#I need to make a verse name just for these two specifically!

[itsaship-literally]

It’s A Ship - Literally Revisited

As many of my long-time followers and friends know…

THIS BLOG supports the POTENTIAL FUTURE of Beetlejuice and Lydia.

In the past, I have written posts about WHY we ship Beej and Lyds, specifically here on this blog, when there are so many controversies. It needed to be cleared up many times because, with every new piece of media, there comes opposition, which is totally understandable if you are not used to supernatural or horror-themed romance tropes.

I am here to help break it down for all the new fans sitting back and trying to figure out the ship's where, what, why and whens.

Here we go!

Movie verse:

Many of us were young when we met Beetlejuice and Lydia for the first time. Some latched on to and related to a young Winona Ryder. It was a vibe, and while we are well aware that in real-life terms, a teen is not ready to be involved with a 600+ ghost (cuz that’s an option 🤣), we couldn't help but find the allure in the Living Meets Death dichotomy. As you will undoubtedly see, this is a running theme in the fandom.

We had countless reunion fics featuring an older Lydia (sometimes by years, sometimes by months) reconnecting with her villain/antagonist. Many were dark fic, some light and fluffy and some off the wall chaotic, while some crossed over into the MoToon verse (yes that is a thing)

So here we are, more than 30 years later, and our pair reunited legitimately on the big screen. It was beautiful and, without giving away any spoilers since this new piece of media is still fresh, it gives us more to play with because, let’s face it, he is not done haunting her.

With this movie universe, there is still potential for this ship to thrive. (And that’s not just because Winona and Michael are down. I still am in shock over their revelations)

Toon Verse:

Yet another oldie that many grew up on. This one is a hotbed for both friend-shipping and Relation-shipping.

Here, we have a long-term bond that can be wholesome, platonic, romantic, complicated, or, on occasion, dark and twisted.

Stories have ranged from childhood crushes to outright possessiveness. The fanart from cute fluff to… well… rule 34.

Lydia is young in this cartoon. We are aware of that and in any cartoon fandom, aging up is par for the course. It is expected (and preferred by many) that any stories of romance happen in circumstances outside of the toon cannon.

Age issues aside, we cannot deny that BJ adores her. The man has an entire shrine in his head, idolizing this twisted, weird girl that, once again, many older fans related to. He would do anything for her and has proved it many times. The chaotic dead man with no shits to give will give up freedom and wealth and go against his nature to make her happy.

How can we not find the potential for a future of these two goofballs?

Musical Verse:

This universe combined the goofiness of Toon with the antagonism of the movie—a nice combo that I and those we call MusicalBabes enjoy.

Regardless of what the cast believes or feels about the shipping subject, they are working with a pair of unseen, attention-starved, chaotic nut jobs—a compliment, not disparagement.

Beetlejuice and Lydia need each other. They were miserable before they met and would have continued to be so had they not entangled themselves in the other’s existence.

Living and the dead, once again, need each other to balance their lonliness.

Does musical verse have ship potential? Hell, yes, it does. (Also, this is the only piece of media where the wedding actually went through)

Just a few Common Tropes In This Ship: (there are so many more than this)

Mayfly/December Romance (also see: May/December and Age Gap)

Reincarnation Romance

Death and the Maiden (also see: Monster and the Maiden)

Beast and Beauty

Ugly Guy, Hot Wife

Boy meets Ghoul

Why the name Beetlebabes?

Read: Beetlebabes: A History

To find more ship related content use: Beetlejuice x Lydia, Betelyds (alt. Beetlyds), Beej and Lyds, Beetle and Babes, Beetz and Deetz (or more simply Beetz) are the original ship names. BeetleBabes, MovieBabes, ToonBabes and MusicalBabes are all relatively new.

This blog often uses Beetlebabes but it’s not a hard fast rule that it will be on every post.

The goal of Its A Ship - Literally...

I created this blog many years ago (around 2016) to collect all the goodness in the fandom. Memes, art, fics, fan theories. I picked up the ship names and used them as tags. Gathered as much as I could from Tumblr posts, in all universes, and tried so hard to stay neutral amidst the internal fandom drama. (give or take a few misteps, iykyk)

The only goal I have here is to collect and share and boost all universes. Movie, Toon and Musical, including the mini verses of MoToon and Graveyard Revue if I can find it.

I do this for fun, to destress and play internet magpie with shiny beetle stuff while I stuff everything into the queue.

Lots of love to you guys. And as always, please show love to your fan creators. Credit them and boost the signals. These creators do so much hard work.

- 🪲 - 🪲 - 🪲 - 🪲 - 🪲 -

Previous Posts Like This: Because It Needs to Be Said Yet Again (2017) | One More Time (2019)

[darklordofthesimp]

Anything VIII (König x Reader)

The 8th instalment in the Anything-Verse

Main Masterlist

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7

Like the characters? Read their fics below!

Sunshine Masterlist || Saint Masterlist

Series Summary:  A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper.

A/N: No one make any sudden movements. I have returned. Excuse how rusty my writing is.

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Unrequited Pining || Tension

Warning: Graphic Language

What a sight you must behold. 

Sleepless, stressed and on the verge of your breaking point… again. 

It was no wonder that Saint watched you with deep concern, no wonder that they held their pen like it was a lifeline rather than just stationary. You wanted them to just understand, you needed them to know that you weren’t insane- everything was so elaborately planned and you were just on the verge of unravelling it. 

“Saint,” you rasped, “there are people in on this…. The brass. I think König too. It’s a fuck-fight.” 

The doctor leaned back into their chair, eyes never leaving your jittering figure. The sigh that fell from their lips released none of the tension balled tightly in their shoulders. 

“Birdy…” 

You stood to your feet. You didn’t want to hear it. 

You were sick of hearing people say your name in that tone: placatingly, diminishing your thoughts and dismissing you as if you were the local crazy. 

Maybe you were the local crazy. 

Is that how everybody saw you? Did everybody truly think that you were so off-kilter that you’d hallucinate a coup? You were a victim of assault- not insanity. 

“Stop,” Saint put their pen down firmly on the table, drawing your attention back to the situation at hand. “I’m listening. I’m just a little…  hesitant. It’s a very serious accusation, Birdy, but I’m not doubting the source.” 

You shot the medical officer a knowing glare. “Oh,” you drawled sarcastically, “because everybody takes me seriously at this unit with my history, right?” 

“I don’t give a fuck about whether anybody else takes you seriously,” Saint’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I take you seriously, Birdy.” 

The room was doused in tension. Your fingers curled to form tight fists, skin stretching over your knuckles until they turned white. You don’t know why you were angry at their declaration, angry at their loyalty. 

Maybe it was because you knew it was misplaced. 

Maybe it was because you knew you’d disappoint. “Yeah,” you sighed softly, relaxing your hands as you turned for the door. “That makes one of us.” 

_______

The walk to training always held some anxiety but this time it was as if you were drowning in it. Each step felt like a death knell and sudden dryness in your mouth made you want to turn back and run to the safety of your room.

You thought that you were well and truly past this. 

Apparently, you couldn’t get past anything. 

As you approached the door you were surprised to hear voices. No one ever wanted to interact with König, let alone at 7 a.m. on a Saturday. The room was always booked for the two of you at this time, interruptions were specifically warned against by Price. 

It’s just a conversation. You took in a deep breath. Not everything required a downward spiral, not all mysteries needed investigation. 

Literally just a fucking conversation. Get a grip. 

You straightened your shoulders as you approached the door and the dialogue became clearer. 

“Birdy will be here soon.” König’s voice was as familiar as your own. “You need to leave.” 

You pulled up short just before the entrance, frozen like a deer in the headlights. There was a short silence before a soft thud echoed throughout the room. It sounded like a hand being clapped over the shoulder but you weren’t sure. Could have been a punch, could have been a really intense kiss, who fucking knew? 

All you knew was that they weren’t meant to be there. Maybe it was Sunshine. 

Although you hated the arrogant fucker, it would relieve you to know it was them. They were inconsequential and, although they were annoying, they wouldn’t be behind your assassination attempt. 

Sunshine would have made sure you were in the ground, no matter the cost. Sunshine would have succeeded. 

Instead, the voice that rattled in your ears wasn’t your fellow coworker. 

“Just be careful. Wouldn’t want to jump the gun, would we?” 

Your blood turned to ice.  

Graves. 

You could almost hear that snake-like grin in his words, you could almost see the look in his eyes that was nothing but predatory. Phillip was charming when he wanted to be, but there was something terrifying about him.

Like a trap lying in wait. 

Like a traitor waiting to strike. 

The sound of sure and steady footsteps snapped you out of your thoughts. Panic flooded your system, kicking your adrenaline into gear. There was nowhere to hide, not even a small nook in this god-forsaken hallway.

As Graves drew closer to discovering your presence, you bounced back a few steps from where you’d been frozen. Throwing your arms above your head as if you were stretching and squinting your eyes with an outrageous yawn was all you could pull together. 

Phillip rounded the corner with a cocky sway that made your heart race. You watched him scan your slowly approaching body, seemingly tired and unaware. You acted surprised to see him, carefully schooling your face to return to the usual lifelessness that it held. 

“Birdy!” Graves said, slowing his pace. With a flash of teeth, the corner of his mouth pulled upward into a knowing smirk. “Good to see you.”

“I bet,” you said monotonously, adding a dismissive nod at the end like a punctuation mark. 

Phillip’s smirk turned into a smile. 

“Enjoy your session,” the man said slowly. As he drew closer you could feel your chest tightening. He smelt fresh like he had just gotten out of a long, hot shower. You hated that he was close enough to smell the fucking body wash on his skin. 

His shoulder brushed yours as he passed by, setting your body alight with fear. You didn’t dare look over your shoulder as you trekked towards the gym door, eyes firm on that handle. His footsteps still echoed along the hallway by the time that you’d reached the entrance. 

“You’re late.” 

König’s voice startled you despite making direct eye contact with him. 

The man looked disgruntled, to say the least. His hair looked like he’d been running his fingers through it over and over, and your guess was confirmed when he roughly raked it over once more. König’s eyes were looking anywhere but yours. 

“I’m not.” You’d meant for those words to have some bite to them but you couldn’t muster up the venom. Not when he looked like that. 

“You are,” he insisted with a snarl. 

You raised your hands up in surrender, eyes narrowing at his hostility. The urge to leave grew tenfold and so did your distrust for the man before you. There were too many things that pointed towards his guilt in planning your assassination. 

The way he’d tried to blow off your concerns, the vehement way he’d shouted for you to drop it, and now, his interaction with Graves. You thought back to your time in the kitchen when Phillip had first encountered you both. 

“Now, who’d have thought that you’d both be so… close.” He had said.

The Shadow had watched with intrigue as König stepped in front of you as if protecting you from him. If you really thought about it, most of his smarminess was aimed at the man beside you, rather than yourself. 

You swallowed and choked on your own spit. It was a distant reminder of when it had been your own blood that you’d coughed on. 

König’s sigh tore you from your spiralling conspiracies. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. His tone was quiet but his eyes were genuine. 

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat. “No, it’s fine. I get shitty when I deal with Graves, too.” 

But why was he with Phillip in the first place? 

You wanted to ask him, everything in you pleaded to seek out the truth. You needed to investigate-, you needed to know. Your mouth opened to get the answers you so desperately desired, but a thought made you stop in your tracks. 

What if you let on that you were suspicious of him? 

It was clear that you were no match against König. Your entire life had become interwoven with his and it felt like he was there in your every waking moment. If he knew that you suspected him, it would only put you in danger again. He’d busted through your bedroom door once and that was enough to tell you that you wouldn’t be safe from him anywhere you went. 

You distantly realized that König was watching you carefully from where he stood, jade eyes analyzing every quirk of your lips and every twitch of your brows. 

“What?” You said, feigning self-consciousness. “Admiring your handiwork?” 

The man shot you a glare and you prayed that was enough to shift his attention. 

“I hate it when you say things like that,” he hissed, pulling his jacket down his arms and throwing it aside. “Seriously.” 

“Yeah, well I hate having a chopping block for a face.” You tilted your head to shoot him a deadpan look over your shoulder. “Seriously.” 

“I cannot deal with you sometimes, Birdy.” König hissed. 

“I can tell,” you jerked your thumb towards your marred features. 

You knew that you were playing with fire. The way the man stood straight, his gaze narrowing and any sense of banter dissipating from his features, made it very clear that it was time for you to stop pushing that particular button. 

“Your attempt at deflecting is not as effective as you may think,” König said, his words slow and deliberate. Jade eyes bore into yours and your breath stuttered in your chest. 

You could lie to him, you could play dumb. He was dangerous and if you tipped him off you would be dead by morning.

You couldn’t make sense of that logic, though. If he wanted you dead, you’d well and truly have been dead by now. Your cheeks stung at the thought… you suppose that there wasn’t a lack of trying. Maybe it really had just been a failed attempt. 

“Birdy,” the soldier said, shooting a glance at the door. “I know what you are thinking and you need to put a stop to it.” 

Those contesting thoughts came to a staggering halt. 

“I don’t even know what I’m thinking,” you snapped. “What would you know?” 

König raised a brow at your tone, opening his mouth to deliver what you would assume to be an infuriating response. The words choked and fell from his tongue, though. There was a huff as he turned on his heel, stalking towards the exit and closing the door. 

You swallowed thickly. 

When he swivelled to look at you it was with a burning gaze that pinned you to where you stood.

“You bring attention to us in ways that will get us killed,” König whispered harshly, his accent was sharp and heavy with each enunciation. “You need to stop.” 

“Stop what?” You waved your hands at him. “You’re so fucking vague.” 

He flinched forward, pushing his finger onto your lips. You smacked his hand away like a cat pawing at something irritating. 

“Would you be quiet?” He snarled through gritted teeth. König took in a deep breath, casting another look at the exit. He was watching the light beneath the door, making sure there were no shadows tipping off an eavesdropper. Why was he suddenly the paranoid one? 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You lowered your tone but the urgency behind it was still present. 

“You need to stop chasing this lead,” König shook his head, gaze imploring. “You need to stop trying to find who planned the accident.” 

Your mouth went dry. 

“Is that a threat?” The words were a true whisper this time. Barely falling from your lips and only as audible as a soft gasp. 

König’s eyes widened. “What?” 

“Are you in on it?” You asked, taking a step backward. 

Bile roiled in your stomach as if mimicking a stormy sea. There was a distinct buzzing in your ears, numbing you to anything but the situation at hand.

“What?” König repeated. “What? No. That is not what I meant by that.” 

You shook your head, “the other day- the way you reacted says otherwise.” 

He reached out for your arm and you wonder if it was to comfort you or to detain you. You finched away from him but this time the man before you didn’t yield. He did not back down and he did not allow you the illusion of control. 

Instead, König held you firmly by your biceps. 

“I need you to listen to me, Birdy. We don’t have time for this back and forth thing that we do every time.” 

Rage tore through your chest at his dismissal and you would have told him as much had he not looked so desperate. Instead, you kept your mouth shut as the man watched you pleadingly. You would let him speak because maybe he had the answers you were searching for, maybe König would be the evidence to prove that these suspicions weren’t delusions. 

The man cast another glance towards the doorway before letting go of your arms. You straightened cautiously, being mindful to not rub at the skin he’d had contact with. 

“Well?” You whispered impatiently, waving a hand at him to continue. “You wanna manhandle me or do you want to talk?” 

“It’s not safe for us to talk here,” König’s words were barely audible. “You need to stop with your head-hunting. Stop asking questions.” 

His eyes were fierce, warning you not to challenge his demands but you couldn’t care less. He, of all people, had no right to be telling you when to chase answers.

He raised a hand before you could speak. “You are going to get us both killed because you gather intel like a child-” 

“What does that even mean?” You interrupted harshly.

“It means you have alerted everyone, Birdy!” König snapped, his voice harsh and his eyes flashing. “Whoever did this knows that you’re onto them. They know that we know.” 

You blinked dumbly, stunned. 

The man glared at you for a long moment, his chest heaving with laden breaths. The silence that eneveloped you both was anything but empty. There was a buzzing in your ears and you weren’t sure if you were relieved or horrified that he’d confirmed your suspicions. Blind rage filled your lungs as if you were drowning. 

“You mother fucker!” You hissed between gritted teeth, shoving at his chest with as much force as you could muster. “You fucking knew?” 

“Of course I knew!” König bit back as he stumbled for his footing. “I’ve been trying to find them and you have been hindering me every fucking step of the way, Birdy.”

You wanted to scream at the top of your lungs, you wanted to bash this man over and over just like he’d done to you. You weren’t insane but he was more than happy to intimidate you into thinking that you were. 

“How could you keep this from me?” Your fingers dug into the skin of his arms as you grabbed him. You wanted to shake the truth from the giant before you, rattle the honesty right from his mouth. “After everything that’s happened!” 

König didn’t so much as wince at your nails in his skin, fury simmered in his eyes like molten jade. “I was your main suspect and you outright told me about your suspicions while you were locked in a room with me, Birdy. What would have happened if I was actually everything you make me out to be?” 

You swallowed thickly, your fingers loosening their grip. 

“I could have killed you right there,” König continued softly, “at this rate you’ll die before you find them.” 

“You said I already tipped everyone off,” you rasped, almost meek in tone. “How have they not come for me yet?” 

The man rolled his shoulders, shooting another paranoid glance at the door. He continued talking as he scanned the room, searching for telltale signs of a third party.

“Everyone thinks you are disabled, Birdy, no one is taking your concerns seriously.” König straightened, levelling you with an evaluative glare. “But I knew better.” 

You drew in a deep breath, holding it in for a few moments before releasing just like Saint had taught you. Your heart squeezed in your chest at the thought of your therapist. You told them everything- König was right. You’d mouthed off your suspicions knowing that Saint and Price were close. What if Saint had told Price? Then Price would have told Shephard and Simon and then- God. 

You’re so fucking stupid. 

Of course everyone knew, you’d practically blasted it across the unit’s P.A system. 

“What now?” You managed to croak. “What do we do now?” 

König frowned at you, his body falling still. “We?” 

“You’re not leaving me out of this,” you ground out. 

“We are not doing anything together,” he said, eyes roaming over your features quizzically. Your heart lurched desperately, there was no way you’d let him do this without you. You deserved to be a part of this, you deserved to get your justice and whoever did this deserved to die.

“You owe it to me!” You nearly raised your voice, fear trickling down the expanse of your spine. Not a fear of the man before you, but this time it was a fear of being left behind. Left to paranoia, left alone with your thoughts and suspicions and no one to hear them. 

König shook his head, “we cannot work together.” 

“We have to!” 

“We can’t!” 

Your eyes were wide and your chest was heaving as the man before you gripped your shoulders. He lowered down to a knee, drawing close enough that you were only a breath apart. You opened your mouth to offer a shaky response but the way his gaze ran over your features stole the words straight from your tongue. 

“I will not risk your safety again, Birdy.” König’s words brushed against your lips, warm but sorrowful. “That is what I owe to you.” 

[spectr3inl0ve]

we cry together is so toxic relationship with dick grayson coded

ESPECIALLY VERSE 2!!!!! (I skipped some lines to fit the story and changed a few words to better fit dick's character </3) also this specific dick is gonna be known as "toxic relationship!dick grayson" (tags)

tw: arguments, toxic relationship, on again off again relationship vibes, allusions to dick cheating on reader with babs

It was inevitable that the two of you would get into another argument - about her. Barbara Gordon. The beautiful, fit, intelligent and witty daughter of the police commissioner James Gordon. Fuck, you were jealous of her. Of what she meant to Dick. You knew that they were a thing before the two of you got together, and yet almost every time he bailed on you it was to see Barbara.

"R/n I swear that there's nothing on between us. It's just work and friendship. I wouldn't do that to you." Dick tries to reason with you, albeit angrily.

"Oh really? Cus I know for a fact that you've cheated on someone with that redheaded hoe!" You hiss, your hands on the island bench as you stare into the guilty eyes of the man before you, your keys resting a few inches from you. He throws his hands up and shakes his head in disbelief. As if he didn't do exactly that to Kori.

"For God's sake, why are you making this so difficult? All we're doing is working. On. A. Case. What don't you understand about that?" Dick annunciate the last part in a slow, firm voice, reminiscent of the voice that one would use to talk to a misbehaving toddler.

"Nah, you're just a lil dick-ass slut that's tryna go big. Tryna make a name for yourself as Gotham's resident whore or what?" with a mirthless chuckle, you use your hands to gesture.

Dick's annoyingly perfect eyebrows furrow, and he smirks, "But you were suckin' this dick though.". This comment throws you off momentarily, but you quickly clap back.

"Well, shit, I shoulda sucked his." who's cock you were referring to? You don't know, and it didn't matter. What mattered right now was pissing Dick off to the point that he'd apologise and to promise to never see Barbara without anyone else present.

This wiped the smirk off of Dick's face immediately, the sudden change was hilarious. If you weren't so infuriated, you would've laughed in his stupid stunned face. "What? Fuckin' repeat what you said."

"I shoulda found a bigger dick." you make sure to punctuate each word with a crisp, satisfying clap, astounding your boyfriend even more. His expression quickly turns sour and bitter.

"What? You mad? Because you can go text that raggedy bitch and tell her you all that she got." You gloat, pointing at the phone in his left hand. With a huff, Dick quickly snatches up your car keys, moving towards the living room to inevitably get away from you. Fuck, you still need to get to work.

"Dick, give me my keys, Imma be late for work." with furrowed eyebrows you follow him, where he stops near the coffee table, arms crossed.

"Fuck your job, today's gonna be the day you walk to that bitch." he scowls, eyes narrowed as he glares at you, giving a quick glance at the clock. 7:58 AM.

You sigh inwardly, pinching your eyebrows, "I need to leave at 8, give me my keys, bro." and the devil that is Dick Grayson lets out a bark of laughter.

"On God, you aren't getting these keys." He raises the keys out of your reach when you make a grab for them, leaving you to accidentally swipe at his upper arm.

"Give me my fucking keys!" You yell, fruitlessly trying to reach for your keys again, to which Dick laughs at again.

"Ah, now you mad at me, I got you hollerin' for nothin'."

"I do the same when we fuckin'."

"Acting like that pussy ain't loose."

"I'd rather act like I'm cummin'."

"I'd rather fuck off that juice."

"I'd rather fuck on your brother."

Dick was about to retort back but he paused. Wait, what? "Bitch, you said you're gonna fuck who?" he hisses, an ugly frown adorning his face and his breath heavy. At this point his arms are folded again, your keys tucked into a large hand.

A bitter smirk on your face, you reply, "You heard me, bitch, it's nothing.". Your heart is racing, was that too far? Definitely, but if it makes him feel even a fraction of how you feel when he's with Babs, then it's worth it.

Dick carelessly chucks your car keys onto the coffee table behind him, stalking backing you into the couch as he stares you down. Fuck, you're in for it now. You're forced to sit, with how in your face he is and you cross your own arms. Two can play that game. You glower up at him, daring him to say or do something.

"That better be nothing. No one knows you better than I do. No one." he scowls, moving a hand to cup your cheek.

[sabrgirl]

ramadan 30 day challenge

introducing the ramadan 30 day challenge!

I made this challenge in the hopes of catering to as many people as I can - so, regardless of anyone's home situation, health, money, whether or not you live near a mosque or a community etc, I think it is somewhat do-able or adaptable for all! you can access anything you need for this (verses/surahs from the Qur'an for eg) online. I also know that for some people (depending on countries etc), ramadan is either 29 or 30 days, so it's fine to finish on the 29th day if necessary.

if you miss a couple days as well (or end up seeing this post halfway through ramadan), just pick up from whatever day of ramadan it is!

it starts off easy and gets harder as you go along! i'm also going to be doing this ramadan challenge and posting my own updates on here, Insha’Allah! if you do this too, please do tag me because I would love to see how people are getting on! ♡ here it is:

recite surah ikhlas 3 times

recite durood sharif 3 times

read Qur'an after asr

recite the 3 Quls (last 3 surahs of the Qur'an) in the evening/before sleeping today

listen to an islamic podcast

write down 5 things you are grateful to Allah for on paper or phone notes app

istighfar 100 times

read all of surah mulk before bed

wake up for tahajjud and pray (at least) 2 rakaats

learn 5 names/attributes of Allah سُبْحَٰنَهُۥ وَتَعَٰلَىٰ

do something nice for somebody else - can even be very small and will still be rewarded for it

wear your favourite abaya/thobe/modest clothing for every salah today. look your best for Allah سُبْحَٰنَهُۥ وَتَعَٰلَىٰ in your prayer like you would to go to a special event

give some (charity) sadaqah (create a sadaqah jar/box!)

read the last 2 verses of surah baqarah before sleeping

make a du'a for your friends and family - name them and pray for something specific for each of them

read all of surah Ya Sin after fajr

pray 2 nafl rakaats (voluntary prayer) today after the 2 sunnah rakaats of zuhr

no backbiting/gossiping about anyone at all and 2 nafl rakaats (voluntary prayer) if you do

pick a surah from the Qur'an and read the commentary for each verse

memorise the dua to recite on laylatul qadr اللَّهُمَّ إِنَّكَ عَفُوٌّ تُحِبُّ الْعَفْوَ فَاعْفُ عَنِّي Allahumma innaka 'Afuwwun, tuhibbul 'afwa, fa'fu 'anni "O Allah, You are indeed Forgiving and love to forgive, so forgive me."

donate to a charity (for palestine!!). even the smallest amount will be beneficial + rewarded by Allah

recite ayatul kursi after each 5 fard (obligatory) salah

pray all the 12 sunnah today: 2 rakaats before Fajr; 4 rakaats before zuhr and two rakaats after; 2 rakaats after Maghrib; and 2 rakaats after Ishaa

pray (at least) 2 rakaats of taraweeh (either at the mosque or at home by yourself/with family!)

pray 2 rakaats of duha (optional) prayer - it is between 15 minutes after sunrise until zuhr time. (not after zuhr!!)

recite subhanallahi wabihamdi, subhanallahil adheem 100 times - (Glory be to Allah and all praise is due to Him, glory be to Allah, the Great)

be extra modest today (tailored to you. wear hijab outside if you don't, or wear your loosest outfit or lower your gaze completely (including lowering it on social media) today etc. whatever being extra modest is for you, do that today).

pray on time, no procrastination or delays. check what local time each prayer is for you and pray then (unless you're praying at the mosque!)

istighfar x1000 times

pray some of the nawafil ON TOP OF all the sunnah prayers that accompany the 5 obligatory prayers: - 2 rakaats of duha prayer - 2 rakaats after the 2 sunnah rakaats of zuhr - 4 rakaats before asr - 2 rakaats after the 2 sunnah rakaats of maghrib - 2 rakaats after the 2 sunnah rakaats of ishaa (extra challenge: wake up for tahajjud too)

level extreme: if you want an extra extra challenge, you can continue doing each one every day as you go along. so day 1 would be recite surah ikhlas 3 times and day 2 would be recite surah ikhlas and durood sharif 3 times, day 3 would be recite surah ikhlas and durood sharif 3 times and read Qur'an after asr... and you get the gist. if you do this, good luck on day 30 when you have 30 things to do lol

note: giving sadaqah (charity) can be adapted if donating money is a struggle - for eg, doing dhikr on behalf of somebody else can count as sadaqah. click here for more info on this.

may Allah make this challenge easy for whoever intends to participate and let the deeds indeed be multiplied by 100 this ramadan and forgive us for our shortcomings, Ameen ♡

[daisynik7]

if you're still taking requests, i have a severe need for kishibe being a slutty old boyfriend to reader, doing unspeakably filthy things while calling reader "kid, princess" and all manner of cutesy pet names

Pairing: Kishibe x f!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

cw: age gap (reader is in her 20s, Kishibe is late 40s/early 50s), established relationship, sex toy use, smut – PIV sex (cowgirl, doggy style), vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, face-riding, sex without a condom, creampie, cum-eating, multiple orgasms, pet names. 

Word Count: ~1.6k

Author’s Note: Hi mephisto! Thank you for the Kishibe request, was waiting for another to come in! Hope you like this one, been wanting to write a piece with a sex toy and thought this would be fitting for it! Let me know what you think. :) 

You’ve never dated an older man before. Well, not this old. But the thing about Kishibe is that the two of you mesh so well, the age gap never seems that drastic. Your relationship is still relatively fresh; six months, if you count the first few weeks of hooking up, no strings attached. Eventually, you both agreed to give it a real shot, seeing each other exclusively. There are, however, a few moments where your differences show, and the two of you have the opportunity to learn from each other.

Kishibe comes over to your apartment to spend the night after a delicious dinner at your favorite restaurant. This is usually how your dates go: a lovely meal at a fancy establishment, a bit of wine is consumed, then sex at either his place or yours. It’s a tried-and-true formula that never fails to satisfy. Though, tonight, you decide to spice it up just a little. Show the old man a trick or two up your sleeve. 

In your bed, both of you already naked and kissing, you reach behind you towards your drawer, blindly feeling for one of your sex toys. He pulls away to look at you, glancing at your hand. “What are you doing?” he asks, slightly confused.

You smirk, making sure it’s the right toy in your grasp: a small, pink suction vibrator, one you just purchased specifically with him in mind. Something you’re sure the old man hasn’t used in the bedroom before. You wiggle it your hand. “I want to show you something.”

He raises a brow at you, curious. “Go on.”

You splay your thighs, displaying your pussy for him. He licks his lips, face drifting closer to your arousal until you stop him, palm pressed to his forehead. “I want you to watch me play with myself first.”

The small bump in his throat bobs, swallowing hard at your suggestion. His cock is stiff against his abdomen, clearly turned on by this idea. Still, he argues. “Don’t you want me to eat out that pretty pussy instead?”

You click your tongue disapprovingly at him, shaking your head. “Looks like you’ve got a lot to learn, old man.”

He chuckles at this, leaning back to kneel in front of you, reading for whatever you have in store for him. “Alright. Show me what you got, kid.” 

While sex with Kishibe has been nothing short of fantastic, there’s always room to spice it up, especially when it comes to foreplay. Your boyfriend has admitted to you before that he’s not well-versed when it comes to sex toys. He prefers a more old-fashioned approach, only because that’s what he’s used to. But he’s never been opposed to it either, being more than willing to try. Again at the drawer, you retrieve a bottle of lube, squirting a small drop onto your fingers, rubbing it around your bud. He watches carefully, intending to gain something from this little lesson you’re giving him. 

Properly lubricated, you press on the button, the toy vibrating loudly in your hand. There’s a small grin on his face as you position the suction on your clit, sealing it against your skin. It doesn’t take long for you to falter from the sensation, slick already leaking from your throbbing pussy. He’s practically salivating watching you, spit gathering on his tongue, desperate to taste you, to dip his fingers in your glistening cunt. He wraps his fist around his hard cock, stroking himself to the sight of you. “Come on my fingers, princess. Please.”

You click once on the button, increasing the intensity a level, nodding at him. He slips his middle and ring finger inside you, curling at the tips to stimulate your sweet spot. You throw you head back, indulging in the sensation of his digits pumping in and out of you while the toy remains latched to your clit, sucking until it’s swollen. He’s enjoying it a little too much, seeing you swell around his fingers, coated in your sticky mess. His other hand continues to work his cock, precum oozing at the tip, ready to bust any second. Your old, slutty boyfriend is always quick to come, which might be a dealbreaker for some. But what he lacks in patience, he makes up for in stamina. The old geezer nuts fast, but is hard again almost instantly, ready for round two, three, even four, lasting longer each time. 

He strokes himself, spurting his hot load onto the sheets, grunting. You come soon after, his fingers squelching deep inside you, the vibrator still buzzing. His eyes widen, watching you squirt all over his hand. “Would you look at that? Fuck, that’s sexy. You’re a nasty little thing, aren’t you?” He pulls out, a shiny string still attached as he slides his fingers into his mouth, sucking off your slick. 

“Want your cock now,” you tell him, setting the toy aside, rubbing your middle finger on your slippery bud. 

“How do you want me, angel?” He crawls towards you to kiss you, nipping at your bottom lip. “I’ll give it to you however you want.”

Out of breath from excitement, you huff, “Want to ride you.”

He smiles, pleased to see how fucked out you already are for him. He lays back against the pillows, craning his neck, beckoning you to his lap. “Yeah? Go ahead. Ride this cock. Show this old man how it’s done.”

You straddle him, rubbing your wet pussy along his shaft before you slide it in completely. Without wasting a second, you thrust your ass back and forth onto him, fucking yourself on his hard cock. He rests his hands behind his head, watching your risqué performance, tits bouncing along with your hips, expression hazy with lust, drool leaking from the corners of your lips. Your hands squeeze around your breasts, pinching the peaked nipples between your fingers. He never gets tired of seeing this side of you, unraveling above him. Because of him. 

An idea pops in his head. He stretches is arm out, grabbing for the vibrator at his side. He turns it on, clicking it twice for a more intense setting. It buzzes in his hand as he reaches towards you, placing the suction at your clit. You moan, overstimulated from earlier, spasming from the contact. At your reaction, he presses the vibrator even harder against you, relishing the way you twitch from the sensation. “Fuck, that’s it, isn’t it, sweetheart? That’s the spot, huh? Squeezing me so fucking tight.”

“Yes, right there! Oh fuck!” you cry out, bouncing harder on his lap. Soon, you’re coming once more, sweat beading on your forehead, limbs wobbly, aching from arousal. He tosses the vibrator aside, not bothering to turn it off, immediately lifting you from off his cock and up towards his head. “Ride my face, kitten. Don’t you dare hold back.”

Too fucked out to argue, you follow his orders, spreading your legs over him, gripping the headboard. He pulls you down to him, eating you out sloppily while you straddle his face, swiping his tongue side to side. Smothering himself in your juices, mouth moving relentlessly on you. He doesn’t stop when you thrash above him, overly sensitive with him latched around your swollen clit, desperate to drown in your pussy. He lifts you off to smatter a thick glob of spit on your bud, smearing it with his tongue. “This old man can still teach you something, huh?” He peers up at you, smirking, flicking his tongue against you. 

You meet his gaze, nodding erratically, too dumb to answer in a coherent sentence, rocking your hips against him. “That’s it, angel. Squirt on my face,” he muffles, sliding his thumb along your slit, slipping it in. He surrounds your clit, sucking hard, squeezing it between his puckered lips. You come for him, whining as he slurps at your sopping cunt. He wriggles out from underneath you, giving you a light smack on your ass, chin and nose shiny with your slick. “Bend over for me.”

You position yourself on all fours, eager to have his cock back inside you. He glides in easily, your entrance drenched in his spit and your cum. He fucks you hard, hips slamming deliciously against your ass cheeks, the sounds of wet skin slapping and your wanton moans filling the room. You’re completely unhinged for him, needy for another orgasm despite your body being spent. 

“That’s it, baby girl,” he coos, pressing his hips flush to your ass as you convulse around him, pushed passed the edge. He hooks his fingers into your mouth, swiping it over your tongue before caressing your clit. “Come all over my cock. Get it fucking creamy.”

“Oh fuck,” you whine, salivating onto the pillow, climaxing for the third time tonight. Or is it the fourth? At this point, you can’t even keep count. He orgasms with you, shooting his seed deep into your womb, stuffing you full. He pulls out slowly, watching as the cum dribbles out of your slit, only to gather it with his thumb to finger it back in. You let him play with you for a couple more minutes, too exhausted to berate him for being a nasty old perv, like you usually would. In all honestly, you love how filthy he is, especially with you. 

When he’s done, he lays beside you, wrapping you in his arms. You curl closer to him, enjoying the way his hands roam up and down the curves of your body, exploring every crevice until it’s ingrained in his brain. The warmth that emits from him surrounds you in a cozy embrace, making you feel protected and safe in his hold.

He nestles his face into your neck, now dewy with perspiration from the night’s activities. “Not so bad for an old man, right?”

Still in a daze, you pat his hand affectionately, grinning. “Good. Very, very good.”

Satisfied with your respond, he gives you smooch on the cheek, hugging you tighter. “That’s my girl.”

[starry-bi-sky]

Names, Marbles, and Fae-vors - More Lore on my Changeling Danny Au

In my last post I talked about the Infinite Realms and the three different planes existing inside it - the Long Far, Home to the Ancients and Celestial Beings. The Fey Wilds, Home of the Fey and other such Mythological Constructs. And the Ghost Zone, Home to the Mortal Spirits. - as well as three of the different ways beings inside the Infinite Realms can travel between planes; the Lake Portals, the Cave Tunnels, and the Starflare Currents. The Lake Portals and the Cave Tunnels don't have an official term for them yet, but I'll come up with something :).

In this post we'll be talking about some of the abilities of the fey! Specifically the things they're most popularly known for: their name stealing and etiquette thing.

For those who are not as well-versed in Fey Lore, or need a refresher, (and because I just want to yap infodump), one of the first rules you learn when interacting with the Fey is that you never, ever, say "thank you" or "I'm sorry" to them! Which is crazy, because they're really big on etiquette and being polite to each other, which is why one of their epithets is "the Good Neighbor/s". So why should you not say two phrases most commonly used when being polite to someone?

There are two big reasons for this, and the reason I'll be focusing on for this au is because, to the Fey, saying "Thank You" is acknowledgement of a debt that's owed to them. It turns the action or gift into something transactional, and results in a verbal contract that the receiver must then repay later down the line -- and whatever point in time, and with whatever the Fey they are indebted to sees fit. Whether that be food, valuables, or your firstborn child.

The other big reason is because some Fey just think it's rude, and view "thank you" as something that dilutes their act of kindness, and/or implies that they are there to serve you. One of the best summarizations I've seen for fey is that they're bros; they're doing this because they think you're friends -- or something similar to the sort. It's deeply insulting to do all these nice things for a friend, only for that friend to reveal that they don't view you the same way at all.

It's for similar reasons that you also shouldn't say, "I'm sorry" either, except instead of repaying a gift, you are now making reparations for a wrong you have done. A misdeed must be repaid in full, now how are you going to make it up to them? And also because well, I imagine that if saying "thank you" is seen as rude, "I'm sorry" is the exact same way because it dilutes the act.

If you're in a situation where you must say "thank you" or "i'm sorry" there are ways to get around it. "I'm grateful", "you're too kind", "I apologize", or "I feel regret" are just some examples I saw used.

NOW! How is this used in my Changeling AU? The Fey work by these same rules, the only difference is that I've added a physical aspect to it! If Fey are capable of stealing the abstract and turning the incorporeal corporeal, then lets run with it!

"Thank Yous" and "I'm Sorrys" are debts, and Fey can magically bound you into a verbal contract with that alone. However, it's not uncommon -- and actually pretty standard -- for Fey to weave the excess magic of that debt into something physical. They create these delicate-looking, iridescent threads that they then weave into their hair for decoration. And in some areas of the Fey Wilds, use it as a way to show off wealth and/or their own wit.

Ever heard of Fairy Hair? Yeah, same concept.

Debt Threads, as I am temporarily calling them, are thin and airy, and not that much thicker than gossamer. Since it's a debt that is intended to eventually be paid back, it's not practical -- nor is it seen as such -- to use the threads for anything more than temporary cosmetics. As a result, they're usually used for decorating the hair, but some crafty fey use their threads to decorate other appendages, or as form of makeup. Despite their dainty appearance, the threads are actually very sturdy and can only be unweaved by the Fey that created it.

You can, technically, take back your debt thread. However, the threads are made using excess magic of the debt, and not made of the magic of the debt itself, which is why it's so thin and airy. So if you do manage to get it, congrats! All you've got is some pretty string and a pissed off feyrie whose hair you probably just yanked out.

Danny's managed to accrue a few "debts" before he realizes he's a fey, mostly from his friends and sister -- although there are a few from his parents, and some from the other student body from when he was unknowingly and instinctually doing Fey Bullshit. As a result, he starts forcing Sam and Tucker and Jazz to stop thanking him for things, and typically makes them repay him through petty, menial stuff. Like getting him food, or buying him a small but relatively inexpensive trinket he's been eyeing for a while. Never usually anything super important - it's his own way of apologizing for indebting them to him in the first place.

As for his parents... well, he'll hold onto those debts for now. Having a way to magically get them off his back with no questions asked is a boon he's pretty willing to keep close to his chest, and no amount of persuasion will convince him otherwise. Sorry Jazz, Fey side wins out on this one. As for some of the students he's got, Danny manages to psych himself up and release some of them from their contracts without repayment -- even if it makes his bones itch.

AND NOW THE NAMES! You never give a Fey your name because they say everything literally. "Can I have your name?" is a literal question -- they are asking for your name, and thus ownership over you. The other thing is that Names have power, if a fey knows your Full Name they can make you do things for them -- however it goes both ways so you could do the same thing if you learn a Fey's name.

Knowing a Name and owning a Name are two different things, with owning a Name being, naturally, more dangerous as you are basically submitting yourself to permanent indentured servitude, among other things. Knowing a Name can be risky because it results in being more susceptible to fey charms, enchantments, and requests.

But! I digress! Just like how Thank Yous and I'm Sorrys can be turned into a physical object, so can Names! This is not obligatory, nor is it recommended to do often because unlike debt threads, these can be taken back, but it happens!

Names can be trapped in these little, colorful glass-like orbs -- marbles, they're marbles/pearls. They can be trapped in what are basically magic marbles, and just like debt threads, be used for decoration. They're more versatile though, and are used for different things since unlike debt threads, the pearls are meant to be permanent! They make beautiful jewelry, since the pearls come in various different colors depending on the person it once belonged to, and the intent behind its creation.

The marbles have a hard outer shell, with the cores having a fluid, shimmery appearance. Look up liquid core dice, and Name Marbles have a similar appearance, just more... ethereal, with different shades of the same color swirling inside. Not two pearls look the same, and even ones that have similar colors or appearances have subtle differences in them that are imperceptible to the mortal eye. Some pearls look like the deepest trenches of the ocean, blacks and dark blues swirling around each other as flecks of bioluminescence float inside. While others look like a lilac winter sunset, with hand-held purples bleeding into pink and gold.

Convincing Danny to return the Names he's gotten is harder than convincing him to absolve the debts. It takes a lot more psyching up on his part to actually do it, and more verbal coaxing and negotiating on his friends' part. Because on an instinctual fey level, those names are rightfully his. For all intents and purposes, he was given those names freely and without reservation, and so to be told that he has to return what were essentially gifts to him is... deeply distressing.

Lots of cognitive dissonance there. His human-raised brain and morals know why he needs to give them back, and he feels bad for owning them. But his new changeling-baby fey-brain is deeply upset at the prospect, and is a liittle bit stronger than the once-human part of him. He rapidly becomes overwhelmed when trying to convince himself to return the Names. He does, eventually, end up doing it, but he's unwillingly upset the whole time.

[that-ari-blogger]

Pentious Eyes (It Start With Sorry)

I think its really important to understand that Sir Pentious is introduced as a villain and a schemer. He is an architect of destruction who wants to murk a main character. He’s evil, and he should be unredeemable.

And yet he gets a redemption arc, so, what’s up with that?

Pentious serves to demonstrate the thesis of the series. Hope. To redeem yourself, you need to recognise your flaws and try to get better, you need to look forwards and believe in a better tomorrow for yourself as a person.

This is not optimism. As defined by the show, optimism is passive, hope is not. Optimism says “I wish it would happen”, hope says “It will happen”.

Let me explain.

SPOILERS AHEAD (Hazbin Hotel)

The most memorable part of this song is the “Pentious Eyes Motif”, which goes like this.

I kid you not, those last two notes are the majority of this song’s messaging and themes wrapped up into a single progression.

It’s not actually that uncommon of a phrase. It’s a single note increase from E to F and G to A, forming an E minour and then an F chord. It’s got an upwards inflection that conveys a positive tone, but it's not unusual in itself. If you play enough notes in any order, you will eventually run into that progression.

The trick here is in the name. “Pentious Eyes”. The series associated this progression with a visual, that being the most adorable of all blinks. The song is sparse at this point, so you hear the progression clearly, and suddenly it is stuck in everyone’s mind as associated with that character.

There is more to it, however, specifically in how it changes over the course of the song.

We start with the idealistic, overtly saccharine version that is too high for most people to sing. Then it is played again, each time following the word “sorry” to hammer home the thematic.

I want to briefly talk about the differing registers that this number is sung in. Charlie is a soprano, matching her high aspirations. But the description of her verses that came to mind was “heavenly”. They have that sweeping, smooth tone that reminds me of chapel choirs. Partially, this is the limited backing, which serves to let her voice stand out without upstaging it, but the music comes across as ungrounded.

Meanwhile, Pentious is voiced by Alex Brightman who I believe sings Tenor. I’m far from the expert, but the terminology isn’t important. The point I’m making is that Pentious’ voice is so much lower than Charlie’s. He has to reach up to meet her, and she has to come down to meet him. Symbolically, he has to improve for her to reach down and help him up.

When Pentious does start singing, the music gets a lot denser, with strings backing up the piano and almost causing Pentious to blend in with it. Pentious isn’t special, Charlie is, and she’s offering him help up.

“Who could forgive a dirtbag like me? I don’t deserve your amnesty.”

I feel like the reading of Pentious as being just misguided and therefore not truly bad takes away from his story. Because he’s right. He doesn’t deserve the amnesty. He’s tried to kill multiple members of the cast, and the only reason he didn’t succeed was that he was adorably incompetent.

However, that’s the point here. He didn’t deserve amnesty, but he still received it. That’s who Charlie is, the person who offers a chance at a better life, no matter who to.

As Charlie lifts towards her ideal, Pentious tries to follow, but is unable. She has to meet him halfway so they can rise together.

“It will take time to cover for my vast multitude of sins but sorry is where it begins”

Bingo. The song is about the start of a redemption arc, not it in its entirety, and it addresses this fact here.

Redemption is a journey; you don’t just get forgiven and move on. You don’t just say “sorry” and then become a better person. An apology is just the first step on that journey.

However, this does lead to my criticism of the series, pacing. The series is shorter than it was pitched as, and I will insist that this is mostly not a fault of the writers, but a negative impact that the Amazon executives have had on the series.

As a side effect of the shortening, Sir Pentious doesn’t get nearly enough character development. He gets moments, individual moments, but the show can’t get across the journey of his character with just a song and about ten other non-comedic lines.

Genuinely, the best fix for this flaw in the series would be “more of the series”, which is worth noting, but in my opinion, doesn’t take enough away from the show to stop me enjoying it.

Before I go, I want to mention what this says about the end goal of redemption. Because I have been going on about “becoming better” but that is vague as all hell. So, what are the tangible benefits of being a better person.

In this series, there are two incentives, a carrot and a stick. The former of these is genocide. Be better, or you will get murked. But this is a false reward in this situation. For one, nobody knows it’s possible, but also, Heaven doesn’t care if you get better. As I discussed in my post on Hell is Forever, the one size fits all style of retributive justice really doesn’t help anything.

So, what about the other incentive?

I would say that is community and compassion. The villainy in this series is presented as self-defeating. Pentious seeks the Vees’ approval, and puts his neck on the line for them, and Vox is awful to him. The Vees themselves are a part of one of the most toxic group dynamics ever put to screen, its stable for the moment, but you don’t ever get the feeling that these three wouldn’t immediately drop each other if it became convenient.

Enter Charlie, someone who will protect Pentious from his own actions, and who offers friendship to someone who doesn’t deserve it. The music backs up Charlie’s greatest strength. She can see the best in people and inspire them to see it as well.

The best thing you can give someone is a support network.

Final Thoughts

Ok, I have to get this out of my system. But Pentious knew about Alastor being back before the Vees did. Like, he wants respect from the Vees, but at this point he’s just picking fights with someone he thinks they will want dead.

I’m just not sure “impressed” would be the first emotion to cross Vox’s face if Alistor turned up dead on his doorstep after being missing for seven years.

This isn’t my observation, but Tumblr’s delightful search engine won’t let me find the original. So, if you know who they are, please give me a shout.

Next week, however, I will be discussing Respectless, and the Vees in general. The good, the bad, and the Velvette. So, stick around if that interests you.

Previous - Next

[brigidfromthecelts]

Do you have any specific headcanons for characters? Specifically lawbin or sanami? Like do you hc them w certain hobbies or ethnicity’s? Just curious I have lots for different characters!!

Hiii @laoise222! Thank you so much for another wonderful ask! You truly make my day! 🥰 Huff, okay, I needed to think this one through for a bit, because, for SaNami, I have a few of them I make reference in my fics, but for LawBin I have fewer! Here it goes:

Sanji likes to spend time at the aquarium bar just staring at the different species of fish they have there and thinking about the All Blue.

Sanji likes to hear Nami speak about anything and everything. He can listen to her speak for hours on end! But he's especially attentive when she's speaking about navigation as he knows it's a subject she's very passionate about.

Sanji and Nami are very good friends and they spend a lot of time together offscreen. They often spend time in silence, each doing their own thing and Sanji isn't so over the top with his silly demonstrations of love (and pervertedness) when it's just the two of them.

Nami asks for Sanji's help in picking tangerines a lot of times because he reminds her so much of Bellemere-San. Especially when the tobacco scent mixes with the tangerines.

Deep down Nami loved the letter Sanji wrote to her in Water Seven. She kept it just to remind herself that there's enough in there to be loved, that people want to be with her not just because of her worth or usefulness.

I firmly believe that Sanji thought about Nami a lot on WCI.

Sanji most definitely fell in love with Nami at first sight.

They are each other's counterparts in whatever universe. Even in a dog-verse or a cat-verse.

Nami goes to Sanji for protection and comfort. He's the one in the crew who brings her the most genuine feeling of safety, especially because of his resemblance to Bellemere-San!

Law is much more of a nerd than what is implied. Think of what we know about him and multiply it by a thousand - rows, and rows of comic books, collectibles, you name it! He's got it.

We know Law likes to collect coins, but how far does this need to collect things go? I personally see him as a bit of a hoarder! Not of trash, but things that mean something to him.

We see Robin reading a lot, but often more intellectual books. I believe she loves to read horror short stories and sappy romance novels. She hides it from everyone because she's ashamed the crew will make fun of her.

Robin knows everything about everyone! But she's super discreet.

Robin learned about Law's coin collection when aboard the Polar Tang and now every time she sees a rare coin, she can't help but wonder if he already has it in his collection.

Law can't get the scent of flowers that accompany Robin out of his head.

I also see Robin being fascinated by Law's tattoos and by his hands, but I might be just projecting on this one!

They most definitely spent time together in Wano. How could they not? I mean, if you find someone with the same shared interests and keen intellect, you'd want to know more about them, right?

Anyway, these are just a few that I have at the top of my head. I'm sure I got many more! 😅 Tell me if you agree with any of them! Also, thank you again for making these fun asks! They make my day!

[briebysabs]

Vnc OP 1 - Sora to Utsuro

We are here again! I’ll be taking the time to talk of VnC’s first opening and breaking down the lyrics. Specifically in regards to what I will refer to as the dream loop theory. If you don’t know what I mean by that, the base summary is that the VnC universe is a story. Noé is the narrator, the character, the archiver and the creator. Noé is writing the memoires to manifest his memories. Let’s call it a memory world. He does this either to escape his regret-filled reality or to save Vanitas. However, when he “loops”, he doesn’t remember why he’s there so everything plays out the way it was written in the memoires.

Then Noé will live on, write the memoires again, and the cycle continues. And because he’s done this countless times, the memoirs gradually stray away from the original story. I’ll elaborate further when talking about OP 1. Right about now!

This was the main translation I could find for the full song (not including English covers but I could reach the same conclusions for those as well) If anyone has other translations for the whole thing, I’d love to see it. https://youtu.be/G_bJwB1YePw?si=xPVlV3_Fd57S-Bo1

/You’re pondering the simple things, pretty much human emotions and love/

/I hope one day you’ll understand/

/Too many wounds have left you patched together, a miserable sight/

/That doesn’t even know the definition of alive/

It is confirmed that this opening is from Noe’s POV. But keep in mind for the rest of this thread, it’s future Noé speaking. There are two main readings for the song; for the most part it’s Noé talking to or about Vanitas. And then there’s Noé talking to himself. This part has both interpretations.

Noé to Vanitas: Vanitas does struggle to understand his emotions throughout the story, that includes love. Vanitas is a broken individual, has too many wounds/trauma Noé cannot ignore and for a long time, was fueled by getting his “revenge”. Thus he’s forgotten what it means to live. You can also read into “doesn’t know the definition of alive” in a meta sense, from the beginning of the story he’s already dead.

And the very name ‘Vanitas’ is surrounded with the imagery of death, futility and mortality. So yes, Vanitas as a concept doesn’t know what ‘alive’ is.

Noé to himself: Noé as well is trying to figure out human emotions. This is a case study of a human after all. The memoirs follow Noe’s journey in understanding Vanitas’ thinking. And we’ve had Noé blatantly ask Vanitas what love means. But we can read this as Noé , sort of telling his past self that one day he will understand and feel this pain. Take note of “many wounds have left you patched together”. As I said, he could be talking about how “fragile” Vanitas is but what if this is about himself?

/No need to say “just the two of us” or anything/

/I have a feeling we can understand each other/

/And that’s fine for now/

This is calling to the Catacombs Arc, where Vanitas repeats Noe’s line of being able to do anything together. Interesting enough, it’s that arc where we see a bit of Vanitas’ backstory and it ends with the two sitting against each other. An understanding has been reached. Of course we all know that’s what VnC is about but of course he adds the ‘for now’ because what would this show be without its looming doom.

/I love this world and the light only you give me/

/Makes the world I see through these fractured eyes/

/Look gleaming and bright/

It’s these verses that made me want to spend more time on this. First of all, ‘I love this world’, a little weird right? I can only hope this translation is the most accurate but we’re saying ‘this’ instead of ‘the world’. Makes it sound like “I like this one. I prefer this one.” And ‘the light only you give me’ is very odd if we’re saying this is from Noe’s POV. Emphasis on ONLY.

Another reason why I believe it’s future Noé singing because why would present Noé say Vanitas is the only light he has? Vanitas is the only thing keeping him from falling apart. Vanitas being the sole reason Noé loves the world…doesn’t line up with the Noé we’re seeing now. Now it could be Vanitas is a “special” light. But that kinda raises more alarms because Vanitas is very admired in this song guys. And present Noé I feel wouldn’t be so sure in proclaiming this. The world being seen through fractured eyes could be multiple things. We know Noé sustained an injury on his left eye when Teacher bought him.

This could feed into a theory that has been speculated over the years that Noe’s vision was permanently altered and he sees things from that eye differently. Of course, it could refer to future Noe’s perception of life being broken due to the events of the series. Thus why Vanitas is the one thing that makes it gleaming and bright. You could then ask “But Vanitas is gone in the future so how is that possible?” In comes my theory. It’s interesting how Noé is often associated with light, the sun etc. but here we see him give those characteristics to Vanitas’ presence.

/There’s no such thing as a sure thing/

/But you can see me can’t you?/

Things get a little fuzzy here. Obviously, nothing is sure, nothing lasts forever. This period of happiness will pass. But “you can see me”. Assuming this world is a memory, this could be Noé being elated from seeing Vanitas. That his plan has worked. But you can also interpret this, I forgot who pointed it out but ty whoever you are, that this is the one moment Vanitas interjects in the song. Essentially saying, “you can see me, so this is not real.” As if trying to wake Noé up. And if you look at the OP itself, for most of it Vanitas is following or lagging behind Noé like a ghost. There’s even a part where Noé is looking at a drawing of a view instead a real one, Vanitas is yelling at him, trying to get his attention and Noé ignores him completely. Not to mention the OP starts and ends with Noé sleeping, Vanitas nor his belongings ever in the room almost as if it was all a dream hmmm.

You can see this also as Noé acknowledging the world he has created is only temporary. Noé knows this isn’t real, isn’t a sure thing. But then Vanitas comes in to be like “you can see me, can’t you. So is it that bad?”

/I’m pondering the simple things, pretty much emptiness and frigidity/

/One by one lies have increased/

/Playing with a simple puppet/

/My rusted head is shaking/

We’ve contrasted “human emotions and love” with “emptiness and frigidity” here. Frigid here means the bitter cold, stiff, lacking in warmth. The opposite of what Noé says this world gives him so safe guess, he’s talking about the reality he is escaping. Where Vanitas is dead as well as a lot of his friends. The lies have built upon each other, adding to my theory where the numerous times Noé has done this has created layers upon layers of worlds. And each one has more inaccuracies than the last. This is his story, a play, he is the writer and the puppeteer of everyone’s roles. When they appear, what they say and do is decided by what Noé writes in the memoires. But by all the loops he’s made himself a puppet too. His head being rusted could hint at many, many years passing since everything happened. What’s even more interesting is remember, Vanitas is the one usually associated with cold and emptiness. So why is Noé assigning those things to his thoughts? It really shows how future Noé has come to view Vanitas vs himself. Because ignoring any theories or whatever for a second, future Noé is clearly burdened with regrets and hate towards himself.

/Your laughing was reflected by a daydream/

/Without knowing yet we just want to laugh/

/Throw away the answer, whatever you want is fine for now/

We circle back to the dream thing again. What is a daydream? It’s something you fantasize about when you are bored or in need of a distraction. A reflection looks and behaves exactly like you, copies your movements, but is it real? We all know mirrors and reflections play a major role in the story. Whether having mirrors or frames in official art or volume covers. Characters reflecting each other like Vanitas/Astolfo, Domi/Louis, Ruthven/Noé etc. I think the “throw away the answer” is interesting, it could be Noé again knowing what the “right” thing to do is but is desperate to see Vanitas laugh. Feels very much like a “oh forget about all that, what do you wanna do?” Noé putting other people before himself and being selfless to a fault.

/I love this world that lacks everything/

/If the mechanical echoes/

/Everything seems to be laughable/

/I can’t be proud of it/

/But isn’t the burning dream beautiful/

Why would you love a hollow world? This is Noé saying this. How can a world lack everything if it’s meant to be real? Unless it isn’t. Unless it lacks what you truly desire even if you claim to love it regardless. Echoes fall into the same vein as reflections I brought up previously. ‘Mechanical’ implies it’s a machine, tying back to it being empty and hollow. Lacking realness. And it’s funny, Noé says he’s not proud of it. His world, his creation if you will. That it’s laughable even but then goes on to call it beautiful. Think about that for a minute. The dream is burning because Vanitas will always die no matter what Noé does. Everything will go up in flames, it’s only temporary but guess what? To Noé, this fleeting period of happiness is far better than whatever he has left when he wakes up.

/When the sky and the void meet look back because the dreams will come later/

/When the sky and the void meet look back be still in bloom/

/When the sky and the void meet born and die repeatedly/

/The future and lies break and laugh/

We’ll stop here because the song then goes back to the first chorus “I love this world and the light you give me” stuff. This part of the OP I would say is the most vague, you can read this a lot of ways. However you want to interpret it, there is a clear loop going on. We can see “sky and void” as metaphors for Vanitas and Noé. Personally I’d say Noé is the void because of that official art that has Vanitas with a clear sky in the background and Noé is sinking into the darkness. Similar to when he drinks someone’s blood and sees their memories.

But while Vanitas has a few purple butterflies, Noé is given that distinct glowing blue butterfly. Vanitas is Noe’s light. We talk about that art for hours but that's for another day. Plus given how Noé talks in this song, it’s safe to say he sees himself as the void. And once they meet the dreams will come later, to be born and die repeatedly. Meeting could be their actual meeting from chapter one and the cycle/memory world begins from there. It could be wherever fuck they were when Noé failed to grab Vanitas’ hand. The future and lies….what lies? Who my dear readers would be lying to us :000. But eventually that mountain of lies will come tumbling down.

And, no theory just pure delulu I’ve always headcanoned that when Vanitas dies Noé is going to break out laughing. So if that happens the op spoiled it.

[apathycares]

Why I think the ending of MHA makes sense (manga spoilers)

So I came out of hiding specifically because MHA ended and this blog started off as a place for me to ignore my other works/fandoms and write stuff for MHA so it's a given that I talk about it. Just a little disclaimer – MHA is not my first fandom, and I've been watching anime for forever, so I'm not biased when it comes to shipping or how mangakas end their work. I'm purely speaking from a place of my own sense of objectivity.

Also, since I don't think I've shared my opinion on stuff too much here so it might be weird to my current followers (hi!!), I'm gonna do it headcanon style.

Midoriya being a teacher is not farfetched – some people have said it would've been better if Hori made him a strategist or something along those lines, but you all have to remember that his only goal has been to be a hero. If he wanted to become a strategist he would've (a) thought about/been suggested that when he was quirkless and (b) there's nothing TO strategize since the big bads are all gone. Hawks is running the Commission. Police exist in this verse. He wanted to be a hero fully, so if he wasn't able to do that, then the next logical step would be to TRAIN the next heroes.

Bakugou wouldn't have become number one straight out of high school. Bffr. I know it's anime and we don't have to use real life logic but it's been said over and over again that rankings are both based on feats achieved and popularity, and even though that man has accompanied A LOT, he's always going to be rough around the edges, and as a hero, people are just not going to rock with that. But, given Endeavour's example, I think he could become number one with his feats alone as the years go on in spite of his attitude.

Midoriya not keeping in touch with the rest of his classmates except Bakugou (or maybe not being able to, whichever way it was translated) is NORMAL. How many of you keep in touch with your high school classmates after the fact, regardless of how close you were? How many of you outgrow your very real and very deep friendships? Eight years is a long time. Bakugou being left makes sense because they've known each other forever.

No ships were confirmed. Please let us leave the ending of that as it is. BUT! Let's all ship who we want, create for the ships that we want regardless. That's the beauty of fandoms. We can toy around and find joy in it, but PLEASE don't push that a ship is canon when it's not. As an old head anime fan, there's a distinction between those two. We can all have fun and accept that the series ended with no ships.

Continuing off of the previous point, I LOVE that the manga ended with no ships. That just gives us full liberties to do whatever the hell we want in this fandom and have fun without people rearing their annoying heads and writing shit comments about their pairing being canon. No one gets any ammo.

Aizawa cutting his hair is a crime.

Did they give Touya an ending??? Why can't I remember??? Well, the fact that he didn't is another crime

Everyone else's endings were solid (and I don't see much discourse about this so let's leave it at that)

See now that I'm thinking about it again, Aizawa cutting his hair isn't a crime....but why did they do him like that???

Giving Midoriya a hero suit at the end of it and Bakugou holding his hand out was GOLDEN (I'm indifferent about the suit because Teacher!doriya would've been a solid ending, but the holding the hand out squeezed my heart that was a BEAUTIFUL ending to the entire Deku/Kacchan storyline)

Some people are mentioning that Bakugou calling him Deku destroyed it but y'all forgetting that THAT'S HIS HERO NAME. Stop being lame.

I wanna know the full rankings of everyone just to gauge where Bakugou and everyone else are. Maybe Hori might do a lil something, who knows, but I don't think we need a MHA Shippuden.

High key, if we do get a spin off or something, we need a Misadventures of InsertSomeoneHere to see what a DITL of them at 24(?) looks like

Now that I'm looking at this...the fact that I watched this at their age and it ended with them being 24 and I'm currently 24 is.......

Anyways! Those are my very rushed thoughts. As much as people like to play around MHA, it was a great manga, it had a solid ending for the lore that the story was going for, and it was a great ride. I'm excited to see when all of this gets animated and we can ride this ride again, but this fandom will always be special to me.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Kinktober day 10

Tyler Durden + Leather

Tyler Durden is like a disease or a very bad virus for me. He won’t go away no matter how hard I try, and I need him wrecked. I will always devour a reader who isn’t starstruck by Tyler and take all his bullshit, so this one is too.

Oh yeah Tyler and the narrator are two different people in this even though we don’t see the narrator, just thought I should add that. Readers also a big guy in this, cuz I like it. I also gave the reader some specific tattoos for plot, lmao.

This became a lot more than just leather stuff, so hope yall enjoy as I fell completely off-track writing this. Enjoy nerds.

Kinktober list

Tyler Durden, a name on the lips of every single member of Fight Club. It was whispered with the same reverence one would when speaking of a god, awe and worship in their voices as they looked around them as if the man himself would materialize out of thin air.

You had joined Fight Club a while ago, from your understanding this wasn’t the original place it had started, it wasn’t even the second or third. It was in the back of a mechanics shop, the garage cleaned of any cars and the tables with tools pushed away to the back of the room. You had become somewhat of a stable here, even surpassing who was meant to be the captain sent by Tyler Durden himself.

To everyone there you were almost untouchable, never buckling under anyone’s fist or kicks, always getting right back up and wailing on them with twice the strength they had tried to deliver onto you. To the captain, the space monkey, it was like looking at another version of Tyler, though you never joked or smirked, you never tried to butter anyone up or spread your ideals to them in sugar coated words.

And even though you had never tried to gain a following, a handful of space monkeys of your own, you got it. This group of fight club seemed to have ripped itself free from project mayhems claws and thrown them to the wind, turning to their new object of worship, you. Where Tyler Durden was only rumors and whispers, you were very real, your punches like revelations and your glare like the light of God shining down upon them.

You didn’t notice or care that they started calling you sir, or asked what their homework was, neglecting the captain apparently sent by Tyler Durden all together. You had always thought of the homework as stupid and useless, so you would always shrug and tell them to have a healthy number of meals, drink enough water, sleep well, things like that. You didn’t care for their attention, as long as you got to fight. And at this point, they would all crawl over each other for a chance to fight you, to feel your fists against them making bruises like psalms or bible verses stamped into their very being.

Your followers, your sheep as you had referred to them as once as a joke, must have started spreading your message, as more and more people joined your Fight Club. Soon there were too many people to fit in the mechanics garage, but one of the sheep there, as they had embraced being called, apparently knew of a place you could go. It was an abandoned storage facility, large enough to fit hundreds of people if needed inside, and at this point you wouldn’t be surprised if there were that many. You could never keep count as the members always seemed to change, like they were taking turns on who would get to be there when you were.

You had never joined fight club because you believed any of the drivel they spewed, you had been half drunk the first time you had stumbled into one, and had won multiple fights that night. It seemed as time passed and more and more sheep appeared, your name was lost in the process. After a while you were referred to as The Angel, The Demon, or even The Demiurge.

You knew where they got all these names from, as you had multiple tattoos that could hint at Christianity or something similar. Biblically accurate angels on your arms, demons down your legs, the leviathan curled over your hip bones and over your stomach, and a being of death on your back. You weren’t religious, you had simply gotten one angel tattoo when you were young because you thought it was cool and just kept up the theme. You were never much of a talker, so you never corrected the other men there when they referred to you as these titles. As long as you got to vent your anger through your fists, they could build you an altar for all you cared.

During all of this, the captain sent by Tyler Durden had disappeared and returned back to the house on paper street. Here he shared the news of the faction that had ripped themselves away and created their own system. How it seemed project mayhem had no control whatsoever, the only thing staying the same being the rules of fight club.

Tyler had not been home at the time the captain had returned, and it took weeks almost a month and a half before he came back. During this time, it seemed your sheep had reached out even further and infiltrated more of fight club’s other hideouts, spreading your message, and converting them to you. The space monkey that shared the information with Tyler did so with a shaky voice, his fists clenched by his side as he sweated, fearing his leader’s reaction to the apparent betrayal.

Instead of blowing up in rage Tyler had become interested, that evening laying in his bathtub thinking of what kind of person this Demiurge must be to pull the rug from right under him and steal what could be hundreds of his people. Not only that but your followers seemed to spread your message even faster than Tyler’s, more and more new people joining up to your branch than there did the original.

That Friday night he decided he needed to see it himself, the bubbling feeling of interest brewing in his chest. He had to see what was so attractive and drawing about this, he needed on an instinctual level to know who this other person was, the need burning deep in his bones and taking over most of his thoughts.

When he arrived at the empty storage facility, he was mildly intrigued at just how many people there were, and how many different people there seemed to be. Anything from the lowest of the low, to what looked like military men and judges lining the edges of the room. No one paid him any mind as he wormed his way through the crowd, making his way along the edges and keeping an eye out for whoever, their leader could be.

You had clocked Tyler the moment he stepped inside, you didn’t care who he was you just knew he was there for trouble, you could tell from the way he carried himself to the way he dressed. Your eyes traveled up and down his body, taking in the sheer almost see-through shirt half covered by a red leather jacket, and the tight leather pants dragged up over his thick thighs, the material stretching and pulling every time he would take a step.

Tyler caught your eye where you were standing against the walls, shadowed slightly by an overhang. You were wearing a baggy hoodie and grey sweatpants, the kind that looked baggy but left little to the imagination. He shot you that cocky smirk he was known for, and quirked his brow in interest when you looked away from him and towards the fight happening in the middle of the room, as if he was an afterthought.

It sent some kind of thrill through him, pushing him to search you out for the very fact that out of everyone here, only you seemed to notice he even existed. Worming his way out of the crowd with ease, he kept you as his target, Tyler’s eyes running over the shapes he could see through the fabric, his eyes lingering on your thighs or upper arms. Tyler was never one for performative muscles, but it seemed you had gotten yours from wailing on others instead of at a gym.

You heard him before he reached you, the fake leather of his pants announcing his presence as he neared you. When you looked over at him again, he smirked again. As he was closer you could see the chipped tooth of his, and the many bruises that seemed to litter his body from head to toe. He purred a greeting before leaning against the wall, turned towards you as he had to crane his neck to look up at you.

You pulled dismissively at your lip as he tried to start conversation, the attention of the men around you laying heavily on the two of you, not that you cared, but Tyler certainly noticed. As the fight in the middle of the room stopped, Tyler grinned at you and said, “Since it’s my first night here, why don’t we fight?”, a giddy excitement burning in his eyes, as if the concept of fighting was something he wanted more than a man wanted sex.

You looked down at him, quirking one of your brows before giving a slight shrug and an “alright”, motioning towards the center of the room with your head as you pushed off the wall and started making your way there. The many men in the room seemed to part as you approached, like the black sea parted for Moses. Tyler was starting to think he had found exactly who he was looking for, and when you pulled off your hoodie, revealing a shirtless torso underneath, he was sure. The tattoos and bruises on your skin told him he had the correct man.

The air grew tense, excitement running like electricity through it as the two of you got into position, both shirtless and shoeless. Where Tyler grinned and seemed giddy, jumping from foot to foot, you stood sure and silent, face completely blank. Your fight lasted longer than any either of you had been in in the past, Tyler growing somewhat frustrated as you never seemed to tire even a little. But it also made heat stir in his body, the leather of his pants doing a piss poor job at hiding how hard he was getting.

Tyler finally patted out as you held him in a choke grip, his vision almost going fully black before he called it quit. He could taste nothing but blood and couldn’t breathe through his nose after having it punched so many times. The men around the room cheered as you picked Tyler up from the floor and carried him out of the center, like one would a doll they found on the side of the road.

You made your way outside and threw Tyler into a chair, cleaning yourself up the best you could with some paper towels before pulling your hoodie on. Tyler made slow work of wiping the blood off himself, the shitty paper towels doing nothing to soothe his raw punched skin. The man couldn’t help but moan softly as he started cleaning himself rougher, the dry drag of the paper towels smearing blood over his sensitive skin.

He let his head flop back to stare at you, watching as you blew your nose to get some of the blood out as you shoved some gauze into your cheek where you must have ripped some stitching or similar during the fight. Glancing down your eyes met, and you huffed to yourself at the almost fucked out expression on Tyler’s face. His pupils were wide, and he was breathing through his mouth, his tongue peeking out to lick at his bottom lip every now and then.

He bit his lip, dropping the bloody paper towel on the ground to grab at his crotch, giving the tightly contained length a squeeze. He moaned out loud, his eyelids fluttering as he started massaging his length, his hips moving against his hand to try and get as much friction as he could through the material. You rolled your eyes as the man seemed to busy trying to fuck his own hand to really care that he was sitting shirtless and shoeless out in the open of some junkyard, his hair a mess and his nose definitely broken.

Tyler moaned when he was suddenly grabbed, lifted out of the chair with ease as you sat down, turning him around and dropping him in your lap. You had one of your thighs between his own, the sudden movement grinding his crotch against you. He groaned, forcing his hips down harder to drag his length against your thigh, the tight leather of his pants only making it more painful for him.

Reaching up, you grabbed his chin and turned his head to you. His eyes were half shut as he chewed at his lip, blood bubbling up and running down his chin as he gave a hard bite at a cut your fist at left earlier. When your thumb ran over his bottom lip, he let go of it to slip his tongue out and drag it against your finger. You stayed silent as you pressed your thumb up and into his mouth, Tyler immediately curling his tongue around it and sucking, hollowing his cheeks and pressing it as far into his mouth as possible.

Tyler let his eyes fall shut as he kept sucking on your thumb, slurping as spit ran out from between his lips and down your wrist. He groaned as you grabbed his hip with your other hand, moving him faster against your thigh, his cock giving a pathetic twitch where it was held tightly in place by the leather. Tyler let out a noise similar to a gurgle as he grew closer, his eyelids fluttering as his hips twitched in uneven motions, his sucking on your finger growing more desperate.

When he finally came he moaned, his mouth falling open and releasing your thumb that you pulled away, a string of spit connecting from his lip to the tip of your finger. He ground his hips down roughly against your thigh, choked noises leaving him as he could feel the cum spreading on the inside of his pants, the leather growing uncomfortable at the motion.

Reaching up you cradled his face in your hand and he leant into it like a touch starved cat, quiet moans leaving him as he rode the afterglow of his release. He let his upper torso grow useless as he flopped forwards, resting his head against your shoulder as he breathed, moving his hips in tiny motions as he muttered gibberish against the fabric of your hoodie. He was starting to see the appeal, Tyler decided. Maybe he would have to come back sometime soon to observe you again.

[ciderbird]

cringe napalex-themed playlist is done!

I know this is a MIXED bag but I just kinda put everything that reminds me of them here so I want to elaborate:

1. Just one yesterday - Fall out boy: I can NOT listen to it without thinking about them, literally every verse fits: “Angels choking on their halos” - Alexander losing at Austerlitz, “I don’t have the right name or the right looks but I have twice the heart” - Alexander has the perfect name and looks for a monarch but it’s Napoleon that everyone admires. And then there’s the chorus about wanting to teach someone a lesson but still longing for the time when things were good? And the bridge?? “If I spilled my guts the world would never look at you the same way” - bro. It’s their song. To me.

2. Rewrite The Stars - The Greatest Showman: Do I even need to explain this one? They’re star-crossed! Napoleon sings Zafron’s part, obviously.

3. Улыбки сфинксов - Flëur: I had to put in at least one russian song. And come on, Napoleon and Egypt? Alexander literally being called Northern Sphinx? And the whole song is about two people talking in riddles and being unable to communicate? Yeah.

4. Hot n Cold - Katy Perry: Yes, really. Look I know it’s silly but it also just perfectly encapsulates Napoleon’s frustration with Alexander not committing to the alliance while also not breaking it off.

5. Irresistible - Fall out boy. Yes, another FOB but listen, it’s the BRIDGE! The bridge is about them, it even has french in it! “I’m coming for you and I’m making war”? And it goes both ways!

6. Everybody wants to rule the world- Lorde: it’s cliché, but it still fits them “So glad we’ve almost made it, so sad they had to fade it” just hits different

7. Gold - Imagine Dragons: This one I associate specifically with Napoleon but it’s also about the corruption of power in general so I included it anyway.

8. Teen Idle - Marina and the Diamonds: Since I have one for just Napoleon, this one is what I most associate with Sasha. It just fits his deformed psyche growing up in court with two opposing influences so well

9. We are never ever getting back together - Taylor Swift: Yeah. This is another silly one, but tell me you can’t just picture them bickering listening to it, especially with all the unanswered letters from Moscow.

10. Recovery - James Arthur: Unexpected, I know! I don’t know why I connected it to them so strongly but I think it works for how they ended up? Napoleon sick in exile, Alexander disappointed with his reign and apathetic. They’re both ‘recovering’ from endless wars, one in isolation, another in mysticism, they are shadows of who they once were. Very tragic end to this playlist as well as their relationship. Oh well!

[mx-information]

These Are The Silt Verses: TSV, Media, and Narrative

Is this how you format a tumblr essay? I don’t know. Whatever. I’ve been thinking a lot about this series and you all are going to bear witness to those thoughts.

The Silt Verses, throughout its whole run, is a show that has always delighted and excited me with how intelligent it is, particularly in its approach to narrative and storytelling. These latest two episodes specifically have given me a lot to chew on and I really can’t think of anything that’s so just… smart in how it approaches stories and their sociopolitical relevance.

The Silt Verses is a story about stories, and that is eminently aware of itself as part of that (“These are The Silt Verses, and I name its disciples thus…”). We’re constantly reminded that this is a constructed narrative, and rather than treating that glibly (“Look how self-aware we are! Aren’t we so very clever?” Insert smugly assured winks towards the audience as you see fit), it instead uses that awareness to interrogate itself about what it means, where it fits into the literary landscape, and how the literary landscape in turn fits into the wider spheres of culture and politics.

The news broadcasts at the beginning of S3E3 offer one vision of narrative: as a tool of the neoliberal capitalist status quo. An endless deluge of gratingly sensible centrists (some 10 degrees to the left of center, some 50 degrees to the right, some pretending to have no inclinations at all) chattering on the radio, offering thoughtful debates and news hours and radio serials that all ultimately offer only the illusion of genuine discourse and serve one purpose: that of legitimizing the existing social order. 

Capitalist society relies on violence to uphold itself (in the world of The Silt Verses that’s the Greater Glottage Police Force, the Neshite Municipal Force, the militaries of both countries), but it also relies on a very specific narrative: that this is the way things are, and this is the way things must be. We can make minor tweaks to the system, adjust the dials, but when you peel away everything else, a god must feed, a god must be fed.

On the other hand there’s the Many Below, Paige and Hayward’s glorious revolution. This too is a cause in need of a narrative, and the lie of the Widow of Wounds serves well enough as that tool. But is it perhaps a faulty tool? That’s the question Paige and Hayward have to reckon with, because it’s a good story, but can you really build something new and better when your movement gains its power from a lie?

In a sense this is The Silt Verses, an eminently leftist series, holding the mirror up to itself and interrogating its own limitations. What can an invented story really do? The lie of the Widow, however useful, is killing Paige, it’s taking away her agency, reducing her to another heartbroken lover in the eyes of the world. It parallels Shrue’s version of the Promised Bride story in some very interesting ways, invented, crowd-pleasing widows. What does it say that those are the stories people are compelled by?

And yet, for all these questions, the best part of The Silt Verses is its continued refusal to give into easy, knee-jerk nihilism and declare snidely that nothing matters and we can’t change anything. That all the stories we tell are ultimately for nothing. Positive change is hard and unpleasant, but it’s not impossible, and there is power, for good and for ill, in a narrative. It never looks away or softens the reflection of our world it depicts, never shies away from holding itself to account and questioning its own use as a revolutionary text, but never compromises on its basic principles, its belief in the fundamental worth of people, either, never gives in to blind defeatism.

I think Paige’s budding nihilistic streak is, among many other things, a commentary on us as an audience. We’re conditioned by a thousand stories of revolutions failing or going too far or what have you to believe that unquestioningly. It’s one story with a lot of sway over our political discourse indeed. The idea of hoping for anything *beyond* the narrow confines of the neoliberal project? That’s almost sacrilege.

The Silt Verses being willing to carry that hope, through despair and bloodshed and our heroes fucking up and getting knocked down a hundred times, that’s not nothing. Being able to tell a story that is able to say “Yes, yes revolution is difficult and painful, yes we will fail at a dozen different turns, yes we will be lost and confused and we won’t know just what’s waiting on the other side. We won’t know if we’ve chosen the right path until it’s too late to turn back, and we won’t have a roadmap to tell us what to do along the way. We should do it anyways, we should at least try, because a society built on cruelty and suffering and neglect cannot be allowed to stand.” That’s a pretty radical thing.

The Silt Verses understands narrative like nothing I’ve quite seen before. A story is a limited, imperfect thing, liable to manipulation and recuperation, like the Promised Bride changed from a story of liberation into one of blind nationalism, unable to capture the full complexities of the world we live in. We have to tell them anyways, because if people can’t imagine a world beyond capitalism, if people can’t believe in that possibility, how are we ever supposed to make it real?

[spidermanscientistsimp]

goodbye yellow brick road

the spot x musician! gn! reader

author’s note: this is the cheesiest thing i have ever written and i apologize for the tooth rotting sweetness in here… also! it’s important to know what this song sounds like, so here you go! when you see orange text, it’s song lyrics, so go listen!

be like me and listen on LOOP ANYWAYS. also, please let me know if y’all want more spot fanfic (i can tone down the cheese if y’all want) 🫡❤️

“A BAGEL, HONEY. THE CHILD HIT ME WITH A BAGEL.”

“i know i know john, i saw- you’re so brave for enduring that, i would have NEVER survived.”

“oh, shut up.”

“make me.”

you and john always loved your flirty bickering after a long day at alchemax. every day at exactly 6:30, you and your husband would walk hand in hand down the gum covered sidewalk, talking about your day, your hopes, your dreams, the usual. your boyfriend was a busy, busy man, but he always made time for you. even if he had to stay late at the office, he would INSIST on walking you home, and returning to work after dinner with you. to put it quite frankly: his world revolved around you. he thought you were the most attractive person to ever grace the earth, and was constantly asking himself how he could end up with someone so perfect… and hot. you didn’t understand why, as you saw yourself as nothing more than a lowly secretary, doomed to be rushing papers back and forth to men for the rest of your days. it wasn’t your job of choice, but it payed well, and seeing john absolutely flourish at work made it all worth it.

this specific night, you went about your usual weekday routine with your boyfriend: order some takeout, make out on the couch for a while, discuss mortality, and then fall asleep. but, something was off.

10:30pm

“y/n, stop rolling around, please”

“sorry.”

11pm

“john? you awake?”

and as the clocks struck midnight, you got out of bed, trying to find a way to occupy yourself, tire yourself out enough to shut your eyes and actually fall asleep. it was at this moment you turned your eyes away from the kitchen pantry, looking to grab a midnight snack, and instead looked towards the small, spinet piano on the back wall. you usually tried to avoid this sight, as it reminded you of a life you never achieved, a goal you never reached… but tonight? you needed it. you needed to play this piano more than anything else. you sat down at the instrument, silently cursing yourself for doing this. you wondered what song to play, flipping through decisions in your head- but, that was all futile, as your hands and heart had a different idea, and you began to slowly play the opening notes to elton john’s “goodbye yellow brick road”.

when are you gonna come down?

when are you going to land?

against your usual better judgement, you started softly singing after the first verse, careful not to wake johnathan.

i should’ve stayed on the farm

i should have listened to my old man

“y/n?” jonathan called as he stirred awake, unaware that his partner was already lost in their own world.

you know you can’t hold me forever

i didn’t sign up with you

i’m not a present for your friends to open

this boy’s too young to be singing the blues

johnathan couldn’t believe his eyes. there you were, his partner, playing the piano and singing your heart out like your life depended on it. he was truly awestruck. he didn’t want to interrupt your beautiful moment, but he had to say something…

“y/n”-

he couldn’t even get through your whole name before you turned around, quicker than lightning, with a terrified look on your face.

“oh my word jonathan i am so SO so sorry i probably woke you up with all my damn wailing, and i just don’t know what happened this isn’t-“

he shut you up with a kiss before you could say another word. the two of you stayed there, enjoying each other’s embrace in the dead of night, when your husband pulls away, asking, “why didn’t you tell me you could sing and play like THAT?”

it was a touchy subject for you. you always wanted to be a musician, and a great one at that, but it just wasn’t financially feasible for you. you had bills to take care of, bills that music just wouldn’t pay.

“i- i don’t really play much any more. or sing. i always dreamed of becoming as great as bach or mozart or someone- but, it was a stupid, stupid dream. i mean… i’m happy where i am now.”

“are you though?” he questioned.

you thought about this for a minute. were you REALLY happy? well, you had a loving husband and a good paying job- you should be happy. but you didn’t have one thing- music. money didn’t matter when music was what got you through so many rough patches in life. seeing your internal battle, johnathon grabbed your chin with his hand, and quietly spoke,

“y/n. i love you. and i want you to be happy. and if music makes you as happy as i’ve seen you tonight, you need to pursue it. we’ll find a way to make ends meet, i promise you. just, live your life- live your dream.”

and in that moment, you smiled to yourself and knew, this was the man you were going to marry.

•

the time was six thirty, the very next day, and you were waiting for your johnny outside the alchemex building.

you waited.

and waited.

and he never came.

a few hours later, not a word came from him.

you paced around your apartment, fearing that he found someone else, fearing that he thought you might be a financial burden with a career change… but all those ideas were put to bed when you saw the notification from your news app pop up on your cellphone.

alchemex.

collider.

explosion.

body not found.

your johnny, was dead.

•

johnny was dead- but “the spot”, the remains of his human form, a dalmatian like amalgamation of spots and the man he used to be. the spot had been wandering around brooklyn for what felt like an eternity, in search of a home, a friend, just- anything. and in the back of his mind, there was always, you. talented, amazing, you… who didn’t need to be seen with a monster like himself (at least in the spot’s mind). he was a ghost, a man forgotten by the world- or so he thought.

he was walking by Jenna’s, a local coffee shop him and y/n always loved to visit, when he heard a familiar voice, ringing out from the inside of the café

it was you.

you, up there onstage, playing to a full house, all eyes on you and all smiles upon every person’s face. you did it. you really did it. spot ducked his head as you looked out the window, towards the sky, and made an announcement,

“this next song is for someone who once told me to live my dream, no matter what… and because of him- i’m doing it. wherever you are, thank you-”

you played those starting notes he remembered hearing all those months ago.

so goodbye yellow brick road

where the dogs of society howl

you can't plant me in your penthouse

i’m going back to my plough

you threw your head back, becoming so damn passionate about this song that meant so damn much to you

back to the howling, old owl in the woods

hunting the horny-back toad

oh, i’ve finally decided my future lies

beyond the yellow brick road

the spot completely lost his breath as you held out the final note of the chorus. my word, you were amazing- the heart and soul you sang with was unparalleled, and he wanted to just run up to you, and hold you in his arms, kissing you until neither of you could breathe. but, he couldn’t. he wasn’t jonathan anymore. that man died. and he could see y/n was still not over that fact as he saw them hold back tears as they finished the song- it broke the spot. it broke jonathan. he had to do something, do anything.

•

you woke with a jolt as you heard a crash come through your window.

“hello??” you called, half jokingly, thinking this was simply a branch or a bird- you didn’t expect to hear footsteps right in your kitchen.

you were TERRIFIED. grabbing a broom, you made your way out to this… thing, preparing to fight it, to get it out of your home. imagine your surprise when you saw

a spotted man

who called YOUR NAME

“y/n, please-“

you were NOT HAVING THIS, you threw your broom at the THING, screaming and yelling a pattern of

“go away”s

“i’ll call the police, i- i’ll call spiderman”s

and a few

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU”s

the spotty thing pleaded with you, on its knees, begging you to listen to it

you obliged. it skittered over to your piano, and started playing notes that sounded like a child attempting to play…

goodbye yellow brick road

and now that you thought about it, this thing did sound a lot like your lost lover…

it was your song. it was him. you didn’t know how, but it was,

“jonathan”, you yelled, throwing yourself into his dotted arms. you didn’t know how, and you didn’t know why, but you knew that this, thing, was your johnny. and in that moment, nothing else mattered. life would go on, and things would work out.

and as he held your head with his hands, your boyfriend said, after what felt like an eternity,

“i love you.”

[liyawritesss]

ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʟᴀɴ ɪꜱ ᴛᴏ ꜱʜᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ

Characters: Spider-Verse!Earth-42!Miles Morales & Spider-Verse!Earth-42!Rio Morales

Type: Fic

Word Count: 1.4k

Synopsis: Miles tries to show his appreciation for his mother, for all she’s done for him. Even if he can’t verbally say it sometimes; he understands. More than anyone.

Warnings: not a reader insert, so no use of y/n or second person. Mentions jeffersons death on earth-42, so grief mentions as well. Miles is sneaky and kinda sorta lies to mama rio but its all to keep things under wraps and to keep her protected.

A/N: Inspired by @luvjunie ’s 42!Miles Headcanons, specifically as it pertains to him helping his mom out in secret. This headcanon hit home for me and I wanted to write a little content specifically catered to our favorite momma’s boy and his mom

Song Suggestions: “Dear Mama”, “So Many Tears”, & “Keep Ya Head Up” by Tupac Shakur; “Rose In Harlem” by Teyana Taylor; “Broken Clocks” by SZA; “You Got Me” by The Roots, Erykah Badu, Eve, Tariq Trotter

Tags: @6-noir @babyboiboyega @badass-dora-milaje @jacuzziwaters @mbakuetshurisprincess @shuriszn @verachii @writingintheshadowsforever @cafehyunji @lulu-network @niyahwrites @pantherheart @marsfunzon22 @briology @honeybleed @romiantic @queenofthespiderverse @onlyperc @starsoir @yasminisbroke @asensitivecookie @kdyance @sussybaka10 @daisydark @ykimobessed

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For as long as Miles could remember, his mom’s dresser had been littered with jars.

Clear, glass containers varying in height and size lining the length of the mahogany wood, situated at the back edge and labeled for certain purposes. They’d helped her keep track of spending habits and separating money for important bills. He’s watched from his youth as his mother counted out the money from her paychecks carefully, dividing the sums into each jar, only being left with a few dollars to her name to last her for the next two weeks. He remembers the overwhelming feeling of helplessness that overtook his young frame as a child when the look of dejectedness flashed across her face.

All he’d ever wished for was to relieve his mother of the stress and prejudice that came with being a widowed single mother. Miles remembers most of his childhood being filled with anger from the pitied looks the other neighborhood moms gave to Rio at the grocery store, and the way people spoke of her as if she were a porcelain doll that needed careful tending due to her ‘vulnerable state’. While it was clear that the loss of Jefferson changed their lives completely, the combination of ingenuine concern from the surrounding community and lack of resources that Rio had access to, mixed with the very raw and still fresh gash of grief left in the now broken family, created a culmination of woe and desolation felt between mother and son; and unfortunately, despite the increased dependency of their bond, such feelings became difficult to express.

Rio became akin to the strong woman trope; the one where a woman of color was expected to pull through all obstacles with a smile on her face, with complete disregard for the turmoil and trauma that would be suffered.

Miles became the pitied son; always angry, always looked upon with false sympathy, always wishing to do better and be better so his mother wouldn’t have to worry about him.

The jars that littered his mother’s dresser soon became the driving force behind his desires to ease her stresses. So when he approaches his uncle with a fire in his eyes and a will power unlike anything he’s ever seen on the streets, it doesn’t take much convincing for Aaron to take the boy seriously.

He thinks back on the nights where he could hear the muffled sniffles of his mother in the next room over as he sneaks into her bedroom in the early hours of the morning. He’d just gotten home, and Rio would be pulling up any minute, so Miles has to make this quick. His book bag rests at his feet, forest green hoodie contrasting against the color of the dresser as he reaches for the tall glass jar labeled ‘RENT’, his dark brown hands pulling the glass container closer as he pulls out a wad of cash from his pockets.

Last time he counted, the jar was about two hundred dollars short of the proper amount that allowed them to call the flat their home. He carefully counts out three hundred from the wad of green in his hands, slips it into the metal slit at the top of the jar, and pushes it back to its original spot.

He does the same for the other glass jars labeled ‘LIGHTS’, ‘HEAT/GAS’, ‘WATER’, ‘WIFI’, ‘GROCERIES’, ‘CAR’, ‘ENTERTAINMENT’, and ‘OTHER’; slipping the amount he knows his mother usually puts into each jar with a little something extra for each one (also paying close attention to the entertainment jar, as there is never much of anything in it, an allusion to Rio’s near non-existent life outside of work and her son, something Miles desperately wishes to change for her). While the wad of cash in his hand slowly depletes, there's a pool of pride that swells in its place, knowing that his secret endeavors make a difference, even the smallest.

The sound of the front door opening and closing causes Miles to jump slightly in his place. He fixes the jars back in their original position, hurriedly making his way out of Rio’s room, careful not to bump into anything or cause any scuffle that could alert his mother’s careful eyes of a disturbance in her space. He all but comes to a halt when he turns from her door to find her standing in front of him, brows furrowed in question.

“Miles?” It doesn’t take long for him to notice the way the dark circles under her eyes sag a little more than the last time she’d been to work, or the pure exhaustion that seeps from her small voice, tired and desperate for sleep. “What were you doing in my room?”

“The door was open,” it’s a practiced lie, one he’s never had to use much, but always has on hand, especially when the false proof of his words are etched onto his mothers face already, “thought you were in already, but I ain’t see you, so I was just closing it before heading out.”

Rio blinks, and Miles watches as she mentally retraces her steps from the night before as she rushed off to work, but the exhaustion that sags her body doesn’t allow her to spend much time on it. “Oh, right; thank you, papa.”

It’s tired and drained, her voice, no doubt from yet another double she had picked up in order to make rent for the month. The first of the month had always been a tumultuous time, where Miles watched Rio disappear through the front door at eight o’clock in the evening, not to return until eight o’clock that morning, then repeat for the next day until the hours added up sufficely on the paycheck. The process was just as hard to watch as it was to endure. 

His eyes quickly darted down to the bags his mother was carrying, and without warning, Miles swept them from her hands, alleviating the additional weight that pulled his mother’s frame into a sulking position. Rio dared not to object to the act of service; it had always been his way of helping her after a long shift, even in his younger years as a child. She remembers his greedy, eager hands reaching for her lunch bag and bookbag, the latter of which was far to heavy for him to carry, but he still made an effort to haul the items into the bedroom and tuck them away in the corner while she tread into the kitchen to fix him a hot plate before school. An unspoken ritual the two did with the passing moments that they had, the older that Miles got. Rio would be lying to herself if she said she hadn’t grown fond of the never ending care in Miles’ eyes, and how no matter his age or life experiences, he was always there.

“I made some breakfast,” Miles says as he guides his mother to the bed, gesturing to the loungewear clothes that hung across the foot of the bed frame, “it’s in the microwave.”

“Is it edible this time?” Rio nudges, her joke earning her an airy chuckle from her son. 

“Wow, goin’ on me this early in the morning? That’s crazy.”

“I’m not the one who thought that pancakes were done when they’re charred around the edges.”

“Llegar, mamá, eso fue una vez!”

The laughter that echoes throughout the four walls of the main bedroom resonate through the walls, and the air becomes a little lighter than before, the pressure on their hearts ease just a bit. 

When he’s done making sure that his mother is set to rest for the rest of the day, Miles grabs his discarded bookbag from the threshold, and bids his mother a bittersweet farewell. As he disappears behind the bedroom door, he heaves a heavy sigh, the sound of his shoes echoing further and further away, before Rio finds herself heaving a sigh as well.

She dresses into the loungewear that Miles had set out for her, immediately slipping underneath the covers after closing the blinds and plugging in her phone. Sleep delirium begins to set in as her head makes contact with the pillows, and yet, her mind never ceases. She’s always thinking, always planning, always working on the next move. Always contemplating on how to keep the jars that litter her dresser full for the rent and bills to be paid. 

It doesn’t take long for Rio to succumb to it, however, and as she closes her eyes and slip off to slumber, she can’t help but notice how the jars do seem a little bit fuller than when she had left the night before.

[callipraxia]

"Let's press restart and try again": Thoughts on Fate, Prophecy, New Lore, and the Afterlife in Gravity Falls

So, the fun ain’t even half-over yet (I haven't even read half the new onine goodies yet...), but I have nevertheless started to move past my silly-first-reactions stage to The Book of Bill and back to over-analyzing the text. And one of the better-organized thoughts I’ve had is, “...so, that Theraprism, and the Axolotl, and....”  

In the Message From: The Theraprism, Bill’s...therapist (?) informs us, in what I, at least, read as a slightly disturbingly cheery tone, that “with good behavior, [residents] have many exciting options for reincarnation – perhaps as a newt, shrimp, or a cloud of fungal spores!” On the next page, we see that someone has been declared “Cured!” and “Ready to reincarnate as: butterfly.” Getting out of the Theraprism is a real possibility ("even if it takes forever. Especially if it takes forever..."), but to do so, it seems, you have to end up in a far more radically different form than the original Axolotl poem ever, as far as I know, led any of us to guess. 

So...it seems that Bill is not, in fact, deader-than-dead. He can, eventually, even get out of his current predicament and start a new life, if he passes various tests. Ax was as good as his word on that one. But his options are ‘remain forever in a facility for the criminally insane’ or ‘be reincarnated as something non-sentient.’ Which is...probably not exactly what Bill thought he was signing up for, is it?

Not, for the record, that I feel bad for him for getting screwed over – he did as bad or worse to everyone he ever made a deal with. I’ve also written before about my idea that the fundamental flaw in Bill’s perception is a deep-seated need for control and fear of losing control, a need that runs so deep that he cannot quite understand how anyone else might have a priority higher than self-preservation. If I’m right about that, then proof that Bill has been cured could well look like willingly giving up all sense of identity and starting over as an insect. It starts getting tricksy, though, when we get to the question of ‘and then what?’

Since the release of the secret pages of Time Pirates' Treasure at least, if not earlier, it has been speculated that there may be a link between the GF-verse's celestial salamander, the Axolotl, and the ancient Aztec deity for which axolotls are named, Xolotl. At this point, it seems fair enough to take Bill’s ultimate situation as a nod to the fact that the Aztec deity Xolotl was a death-god – specifically, he acted as a psychopomp, escorting people from life to death. Xolotl was also the god of deformity, twins, and fire/lightning (1), so it was already a good bet that he was somehow involved in this story just based on the composition of the main cast, with its two sets of twins and twin sets where each had one twin with unusual physical features; the question was, since the Axolotl showed no obvious fire or lightning affiliations, if he'd end up associated more with Bill or with the Axolotl. The Axolotl's implied authority over whether Bill gets “one more tri” would seem to make him more powerful than the god, but it also seems like decent evidence for the link existing between Xolotl and the Axolotl. As for whether they’re the same....

One major aspect of Xolotl which has no canon representation is that Xolotl was not only a god of twins, but also a twin himself (2). Since Bill refers to himself and the Axolotl both as gods, though, it seems unlikely that the Axolotl is meant to be a Big G-God. This makes it reasonable to hypothesize that he could have a sibling offscreen, but despite all the hints pointing toward the twin god, the Axolotl is alone during both of his canon appearances (3). There’s also no obvious connection between the Axolotl and fire or lightning, though again, this could simply be a matter of information we don’t have. New lore about the Axolotl that doesn’t quite seem to match with Xolotl, though, is that he’s...apparently operating in some form of Hinduism?

Disclaimer: I don't know much about Hinduism. I read a couple of books before writing this, but I am under no illusions that I have read anywhere near enough to properly understand the subject. If I say anything that is incorrect or offensive, I'd be grateful to anyone who let me know so that I could fix the error as soon as possible. Come to that - while I've read a lot more about classical Mesoamerican religions than I have about Hinduism, the fact remains that I got all my books from public libraries and many - indeed, probably most - of them were doubtless outdated, so let me know if you see that I've screwed up something there, too. That said...let's look at this apparent jump between systems.

The reason why I found a couple of books about Hinduism while coming up with the idea for this post is on the first page about Bill's stay in the Theraprism. When Bill is committed, he is recommended "indefinite karmic rehabilitation" before he can be offered a chance to reincarnate. The term 'karma' is sometimes used casually, of course, outside of its religious context, but from my (limited) reading, the situation Bill is in actually does seem to be akin to the religious concept. After his death, Bill is confined a facility for repentance - a sort of purgatory, only except instead of going on to a good afterlife once he's been purified, as he might from Christian purgatory, he'll instead go back into (a) world in some other, radically different form. Aztec religion, admittedly, also involved reincarnation, but manner of death seems to have been more important than conduct during life did - the Aztecs have this in common with the Norse, though the Aztecs beat both the Norse and Hinduism in the number of potential afterlives available in their systems. I also can't recall ever seeing the notion of universal reincarnation or anything like moksha, the Hindu concept of achieving release from the cycle of death and rebirth through accumulation of good karma, in any materials I've read about Aztec religion. It is unclear whether any such idea exists in the afterlives presided over by the Axolotl, either, but it is implied that Bill did have a choice in the matter of whether or not to accept the Axolotl's deal - maybe no options he'd like, but at least two options nevertheless. However, since Bill is the opposite of someone with good karma, as indicated by his admission file, it seems unlikely that he was offered an opportunity to assimilate with the godhead without expunging his sins. What, then, was his other option? Nonexistence? And what happens to everyone else? Is this cycle in effect for everyone or just paranormal entities?

It's worth noting that Bill shares many traits with the ghosts in "The Inconveniencing": they are intangible, they are capable of possessing the bodies of others, they have a particular ability to influence those who are in a somehow impaired (Bill: sleeping; Duskertons: high on Smile Dip) state, and they have at least some reality-warping powers. Bill's may exist on a larger scale, but there is enough overlap to make it seem plausible that Bill had already 'died' (in some sense of the term) long before the events of canon. Bill also offers his followers, or at least selected followers, opportunities to ascend to immortal and intrinsically powerful status as well; add to that the earlier point about how casually Bill refers to both himself and the Axolotl as 'gods' and it seems that immortality may be relatively achievable in the GF-verse (if at the cost of things like your soul, sanity, access to your physical senses, and the cleanliness of your interdimensional criminal record), which leaves open the possibility that there could be enough supernatural entities out there for them to require their own afterlife protocols and post-mortem bureaucracy. The Henchmaniacs are implied to be less powerful than Bill, but still significantly more powerful and long-lived than they have any business being, if the note in The Book of Bill about Hectorgon starting out as a lawman (lawshape?) trying to arrest Bill before joining him is anything to go by, and Bill becomes positively gleeful when talking about some of the paths Ford might have taken:

"I took a little peek through his possible futures and giggled with delight. He was destined for so much more...it was suddenly so clear. The Shaman's zodiac wasn't a cage meant to trap me; it was a TRICK to try to keep me away from the humans I could USE! Me and Sixer would be the perfect team...."

The Book of Bill shows that Bill can lie with impunity, but on balance, the evidence still indicates that his deals have to involve a certain amount of truth, if only from a very particular point of view when he's in the stronger bargaining position. It seems...reasonably safe to take him at his word that, having become a monster himself, he can make monsters of others. The implication is that small gods, in the GF-verse, are formed basically the same way as vampires: the price is too high for any sane person to pay and the number of 'families' (pantheons?) is probably relatively limited, there never will be anything like as many players of the 'game' Bill alludes to in his petition to the Axolotl as there are normal mortals, but in theory, anyone reckless and ruthless enough could, with a touch of luck, transcend mortality. The number who do might be small compared to the overall number of beings in the multiverse, but it still isn't likely to be an especially small number. A system where would-be immortals operate under different conditions than mortals would be reasonable enough in this context, but we don't have enough evidence to say one way or the other right now, at least not unless something's hit the notawebsite that I haven't seen yet. The implied ability of creatures to duck death, though, combined with the choice Bill is offered, nevertheless acts as another point against the idea that the Axolotl is in any way omnipotent or omniscient: it's more powerful than Bill, which is frighteningly powerful, but presumably, it could not compel Bill to take the offer, no more than Bill could technically force Ford to allow him back into his mind during Weirdmageddon. If Bill is telling the truth about there being many worlds where Ford did end up joining the Henchmaniacs, then even prophecy is not absolute. Incredible power exists in this universe, but so does free will. The characters' choices matter, without any sophistry being necessary to reconcile this with the existence of prophecy; perhaps Bill is even right and the Zodiac could have just easily served him as opposed him, just as the Oracle's prophecy to Ford technically had at least two options built into it. This is not a system I have often seen used in series with prophecy, but I must say, I kinda like it.

Ultimately, of course, it's unlikely that the Axolotl cult is exactly like any real religion, whether widely practiced today or not. The show does, ultimately, have its own messages to convey and its own storytelling (or, often enough, joke-making) mechanics to operate under which are distinct from those of our world. It is interesting, though, to consider what these real-world allusions could imply for worldbuilding as we all merrily launch into our next round of fics...

Though that reminds me: Puppet Hour. What does that mean? What are the therapists (at least one of whom appears to worship an entity with referral privileges) talking about when they say that? Why do they call it that, especially in such close proximity to mention of journaling, when Ford's the Author of the Journals and also the 'puppet' in Bill's show of the same name as this alleged therapy exercise? What exactly is going on here? I have no idea, but if anyone else has a theory, please let me know about it, I'm sure this means something but have no idea what it could be.

Notes:

The Aztecs had several gods whose domains included fire. They also had multiple gods associated with death, though Xolotl’s the only psychopomp I can recall in their pantheon.

For FWJB readers - there's a lore dump here, if anyone wants to read that.

One potential answer to this puzzle may be that Bill is his 'other half,' since they are called 'the opposites' in the poem at the end of The Book of Bill. Bill's comment about siblings to Mabel in "Sock Opera" ("who would give up everything they've worked for just for their dumb sibling?") could also imply that his family problems didn't end with his parents. However, this is unlikely for several reasons. For one thing, although Bill can assume any shape he pleases in the Dreamscape ("Dreamscaperers") and easily alter his physical form during Weirdmageddon, he seems to prefer to stick to triangles and pyramids, close to the shape he was when he was 'born.' Him having a brother who is a salamander would be...novel. For another thing, if Bill did have a brother, then said brother was most likely one of the individuals Bill murdered. In that context, "look, from one god to another/who cares I tried to kill those brothers?" would seem like a...risky...angle to take.