admittedly did feel annoyed that his longest living friend, Shoko, wasn’t upset on his behalf. (I HC that I think he understood that there was no other person who had love for him like with Geto.)

Spoilers for 261:

Given the circumstances, Shoko also had to do what was necessary to support him, regardless of her feelings towards the request. She has always been respectful of boundaries I think. More avoidant with her feelings (remaining stoic) rather than ambivalent. She is a medic after all... you have to put aside your personal feelings.

To some extent both Gojo and Geto it difficult to regard themselves as worthy of loving and genuine care. People may have cared like Geto’s family etc. but the problem lies in their ability to recognise and reciprocate it. He felt alone and couldn’t smile sincerely in his life. It was easier for him to give love than to receive it.

Gojo had a few students who did, but they perhaps came at a time too late (it was mere months after Geto died?) where he didn’t have the time to actually open up his heart too much in the end... before he was sealed, and then had to make the decision to enter the battle. Fortunately, by that time, he didn’t feel lonely anymore as he said in ch236 after death, but there was certainly a line where he didn’t feel he could be understood by others. He was born too different, perhaps? His pragmatic and callous facade made it difficult for others to get close enough to see the real Gojo Satoru. A part of it was about unparalleled strength. The magnitude of it. It wasn’t something Sukuna understood either, since he never knew love and lost it.

We can see that Gojo held different standards for Geto than he did himself though. In the anime many speculated that he was bringing the bouquet for Geto’s grave (or something similar). He must’ve given his body back to Mikiko and Nanako (or hidden it) because he didn’t have it processed & cremated by Shoko, (which would’ve been completely adhering to the orders of the institution). He also wanted to reclaim it for a proper burial from Kenjaku.

This feels so much like a husband & wife thing.

Widowed Husband goes: “Ah, just toss my ashes in the river.” But will get his wife flowers for her grave, ensure she has a clean gravestone, no weeds growing on her plot, leaves a plate out during anniversaries, etc.

Gojo’s love for Geto is also very Yang-coded (which is inherently more male) where he will cling on unwaveringly and there is something about reverence in how he patiently accepts Geto and tried to fulfil everything he wanted. In this sense, where he is portrayed as a loyal widower, he may surround himself with friends, activities, look after the kids, etc. but he will always honour and cherish his wife until his dying day.

Geto who is Yin-coded loves maternally, self-sacrificially. She will be willing to make sacrifices for the sake of her kin. Even if separated from her husband, she will nurture and build a family around her, uncomplaining. She may appear to cope on the surface, as she is used to her emotional needs being unmet without her partner/Husband, until her own dying day.

This is totally anecdotal of course, but to give myself some credit, I’ve talked intimately with more than my fair share of people in grief to see a pattern (and understand it in a personal level too)... we all grieve differently, love differently, value different things...

This is just my two cents. Any thoughts?

Feel free to comment or reblog with your own take.

#just some thoughts #of course they’re not really afforded the time to grieve #all characters in jjk probably have ptsd #or they will have ptsd by the end of it #satosugu #satosugu brainrot #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #geto suguru #stsg #goge gego #satosugu yin and yang coded #jjk grief #gojo analysis #geto analysis #jjk brainrot

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skynapple · 1 day

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OH IT'S XAVIER POSTING HOURS

SHE'S BACK LADIES WE ARE SO BACK

SEND HELP???????

You guys. He literally is saying so much here. He always says so much but you have to really dig between the lines, usually. And I love that about him. I feel like I'm building sand castles with him with my little shovel, scooping away to try to get to the core of his being and all he means to say.

NOT RIGHT HERE.

NO YOU READ HIM LOUD AND CLEAR.

He really is so terrified of losing her again.

Holding her in those ruins? I can feel it in my ribs. It had to take him back to that first moment when she died in his arms as a teenager. That feeling of helplessness and despair. And he's trying to convey it to her so gently here.

Hey could you try not throwing yourself into exceptionally dangerous situations? I'm terrified of losing you. You're special enough to me that I don't care that you know who I am at this point. I would love not to have you die in my arms again thanks.

(I think it may be fair to say that he wants so badly to matter to her in a way that makes her care about herself too. Am I reading too deeply into that???)

No but yeah, he really desperately is trying his best to keep her safe and intact here and it's nice that, much like Queen!MC, current!MC can take decent care of herself but, he's got a point.

She throws herself into a lot of situations and sometimes I hate to say it but it's... very much loner mentality. She's an orphan, and did have her adoptive family for however long, but I imagine a lot of independence came with it and even more still when she was living at University and then straight on to the Deepspace Hunter academy... She's already been on her own a while. And especially after losing the only family she had? She's extra alone. It's like... ok. She's not being unnecessarily reckless but at this point she doesn't have very many people in her life to consciously come home to. And I think he knows that, and he's desperately trying to be that for her.

He's bandaging her wounds, he's staying the night, he's really trying to be an anchor for her as much as she's literally a tether for him and always has been. He needs her with him, and he wants to be the person she comes home to.

And he's willing to bare a lot to say that here, and I think it just shows how much he's really not saying also. I think he's just overflowing and this is the spillover. There is SO MUCH more there. I can't wait to see more of it.

#lnds xavier #love and deepspace #lnds meta #love and deepspace meta #love and deepspace xavier #madi plays lnds #lads xavier #lnd xavier #l&ds xavier

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wrongdodo · 3 days

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Waiting

Characters: Dad!Whitney, Mum!Reader, and your daughter Riley (featuring GN!River and GN!Robin)

Genre: Fluff/Angst (it DO get angsty...)

Warnings/Content: Unplanned pregnancy, brief allusion to abortion. Parenthood angst. Swears.

Word count: 3.2k

Summary: Riley’s turning 5 soon, and will be finishing pre-school in spring. You and Whitney meet with a local principal to discuss her enrolment – and it’s a familiar face.

A/N: I might do a longer A/N in another post because I have some THOUGHTS. This was super hard to write, but I’m so glad I persevered (thanks @propertyofwhitney67 for being my sounding board) First version was too fluffy, second version was too angsty… hopefully this one is just right. I like it :)

A/N 2: I posted some thoughts.

The ticking clock is deafening.

You’re pretty sure life never used to involve this much waiting. But now, it felt like there was always a reason to wait.

It’s a battle to stop your foot tip-tapping against the tiles, and Whitney’s not faring much better. Oh, he tries to hide it, but you’ve known him long enough to spot the signs. Nibbling lightly on his sleeve, eyes glued to the clock. He’s tense, and it’s understandable given the circumstances. Whitney had insisted on arriving early to make a ‘good impression’. So far, it just meant more time sitting anxiously in the school corridor.

You hate waiting. You’d done your fair share, and it never got easier.

You remember waiting in the orphanage bathroom, where it took 3 minutes for tiny lines to appear on a piss-dipped stick. You were alone then, perched on the bathtub – so nauseous you might splatter the ceramic with vomit. Responsible boyfriend Whitney had insisted on using protection… Well, there were a few occasions where it might have been overlooked in the heat of the moment. You remember how panic’s long fingers wrapped your throat. And the guilt, too. Fertile little slut, aren’t you? Your own words. Whitney never blamed you, but there was no need when you were so good at that yourself.

You waited to tell Whitney you were pregnant – 12 lonely hours that left you feeling hollowed out with worry. You’d never discussed kids – because you were teenagers. Better tell him in person, you thought, staring at the ceiling through raw, reddened eyes. It’s the right thing to do. Ironic how you were so sure of yourself then –so naive. Parenthood raises so many questions, and not nearly enough answers. You wished you could still be so sure of the right thing to do.

Part of you still wishes you hadn’t waited to tell him in person, because you wish you’d never seen the colour drain from Whitney’s face. Rarely one to offer you the comfort of privacy, he’d insisted that whatever his slut had to say, it could be said on the roof in front of everyone. All you could manage was a whisper, but the impact was blinding. He vanished like smoke. You didn’t see or speak to Whitney for two days.

So, you waited.

He was waiting, too, ‘til those nasty, fearful, fucked up feelings could be gathered up and squashed down in the pit of his stomach - right where they fucking belong. He waited ‘til his knuckles were bruised against bricks, until his eyes stung dry in their sockets. Only then did he come to find you. When he did, Whitney clung to you fearfully as he waited for the right words to come. They didn’t for a long time.

You waited together for the first appointment, in a room much like this one – beige floor tiles, fluorescent light and walls tinged with pale piss-yellow paint. Whitney was nervous then, gripping your hand hard enough to hurt. You’d let him.

Despite fear, he never pushed you. Right off the bat, he told you he’d support any decision you chose to make, as any noble impregnator should. At the time, you tried hard to feel grateful – because it felt shitty not to be. Wasn’t he being so supportive, letting you take the lead?

But… it was lonely. It wasn’t until recently he’d shamefully admitted how it was easier to distance himself – leaving you to make that tough decision on your own. He’s sorry for that.

That was a long time ago, in another life. It would be Riley’s birthday soon – 5 years old, holy shit. Hard to believe she’d be finishing pre-school in summer, and starting Primary School in autumn. Picking the right school for your daughter was one of those Big Family Decisions you’re not sure you’ll ever get used to making. Now, you’re waiting to meet with the principal, to discuss Riley’s admission. You know to expect a familiar face.

River had been in charge of Willow Primary School for 3 years. From what you’d researched, they’d switched jobs shortly after Leighton’s arrest – who could blame them for wanting a fresh start? This school was going from strength to strength with River at the helm – and that’s exactly the reason you’d chosen it. All that remained was to convince them that Riley would be an excellent addition. How hard could it be? She’s a star.

“D’ya think River’ll remember us?” Whitney whispers, his eyes fixed on the clock. There’s no need to keep your voices low - there’s nobody else around, and the receptionist clearly doesn’t care. She’s busy clacking at her keyboard while the phone rings endlessly.

You smile wistfully. “Oh, they’ll remember you.” Easy answer – River probably still had flashbacks.

“You think?” Whitney stretches in the uncomfortable seat, leaning back. The flimsy chair creaks in protest. “Yeah… probly right…”

It startles you when the office door finally swings open; the sudden noise causes you both to stiffen in your seats. River looks… much the same as they did years ago, in all honesty. Only their hair’s a little greyer and they’re dressed a little smarter – a sharp suit befitting their new role as leader of a successful school. They look the part.

But practiced, professional composure is no match for the shock of seeing Whitney sat opposite – older, but still completely recognisable. In fact, you’re not even sure River notices you. When they speak, it’s not to you.

“Whitney,” they stride over, palm outstretched. “Always thought I’d be retired before any of your offspring made it into the school system.” You wonder how long River’s had that line rehearsed. You’re surprised to feel yourself relax; there’s some comfort in the familiarity of the teacher’s face.

Your eyes flicker to Whitney; he seems a little less anxious too - the sight of his old maths teacher must be reigniting a relaxed confidence. It’s not like Whitney was ever afraid of River – far from it. But it was safe to say they always had an interesting dynamic.

“River,” he nods, grasping the outstretched hand. Knowing Whitney, it’s sure to be an overly-firm handshake.

“And…” River’s expression wavers as they turn towards you – it’s painfully clear they’ve forgotten your name. Still, it doesn’t stop them from thrusting a hand into yours. There’s no choice but to reintroduce yourself. Maybe you can forgive their lapse in memory – you’re a pair of ghosts, after all.

Tentatively, you’re led inside the small office. It’s neat and organised – nothing like Leighton’s was. If anything, it’s little soulless, despite a few little touches of character. River settles behind the large wooden desk, and you perch on two chairs opposite. The air smells of… nothing. A vase of artificial sunflowers gather dust on the windowsill. There’s a school motto emblazoned on the wall, in an aggressively cursive font makes it impossible to read.

“Is little Riley not joining us?”

“No, she’s with a friend,” you explain. “They’re meeting us here after, though.”

It never actually occurred to you to bring Riley along – it might have been a smart move, actually. Your daughter regularly has strangers eating out of her hand.

“So,” River leans back, trying their best to look comfortable. “What can you tell me about Riley?”

Whitney glances to you expectantly. Looks like Mum’s fielding the first question.

“Well… she’s a great kid…” Already, you feel your shoulders ease into shrug, because it’s hard to know where to begin. Still, River seems to be hanging on your every word. “She’s turning 5 next month… She’s happy – really smart for her age. She’s can write her name, and her reading’s coming along really well, and-”

“You wanna see her, right?” Whitney doesn’t need a response - he’s tapped open his camera roll and is leaning over - fully prepared to give River a detailed context for each and every photograph. You smile knowingly. There’s likely to be a whole lot of photos.

You wonder which particular album River’s being treated to. Riley feeding ducks at the park in her brand-new raincoat… or maybe Riley wrapped in a striped football scarf, cheeks flushed with cold in the stands. Maybe it’s Riley throwing a tea party for her sizable plushie collection – you can never remember all their names like Dad can, or do the voices right. Whitney’s, beaming of course - once he gets started, there’s not much that can stop him.

But as extensive as the collection of snapshots is, you know it barely scratches the surface of what goes on at home. For instance, there’s probably no photos of Whitney tending Riley’s grazes after she fell off her first bike last spring – you still remember the pep-talk he gave her, because she parrots it back to you all the time. There’s probably no video of Whitney reading the Gruffalo for the 7th time in a row, just to soothe his feverish girl back to sleep after a nightmare. You’re pretty certain there’s no picture of him anxiously fiddling with his keys all day, just in case Riley needed picking up early from her first day of preschool. She didn’t.

“She has her dad’s eyes, then,” River turns to you, appealing for a little help getting the meeting back on track. Whitney’s far too engrossed to notice the teacher’s growing indifference – it’s a little funny. Who wouldn’t want to see all the awesome stuff his kid gets up to? Just look at her, she’s the best.

Anyone with half a brain could see that Riley had inherited most of her looks from Dad – those striking blue eyes were probably the best evidence. Her hair was beginning to darken now, as blonde hair often does as children reach Riley’s age. You’d not seen many photos of Whitney as a kid, but the few you had seen made it clear that the resemblance was spooky.

“Yeah,” Whitney beams, running a hand through his hair. “Not just my eyes, though. Same nose too, right River?” He’s gushing, in his element - full Dad-flow. In that moment, anyone in could be forgiven for thinking fatherhood is something Whitney always saw for himself. It’s pretty special.

After humouring a couple more photos, River politely slides the phone back across the desk. On screen, your daughter grins back – a smattering of freckles kiss the bridge of her nose, just beneath her sparkly purple sunglasses and a big straw hat. Whitney must have taken this one at the beach last summer.

River’s nodding briskly as Whitney finally pockets his phone. He looks relieved. You chat a little longer about the academics, with the teacher guiding conversation. You hear about Riley’s class, and who her teacher is likely to be. And you notice you’re… kinda rocking it. For a moment you wonder why you’d ever felt so nervous.

“What about… socially? Any issues?” River queries, tenting their fingers curiously.

It’s an innocent enough question, of course – exactly the sort of thing they’d asked at Riley’s pre-school. And it’s easy to answer honestly, because you couldn’t have been blessed with a more perfect kid.

You tell River everything – how Riley could find friends in an empty room, and how she always says ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. From dance class on Monday, through to football training on Sunday morning… she’s a total ray of sunshine.

“Okay, let me rephrase…” It’s clear that River is considering their next words carefully. “Any… behavioural problems we should know about?”

Subtext hangs like a foul smell. Ah, there it is - judgement. You were no stranger to it as young parents – but you hadn’t been prepared for it to take this particular form. River wants your crystal-clear assurance. Can you blame them for asking?

What they want to ask is this - is your daughter going to cause us any trouble?

Whitney’s quick to respond like a whip. “No, she’s great. Like, the greatest kid ever… Everyone just loves her as soon as they meet her, y’know?” You sense his guard rising. The quiver in his voice is subtle; River won’t have noticed. Later, you wonder if it hurt Whitney to hear his daughter assessed against on his own misdeeds as a teen.

You offer your own thoughts, trying to diffuse the building tension – it’s probably standard question, after all. “Well, there was a hair-pulling phase, but she grew out of that pretty quick…” you pause, searching your mind for anything else that might be worth mentioning. There really isn’t much. “She doesn-“

“I get it,” Whitney’s cutting you off. “You want to know she’s a little shit, right? Like me?”

His pointed tone takes River entirely off guard. You grip Whitney’s thigh under the desk, aiming to reassure him. It’s bouncing restlessly.

You’d sensed River’s prejudice too, of course… but despite the past, it’s not exactly fair. Riley’s 4. A familiar pallor plasters the teacher’s face as they stutter and backtrack, but Whitney’s on a roll now. He was never going to take any shit from his ex-maths teacher – be it real or perceived.

“Don’t worry. My kid’s nothing like me,” Whitney’s indignant, spitting words like venom. “That’s what you’re asking, right?”

Fear of fatherhood isn’t something Whitney discusses. But those feelings have to get bottled up somewhere… occasionally they explode – spitting and hissing like a wounded cat. That’s what’s happening right now in River’s office. Becoming a dad had changed Whitney in many ways… but clearly, his distrust of authority figures still runs pretty deep.

Not that yelling was a common occurrence at home. Whitney so rarely raised his voice, unless in response to some perceived danger or delight. Actually, you were a little envious. How did he manage to stay so chilled out, when you were both exhausted and running on fumes? Riley was far from a bad kid, but she could be stubborn, cheeky and opinionated. No prizes for guessing where she inherited those traits.

You know there’s probably no coming back from this - it’s all gone to shit. Whitney’s risen from the chair, still going.

“Know what?” he shrugs fiercely - gripping your arm, ready to leave. “You don’t deserve my daughter at your shitty school.”

At this point, there might still be some salvaging this – it’s a good school, after all. A grovelling phone call, or a heartfelt email detailing the stress you’re under. Maybe River will understand. Parenthood’s not easy, after all – and it’s not like either of you have much family support. It’s hard – and you’re sure lots of parents snap from time to time.

As Whitney pulls you away from the office, he leans back through the doorway, fixing his ex-teacher with a final sour assessment.

“Fuck you, you old cunt.”

Yeah, maybe there’s no fixing this after all.

You’re dragged down the corridor, past the stricken face of the receptionist… and the phone’s still ringing as you’re yanked through double doors into the crisp afternoon air.

When you reach the school gates, Whitney huffs deeply and leans against the railings. He’s lighting a cigarette, wasting no time in an effort to settle his adrenaline. The weather’s dry, but he hoists the hood of his jacket around his head.

You wait. It’s impossible to know what should be said. Sentence starters flicker through your mind, but none of them taste quite right. You let him smoke in silence for a bit.

“… There’s other schools,” you extend to the stillness. Whitney’s staring anywhere but your direction, waiting for uncomfortable feelings to simmer down enough before he speaks.

“I fucked up,” he mumbles. It’s painfully clear from the tightness in his jaw how much he knows it, too.

Still, he lets you squeeze his hand.

“Yeah, well… I’m proud of you for sticking up for her,” you offer in reply.

“Fuck off,” he scoffs. As he squeezes your hand back, you wonder if he might mean thank you.

You check your phone – there’s 1 new message from Robin. You hastily tap a reply. “They won’t be long.”

Whitney nods. His shoulders fall in a sigh; turned protectively away, avoiding your eyes. You can tell he’s gathering words.

"I mean what I said. Riley’s nothing like me… and I’m fucking glad. Because she’s awesome.”

It stings. It’s hard to see Whitney so insecure after all this time – still unable to see the amazing parent he’s become, and how adored he is. A fucking natural. You were jealous.

“She’s a lot like you, Whit…” It’s easy to list the ways – they’d been staring you in the face for 5 years. “She’s funny, feisty, loving, fearless... Not to mentionsuper clever… people just flock to her… Want me to keep going?”

He hums dismissively – studying the pavement. He takes a long, deep drag of nicotine before speaking.

“I just… I can’t believe she’s not messed up, y’know? Don’t know what the fuck I’m doing…”

Now that feeling was all too familiar. Your hand cluthes his in wordless solidarity.

It’s a while before the right words find your tongue.

“Thanks for doing this with me.”

Emotion needles at your throat. Because all too easy to remember a time when you thought he might not do this with you. You remember how scary that felt.

He’s wrapping an arm around your shoulder, squeezing firm enough to knock a little breath from your chest. “Wouldn’t do it with anyone else, idiot…” A kiss brushes your hair. “Get used to it.”

You smile, tucking yourself against Whitney’s chest. Over your shoulder, he’s looking down the street beneath coiling smoke. Waiting.

Sure enough, Riley and Robin round the corner, holding hands. It’s hard to tell exactly, but it looks as though your daughter is carrying a big stick in one hand – joyously tap-tapping it against the railings. Robin waves.

Whitney waves back, extinguishing his cigarette against the ground. He’d grown to appreciate Robin – they were a total godsend. Riley adored them, and the feeling was mutual.

“It’s cool that you two are still close,” Whitney muses. “Might be cool for Riley to have a little brother or sister or something…”

Before you can reply, Riley’s sprinting over – almost like he planned it. Her stick lays discarded on the pavement, and you can see a crown of daisies looped around her head. Little arms outstretched; she’s running over to you both with the biggest grin wrinkling her freckled nose. No, she’s running to Whitney.Of course – Daddy’s girl.

Whitney scoops her up easily, spinning round as she laughs and squeals and snorts with laughter.

“This my new school?” Riley asks breathlessly. You pick a stray daisy from her dark blonde fringe.

She’s tumbled her over in Dad’s arms; dangling, giggling and wriggling.

“Nah, not here," he kisses her squirming cheek. "You’re gonna go to a better school, squirt.”

#degrees of lewdity #degrees of lewdity fluff #degrees of lewdity fanfiction #dol fanfic #whitney the bully #whitney x reader #dol whitney

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piebingo · 3 days

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Wille’s day

Day 28th: birthday @youngroyals-events

Wille’s 18th birthday is, all things considered, great.

It hadn’t looked too good at first. Not with how the meetings had gone with the royal court, the whole ordeal of actually going through with stepping down something the court still couldn’t grasp. Now that it’s all done, Wille can see the humour in the court threatening to replace him with August for so long, only to push back when Wille actually wanted August to replace him.

Read on ao3 or below.

Wille’s 18th birthday is, all things considered, great.

Then the media had stepped in. When Erik had turned 18, the ball for his birthday, the first Erik day in his honour, had been announced months before. The elite youth of Sweden an neighbouring royal families had received gold-embossed invitations —as well as some random normal kids invited to make the monarchy look good and inclusive. This year, for Wille’s 18th birthday and thus the first official Wilhelm’s day, no one had been invited. The youth hadn’t received any invitations. The news hadn’t been informed of any celebration.

On May 28th, 2022, Crown Prince Wilhelm had stepped down from the line of succession.

He had done it live, choosing to step down with a speech that represented him. Wille knows that the public has a weird relationship with him. Over the years, he has had many personas given to him.

Shy kid.

Bad boy.

Gay prince.

Lazy replacement.

It had been his last chance to go out with some grace, to try and control the narrative around his person. Only time will tell if he will have been successful.

Wille is proud of himself though, and that has to count for something. A bit more than a year ago now, he had told Simon that he couldn't answer comments on social media, that this is just the way things work. People will say things and they can only let it slide, let the court control the narrative. It’s still true but Wille won’t have the court to back him up as much now. Hence why he decided to be honest. For his own sake.

He wanted, needed, to step down on his own terms. And he did it this morning, after carefully crafting what he would say. He didn’t follow it all, straying when an idea passed in his mind. But still, the essence of his speech had been the same as planned.

Wille is proud of himself.

And he isn’t the only one. His mamma had hugged him afterwards, proudly looking at him even if her smile hadn’t managed to lose all of the tension she constantly carries around. His dad had clapped his back, nodding at him. Felice had thrown her arms around his shoulders, squealing loudly in his ear. Sara had hugged him tightly, swaying him from side to side.

And Simon.

Simon had looked at Wille, his nose scrunching from how hard he had been smiling. He had hugged Wille last, but he hadn’t let him go afterwards. For the rest of the day, he had been at Wille’s side, a hand on his back or tangled with Wille’s. A smile pressed to his cheeks and sweet words whispered in his ears.

Until a few minutes ago.

Wille sits on his bed, staring at the door of his bedroom, waiting for Simon to come back. He isn’t sure what Simon has gone away to do, only that he had been told that he must stay seated until he came back and that it wouldn’t take too long. It’s been five minutes already, and Wille has concluded that it has been too long. Still, he will be good for Simon and will wait for him to come back.

Simon hasn’t been here very often in the last year. Wille neither, to be fair. They had spent the summer after their first year together, either staying at the Erikssons’ or travelling around in Sara’s car. And then, magically, Hillerska had opened again, and Wille had moved back.

They have spent the last few months tangled up together at Simon’s or in Wille’s dorm room. They have spent their time learning about each other, actually taking the time to breath and date each other in a way they never had before. Hillerska is good, now. Or better, at least. It’s not perfect, but the rules have changed and the atmosphere is lighter, and new day-students have been accepted. Most importantly, Wille hasn’t been shipped off to Switzerland and Simon hasn’t moved to Gothenburg.

The door startles Wille as Simon pushes it open. He comes back into the room, socked feet dragging on the floor. He is wearing a green knitted sweater, one that Wille knows gives him sweater paws. He can’t see his hands right now though, both of them behind Simon’s back.

“What have you got?” Wille asks, standing up from the bed.

“Nuh-uh. Sit back down.”

Wille sighs, forcing his lips in a pout, and watches as Simon slowly makes his way to him. He stops right in front of Wille, close enough that his feet find themselves between Wille’s on the floor. Wille’s hands make their way to Simon’s thighs, resting over the soft material of his sweatpants Simon stole from his closet.

“Hi,” Simon whispers, his smile lighting up the room. At least it feels like it, even if Wille knows it’s technically impossible. But it’s so bright and kind and when he’s smiling down like that at Wille, how could it not feel like he is sunshine personified?

“Hey.”

“I know I couldn’t be here this morning when you woke up… but in a way, this right now somehow feels like the beginning of a new day for you? Because you woke up as Crown Prince and you are going to bed as Wille only.” Simon bites his lip, seemingly nervous, before nodding. He brings his hand in front of him, holding a cinnamon bun with an unlit candle sitting on top.

“I couldn’t find a lighter, I was sure I had one packed. Sorry,” he chuckles lightly, and Wille can’t help but laugh with him. “So, this is a celebration of not only you’re birthday, but also your first end of the day as simply you.”

Somehow, this is what makes Wille tear up for the first time today. The fact that Simon is so sweet, is carrying a tradition with him —never mind the fact that it is a tradition he’s done with his own family for years, which makes it all the sweeter. The fact that he thought that Wille, as a person, as simply Wille, deserves to be celebrated.

When Simon is done singing him a happy birthday, holding the last note a little longer than the rest, tears are streaming down Wille’s face. He doesn’t wipe them away though. His hands are of better use trailing up Simon’s body and tugging until he has a lap full of his boyfriend.

Simon puts the bun on the nightstand next to them and brings his hand up to Wille’s face, his thumbs gently drying the tears.

“Happy birthday, Wille.”

Wille smiles at him, all lopsided and salty from the rest of his tears. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Simon says back, lips already moving against Wille’s.

#happy birthday Wille🫶#young royals #wilmon #willemonth2024

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brynnsasha191 · 3 days

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Why I don't like Cressida and Eloise's friendship, and why I still don't like either character: A freaking novel.

For some context: I don't like Eloise. Ever since S1, I found her to be incredibly annoying and invasive, constantly shoving her own opinions down people's throats (Daphne, Pen, Violet). And of course, I never liked Cressida for obvious reasons. But disliking Eloise felt like the greatest crime a Bridgerton fan could commit so I kept my mouth shut about it, when the trailer came out I felt like I finally had a valid reason to dislike Eloise because of her friendship with Cressida. But then they hit us with Creloise being actually...cute. (okay, back to getting to the point)

Cressida

I think we were supposed to end up drawing parallels between Pen and Cressida, and feel like they're both girls who have families that are mean to them...yeah I'm not buying that, because the difference is Cressida is mean and cruel, whereas Pen is kind and compassionate (yes, even with/as LW). S1-S2 Cressida is a miserable human being who makes a game out of hurting people, seeing such a strong 180° change gave me severe whiplash. She didn't even change between the seasons, she changed between episodes 1-2. One minute she's destroying Pen's dress and the next she's keeping Pen's secret for Eloise?? But regardless, she changed for the better, logically I should be happy about it. So why am I not?

Because I truly don't understand why every single generic mean girl needs a redemption and sad backstory. Some people are just miserable people to be around, some people are just narcissistic without a sad backstory and no hope of a "redemption". And to most TV shows there's one character that everyone is supposed to hate, I love hating that character lol.

Eloise

Despite my dislike of Eloise, I tried to put it aside and be completely fair to her on the falling out. I completely acknowledge that Pen deeply hurt her and I completely understand why she would need distance, but Pen was trying to protect her. But here's something I noticed, Eloise completely sold out on all her values this season. Eloise has never taken cues from anyone, and here she is almost entirely at Cressida's beck and call. Pen really notices this, El does too *insert the moment they look at each other in EP 3*

"I lost the battle and I have no appetite for war, so I simply joined the winning side" is regency speak for "I sold out". And let me make something clear, Eloise is not a victim in S3. She's so, incredibly fine. She's clearly struggling with her falling out with Pen and she doesn't want to revisit the past. Respectable. But she is not nearly the victim that Pen and Cressida are. As Cressida said, not everyone is lucky enough to have a supportive family.

"I simply cannot understand why people don't see things the way I do" I physically recoiled at that line. Harsh eye roll as well. If that line isn't the mark of a selfish character I don't know what is.

That being said, I truly can't wait for Eloise's season. Her and Phillip will GAG us, I know it. They're my favorite book couple.

Creloise claiming to be nice to Pen while simultaneously being horrible to her

I can't count how many times Creloise is rude to Pen this season. Tearing her dress, faking an injury to take her only suitor away (Eloise was complicit in these things), saying Pen isn't worthy of their attention, pretending she's dead/a ghost. I don't blame Eloise for Pen and Colin's secret because everyone is entitled to support and she apologized for it, I don't blame Cressida because she didn't tell anyone but she seems weirdly amused by it, she comments on them almost mockingly. They both have a right to not like her, they however don't have a right to destroy her dresses. Eloise saying that LW might just make something up for her colum irks me because Pen has never once made something up for LW. She nevers trades lies or misinformation. Eloise should know this.

Peneloise was one of my favorite parts of this show and I have no doubt they'll be friends again by the last episode's end, but part of me can't help but wonder if they're better as just sisters in law and not best friends.

Part two Cressida

I know that in part two Cressida pretends to be LW and seems to cause Peneloise a lot of headaches. I'm wondering if Cressida will revert back to her old, mean self for the LW prize and it will lead to the end of Creloise. I'm really scared for El's ultimatum in EP 5 (she's right for it though) and since Cressida seems to be the one who makes Pen faint, I'm anticipating making a part two to this post.

I hope this was all coherent. And if you're still here then you are an incredible human being, I've tuned myself out. If you have opinions I'd love to hear them, please share them kindly and with respect. ❤️

#bridgerton season 3 #polin #peneloise s3 #penelope featherington #colin x penelope #eloise bridgerton #cressida cowper #eloise x cressida #creloise

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laughhardrunfastbekindsblog · 2 days

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I've seen referenced several times a paraphrased quote attributed both to DBB and to Jen Corbett of Bad Batch that the show's creators ultimately decided to kill off Tech because they couldn't make season 3 work otherwise.

Hmm.

I rarely read interviews from creators about a storyline because I prefer to let the story tell itself and let the interpretations come as they will based on what the narrative itself presents. But in this case I looked up the quotes/interview simply because I had to know how in the blazes they came to the conclusion that a storyline HAD to involve Tech (or any Bad Batch member, for that matter) dying.

I have... thoughts. Lots of thoughts. RESPECTFUL thoughts, because I truly do think the writers/directors of this show are absolutely BRILLIANT (which is partly why I had such a difficult time during season 3 and it has taken quite a bit of reflection to come to terms with it... But I needed to come to terms with it because I love it so much I want to enjoy all of it in the future!) But fair warning: if you prefer not to read a post if the post's author isn't 100% in agreement with the show's creative choices, then this might not be the post for you.

Reference: https://www.starwars.com/news/brad-rau-jennifer-corbett-the-bad-batch-season-3-interview

Quote #1: “When we first started this show, we had hoped that we could get three seasons to tell this story," executive producer and head writer Jennifer Corbett tells StarWars.com. "We kicked Season 1 off with Order 66 and the team trying to figure out where they fit in the galaxy. We knew Season 2 was going to be a little bit darker, because we knew that the team was going to lose in some way. As the season progressed, it became clear that the way for them to lose is to essentially have the team be fractured. That's what happens when we lose Tech, and then also with Omega being taken by the Empire.”

I find the choice of words here - particularly "fracture" and "lose" - to be interesting. This is the quote that made me realize my original (starting in season 1) hopes for where the themes of the show would conclude had apparently never been in line with what the show was aiming for. The show's definition of the team "fracturing" and "los[ing] in some way" apparently had to include death and only came in the season 2 finale; whereas I considered the team to be "fractured" within the first 10 minutes of the pilot episode - as soon as Order 66 came through and Crosshair was susceptible to the inhibitor chip, the team was broken. And they weren't ever truly whole in the first place, given that Order 66 occurs before they meet Omega. For me, the team lost big time as soon as the show started.

So, while I went through the entire show (yes, I kept hoping Tech would come back in season 3) hoping the themes of family and never leaving family behind would conclude in at least one instance of this little clone family being whole and truly united again - considering the fact that they were broken since "Aftermath" - I realize now this hope was nigh impossible to fulfill given that the show didn't consider the team fractured upon Crosshair's departure and therefore felt the need to not only break it apart further, but break it permanently.

Quote #2: “There were a lot of conversations that went into that [killing off Tech], and we even tried to talk ourselves out of it many times, because he's such an important character to the show, to all of us and the crew, and we know he is important to the fans,” Corbett says. “But what we're showing in Season 2 is that the galaxy has changed and the Empire is now very powerful in the early years. So we were trying to be logical in the sense that, the Batch keeps putting themselves in these positions and, ultimately, there has to be a time when they do lose."

I can respect this decision, though (as I stated above), the entire show pretty much involves the Bad Batch losing in one way or another and personally I don't care for the idea that the only real way a team can lose (read: "stakes") is if death is involved. But that's just me, and I can get over this personal hang up.

Quote #3: Throughout, they’ll feel the loss of their brother. “It affected a lot of the logistics,” Brad Rau, executive producer, says. “The very mathematical logistics of how we normally would have the team operate was massively different without Tech there. But emotionally, the most important part, the way that the loss of Tech affected Omega, Hunter, Wrecker, Echo, and Crosshair, even throughout the whole season was, I wouldn't say heavier than we expected, but was definitely very heavy.”

I'm gonna be blunt: when first watching season 3, I felt the emotional impact of the loss of Tech for most of the squad was sorely lacking, and this is the main reason why I kept hoping right up through the epilogue that Tech would somehow show up.

Every. Single. Allusion. To. Tech in season 3 hit like a ton of bricks right to the gut. @eriexplosion described it extremely well (paraphrasing) as picking at a wound and not letting it fully heal. After some reflection following the series finale, I came to the conclusion that this might be because the Tech mentions were meant to show how the Batch - Crosshair in particular - were still feeling about the loss, and (in hindsight) it seemed that Crosshair felt deep guilt and pain over Tech's death all the way through season 3. (Heck, I now see Crosshair having a moment to honor Mayday early on but never truly honoring Tech as yet another indication that, while Crosshair felt grief over Mayday, he must have felt even deeper grief compounded with guilt and remorse over Tech that led to him essentially avoiding the subject.) So I guess it turns out my conclusion fits the original intention of the creators.

Thing is, since we don't ever see any actual catharsis or healing for any of the Bad Batch members (Omega is the closest we get to it, and even that's a stretch), this aspect of the show does NOT land well for me - really, many times during season 3 it came across that the only real impact Tech's absence had on the team as a whole was that Hunter had to deal with datapads and decryption was harder. (There have been fan comments that if Tech had been around in season 3, the entire storyline would have been wrapped up in two episodes (and I actually rather agree with this) - but this headcanon/focus still only emphasizes Tech's role/function on the team, not his impact as a brother.)

Again, upon reflection I am quite willing to give the narrative the benefit of the doubt and say the excruciating emotional pain inflicted with every Tech mention was intended to show the impact of the loss on his family; but it was SO difficult to watch season 3 when this wasn't made clear from the get-go. And given that (based on reddit discussions I've seen) half the audience seemed to think the Bad Batch had long since moved on because "stoic soldiers/they have other priorities" while the other half thought the Bad Batch hadn't moved on and were avoiding the subject, I truly do think this ended up being a murky point - and it shouldn't have been.

This is where we get to the hill I will die on and my ONLY major criticism of the show: if Tech "had" to die and stay dead, there should have, at bare minimum, been a scene - even if it came at the end of the finale - where Tech's entire family finally had a chance to meaningfully acknowledge and honor Tech, even if it was brief such as Crosshair had with Mayday. If there had been any moment before the finale for any of Tech's brothers to honor and/or memorialize him, the contrast between that cathartic moment versus how the topic had been treated before/by his other siblings would have been more than adequate to cement early on the idea that the squad was still feeling the loss of Tech as an individual and a brother, thereby clarifying the show's intentions. And a moment for Tech's ENTIRE family (and friends) to honor him, even if it came at the end of the finale, would have closed out the dangling plot thread of Crosshair still feeling guilt and grief over Tech.

Anyway, while this interview didn't much change my own conclusions of how season 3 played out and what could have been done better, I am glad I read it since it provided at least a modicum of clarity as to what the show's intentions actually were - even if those intentions didn't always clearly come through in the narrative.

#the bad batch #star wars the bad batch #tbb meta analysis #maybe a pinch of salt?#though saltiness truly isn't my intention in writing out this post #just organizing my thoughts #it's been a lot to process #and i'm still processing it #about to start a full rewatch of the show #wish me luck #and prepare to be inundated with a TON of random musings and analyses #tbb spoilers #tbb season 3

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petra-creat0r · 2 days

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Deltarune: Fool's Fate Ch. 5 Secret Boss

IT'S WIZARD TIME MOTHER████ERS!!! No time to explain! I cast kooky crazy wizard dog!

Okay maybe there's some time to explain. Everyone, say hello to Doggone. My idea for Fool's Fate's chapter 5 boss and my submission into @grimmdeltarune's Chaos Clash Tourney! Remember when I said I was gonna go with a busted police radio? Bam! I lied! Crazy wizard dog be upon ye!

Okay but what's their origins? I need to explain where I got the name dog gone it! (Hehe, get it? That's where their name's from.) As for item, Doggone is a newspaper clipping about Dess's disappearance that's in an evidence folder at the Police Station. It's staff is even a branch with Dess's fur found on it that was also in the evidence locker.

"Lorrie, how did you get crazy wizard from that? " I hear some of you reasonably ask. All in due time, my little pupils, for now we must get onto text quirks! For Doggone's text, a lot of it their text gets blacked out and censored. Not all of it, mostly proper nouns like names or places, but also just random nouns that seem randomly censored. The exception being anything or anyone mentioned in the news paper clipping Doggone is in the Light World. I can show some examples under the cut with their backstory and dialogue. The only times Doggone can ONLY use words specifically from that clipping are when it's trying to talk about stuff the man doesn't want revealed.

For Doggone's soul mode, it uses the purple soul mode, like Bitsy. Just Doggone's purple soul mode attacks are lines of text rather than spider webs. Also unrelated to the soul mode but another fun fact about them before I get into backstory and stuff. Doggone is flat like paper. Literal Flat Stanley/Paper Mario physics. They seem like they might have mass, but when viewed completely from the side, they're just a line.

Backstory and Dialogue under the cut (Fair warning, it got really, REALLY long...)

Dogson D. Gonit. Investigative Journalist and reporter for the news station in the Police Station Dark World. Never an actual detective or private investigator, those sorta roles were filled by Captain Chariot and the guard, but Dogson always did his best to sniff out the best story. A true sleuthing pup, Dogson's keen nose and sense for a good scoop was something which found him a lot of success in his career, especially when it came to reporting on potential new cases for Chariot's guard.

That was until one day a particular Lightner went missing in the Light World.

Missing person's cases were some what rare in the Station Dark World, and Hometown in general. Most the time it was just some kid who pretended to run away or got a little lost playing in the woods and many of them were solved before a reporter like Dogson got to report on it at all. More often then not, the missing cases Dogson reported on where lost pets or items. But the case of Dess Holiday was a special one. It was something the entire station seemed to be talking about, and one that went unsolved long enough that Dogson got to report on it, and not just in the missing section of the paper.

"LOCAL GIRL GOES MISSING IN WOODS. On September 15th, 212X, local girl December "Dess" Holiday was reported missing. She was last seen playing in the woods with her younger sister and two neighboring kids. After loosing track of her, Asriel Dreemurr, one of Dess's neighbors contacted local police, reporting to Chief Asgore and Deputy Undyne that Dess and Kris, Asriel's younger sibling, had gone into the bunker in the forest and wouldn't respond when Asriel and Noelle Holiday, Dess's younger sister, called for them, after which Asriel went for help. After managing to rescue Kris from the bunker, the police weren't able to locate Dess Holiday and even though questioned about what happened, Kris was reportedly too shaken to answer. Mayor Carol Holiday, Hometown mayor and Dess's mother, has ordered a town wide search and advised citizens to stay away from the bunker. Are the towering trees surrounding our sweet little town really as safe as we thought? More on pg 12."

The case of the missing Holiday was a big one in the Station Dark World, with a lot of pressure on both Lightners and Darkners to perform and find her. This was something Dogson was well aware of, and he had every intention to report on every new bit of information that came the station's way. Yet it seemed by the time Dogson was ready to print his next update on the case, the buzz around it had already died down. Captain Chariot refusing to let Dogson release the story because of "bad PR", instead focusing on a story from one of Dogson's colleagues about the new police chief in the Light World. According to the Captain, anything new about this case had to go under the radar and eventually it seemed like the case was dropped all together, the trail going icy cold.

Dogson wasn't so content to just drop a scoop as big as this though, and so after putting on his jacket and hat and kissing his wife goodbye, the journalist set out into the depths of the Paper Trail Forest to find the Evidence Locker in hopes to find something to get Captain Chariot to reopen the case.

Ms. Gonit: And I'm afraid that's the last anyone's heard of him.

I've tried to convince some of the guard to go looking for him myself, but it seems none of them want to risk it...

Lightners, you seem strong, aren't you?

If you decide to venture towards the Paper Trail Forest, would you be willing to look for my dear Dogson for me?

These past few years have been tough, and even if the worst I fear has come true...

Some closure at least would be nice.

Accept ❤ Decline

Accept ❤

Oh? You will look?

Oh, thank you so much, Lightners. You can't imagine how much this means to me.

Here, ever since that KNIGHT came around, I never know what Captain Chariot has decided to lock down.

If you ever find any trouble making your way into the forest, take this.

*You got the PIN KEY.

It may not work on every lock, but I hope it can at least aid you somewhat.

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~❤~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~

No one really knows what happened to Dogson D. Gonit out in those woods. The only thing his wife and family knew was that he never came back. In all honestly, Ms. Gonit expected her dear husband to be gone forever. In a way... he was.

Dogson got lost looking through the Paper Trail Forest and couldn't find his way back. He wandered and wandered for what felt like days looking for the Evidence Locker, or at the least the exit, yet it seemed like he was just chasing his own tail. Just going in endless circles and circles, every corner he turned looked like the last, the pages and pages of leaves all blending together as one. It was maddening.

It wasn't until all hope seemed lost when Dogson found somebody. Or rather, was found BY somebody. A strange someone, a man who offered a helping hand. A man who led Dogson to the Truth. Not the truth about the case of the missing Holiday as the straggled reporter might have hoped when he agreed to follow the man out of desperation, but a greater Truth. A Truth which showed him just how trapped he was... A Truth... which broke Dogson freed Doggone from the burdens of it's mind.

Dogson was gone. A life forgotten along with the name. Now there was only Doggone. A crazy old Darkner believing themself to be a powerful wizard, living out in the woods and on an eternal quest to find the Evidence Locker the Chamber of Truth. Doggone may not know why it wants to get into the Chamber of Truth, they just knows they have to find it. Inside such an illusive and mysterious trove of treasure and truth there must be something truly great and powerful, after all. Some kind of artifact befitting a great and powerful wizard like Doggone.

And Doggone seemed to find the perfect opportunity to get to the Chamber of Truth when it saw three young Lightner heroes enter it's domain...

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~❤~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~

HOO HO HO! THREE █████S APPROACH MY DOMAIN?

*Doggone jumps down from the trees and in front of the party*

AND NOT ANY █████S EITHER! THREE █████S OF LIGHT!

LET'S SEE, A ██████, A ██████, AND A ███! HOW WONDERFUL!

CK: UH, WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL US?

HAVE YOU ████████S COME TO TAKE MY WIZARD TOWER?

WELL TOO BAD, IT'S MINE!

Remie: ... That's just a very tall tree, ribatto, ribatto...

OH! OR MAYBE YOU █████S ARE HERE TO AID ME IN MY DASTARDLY WIZARD QUEST!

CK: QUEST? UH... I GUESS WE'RE SORT OF HERE ON A QUEST.

Remie: What is your name, if we may ask, ribatti, ribatti?

████? HOO HO! I FORGOT THAT LONG AGO! ██████? ███? ██████ █ █████? I DON'T KNOW!

I GUESS YOU KIDS CAN CALL ME DOGGONE! SINCE I DOG AND GONE LOST MY LAST ████! HOO HO HO!

Remie: D-doggone...?

YEP! THAT'S MY ████ NOW! THAT SOUNDS LIKE A ████, RIGHT?

Remie: Um, s-sure... Ribatto, ribatto.

CK: MWEH HEH! I SAY IT'S A GREAT NAME! (AT LEAST I HOPE THAT'S WHAT YOU'RE SAYING...)

Remie: -._-. CK...

CK: ER... SO WHAT ABOUT THIS QUEST, MR. GONE?

OH PLEASE. MR. GONE WAS MY ██████. JUST CALL ME DOGGONE.

AND YES! THE QUEST!

WE MUSTN'T SPEAK OF IT HERE, YOU NEVER KNOW WHO MIGHT BE LISTENING.

WATCHING IN THE ████, RECORDING EVERY ████ YOU SAY...

MEET ME AT MY OTHER TOWER! IT'S JUST ████ OF HERE AND THROUGH THE █████ WOODS, PAST THE ███████ █████!

YOU CAN'T MISS IT!

Remie: Um, could you maybe repeat-

NOW I MUST GO! I CAST SMOKE █████!

*In a puff of smoke or... spores? Doggone disappears.*

CK: *COUGH COUGH* W-WHAT? HEY! WHERE'D HE GO!? AW MAN... COULD EITHER OF YOU GUYS UNDERSTAND WHERE HE SAID TO GO?

Remie: I'm afraid not, ribatto, ribatto...

CK: WELP. GUESS WE'LL HAVE TO TRY AND FIND OUR OWN WAY...

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

I had a lot of fun coming up with Doggone, especially since I was on call with friends and we kept referencing wizard memes. Originally, I just had the idea of a journalist who got lost investigating the story of a missing girl (cough cough, Dess, cough cough), but I worried that would step on Detective Noir's territory too much. I think with the wizard aspect, I no longer have to worry about that.

Doggone and Noir are still rivals though. Even if Doggone has completely lost its marbles and will try to interview people by asking them to step into its office, that is really just a mossy clearing with a stump in the woods or a bus stop.

#deltarune #deltarune fan character #deltarune secret boss #Deltarune: Fool's Fate #deltarune oc #petra's deltarune take #deltarune au #dr stationworld #dr:ff stationworld #doggone #Grimm'sChaosClash #ChaosClashTourney #dogson d. gonit #ms. gonit

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qaraxuanzenith · 3 days

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I've been saying this for a while, but finding this post on my dash has, I feel, given me more tools to express this thought about why Jews (especially in the US and American-dominated online spaces) are feeling increasingly alienated by their leftist friends. Why many Jews who otherwise lean left will vote right, much to the dismay and even revulsion of their leftist friends. Why many Jews end up feeling "safer" leaning right. Why it is not fair or reasonable to "blame" these Jews for exercising their democratic right of secret ballot in such a way.

I'm screenshotting the post because (a) it's long, and (b) most of its content is not actually the point here. I'm not trying to argue with the OP or with my acquaintance who reblogged it onto my dash. I just want to explain what I find troubling about it.

The post is, as I said, long. I'll be honest: I only skimmed it. I'm not American. So skimming past - scrolling past to see the rest of my dash - I saw a lot of things where my brain went "Oh, that looks bad," but, you know, in a vague sort of way. Bad, but doesn't impact me directly. Or bad, but not in a way I can do anything about it either way (especially since I can't vote in the US). Or bad-ish, but that's not an issue of deep importance to me personally. And then I saw this:

And suddenly I felt hostile to the OP, because oh look, they just lumped in supporting my homeland, where my family live, which is currently under attack and in dire need of support, as a "bad" thing. Suddenly I feel like OP hates me, or at least, considers my continued existence on their own list of "bad-ish, but that's not an issue of deep importance to me personally."

But you know what? I kept scrolling. It felt like such a mild lip-service anti-Israel line that I thought, "Maybe this person doesn't hate Jews and Israel so much." I reevaluated my initial hostile response and decided to give OP a second chance, to walk it back. It sickens me that I've gotten so used to racism against my people that some expressions of it just don't register anymore. But I kept scrolling, and it got worse.

So what I'm reading here is an excerpt from the document that sounds, to me as a Jewish person, eminently reasonable and reassuring. Couched in language and context from OP that wants to paint it as a bad thing that the writers of this document believe that Israel, the Jewish state and Jewish indigenous homeland, should be able to defend itself against... *checks notes* three terrorist organizations with genocide against Jews explicitly in their mandate, and one dictatorship country which has repeatedly expressed that it has the desire and is working on having the means to "wipe Israel off the map."

Perhaps OP has been living under a rock (or, like me, only really focuses on political updates that hit close to home) for the past 7 and a half months and is unaware of Hamas's horrific attack of October 7, 2023 against Israel, in which civilians were brutally slaughtered, young women raped, mutilated bodies paraded through the streets, and dozens abducted - many of whom are still in captivity to the terrorist organization which has not allowed any humanitarian visits to the hostages or even confirmed proof of life for those it still holds.

But when I read the above excerpted paragraph, I went from "I'm not American but I guess most of this sounds vaguely bad" to "I hope this party wins." "I hope that this specific part of this platform is implemented because it is offering support, protection, and safety for me and my family."

You - OP and people who share their views; you as non-Jews who do not share in our unique suffering - you have no right to blame us for choosing our own survival. I would expect you to prioritize yours, as well.

It is things like this - not this platform, but this post, lumping in support of Israel against three terrorist organizations and a genocidal dictatorship with all the other "bad" things like deforestation and nuclear weapons, that push Jews to the right, or at least away from this part of the left. It is reading things like this, that take it for granted that my family and I should not be protected, should not have a right to live in our home, that radicalize people like me.

You're right: most of the other things here are things I would deem as "bad," but if I embrace this platform with open arms at least I get to survive, to fight against the rest another day. Better than rejecting it in favour of someone who has otherwise wonderful ideals but wants me dead.

I want to be able to care about all the other "bad" things in that post, in that document, but right now, we are bleeding. If I had to vote on it right now, I would choose whoever penned this document or stands behind it, because I need to prioritize my safety and continued survival over any other platform issue, and if I am not for myself, who will be for me?

Not my friends on the left who decry support of Israel against genocidal terrorists as a bad thing, that's for sure.

#am i jewish tumblr #jumblr #antisemitism #israel #rule 6 #the problem with a two-party system #the problem with politics #if you lump caring about me in with the things you hate #don't complain when i draw the conclusion that you hate me #if you lump caring about me in with things done by people you hate #don't complain when i throw my lot in with them #all hypothetical since i can't vote in the us #but the principal is more widely applicable #im ein ani li mi li #if i am not for myself who will be for me

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deluweil · 1 day

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I feel like the characters of Buck and Eddie's specifically are so underdeveloped it borders on crime at this point.

Because Buck has traveled all over the world, he was a so called sex addict, and sought (still seeks) attention from every breathing relatively human form he comes across.

He was a bartender and his communication skills are limited to flirting mode (see 911 LS hold the line) - It's like right there where TK from LS felt the need to tell Buck that he has a boyfriend - and you're telling me he never experimented?? Never been kissed by a drunken man?

He has gay friends, has he never been to a gay club??

And Eddie! The man was in the army, he was never in love with Shannon, he loved her - sure - she was the mother of his child, they had sexual chemistry but there was nothing there emotion wise.

Also often they'd have sex after they were reunited to avoid actually talking to each other.

Eddie went and reenlisted to a job he knew there was a fair chance he may not return home alive from, to avoid actually having to deal with the realization of Christopher's diagnosis and not being able to adjust and not wanting to be a husband to Shannon.

He didn't want to get married, he did that because he knocked her up not because he wanted to get married - his way of running was enlisting. - It was his personal suicide mission. - Like he said in 5X14 - his friends are gone and he's still here - "not sure why." - it wasn't just survivor's guilt, he never planned to live in the first place.

And you're telling me that with all his time spent with soldiers most of them men, not thinking about his wife, just his son - because when he was in a dire situation it wasn't a picture of Shannon and Christopher, it was just Christopher.

And in 3X15, He does see Christopher but he also sees BUCK! ALOT!

Are you telling me that in this very intimate connection he has with Buck, that he seems so comfortable in - there was nothing similar that preceded that? Eddie broke down when he found out all his friends from the army were dead, was there something more there? Other than failing to save them from themselves and bad luck?

I feel like 7 seasons later and all I know of Buck and Eddie from before can be summarized in one paragraph each and nothing more - I can write articles about what I deduced watching them with each other the past 7 seasons, but nothing that explains that intense, intimate, tension underneath the surface between them.

I want to know where it's buried. Give me less LIs and chemistry-less relationships - And give me a history that can connect me to the here and now, that explains what made Buck and Eddie, almost instantly, BuckandEddie - buddie.

I want them to be developed characters, and not just the scratch the surface we got so far.

I have so many questions!!!

#deluweil has so many questions #what makes them tick #except for the ptsd and abandonment issues for not being hugged enough as a child #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #911 speculation #for main characters they are so underdeveloped it's upsetting #bobby had like three begins already #chimney and hen's lives were laid out pretty clearly #i feel like eddie's begin was centered on his faulty relationship with shannon and his ptsd we don't really know anything about him #Buck's story for all the layout was not exactly telling except that he had a brother that his parents suck #Athena's background was laid out perfectly and developed not only in her begin episode #why are buck and eddie different??#is it that the writers hasn't decided or because they are single it doesn't matter?#were they originally just pretty faces with muscles?#I want to know #911 spoilers #kinda

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mrs-perfectly-fine · 2 years

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"𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢'𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚜, 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝?"

(a version without the red lines. i’m not sure if I like it)

#the plaid almost killed me #not fair at all for there to be that many lines #robin buckley #robin stranger things #stranger things #stranger things art #stranger things fanart #fanart #art #stranger things robin #st robin #robin st4 #st4 #st4 art

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satelliteduster · 2 years

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oh my god i forgot to post my absolute favorite strip from gay comix (issue #2, 1981)

#this collection is full of so many hilarious vignettes #between the fictional and biographical they range from hilarious to saddening but theyre all candid looks at #lgbt life in the 60s 70s and 80s #id recommend it if you're interested in older underground work #edit: for ppl who notice the opening blurb i will say this:#1. Many artists in the underground comix scene (yes the lgbt ones too) delighted in being overly provocative for the sake of it #hence the cringeworthy 'political unity is not the goal' line #2. i worried abt this too when i started going thru the issues but there are quite a few strips and comics focusing on the trans experience #that said. there are unfortunately not a lot of transgender artists involved in this collection #3. given the preceding two points i think its fair to say that a good chunk of the strips in gay comix just. Suck #but like they actually said it's important that we're capable of recognizing that a full 40 years down the line #so we can actually learn something from the life experiences the mistakes and even the lack of perspective tht sm of these artists displayed #nocturnal writings

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notbecauseofvictories · 6 months

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I know my experience is not universal, but I biked 5+ miles to do my errands today and I genuinely think we'd be much happier as a human collective if we increased residential density and switched to largely alternative modes of transportation.

#I don't know /how/ you'd do it exactly but this is my vision:#all cars are kept outside a certain perimeter. you can own a car and rent your outside-the-city parking spot;#or you can just reserve/rent a communally owned car when you need one #trucks and deliveries can cross the perimeter on a job but after the work is finished they must be returned to the exterior #inside the city perimeter you can: walk or run; bike or scooter or skateboard #or you can take public transit! there are many more buses and they can move much more freely in a car-less environment #there is also the option of cabs but - and this is key - the cabbies are unionized and the service is public #like the trains and buses.#there is no privately-controlled transit in the city. it belongs to everyone.#and because the lines of parked cars disappear from the streets; they are much better utilized #more kids play in the street. more block parties. more street fairs.#take back the space!!!#anyway this is my vision.#celestial emporium of benevolent knowledge

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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 6 months

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never underestimate the power and joy in thinking about your own Guys doing normal people things. my brain is awash with delight

#it can very Telling! it can help discover more about them and their dynamics!#i greatly enjoy carnivals and fairs and im thinking about some of my fine fellows at one #oh its fun. its fun...#they're standing in line for funnel cake...#sundown refuses to leave the animal section. she sees the budweiser clydesdales and is Enamored #seven and grayson are trying every single snack they can find #aces wins as many things as he can for grayson... k.z comes along bc what the fuck else is she going to do...#she discovers that hey. fair games are fun actually. it becomes a Competition #moth keeps floating between everyone. checking in. keeping them company in lines.#distracting the staff so that sundown can sneak through the fence and pet the gigantic horsies #she strokes their noses and thinks fondly of ryan... who didnt want to come...#they converge for Rides #and get permanently banned from every public event in the state <3 #what happened? who's to say... there were ambulances called... and some fire engines...#they all pile into one room in a shitty motel and lounge Decadently on the mountain of plushes and pillows #that k.z and aces won - and maybe also stole - through intense competition & mild to severe violence #absolutely unprompted #hm now im thinking of that one meme where its like #I Receive: Talking About My Ocs #You Receive: Posts You Don't Understand #yes! true! i Will share facts about guys that only exist in my brain!#wait... my specialest boy would Love funnel cake... is that his favorite food? i think it would be in modern settings #actually ill have to include funnel cakes in his world for his enjoyment... anything for Him!

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moongothic · 3 months

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Hey so also have Sir Crocodile brainrot and have recently reread Impel Down. This is probably nothing at all but it made me question the artistic choice made. Like we dont see Crocodiles full face until Luffy recognizes him. Before that tho he joins in on Jinbei & Ace's convo about Whitebeard and is shown to (non-)react to Boa Hancocks visit. But we only get his face in shadows or see the hook. Which. Why. Oda we know what he looks like and who the guy with the stitches on his face and the hook is. WHY OBSCURE HIM.

My friend, this is what we call a "cocktease"

Okay jokes aside, yes it was an artistic choise. More specifically, a storytelling technique Oda masterfully used to build up hype and excitement to Crocodile's eventual reveal and re-introduction into the story.

So thanks to Ms Goldenweek's cover story (which ran back during Water 7/Enies Lobby) we already knew Crocodile along with Daz, Bon-chan and Galdino had all been sent to Impel Down, when we also learned about Impel Down, Marineford and the Gates of Justice (+ the giant whirlpool between the three locations) to some extent. ((Now of course, if you were an anime-only then you would've had no idea about the former BW members being in Impel Down. And even if you had read the manga you still would've had to actually pay attention to the cover story and its lore, and not forgotten all about it))

So even before Luffy decides he's going to head to Impel Down to save Ace, we know Crocodile's going to be somewhere down there. The second Luffy arrives there, we are immidiately reminded of the fact when Domino mentions Crocodile taking the traditional "bath" new inmates take at the entrance. And as we descend deeper and deeper into Impel Down, with those cuts to what's happening down at Level 6 every now and then, as well as with the Baroque Works Countdown, Oda time and time again keeps on reminding of us of Crocodile's looming presence in the background. This is all absolutely deliberate. Crocodile was arguably the most iconic (maybe not most popular but iconic) One Piece villian at the time, if given an opportunity of course the readers wanted to see him again. But just letting us see him right away would be anti-climactic, and distracting from what's actually important (Ace, and Luffy getting to him as fast as possible). So keeping him hidden could serve multiple purposes:

For one, Crocodile doesn't get to steal the spotlight from the other characters (at least not too early). We can focus on Luffy, Ace, all the new Impel Down characters and the other returning characters in peace, while Crocodile waits for his turn. Another thing is that Crocodile's presence being downplayed gives off the impression that perhaps him being there isn't that important to the story. Thus, him teaming up with Luffy to break out isn't such an obvious twist (and so when that happens, it's ever more hype as a result)

But indeed, the most important part is that by teasing us constantly through out Impel Down, Oda creates hype. He makes us the readers excited if/when we might get to see the bastard, even if it was just a quick little cameo. So when Luffy finally reaches Level 6 and we finally do get that reveal, everyone loses their fucking marbles over the HISASHIBURI DANA MUGIWARA when we finally get to see The Motherfucker Himself. (And indeed, then getting to see him fight alongside Luffy is cool as fucking hell, completely unexpected and absolutely delightful)

But there's also another thing building up to Crocodile's reveal does. Compare his original introduction to the re-introduction

Compare Crocodile at the height of his power and influence, to the absolute rock bottom he has hit. No longer happily laughing while looking down on people (literally), he's filthy, he has given up on life, with sunken eyes and a hollow look on his face, only moved by a thirst for petty revenge (/an opportunity to go out with a bang). He doesn't even get the whole page for his grand reveal anymore, he's been shuffled to the side so the plot can progress on the same page.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

And to some degree, this is kind of meant to be a shocking realization to the readers. That this is not the same Crocodile we remember from Alabasta, that Crocodile died when Luffy defeated him. This is just the husk that remains, a shadow of what was once there. It's a sad sight, and probably not what the readers who loved Crocodile The Villian wanted to see. It's not the epic Return of the (Evil) King they wanted. And that juxtaposition helps, because Crocodile doesn't return into the story as a villian, but as a frenemy/ally-on-thin-ice. And that idea is easier to signal to the readers in a lowkey manner when you do his re-introduction like this.

So yes, Oda refusing to show Crocodile's face until Luffy found him was 100% a deliberate artistic choise. This is fantastic storytelling

#Moon posting #OP Meta #Sir Crocodile #Also yes part of the reason Crocodile's re-introduction doesn't take up the whole page is just how Oda has changed as an artist #And how his paneling/page layout had evolved over the years #ALSO ALSO back in Alabasta Crocodile's Grand Reveal taking up as much space as it did made sense 'cause he was The Final Boss of The Level #Where as in Summit War he's just one of the MANY players in the up-coming chaos. He wasn't as important #AND it was a re-introduction of an old character. Compare to like Iva-chan who got a much more Grand Reveal as a brand new character #But my key points still stand #(Yes that line was anime-only but to be fair HISASHIBURI DANA MUGIWARA is an iconic line so let me have this)#(I was laughing quite hard when a while back on Twitter there was a meme of people sharing anime quotes that live in their heads rent free)#(And a considderable amount of people responded with THAT QUOTE SPECIFICALLY)#((Personally the OP quotes that live in my head rent free are all pretty much Luffy quotes))#((''I will surpass you'' and Luffy SCREAMING ''OF COURSE'' at Usopp when getting the energy to beat Lucci are just. Yeah))#((I love Mayumi Tanaka so much its unreal))

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