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capuccinodoll · 2 days ago

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The boyfriend act, part 2: "The one with the purring traitor" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader

Chapter summary: You and Frankie hash out the details of your fabricated story, all while enduring the blatant betrayal of your own cat and your brother’s relentless teasing. WC: 8.4K

A/N: Hi everyone! I'm so happy to see how much you enjoyed the first chapter of TBA! Your comments mean the world to me—I absolutely love reading them, and I hope you love this part just as much <3 let me know what u think ;) Don't forget to lmk if u want to be added to the tag list, and follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications <3

Friday, August 9th. One day before the party.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, the sound breaking the quiet of your bedroom. You set your book down, its pages splaying open across the blanket, and rolled onto your side to grab your phone. The screen lit up.

[Unknown number]: Outside.

You exhaled sharply, a breath that sounded louder than it needed to. Your stomach twisted, a faint ripple of nerves spreading through you.

Five minutes later, Frankie stood in the center of your living room, his hands planted firmly on his hips. His brows were drawn together, his expression impatient as he watched you move around the kitchen. The faint smell of tea leaves and honey filled the air as you poured hot water into your mug.

“You don’t seem to be in much of a rush,” he said finally, his voice carrying the faintest edge of irritation.

You glanced at him briefly, your hand stirring the tea as if to say he could wait.

“What’s the rush? The party isn’t until tomorrow.”

Frankie didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked around the room, his eyes flicking to the books stacked on the coffee table, the blanket draped haphazardly over the arm of the couch, the quiet clutter of a space lived in but not always tidy. He shifted his weight, his boots scuffing lightly against the floor, the impatience practically radiating off him.

You blew on your tea, meeting his gaze over the rim of your mug.

“You look like you’re about to explode. Sit down, you’re making me nervous pacing around like that,” you said as you walked past him, your hand cradling the warm mug. “Are you sure you don’t want anything to drink?”

Frankie hesitated for a moment, then dropped into the couch across from you. He ran a hand through his already messy hair, making it stick up at odd angles.

“What do you have that isn’t hot?”

You settled into the couch, the mug resting on the coffee table in front of you. The surface was cluttered with your used stickynotes, a few receipts, coasters, and an old pen you didn’t remember leaving there.

“Water, iced tea, a couple of cans of soda.”

Frankie leaned back, only to be interrupted by Mr. Darcy, your perpetually attention-seeking cat. The tabby appeared from the side of the couch, his soft meow high-pitched and delicate as he rubbed himself against Frankie’s leg. You frowned, betrayed.

Frankie leaned down, his hand immediately stroking the cat’s fur, and Mr. Darcy responded with a loud purr.

“What kind of soda?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Sorry, I didn’t know my guest was royalty. Next time, send a list of your preferences in advance, princess.”

He lifted his head and rested his elbows on his knees, leaning closer with an expression that was almost amused. Almost.

“I just asked what fucking flavor. Relax.”

“Coke.”

“I’ll take one.”

You stood with an exaggerated sigh, letting it linger in the air, but refrained from commenting on his lack of manners. The word please seemed allergic to his vocabulary, but you didn’t feel like pointing it out. Not today.

When you returned, you set the can of Coke down on the glass coaster on the table and took your seat again. Frankie reached for the drink, his fingers brushing the cold metal as he popped it open. The hiss of carbonation filled the quiet, mingling with the soft hum of Mr. Darcy’s purring at his feet.

“Okay, tell me about them,” you said, your tone clipped and businesslike, as if the two of you were about to negotiate the terms of a merger. You folded your hands neatly on your lap and fixed your gaze on him. Frankie, meanwhile, was focused on the can of Coke he’d just opened. He tilted it to his lips, taking a long sip. The way his throat moved as he swallowed made you glance away, irritated for no good reason.

When he finally set the can down on the coaster, he looked up at you.

“My mother’s name is Helena. She’s kind, easygoing. And observant. She’ll be watching us like a hawk the entire time. She already has her doubts about... all this.” He gestured vaguely, as if to encompass the entirety of the situation. “So we can’t get sloppy.”

You leaned back, crossing your arms over your chest.

“That’s going to be difficult, don’t you think?”

“Well, you’ll have to cooperate.”

You scoffed, an expression of mock offense crossing your face.

“I have to cooperate?”

“Yes. You.”

“Believe it or not, Francisco,” you said, leaning forward ,“I’m very nice. Easy to get along with. Mothers adore me.”

Frankie raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching like he was suppressing a laugh.

“That may be,” he said, his tone skeptical. “But I can’t risk even one slip in this... circus. If we let our mutual... our mutual thing show, she’ll catch on immediately. Believe me.”

You mirrored his arched eyebrow, matching his energy.

“Fine. Just be nice to me, and I’ll be nice to you. I promise.” You let the words hang for a moment, watching as he relaxed just slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing. Then you added, sweetly, “I just want you to remember, at all times, that no matter how nice and lovely I am, it’s all a lie.”

Frankie leaned back, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. “Noted.”

The he exhaled heavily, rolling his eyes as if to physically expel his frustration. His hand moved to his neck, fingers brushing the skin in an absentminded gesture, like he was trying to ground himself. Mr. Darcy, ever the opportunist, leapt onto the couch beside him, his sleek tail flicking against Frankie’s arm. The cat’s head butted into him in what looked like a gentle plea for attention. You watched the scene for a moment, torn between amusement and suspicion, your lips pressed into a thin line.

“Just get a grip, okay? You can’t react to everything I say like it’s a personal attack.”

You arched an eyebrow, leaning back slightly with your cup in hand.

“And what about you?”

“What about me?” He leaned forward again, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped tightly together like he was preparing for some kind of intervention.

“You have to behave yourself too. Sometimes, you don’t even realize how nasty you’re being. Maybe it flies under the radar for most people, but if your mom is as observant as you claim—and she’s your mother, so obviously she knows you well—she’s going to pick up on all those little micro-attitudes. Immediately.”

You delivered the last word like a verdict, your tone carrying the weight of someone speaking to a particularly stubborn child. To your surprise, Frankie didn’t argue. Instead, he nodded slowly, his expression calm, even thoughtful.

“Yeah. I can do that.”

“Good,” you replied, watching him carefully as you lifted your cup to your mouth, the faint steam curling around your face. You let the warm liquid sit on your tongue, satisfied—for now—that you might have just come to an agreement with the most impossible person you’d ever met.

Frankie began describing his family in broad strokes, filling in the blanks with enough detail that you felt as if you were piecing together a portrait of his life. You listened intently, committing everything to memory like a student preparing for a crucial exam.

Helena, his mother, was the first to come up. She was fifty-nine, a literature teacher with a reputation for being kind but quietly persuasive. Frankie mentioned that she had a particular way of asking questions that felt more like peeling back layers than making polite conversation. She still lived in Austin, sharing a house with his youngest sister, Maia, ever since his father passed away almost two years ago. That detail hung in the air for a beat longer than the others, but he moved on quickly.

Luna, his oldest sister, was next. She was forty, an interior designer based in Boston, and from Frankie’s tone, it was clear she had a strong presence in the family. “Kind, funny, a little overbearing,” he said, his mouth twitching slightly, as if recalling an incident that perfectly illustrated her character. She was married to Henry, a wealthy architect fifteen years her senior. Frankie made a point to say that Henry was a good man—honest and big-hearted—and seemed to mean it. Together, they had a ten-year-old son named Jamie.

Sofía came next, the middle sister. She was thirty-eight and owned a flower shop. Frankie described her as friendly and warm but also hinted at a guardedness beneath her cheerful exterior. She lived in Austin with her sixteen-year-old daughter, Grace, a name that carried an air of quiet reverence when he said it. You wondered what Grace was like, if she carried more of her mother’s warmth or her uncle’s sharp edges. For the sake of her, you hoped for the first option.

Finally, there was Maia. Twenty-nine, a graphic designer, and still living at home with Helena. Frankie hesitated before speaking about her, his expression shifting slightly. “Of all of them,” he said, almost reluctantly, “she’s the most complicated.” Not because she was difficult or unpleasant—quite the opposite. Maia, he explained, was the kind of person who could see through walls, so perceptive it was almost unnerving. “She’ll figure us out if we’re not careful,” he warned, his tone heavy with certainty.

By the time he finished, you felt like you’d been handed a dossier. Each name and detail was a thread you knew you’d need to hold tightly. You nodded as he spoke, mentally sorting the names and faces into a map of relationships you’d need to navigate. This was going to be more than a performance—it was going to be a test.

Frankie exhaled, slapping his palm against his thigh with a finality that felt rehearsed, like he was drawing a line under the conversation.

“That’s it, I think,” he said, his tone flat as his eyes lingered on you.

But you weren’t ready to let him off the hook. Squinting slightly, you folded your arms across your chest and leaned back into the couch.

“And what about you?” you asked, tilting your head as if that might give you a different angle on him.

He raised an eyebrow.

“You know me,” he replied with unearned confidence.

You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth, letting the sound punctuate the silence before glancing away. Amusement tugged at the corners of your lips as you brought your gaze back to him.

“I don’t know anything about you. All I know is what little Santi’s told me, what I’ve overheard here and there... that’s it.”

“That’s something,” Frankie interjected, leaning back slightly as he crossed his arms, lifting his chin with a smugness that made your fingers itch to knock him down a peg. “Go on, then. Tell me what you know.”

His expression dared you, and you met it with a smirk of your own.

“Fine,” you said, sitting up straighter and pressing your lips together in mock seriousness. “You’re in your thirties, you live alone, you’re a pilot, you like beer... Oh, and apparently, you can devour a whole burger and fries in under ten minutes.”

Frankie snorted, like he couldn’t quite decide whether to laugh or call you ridiculous. He held your gaze, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to wait you out. But the smirk stayed on your face, unwavering, and eventually, he sighed.

“I’m thirty-five,” he said finally, his voice measured and calm, as though reciting facts from a resume. “I live alone, yeah. Used to be in the CAG, but I retired a few years ago. Personal reasons. Now I’m teaching pilots-in-training over at the JPA.”

“Oh, right, I already knew that. That’s where you met Santi, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“And what were you doing there? He never told me much.”

“I’ll tell you some other time,” he said, sounding either annoyed or uncomfortable—it was hard to tell. “Do you know what CAG stands for?”

"Tell me."

“Combat Application Group,” Frankie said, his tone steady, measured. “Do you know what that is?”

You arched an eyebrow, shaking your head.

His lips curled into a faint, humorless smile.

“Then they’re doing their job right. They change the name every so often. Some people know it as Delta Force.” He paused, his eyes searching yours, as if testing how much you could handle. “I was part of the CAG for most of my military career.”

For the first time, you found yourself leaning forward, your interest genuine, your usual quips momentarily silenced. Frankie seemed to notice, his expression softening slightly, though the seriousness never left his face.

“Why did you retire? What happened?”

For a fleeting second, his eyebrows twitched.

“Personal issues,” he said again.

You exhaled through your nose, sitting back slightly.

“I’m supposed to be your girlfriend. Shouldn’t I know that?”

He sighed. Shaking his head just enough to let you know he wasn’t budging, he replied:

“No one in my family is going to ask you about it.”

You studied him, your eyes narrowing slightly, searching for any crack in the armor he wore so carefully. But Frankie didn’t flinch. His shoulders remained squared, his gaze firm, the set of his mouth resolute. Whatever lay behind the personal thing was locked away, and it was clear he wasn’t going to hand you the key.

After a few more seconds of silence, you nodded, more to yourself than to him.

"Okay, I get it,” you said with a sigh, letting your gaze fall to your hands resting in your lap. For a moment, you traced invisible patterns on your palm, your tone edging toward resignation. “What do you want me to tell you about me?”

“Nothing. I know enough.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.”

“I’m not trying to be mean. Santi has told me what’s necessary. I know enough to get by.”

“Oh, really? Enlighten me,” you said, folding your arms across your chest, your tone daring.

Frankie gave you a slow, confident smile, as if he’d been preparing for this moment.

“You’re twenty-nine years old. Santi’s your only brother. You studied Literature, and you’ve been running your dad’s bookshop for, what, six years now?” He paused briefly, letting the words settle before continuing. “You like cats. Movies—especially horror movies. You love the cold, which is ironic since you’re from Austin, where it’s basically summer all year. And you’re... well, I wouldn’t describe you as outdoorsy or... or adventurous.”

He glanced at you with a faint smirk just as your expression twisted in a mixture of surprise and mild disgust. His hand dropped to pet Mr. Darcy, who had curled up beside him, purring softly. “Oh, and your cat’s name is Darcy.”

“Mr. Darcy," you corrected him. "Santi told you all that?”

Frankie shook his head, his focus still on your pet, his hand moving in lazy strokes along Mr. Darcy’s back.

“He didn’t tell me outright. But he let it be known. You just have to listen.”

There was something about his tone that irked you—a subtle but undeniable air of superiority, as if he’d decoded your entire existence from a handful of anecdotes. You studied him for a moment longer, debating whether to challenge him further, but Mr. Darcy’s contented purring seemed to deflate your frustration. For now.

“Well, I… Well,” you faltered, unsure of what to say. "Okay, I was thinking, what should I wear to the party?"

“Something nice. Not too fancy. But cute. You know, approachable."

"Sure," you muttered, feeling the weight of his gaze on you as he smoothed a hand over the cat’s fur.

"You have to make a good impression. But not too good. You need to seem... normal. Forgettable, even. Be nice, but don’t go overboard."

"What’s the point, then? I thought my job was to be the awesome girlfriend. Isn’t that what you wanted?"

Frankie leaned back against the couch, stretching his legs out, and gave a slow shake of his head like you’d just said something profoundly silly.

"Yes, but don’t overdo it. I don’t need my family asking me about you for weeks after. Tomorrow’s the first and only time they’ll see you, so what’s the point?"

"What a waste," you whispered to yourself, but loud enough for him to catch. “But fine, your family, your rules. So, what should I bring your mom as a gift?”

Frankie waved his hand dismissively.

"Don’t worry about it. I’ve got that covered."

“So you’ve thought of everything, huh?” you said, letting a touch of mockery creep into your voice. “I didn’t realize this was such a big deal to you.”

Frankie snorted. "If this is what it takes to stop them from setting me up with every woman they know, trust me, I’m going all in. No room for half-measures here."

He scratched his chin thoughtfully, his eyes sweeping over the room, taking in the familiar clutter of your living space, before a long yawn interrupted the silence.

“But why do they even care so much about you having a girlfriend? I mean, I get it—you’re, let’s say, not the easiest person to tolerate, and small talk probably feels like torture for you. But I didn’t have you pegged as the kind of guy who needs his mom to play matchmaker,” you said, voice dripping with just the right mix of sarcasm and curiosity as you tilted your head.

“That’s a bold comment coming from someone who had to invent a fake boyfriend because her ex, who dumped her for someone else, invited her to his wedding.”

Fair. That stung, but you couldn't bring yourself to be genuinely angry. Instead, you let out a small, wry smile, your ego only slightly bruised.

Frankie continued, unfazed by the fact that he had clearly made his point. “And I have no problem getting someone,” he said, stretching his legs out casually. “I just don’t want to. I don’t feel like dating anyone, much less getting romantically involved. But of course, they don’t get that. They think I need to settle down, find a woman, all that ‘commitment’ shit.”

For a brief moment, you let your mind wander, imagining Frankie next to someone. His type, you wondered. What would she look like? Would she resemble you in any way? Definitely not, you thought. You hoped that wouldn’t be a problem.

You cleared your throat, shifting in your seat, and then asked, trying to sound nonchalant, though a part of you was genuinely curious.

“And why don’t you want to date anyone? You’re not one of those guys with an eternal commitment problem, are you?”

Frankie took a moment to think about it. He leaned back, looking almost lost in thought, his eyes distant for a second. Then, in a flash, Mr. Darcy leapt onto his lap, pulling him back into the present moment with his typical disregard for anything that resembled personal space. Frankie shifted a little, adjusting the cat so it was comfortably curled on him.

“My last relationship didn’t end well,” he said suddenly, his voice unexpectedly serious. “We were together for about a year and a half. She broke up with me a little over a year ago. It wasn’t exactly my best moment, but her reason was that I wasn’t what she needed.” He paused, his gaze unfocused for a second, as if reliving the memory. “I tried to tell her I’d make the changes, that I really wanted to, but she didn’t care. So we broke up. And then, like two weeks later, I found out she’d been cheating on me with some guy from work—does that sound good enough for you?”

You blinked, processing it all, and felt a slight pang of sympathy, which you hadn’t expected.

“Well, that sucks,” you said, glancing down at the floor, feeling a bit awkward. You bit your lower lip, then looked back at him, unable to hide the trace of empathy in your voice. “But it makes sense now... I think."

Mr. Darcy, seemingly done with his intrusion, hopped off Frankie’s lap and sprawled on the floor instead, rolling onto his back in that exaggerated, dramatic way cats do when they’re probably overheating. His belly was exposed, a show of complete vulnerability.

"Yeah. Well. I guess," Frankie said, leaning forward as if the weight of his own words had just fully settled in. He rested his elbows on his knees and interlocked his fingers, his hands becoming a tight knot as if trying to physically hold everything together. Then something seemed to click in his mind. He looked up at you, the shift in his expression almost imperceptible. “Have you talked to Santi about this?”

You furrowed your brow, a little thrown off by the question.

"No, I thought you were going to tell him."

Frankie shook his head. "I didn’t tell him anything. I thought you were going to tell him."

You clicked your tongue, trying to shake the odd tension settling in your chest.

"We should tell him, don’t you think?" Your voice was sharper than you intended, but you couldn’t help it. "Although I'm sure he'll think this is a bad idea."

When you opened the door, Santi’s smile appeared instantly, like the sun breaking through clouds. He pulled you into a hug, enveloping you in that unmistakable warmth only a brother could give. It was absurd how much you’d missed him, considering you’d seen him just two days ago. But that was the thing about Santi—he had this way of making you feel like everything was fine, or at least like it could be.

When he let go, his smile lingered. But then his gaze shifted past you, toward the living room, where Frankie stood by the couch, arms awkwardly crossed, caught somewhere between waiting and retreating.

Santi’s expression changed so fast it was almost comical—his smile collapsed into confusion, his eyebrows pulling together, eyes widening like someone had yanked a curtain back too quickly.

“Frankie?” he said, his voice pitching upward in disbelief. “What are you doing here?” His gaze flicked from Frankie to you and back again, his tone laced with the unspoken demand for an explanation. “What happened?” He stepped forward, clapping a hand on Frankie’s shoulder, nudging him as if to make sure he was real.

“Hey, man,” Frankie said, managing a small smile as he accepted Santi’s hug. His voice was casual, but you could feel the tension beneath it, like a thread pulled too tight.

Your stomach knotted, the weight of the moment pressing into you. This was a mistake. You shouldn’t have agreed to Frankie’s deal, not like this, not without more thought. But it was too late to undo it now, wasn’t it? The pieces were already in motion, and there was no way to unring a bell.

Half an hour later, Santiago was sitting in the couch across from the two of you, his arms folded tightly over his chest, his expression shifting between disbelief and reluctant curiosity. He hadn’t spoken in a while, too busy digesting everything you’d just explained. When he finally did, his words cut through the silence like a whip.

“That’s fucking ridiculous. Are you crazy?” he asked, though his incredulous smile suggested he thought maybe you were joking.

You and Frankie were perched on opposite ends of the couch, as if a force field separated you, like your bodies were mutually allergic to the idea of being any closer. Frankie had his arms resting on his knees, his hands clasped together, his gaze fixed somewhere in the middle distance. You sat with your elbow propped on the armrest, your cheek resting against your hand, trying to look nonchalant.

“Do you really think this is going to work?” Santiago asked, shaking his head.

“It’s going to work,” you said, the firmness in your voice at odds with the knot of uncertainty in your stomach. “It’s not that complicated. Harry’s already met Frankie, so that part’s fine. We go to the wedding, stay a little while, and then leave. Tomorrow? Same thing. We show up, I do my forgettable bit, and then we’re out. Easy.”

Santiago raised his eyebrows, unimpressed.

“¿Easy? Your mom knows me, man,” he said, turning to Frankie with an accusatory tilt of his head. “You don’t think it’s going to be complicated if she thinks you’re dating my sister?”

“I’m not planning on telling her she’s your sister,” Frankie said. He sat up straighter, his hands tightening into fists briefly before he relaxed them again. “This is a one-time thing. I promise you, it’s not going to lead to trouble. It’s just a favor. A transaction. Nothing more.”

“And what happens when they run into each other again?” Santiago asked, his voice rising slightly as he gestured between the two of you.

“How likely is that, Santi?” you shot back, your brow furrowing in irritation.

He clicked his tongue, leaning forward like he had you cornered.

“My wedding is in a few months, smartass. Frankie’s mom is invited. What’s your plan then?”

The room fell into a charged silence. Oh.

You hadn’t thought of that. Neither had Frankie, apparently, because when you turned your head, you found him looking at you for the first time since this entire mess had started. For one fleeting moment, your eyes met, a shared look of complicity—and, more importantly, desperation.

“Of course, you didn’t think of that,” Santi said, his voice cutting through the growing tension like a whip. He dragged a hand across his forehead, closing his eyes as if summoning the patience to deal with you both. When he looked up again, his expression was pure exasperation.

“God, you guys seriously make me desperate. Are you two ever going to be normal with each other? First, I have to put up with years of your petty, hateful attitudes, and now this?” He gestured between you and Frankie as if the very sight of you sitting there made him tired. “Do you want to kill me? Is that the plan? Seriously, I’m asking—do you both want me dead?”

The sheer absurdity of his words made you laugh, even though you tried to swallow it.

“Oh my God, Santi, you’re so dramatic,” you said, shaking your head, though you were half-smiling.

“Dramatic?” he repeated, incredulous.

“Hey, man, look,” Frankie cut in, like someone trying to defuse a bomb. He leaned forward slightly, his hands open, his tone edging toward apologetic. “I promise I’ll fix it. I’ll tell them she’s your sister—no big deal. And then I’ll come up with something to explain how we ‘broke up’ on the best possible terms. No drama, no mess, okay? I swear.”

You nodded quickly, eager to latch onto his plan.

“Exactly. This can stay simple, we’ll just say we broke up over something normal. Totally amicable, decided to stay friends. Easy.” Your tone softened as you leaned toward him, more pleading now. “Really, Santi. Please, please don’t get mad.”

Santi let out a heavy, theatrical sigh, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just tipped his head back and closed his eyes like he was praying for patience.

“I’m not mad,” he said finally, though his tone suggested he might not be entirely convinced of that. His eyes opened, and he looked at you with something between disbelief and reluctant amusement. “I’m just surprised. Out of all the people in the world, you and Frankie are the ones pretending to date?” He let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “It’s fucking ridiculous.”

“Well,” you said, rolling your eyes as the irritation bubbled up. “It’s not like we planned this. I never thought I’d run into Harry in the middle of fucking nowhere. Besides, this wouldn’t have even happened if you—” you jabbed a finger in Santi’s direction, “—had gone looking for me in Dallas instead of sending Frankie. Or, I don’t know, if you’d given me a proper warning. I could’ve found another way home.”

Santi’s eyebrows shot up, his hand flying to his chest as if you’d physically shoved him.

“Oh, now this is my fault?” he asked, his voice dripping with incredulity. He pointed to himself for emphasis, his jaw tightening like he was trying not to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of the accusation.

Next to you, Frankie snorted, shaking his head in that infuriatingly smug way he did when he thought he was being clever. You turned sharply toward him, glaring.

“Do you have something to say, Francisco?”

Santiago let out a breathy, humorless laugh, his hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

Frankie, meanwhile, scratched his chin, clearly deliberating how to phrase whatever was on his mind without making things worse. Or maybe he was just stalling, dragging out the moment for the fun of it.

“Yeah. First of all, I don’t understand what you’re trying to prove to this Harry guy. He’s marrying someone else, isn’t he? I doubt he cares whether or not you have a boyfriend.”

“Ah, right, 'cause you’re the paragon of honesty, aren’t you?” you shot back, the heat rising in your chest now threatening to spill out.

“Sure,” Frankie said with an infuriating nod, leaning back slightly as if to make room for whatever you were about to throw at him next.

You leaned toward him, unable to resist. “It’s not like you made up a girlfriend or anything, right? Tell me, Francisco, wouldn’t it have been easier to just act like a real man and tell your mom you don’t want to be with anyone? Instead of, you know, lying like a coward? Or is that too scary for you?”

Frankie laughed then, a low, sarcastic sound that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. He shifted closer, leaning in until his face was just inches from yours, his dark eyes gleaming with something sharp and taunting.

“He’s with someone else. He doesn't care about you. Get over it—”

“No one loves you—"

“Okay, fuckin' stop it!” Santiago shot up from his seat, his hands landing firmly on his hips as he stared at you with an expression that teetered between disbelief and outright despair. He shook his head, exhaling sharply through his nose. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. That’s how you’re going to convince people you’re together? What’s the plan tomorrow, huh? What are you going to do when people actually talk to you? This isn’t even remotely believable.”

“I know how to act,” you shot back, crossing your arms as you leaned into the challenge. You tilted your head, trying for a smug expression, though the heat rising to your cheeks probably undermined it.

Frankie let out a laugh beside you.

“No, you don’t.”

“Sure I do,” you retorted, fixing him with a defiant look. “You’ll see tomorrow, Francisco. I’ll be super—”

“You almost shit yourself at the diner the other day, what are you even talking about? I saved you—”

“Oh my God, stop!” Santi cut in, throwing his hands up in a desperate plea for silence. He made a horizontal motion with his hands, like a referee calling a foul. “Stand up. Now.”

“Why?” you asked, your eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

“Just. Stand. Up.” Santi said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You hesitated, glancing at Frankie as if he might somehow explain what was going on. He was already on his feet, his movements slow and deliberate, like he didn’t particularly want to comply but knew better than to argue.

With a resigned sigh, you rose from your spot, the tension in your shoulders apparent even in the way you stood. The second you moved, Mr.Darcy wasted no time, sliding into the space you’d just vacated.

Santiago leaned back slightly, crossing his arms over his chest, his expression unnervingly calm. He watched you both like he was observing a particularly amusing experiment, his lips twitching as if he were holding back a smirk.

“Okay,” he said after a moment, his tone almost conversational. “Kiss each other.”

You blinked, unsure if you’d heard him correctly. “What?”

Frankie, equally caught off guard, tilted his head toward Santi. “Sorry, what did you just say?”

“Kiss,” Santi repeated, his voice louder this time, like he was explaining something to a particularly dense child. He gestured between the two of you. “Frankie, kiss her.”

“Absolutely not,” you said immediately.

“Are you crazy?” Frankie added, shaking his head vehemently, his face scrunching up like the very idea was offensive.

Santiago raised his eyebrows, his calm demeanor giving way to something more pointed.

“What, you didn’t think this through? How the fuck are you planning to convince anyone you’re dating if you can’t even manage a little kiss?”

You stared at him, dumbfounded, your brain struggling to process the absurdity of what he was suggesting. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Frankie’s jaw tighten, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

Meanwhile, Santi seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. There was an unmistakable glint of amusement in his eyes, his gaze darting between you and Frankie like he was watching the climax of a particularly entertaining play.

He was savoring this—your awkwardness, your obvious discomfort. To him, this wasn’t just funny; it was justice. A kind of poetic payback for the years of chaos and petty feuding you and Frankie had inflicted on him. The sheer satisfaction on his face was infuriating, but also, somehow, undeniably deserved.

“Well?” he prompted, raising his hands in mock encouragement. “Go on, lovebirds. Show me how convincing this great plan of yours is.”

You glanced at Frankie, hoping for some sign he was going to end this absurdity. But he wasn’t looking at you, or at Santiago, or even at the floor like a normal person. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling, his teeth dragging over his bottom lip like he was physically restraining himself from speaking. His hands rested on his hips, fingers tapping idly against his belt, while his foot shifted incessantly, a nervous rhythm you couldn’t unhear.

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms.

“Is this fun for you?” you asked Santi, your voice sharp enough to cut through his amusement.

He barely suppressed a laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching upward as he gave a little shrug.

“Of course it is. Look at you two. You can’t even conceive of the idea of a teeny, tiny, innocent little kiss.” He paused, his expression shifting into something mockingly thoughtful. “You know, Fish,” he added, turning his attention to Frankie, “your mom invited me to her birthday tomorrow.”

That got Frankie’s attention. His head snapped toward Santiago, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“It’s a shame,” Santi continued, raising his eyebrows in exaggerated regret. “But I can’t go. I’d love to see the two of you embarrass yourselves in front of an audience. That would’ve been a real treat.”

Frankie clicked his tongue, clearly irritated. “Come on, man, don’t start.”

But before Santiago could respond, you interrupted.

“Kiss me,” you said, turning to Frankie with a tone that was less a request and more a threat.

Santiago let out a breathy laugh, stifling the full force of his amusement but not entirely succeeding.

Frankie looked at you like you’d just suggested a double homicide, his brows lifting high enough to crease his forehead.

“Come on,” you repeated, stepping closer to him. You let your arms drop to your sides in what you hoped was a disarming gesture, but Frankie didn’t budge. His expression didn’t soften, either—in fact, it somehow got worse. He was looking at you like you’d offered him a plate of raw sewage.

“Come on, Fish,” Santi chimed in, his voice laced with mock encouragement. “One little kiss and that’s it. What’s the big deal?”

You stayed where you were, holding Frankie’s gaze, your jaw tightening as you willed him to just get this over with. But he remained firmly rooted in place, his face still twisted in disgust.

And then something shifted in your chest. It was small at first, but it grew quickly—an anger, sharp and undeniable. What the hell was wrong with him? Was the idea of kissing you that horrifying? It wasn’t like this was real. It wasn’t like it meant anything.

You snorted, shaking your head as determination overtook you. Without giving it another second of thought, you crossed the space between you in a single, decisive motion.

“Wait, what the fuck are you—” Frankie started, but his words cut off as your hands gripped the sides of his face and your lips crashed against his.

The kiss lasted no more than three seconds, but it felt like an eternity. His lips were softer than you’d expected, warm and surprisingly still. Your eyes stayed firmly shut, as if that could somehow make the situation less mortifying.

When you pulled back, it was abrupt, almost violent. You jerked away from him and immediately crossed your arms again, your defenses snapping back into place.

Frankie stood there, completely still, his face frozen in an expression of shock. His eyebrows were furrowed, his mouth slightly open, and his eyes were unfocused, like he couldn’t quite process what had just happened.

“It’s not that hard, Francisco,” you said, your tone clipped as you turned away and sat back down on the couch, this time right next to Mr. Darcy. “I’m a woman, not an alien. It’s not so terrible.”

Your brother was staring at you, his expression a mixture of delight and disbelief. For a moment, he said nothing, just taking in the scene like it was the best entertainment he’d had in years. Then, with a wide grin, he walked over to Frankie and delivered a solid punch to his stomach.

Frankie clicked his tongue in annoyance, snapping out of his daze with a low groan.

"I’m already regretting this," he muttered then, his voice low but sharp, as he turned his back to you and Santi.

“You can’t regret it now,” you called after him, your tone sharper than you meant. It was enough to stop him. He turned his head slightly, just enough for you to see his face. He didn’t look angry, not exactly. There was no sharpness, no fire. Just this quiet disappointment.

“A deal’s a deal,” you said. "You were the one who insisted. Or have you forgotten that already?”

“No,” he said, a little too quickly, his eyes flicking to the ground. “Of course not. I just—” He paused, rubbed the back of his neck. “We didn’t think it through.”

From his spot against the wall, Santi let out a low whistle, arms crossed as he watched the exchange unfold like it was a show he’d seen before.

“Yeah we did,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. “The issue isn’t that. The issue is you chickening out. You were fine until Santi showed up.”

“Oh, now it’s my fault again?” Santi asked.

You shrugged, noncommittal.

“Okay, well,” Santi said, pushing off the wall and stepping closer. “Do what you want. It’s none of my business. Just—” he gestured vaguely, like he was brushing something away, “be a grown-up about it. And don’t screw it up, yeah? Because, honestly, of the three of us, I’m the one who has to deal with your shit.”

“We won’t cause trouble,” Frankie said, his voice quieter now but clear. He glanced at you, then at his best friend. “You have my word. I’ll keep it together. I'll be respectful. No bullshit. I promise.”

Santi nodded, his mouth twitching into the faintest smile. He reached out and clapped Frankie on the shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Sure, man. I trust you. Just—” He laughed lightly, his smile widening. “Don’t be such a child.”

He turned to you then, something knowing in his gaze, before looking back at Frankie. His laugh came deeper this time, warm and unguarded.

“Oh, I know exactly how this is going to end,” he said, shaking his head.

He didn’t stay much longer, mentioning something about dinner plans with Yovanna and promising to call tomorrow. The air felt lighter as he left, like he’d taken the weight of the moment with him, leaving only the two of you standing in its wake.

A few moment later, Frankie was ready to go too, or at least he looked like he was. He sat across from you now, his posture relaxed in a way that felt calculated, like he was trying to project a calm he didn’t entirely feel. Your cat, utterly oblivious to the undercurrent of tension in the room, rubbed insistently up and down his leg, purring loud enough to fill the silence. Frankie absentmindedly ran his fingers along his fur, the gesture soft, almost tender.

From where you sat on the opposite end of the couch, you shifted slightly, trying to tread carefully. Your voice, when it came out, was low, calculated even—an attempt not to poke at the fragile truce that had settled between you.

"You know Santi’s right, don’t you?" you asked, watching as Frankie’s head lifted immediately, his gaze locking onto yours. "I mean, I don’t know how you are with your actual girlfriends—if you’re, like, affectionate, or into, you know, public displays of affection or whatever. But if we’re going to do this, you’ve got to get over it."

"I don’t have anything to get over. We just need to stick to the basics."

"Aha, the basics," you echoed, leaning forward slightly. "Sure, okay. But you couldn’t even kiss me without looking like it was physically painful."

"That’s not fair. You caught me off guard, that’s all. The context was weird. Santi was watching—it threw me off." He shook his head, his discomfort practically radiating off of him.

You leaned back, crossing your arms as you let out a short laugh, the sound more exasperated than amused.

"Your whole family is going to be watching tomorrow."

You stood abruptly, the movement carrying your frustration with it, and crossed the room in a few quick steps. You didn’t look back as you walked into the open kitchen, heading straight for the sink and grabbing a glass from the counter. The sound of water filling the glass was the only noise for a moment, the silence stretching uncomfortably.

Frankie didn’t say anything right away. When you turned around, your glass now empty in your hand, he was still in the living room, his focus firmly on your cat. He scratched behind his ears like he hadn’t just been called out, like he could stay there indefinitely and avoid the conversation entirely.

But then he stood, moving toward you with an unhurried calm that didn’t quite match the unease in his eyes. He stopped a few feet from you, leaning one hip against the kitchen island as if he needed something to ground himself.

"Your mother," you said, setting the glass down on the counter with more force than you intended, "your sisters, your aunts and uncles, your mom’s friends—they’re all going to be watching."

Frankie sighed. "It’s different."

"Different how?"

"Because Santi’s my best friend. And you’re his sister. It was weird."

"And this is all fake, Francisco," you said, gesturing vaguely with your hand, like you were pointing out something so glaringly obvious it hardly needed to be said. "How old are you again? Forty?"

"Thirty-five," he replied, deadpan.

"Right. Almost forty. And you can’t do something as simple as kiss a woman. Yes, I’m your best friend’s sister. Yes, you clearly dislike me. And yes, I clearly dislike you too. But it’s just a kiss," you said, your tone sharp, cutting. Like you were explaining basic arithmetic to a particularly slow child. "A fucking—"

The word caught in your throat mid-sentence, stolen by the sudden, startling pressure of Frankie’s hands on your face.

Before you could react—before you could even think—he was there. Close, impossibly close, his fingers firm but steady as they cupped your jaw, his palms warm against your skin. His eyes barely met yours before his mouth was on yours, and for a moment, the world narrowed to that one unexpected point of contact.

His lips moved against yours with a precision that felt calculated, like he wasn’t rushing, but he wasn’t holding back either. They parted yours gently, and his breath mingled with yours, each second stretching into something that felt far longer.

Three seconds. Four, maybe five. It was enough for you to notice, to feel how his thumb brushed against the side of your face, to register the faint scent of his cologne. Enough for it to completely throw you.

Then, just as suddenly as it had started, it was over.

He released you, stepping back without ceremony. For a moment, he just stood there, looking down at you from his full height, his expression unreadable. Then he clicked his tongue, a sound so small but so maddeningly smug it made your blood simmer.

You didn’t move. You couldn’t. You were rooted to the spot, your thoughts a scrambled mess as you tried to catch up with what had just happened. Your breathing was uneven now, a shallow rhythm you couldn’t quite control.

Frankie turned away, shaking his head slowly as if he were frustrated—with you, with himself, with the entire situation. His hands flexed at his sides, his gaze fixed on the floor.

When he finally looked back up at you, his scowl was sharp enough to cut. There was something accusatory in the way his eyes narrowed, as if he were blaming you for... what? Letting him kiss you? Letting him prove a point?

“I can do that, no problem,” Frankie said, his voice dripping with confidence, his expression so self-assured it almost felt rehearsed. He stood tall, chest slightly puffed, radiating an air of someone entirely too pleased with himself. “Stop being so fucking insufferable all the time, and maybe this whole thing would be easier.”

The words stung more than you cared to admit. You wanted to hit back, to say something sharp and cutting that would wipe that smug look off his face. Insult him, rattle him—anything to remind him that if this situation was unbearable, it wasn’t because of you alone.

But no words came.

Your throat tightened, and you couldn’t force yourself to speak. It wasn’t just that you were angry—though you were. It was that he was watching you now, not with his usual indifference but with something sharper, something closer to scrutiny. Like he was waiting for your reaction, ready to pounce on it, to use it against you.

Frankie leaned back against the kitchen island, crossing his arms over his chest. His gaze dropped to the floor, and for a moment, it felt like the room itself had shrunk, like the air had turned heavy and suffocating. The silence between you was uncomfortable in a way it had never been before.

You swallowed hard, the sound loud in the stillness, and forced yourself to meet his eyes.

"Thank God you’re not my real boyfriend," you said finally, your voice breaking the tension. You tilted your head, letting a sly smile curve your lips as you arched a single eyebrow. "I’d rather kiss a toad."

The corner of Frankie’s mouth twitched, and for a second, you thought he was going to brush off your jab entirely. But then he let out a quiet laugh, one he didn’t even try to hide, his expression softening into something teasing.

"You’ve got a lot of experience with those, don’t you?"

You rolled your eyes, letting out a soft, incredulous snort. Your gaze drifted to the empty glass of water sitting on the counter, the condensation forming a faint ring beneath it. You should’ve said something else, something sharp to cut through the tension still lingering in the air, but you didn’t.

Frankie straightened up, peeling himself away from where he’d been leaning against the kitchen island. He stretched slightly, his movements unhurried, one hand brushing absently over his stomach like he was just waking up from a nap. Then he reached into his pocket, his fingers curling around something—his keys, you realized—as if confirming they were still there.

He turned without a word and walked over to the couch, where Mr. Darcy had curled up in his usual spot. Frankie gave the cat a quick pat on the head, his fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary, then straightened again. When he turned back to you, there was something almost playful in his expression, a teasing glint in his eyes that made your stomach twist in a way you didn’t want to acknowledge.

"I’ll pick you up at six tomorrow," he said, his voice casual but firm, like it was already decided. "Don’t keep me waiting."

You blinked at him, disbelief washing over your face. From your spot leaning against the counter, you tilted your head slightly, trying to gauge if he was serious—or if he was just trying to get a rise out of you.

"Or what?" you shot back, your voice dripping with mockery. "You’re going to leave without me?"

Frankie paused at your door, his hand hovering over the handle. He turned his head, his eyes locking onto yours.

"I’ll come up and get you," he said, his tone low and almost threatening.

Before you could reply, he pulled the door open, stepping out into the hallway and closing the door with a gesture that felt vaguely theatrical.

You stood there for a moment, motionless, your eyes drifting aimlessly around the room. It was quiet now, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the corner.

Then a sharp, high-pitched meow broke through your thoughts.

You glanced down to see Mr. Darcy padding toward you, his tail held high like a little banner, the picture of feline confidence. He stopped just short of your feet, looking up at you with wide, expectant eyes. The kind of look that demanded attention.

“Oh, so now you’re coming back to me?” you asked, crouching down to run your fingers over the soft fur on his head. He tilted his chin upward, leaning into the touch like he hadn’t just spent the last hour fawning over Frankie.

"Of course, you traitor," you muttered, scratching behind his ears. "Now that he’s gone, you’ve suddenly remembered I exist."

Mr. Darcy purred in response, his tail curling slightly as he rubbed against your hand, but you snorted softly, the sound carrying a faint edge of betrayal.

"You’re lucky I love you," you said, your voice low, almost conspiratorial. "But don’t think I’ve forgotten how easily you switched sides. I don’t know if I’m ready to forgive you just yet."

He blinked at you, unbothered, and you couldn’t help but laugh under your breath. Still crouched, you rested your elbow on your knee, glancing toward the closed door where Frankie had disappeared.

Mr. Darcy meowed again, drawing your attention back, as if reminding you of where your loyalty should lie. For now, you decided, he was forgiven. Just barely.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Taglis: @paleidiot @gothcsz @everyth1ngfan @katw474 @mellymbee @pedritosgirl2000 @tsunamistorm123 @jokesonthem @sunnytuliptime @greenwitchfromthewoods @ashleyfilm @darkheartgatita @joelmillerisapunk @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti (some tags aren't working apparently sorry!)

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hkthatgffan · 3 days ago

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What's actually your opinion on Stanford Pines?

Oh, that's an interesting question. Short answer; I like Ford and think he's a great, flawed but lovable character who has endured a lot and come out of it a better man than he was before. Now, if you want my long answer...keep reading beyond this for why I feel that way.

Back when I first saw Gravity Falls, I thought Ford was okay. He wasn't so much a favourite of mine (that title then and still belongs to Dipper and Mabel for me), nor was I as interested in him. I did love reading up everything in Journal 3 about him and all his antics.

During the Mabel hate era in 2018, I did somewhat sour in my opinion on Ford as I felt fans were being too harsh on Mabel and not realizing some of the negatives about him and how Dipper and Mabel were drifting into the same direction Ford and Stan had become. I felt angry that fans were hating on Mabel and calling out her mistakes but downplaying other characters', Ford included.

But then, if you were around in 2018 and remember the Mabel debates that raged on then...you know how messy it was no matter what side you were on, lmao. Be it anti or pro Mabel or Ford, people really debated long and hard during that time and it's an era I'm glad we're more or less past.

In the years since and having heard more takes from fans who like Ford and get him in ways I didn't, I do find myself appreciating and liking Ford a lot more than I did back then. I'm still always gonna be defensive of Mabel and firm on my stance that Dipper staying behind in Gravity Falls with Ford was the worst outcome that could've happened in that scenario, but I see Ford in a lens less of hatred and more realization that...the whole situation was a learning experience for everyone in that situation. Ford learned something from it, Mabel did, Dipper did...all of them did.

To me, Ford is a character that is good at heart. Like every member of the Pines family, he's flawed and has made mistakes that he's overcome and improved from. And as we see again in The Book of Bill...there is one major new thing we really see that makes him all the better in my eyes now than he used to be!

I've spoken about this before when someone asked what my stance on Billford is, but I think as someone who has survived being in toxic situations with people who made my life worse the same way Bill was a toxic person to Ford, I understand him more so now than I used to.

What we see is Ford and Bill having a partnership (or friendship or relationship depending on how you see it) that was toxic. Bill was manipulative, took Ford and tried to mold him into what he wanted him to be. And Ford eventually realized that but Bill made his life hell for trying to escape. Ford eventually being able to and learn to find happiness in his family and friends was an incredible thing to see and that single thing, having been through such shit myself as others probably can relate too, changed Ford in a huge way for me for the better.

Ford to me is a guy who managed to overcome the worst thrown at him and be able to let go of that whole situation and escape it to become better. And we all deserve that. We all deserve to escape the Bill Ciphers in our life, find our Pines family and grow and become better and happier from that.

That is what I think of Stanford Pines. He's a character who is flawed. He's a character who has his ups and downs. But at his core, he is a guy who overcame adversities thrown at him and found a way to live a better and more fulfilling life with those who appreciate and love him for who he is. For a character I once felt no real connection or understanding for and more so hatred...he sure has come a long way for the better and I couldn't be more proud of him.

I know for others this may not be how they see Ford or you may even look at what I said and think I missed the whole point. But that's okay. Because these characters are for us as fans to relate and find aspects in them we can understand. Headcanons exist for a reason. To me, that's how I see Ford. To you, he may be something else.

That's the beauty of this show. Headcanon these character the way you please, without fear or worry of being told you're wrong. Alex has said no headcanon to him will ever be confirmed or denied...so headcanon and perceive these characters the way you feel. Because we all are Gravity Falls fans...and love them the way we do.

But FR, we need more Mabel and Ford bonding. That's all I want from this show now...these two just having fun and being awesome, lol!!

#Ask That GF FAN #AMA #Ask #gravity falls #stanford pines #that gf fan

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dirtyoldmanhole · 18 hours ago

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i'm going to be musing about one of gunter's most controversial lines here just because i've been idly thinking about it while drawing.

heads up for dead dove shit.

context: the JP version of Fates:Conquest had a region-locked minigame ("skinship" where you basically pet the character with your stylus lol) where you the player could interact more with a married gunter if you went that route - it also had several JP-only lines which you can read here.

generally they aren't that much different in tone than the EN ones though fun to read (especially since the minigame is lowkey sexual in nature; all the cast's lines were more strongly sexual not just his), but there was one line that uh. raised some eyebrows in the EN fandom when the fan-translators found it, shall we say.

in bold; (i've added some of the others for helpful context; i don't believe all of them are said one after the other, as it's whenever you choose to enter the minigame one is said).

By no means did I think these feelings would develop… Close your eyes for a moment. I apologize… I thought just touching you would be fine… When you touch me like that… Don’t tease me too much… or even someone like me won’t be able to endure it. (TL: He uses the verb “tawamureru” which means to play, joke, or flirt but I decided to liberally change it to tease) You’ve returned. We mustn’t… Oh no… I thought of you as a child but… I love you. Haha… is something the matter? Is it fine for me to touch you too? This side of you… don’t show it to anyone else. My wife… does cute things… I love you. I might have regarded you with special feelings ever since you were young. (A RANK:) Thank you very much for being kind to me to this extent. For as long as you wish it… I promise never to leave your side. (S RANK:) I thought I would always live alone. But you… lit a flame once more in my heart which I had locked away. This time I won’t let you go. I love you more than anyone else.

(... once again touched at how surprisingly romantic he can be)

anyway! oh yes, That Line.

tsk tsk.

given his position of power with essentially raising corrin, you can imagine how some people who already disliked the ship tended to leap on that line as "proof" of him sexually abusing corrin as a child to put it bluntly.

thoughts are still rotating, but roughly in order of:

instinctively (and the most boring position just to get it out of the way) on the first level i don't like how often this line is immediately whipped out to dissuade gunter/corrin shippers specifically but also shippers in general from engaging with taboo sexual concepts. especially when it's just as boringly... crudely blunt as "pedo". (slightly adjacent to gunter fans in general since there's sometimes an uneasy feeling that as long as you don't ship him that way with a 40-year age gap/parental figure/etc there's an exception carved out as "one of the good shippers" as long as you ship him with less of a power differential (eg gunter/shura. note i dig that ship, this is just an example.); though i think this sentiment has thankfully died down as of late versus the early years of fates fandom.)

god that is such a fustratingly common and boring way to engage with media. moving on.

on the second level down, i also instinctively dislike the feeling that it's whipped out to flatten the potential of gunter being romantically/sexually written as either binary concepts of "good" and "bad-touch", with the latter being often pointed out with an accusatory finger. personally i like reading bad-touch gunter for the lulz sometimes. also for the nuance given how sadly complex child abuse/grooming/pedophilia is in real life, and how it impacts the victim in so many ways beyond the obvious. and shocker - i like reading predatory-gunter sometimes even for cranking-the-hog-material! (predatory-gunter is kinda hot, man.) sometimes all of the above at the same time. i think all of these readings is just as applicable and interesting and needful as redemptive-gunter stories. (it's a very similar reason to why i fucking love possessed!gunter noncon what-if setups.)

and the above point doesn't even go into the nuance of can-you-even-have-redemption with the above if you want it. how would that work. how would that work in rev-verse vs conquest (different flavors of anankos possession going on in both. it's so much more complex than your usual grooming story if you frame it that way because his own agency is literally a question mark the entire time, which is endlessly fascinating to me with the horror potential as being a double victim in some ways. is this actually anankos' influence more than anything? how would everyone feel about that? especially anankos being corrin's bio-dad?)

going back to the quote itself there's even several other ways to interpret it that's not a crude (and imo annoying) distraction of moralizing.

like i always found it interesting that for a guy who deliberately self-censors 95% of the time, that he kinda blurts that out in a weak moment (which is already one interpretation, that it's semi accidental). why would he say that to corrin?

seriously, why would he?

i don't think he's trying to scare her off (like he does with some lines when he's a little insecure about his age).

what if he's genuinely fond of and loves corrin with a nuanced blend of fatherly love at the begining but yeah it did turn sexual towards the end (plus fatherly love) and either he doesn't want to exactly interrogate himself when that changed (because i personally think he holds a lot of understandable guilt over these feelings in general), or he isn't thinking about that at the moment and like. how the hell do you relay something like that without caveat-ing yourself to hell.

i think it's one of the few times here he's actually trying to be emotionally honest and vulnerable about how shits' complicated to him too. (and keep in mind he is not in general..... as emotionally aware as the tumblr crowd lol. he's an old man.)

there's a funny line in my head right now of "schrodinger's daddy dom" where society right now is a-okay with a daddy kink from the little's side but metatextually we've created a situation where it's impossible to create a three-dimensional daddy dom that is somehow free of sin and yet has honest to god sexual desires of his own especially in a messy situation like this.

especially in an evolving situation like this when it was very clear by the S-support he wasn't ever anticipating corrin to reciprocate his feelings, and he was dealing with his budding feelings by essentially just keeping it to himself. (canonically, he wanted to do the least-messy thing by not involving himself with corrin. it's only if corrin/you pursue him that he even gets this far.)

the extra funny thing:

all of this is dependent on the translation. culturally, through this whole game of telephone, the line itself may have some other JP specific connotations that we aren't aware of. christ what i wouldn't give to pay a fluent JP translator who didn't mind engaging with dead dove concepts to go through his support chain + these lines and give notes there.

....

and that's probably not even all of my thoughts but it's an essay as-is. :P

#i generally trust y'all here but don't make me turn off reblogs.#meta

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wanderingmind867 · 2 days ago

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My ideas for a season six of Batman 1966. You can tell this is probably where i'm gonna end all of this, because I was getting so tired that I started just poaching ideas from old 40s and 50s comics. Turns out thinking of Three or Four seasons worth of stuff (all 60-70 episodes long) is incredibly exhausting. So here. I hope it's okay. I'm not rewriting this one again. I'm so exhausted, I'm gonna go take a break to use my switch:

Season 6: Season Six is almost all about Batman on his own. Robin and Batgirl make appearances as supporting leads every couple episodes, but Batman is now the leading star. I'd have Aunt Harriet be made more of a minor character too, and I'd replace her with Leslie Thompkins. We'd still see Aunt Harriet, obviously! She's too good to abandon fully! It's just… we'll see her less, since Dick is at College (thus eliminating the need for her to live at Wayne Manor).

Episodes 1 and 2: An adaptation of a story from Batman #32, except this episode features The Riddler in the place of The Joker. Either way, I'm getting really tired of writing all this stuff constantly. So here's a copy and pasted paragraph about the story (with joker's name merely replaced with riddler's):

The Riddler captures Batman with help from his henchmen and they take the vigilante to their secret hideout. The Riddler's latest inspiration has come from watching college students forced to endure humiliating initiation stunts. Riddler then contacts Robin and forces him to perform embarrassing but apparently harmless feats in order to keep Batman alive. However, Riddler is using Robin for his criminal activities and when the Boy Wonder realizes the truth, he prepares a trap for the Riddler.

Episodes 3 and 4: Batman deals with The Archer, an old villian who tried to act like a modern day Robin Hood. Now he's gotten even more blatant with his thefts, and he tries to rob Wayne Manor of all it's valuables (since he learned the Manor had less occupants since Dick Grayson and his Aunt left). Batman still manages to stop him, but The Archer really puts up a strong challenge.

Also, the Archer had to find new sidekicks. So meet Scarlet, Doncaster and Lady Clorinda. Those are all real names of characters from the Robin Hood stories. I just looked it up. But after this story, we probably won't see the archer for a while. I don't know how many more times I can work with his Robin Hood motif, so we'll probably reserve him for appearances in team-ups with other villians.

Episode 5: Shortly after dealing with The Riddler and The Archer, Batman ends up running into Man Bat for the very first time. It's very much a one for one retelling of Man Bat's first comic story, including the fact that Man Bat escapes Batman's clutches at the very last moment.

Episode 6: Harley Quinn is tired of being a mere sidekick, so she strikes out on her own! This episode was probably more fitting to air back during season five, but I never found a good place for it. But this is as good a place as any. And now that Harley Quinn is beginning to distance her crime career from that of The Joker, it means I now get two clownish adversaries to mess around with! If we're getting tired of the constant Cesar Romero appearances, a Harley Quinn modelled after Goldie Hawn now has all our needs covered.

Episodes 7 and 8: The first apperance of The Penguin this season; we get a plot based around an issue of the comics this time. Specifically, based off of Batman #190. The Penguin begins commiting crimes using the methods of the future, since he wishes to be ahead of the trend and above the curve. Since i'm honestly beginning to run out of ideas for these seasons, I think i may just start adapting some comic storylines whenever i feel no inspiration. The TV show did this too, so I see no reason why I can't do it.

Episodes 9 and 10: Two-Face breaks out of jail, and begins defacing public monuments to make them reflect the jekyll and hyde nature of his soul. With his new scheme, he successfully manages to ruin the reputations of many good men and women in gotham. He defaces statues, people, everything he can get his hands on. And although this is a bit of a change from his usual M.O., Batman still inevitably manages to solve the case and get Two-Face back behind bars.

Episode 11: Batman encounters Man Bat again, and this time finally managed to subdue him. But is this really the end of the Man Bat story? Not quite, as there's one more part. But we won't get to see that part until after one more story, sad to say.

Episodes 12 and 13: The Joker breaks out of prison to perplex Batman with crimes based around sound effects and cinema. The Joker manages to convince a film crew to help him film a new comedy, all about his attempts to triumph over Batman. But nobody expects that his "film" is actually all but a ruse; a simple snare to lead Batman right into the palms of his hands.

Episodes 14 and 15: Professor William McElroy has been released from jail on good behaviour charges. He comes to Hudson University to lead a lecture on mythology, but he accidentally falls off the stage and reverts back to his King Tut persona again. And as King Tut, he finally manages to achieve his greatest desire: he steals an experimental mind control beam from the schools science labs, and he manages to convince everyone on campus that they're all in the time of Ancient Egypt.

News of the strange case reaches Gotham after a few days, and Bruce quickly realises that Dick must've been hypnotized by that beam too. So now Batman has to head to Hudson University, to dethrone King Tut and his egyptian empire before he has a chance to spread it's influence across the globe.

Episode 16: The conclusion to the long Man Bat saga, wherein Batman has to cure both Kirk Langstrom and his wife Francine of their Bat transformations and mental afflictions. By crashing their wedding, Batman successfully manages to get to them in time to save them from themselves.

Episodes 17 and 18: Catwoman pines for fame and attention, so she begins framing Batman for crimes. While Batman becomes a wanted crook, she becomes a lavish celebrity amongst the lights of gotham high society. Inevitably, though, Catwoman ends up giving herself away. Namely, she can't help but enjoy the thrill of theft. So when she sees a rare cat stature owned by one of her high society acquaintances, she snaps and steals it.

But Batman had planted a tracker on that statue, so it was all a big ambush! Him and Catwoman get into a fight, and Batman successfully manages to clear his reputation (while Catwoman gets sent back to the penitentiary). What I would do in this episode, though: Catwoman (as played by Julie Newmar) ends up flirting with Bruce Wayne while she's a high profile celebrity. The two of them have some sort of romance going (the same way Catwoman and Batman did in the movie), but Catwoman still ruins her chances by trying to frame and kill Batman. If these two are ever going to work together, it's not going to be anytime soon.

Episodes 19, 20 and 21: The three Mister Freezes got into a heated dispute when we last saw them, so they now have all been forced into using different names. Mister Freeze is George Sanders, Mister Zero is Otto Preminger and Mister Chill is Eli Wallach. But they all still want to keep the name of Mister Freeze.

They're now competing to see which one of them can truly dominate Gotham, to prove that there can only be one master of ice in this town! Batman ends up having to foil three seperate schemes from there seperate Mister Freezes, all because these criminals are being petty and trying to one up each other.

Episodes 22 and 23: Egghead is back to menace Batman! He's annoyed and deeply upset that the League of Assasins snubbed him for membership, so he's decided to finally dig his way into the Batcave, to prove his intellectual superiority over all the other supercrooks. He does actually manage to break into the Batcave, and he turns all of Batman's gadgets against him.

Batman manages to stop him before he can do too much damage, but he still ruins the set-up Batman had going. Which means that Batman needs to temporarily move all his stuff to a secondary location while the old one gets rebuilt.

Episodes 24 and 25: Batman goes to Hudson University to check on Robin while the Batcave is being fixed up, only to then discover a startling new crime taking place right under dick's nose. The new English teacher at Hudson University is really The Bookworm in disguise, hiding out at Hudson University to try and raid their prestigious libraries of all their beautiful books. He's gotten away with his ruse remarkably well, probably because he's earned a reputation as a good teacher.

But despite any good the man may have done as a teacher, Batman and Robin still need to stop his crime before he successfully carries it out! And before anyone asks about Bookworm's henchmen: they've all been masquerading as his teaching aides or as janitors or librarians or something.

Episodes 26 and 27: Batgirl comes to Hudson University as a Congresswoman to give a speech, and she winds up helping Batman and Robin deal with a new crime spree by Harley Quinn. She's set up a roller disco close to the university campus, and she's robbing the college kids of all they're worth. This episode set would wind up very much a tribute to the 70s era disco movement, as Harley Quinn and her mad discotheque have to get taken down by our terrific trio, who've been reunited once more!

Episodes 28 and 29: Batman, Robin and Batgirl are still at Hudson University, but Batgirl is admitting that she needs to get back to DC soon. And speaking of, Batman's heard tell that the Batcave is nearly all done with the remodel. But before the three of them can part ways once more, a new scheme begins to hatch in the university town. A rare north american bird statue has been robbed from right under our heroes feet, and we learn that it was The Penguin who stole it!

But it isn't just The Penguin who's involved in this mess. Oh, no. Catwoman (Eartha Kitt) is also involved. She apparently stole the statue first, but Penguin double crossed her. So now she's stalking him through the city, which means Batman, Robin and Batgirl have a real crime conundrum on their hands. Can they stop The Penguin and Catwoman in time? Or will their in-fighting tear the town apart?

Episodes 30 and 31: Batman and Robin end up stumbling upon a plot by Cluemaster to hijack the airwaves in Gotham and restart his old game show. Batman and Robin have to stop him, because he's going mad with a desire for attention and adulation.

Batman and Robin successfully manage to crash Cluemaster's show, and they send him back to jail. But in a joking scene at the finale of the episode, we see that the news is reporting on Cluemaster's crime by saying he ripped off a scheme of the Riddler's, some years prior. And that just inflames the tension between these two rogues once again.

Episodes 32 and 33: Joker and Riddler team up to issue a series of jokes and riddles to the people of Gotham City. You see, these two have realized that they're quite similar in their themes. So by pooling their knowledge, they hope to finally defeat Batman once and for all! Do their plans actually come to fruition? Definitely not, but I'm willing to bet that they come really close to victory.

Episode 34: Batman and Man-Bat end up teaming up to defeat the Getaway Genius (played by Bernie Kopell) and The Penguin (who've teamed up since last we saw them). Only through their combined skills do Batman and Man-Bat manage to bring this pair of crooks to justice.

Episodes 35 and 36: Batman gets into a really dramatic adventure this time around, as he has to help save Leslie Thompkins, a doctor he knew as a kid (operating out of Crime Alley). Turns out that a mobster named Lew Moxon is trying to kill her, to silence her the way he silenced Thomas Wayne years ago. Turns out that Joe Chill was a mere puppet of Lew Moxon, and Moxon had him killed in jail to silence him.

But Leslie Thompkins has poked her nose where it doesn't belong, and now her head is on the chopping block. So Batman has to save her, and finally confront the bitter shadows of his past. Finally, he has a chance to get revenge for his parents murder. But will he take it? Also involved with this story: Batman learns that Mr. Freeze III (Eli Wallach) was the father of Joe Chill, the petty thug who killed his parents. Mister Freeze abandoned his family when his wife was pregnant, but his name is Elias Chilton.

Episode 37: Sort of loosely tied to the previous episode (but still it's own independent thing), Batman has to try and get answers out of Mr. Freeze III (Eli Wallach) regarding his ties to the deaths of the Waynes. But Elias Chilton isn't talking. And the more Batman tries to press him for answers, the more we begin to sense a strange underbelly to Gotham Society. Lew Moxon was tied up in some kind of "Court", and Joe Chill was one of his "pawns". Elias Chilton may have been a negligent father, but he knows something's odd here. So him and batman come to an unlikely truce; both agreeing to investigate this issue on their own ends.

Episodes 38 and 39: On Christmas Eve, Gotham is menaced by yet another old menace from the past: The Calendar Man! Nobody has seen hide nor hair of him for years (mostly because he went straight years ago), but apparently being all alone and homeless on christmas made him snap and decide to commit a mad christmas and new year's themed crime wave. So Batman and Robin have to stop him, and convince him that people do care for him, and he doesn't have to go back to crime again.

Episodes 40 and 41: Christmas may be over, but apparently The Riddler didn't get the memo. He's leading a crime spree yet again, and this time it's all tied in to the themes of Christmas and New Year's. We learn that Bookworm, Riddler and Scarecrow are apparently coordinating all their plans, because Bookworm and Scarecrow are busy messing with Batgirl and Jason Bard somewhere else in town (Batgirl and Jason Bard got a Christmas break, so they came down from DC to visit Batman and Robin). That story won't be told until the next two parter, though. For now, it's all about Batman and Robin trying to beat The Riddler.

Episodes 42 and 43: Batgirl and Jason Bard have to stop Bookworm and Scarecrow from ruining New Year's Eve for everyone in Gotham. Batman and Robin have to deal with The Riddler's mad diabolical schemes; but Batgirl and Jason have to deal with Bookworm and Scarecrow. Both groups definitely have their work cut out for them.

Episodes 44 and 45: With Christmas over, Robin has recovered and left to go back to university. Now that Batman is all alone, he has to face a threat that's endemic of the new decade to come: the Black Spider. Eric Needham is a violent vigilante torturing drug dealers for what they've done to the slums and ghettos of gotham. He says Batman inspired him to go after criminals, but Batman is disgusted by the actions of this mad vigilante. So he tracks him down, and stops him before he can take the step from brutalization into murder.

It takes Batman a while to defeat the Black Spider, but when Batman does…he can't bring himself to hate the kid. He just wanted to bring better conditions to the slums of gotham, although his methods were excessive and cruel. Still, the wayne foundation pays to help eric needham get the mental help he desperately needs. Because batman isn't cruel enough to leave this kid all alone in the cold.

Episodes 46 and 47: Batman has to deal with The Joker, who's returned to bedevil Batman once more. This time, his scheme involves commiting a series of upside down crimes. This is an adaptation of a story from Batman #23, and it involves a batplane sequence (which would definitely be fun to see on screen).

Episodes 48 and 49: Now that Batman's finished dealing with Black Spider, he learns that the Black Spider was actually the pawn in another criminal's foul scheme: the Black Widow, to be more precise. Either still modelled/played by Tallulah Bankhead, or modelled after/played by Eleanor Audley (replacing a dead Tallulah Bankhead), I'm not quite sure. But I am sure that the Black Widow is back in Gotham, and this time her scheme has become even more intense than before.

She's got an army of giant mechanical spiders, and she's using them to rob gotham, hold places for ransom via web, and otherwise generally make a menace of herself. For a criminal mind this cunning, batman's skills are required. But who knows if even the caped crusader can defeat a foe as cruel and calculating as this one?

Episodes 50 and 51: Batman has to investigate a series of arsons in Gotham. Along the way, he keeps running into a strange new crook known as Firefly, a master of heat and flame. Batman isn't sure just what connection Firefly has to all these arson attacks on Gotham, but he knows there's some connection. So in this somewhat more dramatic tale of industrial espionage, we get to see Batman deal with a arsonist for hire.

But I would also keep some of the silver age firefly stuff, and i'd have his flames have different effects based on their colours. I want a colour themed villian, and i'm going to make firefly that colour themed villian, whether it's accurate or not. So yeah, we're using arson and themed rainbow effects for this story.

Episodes 52 and 53: Batman meets the Ragdoll (as played by Ray Bolger). I don't think a live action story with ragdoll could get into all the contortionism stuff, but I think it's still worth having him here. He very much feels like a character who works in a Batman '66 setting.

Episodes 54 and 55: Mister Freeze returns to Gotham and Batman has to stop him. Along the way, he meets a lady named Venus (played by Eva Gabor), who Mister Freeze has kidnapped, claiming she bears a startling resemblance to an ex-wife of his (an in-joke about George Sanders and Zsa Zsa Gabor once being married). But Venus and Batman end up teaming up, and their combined wits lead them to escape from the deadly traps of Mister Freeze's lair.

Episodes 56 and 57: Batman encounters Minerva, the criminal who ran a hypnosis based mineral spa, has been released from jail on good behaviour. But her plans for Gotham are anything but good. In jail, she used her spa to learn the secrets of all of gotham's major weaknesses. She now knows all the ways batman has defeated the different criminals in gotham, and she plans to use that knowledge to her advantage and finally have her revenge on Batman…

But thankfully, her plans all backfire. Mostly because of Venus, from the previous set of episodes. Minerva and Venus are actually sisters, and Venus vows to stop her sister at all costs. When Minerva captures Batman at the end of part one, Venus summons Robin and Batgirl to save the day!

Episodes 58 and 59: A new villian arrives in Gotham, going by the name of The Spook (which I still think sounds like some sort of ethnic slur, but which was actually a real 70s Batman villian). Claiming to be the ghost of dead prisoner Val Kaliban, the spook's powers of disappearence stump even Batman. But with the aid of The Scarecrow (possibly the only other person who could successfully combat this motif of fear), Batman successfully manages to capture and unmask Kaliban. Turns out he was never a real ghost; he was just a master escape artist who faked his own death.

Episodes 60 and 61: The beginning of the show's adaptation of Steve Englehart's comics storyline. Doctor Phosphorous and Silver St. Cloud both debut in this episode set. Although Doctor Phosphorus isn't seen again after this set of episodes, Silver St. Cloud remains relevant to the remaining few episodes in the season…

Episodes 62 and 63: An adaptation of the next part of Steve Englehart's Batman saga, starring Hugo Strange. I can't actually recap all of this saga, but we're covering the events detailed in Detective Comics #471-472, and that's about it.

Episodes 64 and 65: An adaptation of the story in Detective Comics #473 now, which allows us to see Batman and Robin working together to stop The Penguin, who's prepared yet another mad caper. And with Rupert Thorne using his influence to undermine Commissioner Gordon and Batman's affairs in Gotham, it's now unclear just what Batman and Robin can do to protect the city.

Episodes 66 and 67: For the next several episodes, there'll be a break from Steve Englehart's saga, because I plan to end the season by focusing on that. In any case, this two parter involves King Tut trying to summon an ancient mummy back from the dead, using ancient egyptian rights and rituals. His plans actually seem to work, but we learn that another criminal group is playing him for a dummy. They were using an automaton of a mummy, and they fooled him into thinking it was real.

If you're wondering about which criminal group, I can't really say. I haven't decided yet myself, so that's going to be left unclear. But it's probably either the League of Assasins or the Court of Owls. One of those groups makes the most sense to me.

Episodes 68 and 69: The Riddler starts a new crime wave, once again with the aid of The Bookworm. These two are now delivering riddles in all sorts of ways, from poems to different book titles to even having their henchmen mime out crimes without actually commiting them. Batman and Robin are left deep in the lurch by these two, and a real game of wits begins once more.

Episodes 70 and 71: An adaptation of a story in Batman #45. Again, I am beginning to really tire of writing these notes. So here's a copy and pasted description of the story from off of the DC wiki:

A famous author has recently published a book about the most evil women in history and a Hollywood studio has bought the rights to make a movie based on the book. At the same time, Catwoman escapes from prison. And when she learns that she wasn't included in the book, she decides to sabotage the film and steal from the crew and the studio. Catwoman's criminal spree is successful until she is captured and arrested by Batman and Robin.

Episodes 72 and 73: Batgirl and Jason Bard get involved in this one, as Shame and Calamity Jan crash Washington, DC. They're getting married again, and they've chosen to capture the US capital, so they can use it as their shotgun wedding Chapel. This news shakes the US to it's very core, so Batman, Robin, Batgirl and Jason Bard end up having to play the role of wedding crashers, stopping this outlaw posse from damaging the fair people of washington with their gunfights and rodeo matches.

Episodes 74 and 75: An adaptation of Detective Comics #474. It's Batman '66's introduction to Deadshot, who's still played pretty seriously (albeit not too, too violently). A skilled crook and sharpshooter, deadshot's broken out of jail to get revenge on Batman for their past encounter many years prior.

The death trap at the halfway mark for this episode might actually include a literal firing squad, since deadshot's whole motif is guns and bullets and things like that. So you know…it might end up being one of the show's more dramatic episodes.

Episodes 76 and 77: An adaptation of The Joker storyline from Detective Comics #475-476. This would be the season finale, and it would help to both resolve all the storylines of the past few issues; and yet also to set up the movie that's being built up to lead into Season Seven and help introduce Jason Todd. So a lot of important stuff happens in this episode set.

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crownmemes · 2 days ago

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Loss Sentences, Vol. 5

(Sad sentences from various sources. Adjust phrasing where needed)

"You've got to forget me. Let the past die."

"I feel like I'm hanging on by a thread here. I can't find any more bodies. I just can't."

"She's dead. The only important question now is how do you want to remember her?"

"There aren't any happy endings nowadays."

"It isn't like it used to be, but it'll do."

"Trust me, I know what it's like to lose someone. To feel like life is playing a cosmic trick on you."

"How do you live like this?"

"Believe me, one day, this pain will all be a memory."

"You don't have to be afraid that I'll break into pieces!"

"Do you know what it's like to wake up and think, just for a moment, that everything is as it was?"

"I've never seen much good come from looking to the past."

"She was the last link to who I was. I must find out who I am yet going to be."

"We all carry grief. It's rarely fatal."

"I wish you had the luxury of grief, but you don't."

"I've seen a lot of death, a lot of pain, a lot of suffering - but I've also seen a lot of life, a lot of beauty, a lot of wonder."

"Are you feeling okay? I've never seen you sleep for so long."

"Whatever punishment you think I deserve, I swear I have already endured it."

"Why are you talking in the past tense?"

"I understand. I know what it is to grieve."

"It's hard to believe that I'm now the last surviving member of my family."

"Even the most painful memories can become familiar. A refuge, if you'd like."

"What if I don't want to remember?"

"If you could, would you bring him back to life?"

"I know you want to help me, but I don't think you can this time."

"One doesn't lose a brother and remain emotionless."

"Sacrifice is hard, but you're no stranger to it."

"This place just isn't the same anymore."

"You don't get over it. You just get used to the crack in your heart."

"I don't like funerals. I never know what I'm supposed to say."

"Memories, like photographs, have a way of fading over time."

"You don't have to live in the past. Just let it go."

"Your eyes! What's happened to your eyes?"

"Not every story gets a happy ending."

"We've all got to move on."

"Mostly, it's loss that teaches us about the worth of things."

"Everything that's ever lived has to die."

"Grief can drive people to extraordinary lengths."

"You reach a point where the only thing you can do is just keep moving forward. That's all there is."

"There are things for all of us that not even all the time in the world would be able to erase."

"It's funny; I should feel melancholy, but mostly what I feel is liberated."

"The past's never just the past."

"Have you any idea what it's like to be haunted?"

#rp meme #rp memes #roleplay meme #roleplay memes #rp prompts #roleplay prompts #sentence starters #assorted;#loss;

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captain-of-the-roses · 3 days ago

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Hello Tumblr community 🇵🇸, I’m Noura Ayman, a medical lab specialist. My husband and I are pursuing master’s degrees at Al-Aqsa University 🇵🇸, and we were recently blessed with our baby girl, Hanan, after a difficult IVF journey.

We traveled to Egypt before the war, leaving us with no salary, no residence, and no income. My husband’s father, a cancer patient, is here with us, needing expensive treatments. Meanwhile, my family remains trapped in Gaza, enduring bombings and genocide—I desperately need to save them.

Your support can change our lives, helping us build a future and protect our loved ones. Please donate and share.

This campaign has been vetted by: @el-shab-hussein @moayesh @nabulsi

We deeply appreciate your generosity. ❤️

Please Help Them Out! Donate And Share If You Can!!

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#free palestine #free gaza #gaza genocide #gaza strip #all eyes on rafah #save palestine #palestine #palestinian genocide #gaza #i stand with palestine #important #all eyes on palestine #palestine news

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your-favourite-plague · 1 year ago

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I saw this meme and thought of Kalluto

#“I'm used to this” “I can endure it”#yeah sure i totally believe you #it certainly is rational and healthy way of thinking #kalluto #kalluto zoldyck #hxh kalluto #hunter x hunter #hxh #i draw #now i noticed i didn't flip the kimono in the mirror gjhdijenrhf i'm genius

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bluestation · 7 months ago

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nami day!! 🧡💐🍊

#one piece #nami #that's incense and mandarin flowers on a big shell in the first drawing in case its not very clear!#(i'm alive!! life got busy again!!#i havent drawn nami nearly enough but i rlly do love her . thank u 4 all u endure .....#tmi: my laptop only has 1 usb port (sadistic) so until now i could only use my drawing tablet OR my mouse OR a hotkey pad #today i finally got a multi usb port (?) and i can use them all at once .... its insane actually .... so much better 4 my wrists #im sure itll boost my productivity- next drawing will be in 2 rather than 4 months .....#oH ALSO the font used here is called 'chiffchaff' and i believe it was inspired by old newspaper fonts ... isnt it so pretty!!

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cometblaster2070 · 27 days ago

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so i'm going to go fucking insane because for a while this aspect of malenia's character design has been bothering me and making me think I'm seeing things and going fucking crazy.

the aspect in question is malenia's left arm:

when i first saw malenia's arm my first thought was oh okay they're probably just bandages or some sort of wraps.

but then you look a bit closer and like

idk about you (because i might be losing it) but it seems like the mesh of whatever the fuck that is very clearly melded with her skin in a way/it looks like it's going into and then emerging out of her skin (which is HORRIFYING to think of I won't lie).

and once again i thought i was going crazy and seeing things because surely these were just meant to be wraps or bandages like the ones we see in the scene of her fighting radahn right?

and then the thought of the needle came to my mind. along with something malenia says in her cutscene before we fight her.

"my flesh was dull gold"

huh. now isn't that interesting.

this would imply that in order to stall the rot from consuming his sister, miquella made a plan to sew unalloyed gold into malenia's skin using his needle in a last-ditch attempt to save her arm.

(granted it's funnier to imagine he just sticks it in her arm and goes okay great all done! and that's probably the canon way it went but)

the thought of the sheer pain malenia must've gone through during this process, to be honest, and the thought of the guilt miquella must've felt at having to force his sister to endure even more agony just to help her is just sad.

and all of it is done just in an attempt to salvage what they can of her and hope that more can't be taken.

edit: btw when looking at malenia pre-bloom and pre-losing her needle it looks like there's a proper layer/cover/whatever it is around her arm up till her knuckles making it seem like an actual covering or layer on top of her skin and what not, but when we fight her post-bloom and post-losing needle it appears like some of the layers have either flaked or fallen away and that reveals that it's actually meshed with/into her skin.

#elden ring #im going to sleep now #i think i will be losing it #if i stay awake any longer #because what the fuck is this #what am i supposed to do with this #it's not even canon and im losing my mind over possible implications #because can you imagine #miquella having to literally stitch his sister's rotting skin back together using unalloyed gold #he is scared and desperate and he doesn't know what else to do or how else to possibly help #and malenia is in so much PAIN #but she loves her brother and trusts in what he's doing and so she endures #god i love all their character designs but hers is just INSANE #malenia blade of miquella #miquella the unalloyed #miquella #malenia #okay BUT #the comedy of miquella being like “hey malenia look over there!”#and just sticking the needle into her arm when she's not looking is great #also miquella using his sister as his home ec project #like wow he's practicing sewing using his sister good for him #i'm sorry don't take this seriously i'm losing my mind

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worldwithoutmiracles · 3 months ago

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what a miserable day.

reminding myself the world is not fundamentally changed. we have elected our own downfall, but there are birds outside, and my little niece is learning to walk, and I need to go grocery shopping.

(people had fulfilling lives during the fall of the roman empire. I'm reading books from the 1930's, the last time fascism almost consumed us. I am reminding myself of the people of the world right now living under unjust regimes. I am looking to minorities in america, past and present, for tips on thriving with a boot on your neck. I am reaching out to the half of the country who is mourning with me today, reminding myself there is good, there are helpers, we are still here.)

in the future there will be protests, bad news, fights (jesus christ, thanksgiving is still ahead). for now I am just trying to remember how to live. in 2016 I completely shut down and retreated from everyone. I allowed myself to be tricked into thinking I was alone. I don't want to do that again. (I don't want to do any of this again.)

this is how you live through tragedies - any way you can.

#us politics #2024 you bitch #us election #this is america #gonna keep this blog as a place to mostly not be political #honestly not sure how much internet I can endure right now #so I might be a little quieter #but I'm doing better than 2016 #(I'm always doing better than 2016)

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cobra-creampuff · 4 months ago

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we went over the 14yr long torture session in my last therapy visit actually, and i told her that toward the end i was fantasizing about and then actively considering walking into traffic because if i got catastrophically injured then they would have to treat my pain. and she told me that's not an uncommon thing for people to do. that she has heard that many times before.

like think about that. we are so moralistic about drug use and have politicized a particular type of medicine so much, and doctors are so uncompassionate toward and even suspicious of patients who are in pain because of it, that it's NOT UNCOMMON for people who are otherwise not suicidal to start completely genuinely longing to get hit by a fucking car just for the chance to be oh so graciously provided the absolute bare fucking minimum of care.

think about how many different things have pain as a symptom. how many things have pain as the only symptom the patient is aware of. how many of them are life or death crises. heart attacks. blood clots. strokes. bleeding ulcers. those are just what i can think of off the top of my fucking head, AND I'M NOT A FUCKING DOCTOR.

what i had, for example, feels exactly like appendicitis. and they left it for fourteen years because my only symptom was excruciating pain and i didn't fit their stupid little (completely unsupported by evidence, btw) diagnostic mnemonic. if it had been appendicitis, or anything else as immediately deadly that "just" hurts, i would have fucking died the same night i got sent home from the emergency room with "medical" "advice" to take some tylenol and rest - for the first time, that is. out of dozens. how many people do die that way?

because addicts are Bad. and because doctors are too arrogant and biased to practice medicine on the basis of evidence and informed consent when the profit model and conservative propaganda make it soooo easy to stay in the good old days of paternalism instead.

#jack facts #medical #soc #i want to tag this ''opioid crisis'' but i truly don't think i can manage to type it without the quote marks lmao #and like my thing and none of the things i mentioned are fixable via opioids obviously and fucking obviously i know that #but the fucking circus about opioid use and how prescribing opioids Must be avoided at All Costs No Matter What #results in this Us vs Them mentality of The Treacherous Drug Seeker vs The Nurse/Doctor Too Smart To Be Fooled #which is precisely why i said in my last post that they're ''like cops''#they have this perception that they are being constantly rushed by the lying swindling Enemy #and are so smug about it when they believe they have magically divined when someone reporting pain is faking or exaggerating #based on whatever the fuck they individually have decided is Drug Seeking Behavior TM TM TM #which are almost fucking always just normal fucking behavioral responses to pain and fear!!!!#and then that person is not a Patient (as cops are to Victim) they are instead an Addict (as cops are to Criminal)#and that person not only does not get pain relief they don't get anything the god damn fuck else either except a fucking attitude #and people fucking die. of whatever is hurting in the first place or from their endurance for endless torment running out.#disproportionately women and people of color and fat people and the mentally ill and disabled and the poor and children and the elderly and #nurses/doctors 🤝 cops 🤝 soldiers 🤝 ceos 🤝 mass murderers who are socially celebrated for heroism #not to put too radical and fine a point on it or anything lol #ANYWAY #i'll probably delete this or at least the tags lmao #whatever. i'm going to go lie in bed and have symptoms until 6 am when i have to get up to go be retraumatized at the medical lab :)#neglect #drug use #suicide #car crash #illness #ask to tag

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uncanny-tranny · 1 year ago

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Don't talk to me; I'm still recovering from the fact that the first computer-synthesized voice to sing in 1961 - the IBM 704 - sang Daisy Bell, a love song.

#positivity #do the computers know i love them #sometimes i watch the recording of the audio and it blows me away that i can do that #like yes daisy bell was a very popular song from 1892 but the point still stands #there were a million simple songs to give the computer to sing and the one that was chosen talked about enduring love #so yes you can be apathetic about it and say that there's no point in thinking about it deeper than a proof of concept for 60s tech #but i say nonsense to that - nay i will not stand for it here. everything is deep. everything is significant #to teach a computer a love song is the highest form of humanity and i don't care if that's dumb #hot take (semi-related): computers have humanity in them. humans made machines. we gave them purpose and existence.#(that's not saying that computers are 1:1 human BUT that humans made those machines - everything out there originated because of us)#(and i think that's why i don't buy that machines are more neutral than a human especially in judgement)#(a machine has whatever judgement their people had while making it. it isn't neutral at all based on the technology we have today)#i'm not obsessed with machines but i've learned to respect and admire them for what they are #i'd say that i would want to learn about tech for fun but i'm not enthused by it like other transsexuals are

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fisheito · 2 months ago

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I know you and that anon were riffing, but historical unsolicited dick pics are absolutely a thing. humans love sending eachother nudes, throughout time. sketches, paintings and even SCULPTED REPLICAS are recorded as being sent by lords to prospective lovers. can you imagine being the artist commissioned for that? being the hans holbien of penises?? and now 500 years later the painting you did of baron whatevers cock and balls is in a museum?? wild.

i love it when my delusions are backed up by historical facts and an entire creative archive of humanity's urge to send nudes

#feesh answer #thank you for this valuable information.#just like the UR MOM graffiti engraved on the ruins of pompeii #humans will persevere.....#i'm still laughing at how UNSOLICITED dick pics through history have been done #seriously!!!!! imagine being the lord to commission a Grand Sculpture of Thine Peepeus #and wheeling it in front of some poor person's home #and the sculpture is bigger than the prospective lover's entire abode #and the recipient is so thoroughly unimpressed #like. wow. if you wanted to court me #you could have used the money you spent on this dickture to buy me . like. ANYTHING else #if i send this back can you get a refund and buy me some victuals instead #massive dickture gets abandoned in a field and is left to endure the tests of time and erosion #not nu🦀

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acourtofquestions · 3 months ago

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Rowaelin Chapter 41 Kingdom of Ash:

She'd rebuild it—what she had been.

Perhaps one last time, perhaps only for a little while, but she'd do it. If only for Terrasen.

Rowan swooped from the mast, shifting as he reached her side at the rail. He surveyed the night-black sea beyond them. "You should rest." She slid him a glance. "I'm not tired." Not a lie, not in some regards. "Want to spar?" He frowned. "Training can start tomorrow."

"Or tonight." She held his piercing stare, matched his dominance with her own.

"It can wait a few hours, Aelin."

"Every day counts." Against Erawan, even a day of training would count.

Rowan's jaw tightened. "True," he said at last. "But it can still wait. There are ... there are things we need to discuss." The silent words rose in his animal-bright eyes. About you and me.

Her mouth went dry. But Aelin nodded In silence, they strode into their spacious quarters, its only decoration the wall of windows that overlooked the churning sea behind them. A far cry from a queen's chamber, or any she might have purchased as Adarlan's assassin.

At least the bed built into the wall looked clean enough, the sheets crisp and stainless. But Aelin headed for the oak desk anchored to the floor, and leaned against it while Rowan shut the door.

In the dim lantern light, they stared at each other.

She'd endured Maeve and Cairn; she'd endured Endovier and countless other horrors and losses. She could have this conversation with him. The first step toward rebuilding herself.

Aelin knew Rowan could hear her thundering heart as the space between them went taut. She swallowed once. "Elide and Lorcan told you... told you everything that was said on that beach."

A curt nod, wariness flooding his eyes. "Everything that Maeve said." Another nod.

She braced herself. "That I'm-we're mates."

Understanding and something like relief replaced that wariness. "Yes."

"I'm your mate," she said, needing to voice it. "And you are mine."

Rowan crossed the room, but halted a few feet from the desk on which she leaned. "What of it, Aelin?" His question was low, rough.

"Don't you..." She scrubbed at her face. "You know what she did to you, to ..." She couldn't say her name. Lyria. "Because of it."

"I do know."

"And?"

"And what do you wish me to say?"

She pushed off the desk. "I wish you to tell me how you feel about it. If…"

"If what?"

"If you wish it wasn't so."

His brows narrowed. "Why would I ever wish that?"

She shook her head, unable to answer, and stared over her shoulder toward the sea.

It seemed like he would close the distance between them, but he remained where he was.

"Aelin." His voice turned hoarse. "Aelin."

She looked at him then, at the pain in his words.

"Do you know what I wish?" He exposed his palms, one tattooed, the other unmarked. "I wish that you had told me. When you realized it. I wish you had told me then."

She swallowed against the ache in her throat. "I didn't want to hurt you."

"Why would it ever hurt me to know the truth that was already in my heart? The truth I hoped for?"

"I didn't understand it. I didn't understand how it was possible. I thought maybe ... maybe you might be able to have two mates within a lifetime, but even then, I just ….." She blew out a breath. "I didn't want you to be distressed." His eyes softened. "Do I regret that Lyria was dragged into this, that the cost of Maeve's game was her life, and the life of the child we might have had? Yes. I regret that, and I wish it had never happened." He would bear the tattoo to remember it for the rest of his days. "But none of that was your fault. I will always carry some of the burden of it, always know I chose to leave her for war and glory, and that I played right into Maeve's hands."

"Maeve wanted to ensnare you to get to me, though."

"Then it is her choice, not yours."

Aelin ran a hand over the worn wood of the desk. "In those illusions she spun for me, she showed me variations on one more than all the others." The words were strained, but she forced them out. Forced herself to look at him. "She spun me one dreamscape that felt so real I could smell the wind off the Staghorns."

"What did she show you?" A breathless question.

Aelin had to swallow before she could answer. "She showed me what might have been—if there had been no Erawan, if Elena had dealt with him properly and banished him. If there had been no Lyria, none of that pain or despair you endured. She showed me Terrasen as it would have been today, with my father as king, and my childhood happy, and..." Her lips wobbled. "When I turned twenty, you came with a delegation of Fae to Terrasen, to make amends for the rift between my mother and Maeve. And you and I took one look at each other in my father's throne room, and we knew."

She didn't fight the stinging in her eyes. "I wanted to believe that was the true world. That this was the nightmare from which I'd awaken. I wanted to believe that there was a place where you and I had never known this suffering and loss, where we'd take one look at each other and know we were mates. Maeve told me she could make it so. If I gave her the keys, she'd make it all possible." She wiped at her cheek, at the tear that escaped down it. "She spun me realities where you were dead, where you'd been killed by Erawan and only in handing over the keys to her would I be able to avenge you. But those realities made me ... I stopped being useful to her when she told me you were gone. She couldn't get me to talk, to think. Yet in the ones where you and I met, where things were as they should have been ... that was when I came the closest."

His swallow was audible. "What stopped you?"

She wiped at her face again. "The male I fell in love with was you. It was you, who knew pain as I did, and who walked with me through it, back to the light. Maeve didn't understand that. That even if she could create that perfect world, it wouldn't be you with me. And I'd never trade that, trade this. Not for anything." He extended his hand. An offer and invitation.

Aelin laid hers atop his, and his callused fingers squeezed gently. "I wanted it to be you," he breathed, closing his eyes. "For months and months, even in Wendlyn, I wondered why you weren't my mate instead. It tore me up, wondering it, but I still did." He opened his eyes, and they burned like green fire. "All this time, I wanted it to be you."

She lowered her gaze, but he hooked a thumb and forefinger around her chin and lifted her face.

"I know you are tired, Fireheart. I know that the burden on your shoulders is more than anyone should endure." He took their joined hands and laid them on his heart. "But we'll face this together. Erawan, the Lock, all of it.

"We'll face it together. And when we are done, when you Settle, we will have a thousand years together. Longer."

A small sound came out of her. "Elena said the Lock requires—"

"We'll face it together," he swore again.

"And if the cost of it truly is you, then we'll pay it together. As one soul in two bodies.

Her heart strained to the point of cleaving. "Terrasen needs a king."

"I have no intention of ruling Terrasen without you. Aedion can have the job."

She scanned his face. He meant every word He brushed the hair from her face, his other hand still clasping hers to his chest, where his heart pounded a steady, unfaltering rhythm.

"Even if I had my choice of any dream-realities, any perfect illusions, I would still choose you, too."

She felt the truth of his words echo into the unbreakable thing that bound their very souls, and tilted her face up toward his. But he made no move beyond it.

She frowned. "Why aren't you kissing me?"

"I thought you might want to be asked first."

"That never stopped you before."

"This first time, I wanted to make sure you were ... ready." After Cairn and Maeve. After months of having no choices whatsoever.

She smiled despite that truth. "I'm ready to be kissed again, Prince."

He let out a dark chuckle and muttered, "Thank the gods," before he lowered his mouth to hers.

"You're my mate." Her words were a breathless rush. "And I am yours."

The world might have been burning around them for all she cared, all he cared, too.

"Together, Aelin," he promised, and she heard the rest of the words in every place their bodies joined. Together they would face this, together they would find a way.

Together we'll find a way, their mingling breaths, the crashing sea, seemed to echo.

Together.

#Chapter 41 #Kingdom of Ash #Sarah J. Maas #Aelin Galathynius #Rowan Whitethorn #Rowaelin #soulmates #mates #spoilers and notes in tags cause this chapter and also spoilers in post cause this chapter first read react with me read along #Rowaelin chapters scenes moments quotes #they want to make it possible bring that love to light #am I allowed to cry? — Again the word endured — finally the dream — the sand she still sees — he’s magic being steady — them talking time #again if Maeve could convince Rowan Lyria was his mate how bad was it when she convinced Aelin her actual mate was dead… this hurts me…#the fact Aelin stopped being useful because it destroyed her beyond belief but the dreams the dreams almost got her because its all she wan #again then both feeling sorry and the other not realizing and then consent and then comfort and love & I just wanted it2be U how could I no #I know you are tired Fireheart (ALL THE TROPES IN ONE LINE… UGH I MISSED THIS SHIP)#together. one soul in two bodies. their endgame like literally they are. I’d choose you too. even the apologies that were needed just heali #what it might have once been — together — not alone — not returning alone — the king and queen of Terrasen — I need u more — 2 whatever end #Aelin watched the boat until it disappeared trying not to stare too long at the clean unstained sand beneath her boots #always north — she didn’t care she just wanted far away — who knew — what she knew-the letters she sent-Valg-dark blood that had turned red #If it had been another dreamscape or some fragment that had blended into the very real memory of Connall's death. — always a plab&theory #all these things to deal with later-she’d rebuild all she had been-her match helper mirror-matched his piercing stare with her own-wait/res #A far cry from a queen's chamber or any she might have purchased as Adarlan's assassin. — how far we’ve come-she had ENDURED she can do it #I'm your mate she said needing to voice it. And you are mine. — Lyria. — I do know. and?&what do you wish me to say?-this was perfect #If what? If you wish it wasn't so. His brows narrowed. Why would I ever wish that? — Aelin. she looked at him at the pain in his words #the way it's changed since Mistward... and grown... even in names like Whitethorn Galathynius together — the brain thoughts are back —#The kiss was gentle-light. Letting her decide how to guide it. So she did. — he’d do it all night if that was what’s he wished #Together we'll find a way their mingling breaths the crashing sea seemed to echo. Together. — mountains and oceans #Might’ve been before-thought snapped-the bond- u r my mate&I am urs-the world might have been burning for all she cared all he cared too #Together they would face this together they would find a way. — claiming him as he claimed her — a scar a marker a tattoo

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