#so i made a whole blog about it!

[iamanartichoke]

I don't know who needs to hear this, but as a creator -

I am fine with "the audience" -

downloading my fics

printing my fics

copy/pasting or screenshotting my fics

sharing your saved copy of my fics with anyone else who might want them in the unlikely but never impossible case that my fics are no longer available on ao3

making a book of my fic(s) and running your fingers across the pages while lovingly whispering my precioussss

doing these things with anything I create for fandom, such as meta, headcanons, au nonsense like 'texts from the brodinsons,' etc

I am not fine with "the audience"

doing any of the above with the purpose/intent of plagiarizing my work or passing it off as their own in any capacity

feeding my work into ai for any reason whatsoever

Save the fandom things. Preserve the fandom things. Respect the fandom things.

Enjoy the fandom things.

[dollypopup]

I just need every single person in this fandom who has ever been mean about Luke Newton to know that Nicola Coughlan hates you. Genuinely and wholeheartedly.

She hates you. Sure, she won't say it aloud, because she's a professional who knows her career lives or dies by fans, but please know that she does. She hates you if you've said Colin gave you the ick, especially so if you said it to Luke, she hates you if you've left a rude comment on his social media, she hates you if you acted like she didn't like him or that she was shading him, she hates you if you bullied the people around him, she hates you if you said something disparaging about how he looks or how he acts, she. hates. you.

And sure, it's not all people who are in her or Pen's fanbase, in fact a lot of people have been cruel about him outside of the Polin fandom, but a LOT of people are Pen fans, and hearing her talking about how defensive she gets over him when people say something rude about him? And knowing there are SO many stupid opinion blogs and youtubers and tiktokers who say they're Pen fans and Nicola fans but are mean as fuck about Luke?

I need every single one of them, in particular those who have been out here making up stupid shit to be mad at him about 'on her behalf' to know that when you say something mean about the man she gushed to her Mum about, and who her Mum was so excited to meet because she just knew he was kind, the man she introduced to her entire family, the man she is always reaching for and hugging and snuggling up to and calling wonderful and giggling around and saying how she wouldn't want to do such vulnerable intimate scenes without and complimenting and leaning on and having fun with and calling a special person in her life, she is taking off her earrings and ready to meet you outside in his honor

because she hates you for being a dick about him. hope that clears things up

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Happy very belated birthday.. I hope you had much time celebrating by digging for tubers : )

I'M DIGGING FOR TUBERS! AND NO ONE CAN STOP ME!

[hcdragonwrites]

Tangled Love

(A @semisolidmind Drabble)

Ok! I ran this by Semi before I posted just because I know absolutely nothing about LMK (except the animation can be so pretty!) just so I could get their characters down. I hope you all like it !

She just wanted to escape- both from this place and from her own mind tonight.

The ghosts of memories were walking and she had no distractions to chase them away.

Peaches walked the cool cavern halls of Water- Curtain Cave, her feet echoing in the depths. The sandals she wore and the ornamental clothing she had been thrown into made her scalp prickle and her skin itch. It was too much- but the attendants wouldn’t hear a thing about it.

She had to look the part of Queen.

Peaches, in the absence of the Lord of the mountain and his right hand and sword, was the remaining voice of authority.

To a point.

Finishing with courtly duties and listening in on behalf of her husbands wasn't a huge chore. The two of them rarely left at the same time however. If one was called away the other would remain. Or Peaches herself would be brought along.

This time however she hadn’t been.

It was the first time in ten years.

She had just this night- just this moment of reprieve and she would make the most of it. Or so she thought. Instead, she was fighting something that reared its head and struck her nerves like a asp.

However she wasn’t alone quite yet. As she rounded the corner and came to golden lacquered doors of her bedchamber - their bedchamber- she paused.

“Will that be all my queen?” One of the attending retinue of her guard asked. It was a guard her husbands insisted upon whenever both were away from home- a set of seven of the most battle scarred simians Peaches had ever seen.

They were tasked and sworn with following her everywhere - to the dining hall, to the throne room. If she wished to go and sit among the apple trees and listen to the wind play over the mountain grasses her guard would double in size. Peaches tried to not cause the denizens of Flower fruit mountain any more problems or stressors by going outside when both the King and his Brother in arms were away on a war path.

Her husbands.

It’s what they titled themselves now, after a decade of the terrible start they had on their relationship with her. When she had met the two, they had been just tiny monkeys. A sly looking ginger and gold monkey who had loved to cling to her arms and a dark black furred monkey that brought her fruits and almonds from the wild.

My sweet boys.

They had been her monkeys back then- the little prankster angels she had thought were just simple beasts, trying to survive out in the world.

She had been wrong.

The decision to upend her life, she guessed, had been floated around for months between the two disguised demons as they ate her fruit and enjoyed her touches. It was a mutual one that both had decided was the best option for her.

She took a steadying breath, coming back to the present. Peaches wanted a chance to be alone. Something so rare she craved it like a man in a desert craved water.

“Yes, general. I think I’ll retire early for the day.” She smiled at the monkey who dipped his body into a bow. The gleam of his armor set the flickers of a memory brewing. Fire in the trees, the smell of iron on the wind and a figure among the debris. She shook her head to dislodge it. The rest of them weren’t awful to her. Her husbands weren’t awful to her. They had just ….

Taken away her decisions.

“Very well Queen.” Peaches flinched, unable to quite stomach the title and what that truly meant. If I am queen then why am I without choices? “If you need us call us.”

She turned the handle in the door and slipped in side with as much grace as she could muster.

Peaches closed the ornamental doors to the bedroom, resting her head against the door. Steady. Deep breaths. In through her nose out through her mouth.

The illusion of a paradise that Wukong had built and Macaque helped facilitate always lost its color and believability when they were away. They couldn’t feed her the sugared lies and candied perceptions to tamp back the memories of that night.

It had been just another night on the small farm - a June night of heat and singing cicadas- of windows wide open and Peaches trying to escape that heat. There wasn’t much she could do to escape it. The moisture clung to her and made her bedding stick and clog her nose. So on these nights she stayed up, usually with a candle or the moon to illuminate her night, and read.

The knock on the door was not something typical.

The memory was rising and she couldn’t hold it back. I have to ride it out. Survive it.

Like she had survived that night. Getting visitors in the dead of the night had been unconventional- and she remembered the feeling of being perturbed. Don’t answer it, she told the memory. But this was the past and ghosts of the past didn’t change their course.

She had closed her book, had stepped down the hall to the door and had opened it.

I should have called through- told him to stay away! I should have never left my bed or my book.

It was a drunk man. A fellow farm hand called in for one of the families to help bring in a harvest that had proved too bountiful for the immediate family to handle. Peaches could see the man before her eyes, smell the reek of him.

A drunk.

“Well ain’t it the village spinster! Whaaa da pretty thing you are!” He was a cloud of bitter rice wine, of too much sake on his breath. The intensity of it had a physical effect on her memory and in the present, Peaches wrinkled her nose.

“You should go home Sir.” She had told him- tried to close the door.

His foot moved faster and his hands had caught the door.

A wild set of emotions swept through her. She had to sit her body down, thankful she had been able to get away from the other monkeys before the memory seized her like a vice. They would have been in a panic over her and she couldn’t let their little hearts worry so. There was nothing they could do to stop the remembering.

It was his fault this all happened. It was His. He didn’t have to be drunk and show up at my home- he didn’t have to shove his way into my house and try and grab me.

But he was just a single man. Did his actions warrant the destruction that happened next ?

“Get out!” Her memory self cried. The wooden table she danced behind as the drunk stumbled and moved towards her, was her only shield.

“The Boys Said you prefer the company of wild animals …” his speech was hard to hear. The wine had made him bold, stupid, and aroused it seemed. “I thought I would give you mtaste of what a real man was, since the villagers are al’ ‘fraid of your Witchery with monkeys.”

She had run- she had thrown her things at him. It was probably the commotion of her breaking a pitcher over his head that had alerted her monkeys. The loud clatter of the pottery across the floor had sounded so sharp and final. It had only made the man more determined.

The drunk when he did get his hands on her was furious. He swung a fist and sent stars into her eyes. Peaches had clung like a wildcat to her conscious, kicking out with legs and swinging with fists. Her nose was full of the sour smell of him- had felt his hands and fought them. A kick to his groin had sent him wheezing. Another fist to her head had Peaches crying. She had stared that drunk in his mean little eyes as he whispered the terrible things he wanted to do to her.

She had been staring in those eyes when he died.

He never got to touch more than her arms that night.

Peaches heard something step through the door that had been left open to the night. She had heard the creak of her house as something walked within it. And the sound of something- like a water skin being popped and a splash of warm liquid against her belly had shocked her.

The Drunks eyes went wide with confusion, rolling horselike in his head. His bruising grip on her wrist had let go. In the present, She rubbed those wrists, the phantom pains hard.

“..mah… belly.” The drunk had mumbled then belched a bucket of blood onto the floor. Peaches could see something protruding from his middle- something long and thin like a stick. Or a staff.

Clawed hands pulled the head back and twisted with a fury. The sound of bones breaking was loud, as if a fire was consuming dry wood. The drunk crumbled in those hands like a puppet cut free of its strings.

A new stranger stood in her home, his frame large and broad and most assuredly not human. He tossed the body like someone would toss a rag across the floor. The glowing eyes in the sudden dark were all she could see. Her mind, even in its heightened adrenaline drenched state, recognized the face pattern, saw a familiarity in the fur. There was, in fact, still a little flower tucked against this demonic creatures ear. The same flower she had interwoven in her forest friend's fur that afternoon.

“Your… your my…”

Nerves and the come down from the adrenaline high we’re making speech hard. The monkey demon before her, who’s eyes seemed to spit fire, softened. Just a bit.

“You are my Peaches.” Wukong said, touching her hair, her face, her hands. Taking stock. Then he had taken those limp hands and threaded them through his fur, trying to get them to grip. It would help his own rage and calm her fear. It was thick in the air, ruining the natural sweet smell she had. That and the slab of flesh on the floors own fetid death scent.

Wukong was not the best at this - this comfort thing. But he would rise to the occasion. He would try for her.

Fury and rage made his tail lash and the fur along his neck to stand on end.

At first she had just been a simple human that would leave little offerings to him and his brother in arms. An oddity here in the shadow of his mountain. Most humans around here feared the monkeys and kept away from all of them, having a legend that if one was harmed a great calamity would befall them.

Wukong didn’t mind being that calamity. These were his people, his subjects. So hearing the chatter from some of his kind that a women had begun to leave out gifts had of course spiked the Kings curiosity. The humans beneath Flower Fruit Mountain were his lesser subjects. So he had come down from the mountain, disguising himself as a smaller and more approachable sized monkey, to see the fuss his subjects had started gossiping about at groomings. Only to see his brother, Macaque, already being petted and tended and kissed on each of his six ears.

Of course first impressions had been terrible and Wukong, used to getting the first pick of everything, had come screeching into the clearing and demanding his own pets. It had set off a very small and very mock little battle between the two brothers in arms. One that had Peaches separating them and scolding them as she patched up the little scratches they had taken from eachother. They could have each resisted her pull but both decided that play acting a fight, even if it had started as a bit of one, was the best way to get attention divided between the both of them.

Wukong hadn’t expected to become infatuated. Her name didn’t matter to him- he had rebranded her almost the instant she came to him and offered a smile and held out a handful of sugar and dates. Peaches. After the Kings own favorite fruit, the sweetest thing the mountain produced.

His Peaches.

Of course also Macaques. He shared everything with his brother, the dark furred and six eared demon who had faced battles and won wars besides Wukong. While Wukong had been more leery, Peaches won him over faster than Flower Wine loosened his rigid posture. They had both fallen for this mortal women. And, in the traditional way she belonged to them. She just didn’t know it yet. They had touched and groomed and cuddled and tangled limbs and tails. They were practically married without the marriage bit.

Wukong rubbed small circles into Peaches back, trying to keep himself from bearing his teeth in rage.

I should have taken her home the moment she kissed me.

They had been kisses of the kind one gives to a friend or pet. It had left the warlord craving more burning with more.

Of wanting to feel her give him more than just a chaste kiss on the side of his face.

She wouldn’t have been hurt if he had just taken her home.

Wukong and Macaque had taken to one or both spending the night in Peaches trees, to keep an eye on her. Wukongs obsession had grown into a fascination and warm buttery love. A love that was becoming a wild inferno as he fought to stay still and not leap upon the corpse he had made and turn it into nothing but bits of flesh and gore the crows could carry away.

His Peaches fingers finally grasped his fur and shook. It brought Wukong back from his montage of rage to the present. If only Mac was here — but he wasn’t. He was back at home on Flower Fruit mountain , giving his brother the night to enjoy and keep lookout at Peaches den.

“That’s my girl.” The demon tried to soothe. He really wished he could set Peaches down and finish off what he had started. This place had been bad. This village terrible. He hated every thing and one here that had dared to let a drunken fool up to his Peaches doorstep and allowed this to happen. In reality Wukong was mad it had been Mac’s own sense of importance on taking it slow and letting a little thing like a life outside of Flower Fruit Mountain stop him from from revealing who he was and taking her home.

I am done trying to woo her over slowly. They could have lost her this night if Wukong hadn’t been in earshot, hadn’t heard the crash of something breaking. His clawed hands wrapped around her back and beneath her legs. Before he could realize it, Wukong had her up and in his arms, already stepping on and across the corpse and out into the June air. Mine.

“Let’s get you home, lovely.” Wukongs voice was thick with emotion. Relief to finally, finally, finally have an excuse to take his wife home, to see her sleep in a real bed and eat real food made his heart swell. No more pretending. No more longing. It was happening now. Simmering beneath that emotion was the sweet bubble, the red misting rage, of violence. Once he got her home, got her safe, got her tangled within some of his and Macaques blankets to where the sour smell of fear would be lost within the scent of them- he could come back. He would come back.

He would destroy the village for being the obstacle it was in his conquest for this mortal girls heart. It was in itself, a relief to know he was justified in its destruction.

Look what this place did to bruise my sweet fruit.

Peaches was shaking. Clinging to him. I would have her cling to me always. He pressed his nose into her neck, breathing in as he walked off. She smelled so good. He rubbed his face to hers, affectionately smothering her fear scent. Wukong felt a smile curl his face. Finally. We can go home and put the charade to bed. Finally you are mine.

Peaches' memory of that night was mostly of clinging to Wukong as they flew through the air, of his voice a rumble of soft words and comforts. He was holding her close, pressing her in. Smothering her in a sense. But she needed it. She clung to it in a way to stop herself from being sick from fright. It was strange but familiar to hold this fur, to cling. Then she briefly remembered another voice, another set of hands. When she looked up and saw that her sweet dark monkey was also here, had also been a demon in disguise, something broke in her. Maybe hysteria. Maybe disbelief. Or maybe she knew, somewhere in her mind, that no matter what she said now wouldn’t save the people- the innocents- in her village.

Peaches had been transferred into the dark arms and THATS where she finally began to cry. The shock was fading and leaving behind ragged holes of emotion.

“Safe, you're safe now.” She was reassured. Hands had lifted her chin, her sweet little monkey- now a demonic one- was gently beginning to sponge away the blood from the cuts on her face. Her cheek swelled, her eye with it.

“Please don’t kill them.” She begged. “He already took care of the one who hurt me don’t kill my village.”

“Hush love…”

“Please!”

Silence. Something cold pressed to her face- a bit of snow from far up the mountain wrapped in cloth. Macaques ears twitched like flower petals in the night air.

“It’s already done. The village is already gone.”

The memory rode itself out in the present and faded slowly.

Guilt washed over her and she cried all for a new reason. She had been the catalyst for Sun Wukongs fury. She had been the decider to his want of destruction. Peaches may not have killed them, may have had a decade to realize that what had happened wasn’t her fault, but Wukong had done it in her name. He had erased that village and all its people like a cartographer reshapes a map. To all the rest of the world, their had never been a village in the shadow of Flower fruit mountain. Not a foundation, not a brick, not even a spare hair, was left of humanity there. Instead it had been cleared as if a fire had swept through. Peaches had seen it on one occasion when Wukong had been persuaded to show her. She had needed closure. Needed the peace.

Once she had healed she had been told her village was gone. She had been given a sweet lie- that Wukong had gone back and the villagers related to the drunk had been ransacking her house to see where she kept the money or any spare wine.

When Wukong had shown up demanding they answer to the crime committed in her home, they had attacked. Wukong had enacted a king's justice as was his right. He had told the remaining villagers to leave- to never set foot upon his domain again for the lawlessness that had been enacted upon their neighbor.

It had taken two years for her to be able to relax whenever he came in smelling of fire and iron. It had taken a few years more for her to remember what Macaque had said when he had pressed snow to her face.

They were the same little monkeys they had been before. But now they had less innocence when they pressed into her face for kisses, when they asked to tangle and cuddle limbs. They insisted she stay in the bedchamber and not move to her own separate room.

It had taken getting used to movement beside her as a hand tugged her hair, or a tale twined her waist. Or a leg curled with hers or hands holding her face. Sometimes in the dark Mac would press his head to her back, using her as a pillow. Wukong would yank her in when he thought her too sleepy to remember and whisper all the things he loved about her.

It would have been sweet. It was touching in a way. If not for the way they revealed themselves. If not for that memory and what she knew now had come after.

It had not taken too long after that for her to start realizing that, though Wukong had saved her, neither of them had any regret of what happened. Neither of them was going to let her go.

When she asked about it or started talking of missing her home- the simple living, the ability to really on herself and choose for herself- Wukong would laugh and launch into one of his tales. He would brush her hair with his claws, run his face against hers and try and deflect her attention to new things.

Macaque, if Wukong was absent, would let her talk. Usually it happened when he asked her to brush his fur or he in turn asked to brush her hair. Peaches thought, just a bit, that the reason Mac was better at listening was for all the ears he had. Each time however, when she got to the part about how this had been her fault, he would stop mid way through a braid or pin and pull her in. Macaque would kiss the tears from her eyes, would press himself close to her chest.

“It was Never your fault Peaches.”

“I remember. I remember he went back- you said he—“

“Hush love you’ll grow hysterical. What Wukong did was justified- he defended you.”

“He killed.”

“I have killed.” He kissed her temple, gentle in his reprimands. He wouldn’t try and brush her words beneath a rug like Wukong. Instead he gave her a smile as wide as the crescent moon. “Let’s finish your hair and get you dressed. We can go see the baby’s, I know how you love the baby’s.” Baby monkeys were her weakness. They had been what led to her loving Mac before she had known he was a demonic warlord.

Peaches rubbed at her eyes and stood, the sorrow in her heart heavy still but the tears at least had stopped. Now she was just tired. Tired and cold and wanting to escape the feeling of it all. So she shed her courtly attire. All the clips and jewels and baubles and bits felt heavy. She placed them within the box at her armoire, then loosened her hair from its bindings. Jade pins, pearl necklaces, golden bracelets with bells of silver (Wukong loved this the best of all) all glimmered back in the firelight.

A pretty price.

She snapped the box closed.

On nights like this, she wanted to wear nothing but her smock, her simple clothing, and bury herself as far as she could go into the bed she shared with her husbands.

It was more of a pit set into the ground, circular in nature. Silken pillows, red sheets and a hoard of anything plush and furred had been thrown into the pit. It was also a snug place to bury herself within and one of the few things she didn’t feel resentment too right away. When the outside felt too bright and she couldn’t go about the mountain to her usual quiet places, she would retire here. To burrow, to bury, to hide.

Peach fell back into the pit of blankets and pillows and pulled herself beneath a fur of some striped monster Macaque had skinned and gifted to her. Tonight the bitter truth was hard to swallow and did circles in her head.

You did this. You caused this. You killed them. This is your fault.

She closed her eyes and hoped … hoped for what might be the worst thing yet. Her husband's return.

A time later she stirred. Something was in her room- was walking to the bed. Peaches felt a flutter of fear before hands reached into her hiding place and simply slid her out.

“Hello darling.” The silken voice belonged to none other than Macaque. His clawed hands entwined around her waist, his teeth nipping at her ear. “You are up late.”

“Does that mean it will be a late morning?” Wukongs voice came from the other side of the room. Peaches could see the ginger monkey removing armor from his shoulders and stretching. As the darker brother kept making a snack of her shoulder, Peaches noticed that the shine of Wukongs paldrom was dimmed. Something black coated the golden imprint of sunbursts across its armored surface. “I love late mornings! Means more time together.”

Blood?

“Peaches?” She turned her head, trying to see Mac. He had left off nipping her skin. A hand came away from her wrist and tipped her chin, forcing her to stare directly into his violet eyes. “What has upset you?”

Everything. Myself. Wukong. You. It was that simple question that set her sorrow to flowing again. She was confused, upset, and she wanted comfort. The only ones who could give her comfort were the very ones who caused her distress.

A vicious cycle.

The pillows behind her sagged. Wukongs hands were more aggressive in their touches, turning her about to stare into her face. He noted the tears, the bruising beneath her eyes. His lip curled in anger.

“Has someone upset you?” Wukong asked. He seemed ready to stand again, to grab his armor and step out into the night. “I will drag them here to give an apology. You name them and I will fetch them.”

Peaches shook her head.

“Just ….” You killing the villagers, Macaque telling me plainly that it was for the best, and my own head making me relive that night of events. Over and over and over.

“…. Myself.”

His face softened as he chirped a reassurance, pressing his nose to hers. Macaque peppered her in gentle and butterfly soft kisses to the back of her neck. The three fell back into the nest, limbs entwined and hands holding. Macaque had Peaches face buried in his chest as she sobbed silently. He cooed. He whispered how everything would be right as rain in the morning. His hands ran through her hair and messaged her scalp. Wukong held his Peaches, pressing her back to his chest in a solid wall against the world outside. He lavished her in praises and compliments, sometimes getting carried away and talking about himself until his brother would remind him with a flick to his forehead that it was their Peaches he should be reassuring.

And through it all, through this twisted and tangled weave of limbs and fur and warmth and sorrow, Peaches felt love. It grew in this dark place still, wanting to thrive. But how could it?

Still she fell asleep, lashes sparkled with tears and her heart lighter. One could only be sad so long in the wake of such waves of attention. Wukongs and Macaques love was the only solution to this ailment they had inflicted upon her, and she, the addict, swallowing the medicine that would give her release.

[mickeym4ndy]

can we please stop with the ‘Mickey is objectively a bad person’ shit PLEASE.

I get it comes from a place of holding him accountable for his actions which is fair but going straight to “he’s a bad person” just completely disregards so much of his growth and development, and the nuances of the show.

I get Mickey fans got a reputation in the past for excusing everything he does and yea that’s annoying. But to counteract that by saying “he’s objectively terrible!” is so one dimensional and also completely goes against everything that shameless is about.

the point of shameless isn’t that all of these people are terrible, it’s to show the effect living in poverty has on a person and the lengths that are necessary to go to survive in that life, and the mistakes that ultimately causes people to make along the way.

no shameless character is perfect. that’s the point. even some of the worst things that characters have done have been because they are victims of their circumstances and situations. they are nuanced complex characters that can’t be put into boxes of good and bad

they’ve all done things to hurt other people and themselves. but the point is is that most of them have good within them, but all the factors against them make it harder to let that out.

“He’s a bad person” is a lazy reading of the show that completely lacks nuance in my opinion

[purgatorygrl]

Why I love Wesker so much

♡ He is calm and collected even when he is facing danger and he quickly analyzes the environment around him

♡ He is stoic and allows himself to keep his emotions (usually ahem re5 ahem) out of his plans

♡ He is a great planner as well as being meticulous and a perfectionist. He studies everything in great detail and creates well thought out plans adapted to the circumstances as well as having several plans in case something goes wrong. If things go wrong and even when his plan does not work out as he expected, he adapts quickly and makes the most of the situation.

♡ He is able to predict people and situations that are going to occur (generally) because he is a great observer and has a great capacity for analysis and anticipation.

♡ He is very intelligent and likes to work on his intelligence (I have the headcanon that he is constantly informed of what is happening in the world at an economic, political and social level) in addition to the fact that he enjoys challenges and people who challenge him.

♡ He enjoys being himself and has great security and confidence in his skills and abilities (which make him super attractive) in addition to knowing them very well.

♡ He can see the potential in people and doesn't feel threatened when someone is better than him at something, he just admits it and likes to surround himself with people like that (ahem Chris, Jill and William)

♡ He likes to take care of himself physically, you can tell he likes to be fit, dress well and have his hair well combed (100% he does his skincare)

I love him I love him he's my husband he's so handsome and attractive I love him so much mwha mwha wesker come home the kids miss you 🩷🩷🩷

[winteriron-trash]

rdj the (whitewashed) electric boogaloo

This is a reminder to everyone who's excited about RDJ's casting as Doctor Doom that this casting is whitewashing. Victor Von Doom is a Romani character and has been a Romani character since his introduction in the 1960s. (Fantastic Four Annual #2 [1964]) Not only that, but his Roma identity and the persecution he and his family faced due to it is integral to his character, it is what forms his identity. (Books of Doom by Ed Brubaker) Even if on the off chance this casting is meant to not be Victor but instead be some variant of Tony or whomever else becoming Doctor Doom, it is damaging to the character to rob him of that important cultural background. Doctor Doom does not exist without that history. Fans have been pushing hard to cast Doom as a Romani actor for years, especially since the MCU has whitewashed other Romani characters. (Wanda, Pietro, etc) This casting is not a celebration moment, it's fucking heartbreaking that the MCU repeatedly ignores the important and nuanced cultural backstories of characters.

I know I can't change anybody's mind on whether or not you want to be excited about RDJ's return to the MCU. But I do think at the very least you should be mad that the MCU is baiting us all and destroying nuanced and interesting characters for the sake of self-referential easter eggs and nostalgia bait. Because that's what it is. Feel how you'd like to feel about RDJ's return, but personally, this is soul-sucking. I had such a deep love for the MCU as a teenager, it was obviously something incredibly formative to me, especially Tony Stark. This isn't recreating what I fell in love with the MCU for. This is turning a well-planned and artistic storyline of adaptations into cheap cash grabs and fan service. Because, I think we're past the point of being able to call the MCU an adaptation of anything. They can use existing characters' names and powers, but to say they're being properly adapted is laughable.

This is not an adaptation of Doctor Doom. This is RDJ the Electric Boogaloo because Marvel's fear of losing the interest of dedicated MCU fans overrides their willingness to tell stories that are genuine to the characters. I don't know what there is to be excited about that. The MCU has lost its authenticity and aside from a few projects, feels heartless. Every movie is a copy of a copy. This announcement isn't something celebratory, it feels like a death knell of a cinematic universe that's so desperate to cling to relevancy it's resorting to nostalgia for a character/actor who hasn't even been dead for a decade. We're not getting anything new, we're just rinsing and repeating the same song and dance.

I get it. I love Tony Stark, his death destroyed me and I to this day, rue the ending he got in Endgame. It misunderstood his arc and it robbed him of a satisfying conclusion. But the solution to that isn't dragging the corpse out of the grave five years later to whitewash an existing character with rich and interesting nuance, just to forcibly tie his existence in the MCU to Tony. Whether he is a variant or not. Why would you want someone else's fave's legacy to be destroyed simply so your fave's legacy can go on? Hell, if we were really all so hellbent on the return of RDJ and/or Tony to the MCU, we have the multiverse for a reason. There were other ways to do it that didn't whitewash and ruin someone else. This just. Isn't something to be happy about.

[kentopedia]

hehe okay thank you to all my beloved friends + anons that have listened to me rant about the moving blogs situation <3 after much consideration i think im gonna stay here and do a complete overhaul of kentopedia and see how that goes ><

[softerhaze]

idk if it was the venus retrograde or what, but july 2023 was quite literally the worst month i've ever experienced in my life like.....every single day? awful? worse than the last? it's more likely than u think

[deadrlngers]

"You will burn and you will burn out; you will be healed and come back again. And I will wait for you."

Aenora belongs to @aemondtargeryen, Rhaegor is in our shared care.

[real-reulbbr-band]

All their selfies together look like this btw

[minne-cerbinna]

I think quite often of the optional little dialogue tree that one can get about Yaevinn in TW2 with an imported save if one sides with Iorveth, and particularly of just how Iorveth describes Yaevinn

The dialogue prompt "I once knew another Scoia'tael - Yaevinn." will lead to the following exchange:

GERALT: I once met another Scoia'tael leader.

IORVETH: Yaevinn. I knew him. He had beautiful dreams and desperately wanted me to share them. Asked the same of you, I heard.

GERALT: You know a lot about me.

IORVETH: I try to know as much as I can - about everyone.

They'll elaborate a little further in this dialogue about how they both agree with Yaevinn's reasons and the fact that Yaevinn "saw combat and killing as poetry" which Iorveth deems unrealistic because "war is prose, with no place for beauty" (how poetic).

But the interesting part to me is the statement that Yaevinn had "beautiful dreams" and how he was this grand idealist, because this seems to be in contradiction with Yaevinn's characterisation. In his novel appearance, he argues against Toruviel's idealism as he proposes shooting the unarmed messenger. In TW1, Geralt refers to him in his journal as being "disillusioned", as well as being "a cynic and a pragmatist", neither of which seem to hold with Iorveth's account. While this can be credited to the fact that it's possible that Iorveth's past-tense statement of "I knew him" means that he hasn't seen Yaevinn in some time rather than, or at least in addition to, the implied death. He has perhaps not seen him since the Second Northern War, where they were both in the Vrihedd brigade, and Yaevinn could have grown more cynical since the Scoia'tael were betrayed by Dol Blathanna, his earliest characterisation is that of the novel canon, and he does not present a particular idealism that would reflect the notion that he is a dreamer.

It can be taken as a choice of characterisation, because for all that Yaevinn is disillusioned, he does have his hopes and desires for the future and his plans at Vizima, just as Iorveth has his hopes for Saskia and Vergen. He has these dreams, even if he tenders them close to his chest and puts the practical aspects first before he allows himself to have this hope. And I think that is a really interesting interpretation, to have this juxtaposition, that he can be both disillusioned and a dreamer, and that he chose a scant few, Iorveth, and then Geralt, to share in those precious dreams.

The notion of Yaevinn having these "beautiful dreams" is also very pertinent to his TW1 characterisation, I think, because there are optional dialogues in which Yaevinn tells the accounts of how he once lived among humans and believed in assimilation, that the humans would accept the elves if given enough time, only to be persecuted and harassed at length until he finally accepted that there was no place for him there, that there could be no assimilation, only annihilation. And even though he knows it is a hopeless fight, he still proceeds onward. He knows his people are dying, and he knows that if they do not act quickly, they will be well and truly doomed to extinction, but he is still trying to fight. That is, in and of itself, an expression of a dream for a better future, even if he thinks it hopeless, or, as Iorveth criticises, unrealistic.

Serious character analysis aside, I think that the absolute funniest interpretation of this dialogue is that it is not to be taken literally about Yaevinn's idealism or lack thereof, but rather as a euphemism -- taking "beautiful dreams" as a euphemism for queer romantic interest; hence "he had beautiful dreams and desperately wanted me to share them" is something like "he likes men and asked me to be his lover", "I hear he asked the same of you" thenceforth meaning something like "were you also his lover/do you also like men" (and the response "you know a lot about me" therefore indicating that he is correct in his judgement). There's like a whole rebellion going on but Iorveth is just checking out his options, y'know.

[imjustavenuxwithaboomerang]

zeddison headcanons because i want them both and i need them back neow

they're both queer (not really a niche headcanon but i'm putting it)

it took zed many months to get over the dog imitation habit

(ignoring the queer headcanon for a sec) addison is the biggest ally to ever ally. like one of those obnoxious allies but it works for her

^full on rainbow cake and celebration when literally anyone comes out, but she'll also be lowkey if requested

they are "me? obsessed with you? yes, yes i am" personified (about each other, ofc)

addison was zed's anchor when it came time to learn how to control his zombie state (similar to kipo and her anchor from kataow)

addison knows enough of the zombie language to have conversations but struggles with pronunciation (i'm slightly projecting with this one i fear)

they're literally always holding hands or linking their arms/pinkies (literally canon)

addison lets zoey dress her up and do her hair, especially after she got her true alien hair

^zed has a whole album of pictures of addison after zoey's makeovers (simply just because he loves them both so much, literally only like 3 were taken for funny reasons)

zed has dyscalculia but thought that it was just a zombie brain issue for the longest time (yes, he's canonically top of his class. yes, i'm giving him dyscalculia. both can be true)

^once he figured out what he had, he had to be practically begged by addison and his friends to ask for accommodations

addison is insanely touch-starved but presents herself like she's not (i definitely feel like dale and missy weren't the most physically affectionate parents, and i assume that angie (her most touchy relative) died when addison was young)

addison is closer to eliza and bonzo than zed is to bree (this is pretty much supported by a handful of scenes in the movies but whatever)

^don't get it confused, zed and bree are still very friendly to each other, as she is addison's best friend and bonzo's girlfriend

addison's baked dessert of choice is muffins, especially fruit muffins

^zed hates the sensation of cooked fruit (we're projecting again) but he eats them anyway to make addison happy

^once addison finds out he doesn't like cooked fruit, she then feels really bad for giving him so many muffins to taste-test and recruits zoey and bonzo instead

zed is greek (at least on his dad's side, due to the "-polis")

zed ends up pursuing a career that does not require more years of school due to his gifted-kid burnout (we all know he has it) being so bad

^addison most likely pursued something in the hospitality industry, became a politician like her mom (but like an actually good one), or became a defense lawyer

^i also feel like addison's the breadwinner of their relationship (not that that matters in the slightest just a thought)

[haunt-the-house]

hey. hey, I love damien so much. but he's kinda an awful person/friend, to be honest?

Like canonically has done some shady stuff with money (considering he's mayor, it's not wild to guess that he was using tax money for something he shouldn't have).

he also was shown to be both manipulative and very easily betrayed us/the da despite being long-time friends. (No matter what fanfic writers may want, damien was not being forced by celine, wkm Fandom celine is not the root of all evil in the lore).

he also tried to cover for william literally murdering someone (there is the nuance of grief muddling people's emotions and having both victim and perpetrator be his childhood bestfriends don't get me wrong...but at the same time dude your best friend just died after having a very rough couple of years before but you're fully sided with the guy who had an affair with your sister????)

my point can be easily shortened to this; Damien is not a morally perfect person. This does not make him a bad character. stop making characters worse for him to be better in fan stuff, and if i see another uwu version of him, I'll die.

(note: this doesn't mean he can't be nice and tbh out of the main cast of wkm, he's definitely on the morally higher ground BUT LET HIM NOT BE PERFECT THATS LEGIT AN IMPORTANT ASPECT OF HIS CHARACTER)

[hajihiko]

like 70% of my Posting origin story is just "I need someone to be talking about (x). If I draw (x) maybe people will at least acknowledge (x) in their tags or somesuch. *it happens* OMG WAIT OK I ALSO HAVE THOUGHTS ON (Y&Z&Q)--"

[icewindandboringhorror]

I can't do much productively during the heat wave/health issue flare up/etc. like work on my games or anything where I have to sit at the computer/type for long periods of time, BUT.. I did passively sculpt a few tiny foods lol. I wanted to do one of my bigger usual sculptures, but those take so much more time and concentration, I thought something small just to keep my hands busy would be better.. close up photos look kind of weird and blurry from my camera settings or something, but overall they came out okay, especially in person.. Nearly the only reason I ever wanted to buy dolls as a kid was to get my hands on the miniature foods and plates and stuff that came with them, I've always just been obsessed with small versions of things like that, so.. why not make some! lol