#the man cave is the obvious example

[ivan-fyodorovich-k]

why are male spaces so deeply embarrassing

[appleblueberry-pie]

You asked Yan!Miguel requests and I shall deliver

Yan!Miguel with a spider!reader that wasn't bitten by a spider but rather was experimented on (Alchemax still doing shady stuff) and has the same superpowers as Miguel (only that their venom is deadly).

However even after surviving the tragic things their canon indicates, they're a ball of sunshine.

oh yeah. it's all coming together.

MINE, ALLLLL MINE.

Miguel was having mixed feelings. He was coming to a point where it was hard to focus on his important work. It was hard to ignore his anxiety stomachache. Hard to ignore the usual annoying people that just wouldn't leave him alone in his man cave. And it was especially hard to forget about you. It wasn't ever possible to not think about you, but he just couldn't push you to the back of his head for at least two minutes. It was hurting him. It was also hurting his technology he kept destroying(he crushed two keyboards and threw his printer).

Why can't he just figure you out? Since Jess found you in your universe and immediately gave you the green flag to help his team of spider-people, he's found out so many things about you. But every time he is given an answer about one thing, it just digs him into a deeper hole of realization that he really doesn't know you. For starters, there's no legal government information of you anywhere. He's been watching you through his monitor for at least 2 hours a day, and most of your day consists of you beating ass. Like you have no other thing to do in your life, not to mean it in an insulting way.

It's just weird, because almost all spider-people have lives outside of them being spiders. But the more he observes you, your superhero life just reminds him more and more of....himself. You didn't have the obvious genetically-enhanced spider build that usual spiders do. Which was taller and slimmer. You were for sure taller(he did his research, you sprouted by 6 inches in height), but you were more on the muscular, bigger side. And this way, you would benefit more for close combat to take down enemies, instead of almost entirely relying on your webs. Similar to how he was. Another example to further explain, is he was watching you on his monitor while you had a mission to bring another universe's Green Goblin back to their universe. He found that your webs were obviously bio-engineered. Either you made these yourself, or someone made them for you. So, you were physically more powerful than the usual spider, had bio-engineered webs, and the way you fought.....

You had chased down that Green Goblin like he killed your family. It's not an exaggeration. GG was fast, but you were faster. He took multiple jerks around corners and through narrow alleyways, flying to get away from you. But you caught him. Slammed his body into the brick wall, damaging it. He screamed bloody murder to get away from you, and you just kept hitting him. He watched as your fist collided with his face multiple times. And when you finished, he saw you basically unhinge your jaw to show your long, venom-dripping, white fangs. They showed beautifully through the video footage lighting. They had to hurt when they protruded, it had to. But you didn't seem to care about anything in that moment besides finishing off your prey. You sunk your fangs into his neck, piercing them into his flesh as deep as you could, your regular teeth almost breaking into his skin as well. GG's scream of excruciating pain faded into complete silence. Miguel watched the man go limp in you arms. Was he dead? You held him to your body as close as you could to hide your catch from anyone who could've found the both of you. It concerned him so much with how you went about finding him, he had to interrupt you by calling your watch. You seemed to snap out of whatever trance you were in and removed your teeth from the now limp villain.

"Hello?" Your sweet voice rang through his watch and he couldn't find the right words to tell you to just bring the poor guy back to base. When you did, three doctors had to help resuscitate Green Goblin. What the hell did you do? You were asked this multiple times and you just felt more and more guilty when people continued to say it to you. Miguel decided to step in and remove you from the emergency room and just told you to take a few days off. All he could say to you is you deserved it, so you took his word. He immediately turned his monitors back on when you went back home, because it wasn't the end of your continuous mysteries.

When you go home, you clean up and then disappear. This wasn't news to him. But it was confusing because the cameras couldn't catch where you possibly went, even at different angles. It was somewhere in your bathroom. You'd open the shower curtain, step into the shower, close it and then not come out for the next 5 minutes. You did this once every two weeks. Other times when you were gone for the day, he tried to find the secret room you obviously had and...nothing. He couldn't find a damn thing. The wall was solid, it didn't seem like it was hiding anything. He scanned it multiple times with different gizmos he had up his sleeve, but nothing. So, after installing a small robotic fly that he placed into your home, he got lucky and managed to slip into a room hidden behind your shower when you went in at the dead of night. The room was almost entirely dark and all you had in there was countless metal bottles of some sort of a glowing serum and you would inject it into your shoulder. Something very similar to what he does to himself. He was surprised to next week with this information. What made it worse was that right after you injected yourself, you found his fake fly. So now you know someone was watching you. He can only hope you don't find out it was him who implanted it.

But now he was sure. You were just like him. It made him as happy as it made him frustrated because you had him all figured out. You knew he used injections, that he wasn't a natural spider, you probably also knew he loved you to the moon and back. He had a soft spot for you, and it showed so much it was pathetic. You could walk into his cave and call out for him with your siren song, and he would immediately turn off everything and drift your way, sweet nicknames for you sliding off of his tongue like sugar. He only ever wanted to please you. And he felt like you knew this. But even with everything he just found out about you just today, he still seemed in the dark.

All he knew is that you were a happy-go-lucky sweet girl. He didn't know why you did the things you do. Why you inject yourself, and why you are so predatory and ruthless when you basically hunt villains down. So, he asks you.

"Miguel?" He swipes all of his holographic screens away and turns off the rest of his devices, making a 180 to fully face you as you hop onto his platform. The smell of Empanadas wafted up his nose as you give three separate containers to him. "The cafeteria guy said he had extras, so I brought as many as he would let me for you. I know you don't eat much since you're really busy." His heart swells with affection as he coos at your sincere kindness, opening one to take his first bite. "Ohhh, querida, you didn't have to."(My dear)

You watch him place the rest on his desk and he finishes chewing to talk to you. "Thank you......So.....I wanted you to see me so that I can talk to you about how you handle the anomalies in other universes, and maybe even the regular villains in your own universe." You nod understandingly and Miguel had to ignore his increasing heartbeat at your eyes staring up at him.

"I'll be honest with you, amor. When groups are out to capture an anomaly, I usually don't have to monitor them because I have other people to do that for me. But Jessica and I sent you off on your own, knowing how much we can depend on you to carefully capture the anomaly with no troubles, which I know you don't. But, still, I take precautions and monitor you every now and then to make sure if you're alright or if you need any support. But when I see you through the my screens....you are....particularly rough with them. And it's more rough than the usual spider would be." You seem to know what he was talking about and advert your gaze, messing with your suit. (Love.)

"Y/n, you almost killed Green Goblin the other day." You purse your lips and nod in agreement. "Yes, I....."

You hesitate to speak. You didn't want anyone to know about your past. Did he have to know? You guessed so, since you are a part of a really big multiverse-saving company. It was so hard to escape Alchemax when they fucking tortured you every single day for their own pleasures. That stupid serum you can't live without? You stole enough to live for the next 3 years. And that's all you really needed. You took an Alchemax worker's apartment that you found deep in their records, knowing that if you fake your emails and his work, you could live in secret. You didn't want to live on like this forever. You knew that after those three years ended, then they ended. And you would follow.

Your only hope for the rest of your life is to live in secret and to help people as much as you can before you died. The serum just makes you a little.....violent. Just the way that the scientists liked it so that you could run on it for longer than usual. So, here you are. But how are you supposed to explain that to your boss?

"......Y/n?" He softly calls your name, concern etching his face as he reaches out to touch your hand. He almost didn't want to, not knowing how you felt about it. But when his finger very lightly grazed your warm and soft palm, you blinked back to life, grabbing his hand back. A breath entered his lungs and he seemed to be reborn at your sudden advancement to his touch.

".....Yes. I do have something to tell you." His eyebrows scrunch as he nods and pulls up a random chair to sit and wait for you to talk. You told him everything. About how you are an experiment on legs, how you were from Alchemax, and that they were the people that really owned you. And you being a spider-person is just you doing as much as you can for the city you loved so dearly. How you only had three or less years to live with the serums you had hidden in your home. How you literally don't care if you die anytime before that, and you're doing your part in life that doesn't make you as useless as you thought you were.

Miguel watched you say all of this. He watched your face. He watched how you....really didn't care. You were so calm about all of these life threats that you continuously had hovering over your head. You live life every day as if it was your last. What if someone burned your house down? What if Alchemax found you?? What would happen to you then?

"I can help you. Lyla." He almost seemed to work on autopilot. "Bring me documents of the chemical makeup of my own serum for me. While you're at it, turn all of the equipment in Floor 4's laboratory on for me." All of his tech equipment were back on again as he pulled his own serum, meant for next week, out of his drawer. "Miguel...?" "Y/n, can you bring me one of your own serums? I'll be in the lab when you come back. Find me on the fourth floor. Lyla can show you the way."

"Miguel!" He pauses and looks down at you. You shake your head as a shaky smile is brought to your face. "I don't need you to do this for me. I'm fine with the way things are." Miguel scrunches his face and steps towards you. "Qué? Te estás escuchando a ti mismo? Y/n, I don't want you to die. Nobody wants you to die. Y-you need to be here, No entiendes? Do you want to be a spider for the rest of your life, violently killing people the way you were taught? You can be given a regular life. A new life, here with me! You deserve more than just....being a machine. Because you're more than just a weapon. You're human."(What? Are you hearing yourself?)(Don't you understand?)

Miguel went too far with his speech. He said too much. Every word that continued to spill out of his lips dug him into a farther hole. You were crying, but it still didn't help the fact that you now know that he probably is infatuated with you. He tries to save face by saying more, but instead, his hand reaches out to wipe the tears off of your face. It couldn't possibly be real, the way you leaned into his touch. Your wet face touched his palm and he stuttered endlessly. Fuck, he had to get out of here.

"I'm sorry...I didn't mean to say that to you. It was unprofessional." You shake your head and lift your face out of his hands, staring up at him with those glistening eyelashes, your beautiful shiny eyes looking up at him. "No.....I'm glad you told me that. I.....thank you." He looks away bashfully and takes a step back....another....and then another until he walks off out of the cave to go down to the laboratory.

What is he going to do about you? He loves you too much to let you continue doing this horrible job. It was killing you.

Something feels off about this, but I am going to post it anyways because it's been bothering me like a collar tight around my neck all day. Needed this badly.

[ninzied]

and patience, and pining

in which alex is determined to flirt so hard that henry can no longer resist him. a modern au. based on the prompt: surprise kiss/impulsive kiss. ~1.8k.

Between the two of them, Alex has always thought he’d be the one to cave first.

They’ve both arrived at the same time. Henry looks stupid-good in his well-fitted tuxedo. His hair is just over-styled enough that Alex wants to mess it up, and badly.

How one man can be so like this is frankly upsetting. No, scratch that; it’s illegal, is what it is. Criminal law is not Alex’s domain, but he’s pretty sure being this tempting in public is a certifiable offense.

“Alex,” says Henry, and he blinks, at least some sense returning to him.

“Right,” he says. “Shall we?”

Henry gives him a look like he’d rather be anywhere else on the planet, which, the reception is not even open bar, so Alex can’t say he disagrees.

“After you, Your Majesty,” he says, stepping from the door with a flourish, then, “I saw that.”

“Saw what?” asks Henry, already shouldering past him with his chin turned up.

“If I had a dollar for every time you rolled your eyes at me—”

“Good taste still can’t be bought, Alex.”

“That’s ironic,” Alex shoots back, smiling and nodding at one of the guests as they enter. “Considering my tie is way better than yours.”

Henry lifts his hand at another in greeting, and even his wave looks fucking majestic, the asshole. “I trust you’ll be at least somewhat behaved this evening?”

“You sure that’s what you want, sweetheart?”

Henry’s expression turns very dour, and Alex wonders, not for the first time, why that particular look on him makes Alex so crazy. The more severe Henry gets, the wilder Alex’s impulse to kiss him, and the urge to just give in.

Alex licks his lips.

Henry takes a cautionary step back. “Let’s do try to make it through the rest of the night without much carnage, yes?”

“I don’t know,” Alex muses. “When you threaten me with a good time like that…”

Henry mutters something under his breath and Alex can’t help but grin. Maybe the night holds some promise after all.

.

He decides he’s going to have to walk that back after a while.

The music is decent, and he was wrong about the open bar, thank God, but he’s barely seen Henry since some crusty-looking Wall Street types whisked him and Pez away to talk business, and Alex is bored.

He wants to dance. He wants to dance—with Henry. And because that’s not going to happen, Alex wants to do the next best thing, which is to dance while Henry pretends not to watch, but he’s not even facing the dance floor right now so there would be no fucking point. He’ll have to think of something else. Hmmm.

Nora shimmies up to him then with two new flutes of champagne. Bless. “Still pining?” she asks.

Alex whips around to glare at her, wounded. “What? Nora, no,” he says. Is it that obvious? Fuck.

Nora shrugs. “You do the thing where you look him when you think he won’t notice. Both of you. You guys kind of have it down to a science.”

Alex brightens immediately. “You’ve seen him looking at me?”

Nora sips her champagne. “Right now, for example.”

Henry looks quickly away when Alex glances over, which is as good an invitation as any in his book. One of the suits is talking at Henry, who seems about as engaged as a teapot right now. Pez has dialed up the charisma, distracting them easily from Henry’s silence. But to Alex, Henry looks downright miserable in comparison.

Well, Alex is here to do something about that.

He plucks the second flute from Nora’s hand. “You’re the best. Gotta go.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I thought you weren’t pining?”

“For that guy?” Alex gazes at Henry again, then says, quite honestly, “Always.”

.

It takes exactly two minutes for the Wall Street guys to politely excuse themselves. Alex watches them practically dissolve their way into the crowd, like a creepy bunch of Mr. Smiths from The Matrix, and he suppresses a shudder.

The look on Henry’s face is an appealing combination of annoyed and relieved. “Let me guess,” Alex deadpans, “you’re so grateful you could just kiss me right now.”

Henry’s expression turns distinctly disapproving as Pez chimes in, “Be patient and Hazza might even learn to admit it someday.”

“That’s what I’m hoping.” Alex grins sideways at Henry, who’s flushing the loveliest pink despite also frowning. “You’re welcome for rescuing you from the most tedious conversation known to man, by the way.”

“Actually, darling dearest,” Pez says lightly, “we were speaking with potential investors in the foundation.”

Oh. Shit. “Do you want me to charm them back over?” Alex wants to know, jerking a thumb in the direction they’d gone. “It is well within my power.”

“Not necessary.” Henry pulls a face. “I would’ve felt dirty about taking their money.”

“I would’ve felt wonderfully about it,” says Pez. “But now that you’ve freed up my dance card…” He cranes his neck around.

“Nora’s over there,” Alex says helpfully.

“Brilliant.” Pez’s eyes are the definition of sparkling. “Ah, and I see your sister’s about to join her. If you boys will excuse me—”

He helps himself to the rest of Alex’s champagne before sashaying off.

The two of them remain standing there a careful few feet apart, not looking at each other. Not that it matters; Alex is so hyperaware of him that he could reach over without even looking and take Henry’s hand if he wanted to. He won’t, but he wants to.

Knowing that he can is enough for now.

Henry looks askance at him after a moment. “You’re making this very hard, you know.”

Alex somehow manages not to smile at that. “Am I?”

Henry’s face screws up in faux concentration. “Let’s see. You’ve been a merciless flirt, even more so than usual. You wore the tie I bought you, which means you don’t hate it—”

“What? I love it,” interrupts Alex, just to be clear.

“—and you just drove off a very lucrative, albeit morally questionable, investment opportunity.” Henry’s also holding back a smile. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to not kiss you for that alone.”

“You still could,” Alex points out.

“And lose your silly bet?” Henry straightens, adjusting his cufflinks, and that might be the single hottest thing Alex has ever seen. “I think not. We both know you’ll be the first to give in.”

It’s true, Alex thinks; he’s pretty irresistible, but Henry is also far more controlled. Still, there’s a certain satisfaction in knowing that Alex gets to be the one who stretches him to his very limit. The level of restraint it takes Henry to resist him is a pretty big turn-on, if he’s being honest. Even when Henry wins, it will be no great loss on Alex’s part.

“Considering what’s at stake here,” Alex says lowly, leaning in just enough to catch the way Henry’s eyes darken, “I think I win either way.”

Henry does smile then, soft and warm and way too tempting not to kiss, though Alex perseveres. “I think we both do, darling.”

“That we can agree on,” says Alex. “So, do you want to…not…dance with me?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

.

He slips up, once.

It’s in a goddamn photo booth of all things, and Alex would feel like such a cliché if he weren’t so busy feeling annoyed at the fact that he can’t hold Henry’s hand or kiss him in front of the camera. Instead, he lets Nora and June wedge in between them, grinning gamely when they take turns kissing Henry on the cheek.

At the literal last second before the flash is going off, Alex feels Henry take his hand from behind, lace their fingers ever so gently together, and squeeze.

In the photo that prints out, June and Nora are doubled over in laughter, eyes closed, unaware. Henry has his chin tipped up, his face doing some smoldery thing at the camera, and Alex is turned, simply gazing at him.

He takes it before anyone sees, tucking it safely into his wallet because bet or no bet, some things really are too sacred to share.

When he shows it to Henry later, Henry gets the same lovestruck look on his face as Alex does in the photo, and that’s all he needs.

.

It’s the cake that finally does it.

Pez, Nora and June are all crowded around the same piece, and it makes Alex sigh a little wistfully to think about how much better it would taste if he were sharing his with Henry.

He can’t help it. He peers at Henry’s own slice, squinting. “What flavor is that one?”

“Strawberry,” says Henry. There’s a crumb on his lip, and Alex doesn’t mean to fixate on it, but he’s now gone hours without kissing his boyfriend and he’s kind of mad about it even though it’s also kind of his fault. “Do you want a bite?”

Oh. Yeah, that’ll work. Alex can feel the others’ eyes on them as he leans closer, fully expecting that Henry will yield to his instincts and feed him a piece off his fork. It’s not a kiss, but it could definitely qualify as losing the bet. And then once Alex has won, he can not only kiss Henry as much as he likes, he gets to take Henry home with him and—well.

He frowns when Henry only holds the plate out. “Here, have some,” says Henry, gaze lifting to his, then just a bit lower. “Oh. Hang on, you’ve got a—”

In a move that’s beyond Alex’s wildest dreams, Henry cups his jaw and kisses the side of his mouth, with just the slightest bit of tongue.

Alex grins as Henry freezes against him, realizing his mistake too late. “Thanks, baby.”

“Bollocks,” says Henry. He pulls back and sighs, licking the rest of the buttercream from his lips. “I’ve lost, haven’t I.” Then, accusingly, “You did that on purpose, didn’t you.”

“I’d say I don’t kiss and tell, but.” Alex puts his hands on Henry’s thighs, using that grip to scoot their chairs closer together. “I am gonna kiss you now, so.”

“You’ll be getting to do a lot more than that,” Henry points out.

“Ew, did not need to hear that part,” June groans at the same time that Pez puts down their cake and says, “Please, I need to hear more.”

“There’s a legally binding document and everything,” says Alex, to Henry’s chagrin and Pez’s delight. “Drafted it up myself.”

“You two were pining that hard and you were already together?” Nora wants to know. “Actually, that tracks. Carry on.”

Henry has gone as pink as the cake now, but he’s smiling when Alex swipes up some more buttercream, touching it to Henry’s mouth before leaning the rest of the way in.

[cosmicjoke]

Levi's Strength

One thing that's pretty obvious from "Bad Boy" is that Levi was always holding back A LOT whenever we saw him fight or engage in physical confrontation of any kind in the main story.

The kind of strength Levi displayed here, as a little boy, was honestly shocking. He literally tore those men apart with his bare hands. That kind of strength is, in the least, equivalent to something like a brown bear or a tiger, or maybe even an elephant.

So in all those scenes we see in which Levi smacks Eren around, for example, or when he manhandles Historia, I think it's important to recognize the absolutely incredible control over his own strength he's engaging in. If he'd been using even half of his actual strength, he would have ended up killing Eren all those times he kicked him.

Because we see Levi in "Bad Boy" literally tear men's faces off, and tear their heads apart, and cave their skulls in with a kick to the face.

I always knew Levi was holding back big time, from when we see him kick the thick, wooden door in leading to Eren's basement. He reduced that thing to splinters, which made it obvious that Levi wasn't exerting even a fraction of his strength against Eren, or anyone else that he got physical with. But I had no idea it was by this much.

If Levi was that strong as a child, and a malnourished, poverty stricken child at that, one can only imagine what his strength was as a full-grown man. I wouldn't be surprised if Levi had the capability of taking a titan down with only his bare hands, for real.

I think the kind of strength we see from Levi here also makes it clear that, in "No Regrets", if Levi had truly wanted to kill Erwin at any point, he could have with shocking ease, including at the end, when he had his sword to Erwin's throat. If he really wanted Erwin dead, nothing could have stopped him. I think it's obvious even that when Mike was holding him down in that puddle of sewage, Levi could have easily broken free of his hold and probably killed everyone there in an instant. And it's clear that the only reason he didn't is because of Furlan and Isabel, and wanting to protect them, and also to support Furlan's plans and dreams. Levi let himself be degraded and humiliated solely for them.

There's obviously no contest between Levi and anyone else. Even Kenny and Mikasa never displayed that kind of power.

[orcasoul]

Din Djarin Headcanons:

Din when you're injured

Oh how we love a protective and attentive man, and Din Djarin is the perfect example :)

Din shifts nervously, head searching in every direction. Something's wrong. He can feel it in his bones, in the pit of his stomach. "She should have been here by now," he mumbles nervously to Grogu, while placing a hand gently on his tiny head. Grogu wriggles in the satchel at Din's side, a little wimper of concern coming from him. This was only supposed to be a quick supply run on Tatooine so where the hell were you? And why, as the minutes pass, does Din's chest feel like it's about to cave in on itself?

When contact via com link fails, he decides enough is enough. He's waited too long as it is. "Don't worry, pal," Din said, softly, "We'll go find her." The market is still quite busy as Din and Grogu make their way through the crowded streets. Ten minutes of searching has turned into twenty, and still, no sign of you. Apprehension swirls in Din's gut, anxiety conjuring up the worst things imaginable in his head.

'What if she's hurt? What if shes scared? What if she's screaming for me right now?' He can't lose you, can't let anything happen to you! Why the hell did he let you go off alone? His heart beats wildly behind his ribs, panic and frustration taking root the longer you are missing. After questioning a few of the vendors, a woman informs Din that someone fitting your description had come to her stall earlier, pointing in the direction you'd left.

With a nod of thanks, Din immediately makes his way to the outskirts of the market. It's getting late now, the side street he's searching eerily empty and still. The silence is broken by a wailing Grogu, causing Din to look down at his side. Grogu's large brown eyes stare worriedly while pointing ahead. Din's stomach sinks when he sees it; Your satchel. Your unmistakable sage green canvas bag, with a picture of a loth cat on it, abandoned with it's contents strewn across the dusty ground.

With shaking hands Din picks up the bag and calls your name, over and over. The silence is deafening. He just needs to hear your voice, to know you're okay. 'Please, please answer me, Cyar'ika!' The world is suddenly too much, too suffocating, oppressive darkness closing in around the edges of Din's periphery. To lose you would be to lose the very best part of himself. His breaths begin to come shallow and quick, causing his head to swim.

Squeezing his hands into fists, he takes slow, deep breaths, trying his best to maintain some composure. He'll be no good to you if he falls apart now. Engaging the sensors in his helmet, Din urgently scans the ground. Dank Ferrick, there are too many footprints to discern. But then, an area of kicked up dirt at the entrance of a nearby alley catches his attention. Upon inspection, it's obvious a scuffle had taken place here very recently.

In true hunter mode, Din follows the telltale signs of dragging, all the way to a dead end, to be greeted by a sight that almost stopped his heart. There you are, face down and unmoving! Din's legs move of their own accord, carrying him to you by pure instinct and adrenaline alone. He drops to his knees beside your prone body, your name leaving his lips like a prayer, a prayer he's desperate for you to answer. Gently cupping your shoulders, he rolls you over onto your back.

Din chokes on a breath at the sight of you. His vision now clouding over in a sweeping tide of red, rage boils his blood to the point where he feels like he's going to explode. Your face is almost unrecognisable. Two black and swollen eyes, a clearly broken nose -still trickling blood - a split lip and a nasty gash across your forehead is the last thing he would have ever expected to see on you. "Cyar'ika?..." his voice trembles while trying to rouse you. "Can you open your eyes? Come on, sweet girl, I need you to open your eyes for me!"

Grogu reaches out for you, whimpering. Din can see he's distressed but what can he do? He could say you're okay, he could tell him not to worry, but how can he try to comfort him when he, himself, is cracking at the seams? Din cautiously scoops your unconscious body into his lap, handling you as if you were made of fine china. With your head lolled back, he can now clearly see big purple bruises littering your slender neck, bruises in the shape of fingers.

His whole being is now shaking with outrage, teeth almost cracking from the pressure of his clenched jaw. Who the fuck did this to you?! Why would someone do this to you?!.... And where can he find those fuckers?! A small groan slips from you, and Din released a breath he didn't realise he was holding, shoulders slumping, slightly in relief. You're alive. Thank the maker you're alive!

But that relief is snuffed out when you weakly cry out and clutch your side. Din removes your trembling hand and gently tugs up your top. How the kriffing hell did he miss this?! He'd been so preoccupied with trying to wake you, that he'd missed the stab wound, which is still oozing blood. "Dank Ferrick!" Din curses under his breath while inspecting the wound. To his relief, it doesn't look too deep. Clutching your limp form to his chest, he quickly rises, being careful of your state, and also trying not to jostle Grogu too much, who's sad eyes have not not left you.

Back at the Razor Crest, Din is silently seething. He cleaned and applied bacta patches to all lesions and stitched up the knife wound. A part of him is thankful that you'd lost consciousness along the way. The last thing he would want is for you to have to go through any more agony. Grogu has become your shadow, refusing to leave your side and snuggling up to you in the bunk. Now that the adrenaline has vacated Din's system, and you are home safe with him, he feels like he can breathe again.

He could have lost you today. It's unthinkable, the very notion that you could have been ripped from his life in the blink of an eye. How could he exist in a galaxy where you don't? He'd failed you toady. He should have been there to protect you. He'll never forgive himself! Looking at your battered and bruised face, Din is overwhelmed with a primal and desperate need to shield you from succumbing to harm ever again.

It brings tears to his eyes and a lump to his throat, seeing the brutal devastation left all over you, painting your body with all the horrors this cursed galaxy hides around every corner. This will never happen again. He'll make damn sure of it! He will destroy every bastard foolish enough to even try and lay a finger on you or Grogu ever again, starting with the pieces of Bantha fodder who attacked you. But that will come later. The main priority now is you. Din sits beside you on the bed, holding your hand and smoothing his thumb gently over your knuckles.

His heart skips a beat as your eyelashes flutter open, your heavy and exhausted gaze meeting his behind his helmet. His taut shoulders instantly relax and a warm wave of reassurance fills his aching heart with the smile you give him. You're okay, you're home and you're safe and he'll never let anyone hurt his Cyare again!

[haggishlyhagging]

Although there have been exceptions, the evolutionary model of man the hunter-warrior has colored most interpretations of Paleolithic art. Only in later twentieth-century excavations in eastern and western Europe and Siberia has the interpretation of both new and old finds gradually begun to change. Some of the new researchers were women, who noted the female genital imagery and also leaned toward more complex religious rather than the "hunting magic" explanations of Paleolithic art. And as more scholars were secular scientists rather than monks like Abbé Breuil (whose "moral" interpretations of religious practices colored so much of the nineteenth- and early twentieth-century Paleolithic research), some of the men who reexamined the cave paintings, figurines, and other Paleolithic finds now also began to question tenets once accepted by the scholarly establishment.

An interesting example of this questioning relates to the stick and line forms painted on the walls of Paleolithic caves and engraved in bone or stone objects. To many scholars, it seemed obvious that they depict weapons: arrows, barbs, spears, harpoons. But as Alexander Marshack writes in The Roots of Civilization, one of the first works to frontally challenge this standard interpretation, these line paintings and engravings could just as easily be plants, trees, branches, reeds, and leaves. Moreover, this new interpretation would account for what would otherwise be a remarkable absence of pictures of such vegetation among a people who, like contemporary gatherer-hunter peoples, must have relied heavily on vegetation for food.

In Paleolithic Cave Art, Peter Ucko and Andrée Rosenfeld had also wondered about the peculiar absence of vegetation in Paleolithic art. They further noted another curious incongruity. All other evidence showed that a particular kind of harpoon called biserial didnt appear until the late Paleolithic or Magdalenian age—even though scholars kept "finding" them in "sticks" thousands of years earlier in the wall paintings of prehistoric caves. Moreover, why would Paleolithic artists want to depict so many hunting failures? For if the sticks and lines were in fact weapons, the pictures had them chronically missing their targets.

To probe such mysteries, Marshack, who was not an archaeologist, hence not bound by earlier archeological conventions, thoroughly examined the engravings on a bone object that had been described as pictures of harpoons. Under a microscope he discovered that not only were the barbs of this supposed harpoon turned the wrong way but the points of the long shaft were also at the wrong end. But what did these engravings represent if they were not "wrong way" weapons?

As it turned out, the lines easily conformed to the proper angle of branches growing at the top of a long stem. In other words, these and other engravings conventionally described as "barbed signs" or "masculine objects" were probably nothing more than stylized representations of trees, branches, and plants.

-Riane Eisler, The Chalice and the Blade: Our History, Our Future

[leverage-ot3]

since it's my birthday I'm sharing what I have (ROUGHLY) written down so far for my ot3 video analysis' section on the long way down job (if you haven't been able to figure it out yet, that's one of my favorite episodes)

Here we are seeing the aftereffects of the San Lorenzo Job in real time in the relationships between the characters. It seems as though Hardison is feeling off-balance in his relationship dynamic with Parker, who we we remember confessed her feelings and willingness to pursue a relationship with Hardison at the end of the Big Bang Job (note, there weren’t many relationship developments that happened between them in the San Lorenzo Job for obvious reasons- i.e. they were actively trying not to die). Hardison, who has been living that slow-burn life for the past three years is obviously ecstatic that this is happening, but it seems as though there is a disconnect between his expectations and reality of the relationship. NOTE: One of the wonderful things about Hardison is that he doesn’t expect anything from Parker- he wants her as she is in whatever way he can have her. When I’m talking about expectations, I’m saying that he doesn’t know how to act with this new relationship development- he doesn’t know where the ‘lines’ are of Parker’s comfortability and what she is ready for, which is leaving him a bit confused and unsure of how to act. 

For example, he goes in to hug her but she either doesn’t notice, doesn’t compute what he’s trying to do, or isn’t up for that level of physical affection at the current moment. She high-fives him instead

[significance of eliot 'don't touch me bro' spencer not only giving hardison a hug but INITIATING IT because parker didn't take his open arms as an invitation. talk about how much lighter he looks after the events of the san lorenzo job- it's almost like a literal weight has been lifted off his chest]

It’s easy to see the Parker-Hardison dynamics in this episode, but don’t miss how there is also significant development in the relationship between Parker and Eliot. Parker and Eliot are paired off for most of this episode climbing the mountain to try to recover the incriminating notebook from the dead mountaineer. They work efficiently in tandem, literally keeping even pace with one another.

[talk about heart-wrenching cave scenes here]

And when they’re free, this closeness and ability to be on the same wavelength is displayed when they are confronted by the gunman looking to destroy the evidence. He grabs Parker and points a gun to her head, demanding that Eliot hand over the notebook. She yells at him to not hand it over, but in actuality, she is distracting the gunman from noticing her sliding the dead man’s cellphone with an incriminating video into his pocket. Eliot plays along and into the bit, throwing the notebook over to get Parker back.

[talk about hardison being so happy to hear parker (and eliot) over the comms. talk about how he isn't expecting a hug and is resigned (if not content) to do a high five and is floored when parker practically jumps into his arms. where she knows it's safe and warm.]

[thelittlecrookedtalecomic]

Wow, Ariel was only 34?! Poor thing sure didn't age well 😔 Sorry, maybe you're tired of questions about her, but I'm just curious: you said there were many plotholes in the original movie, what are they? (I must sound dumb 😂)

Alright, this is going to be a LONG answer and I hope I can explain myself good enough 😁

The Little Mermaid is one of those scripts you have to completely flip because you're changing the original idea in an opposite way. In the original story, the mermaid is not an exemplary character, but rather proof that we cannot force someone to love us just because we have become infatuated with them. No matter how much we self-sacrifice or try, "no means no." She is a selfish and reckless character who shows growth in the end by letting go of these traits and choosing to sacrifice herself when she had the option to save herself and crown her greatest selfish act.

In Disney's case, the premise was obviously that Ariel had to be a heroine, carry a moral message, and triumph over evil. To do this, they chose the path of victimization. Ariel had to be a misunderstood social outcast who fell into a trap set by a very evil figure who was then defeated. But the resources employed were insufficient, as they kept too many elements from the original script.

Demonizing the figure of the witch was an obvious step, turning her into a deceitful character with "I want to conquer the world" ambitions to quickly cast Ariel as the victim. The problem with this is the initial premise: literally everyone in the ocean knows Ursula can't be trusted, and she proudly displays her victims in her garden. This makes Ariel look like a foolish character for making a deal with her and downgrades a lot of the "I’ve always wanted to leave the sea" narrative into just a "teenage tantrum." Sure, she’s an impulsive teenager, but the point of this narrative device was to victimize her, and it achieves the opposite. Personally, I would have made Ursula a more discreet and manipulative character, someone Ariel saw as a victim, which could later trigger a sense of betrayal in Ariel.

Then there’s the often-discussed aspect that's always used as an argument: Ariel's fascination with the human world. It’s a great nuance to add to the story, moving it away from being solely about a romantic interest. Ariel needed her own background, hobbies, and goals, like exploring that unknown world. The problem is its execution—it’s insufficient and tedious. Ariel is a fanatic about the human world, with an oversized ego about what she thinks she knows, and her extreme idealization is used as if it were irrefutable evidence against her father. I always use the same example for this: in neutral terms, Ariel looks like someone who idolizes and defends an extraterrestrial way of life she knows only through the garbage she collects, while everyone else knows these beings hunt humans. Essentially, she comes across as an crazy and obsessed person.

This fascination with the human world is sold to us in a propagandistic and absurd way, focused on "we, the audience, are humans, and Ariel says we’re great, therefore she’s right. Her father keeps giving us a hard time, so he’s a tyrant." By the end of the movie, Ariel becomes the "superior species" because her father bends for absurd reasons. During the first half of the movie, Ariel’s love for the human world is heavily emphasized, but it falls flat when the weight of the original script lands on us. It all turns into a race against time for the woman to win over the man, and all the prior development becomes mere decoration that could be removed from the plot without affecting it at all. If Ariel hadn’t met Eric, she wouldn’t have left the water. This is also shown when it’s not until Triton destroys Eric’s statue that Ariel is devastated, unintentionally showing in the script that the rest of the cave treasures (and her character’s corresponding nuance) were mere additions. You can literally erase all the first part of the movie until Ariel meets Eric and there's no difference in the script development. In the end, what matters is the man, and that’s what moves the story. It’s Eric who makes Ariel seriously want to leave the water, and his statue is the crown jewel of her collection. Eric's cracked stone face is what pushes Ariel to take the step, as Flotsam and Jetsam don’t tempt her with exploring the human world but with winning over "her prince," just like Ursula does later too. Everything in the deal and the song, revolves around seducing Eric.

Personally, on this point, as I said, the script had to be completely changed, and that’s why they could have taken more risks by simply eliminating narrative elements that doomed the story to follow its original course. Ariel shouldn’t have fallen in love until she left the water. There are tons of stories they could have told about a mermaid being deceived by a witch to fulfill her dream of becoming human, and then introduced the romantic interest after she achieved her initial goal. This would have not only affected Ariel but Eric as well, who also loses out in Disney’s version. Originally, he was a prince who at least knew he had no romantic interest in the protagonist. Here, he’s a puppet obsessed with a voice while also being attracted to a mute stranger, despite being "in love" with the owner of the voice, and then goes on to marry a third woman who, no matter how much they try to sell us the idea that she "hypnotized" him, her physical appearance raises serious doubts in a realistic context about how much of a womanizer and fickle person Eric is.

Then we have poor Triton, the real victim of this script. He’s the most logical character in the film, battered by forced scenes where he loses control of his temper to demonize his perfectly logical ideas, and suffers absurd accusations of patriarchy against the protagonist (because we can all see how Ariel is locked in her room with no freedom, having tons of real obligations in her privileged underwater bubble). He’s also used as a cheap tool to emphasize human supremacy over the marine world.

Another aspect that should have been more balanced is the presence of animals. Ariel is by far the most dependent protagonist on others because of this. The supporting characters do absolutely all the work for Ariel, whose only accomplishments in the movie boil down to dodging a shark, saving a man from drowning (which was already in the original script), jumping into the water to swim after the wedding ship (for which she also needs help), and grabbing Ursula by the hair. One could argue that Cinderella also relied on her friends to escape her confinement. The difference is that Cinderella herself took the initiative by ordering them to bring Bruno, a course of action that made sense due to the development they had, making it a logical resource to use as a consequence. We are shown how Cinderella built relationships with her friends, so these friends help her in her moments of necessity. But in Ariel’s case, her friends act and solve things without communicating anything to her. Ariel controls none of the situations, and everyone else solves the problems for her.

Considering the decades that had passed, I’m still surprised at how all the nuances of the film end up making Ariel a much weaker woman than her predecessors, who didn’t navigate their plots pretending to be heroines like the case of the Little Mermaid. Ariel doesn’t learn or reason through anything during her experience. She doesn’t control any of the events around her or discover anything for herself, doesn’t apologize for her mistakes, and conveniently gets a rather undeserved happy ending. She doesn’t adapt to circumstances (the circumstances and characters adapt to her needs), she suffers no disappointments from the human world she so idealized because she walks on clouds as the privileged guest of a prince, and nothing happens to pull her out of her comfort bubble.

Essentially, it’s a script that not only retains 80% of the original nuances but also worsens them by making the mermaid’s actions affect more people due to her recklessness, and on top of that, rewarding her for being the most problematic and useless character.

[respectthepetty]

Make Shin Suffer for 35 Minutes!

Full disclosure: I like Guide. He is a good actor, but I like him aesthetically because he is beauty and grace, and I am desperately in love with his face, so my thoughts on Bake Me Please have always been biased meaning . . .

I loved the Bake Me Please special episode!

Shin is still a Black Brooder and a jerk.

And Guy is still fine and the obvious better choice.

But Shin is very much in love with his Blue Boy Peach and has started incorporating Peach's color into his wardrobe.

However, on the day he is finally able to see Peach due to Peach's busy schedule, our Black Brooder decides to wear pink! Because he is very much in love with Peach, and Peach picked this shirt for him.

But Blue Boy Peach doesn't give one eff and tells Shin to change back into his normal black then abruptly leaves.

Shin is worried Peach no longer loves him, but Atom assures Shin that Peach is very much in love with him, so much in fact that it makes Atom sick to his stomach.

But the entire friend group does suggest that perhaps Shin's boring ass personality is to blame for Peach's distance since Shin tends to bore them to death every single damn day.

So Shin sits on that honest truth, and with some convincing from his friends, he decides to surprise Peach.

He asks Peach if he is doing something on the 17th, which happens to be Shin's birthday, and Peach replies that day is a very important day.

Now, Shin is all kinds of excited as he bakes a Torta Caprese highlighted by the blue background for his Blue Boy.

But Peach doesn't show up claiming to be somewhere else celebrating someone else since Shin said he didn't want to do anything for his birthday, so we flashback to the boys asking what Peach wants to give Shin for his birthday, and he states he wants to sleep with Shin.

The entire table is shooketh by this way-too-much-information truth!

But what Peach means is he wants to sleep with Shin every night in their bed in their home as in he wants to move in with Shin. Once Atom fully recovers from the scary thought of someone wanting to have sex with Shin, he immediately questions his friend's sanity by reminding him that Shin is, well, Shin, and who the hell would want to willingly live with Shin? (remember that his brother had a crush on Shin, so Atom is definitely holding grudges, and I love it)

Then, Atom proceeds to list all of Shin's shitty quality WITH supporting examples.

And tries one more time to help his friend see the light before he ends up married to this man with a mortgage, a kid, and a dog named Ruffles. *shudders at the thought*

But Peach is Peach and double downs on his BIG feelings for Shin, so the guys decide to help Peach be less weak for that jerk and devise a plan to make Shin suffer for reasons that I think are totally valid since they just want to see Shin in pain which who wouldn't?, but they do this under the guise of forcing Shin to see how much he wants Peach around.

But the problem is Peach is ready to cave the second Shin texts him.

The guys know how to handle this and take Peach's phone away and threaten him to stay strong so they can all reap the benefits of watching Shin possibly cry.

It's a constant battle, but the boys remain steadfast in their goal of making Shin pay for all the shit he put them (AND ME) through for six episodes.

But I do appreciate that Peach recognized how fine Shin looked in that pink!

Finally, the big day is here, and Shin is peak Sad Boy energy and probably listening to Drake's "In My Feelings" on repeat, so, of course, the fam is ecstatic and very pleased that their plan to make Shin lay on the floor in the fetal position worked in Peach's favor!

But they pull one more stunt and decide to change the writing on Peach's cake to say "I'll give you a good time tonight" instead of "I want to live together" which would have matched Shin's cake.

Basically, they are doing the Lord's work!

And everybody wins including my light x dark duo!

But especially the audience because we deserved to see Shin miserable for 35 minutes, and we also deserved to see Shin lift Peach on that counter, and . . . eff it! Just enjoy the visual.

And I'll enjoy my Oab x Guy crumb.

I needed this, and I deserved it!

[soulmate-game]

Chapter 6

(Yes, Marinette and Damian disconnected Audio only before they went to her hotel, so no Tikki reveal sorry!)

Prev First Next

—*—*—*—*—*

Back at the Batcave, Robin was the first to change, sit through debrief, and go to sleep. Nobody questioned him, knowing full well his motives. The other vigilantes however, despite being back in their civvies, were not so quick to end the night.

“You all heard that, right?” Jason asked. Oracle, also known as Barbara Gordon, rolled her eyes. She backed up in her wheelchair and turned to face everyone else.

“What, the part where Marinette made you coo when she essentially defended you and said she still thought of you as a good person?”

Jason rolled his eyes. “I mean yeah, that part was pretty nice. But I’m talking about everything she said about Paris,” the man clarified, leaning back in a chair so that the front two legs lifted off the ground. “She was geared and ready to continue listing examples of Akumas. I doubt she even listed half of the ones that were centered around or targeting her. And having to go through all of her classmates becoming villains, even temporarily?” He shook his head. “That kinda shit doesn’t leave anybody unaffected.”

“Especially what she said about the mermaid monster Akuma,” Tim agreed, pulling up a story on the computer. “I’ve pulled up the reports from both the Ladyblog and the AkumaWatch app. They seem to agree on everything, so I think this was back when the Ladyblog was still reliable,” he pulled up a video taken by the girl who ran the Ladyblog, Alya Cesaire. Marinette’s former best friend and current classmate. The commentary was all in French, but Tim had went ahead and added quick English subtitles for everyone. The wonders of having a supercomputer. The video was taken from a high roof, and showed the water flowing so high that it completely covered most buildings. It would have definitely caused enough pressure to break open windows and fill those buildings on the inside too.

“Woah! It looks like they can transform!” The voice of the reporter said in French, pointing to the distance where two blues of red and black hopped onto a building. The girl zoomed in, her phone’s camera just barely able to show an out-of-focus Ladybug and Chat Noir with different patterns to their uniforms and fins. The cat-themed hero managed to pull an entire car, and as they soon sound out, temporary supervillain Syren, out of the water all on his own. “Aqua suits! That’s so cool!”

It was obvious, however, that the girl’s voice shook a bit. She kept the camera purposely pointed as high up as she could while still catching the heroes and the destruction of the possessed item on screen. There were blurred images all across the surface of the water, which the heroes knew to be censored bodies.

“Only a couple thousand out of two million Parisians survived, that’s what Marinette said,” Barbara breathed, eyes wide. “Seeing it like this really makes it all real,” she clenched her jaw. They all continued watching as what was simply dubbed as Ladybug’s Miracle swept through the city in a shockwave o ladybugs, and the water disappeared. They watched as Alya aimed the camera down and caught very alive people popping up in the streets or on top of cars, wherever they had been right before getting carried away by the vicious waves.

Every hero in the Cave saw people of all ages down there, shimmering back to life. From month-old babies to old men and women.

It was both wonderful and horrifying.

After the video ended, the entire cave was silent for a long moment. Jason was the one that spoke up, to no one's surprise.

“What the fuck?” He growled, no longer leaning back in his chair. Both of his fists were clenched. “This has been on the internet for almost three years! How did we not see this before? How did we never know?” He asked, to which nobody had an answer. But the Bat himself had a hand on his chin as he studied the freeze-frame that the video ended on. Chat Noir and Ladybug fist-bumping.

“Maybe,” Bruce said slowly, as if tasting the words. “It’s time one of us visits the Paris branch of Wayne Enterprises. Ladybug and Chat Noir have been protecting the city for almost four years, it’s likely they know something about why the news hasn’t spread,” he mused. “Meanwhile, I will look into the League records. I never heard about a supposed prank call from France, meaning another piece of the puzzle is there.”

“There’s a problem with that though,” Tim pointed out. “Paris is essentially being held emotionally hostage. Anyone we send will have to be extremely capable of pushing down their negative emotions or transforming them into something positive. The last thing Paris’s heroes need is a supervillain with years of combat experience. Besides that, HawkMoth can telepathically communicate with his Akumatized villains. It wouldn’t be a stretch to assume that he can read their minds.”

“So not only would Paris’s heroes have to fight someone much more experienced than them, but our identities would be exposed,” Dick completed the thought, arms crossed. “That rules out Jason or Damian for sure. Which of us would be the most capable of avoiding strong negative emotions?”

When the First Robin looked up, it was to a raised eyebrow from his adoptive father and three fingers pointing straight at him from his brothers and Barbara.

“We can set up a flight for you for the day after tomorrow,” Bruce said with a grin that seemed way too smug for Dick, who was still gaping at everyone in betrayal. “Ask for the time off, okay? I can smooth things over if you need me to.”

“Oh, come on!” Dick threw his hands up. “I can be broody and mean!”

He was thoroughly ignored as everyone left to sleep for the night.

“Guys! You know what, fine, Paris is a gorgeous city. It’ll be like a vacation! Oh my god I just proved them right.”

—*—*—*—*—*

That night in the Mindspace was… well, Marinette’s insomnia reared its head and she entered it around three AM to find a very unamused Robin waiting for her.

“Honestly?” He asked, gesturing to the Tv screen. “You couldn’t have put some of the work off for tomorrow?”

Suddenly Marinette was very glad she didn’t talk to Tikki while working on her dress. The little Kwami had passed right out after the stressful day they both had.

“I have trouble sleeping sometimes,” she admitted shyly, shifting from foot to foot. “Sewing helps me relax. I want to be a fashion designer,” she explained, letting a soft smile overtake her lips. “I’m actually making my own dress for the Wayne charity gala at the end of the month.”

Robin’s eyebrows shot up over his domino mask. Once again, he was in his normal pajamas besides the mask that he donned after entering the mindspace. “Really? That’s pretty ambitious,” he told her, eyes going back to the screen. Then again, the snippets that he saw on the screen looked incredibly well done. Marinette’s face twisted up a bit in apprehension.

“Maybe a little,” she conceded. “But I’ve designed for Jagged Stone and Clara Nightingale. Even Gabriel Agreste and Audrey Bourgeois have asked for me to collaborate with them for a few pieces. Jagged and Clara commission me pretty often nowadays, and Jagged is a lot like an uncle to me now. I also design for local newscasters and other minor celebrities around town, and my best friend’s band Kitty Section,” She rambled, getting more passionate as she went. Robin actually found himself pretty impressed. The elder Agreste and Bourgeois both were notoriously hard to please names in the fashion industry, so to gain not just one but both of their attention and respect was a huge accomplishment.

“Perhaps I was incorrect then,” Robin amended. “With a portfolio like that, designing for the Gala is just the next small step up. I will look forward to seeing what you create,” he said honestly. His soulmate blinked, obviously caught off guard, before blushing furiously.

“Oh, uh, um, th-thank you!” She blinked again, the blush fading as she focused on the second meaning behind his words rather than just the flattery. “Wait, you’ll be at the gala?”

Robin had to hold back a smile. “It is a month away. I suspect by then you will have earned my identity. Soulmates tend to move faster than unbonded couples.”

Marinette gaped again. “Well. Uh. Thank you? I think. Wanna spar?”

It was Robin’s turn to be caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

“Do you want to spar?” She repeated, speaking at a normal pace instead of a tongue-twisting one. “Part of the reason it took so long to fall asleep is the adrenaline. It didn’t, uh, completely fade yet. And I’m still a little angry, but not enough to be dangerous in a spar.”

“I know,” Robin soothed, his calm tone a direct contrast to Marinette’s flustered rambling. “I felt the vibration when you were angry, both at GothCorp and on the roof when you punched the wall. You calmed down considerably fast, but the initial anger you felt at the woman lasted quite a while. It was very odd,” he tilted his head. “It left me very on edge. I cannot say I enjoyed it very much, but it was quite effective in getting the message across.”

Marinette laughed, nodding. Her own buzz of warning from Robin earlier had been very brief and low, barely a blip on her radar but enough to be felt. He had most likely just been upset for a moment. Marinette, on the other hand, had been burning up with her own fury.

“So, spar?” She asked again, smiling widely. “Maman says a good spar is one of the best ways to get to know a person,” she coaxed, leaning forward a bit. “Please?”

Robin snorted, standing up and stretching his arms. “You did not need to plead, I was about to accept either way. I could perhaps benefit from a new sparring partner.”

Marinette whooped, going to her half of the room. To her slight surprise, a new pink punching bag hung off to the side along with a few high bars for gymnastics. Taking a second, she turned to see that Robin’s own half of the mental world also had a few new additions. Weights, probably just for the familiarity of it, a few training dummies, and a punching bag of his own.

Neat! The girl thought excitedly, the last vestiges of anger draining away to be replaced by wonder. Soulbonds are so cool!

Shaking her head, she walked around to her sewing station and thought for a second. Her pajamas weren’t exactly a good outfit for a spar.

“Uh, how do we change clothes in here?” She asked, turning her head to look back at her soulmate. He, unsurprisingly, had already figured it out. The teen was now in exercise shorts and a perfectly fitting black tank top.

Marinette’s brain momentarily fizzled out.

Those arms! No, the legs! No, oh Kwami, I can see his abs. Shirts that tight should be illegal! Ohhh He has broad shoulders. Am I dead? I think I’m dead.

“Marinette? Are you listening?” The girl jumped, her object of torment suddenly standing with his arms crossed a few feet away.

“Huh? Oh yeah, totally. Just, uh, zoned out for a second.”

“Yeah,” he said with a raised eyebrow that just screamed disbelief. “I was saying that you simply imagine yourself in the outfit you wish to wear. This world is molded by our minds, after all.”

“Right. Easy. Got it,” Marinette nodded a little too fast, closing her eyes and imagining her usual exercise clothes. Black basketball shorts trimmed in red and a red tank top shone into existence, replacing her pink-and-white polka-dotted pajamas. Her hair, which was down from her taking out her pigtails before bed, was up in a messy bun on the back of her neck er head. Once down, she opened her eyes and gasped in joy. She turned to look at herself in the full length mirror next to her sewing station.

Behind her, she had unknowingly left her soulmate in a situation he was wholly unaccustomed to.

Perhaps I should have expected this, he thought sluggishly, feeling really caught off guard. His mind flashed to the memory of her punch splintering odd a few shards of solid brick. But her arms didn’t look that toned in her blouse earlier. Then again, she was wearing long sleeves, he had to stubbornly keep his eyes respectfully above the hips. He knew if he didn’t, his gaze would linger far too long on her muscular thighs. Turn away. You are being indecent he scolded himself, deciding to retreat to the sparring mat first.

After a second to recover from having caught Robin staring at her in the mirror— well, we ARE soulmates. It would be awkward if the attraction wasn’t mutual— Marinette joined him. Seeing as their bodies were not actually physical at the moment, they could skip stretching. Any hits they took would hurt momentarily to simulate the real world, but no actual damage would be taken.

“Ready?” She asked first, receiving a predatory grin in response.

“Are you?”

They both stood at the ready, their legs braced shoulder width apart and their arms tended but at the ready. To his shock, Marinette moved first.

The petite girl lunged, a very familiar high kick brushing uncomfortably close to Robin’s nose as he side-stepped the strike and attempted to grab her ankle. Marinette pulled her leg back too quickly, though, easily going right back into a defensive stance. Robin took the moment to get in close, aiming rapid punches at Marinette’s chest and torso. The girl proved to be just as flexible as she was strong, however, twisting around the wider strikes and batting away the ones she couldn’t avoid with her open palm. Each blocked punch sent a sharp sting through her hand, letting her know in no uncertain terms that she could not let even a single of his hits land.

The second Marinette saw an opening, she grabbed Robin’s bicep and heaved him over her hip. Instead of hitting the mat hard though, the seasoned vigilante tucked into a roll and popped right back up, leaping straight back at his soulmate. One of her punches glanced off his shoulder, forcing him to quickly recover his footing before he stumbled.

There’s that strength she showed earlier he noted. If that had been a direct hit, she might have dislocated my shoulder.

Robin leapt over Marinette’s head, slamming one knee up towards her back. The smaller teen was able to avoid a direct kit, but Robin’s knee still managed to clip right under her left rib cage. Instantly, she felt herself gasp for air. Mon dieu, that’s ridiculous! She thought, quickly hand-springing back to gain some distance as she caught her breath. My body gets a little sturdier outside the suit the longer I use the Ladybug Miraculous, but if he had hit me straight on I would have been down!

Both teen heroes were already slightly out of breath, staring at each other from opposite sides of the mat. They didn’t notice right away, but they each had the same breathless smile overtaking their face. They jumped back in towards each other at the same time.

Their spar was a flurry of punches and high-kicks, flips and ankle-swipes. They landed hits and got hit. Marinette got hit less often than Robin, purely due to her acrobatics and flexibility, but Robin’s tolerance for punishment was leagues (ha, bad joke) higher than Marinette’s. Even though he took more hits, he was in better shape than she was. Therefore, even though each of their strikes carried roughly the same force, it was clear Marinette was the one slowly losing ground. Marinette didn’t have her indestructible suit or enhanced abilities to help her out, at least not beyond what prolonged use of the Ladybug enhanced, but she was holding her own very well despite it.

It was almost twenty minutes —the mindspace making normal stamina levels irrelevant— before Marinette finally managed to grapple Robin and send them both tumbling onto the mat. They wrestled for a long moment, finding their physical strengths almost matched, before Robin finally managed to wrap his arm around Marinette’s throat and pin her legs with his own.

They were both gasping for breath by that point and, even though she lost, Marinette found herself laughing in glee. Robin’s grip loosened briefly before he completely let go, unwinding himself from her and standing up. He didn’t laugh like she did, but he was grinning widely and let out a few soft chuckles. He extended his hand down to his still-giggling soulmate, who grabbed on and allowed him to help her up.

“That was great!” She gushed. “I mean, sure, it stinks that I lost. But I’ll get you next time!”

“I fear you might not be wrong,” Robin admitted with another soft chuckle. “Not all of that was martial arts,” he said, clearly questioning her fighting style casually. Marinette rubbed the back of her head sheepishly.

“Ah, yeah. I took gymnastics as a kid. And my friend Kagami has been trying to teach me how to fence, but I just end up using those movements in melee instead. I’m okay with a foil, but I’m nowhere near the best. Kagami says I’m a natural, but I think she’s just sparing my feelings. And, uh, the whole parkour thing I mentioned.”

“Right. Parkour,” Robin agreed with a nod that Marinette knew meant he didn’t believe her but wouldn’t push. For now.

Marinette’s lips slowly widened into a devilish grin. “Hey, do you play Ultimate Mecha Strike Five?” She asked slyly, and Robin narrowed his eyes through his mask.

“Why do I feel like agreeing would be a mistake?”

“That’s a yes!” Marinette cackled and dragged Robin over to his couch. “Come on, let’s play!”

Seeing as both of the were asleep and their other senses inaccessible through the Tv, it allowed them to load the game. Surprisingly enough, Robin actually put up a decent fight.

Unsurprisingly, Marinette still won. Five times in a row.

“Alright,” Robin put his controller down, glancing over at an all too smug Marinette, crossing his arms. “Let's recap; I’ve discovered the situation in Paris is bleaker than I thought, you are surprisingly strong for your frame, you are much better of a fighter than you let on, and you have a vengeful streak.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Marinette cooed, her hand over her chest as she fluttered her eyelashes with false innocence. Robin just deadpanned at her. “I am completely innocent! An angel! I would never stoop to petty revenge over losing a spar!”

“Uh huh,” Robin said blandly. “Let’s revisit this argument when you decide to be more truthful, ‘Angel’.”

“Anytime, birdboy.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Thankfully, the next few days weren’t as hectic as the first twenty-four hours. Robin did have school and vigilante business to see to, so he and Marinette only met in their Mindspace for the rest of the week. Which wasn’t bad, even on nights when one or the other stayed up so late that they only had three or four hours in the mental world. Somehow, despite their brains remaining constantly active, the magic is the soulbond always left them more refreshed when they awoke than they would normally feel after that amount of sleep. And Marinette had her own things to do with her class, which included a brief (and very therapeutic) two-day visit to Metropolis since it wasn’t far away, to broaden the sights they could see. When they got back, they had one full rest day where they and a buddy could visit anywhere they wanted, provided they stayed within three blocks of the hotel and called to check in with Bustier every two hours.

The class, used to recovering from terrifying circumstances, had almost completely recovered (as much as could be expected, anyway) from their GothCorp nightmare by the time they returned from Metropolis. Lila had quietly thanked Marinette the day after the attempted robbery, but followed the thanks with a threat to never make her look weak again.

So, suffice to say, the liar was back to her usual tricks after the brief reprieve of the Metropolis visit as well. Milder than usual, sure, but still back to normal.

Meanwhile, Richard Grayson had seemingly spontaneously asked for vacation time in order to help his adoptive father out with company business in Paris. He landed in the City of Lights the same day that the Parisians got back into Gotham. He quickly realized that this trip would take more than just a few days. In fact it wasn’t until Friday, exactly one week after Damian had met his Soulmate, that Dick found the ability to track down the Parisian heroes.

Akuma alert sirens rang all around the city, confirming for the experienced hero that the natives had gotten accustomed to the constant havoc. Those who had been around since the beginning of the Akuma terror ran towards shelters with practiced speed.

It was the perfect distraction for Dick to change into Nightwing and take to the rooftops. Upon reaching the Eiffel Tower, the blue clad hero saw a bizarre scene. A male dressed in an aqua colored, snake-themed uniform and a petite female in a red, black, and gold uniform with a spiral down one leg were facing off against…

A… Giant… Cat lady...

Not even a giant half-cat person. She was a legitimate fifteen-foot tall old lady in classic Cat Lady attire. Knitted cat-embroidered shawl, cat-eared knitted beanie, a crochet needle that she was using to hypnotize cats and change their size and species. Her skin was bright orange with shiny silver tiger stripes, and her face had giant black glasses in the shape of a domino mask.

It was really, really weird. She had two twenty-foot panthers and a lion that was half the size of the Eiffel Tower growling at the two heroes who, surprisingly, didn’t look very affected at all by the fever dream they were facing. Smaller house cats were all slinking out of the nearby streets to ominously surround the two heroes, their eyes all glowing bright gold.

“You know, Chat would be making so many puns right now,” The red hero, Ryujo if Dick remembered correctly, mused as the two analyzed their options.

“He would also be making a lot of ‘family shouldn’t fight’ jokes,” the surprisingly zen male replied, flipping up and out of the way onto a nearby roof. “This should be easy, but I will provide backup if you need it.”

“Don’t worry Viperion, I got this,” Ryuko brushed off. “Water dragon!”

The hero turned into water before Nightwing’s eyes, swirling around the square. The water scared off the smaller cats, and the lion recoiled slightly, but it and the panthers lunged anyway, trying to catch the stream of water. The floating river easily avoided every strike, winding around the old lady’s crochet needle when they weren’t looking and snapping it in half.

A purple butterfly, exactly like those Dick had seen in the videos he and the others watched as research and exactly how Marinette had described them, fluttered out of the broken object. A quick flash of yellow darted onto the scene, a bee-themed woman carrying an ornate pot with Chinese engravings on it flew over and trapped the butterfly in the pot.

“There!” She said triumphantly, smiling wide. The crazy cat woman faded away, shrinking down into a cute little, completely normal, old lady with her gray hair in a high bun.

“Oh dear,” she brought a hand to her cheek. “Where am I? What happened?”

Nightwing watched as the heroes comforted the victim, watching as Queen Bee and Viperion left in one direction and Ryuko, whose choker had started beeping, left in another.

He followed the two paired up heroes.

—*—*—*—*—*

[re-re-redline]

-General Headcanons: Constantine- 1st Addendum

No Spoilers For Traum

Foreword: Looking back on it now, I feel as though there wasn’t that much meat on the bone when it came to the original general headcanons, so I decided to make an addendum. I don’t want to call this the General Headcanons 2, ‘cause A. that’s pretty dry and B. there isn’t enough here to warrant labelling this a sequel per se to the original. Plus I won’t feel odd making more of these when the mood strikes me! So without further ado… Let’s jump into it.

Had this shit in my back pocket while I was writing that long ass (but absolutely worth it) fic, so it’s nice to set this free while I write my internal character bible for Micheal and Mehmed as well as working on the other things on my to-do list. So I do hope you all will accept this bite-sized (by my standards) offering while I do that ‘cause I can’t keep anything short to save my life, good grief.

The best gift you could ever give Constantine is a pair of bluetooth noise cancelling headphones. Seriously. We know this guy hates too much noise and that’s why you’re most oft to find him in quieter places in Chaldea, but if you gave him these? Dude. You’re a lifesaver, genuinely. Now Micheal doesn’t have to psych himself up to pass through certain areas or have to leave a room he was comfortably chilling in. It’s great. You’ll see him with those on his neck all the time and he’ll even have the charging cable on him and the wire for when it dies and he can’t charge it. Just, uh, don’t be too mad when you have to put effort into getting his attention sometimes, ‘kay?

I sorta mentioned it in passing within previous posts, but Constantine is cold to the touch. He’s so cold that he can just hold an ice cube in his hand until it fully melts without squirming or even feeling it for that matter. Now that’s not to say that he NEVER gets cold, but it takes quite a bit to get him to shiver. The first Lostbelt is the obvious example. The reason why our man is so GODDAMN COLD is because of the legend that floated about after his death that he’s a marble statue in a cave under the Golden Gate of Constantinople. Statues get cold and underground caves are really cold, hence how low this man’s temperature is on main. He never really noticed it until you held his bare hand for the first time and felt that you were really warm. He mistakenly took it as you being sick but he quickly found out that your hand isn’t really warm because you have a fever or something, he’s just cold. Man’s not sure what to think of this since he doesn’t remember anyone telling him in life that he was frigid to the touch. Strange.

So let’s say, hypothetically in a Normal!HGW AU, that you both win and things are cool and good. The lesser grail manifests and over the course of the grail war, you and Micheal have gotten kinda close (romantic or platonic, doesn’t matter.) If you say, oh I dunno, casually mention in passing that he’d be a pretty cool dude to exist with and that you’re gonna miss him a lot when the war ends, then our emperor might be compelled to wish on the grail to be a person again. You know, like a certain Grand Caster we all knew and loved. And that’s like, a segue into a whole other list of headcanons about your life with him and all the stuff you’d do together. So I’ll, uh, clip that there.

He’s no prude, but he’s not the type to frequent those kinds of places or sleep around. He doesn’t feel comfortable baring himself out to others so easily and will only do so if you’ve known him for a long time. While the likelihood of it is low considering how much Constantine masks his issues or is in complete denial of them, there is a chance that he would accept an offer to be friends with benefits. The only caveat is that you don’t tell anybody about it. Y’know for the sake of his rep. …And because he’s slightly embarrassed to admit that he has those kinds of needs.

Just like with concerts, parties aren’t really his scene either. The noise level is already bad enough, but being jammed into a room with a bunch of people AND very loud music? Get him outta there, he’s not going to last! Well, he is. But he’ll be in a sour mood afterwards. Another reason why Constantine doesn’t really enjoy parties all that much is…well, what’s he gonna do? Dance? The only dancing Micheal knows is waltz and that ballroom shit he was forced to learn when he was younger. There’s no way you’re going to see him bust a move, not even when he’s drunk. He’ll be standing with you in the corner of the room holding a red cup of punch and’ll talk with you the whole time until it ends. If you’re honestly gonna call Micheal to go to a party with you, it’d probably be as a bodyguard or a chaperone. It’s what he excels at and he’d be more comfortable that way since he’d have a defined objective instead of the very vague “have fun” that implicitly comes with being invited to be a partygoer.

Speaking of drinking, how does the last emperor of Rome hold his liquor? Quite well actually despite not drinking that much on his own time. You can thank his pops for that (headcanon). He can out do a fair few people before getting tipsy himself and even then he can can drink with the best of them…until either his self-restraint kicks in or you and Johanna drag him out that is. That being said, he won’t get into too many drinking competitions. Just a few to let everyone know that he’s no lightweight, he’s learned his lesson from fucking around (not literally) in his youth with George. Now that we know his abilities, one has to wonder what kind of drunk he is. Does he laugh? Cry? Talk nonstop? Maybe get…saucy? No, no, no, and no. It’s so much worse than that. Constantine is a philosophical drunk, but not the ‘lasagna is just spaghetti flavored cake’ kind. I’m talking the psychologically damaging kind. That man will make you question your belief system and your reality if you make the mistake of indulging in conversation with a drunk Constantine. He will deadass rewrite your principals and grill you about folding so quick as to let him do this. If you start to weep, he’ll just sling an arm over your shoulder…and continue lowering your sanity by talking some more. If you record the conversation with him in that state and show post-hangover Constantine he’ll flush beet red and put his head in his hands, groaning. He’ll apologize to you and kindly ask you to delete the recording. He’ll tell you to not take any of what he said to heart, those are a drunk man’s words after all. Can’t trust what them drunk people say. And, uh, maybe don’t talk with him when he’s like that? Please? …With some of the things he says, you can’t help but question his mental health. Can you really say he’s okay when he’s calmly going off like this without even stuttering or pausing to think? Is this really just a drunk haze or is it a peek into the mind of your good friend Micheal? Who knows.

Note: Sober Mehmed and drunk Constantine are a crossover that the world just isn’t ready for. So maybe you should prevent this from occurring as best you can. These two could theoretically go on and on for days if Constantine doesn’t sober up or pass out and Mehmed has his schedule cleared. I’m dead serious. Micheal has a ton of shit on his mind that he never gets to talk about because George isn’t here and the alcohol has hoisted that treasure trove of opinions and thoughts to the surface. Mehmed fucking lives on not only talking (or yapping as the youth say) and debating his ideas and beliefs but also this is the golden opportunity to talk with Constantine without him writing him off and ya boi is going to milk the everliving shit out of it because it may never happen again. For the sultan, this is going to be a very interesting and enlightening conversation and for Micheal… well, he’s drunk so who knows what he’s getting out of this. And don’t worry about Mehmed’s sanity, he’s resistant to pale damage seen and heard some shit in his day, so he’ll be fine. You should really worry about yourself and not listen too hard into the conversation… or you might hear something you wish you didn’t.

If you give Constantine a bouquet of flowers, he will take at least one—usually a few—and press them near the time that he receives them. Y’know so that they’ll always look as pristine as they did when he received them. He has a nice set of acrylic tiles on a wall in his room that’s just a bunch of flowers he’s pressed in the past. He’ll smile when you point at one and he’ll happily explain how he got the flowers in the tile. Hell, he’ll be glad to explain every last one of them to you if you’d like. If not a tile then he’ll press them into a bookmark he uses. Man’s got a rotation going and a specific set per genre for his bookmarks so that they all get used equally. He might one day, if you show enough interest in this small hobby of his, press some flowers into a tile or a bookmark for you. The kinds of flowers one should expect are…The red rose, the aster, the white carnation, the anemone, the calendula, the echinacea, and lavender. One can also expect this for any bouquets he might give you—eh? Some of those flowers have a romantic connotation? Pfft, no! The red rose symbolizes Rome! Of course Constantine is gonna give you some of those and, uh, don’t worry about the other ones. They just…look nice, yeah. ANYWAYS, he has seen those videos of people making beautiful custom chess/checker boards with acrylic and he 100% wants to make one himself. He’s just stumped on what the aesthetic should be. Like, should it have a Roman aesthetic? Or should it be more focused on flowers since that’s what most of his acrylic doodads are about? Maybe he should try something new and make it like a beach? So many choices…

Note: He’d be so thrilled to receive anything like that from you, even if it looks and functions like ass. Oh, the bookmark has jagged edges that cut up the pages and his fingers? Nah, it’s fine. He’s learned how to finesse it to where it doesn’t happen anymore. Please ignore the band-aids on his fingers, they came from elsewhere. No, he refuses to elaborate. Stop asking.

Another Note: People do, in fact, commission him to make bookmarks and acrylic stands. The first time it happened was when Osakabehime came to him with a piece of printer paper and asked him to make a stand of the character on the sheet. Apparently, the stand in question was a Comiket 55 exclusive and the ones on the eBay run for about…600 to 1,000 dollars. After seeing the sheer despair on her face, he took the paper and made a stand. Batty was so happy with results that she told her friends, then they told their friends. And that, my friends, is how Constantine ended up with a side hustle making acrylic stands and bookmarks. It does decently well as a business if he does say so himself.

Constantine, to an extent, knows how to do small architectural repairs on a building. To explain this, allow me to give you a watered down history lesson.

In the year 1204, the 4th Crusade happened. Stay with me on this. Previously, Jerusalem was taken over by the Ayyubids after the 1187 siege along with a ton of crusader land; the 3rd Crusade took back most of it except for—you guessed it—Jerusalem. And that’s motive for crusade number 4. After the gang gathered their forces and had gone through some financial disputes with each other, they set off to Zara to get some moola to pay off a debt via taking the city. They took the city and stayed the winter in Zara. Now, the gang decided to go Constantinople—their fellow Christian country—because the son of the recently deposed and subsequently blinded ex-emperor, Alexios IV Angelos sweet talked the crusaders into going there to overthrow Alexios III Angelos for cool shit like: money to pay the debt, tons of troops, their navy—fuckin’ you name it, he’d give it. The broke crusader army gleefully accepted and then they did that and Alexios IV was emperor, yay. Turns out that keeping ridiculous and frankly desperate promises is very hard and often leads to having to make serious and embarrassing concessions which then leads to bad things happening as a consequence, who knew! Thanks to rebellions caused by his subjects, Alexios IV was killed and replaced by the leader of the anti-crusader gang in Constantinople, Alexios Doukas (How many of them are there?). Anywho, the crusaders were pissed that their guy was killed and ‘politely asked’ the new guy to uphold the deal and ya boi told them to fuck off. War happens and the cards just weren’t in Byzantium’s favor leading to the city of Constantinople getting sacked for three days. The destruction was on another level my friends, it was so bad that it never fully recovered under the Byzantine Empire and the 57 year long Latin occupation really didn’t help either. I’m pretty sure you can see where I’m going with this.

In Constantine’s bond 5 profile, third paragraph, it states that Constantine lived ‘in a small, only barely habitable section” of the palace. It also states that they—Constantine and his family—were powerless to stop it from crumbling. Now, it’d be quite sad and perhaps a bit silly to believe that they didn’t at least TRY to stop their home from falling apart, and that’s where this headcanon comes from. In his youth and the times when he was home away from the Morea, Constantine pitched in as much as he could to make the palace better to live in, not only for himself but for his family too. Thus a young Constantine would sometimes be found—either with George or his brothers and sisters—clearing out dirt from collapsed sections or reinforcing the little supports to keep another hall from caving in during his free time. Of course a bunch of kids and teens trying to keep a building up with zero knowledge of how architecture actually works is a recipe for failure. And while I’m pretty sure that Constantine was smart enough to realize that himself, I still think he took it hard when that hall caves in despite his best efforts. No one blames him for it; he gets a few pats on the back from his two sisters for at least trying, his brothers tell him that they just have to do better next time, his dad shrugs it by saying that there’s more important things to be worrying about and his mom tries giving Constantine hope by saying that someday things will get better and they’ll be able to build a brand new and big palace on top of this old one. That all this Ottoman business will blow over someday and everything will be fine. He just has to have faith.

Later, when Constantine would be emperor and the nightmare scenario is unfolding right in front of his eyes, I’d like to think that Constantine was there—whenever he could be—to help fix the holes in the Theodosian Walls. As we know, despite the might of the Ottoman’s artillery, their reload time betwixt volleys was absolute ass. It was so ass that it allowed the Byzantines to reliably patch as many holes in the wall as they could before the next rain shower, hence why this siege lasted for as long as it did. It was a phenomenal effort to be sure, an effort that would go down in history, no doubt but as we know, the walls did come down in the end.

In Chaldea, or more specifically out on rayshift, if you’re camping out in an abandoned building then you’ll find Micheal patching holes in the roof and walls as best he can. If asked why then he’ll tell you that it’s to keep everyone from getting sick thanks to the draft and the elements. It’s best not to go digging too deep into this line of questioning as the roots of it all are deeply personal and riddled with the loathing of his believed personal failings. So just let your buddy do a lil’ housework—hell, maybe pitch in! I’m sure he’d appreciate the help.

Note: I feel like Constantine might have had a small childhood fear of the roof coming down on him while he sleeps. Like, a stone just slipping out of place and icing him while he’s snoozing or the whole ass roof, either scenario kept him awake at night some of the time. And, while that fear has mostly fallen to the wayside thanks to the wonderful losses he experienced in life, he does once in a blue moon wake up in a cold sweat after having a nightmare of his noggin getting rocked. And worse yet? He has a nasty headache when he wakes up.

And that’s the first addendum to the General Headcanons. As you can see, it’s most just me spitballing and adding fun and not fun little bits to his character. While I did want to keep it relatively light, it’s kinda hard when you have a man as drenched and marinated in tragedy as Constantine XI. It’s like: “*Gently pats the Micheal* This boi can fit so much trauma, depression and overall tragedy in him!” So it just kinda writes itself. He’s such a sad individual and has ensnared me, heart and soul, into his solemn existence and I am living it like a possum in the ceiling of a government building from 1999. It’s stuff like this that really makes me wish that Lasengle would go in deep and just rip his character to shreds and make him bleed narratively. I want the deepest of cuts on this man’s life and I want an autopsy for all to see on why this man is one of the least okay individuals in Chaldea and I want everyone to come together and help Constantine resolve his issues one step at a time and show him that everything is okay now and that he doesn’t have to suffer alone and that he’s a greater man than he thinks he is. GOD what I would give for a canon interaction between Romulus and Constantine. Just Romulus patting him on the head saying that he did his best with what he had and he let Rome go down with a bang and that’s all Romulus could’ve asked for. That shit would do wonders for Micheal’s self-esteem.

But a gal can dream.

And write fanfiction.

My lamentations aside… In small Redline news, I’m feeling a lot better and thankfully I had most of this written before I got sick so props to past Redline. I got Angra Mainiiu to bond level 10 a few days ago, Constantine is almost to bond 9 with 53k-ish to go, Douman is halfway to bond 10 with 204k-ish to go, Koyayaya of Light is bond 9 and my Hajime-chan is 361k away from bond 12. Okuu Rerun and Traum definitely pushed Constantine and Angra to where they are now but ultimately… Triple bond CE Bloodfort grinding on dead weeks with Douman and Van Gogh always crosses the finish line, so to speak. That’s how the last of my pre-Lostbelt 6 crack team got to bond 10! I’ll be grinding 90++ with the same team (Koyayaya, Support Castoria and Proto-Merlin) and having Constantine soak up that juicy ≈1.3k bond until the event ends.

P.S: Apologies if the history lesson on the 4th Crusade was a slog to read through. I just felt like historical context was needed to best understand the headcanon and it wouldn’t have hit as hard—or perhaps at all, had I not placed it there and I tried keeping it as short as I could.

Anywho, I’ll be getting back into the swing of things. So I leave you with this humble offering and have a nice day, everyone.

—Redline, over and out!

[ivy-and-ivory]

I will never shut up about the way Bruce makes monuments of his grief.

The obvious example is Jason, and the Robin display case in the cave. His son is dead. He’s dead. Now look at the suit he died in, look at what remains of his corpse. That shadow on the sleeve - is that a bloodstain? Or is it a trick of the light. Do you think he ever gets distracted, sitting before his giant monitor, and glimpses the familiar colors in his peripheral, and forgets? Just for a second - just enough to turn to the case and freeze when he sees the body-less shroud, and remember. His son is dead, he will always be dead; now sit there in the shadow of his ghost.

But it’s not just Jason, is the thing. What of the Cave itself? A child is running and playing in the sun when the ground opens up to swallow him. There is a sharp pain in his leg; the first real pain he has ever felt, and because he is a child who has not yet learned suffering, he imagines this is the worst pain a person can feel, could ever feel. His ignorance will not last long - he will learn. But for now he is trapped there in the dark and winged demons are flying around his head and he is terrified, and he is convinced he will never escape, that he will be trapped down here forever, that this is death. He is rescued. But years later, he will return to this place and prove himself right.

And of course, there is the Manor. Do you think he ever moves into the master bedroom? Could he bear to? There is his mother’s vanity table, the sink at which his father used to shave. There is the chair where he used to curl up and watch them get ready to go out, the setting sun painting the whole scene golden. And in the other rooms - her piano, his study; they are inescapable. Their unseeing eyes look out from countless portraits and photographs, peering through the veil. Houses have memories. This one has ghosts. The boy becomes a man in his childhood home; he will never, ever leave.

I could go on. Where is the line between persistence and punishment? For him, grief must always leave a physical mark.

[sparkpop]

Ok, just an idea for your Skullgirls x Megaman thingy, I imagined that Fireman would be Big Band, but instead of being a noir detective, he would be a Vigilante/Sheriff of Flamin’ hot Justice.

OH MY GOD!!!! SOMEONE ACTUALLY CARES ABOUT MY SKULLGIRLSXMEGAMAN! AU?!?!?! THANK YOU!! AND HONESTLY THAT'S A GREAT IDEA!

i HAD OTHERS ALREADY FILLED OUT and some are ones that I'm still debating over: Mercury= Double (He's the giver of Ra Moon's words, like how Double is with the Skullheart, plus I HC Mercury can liquify and shapeshift to a degree like Double)

King= Black Dahlia (I thought of King just running his own robot harem like Black Dahlia's Bunny Cave and also I wondered who would play as his three bunnies, I thought of something like Burner, Magic, and Pirate, for example)

Metal Man/Shadow Man= Valentine (Metal Man because "No, I am not a dentist" meme, and he also sorta looks like a ninja, and Shadow Man is obvious, but I feel like he'd be more "reserved" for being portrayed as a slutty nurse who likes to dissect people)

Bright Man= Molly (He just gives me "nerdy mechanic/assistant" vibes)

Then there's Pharaoh Man whose obviously Eliza.

Skull Man & Kalinka/Umbrella & Hungrn: (Big parasites who defends their younger girl hostess? Hey I thought this fitted with them the most! Including other things!.)

I think that's it for now, I was planning on continuing this AU, but got unmotivated from doing it because I felt conscious about the idea. Being asked about it now, I think I've reconsidered and might go on to continue it, so, thank you so much anon! 💖 if there are any more ideas anybody wants to add or change, you can ask me PLEASE! I don't get enough asks <:3

[daydreamerwonderkid]

As someone who's into reading Plato I suffer so much from people misunderstanding him or reading him improperly. I mean I know it's irrational but it's a huge pet peeve of mine and this Atlantis business is just a subsect of it.

People who think Plato is recording historical events (like an actual historical account of Atlantis or conversations between Socrates and his students) just fundamentally misunderstand Plato and his project. No, Socrates did not have a conversation with Parmenides. No, Diotima is not a real historical figure. None of the conversations in his dialogues ever happened (or if the historical (not literary) Socrates ever had real discussions irl on these topics, Plato edited them for his own purposes - the most obvious example being the Apology).

People who think Plato is at all being historical in recounting Atlantis must think that an Eleatic Stranger visited Athens and talked to Socrates and that Plato is faithfully recounting the actual discussions between people founding the legal structure of a colony in Laws

like no. that's not what's happening. abandon entirely the idea that Plato is a historian. He's a philosopher expressing his ideas through logos and muthos in the medium of fictional dialogues.

It's been forever since I read or studied Plato myself, but I absolutely feel you on how frustrating it is to hear people call him a historian.

I know the mistake is mostly due in part to people just being familiar with Plato's name or maybe his Allegory of the Cave (mostly for memes). Conspiracy theories like Atlantis also don't really help in the matter, either, and it's extremely difficult to combat misinformation when it's become a part of pop culture.

But holy shit, the logic is not logicking at fucking all. It hurts to see people use Plato to spread misinformation. Especially when the man's writings are genuinely fascinating to read.

[blurrymango]

Below the cut is some BOOK LORE. Specifically around the various afterlifes that exist.

You are dead. Blahhh. Oh well.

You're waiting in Purgatory for judgement. Purgatory is null and Grey, individual to everyone. Uninteresting, and absolutely maddening to those who are there for a long time.

If you were a shitty terrible person, you can go to Hell and be reborn as a demon. (Hell is a bunch of caves. It is physically located beneath the crust of the planet, but it is spiritually inaccessible to the living, angels, and reapers. As well as those who are banned from Hell. Like Sydel for example. The entrance into Hell is guarded by a giant ffucking centipede with a bunch of human faces. The centipede is a replacement for the lost three headed gaurd-dog.) (Weirdly, the societal representation of those from beyond the main world is the symbol of Clubs, and the higher order of Clubs are the guardians of the entrances to and between worlds. Sydel is known as Lady Cerberus in these circles. Hmmmmm.jpeg.) (This should be so so very obvious, honestly. Well. Not to characters in universe, but y'know.)

If you were good, you can go to Heaven and be looked after by and eventually become among the ranks of angels. (Heaven is obviously clouds. Located in. The ffucking clouds. Spiritually inaccessible to the living, demons, and reapers. And as of the last millennia, it is also inaccessible to the dead as well. Because Heaven is at war with itself. The Gates are closed, sorry. No one is allowed in or out. But somehow an Angel managed to escape. It's Marcus. He doesn't know why he got out. But he is out.) (He got out because he is the personified spirit of adventure and freedom itself, so it was inevitable that he would escape the current wasteland formerly known as Heaven.)

If you killed yourself, you're going to Limbo and becoming a grim reaper. (Ok. I blatantly stole that from Black Butler, sue me. I just ffucking love the concept. Anyway.) (Physically, Limbo has no location. Though, rumor has it that if you dig up and open an empty coffin, waiting for you will be Limbo. Limbo is a surreal cacophony of colors, shapes, and noise. There is no gravity and there is no rhyme or reason. If you enter through a coffin though you will find yourself falling endlessly through the nonsense. Some say dragons are born from the chaos here. If you want to find Death, one of the few gods remaining in the physical realm, you might find him in places where the fog and humidity are so thick you can hardly breathe. Or if you follow the goddess of Wind, you can find Death by going into a Dead Man Walking.)

Now, there are specific places you can die to avoid having to wait in Purgatory.

If you died at sea, you're going into the Halls and becoming a Mermaid. (Physically, the Halls are easy to find, they're in the Endless Woods, they're hard to spot though, as the entrance is as overgrown as the surrounding area. But if you go in as a living person, you will enter spiritually as well and find narrow high-reaching endlessly winding black stone halls. There is no floor, but there is glowing water, and if you could see past the writhing masses of aimless spirits, Mermaids, trapped beneath the waters. If you, a living person, touch the waters, you will die, your soul becoming lost and trapped like the rest of them, your body becoming a feast. Mermaids are mindless instinct driven creatures, they know nothing, they are nothing. Somewhere beneath the waters of the Halls is the Heart of The Sea, though it is. Impossible to get, because few people find anything of significance in the Endless. And even fewer survive the Halls long enough to see the Heart. If you get the Heart, some say that you might become ruler of the Seas. Others say you become a spirit of the Moon. No one knows.)

And one I just came up with.

If you die in the desert, you go nowhere. (Your body, if not eaten by nightfall, turns into dust. Your soul though, turns into sand. Not desert sand, Sand of Time. Another small addition to the never-ending march into infinity. Time himself watches over all the grains.)

If you are tricked by Fairies, your soul is eaten by them.

If you die young, your soul is recycled and reincarnated.

If you are Wysterian, these things do not apply, except for the desert and the fairies. Wysterians turn into crystals upon death, and given enough time, they can turn back into their physical bodies. If the crystal is destroyed, the soul is returned to the Sun as light. If crystalized in the desert, or if a fairy eats the crystal, the soul is either turned into sand, or into magic.

If you are a Nightshade, these things also do not apply. Nightshades turn into liquid shadow upon death, and their "soul" is automatically reabsorbed into the Void.

Of course, there are ways to cheat death, such as Soul Merging, a painful and outlawed magical practice, and creating a body that does not allow the spirit to pass on, this practice is also outlawed, although, it was outlawed more recently, and only one known person has been a practitioner of it. (It's Nova.) And also, becoming a Vampire, the soul moves on, but the spirit does not. Instead it becomes one with the body, preserving it as it was at the time of death.

Now.

Of course. This doesn't even take into account the Void itself claiming a soul. Very, very few even know that the Void is "sentient". And the only ones who know the true "intentions" of the Void are the two gods that "sacrificed" themselves to keep it at bay.

Viscera, god of the Void, formerly known as Asteri, god of Space, and Nimura, mother of beasts, formerly known as Vir'Illia, goddess of Life, after being absorbed into the Void, had been assumed to be destroyed. They were not. Instead, the Void "claimed" Asteri as it's consciousness. Viscera, with the will of the Void, came to earth as a human, with the intent of passing along the spirit of the Void for the purpose of having a Vessel.

That Vessel is Blitz.

He is brought back to life because the Void itself wills it, and is destined to one day bring upon the end of existence itself, returning everything to nothingness, to Void.

Blitz doesn't know that though, and he sure as shit doesn't want to become the End of everything.

[tarnishedinquirer]

Stormveil Castle Main Courtyard

After resting, I headed back out into the courtyard. It was time to clear it. However, while I was sneaking around in the dark, I'd failed to notice one other occupant: An enormous, deformed ogre of a man with large red sores over his entire body and a curved greatsword.

Up close, it was clear that the sores were actually the stumps of horns, cut off long ago and partially healed over. Whatever this creature is, it must be some aspect of the Crucible. It reminded me of Margit and his multitude of horns. I rammed my sword into the ogre's back, and it was like stabbing an elephant wearing studded armor. It was difficult to aim around the horns, and even then, my sword met more resistance than expected in the thick, loose hide. I noticed as I stabbed that it had a chain and collar around its neck. A slave soldier of some kind, then.

It recovered quickly from my assault and immediately launched one of its own. For all its bulk, it was remarkably agile. It incorporated acrobatic somersaults into its broad and sweeping strikes, attempting to crush me under is massive weight. It was in one such somersault that I scored a lucky strike. Straight through its navel, up into its chest, piercing its heart. It collapsed on top of me, pinning me to the ground with dead weight until I could wriggle free.

With the ogre out of the way, I was free to enter the lower level of the church and get a look at the painting I'd seen before.

Titled "Prophecy." But what prophecy? An obvious conclusion was the return of the Tarnished. Both the Chapel of Anticipation and the Cave of Awakening were depicted. Once I touched the enchanted painting and the glow faded, the painting seemed to change. By the light of my lantern, the Erdtree's light turned from gold to a fiery orange. The clouds looked more like billowing smoke. No doubt a trick of the light, but tricks of the light are an artist's greatest tool. A cave painting of a horse might gallop in the light of a flickering torch, for example

Now, it was time to fight. I summoned my wolves to aid me. My intent was to sneak around the edges of the group, taking the hindmost while they were all looking another direction. No plan survives contact with the enemy, as no sooner did I start my grim work did I hear the clarion call of a trumpet. Alarm had been raised.

The next few minutes were a frenzy of violence. it didn't take as long as I thought it would, nor was it as difficult. Most of them were facing the wrong way, and their heaviest weapons were useless. I imagine they were counting on the ogre to watch their rear, but I'd already seen to that. Two of my wolves fell in the battle, but I was too fast and too powerful to receive more than a few scratches.

What afflicts the ogre?

Is it related to the Crucible?

Do they have any connection to Margit?

What is the prophecy depicted in the painting?

Where was it painted?