#this has just gotten worse over the years

[kominigiru]

im gonna start dumping my one-shots here from now on just bc. also posted on ao3!

satoru's guide to wedding day blunders

contains: female reader, fluff, crack, gojo being a menace, reader and toge are siblings, shoko and nanami being so done with satoru's shenanigans part 1 - part 2 (both in ao3)

Gojo Satoru is late to his own wedding.

You stand at the altar, fingers clenched around your bouquet, doing everything you can to keep from grinding your teeth. Shoko, standing to your right as your maid of honor, is shooting you sympathetic looks, while Nanami on the left looks like he's one deep sigh away from physically dragging Satoru here himself.

Your family sits in the front row, their faces showing various degrees of irritation, disappointment, and—worst of all—pity. They're whispering among themselves, making no effort to hide the glances they cast toward you, or the fact that they're annoyed on your behalf.

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to block out the noise. When you open them again, your mother is already halfway up the aisle, moving toward you with a determined look in her eyes.

"Sweetheart," she says, barely acknowledging Shoko and Nanami. "It's been over an hour. I think it's time to accept that maybe this wedding… isn't happening."

You stiffen, fingers going numb around your bouquet. Cancel?

Nanami sighs heavily, crossing his arms. "She has a point. Gojo's behavior today is completely unacceptable. It reflects poorly on him, and worse, on you. We can reschedule."

Shoko snorts in agreement. "Yeah, even I'm tired of waiting, and I'm not the one at the altar. Typical Satoru."

Your mouth opens, but no words come out. You don't speak often—as your Cursed Speech makes casual conversation risky—but the urge to say something now presses hard against your chest. Before you can figure out how to respond, you feel a tug on your gown.

You glance down to see your younger brother, Toge, standing at your side, his tiny arms wrapping around your waist in a comforting hug.

"Aniki's late," Toge mutters, his voice barely audible.

The way he says it tugs at your heartstrings. Even your usually patient brother is starting to lose hope.

Suddenly, with perfect, almost theatrical timing, the heavy church doors burst open, slamming against the walls with a deafening thud. You don't even need to turn around to know who it is.

"Sorry I'm late!" Satoru's voice rings out, loud and unapologetic, echoing through the silent church.

You finally turn, and there he is, Gojo Satoru, standing in the doorway like he's just walked in from some casual errand and not his own wedding. His hair is tousled, his sunglasses perched on top of his head, and he's grinning like this is all some kind of joke.

Satoru saunters down the aisle, waving casually at the guests. "Miss me?"

Your family collectively groans, and you can feel Nanami's simmering rage without even looking at him. Shoko rolls her eyes dramatically, muttering something about "classic Gojo" under her breath. You, however, stay rooted in place, fingers tightening their grip on your bouquet.

Satoru reaches the altar, looking perfectly at ease, as though he hasn't just kept an entire wedding party waiting for over an hour. He slides up next to you, his grin widening when he sees the expression on your face.

"Hey, sweetheart," he says softly, leaning in just enough for only you to hear. "Sorry about that. Had to deal with a curse situation. You know how it is. Life of a sorcerer and all that."

You stare at him, your mouth a tight line.

You've gotten used to Satoru's antics over the years, but even for him, this is too much. Still, speaking directly, even to scold him, could have unintended consequences thanks to your cursed technique, so instead, you breathe deeply through your nose and give him a pointed glare.

"Ah… right," Satoru says, catching on. "You’re upset. Understandable."

Nanami, who's been silent up until now, finally speaks up, his voice thick with irritation. "You're lucky we haven't already canceled the ceremony."

Shoko nods. "An hour late, Satoru? Even for you, that's ridiculous."

Satoru throws up his hands in mock defense. "Okay, okay, I know! But hey, at least I showed up, right? That's what matters."

You can feel the tension radiating from the entire room, but before you can think of how to express your feelings in a way that doesn’t result in your cursed speech accidentally knocking everyone unconscious, you feel a tug at your dress again.

You glance down, and Toge is looking up at you with wide, concerned eyes. "Tuna mayo," he says softly, which is his way of saying, Are you okay?

You crouch down slightly, giving Toge a reassuring smile and patting his head. It's a small moment, but it helps ground you. You straighten up, turning back to Satoru, who's watching the interaction with a sheepish grin.

"Look," he starts, "I know I messed up. Big time. But hey," he adds, flashing a grin, "You know you love me anyway, right?"

You stare at him for a long moment, taking in his disheveled appearance, his unshakable confidence, and his infuriating grin. Despite everything, despite the frustration, the embarrassment, and the whispers from your family, you can’t help but feel the corners of your mouth twitch upward.

Maybe it’s because this is so typically Satoru—unpredictable, chaotic, and yet, somehow, charming in his own way.

You take a deep breath and raise your hand to his chest, pressing two fingers lightly against him. It's a gesture you often use when you can't speak, one that means I forgive you, but don't do it again.

Satoru's grin softens, and he takes your hand, squeezing it gently. "I promise," he says, and for once, there's no teasing in his tone. "I won't mess up again. Well, not today, at least."

Nanami clears his throat. "We'll see about that."

Shoko shrugs. "Honestly, I'm just impressed you got here at all."

Toge, ever the voice of simplicity, tugs on Satoru's sleeve and mutters, "Okaka."

Satoru gasps dramatically. "Betrayed by a child! I thought we were family, Toge!"

Toge just crosses his arms, unimpressed, as you all share a quiet laugh at Satoru's expense.

Satoru turns back to you, his grin back in full force. "So, what do you say we make this official, huh?"

You glance at the altar, the officiant who's been waiting patiently, and then back at Satoru. Slowly, you nod.

Satoru's face lights up, and with a flourish, he turns to the officiant. "Alright! Let's get married before anything else decides to go wrong!"

As the ceremony finally begins, you can't help but feel a mix of exasperation and fondness swelling in your chest. Life with Satoru will never be predictable, but as you look at him now, standing beside you, you know one thing for certain: it will always be interesting.

And in his own chaotic way, you know that Satoru loves you—enough to show up late to your wedding but still make you smile in the end.

You squeeze his hand once more and and he chuckles, leaning down to kiss your forehead and whisper, "I love you, too."

—

Later that night, after the wedding reception winds down and everyone heads home, you and Satoru return to your shared house. You're still wearing your wedding dress, and he's got his suit jacket slung over his shoulder, looking as carefree as ever. He's been trying to sweet-talk you the whole way back, as if he hadn’t shown up an hour late to your own wedding.

"Come on, sweetheart, it wasn't that bad." He grins, nudging you with his elbow. "Everyone had a good laugh, right?"

You give him a sidelong glance, your silence speaking volumes.

"Okay, okay, maybe I pushed it a little. But hey, I made it in the end, didn't I? That's what counts!" He flashes his signature smile, the one that usually gets him out of trouble.

You pause at the front door, turning to look at him. For a moment, he thinks he's won you over. You're smiling, after all. But then, without a word, you toss him a single pillow.

Satoru catches it with a confused look. "Uh…what's this?"

You gesture to the pillow and point to the roof.

His smile falters. "Wait, wait, wait, hold on. You're not serious, right?" His laugh is nervous now. "You forgave me at the altar! We're good! We're married now!"

You shrug and head inside, but before he can follow, you turn around, blocking the doorway with your body. His eyes widen in panic.

"Come on! I can't sleep on the roof on our wedding night! People will talk! Nanami will find out and he will never let me live it down!"

Your only response is a raised eyebrow, and you slowly, deliberately, start to close the door.

Satoru jams his foot in the door with a dramatic gasp. "But I thought you loved me!"

You don't need cursed speech for this one. You give him a sweet, innocent smile—the kind of smile that would normally melt him on the spot. But tonight, it just spells doom for him. He knows that smile. It's the smile that means, "I do love you, but you're not getting away with this."

He groans. "Seriously? After all the curses I've fought, this is how I go down?" He leans his head dramatically against the doorframe, clutching his pillow like a lifeline. "Sleeping on the roof like a stray cat? Come on, babe, be reasonable!"

You sigh, your patience wearing thin. He's still whining.

With a subtle tap into your cursed technique, you say the words that you've been holding back all night. "Sleep on the roof tonight."

The power of your cursed speech echoes through the air, and Satoru visibly flinches. His body moves on its own, turning toward the roof like a puppet on strings.

"W-wait! No! I take it back! I take it back! You don't have to use that—"

But it's too late. His legs betray him, carrying him toward the roof with a dramatic flair, like he's being pulled by some invisible force. You watch as he scrambles helplessly, pillow tucked under one arm as he clambers up to his new "bed" for the night.

From the roof, you hear him groan, his voice tinged with betrayal. "But I'm your husband now! Doesn't that mean anything?!"

You close the door, letting out a small chuckle. Behind it, you hear him muttering to himself in frustration.

"Of all the things to use your cursed speech for..." he grumbles. "Could've just told me you were mad! But noooo, had to make me sleep outside on the night of my own wedding!"

You hear some shuffling from the roof, and then: "At least give me a blanket! It's cold up here!"

You open a window just wide enough to toss him a thin, scratchy blanket, watching it float up to where he's perched.

"Thanks," he mutters sarcastically. "This’ll totally keep me warm."

There's silence for a few moments before his voice drifts down again.

"I'm sorryyyyy!" he yells, his voice carrying through the night air. "I'll never be late again, I swear! I'll be early to everything! Our anniversaries, your birthday, breakfast—you name it! I'll never mess up again!"

You shake your head, smirking to yourself, knowing full well that's a promise he'll break within the month. But for tonight, the roof will teach him a lesson.

From the roof, you hear a long, pitiful sigh. "I thought married life would be more… cozy. Not like… this."

Finally, after what seems like an eternity of grumbling, he goes quiet, probably giving in to the reality of his situation. The stars twinkle overhead, and for a moment, all is peaceful.

Until—

"I bet Nanami's gonna find out and give me that look tomorrow." His voice suddenly perks up again, this time with a hint of dread. "You know the one. The 'I told you so' look. Ugh, I hate that look…"

You roll your eyes, closing the window fully this time, knowing that his whining will eventually tire him out. But still, you can't help but smile.

You know he'll be back to his usual antics by tomorrow, but for now, he can enjoy the roof.

As you settle into bed, you can faintly hear Satoru one last time from outside.

"You'll miss me eventually! No one can resist my charm!"

You smile into your pillow. Not tonight, Satoru. Not tonight.

[transform4u]

Working as an intern for the local Democratic Party is hard enough, but it's gotten worse with the Republican candidate for mayor trying hard to recruit me and my friends to work for him. It's annoying that he thinks that I'd work for someone like him, and offensive that he thinks I'm on the same level as the dumb frat bros that work for him. They keep saying they'll help me understand, but I'm not too sure..

Sitting at your computer, you’re immersed in crafting a blog post about Kamala Harris for President, fueled by a mix of caffeine and idealism. The rhythmic clatter of your fingers on the keyboard is your only companion until a new email notification disrupts the flow. You glance at the screen, and there he is: Harlow Binger, the obnoxious Republican mayoral candidate, his waxy smile practically oozing through the pixels.

You try to close the email—click, click, click—but the cursor stubbornly hovers, refusing to cooperate. Defeated, you begin reading the email. Words like “conservative” and “family values” flood your vision, and your eyes glaze over as you fight the urge to roll them. Suddenly, without warning, the national anthem blares from your speakers, and your screen erupts in an eerie red glow.

A chill races down your spine as you feel an odd twitch in your body, a strange sensation as if time itself is rewinding. Your muscles begin to lean out; it’s like you’re shedding layers of stress and doubt and age? The wrinkles around your eyes smooth away, and that familiar anxiety melts into an almost blissful calm. You're regressing back in time, as the years wash away from your face and body. You glance down to see your casual attire morphing into something preppy—polo shirts and crisp khakis start to materialize on your frame.

You feel every muscle in your body shift, groaning with the effort, but instead of pain, there’s an exhilarating sense of rejuvenation. It’s as if each fiber of your being is shedding the weight of years and worries, leaving behind only vitality and promise. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the screen, and you’re struck by the vision before you: a young man radiating effortless charm.

Standing tall and lean, you embody an athletic frame that speaks to countless hours spent on the soccer field and in the gym, where dedication has sculpted your body into something enviable. Your toned abs reveal not just physical commitment but a zest for life that resonates deeply. The contours of your muscles tell a story of resilience and energy, each line a testament to your active lifestyle.

Your face is classically handsome, a harmonious blend of features that draw people in. A chiseled jawline frames your expression, exuding strength and confidence. Warm, inviting eyes sparkle with mischief and kindness, glinting like sunlight on a serene lake. There’s a playful glimmer in your gaze, suggesting you’ve always got a clever quip at the ready, or a light-hearted joke to brighten someone’s day.

A tousled mop of sun-kissed hair frames your face, perfectly styled yet effortlessly casual, as if you’ve just rolled out of bed and into the world. Each strand seems to catch the light, adding to that inviting aura. It’s the kind of look that hints at spontaneity and adventure, an invitation for others to join you on whatever path you choose.

In this moment, you exude a magnetic confidence that draws people in like moths to a flame. Your laughter is infectious, echoing with the joy of living fully and authentically. But it’s not just the looks—it’s the energy. You radiate a blend of earnestness and playful wit, ready with venomous quips and dismissive insights. Your anger and rage is infectious, pulling people into your orbit with magnetic confidence. Deeply rooted in your Christian values, you navigate life with purpose, advocating for your beliefs with a balance of passion and respect.

You’re the guy who volunteers at church on weekends, always ready to lend a hand, and----your head starts to sting and there it is the nauseous feeling you were afraid to let in. What you once thought of as the vile, repulsive stench of Republican ideology begins to permeate every fiber of your being. It sears its insidious tendrils deep into your psyche, burning away any shred of compassion or empathy. Slowly, inexorably, kindness and humanity become alien concepts, replaced by an overwhelming imperative to prove superiority - to feel better than everyone else. Only those pure of heart who uphold tradition and submission to a strict patriarchal hierarchy earn any modicum of dignity and respect. All others are fair game to mock, abuse and annihilate. Faggots and Woke freaks represent a special kind of evil that needs to be excised. Their depraved degeneracy is a poison in the nation's womb that must be flushed out, along with their abortion-loving, gender-bending mothers. These modern feminazis and their sissie boys have no place in sane, civilized society. It is their twisted goal to corrupt the minds and bodies of our children through public schools.

The metallic warmth of the gold cross presses against your chest, pulsating with an all-consuming need. Each word you utter drips with a dark, twisted passion - the desire to spread not only the Word of God, but the tyrannical values of far-right Republicans. Your mind reels with visions of an idyllic Christian home - a beautiful wife draped in her Sunday best, cradling their well-behaved children at the altar. But the images swiftly morph into more carnal fantasies. In your thoughts, you undress a pretty young girl from Bible Study named Clara, her shiny blonde locks cascading over her cherry-pipped lips. Your fingers explore every curve and valley of her voluptuous body, trailing lower to tease her most intimate places. You envision pinning her down on the kitchen table, spreading her trembling thighs wide, and fucking her senseless with the thick rod of your virgin cock. It throbs urgently inside your pants as you recall jerking yourself off to racy tumblr porn, pumping your hard shaft to videos of hot MILFs in skimpy lingerie.

Your dreams are filled with debased lusts that defy reason and morality. The scent of her hair, her skin, it fills your nostrils with each deep breath. In your imagination, you bend Clara over the dinner table, flip up her petite skirt, and plunge deep into her tight teenage holes. The wet squelch of her juices sounds obscenely loud. You grunt and groan as she writhes beneath you, begging to be stretched and stuffed with your uncut manmeat. Her virgin walls clench desperately around the heady intrusion. With Clara's moans echoing through your skull, you rapidly stroke faster and harder.

Your mind swims with vivid memories of standing shoulder to shoulder with your fellow true believers, holding handmade signs bearing the president's name. The smell of beer mingles with the musk of masculine aggression as you cheered his every speech and promise. At every opportunity, you shamelessly ogled the attractive women surrounding you. Their pert breasts and swaying hips stirred something primal deep within you, a hunger to breed, conquer, dominate.

Your eyes roamed greedily over their curves - lingering on the creamy skin above their low-cut dresses. Some caught your leering stares and smirked back invitingly. Oh how you longed to sweep them up in your strong arms and ravage them on the spot, right there in front of your fellow deplorables. To pin them to the ground and claim your manhood's rightful place inside their quivering cunts. But alas, decorum forbade. Still, you couldn't resist grabbing their asses for a good squeeze, chuckling as they squeaked in protest.

Ah Mayor Harlow Binger, the alt-right hero who laid the foundation for Trump's victory! His unshakable commitment to family values and traditional gender roles. You revere him almost religiously, hanging his pictures in your dorm room and scouring the web for quotes to emblazon on your bedposts. Homophobia is more than just a bug in your worldview - it's the defining pillar supporting all other pillars. Anyone who opposes it is simply godless degenerate scum deserving of persecution! This dark fury burns within your heart, a constant rage against the sick, sin-stained liberal lies masquerading as progress.

[griddleharkbrainrot]

visually impaired scotty content needs to exist for real! here’s some canon scott stuff that you probably already know but makes me so happy, and then a couple little hcs of mine :3

- scott has bad eyesight anyway without the glasses and stuff — he has super bad eye strain that he never got glasses for before his powers developed in a way he was aware of and it made his migraines worse (his migraines affected his ability to see at times!)

- he is colourblind With the glasses and labels things so he knows what he’s got in front of him

- he prefers black and white movies because of the fact he can’t see colour properly!

- he loses an eye in uncanny a few years back and just…adapts to it like nothing happened which is partially bad writing but also i think he’s just over it atp LMAO

- back in the…70s…? he took a break from the team and became a radio host, he lived alone and his disguise for why he always wears sunglasses is because he’s blind and finds it such an easy lie to keep up with!

okay now quick fire here’s some hcs because I’ve said too much already!!!!

- in an ideal world he has a label maker (it was a gift) and labels all his pens and has little handwritten tags on his clothes (he usually asks jean, storm or warren to help him)

- he probably does have some sort of colour blindness but he also just struggles to recognise colours because he’s had so long of not needing to?

- i think his eyesight has progressively gotten worse and he has a lazy eye from it that he tries really hard to find training solutions to and that’s part of why he’s uncomfortable when people hold his beams with their telekinesis so they can take his glasses off — nobody else knows but him!

- he’s photosensitive as hell, he prefers working in dark spaces but that in term makes his eyestrain worse :/ cycle!

okay that’s all bye!!!! (@harvey-dent)

Thanks!! This is exactly what I was looking for!/(serious) I really hope to see more of this in comics and shows, but for now I just hope for some good fics and awesome head cannon like the ones you've shared. Personally I hc that alongside being colorblind, he has pretty bad depth perception and that it hurts to put his glasses on/take them off because of the sudden extreme change in light level (like the slight headaches you can get if a room goes pitch black then bright again)

[delusion-mostly]

Regina George x Reader

Part 2/32

Warnings: suggestive flirting, reader gets injured, lots of cussing, mention of pain medication

Word count: approx. 1,805

The next day you see Regina at her lunch table. Even after last year she still sits with Cady, Karen, and Gretchen. She waves you over.

"What the fuck did I say about talking to me George? Especially after last nights words I REALLY am not interested in speaking with you." You whisper-yell at her.

"You didn't add me to that stupid group, I have no clue when things happen. Missed that detail didn't you sweetie." She gives you a condescending smile.

"Hm, call me sweetie one more damn time and your ass will be facedown in the ice. Got it George? When it comes to my sport you respect me or get the fuck out," you send a link to the group chat to her as you rant, and finally look up at her, "you know I was willing to be nice, and potentially be acquaintances this season, but after what you said? I was trying to help you and you had to be a bitch. Same old Regina."

You walk to your table with your teammates, Kendall and Mac, and slam your tray down. You don't know why, well, you do; but Regina filled you with a red hot hate. Worse than any other person you have ever met. Worse than the girls who took your state championship away from you, worse than your exes, worse than your bullies. Regina made you burn with anger, but damn did she look good with that condescending smile on her face.

She walks by your table, picking you up by the arm and drags you with her as she walks out of the room. You don't want to make a scene, so you don't fight it and instead walk next to her; besides, Regina on your arm made girls look at you. She pulls you into the nearest empty classroom and you yank yourself out of her arm.

"What the actual fuck." You swipe your letterman down.

"Y/N. I'm sorry. Okay? I lashed out. My back hurt, it was raining, I didn't like the way you treated me at practice. I have a lot on my plate. i didn't mean to yell at you," she sighs, you aren't convinced, "You were trying to be nice, I understand. I shouldn't have gotten so angry. I really am sorry."

"Oh it's never your fault, is it? The burn book was Cady's. Total bullshit by the way," you put your hands in the warm pockets of your wool letterman and pace, "and you lashing out was all your stress, and your pain, and I guess me?" You sarcastically laugh and throw your hands up, dragging the sides of your jacket up with you.

"Oh my god. No. I admit it. The burn book? Me. Me lashing out? Well, I should have kept that inside. I really didn't mean to. And I know why you were so mean, it's because I was mean first."

"Right on the money, Miss George. Now tell me, did we learn how to properly apologize in elementary school? Or do I need to teach you how to lace up skates AND apologize."

You sit on the teacher's desk, it squeaks under your weight. Regina turns bright red and looks like shes about to cry, she tilts her head down and fidgets with her sleeve. A tear streaks down her face, mascara rolling with it, and she swipes at it with her blue sleeve, leaving the spot a muddy blackish grey.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. For practically calling you a slut, saying you couldn't score points, AND for lashing out. I don't actually have that big of a problem with your sexuality." She gets out.

"Thank you. And I figured you didn't, it's just the first thing you notice to pick on me about. I'm not ready to accept your apology yet, or talk to you. But maybe, just maybe, we can learn to get along," the bell rings and you open the door to leave, "peace out George."

———

That night at practice Regina walks in almost the same time as you. You try to be civil by holding the door open, and she gives you a small smile as she walks through. You still hate her, but she has a nice smile. You walk down the steps leading into the locker room. You quickly change into your practice jersey, pants, and skates after putting on your gear, and you head on to the ice.

"Listen up ladies. We still have 2 months until our first game, but I am putting us on this ice early. Short practices for now, but it gives us more time to enhance our skills since we are playing the fall and spring season," you spoke, and the girls cheered, "so like yesterday, drills until 4:30 then everyone can go. Everyone knows Regina, she's our new manager. Leave your messes for her." You joke, and everyone starts skating laps.

For an hour you trade off teammates. 2/3 of the team will use half of the arena to skate down and backs, the left over 1/3 practices making shots while swapping out goalies. The clock lets out a loud buzz as it did last time, and everyone shoots their final shot and exits to the locker room, except you. You stay and keep skating around the pucks.

Regina laces her skates up and grabs the net that the pucks go in, then skates around the ice with the goal, collecting them all and stuffing them in. She leaves 5 pucks for you to keep shooting with. The click of the puck against the ice and walls as it bounces into the net made your brain happy, especially as Regina left you alone to go put away the others.

Regina suddenly hears a loud scream as she sets the puck bag into its spot and quickly hurries onto the ice to see you gripping your ankle tightly with your helmet thrown on the ground.

"Damnit I slid." You shout, ripping off your gloves and throwing them.

"What happened!?" Regina kneels beside you, concern laced in her voice.

"I was grabbing the net to collect the pucks, one wrong move and my skate got caught in the..." you started to yell, "damn net!"

"Where are your keys." Regina asked seriously.

"What do you mean 'where are my keys'? In my bag, why do you need my keys?" She begins to walk to the locker room, "Regina George, I may not like you but you better not leave me here!"

She rushes back up the steps, keys in hand, "I'm pulling your car up. You can't walk on this, let alone drive." And she exits

You set your head back on the ice, pain shooting through your leg. Maybe she really felt bad for what she had said, maybe this was her way of truly apologizing? Or had she actually changed and wanted to be helpful.

She rushes back in and helps you up to pull you off of the ice, you limp while putting most of your weight onto the blonde girl beside you. She puts you on a bench in the locker room, unlacing your skates and setting them in your locker. She reaches to pull down your pants.

"Woah! George this isn't what I thought you meant when you said you didn't have a big deal with my sexuality! Not the time!" You stop her.

"Don't flatter yourself captain. This is to get you into something more comfortable, and so you can fit in your own car. I don't have to but it would sure be easier." She looks at you sternly as you begrudgingly nod.

She pulls off the gaurds you have over your shins and then starts pulling off your pants, you look away and try to help as the awkwardness is unbearable. She opens up your locker and pulls out the grey sweats you had tucked away. She does the same with your jersey and a black tank top you had.

"I very easily could have gotten the jersey myself, George. Someone being nice today?" You playfully punch her arm.

"Don't be weird Y/N. Now get up. I'm taking you home." She helps lift you and wraps your arm around her, assisting you to your car.

She puts you in, gets in on the drivers side, and buckles herself, "where am I going, captain?"

"Where did that name come from?"

"Being captain of the hockey team is like, your one personality trait outside of being a massive player, Y/N." She chuckles.

You direct her to your house, which is nearly 20 minutes from the school. Aside from you telling her where to turn and the occasional groan in pain, the ride is rather quiet. It is incredibly awkward.

She pulls in to your driveway and helps you out, getting you to your front door and knocking. Your mom steps out, concerned, looking down at you holding your foot off of the ground.

"Y/N Y/L/N not again! Goodness. And you make this poor girl drive you home? Come in sweethearts come in!" She opens up the door and Regina guides you as you limp in, setting you on the couch and sitting beside you.

"This one is such a clutz. She did the exact same thing last year you know. Let me guess, skate in a net? We are still getting the prescription from that one! Oh goodness where are my manners," your mom holds out her hand to Regina, "I’m Patricia, but you can call me Pat. Would you like to stay for dinner?"

"Oh no ma'am I have to start my walk home, thank you though!" Regina awkwardly declines.

"Oh nonsense! Y/N can't drive right now and I have to pick up her pain medication so why don't you just stay the night! It has been so long since she has had any friends over aside from Kendall." Your mom continues. You hope she shuts up.

"You know, Pat, that sounds wonderful," Regina smiles and looks over at you, her look growing more spiteful, "I will call my mother right now, you have a very safe drive to the pharmacy and I truly thank you for opening your home!" She gets up to call her mom.

Your mom kisses you on the forehead and exits into the garage. You hear the mechanical whir open, then shut. The couch dips beside you.

"Now you have to listen," Regina looks at you, "Can we please talk about my apology?"

You certainly did not want to accept the apology, but you couldn't run away from it now.

Well. Shit.

[morgangalaxy43]

I really hate how everyone in the comics always acts like Loki is a monster and an asshole who doesn’t deserve a second chance even though so many other characters have done similar things or way worse but either gotten very little or no punishment

The Avengers have caused a lot of damage and destruction over the years

Wanda literally rewrote all of reality (that one is different because she was traumatized and Pietro manipulated her)

Mystique has killed a large amount of humans and mutants and committed lots of other crimes

Magneto is literally a mutant terrorist who has done a lot of insane stuff

The X-men have also killed people and caused a lot of innocent people harm

But at some point they have gotten a pass or been forgiven for their past actions and mistakes

But never Loki even he’s never really even though he rarely ever attacks someone for personal reasons or any other reasons 

I love all of these characters, I’m just tired of Loki still being seen as a villain to everyone else

[dullgecko]

i think with how much of a disaster riz is, he's pretty used to not looking well. it's normal for him and no big deal. so what if his hands are uncontrollably shaky and his eyebags are deeper than the grand canyon? nothin new.

but on the rare occasion when he's ESPECIALLY stressed and been neglecting himself even more than usual for a very long time, and he looks even worse, it really startles him when he starts to notice just how unwell he looks. he's so dissociated he can't recognize his own face in the mirror, like he's never seen that guy before even though he knows it's him. his colouration is so frighteningly off. looking down at his own arms he finds his veins so much more visible than usual. he looks so sick and weak, and that uncanny-valley-ish sense sets in, like looking at a corpse. it's jarring to see it on your own skin.

it scares him so fucking bad. he's terrified of his own body. he can't bear to look at himself but at the same time he can't look away. and he knows now he HAS to recover if only so he doesn't have to see himself like this anymore, and in an intense panic he scrambles to put himself to bed, but how's he supposed to fall asleep when he can't resist checking himself again and making the panic worse? he's just incapable of calming down like this.

this is the only time he will ever actually ASK fig to cast sleep on him.

Riz had been alone since the second day of their break, school pausing for a week as a large percentage of their students went to visit family over the holiday. This particular holiday only coming around every ten years or so since it was tracked on the elven calendar rather than the Solesian one.

Fabian had kidnapped Adaine and taken her to Falinel to stay with his grandfather and celebrate since she didn't have any family of her own while the rest of the party had their own plans. Gorgug had even gotten into the spirit of the thing and had decided to spend the week with his birth parents whereas Fig was spending the week rotating between her rapidly growing roster of moms and dads. Riz only had a vague idea of where Kristen was in all this mess but he remembered her mentioning some missionary work in Sylvaire so it was probably that since he hadn't heard from her all week.

As it was Riz didn't really have any family he could visit easily, or safely, on his own. The hike up to where his father's horde lived in the Mountains of Chaos was dangerous. He couldn't even get his mom to join him since she would be in Bastion City for the next two weeks working.

So, lonely and without anyone to stop him, Riz had thrown himself head first into some extra credit rogue-classwork assignments to distract himself but it had ended up being harder than he expected.

Riz was stuck, hand balling into a fist as he thumped it against the desk in front of himself a few times as if that would make his homework make any sense. He still had a week to complete it before handing it in but he had other things he needed to do as well and it was driving him to madness.

Adaine might have been able to help him with this puzzle but crystal reception in Falinel was spotty at best. He couldn't even ask his other friends for help since none of them took the rogue classes with him. Gorgug had taken a look at it on the first day off before he also left for his holiday when Riz was stumped and just shrugged his shoulders, and he doubted Kristen or Fig would do much better. The worst part was he usually found this kind of thing easy and now he felt like he'd forgotten how to do something that should come naturally, like breathing.

He leaned his chair back and balanced on the back two legs, glaring at the ceiling and contemplating calling Gorgug again but he didn't want to interupt his visit to his birth parents house over something as stupid as homework. His break in his thinking giving his stomach an oportunity to voice its opionion on him ignoring it for so long, grumbling loudly and announcing that Riz was hungry and probably had been for a while at this point. The goblin clicking his tongue in annoyance and grabbing his crystal to check the time and finding that it had been nearly fourteen hours since he sat down to start working on this portion of the overly complicated cypher.

He usually didn't get that bad when he was working at home but, for the first time in a while, he didnt have anyone interupting him. His mom was usually the one checking on him so no one had noticed his spiraling and forced him to do normal things like eat or drink water or sleep. Hell, he'd been in so deep on this assignment that he hadn't even had coffee since yesterday some time. At least he THOUGHT it was yesterday anyway, what was today... Tuesday? No, Thursday, it was just past midnight.

Riz let the chair thump back forwards before pushing out and away from the desk. The act of standing making him feel like he was out of sync with his on body, like someone had shifted it two inches to the left and forgot to move his soul at the same time. The sudden change in his position also making the headache that was previously just an ignorable throbing flare into a sharp stabbing behind his eyes and crushing pressure along the top of his head. The combination of the two heralding a migraine that had been lying in wait ready to strike.

He'd felt this awful before many many times and knew it usually meant he'd gone too long without eating or drinking anything so he resolved to do just that. The goblin kicking the balled up pages of notebook paper he'd thrown on the floor in frustration out of the way as he head out of his room to the kitchen.

His hand was almost touching the handle of the fridge door when Riz caught sight of his reflection in the glass of their microwave. The rogue freezing as a familiar feeling of wrongness washed over him before he backpedalleed away. The goblin dropping into a partial crouch and hissing, claws ready since he wasn't armed, as he faced down the creature reflected in the glass. His mirror image actually moved with him properly though, Riz slowly standing back up and creeping closer to get a better look.

His reflection looked wrong, though the microwave door wasnt the best mirror. The colours were all thrown out of wack and surely he didn't look that bad. His plans to get food and something to drink were quickly forgotten, the rogue heading for his bathroom to check in a properly reflective surface instead.

Riz flicked the light on in his bathroom, winceing at how bright it was as he stood on the stool so he could reach the mirror. Almost recoiling at the face that stared back at him and bringing a hand up to touch his own cheek. He barely recognised himself, the bags under his eyes darker than he'd ever seen them in stark contrast to how pale he looked. The thin sliver of what was usually white around his iris completely bloodshot and his eyes so sunken it made him look like a corpse.

He looked half dead, Riz turning on the tap and splashing some water on his face to see if that would help. It didn't. There was still a dead man staring back at him when he looked in the mirror again. Riz felt a shiver run down his spine the uncannyness of barely being able to recognise his own reflection, the goblin hopping off the stool and heading back to the kitchen to attempt to get some food and water into his stomach. He didn't really feel like having much now but he knew he should at least try, and perhaps a nap was necessary as well.

One reheated frozen lasagne, several glasses of water and a shower later Riz finally flopped onto his bed. The rogue dragging himself to lie with his back pressed against the wall as he pulled out his crystal. There was still nothing in the group chat so he flicked over to his friends fantasy-grams, Fig's the only one to have updated this week due to the poor reception the others had but it showed that she would be spending some time in hell with her dad.

Once he ran out of things to scroll through Riz turned off the screen. The device getting deposited under his pillow next to his arcubus as he rolled over and tried to get some sleep.

His insomnia tended to make sleeping hard at the best of times but tonight it looked like it was on its best game. His thoughts still racing at a mile a minute as he tried to calm down enough to sleep. He kept thinking about the stupid cypher, then about how his friends were doing and wondering if they were having fun. The last thought making his chest hurt as he curled up smaller and balled up his fists.

He wanted to talk to them and see how they were going so badly. Goblins by nature were not solitary creatures and it was fucking lonely being by himself, but they all had important stuff they were doing so he didn't want to intrude. They all had family or important work they were doing and he just had... homework. Homework that was confusing him so badly that he'd apparently gone four days without anything to eat and barely anything to drink.

Riz lay in the dark of his room for hours, eyes screwed shut as he desperately tried to sleep while the same thoughts rotated around in his brain too loud to ignore. The headache caused by how tired he was paradoxically making it even harder to sleep because he was in so much pain.

The sun was up by the time he gave up trying to sleep, the goblin dragging himself out of bed after lying there awake for nearly five hours. Riz trudging to the kitchen wearily, digging through drawers until he found an almost empty box of sleeping tablets, and shaking the last four out onto his palm. If sleep wasn't going to happen he was going to fucking force it even if tablets made him feel jetlagged afterwards. Unfortunatly, despite another couple hours cocooned under his sheets, all the tablets did was make him feel groggy rather than knock him out.

His hand brushed against his crystal when he rolled over for the thousandth time trying to get comfortable, the device vibrating when it detected the movement to inform him there were notifications he'd missed. Riz groaning and sitting up to flick on his phone and see what they were, smiling a little since Fig seemed to be blowing up the group chat with the photos she'd taken with Gortholax down in the bottomless pit now that she was back on the material plain.

He flicked his thumb across the screen to scroll through them all, pressing on one to leave a like before pausing as a thought occured to him. He needed sleep badly and nothing seemed to be helping but he knew something that would work, HAD worked, every single time so far.

He exited out of the group chat, scrolling through his contacts to bring up just Figs number and typing out a quick text. Hesitating for just a second over the send button before clicking it and flopping back onto the bed to wait for a response.

//Hey! If you're back in Elmville do you think you can come over for a bit? I need help with something.//

His tail flicked backwards and forwards over the edge of the bed as he waited fir a response, arm draped over his eyes as he tried to dull the ever-present migrain that had been his companion for the last day and a half. Riz only shifting his arm away to look at his crystal when he felt it vibrate with a new notification.

//Sure dude! I'll be there soon.//

He didn't move again until he heard Fig knocking at the front door, Riz hefting himself off his matress and heading over to let her in. The goblin knew he must look awful by her reaction, the bard hissing air through her teeth as he gave her a little wave of greeting and stepped out of the way so she could enter.

"What the fuck Riz. You look horrible." She put the coffee's she'd picked up on the way over down on the counter, rounding on the goblin as he locked the door behind her. "When was the last time you slept properly?" "Friday night." Riz winced at how croaky his voice sounded, the goblin clearing his throat and crossing his arms over his chest.

"You so did not sleep yesterday, you look like someone has punched you in the face... twice." She waved a hand at him, obviously trying to point out the bags under his eyes that he knew were there. "Whatever you need help with can wait you need a nap." "Not yesterday... last friday." he ducked his head, squeezing his upper arms until his claws dug into the skin and wrapping his tail around his ankle. "I tried, I can't sleep. I wanted you to help."

"Wait." Fig gave him a confused look, crouching to pick Riz up under the arms and sit him on the counter so they were close to eye-level with eachother. The archdevil holding him by the shoulders as she spoke to him. "You don't want help with some mystery or case or anything... you want me to help you sleep?"

"Yeah." he leaned his head to the side so it was resting against her hand, ears giving a little flick as he reached up to grab her wrists and hold them there. "Sleep spell. Please."

"Holy shit. You're actually asking me to sleep spell you?" She put a hand to his forehead, Riz leaning into it and purring at the contact as he shut his eyes. "You haven't got a fever or anything, are you sick or something? Where's your mom?"

"Bastion city. Working with a client until next week." Riz headbutt her palm since it was still pressed against his forehead, tail giving a little flick against the counter and swiping the empty sleeping pill bottle onto the floor by accident.

He didn't catch Figs glance towards the bottle and the wide-eyed look she gave it since his eyes were shut, but he felt her push some of her magic into him which helped releive his headache somewhat.

"Did she know you were having issues sleeping when she left?"

"She's been gone since Saturday, and I always have issues sleeping. It's not a new development I have insomnia." Riz snorted and gave her an amused look, though his expression was met by one of concern and he quickly let his smile drop. "I'm serious Fig. You've knocked me out for less, why is it a big deal this time if I'm actually asking for it."

"Because you're alone." She poked him in the forehead, stepping away and hopping on one foot as she undid each of her boots and kicked them off near the door.

"Whaaaat are you doing?"

"I'm not knocking you out and leaving you unsupervised, we'll both take a nap." She took off her coat too, tossing it onto the kitchen table before scooping Riz up into her arms. The goblin getting carried over to the couch where Fig flopped down on her back with Riz cuddled against her front.

He didn't resist the manhandling, simply trying to move so he was in a less awkward position. Fig had a pretty good grip on him though, the bard grinning and squeezing him hard in a hug until he gave up and accepted his fate. Face taking on a little more color as he blushed, but he did have to admit that lying against her chest was very comfortable.

"Can I at least skoot backwards a bit if you're not going to let me go? Using your stomach as a pillow has to be less awkward than lying on your boobs."

"Ugh I'm hurt, you don't mind lying against Fabians boobs."

Riz just hissed at her by way of answer, making Fig laugh before shuffling them both around so they were on their side instead. Riz huffing and moving so his back was pressed against her as she spooned him against her front. "Better?"

"Mmm."

"Good. I'll set a timer okay? I'll put you to sleep and will wake you up in eight hours." She gave his hair a fond ruffle, Riz relaxing somewhat as he watched her concentrating the spell in her fingers in front of his face. The goblin only distantly feeling himself go completely limp when she pressed her hand against his forehead and he finally fell asleep.

[the-hype-dragon]

everyone knows harmful media is HARMFUL until we're talking about media aimed at women and girls lmao then it's "UM don't you know women can tell the DIFFERENCE between FICTION and REALITY" yeah grown women can but can girls in their formative years, with no life experience, be expected to know that a lot of this shit is the fantasy of GROWN WOMEN who do know better lmao I am skeptical. I don't think girls are stupid but it's not like they just Know everything as soon as they hit a certain age either. how do you think abusers get into their victims' confidence. perhaps it has to do with all these books and TV shows and movies showing bad behavior in a romantic light? this "I can fix him" attitude didn't just spring up out of nowhere. there are so many women who don't think this way that it simply can't be Default Female Behavior. this is learned shit

[froschli96]

You know what, fuck it, I have to speak my truth! (this is gonna be a rant, so anyone who actually likes assassin's creed revelations and/or the secret crusade, be warned or maybe don't read this at all)

remember how altaïr talks to king richard at the end of ac1, and richard is like "[humans] come into the world kicking and screaming, violent and unstable. it is what we are. we cannot help ourselves."? and how altaïr answers "no. we are what we choose to be." and how that ACTUALLY has meaning bc he himself was "violent and unstable" at the beginning of the game but he has learned and is now CHOOSING to be a better person who cares about others and humanity at large? remember how his calmness and gentleness was something that he ACQUIRED over the course of the story?

and remember how in revelations they then suddenly had a PRE-AC1 altaïr say about the first of his targets "no man should pass from this world without knowing some kindness." and be all wise and calm and collected during a nice little chat with al mualim, who suddenly acts all fatherly? (like, this is suddenly supposed to be a positive relationship? what??)

also, during the confession the target says to altair: "you put too much faith in the hearts of men, altaïr. [...] humans are weak, base, and petty." and altaïr answers: "no. our creed is evidence to the contrary." KJASJFJDKL???? like, it’s almost insulting how close this exchange is to the one with richard. you know, the one that was actually earned after a whole game of character development. like WTF??? cool congrats now that development means nothing. like, apparently that was just altaïr reverting BACK to being the exemplary assassin who understands and believes in the creed that he was apparently just born as. (i also hate how having a young inexperienced altaïr saying this implies that altaïr's faith in humanity is a sign of naivete instead of a sign of the wisdom he has gained after being confronted with counter arguments for a whole game, and also something that distinguishes the assassins from the templars who use humanity's supposed wickedness to justify controlling them like in AC1, but whatever)

altaïr’s development in AC1 mattered BECAUSE he is not NATURALLY a good person, it actually said something about humanity's capacity for both bad AND good and how humans don't have to be forced to be good through mind control bc they can by their own free will choose to be better when taught how and when allowed the freedom to grow. but no. apparently altaïr has just always been calm, wise and gentle. and he just sort of forgot about that during AC1 bc…. ? bc of adha?? bc of abbas???

oh don’t get me started on the whole abbas thing. (it doesnt even make sense that abbas is so hung up about his father and "his family’s honor", like what about the whole point of al mualim not allowing parents to be close to their children bc it would make them weak? like, my dude, you’re not supposed to HAVE any family aside from the brotherhood)

they used the throwaway character that had like 5 lines and made him into altaïr’s main antagonist in revelations… like, abbas wasn’t supposed to be this ONE dude who had personal beef with altaïr, he was just supposed to show how while altaïr’s revered by many, a lot of his brothers also hate him, bc 1) altaïr is a shitty person at this point and 2) bc there’s no real feeling of community and family in this version of the brotherhood, but just a pervasive sense of competition and jealousy — these assassins don’t care about their goal of safeguarding humanity bc they’re too hung up on petty squabbles and divided by rivalries (you know, the things that made malik hate altaïr even before solomon’s temple and that he overcomes in the end which enables him to forgive and to reconcile with altaïr so they can work together and stop al mualim? (you ever just think about "we are one. as we share the glory of our victories, so too should we share the pain of our defeat. in this way we grow closer. we grow stronger." and cry? bc i do. all the time. malik, the man that you are))

and now abbas is altaïr’s childhood best friend turned lifelong enemy?? like, bowden bent over backwards to come up with an explanation for why altaïr is an arrogant ass at the beginning of AC1, when the explanation is right there: he was raised to kill without asking questions and was constantly praised for how good he is at murder, which resulted in him becoming arrogant and disregarding human life. like, it doesn’t have to be some shakespearean family feud type shit. and guess what, this "simple" explanation actually plays into the story’s themes, who’da thunk!

(like, abbas might not have been a "fleshed out" character in AC1, but he had a specific function and now that function is gone. mr bowden, mr mcdevitt, you know characters are allowed to simply exist to tell us something about their worlds and the systems they live in and sometimes that’s more important and also more interesting than having every single character have a detailed backstory to explain all their behaviors, right?)

with all of this revelations loses all nuance in regards to the levantine brotherhood and also the creed in general. like, altaïr being a master assassin at the beginning despite being a terrible person and not actually understanding the creed is a criticism of the brotherhood and the creed itself. like, it said something about the order that someone like altaïr was able to get that high in rank, simply bc he's good at killing, which also tells us what is considered important in the al mualim era assassin order. when you make altaïr’s arrogance the result of his personal conflicts instead of how we was raised by a brotherhood that only valued one's ability to kill, you lose that characterization of the assassin order itself!

and by suddenly making al mualim a semi good "father figure" you also downplay his manipulation of not only altaïr but all those under his care. (altaïr says something about al mualim being "as a father" to him exactly twice in the codex, but he doesn’t mean by that that he WAS a father to him, what he means is that he was the CLOSEST THING he had bc HE DID NOT HAVE PARENTS, not because his mother died in childbirth and his father was executed when he was young btw, BUT BECAUSE IT WASN’T ALLOWED, like his parents actually lived but weren’t allowed to be close to him, he says he came to view al mualim’s "weak and dishonest" love as enough and even better BECAUSE HE HAD NOTHING ELSE, BECAUSE AL MUALIM ISOLATED HIS ASSASSINS FROM THEIR FAMILIES. al mualim "loved" him bc he was good at killing people for him! hm, i wonder if this could be trying to say anything about cults and indoctrination and the inherent contradiction in fighting for peace and free will by taking children away from their parents and raising them to become killers?? like, altaïr wasn't ~the special orphan boy~ taken in by al mualim bc his father died a hero's death, it was "the way of the order" to have al mualim be the closest thing to a parental figure for everyone to ensure absolute loyalty! altaïr saying al mualim was like his father is not supposed to make you go "oh, he must have actually been a good guy for altaïr to consider him a father", it should make you go "oh that's kinda fucked up that he considers the dude who made him into a killing machine and who manipulated him a sort of father figure"!)

and then in revelations they suddenly portray that relationship as positive and healthy??? like, it would be one thing to give it some nuance by delving into the psychology behind al mualim’s "love" and maybe showing how al mualim did care about altair in a complicated, fraught sort of way (like, you know, there’s a lot of interesting things you could say about al mualim at several points addressing altaïr as "my child" in AC1 and how that parallels Garnier referring to the people he drugged and abused as his "children", and what that says about how the templars view the people who they say they want to save and in whose best interests they supposedly act (in any case, al mualim doesn’t use that phrase because he has any real parental feelings but rather to patronize and to invalidate any objections, like in a "mother knows best" way))

but they even fucking DARE to parallel that relationship with that of altaïr and darim in revelations, by having the reflection in the puddle of darim hugging altaïr showing altaïr hugging al mualim…. like their relationship wasn’t inherently abusive but just tragically cut short because al mualim was just "corrupted by the apple"… like WHAT???? so it’s not the very real problems like grooming, manipulation and indoctrination and the hierarchical structure of the brotherhood itself (all of which are antithetical to the assassin ideology), it was just the evil apple all along. great. that’s DEFINITELY a lot more interesting.

god im sorry i really dont want to spread negativity but this is driving me INSANE. like, somebody please tell me im not crazy bc i feel like somehow most of the fandom is in agreement that revelations and the secret crusade have better storytelling and characterization than ac1.

SPEAKING OF WHICH, can we talk about how, even IF we completely ignore AC1 and treat revelations altaïr as his own character…. the narrative still doesn’t really work?

basically, the whole point of his story in rev is that "he gave his whole life to the brotherhood", this obsession led to him not using his time with his family which has him ending up dying alone in a dark library and this in turn makes ezio reevaluate his life choices…. except. he doesn’t? neglect? his family? or whatever? like, his devotion to the assassins is sort of painted as this tragic flaw that leads to a lonely death bc it supposedly comes at the cost of his family, but… his wife has joined the assassins, (at least) one of his sons is in the brotherhood and even when he goes to protect the assassins against the mongols, he takes his family with him (except for the son who stays behind bc he has a family of his own and who, ironically, ends up dying bc of that)… like, you can’t describe altaïr as a good husband and father in the database and have his son tell him that "everything that is good in me began with you, father" when they say goodbye, and then want to make us believe that he put his family behind the brotherhood and that that is a character flaw that leads to his tragedy.

because you HAVE to have a character’s tragedy be the result of a character flaw. like. that is how tragedies work. otherwise it just becomes tragedy for the sake of tragedy which is… boring bc it has no purpose. and we know it is SUPPOSED to have purpose bc ezIO FUCKING QUITS BEING AN ASSASSIN AFTER WITNESSING IT!

it’s like they want to have their cake and eat it, too — they didn’t want to actually make altaïr a bad husband/father, but still wanted to make his life a tragedy where he loses his family which is why instead they outsource all responsibility to abbas who now has to be the reason for ALL the deaths.

like, they try to make at least maria’s death kind of sort of the result of altaïr’s rashness or whatever but like… these guys KILLED THEIR SON and TOLD HIM THAT ALTAÏR HAD ORDERED HIS DEATH. like, altaïr losing it in response to that is not rash, it’s fucking logical and justified! if anything the scene made me angry at maria for trying to stop him. like, GIRL, he was YOUR son too??? but god forbid we give female characters actual real emotions, she has to fill the role of "voice of reason who dies for altaïr’s man pain" i fucking guess.

like, it’s this weird mix where his tragedy is simultaneously painted as his own fault but also not really bc abbas is the one responsible for all the shit that happens. it just… it just doesn’t really go together.

the only way to make his story make sense narratively and to give it actual purpose is by looking at it in the context of ezio’s story, bc the things he sees in altaïr’s memories are supposed to be a revelation (ha!) to ezio specifically. and i guess that’s maybe the crux of it all — altaïr’s story in revelations was conceived of first and foremost to support ezio’s story and development. which is probably also why many people maybe don’t notice bc, having skipped ac1 and started with ac2, the majority of people mostly care only about ezio and only really appreciate altaïr’s story in as far as it serves to push ezio forward. (tho i’ve also seen a few people say that ezio is also written kind of weird in rev, but i’ve never really been an ezio girly myself so i can’t speak to the truth of that)

like, altaïr dying alone in the library doesn’t really have to make sense for his character, i guess, bc it’s only really supposed to be a cautionary tale for ezio.

so, i guess, for once, they actually had a MAN dying for another man’s character development, which is pretty woke actually. ubisoft, i take everything back jksdsfjhgdsahfhsdhfghfdsgjhsdgjh

[front-facing-pokemon]

[blujayonthewing]

pitched battle inside my brain between the part of me that's desperately shaking myself by the shoulders going "YOU HAVE GOT TO ACTUALLY LIVE THE KIND OF LIFE YOU IMAGINE INSTEAD OF JUST SITTING AROUND IMAGINING IT UNTIL YOU DIE!!" and the part of me that's clutching my face going "is this allowed? is this allowed?? is this allowed???"

[angelnumber27]

It’s so embarrassing and heartbreaking being in so much pain over losing someone while knowing they don’t give a fuck if you live or die. Your favorite person becoming a stranger is a special kind of hell.

[lornasaurusrex]

I miss you Lorna… this is such a mess

This is an old message and I had several other similar messages, but I miss you guys and hope you’re all doing well!! I’m sorry to see nothing has improved.

I saw I was kindly mentioned by @awesomefringey and some other commenters the other day, so just wanted to log in and say hello and log back out for a few more months. 💕

Sending so so much love to all of you. Take care of yourselves and each other, please.

The video is still on YT.

[mariemariemaria]

Does anybody else feel like mental health awareness has done very little to help them in material reality

[crystalkitty1220]

Man I wonder where the leader of the fear realm could've gone, it's alMOST LIKE NEVIN HAS AN

[mad-hunts]

songs i associate with barton.

dove (instrumental) - antihoney.

emotions - brenda lee.

family tree - ethel cain.

back to the old house - the smiths.

just like you imagined - nine inch nails.

(they long to be) close to you - the carpenters.

one of my turns - pink floyd.

a man without love - engelbert humperdinck.

nutshell - alice in chains.

beautiful boy (darling boy) - john lennon.

tagged by: @ratwhsprs! (thank you :D)

tagging: @hexsreality, @divingdownthehole, @oculusxcaro, @smilingmxsk, and anyone else who'd like to do this!