#Lets show to father Strange that we do exist!

[unmask-strange-aeons]

[betweenstorms]

Part One of Where We Part (next chapter) (masterlist) Childhood Friend!Simon x fem!Reader

Before he was Ghost, he was Simon Riley.

A quiet boy with eyes too old for his young face, always watching, always listening, always alone.

You had known him for as long as you could remember.

He was the lanky boy next door, the one with too much burden in his eyes, the one who never talked about the bruises or the shouting that came from his house at night. Even as kids, there was something about him that set him apart, something that made you want to protect him, even though he never let you. But you’d always notice the new bruises on his arms, the way his hazel eyes would darken whenever Tommy, his younger brother dragged him into trouble and the way he seemed to flinch at loud noises, at sudden movements.

Tommy Riley was loud, rude, and as wild as a storm untethered.

He was a real troublemaker, you never trusted his cruel grin and his rude words, never felt safe near the sharp edges of his temper. He thrived on chaos, a force of destruction that couldn’t be tamed, while Simon stood in his shadow, as if he existed solely as an apology—for his brother’s recklessness, for his family’s dysfunctionality and even for his own existence.

You were the neighbour’s only child, the one who never quite understood why Simon kept so much distance between you.

Something about him tugged at you—a quiet pull that made you want to reach into the cold and offer him the warmth of your world. You felt a strange protectiveness over him, as if it was your duty as someone older than him, some unspoken responsibility you carried without question. Through your school years, you kept watch over him, whether he knew it or not. When the students mocked him you were there, standing up for him, silencing the cruel whispers, even when it cost you friendships. The rumours about the Rileys circled like vultures, but you shut them down, defending a boy who never asked for it, who seemed more annoyed by your efforts than grateful.

You weren’t friends, after all, not really.

He never showed any sign that he wanted your help. But still, you couldn’t stop yourself. Something deep inside told you it was the right thing to do, even if Simon would never see it.

However, your parents, like most of the neighbourhood, kept their distance from the Rileys. It wasn’t something openly discussed, only whispered behind cupped hands at the local market, murmured in the pews of the church, or exchanged in knowing glances at school gates. Yet those looks exchanged between the adults made it clear—people didn’t want to get involved. The Rileys were trouble, everyone said, and it was best to leave them to their own devices.

You were forbidden from playing with Simon or Tommy, even though they were the only children near your age on the street.

It was an unspoken rule, one you didn’t quite understand as a kid but followed anyway, wishing things could be different. You were young then, far too young and innocent to grasp the weight of the shadows that lingered in the Riley household.

You didn’t know why Mr. Riley’s shouts echoed through the night, why Mrs. Riley wore bruises like secret confessions beneath her smile, why Simon’s silence felt heavy, like a wound too deep to heal. Their world felt so different from yours, a place of suffering you couldn’t quite touch. But as the years slipped by, as childhood faded into adolescence, the picture began to sharpen. With it, your protectiveness over Simon deepened, as the reality of what his father was doing became impossible to ignore. Understanding bloomed where innocence once was, and with it, the weight of knowing.

You couldn’t fathom how your parents, with their kind hearts and warm smiles, could do nothing.

How they could turn their backs on Mrs. Riley, her frail form draped in sorrow, and her two children, who so clearly needed help. You didn’t understand why they never returned Mrs. Riley’s weak greetings, why they closed themselves off from her suffering. It baffled you how they could step over Tommy, sprawled on their porch, drunk or worse, as if he were just another mess to be swept away.

But what haunted you most was their indifference to Simon—the boy your age, thin as a whisper, burdened with bruises no child should carry. How could they look at him and not see? How could they not feel the silent plea in his eyes? Where was their empathy for a child, for a boy who wore his misery like a second skin?

Oh, Simon.

His hazel eyes stayed with you, always, like shadows that linger long after the sun sets. There was something far too ancient in them, like he’d seen too much for someone who hadn’t yet grown into his own skin. They held a weariness that made you wonder what horrors had carved their marks so deeply into him. The whispers followed him everywhere, rumours circling like vultures over carrion. You didn’t know where they came from, Tommy’s careless tongue, or maybe the other nosy students who relished the cruelty of gossip, but they stained everything, leaving you wondering what was real.

You heard that Mr. Riley brought all kinds of dangerous animals into their home, taunting Simon with them, forcing him to kiss a snake, like it was some twisted game, some kind of sick power move. And then there were the stories of his father dragging him to those grim concerts, where violence blurred into spectacle.

They said he’d made Simon laugh at the overdose of a prostitute, made him witness things no child should ever see. You didn’t know if it was all true, but it didn’t matter. The shadow of those stories lingered over him, heavy and unshakable, and you could see it in the way the boy carried himself, in the haunted quiet of his presence.

There was a summer day, thick with heat and sorrow, that still clung to you like a forgotten song.

You had just turned nineteen that July, on the cusp of leaving behind the life you knew, ready to escape to the vastness of London and its promise of university, independence, and everything adulthood might hold. It was one of those warm, languid August evenings, where the sky blushed pink and gold, and the air was alive with the buzz of cicadas and the scent of overripe grass. You were out with your dear friends from high school, celebrating the end of an era. There was laughter, careless and sweet, the kind that only comes after a few too many drinks. A can of cheap beer was cradled in your hand as you leaned back in the passenger seat of your friend’s car, music pulsing around you like a heartbeat as you drove aimlessly through the familiar streets of your suburban neighbourhood.

The night felt like a farewell, a last taste of youth before everything shifted into the unknown. You giggled at something absurd, head dizzy and spinning, when suddenly, through the haze of the moment, you saw him.

Simon Riley.

There was something achingly bittersweet in seeing him there, swallowed by the dusk, his figure hunched as always.

Something inside you shifted, a strange ache that mingled with the buzz of the celebration—a mixture of nostalgia and sorrow that you couldn’t quite place. The guilt of childhoods lived on parallel tracks, always near, but never close enough.

Maybe it was the booze loosening your thoughts, making everything softer and hazier, or maybe it was the looming departure that made everything feel both fleeting and too permanent at once.

“Slow down,” you blurted out, your voice almost drowned out by the music. Your friend gave you a puzzled look, but complied, easing the car to a crawl. 

Simon walked on, dull eyes cast down like he had grown used to the world pretending not to see him.

“Riley,” you called out, your voice weak and unsure. “Fancy a ride?”

Your friends hissed, their voices sharp with confusion and disbelief. “What are you doin’?” one of them asked, eyes wide in the rearview mirror. “Girl, you’re mental!” another laughed, but their words were just background noise to you.

Your gaze stayed locked on Simon Riley, unwavering, even as embarrassment burned at the back of your neck.

For a moment, it felt as though time stretched impossibly thin, the space between you and him suspended in something fragile and delicate. And then, slowly, Simon stopped.

His hazel eyes caught yours beneath the dim glow of the streetlights.

He furrowed his brows when he recognized you, the corners of his lips tightening in that way that told you he was already annoyed.

You flashed him a drunken smile, but it was crooked, empty, a weak imitation of your usual confidence. You leaned your chin on your palm, trying to ignore the sudden flood of emotions rising in your chest. You studied him, trying to find traces of the boy you once knew under the young man he’d become.

“So?” You asked, feeling exposed, a little too vulnerable under his gaze. Embarrassment and sadness twined together like vines around your ribs, squeezing tightly.

Simon’s response was cold, clipped, dismissive. “Don’t need a ride.”

His voice was deeper, rougher than you remembered, gruff with the weight of years that had passed since you last spoke. Had it really been that long? Long enough that you had forgotten what he even sounded like?

“Oh, you sure? We're headin’ that way anyway,” you hummed, trying to keep your tone light, though something in you was desperate, like this fleeting encounter needed to mean more than it did. But Simon just scoffed, a sound that cut through the night like a blade.

He turned away, resuming his walk down the pavement.

Your friends erupted into giggles, snickering at the awkwardness of the situation, their teasing only deepening the strange ache in your chest. But you tuned them out. With a sigh, you made up your mind. Fueled by guilt, nostalgia, and a bit of reckless drunkenness, you reached for the door handle.

“See y'all tomorrow,” you muttered, stepping out of the car before any of them could protest. One of your friends called, but you didn’t look back and didn't offer any explanation.

Without another thought, you hurried after Simon, your footsteps quickening as if you could somehow close the long years of distance in a single stride.

He didn’t stop for you.

He didn’t even turn to acknowledge you as you caught up, breathing rapidly, walking beside him. Meanwhile, the car pulled away, loud music fading into the distance, leaving you two in suffocating silence. His head was bent low, gaze fixed on the cracked pavement beneath his feet, but you kept your eyes on him—on his broad shoulders that seemed too tense compared to yours.

For what felt like an eternity, neither of you spoke.

The night pressed down on you, the air too warm for comfort. Your face was flushed, whether from the alcohol coursing through your veins or the embarrassment of trailing after Simon, you couldn’t be sure. Each step felt heavier than the last, the awkwardness between you building with every inch you walked together, the distance between you palpable even though you two were side by side.

It was hard to keep your balance, the world around you tilting ever so slightly with each step. You stumbled once, your foot catching the edge of the pavement, and cursed under your breath as you regained your footing. You could have sworn you heard Simon sigh, a quiet, annoyed sound, barely more than a breath, but it stung nonetheless.

“So,” you chuckled awkwardly, desperate to fill the growing silence. Your voice sounded too loud, too false against the quiet of the neighbourhood. “Workin’ late, huh? Mum told me you got a job at the butcher’s. The one near the market, right?”

Simon didn’t answer immediately.

His gaze remained fixed ahead. For a fleeting second, you thought that he might ignore you entirely. But then, in that low, gravelly tone, he muttered, “Yeah. S’what I do.”

His response was clipped, offering no room for conversation, but you pressed on, ignoring the tension tightening around you like a noose. “Must be rough, that. The long shifts, I mean. Can’t be easy workin’ with knives and saws all day.”

Simon glanced at you from the corner of his eye, his expression unreadable in the dim glow of the streetlights.

“It pays the bills,” he muttered, his voice flat. There was no hint of the boy you once knew, just a hardened young man who had learned long ago not to rely on anyone.

The conversation died again, leaving only the sound of your footsteps against the pavement. You swallowed hard, guilt rising again like a tide, mingling with the familiar ache of melancholy that always seemed to creep in when you thought of him.

Simon Riley had always been on the edge of your life, a shadow lingering just out of reach. You had never really known him, not truly. He was a figure cast in half-light, always present but never close enough to collide with. You had always watched him from afar, tried to stand up for him when the world became too cruel, but what had any of it meant? He never asked for your help, never even hinted that he needed it. So why bother now?

Simon hadn’t asked for your company—he never had.

And now, standing next to him, you felt that distance more acutely than ever. His silence was loud, louder than anything he could have said, and it left you feeling small, foolish.

The streetlights cast long shadows over the cracked pavement, the distant hum of the city the only sound filling the void. The warm summer night, which had felt so light and carefree only moments ago, now seemed oppressive, weighing down on your shoulders like an invisible burden. Before you could open your mouth to say something uncomfortable again, Simon’s voice cut through the air, sharp and laced with irritation.

“You don’t need to do this.”

You blinked, the alcohol making your thoughts slow to catch up. “Do what?”

Simon glanced at you, his hazel eyes dark and distant, a flicker of something hard lingering just beneath the surface.

“This,” he gestured vaguely between the two of you. “Pity. Guilt. Or whatever it is that’s makin’ you follow me right now.”

Pity? Guilt? That wasn’t what this was—was it? No, of course not. You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him he was wrong, that you weren’t here out of some misguided sense of obligation. But the look on his face stopped you. It was a look of exhaustion, of someone who had heard this all before, someone who had learned not to trust the intentions of others.

“I’m not—” you started, your voice shaky, but he cut you off again.

“I know you’re leavin’,” Simon murmured, his tone dry, as if stating an obvious fact. “Heard your folks talkin’ about it. You’re off to London, right? So, whatever this is, don’t bother.”

The embarrassment burned hot and heavy in your chest, spreading to your cheeks and ears.

“Look, I’m not tryin’ to—” you began again, your voice softer, almost pleading.

Simon shook his head, his expression hardening. “Don’t. I don’t need your bloody charity, alright? I mean it. I don’t need your… whatever the fuck this is.”

The words struck you like a fist to the chest, stealing the air from your lungs.

You halted in your tracks, and to your surprise, he did the same. The space between you felt heavier now, like it carried the weight of all the years that had passed, thick with everything unsaid. You bit down on your lower lip, your gaze lifting slowly, hesitantly, to meet his.

He towered over you now, though once you’d been the taller one. Despite the age gap, the few years between you, despite the fact that you were older than him, Simon seemed like someone who had long since outgrown you, both physically and mentally.

Funny, how time had stretched and twisted between you both, long enough to turn everything unfamiliar. It had been so long, too long, hadn’t it? Since you’d last spoken to him properly. Long enough that you couldn’t quite place when the shift had happened, when Simon had become a stranger to you, a distant figure in your memory rather than the boy next door.

“I don’t wanna leave like this,” you whispered, dropping your gaze to your feet, your voice barely louder than the rustle of leaves in the warm night air. Your hands itched with nervous energy, and you scratched your elbow awkwardly, trying to anchor yourself. “I know we weren’t exactly friends, but that doesn’t mean I never cared. About you, I mean. And I—” you paused, the words tangling on your tongue, too clumsy, too inadequate for the heaviness in your chest. “But you’re right. It doesn’t matter now.”

Simon sighed again.

He ran a hand over his face, rubbing at the corners of his eyes like he was too tired for this, too tired for you. The way he looked at you, it was like you were the one out of place, like he was the older one, the wiser one. There was something in his gaze that cut deeper than any words ever could, something that said he didn’t know what to do with you. Not now, not then, maybe not ever.

For a long moment, he said nothing, just stared, as if deciding whether it was even worth responding.

“The only advice I can give you,” he said, each word deliberate, like he was choosing them with care, “is to live your life. ‘Cause that’s exactly what I’m gonna do. And if we’re lucky, we’ll never have to think about each other ever again.”

The deadpan delivery should’ve stung, should’ve hurt more than it did, instead, you found yourself chuckling softly, soft and bitter at the same time. The absurdity of it, of this whole encounter, made you want to cry and laugh in equal measure. Somehow, he’d managed to diffuse the tension in the most Simon way possible.

But still, it felt like it had always been there, hadn’t it? Unsaid words, missed chances, a history that never was.

You looked up at him, your lips twitching into a small, fragile smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Is that your idea of a pep talk?” you said, trying to make light of the ache that had settled deep in your bones.

Simon tilted his head slightly, watching you with those unreadable hazel eyes. “Not really my strong suit, is it?” he muttered, his voice low and hoarse.

“No, not at all.”

He looked at you, his eyes still guarded, as though he was searching for something in your expression that he couldn’t quite find. Yet he didn’t flinch, didn’t soften. Didn’t return the smile either. Instead, he shrugged with a kind of finality that made your heart sink.

Simon nodded towards the road ahead.

“It’s late. I’ll walk you home.”

The offer was simple, but it carried an underlying meaning, like it was both a farewell and an acknowledgment that, despite everything, you had once meant something to him, even if only in passing.

There was something about his detachment, his unwillingness to engage with the past, that hurt more than you expected. Maybe you had wanted some closure, some understanding from him, a sign that what you felt wasn’t one-sided all these years. But Simon wasn’t offering that. He wasn’t offering anything at all.

You didn’t argue.

You didn’t even protest that you were fine on your own, that you didn’t need his protection. Instead, you forced a weak smile onto your face and started walking, hoping the darkness would hide the tears pricking at your eyes. The sound of your footsteps seemed louder now, echoing against the stillness of the night, as if you were both walking away from something you couldn’t quite name.

“Y’know, not too long ago, I used to walk you home after church on Sundays. When your mum went to the market. Remember?”

Simon didn’t say anything. You thought maybe he hadn’t heard you, but then he hummed, a low, almost noncommittal sound. He wasn’t the boy who needed walking home anymore, and you weren’t the one who could offer him safety.

The walk was silent. But what had you expected? That he’d thank you for some half-hearted attempt at connection after all these years? That he’d open up, that there would be a cathartic moment where you’d both acknowledge the traumatic childhood you shared with him and walk away with some semblance of peace?

Still, it was strange, walking side by side with someone who felt like a stranger, yet also someone you had known your entire life.

The short walk to your parents' house felt longer than it should have. As you approached the familiar gate, the scent of roses hit you, your mother’s prized bush blooming full and red next to the fence.

Simon stopped just outside your childhood home, as if some invisible boundary had been set between him and you. His eyes glanced at the rose bush, then back at you, his expression unreadable, that same distant mask he had worn for years.

“Thanks for walkin’ me home,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, though you weren’t sure why you felt the need to lower it. It wasn’t likely that your parents would be waiting behind the curtains, watching this uncomfortable farewell.

They never cared much for Simon anyway.

His face was unreadable, shadowed by the dim light that illuminated the porch, but you could see his hazel eyes flicker as they scanned your features, taking you in like he was committing this moment to memory. And for a fleeting second, it was as if you weren’t standing on the cusp of goodbye, as if you were still those two awkward kids, stuck in a world neither of you could quite escape.

You did the same. Your eyes traced the sharp lines of his face, his sandy blonde hair, his broad shoulders, the faint stubble along his jawline that he hadn’t had when you last saw him. There was something fragile about this moment, a shared understanding that neither of you would speak of, but it was there all the same.

Before you could second-guess yourself, before you could let the fear of rejection stop you, you took a step forward and wrapped your arms around him. The contact was sudden, your body instinctively pulling him into a hug that neither of you expected.

It was an impulsive decision, a desperate, clumsy attempt to offer some comfort, to bridge the gap between the boy you once knew and the man standing before you. You pulled him into you, your blushed face pressing against his hard chest. For a heartbeat, he froze, stiff beneath your touch, and you immediately regretted it.

You didn’t know why you did it.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the lingering guilt, the sense that you had never done enough, never said enough. But as soon as you felt the warmth of his body against yours, the solidness of him, you realised your mistake. This wasn’t the kind of goodbye Simon wanted. You pulled away quickly, your cheeks burning with embarrassment, your heart racing.

“Take care, Si,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t wait for him to respond, didn’t dare look at his face to gauge his reaction. Instead, you turned on your heel, practically fleeing up the path to your front door, leaving him standing there beneath the roses—roses that were as red as your cheeks, blooming in the quiet of the night.

[kissitbttr]

Miggy getting babied by his pregnant wife?

hiii! i hope you don’t mind, i changed it a bit because I don’t want it to look too much alike on the other one! this one’s short, enjoy! xx

-

being a mother to a 6 month old pregnancy bump isn’t easy. if it was, fathers could do it.

and that’s what miguel had been learning through it all. seeing your mood swings shift in a span of thirty seconds, constant cravings for ice creams, kebabs etc, snapping (directly at him and mostly at him), frequent backaches and fatigue. he’s very much impressed how an existence of a human being living inside of you could actually change you as a person.

still, doesn’t mean he loves you less.

“ugh, i’d give my left tit for a big plate of mofongos and a fat ass joint right now”

the two of you are cuddled up in the couch, watching some lame old american tv show that miguel seems to find enjoyable. you’re dressed in one of his t-shirt and grey sweatpants. ones that you had claimed as yours despite miguel’s protest.

your husband chuckles, pulling you closer by the shoulder. “lucky you, mami. i bought an extra before i came home just for you. i could heat it up for you later if you want.”

a dreamy sigh escape your lips, reaching out to kiss his cheek. “thanks papi. you’re the best. what about the joint?”

he snorts, head shaking as his eyes cast down to yours. “i don’t think weed is good for the baby.”

“says who?” you fake a gasp, pulling back slightly. “it’s literally herbal! unless it’s contaminated with tobacco. don’t we have a stash up in the closet?”

“you finished them all, ma. basically rolling those joints with your pretty fingers before this happened” he points at the bump. “usted es avaro, mi corazon. barely left some for me”

a smile pulls up into your mouth, head resting against his bare chest. hand interlocking with his. “remember when we were celebrating our one year anniversary and got high?”

“ay dios mio” he groans playfully, rolling his head back. “don’t remind me, baby”

“it was so fun” you ignore the embarrassment creeping into his cheeks, grinning even wider when he tries to hide it. “we went to taco bell after.”

“yeah and i threw it up because it tasted like shit”

you hum, nodding along. “and decided to get shawarmas and fries instead because we weren’t satisfied”

“one with the small food truck in 133th street” he confirms, his cheek against the crown of your hair. smiling at the memory. “i remember you told me not to get ones from across that italian place that you like because we need to support small business. had to stop you from crying too much because you kept saying how unfair it was for rich bastards to keep open up restaurants when they have shitty palate”

his comment makes you laugh hard. his grip around your hand tighten. some sort of pride blooms in his chest when he sees you laugh freely like that.

“oh god i remember!” as you slowly recover from the laugh. “we sat on the pavement after that right? you kept telling me how you want me to be the mother of your child.”

“damn, why do you keep recalling all the embarrassing things i did, huh?” he asks jokingly with a deep chuckle. now his attention isn’t even on the tv anymore.

“because it’s cute! you were so cute!” he shakes his head once more, biting down a shy smile as you shift your body weight to wrap your arms around his neck. “my miggy is so cute with the ‘i want you to be my wife, i want to get you pregnant, mi amor. say yes please, please, pleaseeeee’”

you continue to mock his actions back then, watching him cower down at the attempt of you trying to mimic his voice. strangely enough, you almost got it right.

he has his hands covered his face.“stop that, princesa! come onnnn”

you respond with a head shake as a ‘no’. “ay, papi don’t be shy” you giggle, trying to pry his hands off. “come on. let me see my hubby. let me see him”

miguel doesn’t budge for a while before peeking in-between his fingers like a little kid, then slowly peeling his hands away, jutting his lower lip forward.

you gasp, hand over your heart. “god damn! you can’t be walking around looking like that! can’t have all the girls falling for the sexiest man alive”

he rolls his eyes, smiling at your compliment. “stop being biased, baby!”

“i am not! how dare you calling the mother of your kid a liar, hm?” you tug him down, letting his head rest in between your neck and shoulder blade. “my baby daddy is sooo handsome. i won the fucking lottery.”

“definitely the other way around, love.” he disagrees, hand coming up to rest on your bump. “you stole my heart the moment you walked into my office that day. never thought in my life that a gorgeous architect made me get down on my knees and pray to the lord up there to let me have you.”

now that makes your heart skips a beat. how could you compete with that? he never fails to make you swoon even after years of being with him. it’s like the butterflies never stopped.

“hmm now you’re being biased, miggy”

“nope. i was so sure that i was in love with you.” he then turns to look up to you, tone becoming serious. “my god, you were the finest thing i have ever laid my eyes upon, mami. was literally bending over backwards to impress you. and now? seeing you swollen with my baby just made you ten times more gorgeous than before. you’re the love of my life, mi amor. and i will prove it to you for the rest of my life if i had to”

truly, you had never believe in luck or hope. it’s something that never sits well with you. odds never had been in your favor and you believed that for the longest time. you were fine being all alone. you have a job that pays you well, great condo, a body that you learned to adore, a loving mother. four things that you have always been so grateful for. you wouldn’t change a single thing.

but when miguel happened? everything in your life had changed for much better. from having to do everything on your own to ‘i got this one baby’. sure, you weren’t exactly comfortable with it at first, because you had never been the one who had asked for help.

yet you learned to love it all because of him,

with a grateful smile, you trace your fingertips across his soft lips. beautiful red eyes not leaving yours, as if he’s afraid that if he looks away for a second he would lose you completely,

“you’re the love of my life too, miguel”

-

don’t forget to reblog and comment babes!! xx

[sugar-grigri]

Nayuta wasn't killed by Barem, she's his ally 

Poor fandom, you're disorientated just when your compasses should be working properly. 

Let's learn how to eat sushi properly, step by step. Or rather, how about reading Chainsaw Man in the right order? By calmly superimposing everything we know in the right order 

So let's not panic, let's get on with it. Dry your tears, clean your snot and let's get back to the introductions. 

First layer of sushi: Denji and Pochita are made for each other 

Who is Chainsaw Man? It's a question we've been asking ourselves a lot, but how about a simple answer - we're not here to mess around. Chainsaw Man is the combined result of Pochita + Denji. Do we agree? Why have they become so close? Because they look alike, don't they? Alone, hungry, in need of a little warmth and a little love. 

Second layer of sushi: birthday, despair, amnesia...

If we take the stories in outline, Denji meets Makima and then bonds with his siblings. A sibling who eventually dies, and whose final breaking point is his sister, cut in two. On top of that, it's his birthday, isn't it? Makima invites Denji to open the door that confined his traumas, including the death of Denji’s father? 

You see, I've already missed it, I went too fast. Let's resume calmly, birthday... Denji had forgotten it was his birthday, hadn't he? His birthday is the day you're born, it's one of the few pieces of information we don't really question, but Denji forgot it. But haven't you ever really wondered...

If Denji had celebrated his birthday? And why, how, he wanted to eat a cake? His father was violent and his mother died when he was very young, so is it really safe to say that Denji celebrated his birthday? 

I had another question, why does Fujimoto always seem to accentuate the cakes so much?

I really think that cake is one of the keys, because it's a tunnel of memories that resurfaces in Denji, the cake, his birthday, then Power's death, then his father's death. It's a sushi within a sushi (we're slowly taking things back in order), I think it's about layers that need to be taken back in chronological order, yes chronological 1) the death of Denji's father 2) the death of Power 3) Denji's birthday 4) the cake. Which brings us to this scene.

Was this scene shown not just metaphorical or symbolic, but actually happened? Denji having contracted with the control demon whose power is to control memory, in order to reshape him perfectly so as not to be happy and to do whatever she asks of him later. Why couldn't Denji open that door? Why does Aki's death sound so abruptly like Denji's absence, with a mini ellipsis that doesn't show us in concrete terms how Chainsaw Man killed him? I'm going too fast again, let's start again...

Makima hasn't made Denji unhappy, she's created a being made for unhappiness.

This scene refers to an anniversary, amnesia and despair, all ingredients that enabled Pochita to take complete possession of Denji and show us the most complete version of Chainsaw Man.

Which means Barem isn't lying, is he? Same here, I'm going too fast!

Third layer of sushi: the closer Denji gets to happiness, the more he doubts...

Denji manages to become himself again and succeeds in killing Makima, by devouring her. In a very simple and concrete way, Makima was devoured and this put an end to her existence. Keep this in mind. Nayuta is reborn, becoming Denji's little sister, lots of dogs surround them, Chainsaw Man becomes extremely popular and it's in this part 2 that Denji will feel the least like himself, the least like Chainsaw Man. Strangely enough, it's when he approaches a semblance of happiness that Denji pulls away from himself.

Barem really doesn't seem to be lying, does he? But once again, I'm going too fast, let's get on with it!

Fourth layer of sushi: Barem never lies 

This is something I quickly came up with, and it's so precise, I think his character is thought of that way, and it's his narrative role. Even though he's deceitful, manipulative and devious, the bro does NOT LIE. He didn't lie about the weapons attack, he didn't lie that he looked like a Chainsaw Man fan, and he doesn't lie in the last chapter. But same, I'm going too fast. 

Fifth layer of sushi: Nayuta betrayed by Chainsaw Man 

When Denji made the choice to become Chainsaw Man, the house, his source of happiness, was falling to ashes, his dogs, his cat were dying. Denji went through with his dream and abandoned the little sister who made him happy. Barem didn't impose misfortune on Denji; it was Denji who chose misfortune, despite Nayuta's fears. The happier he was with her, the more he lost himself. He left her in Barem's hands and provoked an existential crisis in her. Which made her reconnect with her old self. 

Sixth layer of sushi: an unblocked memory. 

The aftertaste that sticks to your palate is a piece of information I mentioned earlier. Makima has been devoured. What defines the Knights of the Apocalypse from the rest of the demons? Their memory. What if Nayuta had now understood how Chainsaw Man's power worked? 

Seventh layer of sushi: chapter 170. 

This explains Nayuta's severed head, a macabre mise-en-scène to make her brother lose his mind a little more. As for Barem, he doesn't lie to us and gives us instructions on how to read Chainsaw Man. He knows how to read Chainsaw Man, since he knows the two conditions for him to regain his full power because Nayuta gave them to him. For all this is nothing more than their death. 

Layer zero of sushi: the unknown. 

Now I'm entering the quintessential madness of my analysis. Makima contracted with Denji at a very young age, and gave him several orders: survive at all costs, remain miserable, and one day kill Power and Aki. Above all, she ordered him to contract with Pochita, hence Denji's reflex to hand his open wound directly to the demon. This misfortune, this amnesia due to the contract with Makima, this survival on his own, finally allowed a weakened Chainsaw Man to find a kindred spirit, a loved one. Believing in happiness, then destroying it, kept Chainsaw Man's power in check, those vain dreams only a human could imagine. Denji was a kind of Russian doll, holding back Pochita and his over-power. That's why these two conditions exist. 

To be unhappy, or to break this Russian doll. 

To be feared by all, or to be alone. 

Or kill Denji. 

To save Pochita. 

Layer - 100000 of sushi: did you think I'd finished losing my head? I don't think so. What if everything I've been telling you all along, taking things in order, were to be done in reverse? Take them out of order. I'll ask the questions so you can understand. Why is Makima so obsessed with Chainsaw Man? Why did the Knights of the Apocalypse fight Chainsaw Man in the underworld? How did they manage to retain their memories? Why start the story with a parricide? Why was Denji finely polished by Makima to welcome Pochita when Makima never saw Denji, the reason for her own death? How could she enter into a contract with someone she has never seen? 

Because someone is controlling the control demon itself. Just as it controls the way the story is presented to us. How can we trust an antagonist who controls memory? And an amnesiac protagonist? 

Why did Pochita do what he did in the underworld? Why this sudden fury? Why do demons hear chainsaws at the moment of their death? 

Because we've come full circle. More precisely, what you're reading is not part 2 but part 1, or to be more (MORE) precise, the end of Chainsaw Man will lead to its beginning. The desire to create a better world, to kill death, will lead to a temporal loop in the world that will never cross the apocalypse, blocked just ahead. 

Makima herself is controlled by her future self, which allows her to make references to the future and know the recipes for unleashing Chainsaw Man's power without understanding why, her future self knows Chainsaw Man, she loved him. So Makima also loves Chainsaw Man without really understanding why, amnesiac like Denji.

Denji doesn't kill his father, it's his old self who is killed. 

But another Denji tries to put an end to this... 

Spiral. 

Stuck between two worlds, two temporalities, morning (Asa), night (Yoru), someone is trying to put an end to this endless world, before dawn.

[yourlocalgrass]

Sometimes I think… what’s with Barbatos just casually adopting some of the most powerful beings in the realms to exist??

Like, first we have Solomon right? He gets summoned, this kid on the floor on the verge of death, and he’s like. Hm… fair enough. Got no choice but to adopt you. Takes him to fountain of knowledge and all and makes a pact before or after since we don’t know. And let me say, he knew this this boy is boutta be the most powerful sorcerer to exist before he was summoned and all of that happened, so it’s not like he didn’t know.

Then we have Diavolo and honestly the most funniest one here. Visiting his future son from time to time, all fun and giggles until the lil guy thought he could lock him up. He also had some real dedication because Dia also used some so special tea leaves to blackmail him. And guess what? Barbatos first impression was: Cute. A cute lil child. That’s the entire reason my guy decided to adopt the next Demon King (probably not the entire reason still) and we can also see how Barbatos has to do every teeny thing for Diavolo and how much of a father he is to him so we can see the point here it’s pretty obvious

You thought that was it? Nope. Next we have guess who? Luke. Luke?? You thinking, sure they do have an adopted father-son relationship, also the first demon who Luke admitted to not minding spending time with, and all but- nuh uh. I’ll just quickly quote:

“Luke’s blessing is very powerful. It even rivals what angels higher in the hierarchy is the Celestial Realm are capable off” :From Simeon, by the way. Somewhere in S3

I mean, if our tiny chihuahua is this powerful at this young age (well, in angel years let’s say) imagine how powerful he would be after experience and older (again, in angel years).

Conclusion: Barb likes to casually adopt crazy powerful beings and being a strange adoptive father in some way to each of them (also shows them in different ways I mean you can see the difference between the 3)

[slepiesheep]

SpongeBob Truman show AU lets gooo!! Discussing with friends and feeling motivated. Setting takes place decades later. I will analyze, include about my theories, and intentions how the series ends. I made this for FUN, don’t take it too seriously. It's likely that you might not fully understand this if you haven't watched The Truman Show or are unfamiliar with the television theory by Alex Bale. I highly recommend watching the Television theory.

Just a quick note before we start: in the SpongeBob SquarePants universe, the show is canonically a show within the show. For instance, we've seen pirates getting excited about the first SpongeBob movie. Even Patchy the Pirate, the biggest SpongeBob fan, knows about SpongeBob's existence in real life (within the show). If i remember correctly, in the Sponge out of water movie, a child even saw SpongeBob and called out his name. I think that Scientists will do anything to make the show interesting and profitable.

There will be 2 parts of this story.

Part 1

SpongeBob, Squidward and Mr. Krabs gets to celebrate The Krusty Krab anniversary. Mr. Krabs wanted to set sail on a boat trip with SpongeBob, a father-son bonding experience. Mr. Krabs dressed in his sailor hat, a dark blue trenchcoat, and SpongeBob also wore sailor clothes. Yeah Mr. Krabs fucking dies because he took 50% of the show's profits and didn't perform his duties properly 😂 The producers decided to eliminate him from the show, leaving SpongeBob traumatized for his life to increase viewer interest. A horrible thunderstorm hit. SpongeBob tried to pull up Mr. Krabs, but his scrawny arms couldn’t do it. He only managed to grab his trenchcoat. Mr. Krabs’ body was never to be found. Now, SpongeBob is the manager of the Krusty Krab, responsible for keeping the secret formula safe. He opens a notebook to write down important information. Due to aging, SpongeBob started wearing glasses. Plankton tried to exploit his naive nature, but SpongeBob slowly became more mature and courageous like Mr. Krabs. It began to feel like a repeating pattern for SpongeBob. He wanted to get out from Bikini Bottom and experience a new life and travel around the wonders of the nature before growing old and dying. However, when he tried to purchase a ticket for a trip outside of Bikini Bottom, he found that it wasn't an option for him. Strange events happened to keep SpongeBob preoccupied and ensure his continued stay in Bikini Bottom. On his way to work, SpongeBob accidentally bumped into an elderly man, only later recognizing him as Mr. Krabs. Unforeseen, two men appeared, abruptly pulling Mr. Krabs away. creating a distraction with a group of anchovies.

Mr. Krabs boarded a bus as SpongeBob began to question why Mr. Krabs, who was presumed dead, was somehow still alive but never came back to him. Confused, he shared his thoughts with Squidward, who dismissed it and pretended nothing was wrong. Feeling unsettled, SpongeBob decided to visit Sandy at her treedome to talk about what he had seen. Just before putting on his water helmet, it hit him, how could Mr. Krabs have drowned when they all lived underwater? The thought made no sense, and the more he thought about it, the more his suspicions grew. He used to believe this kind of logic was normal. Unsure of what to believe, SpongeBob went to Patrick’s house to tell him about the strange encounter. Patrick seemed confused but not entirely surprised. It felt like Patrick knew something too, as if he'd experienced something similar, but he wasn't ready to talk about it. To distract SpongeBob, Patrick suggested they head to Goofy Goobers for ice cream, hoping to lift his friend’s spirits. The next day, SpongeBob had his driving test. Ms. Puff sat next to him in the boat, still baffled by the fact that after all these years, SpongeBob had yet to earn his license. Determined to do something different, SpongeBob unexpectedly drove off the course, speeding up. Ms. Puff panicked and shouted for him to stop. She was about to take control of the wheel but hesitated, knowing a sudden turn could cause an accident. Despite her pleas, SpongeBob kept going, lost in his own thoughts.

When he drove out of town, he encountered a crowd of people blocking the road. He slammed on the brakes just in time to avoid hitting anyone. A police officer quickly approached and explained that there had been a toxic gas leak in the area, and the entire place was being evacuated. "There’s no way through," the officer warned. Before letting him go, the officer added, “Make sure to drive slower, SpongeBob.” Hearing his name snapped something in SpongeBob, and without thinking, he floored it, trying to make a run for it. The police swiftly caught up with him, arrested him on the spot, and threw him in jail. He was locked up for just one second before they kicked him out again, sending him back on his way.

.

.

.

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I'm exhausted. I just ate 15 bite-sized waffles while writing this, and honestly, I have no idea what I just wrote. I'll reread it tomorrow morning and fix any mistakes.

[ahsxual]

Dark Sins

Pairing: William Afton x Fem!Reader (and a little of Stu Macher x Fem!Reader)

Summary: You and Stu have been together for a while now. You didn't like his friend Billy, because in your opinion he meant trouble. But Stu didn't care about it. In fact, it only made him want to hide you from Billy. So when the two of you were at Stu's house and Billy showed up, Stu made you hide yourself in the bathroom... little did you both know that his dad was taking a shower.

Genre: Smut

Warnings: minors don't interact +18, cheating (I don't support this, only wrote it for the fic!!), Stu not being the best boyfriend, implied age gap (reader is on her 20s, William is 50), fingering, oral sex (f&m receiving), squirting, dirty talk, mentions of daddy, chocking, cursing, degrading and humiliation kink, cnc, almost getting caught, perv!William, Dom!William x Sub!Reader

Word Count: 2,8k

Part II & Part III

A/N: In this fic, William is Stu Macher's father. I just love this idea, so I decided to write this crossover. I haven't written for so long, so I'm sorry for any mistakes or the low quality fic. I missed writing for you guys, so here I am! I'm trying my best <33

You and Stu Macher had been together for a few weeks now. He was your crush since you met him last year, and things developed over time, specially after one of his parties. You guys had sex in his bedroom at one of his parties, and let's just say it was the best fuck you guys ever had. The adrenaline running through your veins from the alcohol, the passion between you two and the risk of getting caught by one of your friends was too much. You were extremely happy when, after a couple of months, he wanted to make it official. It was like a dream coming true... I mean, who wouldn't want to be Stu Macher's girlfriend? But like in all relationships, nothing is completely perfect... and when you met his best friend Billy, you couldn't help but hate the guy. He had this creepy look whenever he looked at you both and you talked about it with Stu. Apparently the guy hated you too, so Stu decided to hide you from him. Like, literally.

It pissed you off even more. How can your boyfriend prefer his best friend over you?? The PDA between the two of you didn't exist anymore whenever Billy was around, and that hurted you. So today, you decided to go talk about this with Stu.

"Hey... can we talk?" you asked Stu when he opened his house's door for you. He already knew what you wanted to talk about, so he rolled his eyes and let you enter his house.

"Sure babe, come in." he said in fake excitement, which annoyed you to no end. How can he still think it's your fault and there's nothing wrong with what he's doing... or better, allowing others to do. It's like he cares way too much about what Billy thinks or not. What a weird relationship they have...

You both went to his room for some privacy, since his dad was at home. Talking about the man, there was something strange, maybe even creepy about him too. He barely talks to you or says anything at all, always busy with work on the few times he's at home. However, his intense eyes always seemed to analyze your body like a predator analyzes its prey. At least, that's how you felt. And it sent shivers down your spine every single time, for whatever reason unknown to you.

"So... I assume you already know what I want to talk about with you..." you were the first one to break the ice, since you and Stu have had been silent for a few minutes now. You shouldn't be feeling so nervous and you didn't want to bother Stu, but things had to be talked about when something bothers you. Communication is the key for a good relationship and that's what you decided to do.

"Yeah, I think I do." Stu seemed way too relaxed for your liking, his arms supporting his body onto his bed like he didn't care how this conversation would end.

"Can you just pretend that you care about how I'm feeling instead of like, running away? Because that's what it looks like you're doing and it annoys me, Stu. Deeply." you shouted at Stu, your patience disappearing by each second. But when he looked at you with those hungry eyes, you immediately knew what he wanted to do. Again. Every single time.

"Come on babe, we can do so many interesting things instead of arguing, don't you think? You look so fucking hot when you're mad at me." a large smirk was planted on his face, before he pushed you down onto his bed, his tall and lean body over yours while he grabbed both of your wrists with one hand and pinned them on the bed. He started sucking and kissing your neck, while his free hand grabbed your tits hard, making you moan.

"Stop it Stu, we have to talk about..." you tried to sound serious, but the truth was that you forgot what you wanted to talk about in the first place. You couldn't resist Stu: he had that power over you, and even tho you hated it sometimes, it was simultaneously the thing you loved about him the most. The way he made you weak to your knees by a simple touch. You felt like you were in heaven for a few minutes, before Stu's phone started ringing. You both looked at it annoyed, and when you thought you couldn't be more bothered, you saw Billy's name on it. Stu immediately got up, before sending you an apologetic look.

"Hey man, what's up?" Stu's face went from excitement to fear in a second, and you looked at him asking mentally what happened. "Yeah sure, just give me a sec." and then Stu hung up the call.

"What happened? What did he want?" your tone was a little bit harsh towards Stu, but you couldn't control it. What did Billy possibly want this time??

"I'm sorry baby, but... Billy is actually on my doorstep. He's outside and needs to talk to me... like right now." you could tell your boyfriend was feeling bad for interrupting your intimate moment, but he still didn't say no to Billy.

"You're kidding me, right? Does he know that I'm with you? Can't you tell him that??"

"Come on y/n, just cooperate with me! It will be fast I promise, just..." he paused for a second, before grabbing your arm and taking you to the bathroom. "Just stay here for a minute, okay? Don't come out until I tell you so! Love ya!" he then kissed you and put you inside of his bathroom way too quickly to realized that it might be occupied...

"Wtf!" you shouted quietly, visibly pissed off by the ridiculous situation you were put in. How could Stu do this to me?? Hiding his own girlfriend, because his friend didn't like me? You thought. When you were walking backwards, you didn't even realized that the bathroom was in fact, occupied. By your boyfriend's father.

"Shit!!" you screamed when you collided with a strong, bare and wet chest. When you turned around, you couldn't believe your eyes. It was your boyfriend's father, William Afton, completely naked with just a towel around his hips. You stared a little too long to his tall, nice built body for his age, before you closed your curious eyes. "Omg, I'm so so sorry Mr. Afton, I didn't- this is all that asshole's fault!" you whispered to yourself the last part, referring to Billy. Well, in reality it was Stu's fault, but you didn't want to think about it that way.

"May I know why you haven't left yet? Seems like you're enjoying being here... in my presence." William's tone was serious and his eyes roamed all over your body, since you were wearing a short dress. If you weren't feeling so embarrassed, you could tell that he was in fact teasing you.

"I-I can't Mr. Afton... Stu doesn't want me to get out of here... I don't know what to do... well, on second thought, I should probably go." you never felt so embarrassed in our entire life. You didn't know if you should leave and go against your boyfriend's stupid request, or if you should just stay there being confronted by Mr. Afton lustful eyes and semi-naked body. This was his opportunity, he thought. Just the two of you... alone.

He wanted to show you how much his son didn't deserve you. He wanted to show you who could be a real man to you. Someone who didn't refuse to pleasure you like his son did to you just now, even though you could be caught. What you didn't know, was how long William have been desiring you. Waiting for the perfect opportunity to be with you and make you forget about his son only with his dick. To prove to you that you didn't know real pleasure until he fucked you until you're begging for his mercy.

"Who said you're getting out of here, huh?" how dumb and innocent you are, he thought. Thinking that now that everything was according to his plan, you could escape him. It made him laugh, actually.

"I-I don't understand, sir..." your back was against the bathroom door, not allowing you to escape his slow approach towards your small body compared to his. The moment you called him sir made his cock harder, and when you noticed it through the thin towel, you gasped loudly not just by the unknown effect you had on him, but at the size of it. It was huge and you could tell that it was thicker than Stu's dick.

He noticed you staring at his cock and smirked at your reaction. He knew deep down you wanted him too. You naughty, dumb slutty girl. He suddenly approached you faster, not even caring about the fact that his towel fell on the ground, leaving him completely naked in front of you and showing you his dick fully erected because of you. Before you tried to say something, he covered your mouth with his big hand.

"Shhh. Don't say a single fucking word, you understand me? You don't want my son to find out that you're about to get fucked by his father, now would you?" his voice was deep and low, and you could hear the lust in it. You felt scared. Terrified actually, for what was about to happen. But then, you felt something that betrayed your mind. Your panties were dripping and your clit was throbbing, wanting desperately to be touched. All of a sudden, you heard the door being locked by William.

"Please Mr. Afton, I-I don't want to cheat on Stu, please..." you were so desperate not to sin, since you're completely against cheating. But it seemed like you had no choice... and the worst of it, was that you couldn't deny how much attracted you felt to the older man. By this point, you didn't know if you were talking to William or to yourself. Suddenly, you felt William's cock against you, hard and desperate for your attention.

"Too late for that, bunny. I'm gonna teach you how a real man can pleasure a sweet thing like you... don't lie to yourself. You want this as much as I do." he suddenly grabbed your hand and put it on his hard cock, pre-cum leaking from the tip. You started to jerk him off, not being able to stop since he was controlling your movements. "That's it, you dirty slut. Now be a good girl and suck daddy's cock." William forcedly grabbed your hair and pushed you to your knees, making you gasp in pain. He then opened your mouth and shoved his dick in, making you gag around him.

You started to suck him off since you had no option but to obey, before he pushed you back by your hair and took your dress and bra off, leaving you only in your panties.

"Don't worry, I'll rip them out soon." the older man promised before he pushed you against his cock again. After a few minutes, he felt himself almost reaching his limit, so he pushed you back once again, this time for good. He then grabbed you and put you onto the long bathroom vanity, before tearing your white panties in one move.

"Mr. Afton! Those were my favorite panties!" you were shocked by his rough action, realizing that when he said something, he would do it. William laughed at your face, realizing that you and Stu apparently never had real fun.

"If you behave and cum for me, maybe I'll give you new ones for Christmas." he promised before circling your extremely sensitive clit. You moaned loudly, so he quickly covered your mouth once again. "What a dirty fucking whore you are. Can't keep your mouth shut while being fingered by a man old enough to be your father... leaving aside the fact that it's actually your boyfriend's father too." he degraded you, before shoving 2 long and thick fingers inside you, not giving you any time to adjust to him. His movements were cruel and faster than any man you had ever been with before, making you cum in a few minutes.

"Fuck Mr. Afton, I'm gonna cum!! Please s-stop!" you didn't know why you were pleading him to stop if you didn't want to. Maybe you thought that if you didn't cum, maybe it wasn't real cheating... How stupid you were to think that. Obviously there was no going back now.

"You're fucking dripping, bunny. Look at my fingers, fucking you so easily and being all drenched in your cum. You should be ashamed of yourself, you fucking slut. I bet my son never made you cum so fast and hard." and those degrading words, which were the truth even tho you didn't want to admit it, were enough to make you orgasm. Hard. The way Mr. Afton humiliated and deprived you to breath properly with his hand covering your mouth and nose, was all you needed to squirt onto his big hand. Your moan was muffled by William's hand, otherwised Stu and Billy would hear you without any doubt.

"Oh fuck..." you said once you looked at the mess you made. William's fingers and cock were drenched in your cum, and he hadn't even fucked you with his cock yet. "I'm so sorry Mr. Afton-" your apology was completely ignored and immediately replaced by a loud gasp from you when William opened your legs and licked your cunt like he was a starved man. His tongue expertly sucked your wet clit before he fucked your hole with his long tongue. He continued to suck on your clit and fuck your hole just the way you loved, when suddenly you heard Stu's voice. You wanted to scream from fear of being caught in such a vulnerable, embarassing position and act, but William knew you too well already, so he put his hand over your mouth before you could make any sound and continued his attack on your dripping pussy.

"Wait man!" you heard Stu saying to Billy. Apparently, Billy wanted to go to the bathroom, but Stu stopped him just in time. "You should go to the bathroom downstairs. I took a shit on that one before you arrived." if you weren't in this situation, where your boyfriend's dad was eating you out like a madman, you would have laughed at the poor excuse that your boyfriend came up with. However, you were too focused on cumming again, this time on William's mouth since he didn't stop fucking your cunt with his tongue the whole time. Oh, that mouth... you definitely wouldn't forget it. It even looked like somehow, William did want to get caught to prove his son that he could make you cum harder and faster. That even if he was older, he was better nonetheless.

You started to feel your second orgasm approaching. "Fuck Mr. Afton, I'm gonna fucking cum again." you didn't know why would you tell him that or why you were saying it out loud, if you felt ashamed about all of this.

"Come on, babygirl. Cum for daddy one more time, squirt all over my face." and that was it. Somehow you managed to squirt once again, this time on William's face. Even tho it wasn't as much as before, you still covered his face and mouth with your cum. "Good girl. I know you could do it. You're being so nice for me, just one more time." when he said that last part, you looked at him with wide eyes.

"I-I can't anymore sir, please..." you were breathless and covered in sweat from his actions. He suddenly grabbed your neck and chocked you enough to make it difficult to breath.

"Yes you can, and you'll do it for me." for the first time, you were scared of him. Scared about what he could possibly do to you and the fact that you could be caught anytime now. He lined his big cock against your overstimulated pussy, ready to fuck and destroy you, before you both heard Stu's voice again.

"Alright man, see ya later! Don't forget to bring my things tomorrow!" Stu said before closing the front door downstairs, saying goodbye to Billy. You looked desperately at William, and even if he wanted to destroy you right there and then and couldn't care less if Stu caught you both fucking, he didn't want you to be in big trouble. You and William started to hear Stu's footsteps, so William took your damaged panties with him, grabbed his towel from the ground to cover himself up and got ready to go to his bedroom before Stu came in and saw you two together.

"Get yourself presentable. You don't wanna look like you just had been fucked, right? Next time bunny, I'll make sure there's no one to interrupt us. Prepare that tight and sweet pussy of yours." he said in a serious and cold tone, like he didn't just say the most sinful thing to you. Before he left, he smelled deeply your ripped and drenched panties and stuffed them inside his mouth.

And there you were. Left alone naked, covered in sweat and cum and thinking about how William's cock would feel deep inside of you, ripping you apart.

And that's when reality hit you and slapped you hard in the face. You just cheated on your boyfriend with his own fucking father.

[destiny-in-the-universe]

Pines Headcanons [Happy Birthday, Grunkles]

I cannot believe I just now got reminded of this- holy shit. Unfortunately, I'm not an artist so have these headcanons instead about Stan and Ford

Stanley ‘Lee’ Pines

He’s bisexual. This is not up for debate (/lh). It just made sense for him 

Stanley is ambidextrous. He can write and utilize both his left and right hands. This was something he self-taught himself in after the portal accident 

On the power of ‘I said so’, Stan does have some level of book smarts but instead of math or science- it’s creative writing. He’s got the talent for it; however, he rarely - if ever - shares these stories with anyone

Stan has some form of neurodivergency. Young Stan definitely gives the impression of ADHD but also I feel he’s got dyslexia- don’t ask me why. This is canon now

He does have scars from the time he spent on the run and doing his sales. I’m not sure what they are exactly, but just know he has them 

Stan knows martial arts. Other than boxing, I feel he would’ve taught himself in other forms of fighting- like the ones done on the streets and it’s a weird mix of martial arts and free-style fighting

He can be a bit of a poet, but for the most part- Stan prefers show-and-tell as his love language. He will present his partner with gifts, and makes sure they understand he’s there for them 

He’s kind of protective over his partners, and definitely has gotten into fights in an attempt to protect their honor. It’s ill-placed sometimes but he’s not about to let some bozo mess with them

Stan always sought his father’s approval. He attempted multiple times to perfect his studying skills before the science fair accident, but apparently Old Pa Pines didn’t seem to notice and the rest, well, it was already history

He fantasized of being a pirate when he was a kid. This is where the whole thing of going on a seafaring adventure with Ford came from! Unfortunately due to canon events, this soured out but he held onto a photograph he and Ford took in front of the beach as a memoir

He’s very much not a big fan of vegetables

Stanford ‘Ford’ Pines

He’s arospec and ace!

Ford absolutely loves puzzles. Why? It just weirdly fitting for his character

He definitely has C-PTSD following the events of Weirdmaggedon

Autistic Ford? Autistic Ford. There is no way he doesn’t have it- I said what I said

Before he got involved in the strange and paranormal, one of Ford’s main interests was actually crystals and rocks! It felt weirdly fitting for his character, and here we are

Ford is more of a cat person. At one point, he rescued a cat-adjacent creature from an auction and named her ‘Nova’. Of course, it’s far from a cat but well, we’ll get to that later

He would be into LARP if it exists in the Gravity Falls canon. Like, that man is a nerd and already enjoys the show’s version of Dungeons and Dragons, there’s just no way he wouldn’t participate in LARP

He does have scars from his time in other dimensions for thirty years. He’s very secretive about them and doesn’t let anyone see- not even Stanley

Ford deals with the aftermath of a burnt-out gifted kid- like, he was the prodigal son and got all the right honors, scores, all of it but as he got older- the more he struggled, the more he felt like something was missing. As the golden child, he was brought up with the notion he would be important but then got smacked in the face when he realized none of it truly mattered

He had a lot of issues adjusting to his new life in Gravity Falls, Oregon after he was brought back from the portal. Ford’s triggered fight-or-flight response would kick in with unexpected situations- like, he’s definitely pulled a blaster/space gun

He likes hot chocolate

Ford enjoys cuddle piles, let’s be honest here. Once he gets more comfortable, he begins making nests with the rest of the Pines family

He’s protective of his family!

I’ll try and come up with new headcanons soon, but since I took too long releasing this- given I got sick unfortunately, I decided to post a smaller version 

[sapphic-coded]

I Swear That I Don't Have A Gun

You grew up in Ohio with your father, brother, and sister. Your family was small and strange. Because of that, you were picked on relentlessly at school. Until another weird kid showed up. Her family moved in across the street from you. It wasn't long until the two of you became friends. Your friendship became the light in your life. Until it ended suddenly. Rumors followed your friend's disappearance. Russian spies. You didn't see her again until you crossed paths at work.

Series Masterlist

Natasha Romanoff x fem Reader

Warnings: Violence. Some gore. Reader is a messed up assassin and loves helping her friend. More fun weapons. Opera music. Childhood trauma hanging out in the background. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 3.4k

Author's Note: This chapter is finally ready! I hope you all enjoy. I apologize for the long wait. I also apologize for the wait for the next chapter. Your love for this fic is why it's longer than one chapter.

Taglist: @natsxwife @iliketozoneout @newawakening9 @natasha-1million @ilovemcuff @taliiiaasteria @alowint @yerisdumbass @natashasilverfox @fxckmiup @escapereality4music @gbab09

Chapter Nine: You Can Fool Any Friend Who Ever Knew You

Mount Vernon, Ohio – 1993 

The sound of crunching snow caused your head to lift. Your friend knelt down in front of you. The wind swept the stray strands of her blue hair that escaped the confines of her gray knitted hat across her face. As her gloved hand reached up to push her hair away from her face, you tried desperately to understand what you were seeing. The look in your friend’s eyes was not one you were accustomed to. It was too strange. Like something out of a television show or in one of your sister’s books. It was fear and slight traces of panic. But not for herself. She looked scared about…you. 

“What are you doing out here?” she asked. 

Your head turned to look in the direction you had come from. In the direction of the frozen pond. Where the cold, dead hare sunk deep into the pitch black water. You had done it. You had done what was asked of you. So why did it feel like your father was standing right next to you? Scolding. Yelling. 

A soft gloved hand pressed gently against your cheek and slowly turned your head back towards Nat. 

“Y/N?” she asked. 

“I got lost,” your voice shook. You felt so cold. The sting of the wind against your cheeks was gone. The chill of the snow was quickly becoming a memory. Every inch of you was just cold. You were pretty sure your bones were turning into icicles. Which meant if you fell, you would shatter. 

Nat’s gloved hand dropped away from your face and came to rest on your arm. “Is your brother and sister also out there?” 

You shook your head. 

“Your father?” 

“He is at the convention,” your answer was automatic. It was what you were instructed to say if anyone asked about your father. It was an easy instruction to remember. It was true. Your father was attending his favorite convention. Also, no one ever bothered to ask. Nat was the first. 

“C’mon,” Nat said as she helped you to your feet. “We can’t stay out here.” 

Your body felt stiff as you stood. You couldn’t really feel your legs as you went to take your first step, but then Nat reached out to take hold of your hand. Despite the layers of the gloves that separated your hand from hers, you felt a sudden warmth. It was as if you had decided to reach out and grab the radiator in your family room. You instinctively tried to pull your arm back, but Nat’s hold on your hand didn’t let go. Instead, she led you back up the path you had been trying to find. 

Slowly, the stiffness in your body vanished as Nat led you out of the woods and into your backyard. The windows along the backside of your house were dark. As Nat neared your house’s back door, you stopped walking. She stopped and looked back at you. 

“You can’t go in there,” you said. Only your father was allowed to bring visitors over to the house. But even if that rule didn’t exist, you still wouldn’t bring Nat into your home. She was your friend. You couldn’t do that to her. Not when her house was so much better. 

“Okay,” she said. Her grip on your hand never wavered. “My house then.” 

You followed Nat around your house and across the street. The warmth of her home was almost overwhelming when she led you inside. The whole world was suddenly cast in a soft, yellow light as Nat helped you remove your boots. You shivered when you removed your coat and felt your damp clothes sticking to your skin. Nat led you upstairs and left you standing in the bathroom while she fetched spare clothes from her room. 

As you waited in the bathroom, you examined the small room. It was very similar to the one you and your siblings shared. The sink, toilet, and bathtub were all in the same spots. The floor was made of the same small, white, square tiles that covered the floor of your bathroom. But the walls were painted a warm beige. Your bathroom walls weren’t painted at all. Or if your father had painted them, they were just white. But one thing in particular grabbed your attention. 

Sitting on the edge of the bathtub was a bright yellow rubber duck. You walked over and picked it up. These were real?

The door to the bathroom opened, and Nat returned with dry, fresh clothes in her arms. “These should fit you.”  

You set the rubber duck down and took the fresh clothes. “Thanks. Where did you get the duck?” 

Nat looked first at the rubber duck and then back at you. “My mom. Why?”

You shrugged. “I didn’t know they were real. I only ever saw them on TV.” You felt stupid for not connecting the two things earlier. You didn’t have a mother so it only made sense that you also didn’t have a rubber duck. 

You changed into fresh clothes after Nat left. You felt more yourself when you left the bathroom and returned to your friend’s bedroom. She was busy setting up a game of Clue which was one of your favorite games. You settled down on the floor across from her as she finished setting up the board. 

“What were you doing out there?” she asked. 

You picked up the tiny revolver game piece. “Chores.” 

Richmond, Virginia – 2012

She looks stunning. The black dress compliments every inch of her body from her toned arms that spill from its short sleeves, to the graceful curve of her hips, and the commanding presence of her strong legs that peak out from the slit of her dress. Her short red hair looks softer, and the way her earrings catch the light makes you smile. Your focus is drawn to the red lipstick that coats her lips.  

“I know what it’s like to be used by other people.” 

Your smile falters, and you already start to feel the urge to move and do something. Preferably kill someone. But you’ll take standard violence if that’s the only option. The noise and thrill of it all always buries the thoughts and memories that try to climb to the surface. But you can’t do any of that. Climbing into the vent had been hard enough. You had just barely fit. You are also in position. Leaving now would jeopardize your friend’s mission. Which would jeopardize your alone time with her. 

So your only option is to continue to lay in the vent you crawled into. The picture you have of Nat in her dress remains up on your interior visor screen and you choose to imagine yourself in your finest suit. You miss the clothes you used to have. Instead of wearing one stupid suit, you were anyone you wanted to be. You could have easily been her date. Your smile returns. 

Your photo of Nat shrinks slightly as new data appears on the left side of your screen. It’s a message from the phone number you had memorized minutes after receiving it. 

Target approaching. You in position? 

You have just enough wiggle room in the vent to pull your cherished phone from one of your pockets. Your gloved fingers type out your reply. 

Tight fit. Ready. 

As you tuck your phone back into your pocket, you hear the crackling noise of your friend’s comms going live. The hum of voices mixed with the occasional clink of glassware echoes within your helmet. You can imagine the scene clearly. You and Nat surrounded by the wealthy and elite. Your friend on your arm as you make small talk with all the important people who you know so well. Because they hire you to kill their rivals. You enjoy watching the life fade from your targets’ eyes and all the important good wealthy people love staying in power. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement. And the cherry on top is your friend–

“You look stunning Miss. Rushman.”

The stranger’s voice drowns out all the background noise. You stare up at the dull, metal panel that hangs two inches from your helmet. 

“Well, it’s not every day a girl gets invited to watch Tristan und Isolde,” Nat’s voice fills up all the space in your helmet. 

“I prefer to treat my business contacts well,” the stranger’s voice replies. “I find that these outings foster stronger connections. Come. Our seats are this way.” 

Your message log with Nat vanishes from your visor screen, and your picture of Nat shrinks as a boring map fills up the majority of your screen. You are familiar with this map. It’s a map of the entire building, and you’ve been studying it for the past forty-eight hours. You’re here to help your friend with her mission and nothing could go wrong. There was no way you were going to risk your time with Nat. So you are going to complete the objective per her orders. You smile at that thought as you review your route to your target. 

“Does that mean you are moving forward with my offer?” Nat’s voice asks. 

The map on your screen vanishes as you press your feet down on one of the vent panels. You feel it drop open and you shift around until you slide out of the vent and land in a hallway. To your left is a stairwell that only goes up. To your right is just a plain concrete wall. You pull your gun from your holster and attach a silencer over the muzzle as you start walking down the hallway. 

“Your offer is the most appealing,” the stranger’s voice replies. 

“It’s the highest bid you’ll get for it,” Nat’s voice says. 

You hear the stranger’s chuckle. “Your offer did take me by surprise, Miss. Rushman. At first, I thought I had appraised it incorrectly. But after reviewing its history, I found that I made no mistake. Every other bid falls in line with what I expected. Except for yours. I’m curious about your story.” 

As you near the end of the hallway, it splits off to the right and left. You turn to your right and raise your gun. Roughly five feet away is a guard dressed in a clean black suit. He stands with his back to you, and you take a moment to line up your shot. 

“My story is rather boring. I’m a collector, and I choose not to insult other colleagues with bad offers,” Nat’s voice says. Her lie makes you smile. You don’t know what the target is exactly. Your friend did not share those details with you. You didn’t push because it was her mission. Whatever all this was about was probably some secretive SHIELD stuff. Most likely real SHIELD since Nat had only invited you to help her. In the end, you didn’t care. But her lie sparked a small bit of curiosity about this target. 

The sound of the orchestra spills through your commlink as you pull the trigger. The guard crumples forward as blood splatters against the walls. Someone grabs you from behind. You jam your elbow into soft flesh and slip free from your assailant’s hold. You turn and bury a bullet in the middle of another guard’s face. The guard’s head jerks back as a large, red hole eats away at the center of his face. No more nose. Most of the upper lip gone. You hear bits of his brain hit the ground less than a second before his body does. 

You step over the fallen guards and are careful not to step into the growing puddles of blood. You continue down the hallway and kill two more guards who came rushing at you. You empty out the rest of your clip on one of the down guards who was still moaning. The guard is still and quiet as you reload your gun. 

“Oh I simply love this part,” the stranger’s voice says as you near the door that leads into the room containing your target. 

You open the door. The room within is large and square. Crates and boxes line the walls of the room. A brief glance into one of the open boxes reveals a random assortment of props. A storage room. You bet that if you could take off your helmet you could probably smell the musty scent that you know is clinging onto every inch of this space. It reminds you of your father’s storage room in your basement. The way the musty scent sucked up all the air. 

But unlike your father’s old storage closet, this storage room had clearly been prepared for visitors. All the lights were on and the space in the middle of the room cleared except for a single square card table. Sitting in the middle of the card table is a brown briefcase. Not one of those fancy briefcases. Well, maybe it had been fancy and eye-catching a long time ago. Now it bears the weather beaten stains of many years of use. You can see the scratches in the once perfect, smooth leather. The golden metal that accents the rectangular handles carries smudges. 

As you reach the card table, your free hand moves towards the pocket that carries your phone. 

Your visor alerts you to the other person’s approach a second after something loud and painful slams into your chest. All the info on your interior visor screen goes blank and the stream of orchestra music filtering into your helmet from your commlink with Nat abruptly stops as the force of whatever hit you lifts you off your feet. You are flying backwards as if yanked back on the end of a line. The crash of breaking crates swallows up your pained shout as your body collapses to the ground. Your suit feels so heavy. As if it was trapped beneath the weight of hundreds of crates. But you’re not trapped. You are lying amongst broken boxes and scattered props. But you can’t move. A flash of pain seizes hold of your limbs, and all you can do is lay there and stare at the dark visor screen while your limbs spasms.

“You certainly take your time.” 

It’s a voice you don’t recognize. That seemed to be the theme of the night. Nat gets her stranger, and you get yours. Your hands continue to twitch as you hear approaching footsteps. It takes only seconds for the stranger to reach you. Even with the black mask covering most of the stranger’s face, you don’t recognize him. His brown eyes examine your spasming body. You want to say something. You want to tell this man that his yellow hoodie looks like the color of piss and that his brown vest only cements the image of a foul toilet in your mind. But you can’t get a single word out. Just pained gasps. 

“This is what they gave you?” he asks as he gestures to your suit. 

Your eyes lock onto the bright bluish-white light that glows out the end of the man’s large metal gauntlets. 

“The way they talk about you, I thought they’d give you the better toy,” he says. 

You can start to feel your legs again as the man shakes his head and then moves his arm to aim one of the gauntlets at your head. You sweep your legs into the back of the stranger’s. The man falls and the blast meant for your head hits the crates behind you as you roll onto your knees. You quickly find your gun laying near the card table where you dropped it. You get to your feet and run towards it, but quickly change directions when you hear a loud whine. Another blast sends both your gun, the card table, and the briefcase flying. 

You turn towards the stranger. Your interior visor screen is still blank. Commlink gone. It’s almost like your old jobs. Minus the stupid suit and whatever kind of weapon this piss and shit themed man was using. You pull one of the black knives strapped to your torso free and rush towards him. The whine of the stranger’s gauntlets grows louder as the squares of bluish-white light where hands should normally be become brighter. You jump out of the way as another blast cuts across the storage room. You close the distance and bring your arm back to drive your knife into any part of him. The stranger raises one of the large gauntlets to block your strike. You drop your knife and catch it in your other hand and go to dig your knife into the man’s chest, but his other arm blocks that as well. 

You go to bring your knee up when a much smaller, but still painful, blast sends you flying back again. Your limbs don’t spasm like before as you crash again into more crates. Your knife is gone. Your gun is somewhere in this mess. Your heavy breaths begin to fog up your visor as you roll onto your side to get back up. You see the briefcase laying within arms reach to your right. You can hear the stranger’s rushed, advancing footsteps. 

You grab the handle of the briefcase and turn, swinging it out towards the man. The edge of the briefcase slams into the side of the man’s head. He stumbles away and you wish he wasn’t wearing that ski mask so you could see what kind of damage you had done. When he shakes his head and lets out a yell, you look down at your new weapon and frown. Apparently the briefcase is so old that the locks don’t work well. The briefcase is hanging open and the contents within landed at your feet. It’s–

Three gunshots silence the man’s yelling. You look up and watch as the stranger drops with a graceless thud. Three blotches of bright red stains his shit colored vest. His brown eyes are still open but very much dead. You missed your favorite part of any kill, but your thoughts are a jumbled mess. You want to look back down at what is laying at your feet, but instead you look over at the shooter. 

Your friend looks as stunning as her picture. Even better with the gun in her hand. You bet the barrel would still be warm if you could get close enough. If you could take off your helmet and just say anything. Anything to erase the last thing you said to her. You watch as she moves towards you. You spot the familiar traces of fear in the way her eyes examine every inch of you. Searching for anything broken. 

“Are you okay?” she asks. 

She’s so close. Just a couple inches and a stupid suit separates the two of you. It had been so long since she last saw you. Two years had passed. She had become a hero and you thought all connections to your time with her in the woods, in the middle of nowhere, had been severed. You thought she had moved on. You thought playing this stupid game with HYDRA and SHIELD was all you would ever get to spend time with your friend. But you were wrong. 

Her hand comes to grip the back of your helmet. “I need you to answer me.”

You nod. 

She lets go of the back of your helmet at your answer. You follow her gaze as she looks first at the briefcase you hold hanging open. Her gaze drops lower to the object at your feet. A black 9mm Beretta handgun. Your gun. The one you lost. The only one that ever felt right in your hand. 

She’s still playing your game. She’s still trying to find you. 

Nat picks up your gun, and your lips part as if to say something. There’s a million things you want to say, but you can’t. One word echoes amongst your jumbling thoughts, and it steals your voice. So instead, all you do is offer your friend the briefcase. 

“No,” Nat shakes her head. She steps closer to you to slide her gun into the empty holster at your hip. You see the corner of her lip rise into a smirk. “Don’t lose that.” Then, she slides your gun into the holster strapped to one of her long legs beneath the curtain of her dress. 

The briefcase falls from your grip, and Nat takes hold of your hand. You follow her to the exit, and as your thoughts continue to crash into each other and scream, you wonder: does she know it’s you? 

[anonymousewrites]

Nature of the Human Soul (Book 1) Chapter Twelve

Platonic! Hazbin Hotel x Teen! Reader

Father Figure! Alastor x Teen! Reader

Chapter Twelve: Preparing for Battle

Summary: The Hotel trains to fight angels, and (Y/N) goes on a shopping trip with Rosie and Alastor.

            (Y/N) spun the spear around in their hands, letting themself feel the balance. They felt at home with it, ready to defend their friends against the angels that would be arriving tomorrow to try to destroy their souls. Narrowing their eyes, (Y/N) let their briars take the weapon from them. They refused to let the exorcists win. (Y/N) had trained as hard as they could for this—the fight to have an afterlife, to have an existence, to have a family.

            “Well, it seems everyone is coming along nicely,” said Rosie, overseeing her cannibals with approval. She herself would be leaving before the battle to protect more of her people in case the exorcists came for Cannibal Town at all, but she was there to help at the hotel for now.

            “Do you think we have a fighting chance?” said (Y/N), glancing at her.

            “Oh, yes,” said Rosie, grinning sharply. “If anyone can tear these angels apart, it is this group.”

            (Y/N) stood a little taller at that. “I’m ready to fight.”

            Rosie patted them on the shoulder. “Of course you are, sweetheart]! However…” Rosie raised a brow and looked at (Y/N)’s overalls. “Are you sure you wish to go into battle in that?”

            “My clothes?” asked (Y/N) in confusion.

            “Sweetheart, you’re about to be in the greatest fight or your life and afterlife,” said Rosie. “I just know that upstart Vox will be filming everything, and, of course, if you’re going to fight, you should look good doing it.” She pulled (Y/N) to her side. “We’re getting you new clothes.”

            “Is now really the time?” said (Y/N), looking around at everyone training.

            “Certainly,” said Rosie. “Come along, sweetheart. If we’re going into battle, we do it in style! Right, Alastor?”

            He was instantly by his (best and only) friend’s side. “It wouldn’t be a good show without style.”

            “I can’t believe you haven’t taken (Y/N) to our tailor yet,” tsked Rosie as she, (Y/N), and Alastor walked into the city.

            (Y/N) liked walking between them. Alastor was…interesting (intimidating), but they didn’t really mind him, and Rosie was possibly the nicest and warmest woman (Y/N) had ever met. Going shopping was a strange turn of events given the circumstances, but (Y/N) wasn’t opposed since they felt comfortable in their own skin with people for the first time in their life. They were going to explore who they were—clothes, magic, and all.

l

            “Here we are!” said Rosie, guiding (Y/N) into a tailor shop. “This is the perfect place for new clothes. Alastor and I have been patrons of this shop since we arrived in Hell, haven’t we?”

            (Y/N) could have told them that. When they had walked in with the two overlords, the other customers had run out in fear, and the workers had immediately stood at the ready to assist them. Luckily, several seemed pleased to have the clientele, so not every experience with Rosie or Alastor had been bad. Unsurprisingly, they could be classy when going about their business.

            “Of course. They have a classier style than some of the modern…attire—” Alastor spoke as if he was calling it trash “—you find around these parts.”

            “It looks expensive,” said (Y/N), looking around at the lovely outfits, yes, but also well-made (which mean they cost money).

            “Auntie Rosie is treating you,” said Rosie proudly. “And if I don’t want to cover everything, I’ll just ask Alastor.” She winked. As his best friend, she could get away with that.

            (Y/N) smiled. “Alright.”

            “Then let’s begin!” Rosie became businesslike. As an Overlord and talented businesswoman, she took presentation seriously, and she was not about to let (Y/N)’s new, made-in-Hell clothes be anything less than excellent. “Alastor, what colors are we thinking?”

            “Red, of course,” said Alastor.

            Rosie nodded approvingly. “Bold, hellish, and it will harmonize with our outfits.”

            (Y/N) had a (pleasant) feeling that they were going to be going around with Rosie and Alastor far more often.

            “Can we get their measurements?” said Alastor, looking at a worker. It was not a request.

            The tailor walked up with his measuring tape, and (Y/N) frowned, stepping back.

            “I, uh, I don’t like to be touched,” said (Y/N), crossing their arms in an instinctive attempt to self-soothe.

            Rosie’s gaze softened. “Would you be comfortable with me doing your measurements, sweetheart?”

            (Y/N) looked at Rosie and gazed into her eyes. For a moment, they didn’t speak. Then, they nodded. (Y/N) would take a chance and trust Rosie—warm and comforting Rosie. They were sure she had her dark side—she was a cannibalistic overlord, after all—but (Y/N) didn’t really care about that. Other parts of who people were felt more important to them. Like Rosie being kind to them. Rosie being respectful.

            “Thank you, sweetheart,” said Rosie, taking the measuring tape from the worker. “Now, just stand still.” She stepped closer and held the measuring tape across (Y/N)’s shoulders, beginning the measurements. “Alastor, what are your opinions on style? (Y/N), your opinions are valid, too. Speak up if you have any ideas.”

            “I don’t like modern clothes,” said Alastor. “I think the style should be more timeless instead of cheap and temporarily ‘trendy’.”

            (Y/N) would have nodded in agreement, but Rosie was measuring their neck, so they decided to speak. “I want to feel put-together. Like I’m strong and I’m here to stay. I don’t want to be overlooked or considered a weak kid who has no idea what they’re doing, anymore.”

            Rosie and Alastor’s grins sharpened. As (Y/N) spoke, they grew more impassioned, their hidden feelings and thoughts that had undoubtedly led to the incident that sent them to Hell coming through. Rosie and Alastor respected that fire.

            “Oh, don’t worry,” said Alastor. “No one is going to say my protégé is weak if I have a say in it.”

            “Sweetheart, it’s time for you to really show Hell and Heaven who you are,” said Rosie, cupping (Y/N)’s cheek.

            “Now, smile!” said Alastor. “No matter what outfit you wear, you’re never fully dressed without one.”

            (Y/N) grinned.

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            “Where the hell were you?” said Vaggie, hands on her hips when (Y/N) and Alastor returned to the hotel (Rosie had headed back to Cannibal Town).

            “Shopping,” said Alastor, his shadows holding up the bags.

            “You went shopping at a time like this?” said Vaggie.

            “I can’t let my protégé go into battle wearing those,” said Alastor, gesturing to (Y/N)’s overalls.

            (Y/N) shrugged and looked at Vaggie. “Rosie insisted.”

            Vaggie sighed. “Alright, alright. Come on, Charlie has a speech.”

            “Very Charlie-like,” said (Y/N), laughing and walking over to the gathering crowd.

            “Alastor, (Y/N), you’re back! Great timing!” said Charlie, not questioning their absence for a moment. “Hey, uh, Alastor, could I borrow your microphone again? I want to make sure everyone can hear me.” Alastor tossed the microphone to her, and Charlie grinned. “Thank you!” She walked on stage and looked out over the crowd.

            “I want to thank everyone for coming,” she began, smiling out at her people. “Even people who aren’t staying here yet…Cherri.”

            “Look, I can’t resist a fight, okay?” said Cherri, grinning. “Especially when I get to tag team with this fuckhead.” She hugged Angel.

            Charlie smiled and addressed the crowd at large again. “Tomorrow, the exorcist angels will face a Hell ready to defend itself and win!”

            “Yeah! Yeah, we will, tell ‘em baby!” cheered Vaggie.

            (Y/N) grinned. They were ready to fight for their home.

            “Yes! And we are-we are going to win!” declared Charlie. She coughed. “But, in case we don’t…I want you all to know that getting to know you has been the biggest honor of my life. Whatever redemption really means…I know you all tried. I have seen the good in all of you.”

            (Y/N) wasn’t too sure about going to Heaven if they were alright with killing sinners’ souls for sport, but they couldn’t help a smile at Charlie’s words. Becoming a better person was good.

            “And it’s…I’m just…I love you all so much,” said Charlie. “And…and live tonight however you want because—”

            “We’re all going to die!” Niffty cackled excitedly.

            Everyone stared at her.

            “Alright, let’s give it up for not dying!” said Vaggie, attempting to salvage the situation. “Love not dying.” She coughed. “Drinks?”

            That was an idea everyone could get behind.

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            (Y/N) held their drink and smiled at the family they’d found. They were in Hell, yes, punished just like the…people on Earth had always told them they’d be. But they were happy. They were living how they wanted, and no one was judging them. They were accepted. In Hell, in the Hazbin Hotel, (Y/N) was home.

            “I mean, personally, I’m excited. It’s been a long time since I’ve stabbed someone and really meant it, you know what I mean?” said Vaggie, and the group laughed.

            “I’m excited to get to really see what I can do with my magic, really go all out, you know?” said (Y/N) excitedly, the roses on their head doubling and blooming wide.

            “Cheers, bitches!” said Cherri.

            “Yeah,” laughed Husk.

            “Here’s to us,” said Angel, clinking his glass with Husk’s.

            “Here’s to being alive today and not dying tomorrow!” declared Pentious.

            Everyone cheered and raised their glasses together—a family coming together.

            Above them, Alastor leaned on the banister of the stairs and regarded them from afar. “Ah, the celebratory night before a courageous last stand. It’s been a surprising thrill to witness these wayward souls find connection.” He leaned his head on his hand. “Almost makes one sentimental, eh, Niffty?”

            “I really like them, Alastor,” said Niffty. “They let me put on roach puppet shows without booing!”

            Alastor chuckled. “Ah, an enjoyable collective.”

            Niffty nodded vigorously. “(Y/N) even made me a stage and set!”

            Alastor’s familiarly manipulative grin morphed to a far different smile. His eyes landed on (Y/N) below. “I admit one could get accustomed.” However, as much as (Y/N) was Alastor’s protégé, he refused to think of anything else. Vulnerability would only get him into trouble. Alastor refused to lose any chance he had at power and freedom to sentiment. He couldn’t afford to.

            (Y/N) noticed him and waved.

            Alastor couldn’t help but smile slightly wider in response.

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[alicent-vi-britannia]

Lelouch's relentless search for purpose in life

I've previously talked to you about Lelouch's trauma through the enneagram to explain why Lelouch refuses to open up and trust others and insists on doing everything alone to feel self-sufficient and strong. I've also used the enneagram to explain that Lelouch has locked himself into a protective shell and is uncomfortable feeling vulnerable because of his trauma and his upbringing in Darwinian values ​​in Britannia. However, I haven't talked to you directly about one thing that is very important and perhaps because it is so obvious I have overlooked it until I stumbled upon a small thread on Twitter.

In the last conversation Lelouch has with his father, Charles nullifies the meaning and value of his existence by telling him: "But you're dead. You've always been dead, from the moment you were born. Who gave you the fine clothes you wear, a comfortable home, the food you eat, and your own life? I gave you all of that. You are nothing to me because you have never existed." At that moment, Charles kills Lelouch in symbolic terms, causing him enormous psychological and emotional damage from which he never recovers.

We have this flashback in episode 7 of the first season and later Lelouch threatens CC with suicide if she does not let him go to face his sister, Cornelia: "Until I met you, I was dead. A corpse that existed behind a false appearance of life, a life in which I did nothing real. I experienced the emotions of living day to day as if I were a zombie, with the feeling that I was dying little by little. And if I have to go back to that, then I prefer… [And he places his finger on the trigger of the gun]." The series connects those two scenes through a Dutch shot focused on Lelouch's gaze. The Dutch shot is a steep horizontal tilt shot that is used to indicate instability or danger or that something is not right. In this case, it warns us, on a superficial level, that Lelouch has felt dead since his last meeting with his father and that he has been fighting against that (unfounded) belief and these negative feelings and, on a deeper level, that this is a wrong and harmful belief of Lelouch's that has been poisoning his mental health ever since.

(It's sad to compare the two shots. Little Lelouch's eyes show deep pain. As the Bart and Lisa Simpson meme says: it's the exact frame in which his heart broke. Teenage Lelouch's eyes, on the other hand, are empty. A dead look.)

There are several moments in the story that give us an idea of ​​the young prince's struggle. For example, in the first Audio Drama, "The Uninvited Prince," a young Suzaku rescues Lelouch from some children who are beating him and reproaches him for not standing up for himself and disregarding the hospitality his home provides him and his sister, to which the child Lelouch replies, "I am here and I will live. If I live by my own strength, then I will never be dead again." Little Suzaku, of course, finds Lelouch's statement absurd and just thinks he is a strange child. But this response reflects the boy's insane desire to be self-sufficient (to the point of rejecting the help of others) in order to feel that he is alive (remember that Charles told him that he is alive because he has given him everything he has).

We also have a Picture Drama (I'm sorry I don't remember or have the exact number of the PD, but if it's part of the alternate universe, we can ignore it because they are different universes that shouldn't be mixed) with a monologue by a teenage Lelouch: "I've made a vow to use the strength I have to save Nunnally. That will be the proof that I exist in this world."

These words evoke in me a part of Lelouch's song "Back to Zero" (for the fantastic Code Black album in Ashford) in which our hero sings: "Oh! Can you hear me? This fight is how I know I'm alive."

That is, Lelouch tries to prove his father wrong by looking for a purpose to live that reaffirms his existence and, in principle, Lelouch finds it in Zero and the rebellion since they are the means he has to destroy Britannia and create a kind world for Nunnally. And that's why later on he abandons Ashford Academy, the Zero mask and his friends and gives in to depression (in the future, I'll talk about this moment in more depth in another analysis). Then his goals change and his motivations are reconsidered for a series of reasons and events that I won't stop to explain here, but I will point out that I find it interesting and moving how Lelouch goes from clinging to a purpose in life to giving up on it and dying, in order to fulfill his new goals, obtain results and atone for his sins (the magic of a powerful script and a narrative arc, Larry).

Also, all of this explains why Lelouch lost his temper in the season 1 finale when Suzaku yelled at him that his existence was a mistake and that he needed to be wiped off the face of the Earth. Not only did it bring back memories of Vietnam for Lelouch, it was another important person to him who was denying his existence. Suzaku's words hurt him because, as President Snow said in the Hunger Games trilogy, "the people we love the most are the ones who destroy us." I'm not sure if Suzaku knew what Charles told his friend since Lelouch never reveals his secrets to anyone (people around him, including his loved ones, find out on their own), but Suzaku certainly hit a sensitive button that mentally unsettled Lelouch.

Poor Lelouch. He just wanted his existence validated.

[tarobii]

【Happy Birthday, Silver!】

┌── •✧• ──┐

“Father, where are we going?”

“I am quite curious as to where you are taking us, Lilia.”

“I’m sure Lilia-sama has something great in mind!”

Lilia chuckled and patted Silver. “Cater showed me this positively delightful little cafe. They have such delicious food, and the atmosphere is most calming. I’ve been wanting to bring all of you over at some point, and what better time than Silver’s birthday?”

“Oh, that sounds nice. I appreciate the sentiment. Thank you for bringing us today, Father.” Silver smiled. Malleus donned a smirk and hummed, “Yes, that does sound quite delightful. I’m looking forward to trying their dishes.” Sebek nodded, “It does sound nice. I hope the food is…” he shuddered, “Good.”

Lilia nodded along, “Yes, yes, I assure you they have delicious food!” He continued to lead the trio, eventually turning a corner. “There it is! Cute, isn’t it?” Lilia pointed to a small building with a striped pink awning and cursive lettering on the window spelling “Stargazer’s Cafe”. As the quartet approached, Malleus noted their outdoor decor. “Oh? Are these orchids? You don’t see blue orchids often,” he marveled. Lilia chirped, “Right? Their flowers are always so nice! Olivier—he’s the owner—tells me they source them from the flower shop right across the street.” He hummed, “I wonder if these flowers have any particular meaning. Anyways, let’s go in! Come, come!” Lilia ushered everyone inside.

“Welcome to Stargazer’s Cafe,” a familiar voice rang out as the quartet entered. Sebek pointed and shouted, “HUMAN!? WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!?” Eden startled for a moment, before sighing. “First off, it’s ‘Merry’ to you. Second, I work here. Third, don’t yell. You’ll disturb the customers.” Sebek quickly looked around and bristled. “WHA- THERE’S NO ONE ELSE HERE!!!” Eden ignored him and continued, “Anyways. Hi, Lilia! Silver, Malleus. What brings you here?”

“DON’T IGNORE ME????”

“Eden, hi! We’re here to celebrate Silver’s birthday, kee hee hee.”

“Father… Hello Eden. I didn’t know you worked here.”

“Greetings, child of man. It’s nice to see you here.”

Eden’s face contorted into surprise. “Wait, it’s your birthday? Hello?? Why didn’t you tell me? I need to get you a gift—” He started looking around frantically, then ducking behind the counter. Silver held a hand up, “Ah, hold on… There’s no need to do that.” Eden popped back up and wagged a finger. “Nuh uh! I have to. It’s the law,” he said as he turned around. “One sec. I think I have something in the back.” Eden disappeared into the back before Silver could respond. “Wait, is it actually the law…?” Silver asked, concerned. Lilia chuckled, “Perhaps it is!” Malleus but a hand to his chin in thought. “How interesting. Human customs are quite strange,” he mused. Sebek stared at the three, debating over telling Silver the truth, but not wanting to risk bursting Malleus’ bubble.

“Aha!” Eden’s voice rang out. “Silver! Close your eyes. I found it,” Eden smiled, reappearing with his hands behind his back. “Alright,” Silver obliged, closing his eyes. As Eden trotted closer, Silver could hear a chuckle from Lilia, a hum of amusement from Malleus, and a… scoff? From Sebek. Silver merely waited for Eden’s surprise, until he felt a gentle touch on his head. “There! You can open your eyes now. Merry Cr—I mean—Happy birthday, Silver!” Eden chirped.

Silver opened his eyes, and huffed out a laugh. “A ribbon?” Eden nodded and put his hands on his hips. “Yep! Now you’re the present! Your existence is a gift to the world!” Eden beamed, turning up the theatrics. “Or something like that,” Eden tittered. “Anyways,” he slid back behind the counter and winked, “What would you like to order? It’s on the house for the birthday boy.”

─── •✧• ───

SILVER BIRTHDAY!!! 👑

yk I was originally just gonna draw silver and nothing else but as you can see that didn't happen LMAO

so here's a fake birthday card <3 it was really fun actually!

└── •✧• ──┘

(no blur + closeups below the cut)

[mallas28]

Whats wrong with this chapter?

So Horikoshi just write this weird and wrong chapter with strange structure and composition only for beautiful picture in the end? Because so many serious problems brought up in manga are unanswered like:

1. Quirk singularity. Quirk evolving every time. Humanity is still in danger. There only a matter of time when someone will appear with ability to end the world with one hand.

2. Discrimination of quirks and quirkless people. I know that Shodji het a "reward" for fighting discrimination,but we still see that it exists. Like Dai(or how is that boy was named) is still bullied for hid quirk.

3. Heroes system doesn't change at all. No matter how you change to call a hero. In final chapter we see that It doesn't change. Like raitings are still there. We see that Tokoyami and Kirishima selling their products. So heroes are still capable making a huge amount of money. So there is a matter of time when heroes will become corrupted.

4. Quirkless people can't become heroes if they are not millionaires. So Horikoshi telling me that Izuku was miserable for 8 years, waiting for teacher in order to All Might suddenly appear and give him suit? Its quite hypocritical thing anx message dont you find it. Manga literally telling me that if you are not millionaires or dont have a millionare friend you cant achieve your dreams. Wow.... Very inspiring message. I have no words.

5. Why Izuku doesn't change? I mean he still looks like a teenager. Why Horikoshi doesn't bother to change his appearance a bit. Its so confusing.

6. No ship confirmed. I think Horikoshi feared to confirmation the ship. So he let open ending. (Or maybe because a sequel).

7. No Dekus father. Horikoshi promised to show Dekus dad. But ot was droped for nothing. Fans were waiting. But nothing happens. Horikoshi again chickened? As he did with ships?

8. No one dies except villains. Don't get me wrong i am not eager for blood or smth. But you have a FINAL WAR. And you spared even pilots with no names at all. Is this serious? Is this fair and called Final war?

I really hoping for sequel announcement in 5th August. Because so many questions still unanswered. Horikoshi as a writer really dissapointed me a lot. He chickened to do many things in order to make all fans pleased then his work lost his own shine.

If sequel will be out i wish that Horikoshi could have a strong willed and skilled editor. Who will encourage Horikoshi to write complex story. I think Horikoshi is too afraid lost popularity that he easy to change his own story to please everyone.

This ending was bad in many ways. To be honest i never ever read ending worst than that. Even Fairy Tale final chapter was better written.

I hope for sequel.

[calliesmemes]

POPULAR TROPES AND CLICHÉ QUOTES

Assorted ASKBOX PROMPTS reminiscent of beloved TROPES seen in literature, on screen, and on stage.

CHANGE gendered words and in-universe phrases as needed

SPECIFY muse for multimuses

❛ So you’re the girl that I’ve heard so much about. ❜

❛ I’ve heard so much about you. ❜

❛ I could corrupt you. It would be easy. ❜

❛ Not every puzzle is yours to solve. ❜

❛ The truth is stranger than my worst dreams. ❜

❛ You will become everything you hate. ❜

❛ Wait. Did you hear something? ❜

❛ I have a feeling this has something to do with you. ❜

❛ This isn’t a dream, then. ❜

❛ All will be well. I am sure of it. ❜

❛ We’re in this together. ❜

❛ You were born to make history. ❜

❛ We make a really good team. ❜

❛ What I did, I did for us. ❜

❛ You’re not safe here. ❜

❛ I’m the happiest I’ve ever been because of you. ❜

❛ You’re my fate. Always my fate. ❜

❛ There’s a storm coming. ❜

❛ We’re not so different, you and I. ❜

❛ Hello? Is anybody here? ❜

❛ You don’t even know my real name. ❜

❛ To the ends of the earth, would you follow me? ❜

❛ Who are you, little girl? ❜

❛ I like you more than I planned. ❜

❛ I wish I could protect you from everything. ❜

❛ I shouldn’t be jealous; you aren’t even mine. ❜

❛ You won’t leave me, will you? ❜

❛ You know you should not have survived that, right? ❜

❛ Whatever you do, you’ll always be my brother. ❜

❛ The light … it’s calling to you. Just let it in. ❜

❛ If it means something to you, fight for it. ❜

❛ Can you remember who you were before? ❜

❛ The reports of my death were greatly exaggerated. ❜

❛ Never again will I let someone in. ❜

❛ I see something in you that I can’t explain. ❜

❛ There are traditions and expectations that you must uphold. ❜

❛ I won’t risk our enemies getting their hands on you. ❜

❛ A knife? Are you flirting with me? ❜

❛ Let me be your protector. ❜

❛ I am more than just a copy of you. ❜

❛ Everything’s about to change. ❜

❛ I don’t want to hurt you. ❜

❛ You have no idea who I am, do you? ❜

❛ You’ll never get away with this! ❜

❛ I’m not who I was before. ❜

❛ We’re gonna be legends someday. ❜

❛ Straighten up, little soldier. ❜

❛ You and I are going to change the world. ❜

❛ I did this all for you. ❜

❛ If you wish to see strange things, then I have the power to show them to you. ❜

❛ What’s it like to be a prophet? ❜

❛ You are not your father. ❜

❛ Are you flirting, or starting a fight? ❜

❛ I’m not the person that my parents wanted me to be. ❜

❛ I need to be touched. ❜

❛ This is where you belong. ❜

❛ I want a life full of incredible adventures. ❜

❛ Let’s cause a little trouble. ❜

❛ Relax; it’s just magic. ❜

❛ I want to go home. ❜

❛ My heart belongs to you. ❜

❛ We are connected in a way that I can’t explain. ❜

❛ I am just as strange as you. ❜

❛ Feel like making a deal with the devil? ❜

❛ You were dead. Yet here you are. ❜

❛ I have loved you since we were children. ❜

❛ I will always find you. I promise. ❜

❛ I know what it’s like to be afraid of your own mind. ❜

❛ It’s you. It’s always been you. ❜

❛ You should be terrified of me. ❜

❛ I always get what I want. ❜

❛ Why are you the way you are? ❜

❛ You and I are so alike. ❜

❛ I could tear you apart if I wanted. ❜

❛ We make a really good team. ❜

❛ I will always be proud of you, my love. ❜

❛ Aren’t you a deadly little thing? ❜

❛ You were born to lead. ❜

❛ I have existed a long, long time. ❜

❛ Give me one good reason why I should wear this dress. ❜

❛ None of your scars can make me love you less. ❜

❛ Your friendship means the world to me. ❜

❛ Without you, I don’t exist. ❜

❛ For you, I’d leave it all behind. ❜

❛ You say witch like it’s a bad thing. ❜

❛ Maybe we can fix each other. ❜

❛ I’m afraid of what I’ve become. ❜

❛ Get the hell out of my head. ❜

❛ Do not tell me what I can and cannot do. ❜

❛ I do not need to be saved. ❜

❛ I want answers, goddamnit! ❜

❛ I don’t need a name. ❜

❛ Your existence gives me a headache. ❜

❛ Is there anything I can do for you? ❜

❛ This isn’t going to be like last time. ❜

❛ You took everything from me. ❜

❛ I just want to live my own life. ❜

❛ I have nowhere else to go. ❜

❛ You’re my best friend. I can’t lose you. ❜

❛ The most dangerous thing is to love. ❜

❛ I’m doing this for my family. ❜

❛ You have information that we need. Valuable information. ❜

❛ I lost everyone; I can’t lose you too! ❜

❛ You cannot destroy me. ❜

❛ It is my duty to protect you. ❜

❛ It’s only illegal if we get caught. ❜

❛ I have a weakness for you. ❜

❛ I will follow you into the dark. ❜

❛ Maybe I’m not the person everyone thinks I am. ❜

❛ Pretty armour doesn’t make a warrior. ❜

❛ We could get arrested for this. ❜

❛ You’re too good for this world. ❜

❛ I’ve been waiting a long time for you. ❜

❛ You must be mad, coming here like this. ❜

❛ We’re two halves of a whole idiot. ❜

❛ We were never welcome here. ❜

❛ Where you go, I go. ❜

❛ My brother never came back. ❜

❛ Be on your guard. ❜

❛ The light will always win over darkness. ❜

❛ Blaming is often easier than understanding. ❜

❛ I think that you will change the world some day. ❜

❛ Look at what you’ve done. ❜

❛ Your mind is playing tricks on you. ❜

❛ How can someone so evil be so kind? ❜

❛ You were nothing before you met me. ❜

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

they managed to massacre Aang's character and all the struggle and importance of his choice in the finale in a SINGLE page, and yet there are people who think the comics are good

and of course Katara's would have nothing to say on the matter, toootally in-character

Not to mention: yes, Zuko is right that a lifetime of indoctrination won't magically stop affecting him just because he's aware of it now, but the way the comics really said "If you're not perfect, you deserve to die. Not rehabilitation, not even incarceration despite it being an option, just straight to violent, lethal punishment" is horrying.

And lets not forget the blatant abuse apologism of having Zuko, the kid who was told by his abusive parent that his disfigurement and banishment was "for his own good" after he made one "mistake", turning to his closest friends and asking them to be his "safety net" by MURDERING HIM IF EVER STEPS OUT OF LINE - and said friends then agree to it.

Are you fucking kidding me? The real Aang would have double-down on the "You're NOT your father" bit, and the entire friend group would have been super concerned about Zuko because a victim of abuse saying they're as bad as their abuser thus deserve to die is one hell of a red flag as to how their mental health is going.

Speaking of mental health: I talk a lot about how Azula was constantly being abused by the supposed heroes in the comics, and how the justification of it is rooted in ableism, but this nonsense with Zuko asking to be put down like a dog is also peak victim blaming, and one of the few moments in which one can actually feel bad for comics!Zuko.

And it ties into a disturbing pattern I noticed among Avatar fans - and mainly Zuko fans. They don't truly understand that what Ozai put his children through was wrong, they simply think he chose the wrong kid as the escapegoat. They think Azula should have been the one that is constantly punished just for existing, while Zuko is the golden child that can do no wrong - or else.

This moment right here? With the people that he trusts agreeing to inflict violence on him if he ever makes a mistake? This is that "or else". This is literally the same mentality that led to Azula's breakdown because NO ONE CAN SURVIVE UNDER THAT MUCH PRESSURE.

And that leads us to the main reason why the comcis suck: Yang was using Zuko as a self-insert.

"Zuko‘s relationship with Ozai is something we – Mike, Brian, Dark Horse, Nickelodeon, and I – talked about extensively when we first started working together. There’s this strange thing that happens to people in power. The pressures of power often blur the lines between enemies. That’s part of what happens to Zuko here. Ozai is the only one who knows what it’s like to be Fire Lord, the only one who has the wisdom of experience. I also looked at my own life. I used to clash with my dad quite a bit when I was a teenager. However, as I grew up and found myself in roles that he used to have, I began to understand more and more of his decisions. My father isn't thoroughly evil, of course, but I imagine Zuko feels a little of the same pull."

Yang. My guy. My dude. The words "Ozai" and "wisdom" should NEVER be in the same sentence. Every single action of Ozai's as Fire Lord was based on him being an abusive piece of shit that finally got access to absolute power. He is not a stern dad, he is abusive. He's not misunderstood, he needed to be stopped and locked away. He is a human being with feelings and motivations, yes, but he is WRONG ABOUT LITERALLY EVERYTHING EVER. He NEVER had a point. Zuko has nothing to learn from him except what NOT to do. That's why he looks like an older, unscarred Zuko. A version of Zuko that never changed.

This is the core issue of the comics, and why it had so many moments of unintentional abuse apologism: they say Ozai is a villain, but they're going out of their way to constantly make the characters come dangerously close to saying "Maybe he had a point." That's why they have Zuko turn to Ozai for advice despite claiming he wants to avoid becoming like him - because the guy writting them couldn't understand that the bad guy was, in fact, bad and in the wrong and has no wisdom to offer to anyone.

Avatar, the series, is about the world moving past from the sick mentality people like Ozai had, and about his son realizing that he did not deserve to be abused. The Avatar Comics are about telling Zuko (and others) "Ozai isn't wrong actually, you'll understand when you're older."

No, Yang, they won't. Because there's nothing to "understand" here other than THE GUY THAT ABUSED HIS CHILDREN AND COMMITED GENOCIDE WAS WRONG ABOUT EVERYTHING, YOU DUMBASS!

Saying "the villain had a point" does not make a story better unless it is true - and in Ozai's case, it simply isn't. Insisting otherwise doesn't make the story and characters more mature, it just means you couldn't understand a cartoon aimed at 7-year-olds despite being a grown-ass man.

And I won't even get into Bryke approving of this bullshit otherwise I'll start tearing my hair out in rage at how badly they seem to have lost touch with the message of their best work, so let me just use a simple statemet to make everyone understand just how much of a disaster this is:

Even M. Night Shyamalan didn't misunderstand ATLA to the point of thinking Ozai wasn't actually wrong, but Bryan, Mike and Yang did. The comics understand the show less than M. Night Shyamalan did.

I rest my fucking case.

[nobodyfamousposts]

How would Littlebug react to characters like Doofenshmirtz? Or Jack Fenton?

(In Doofenschmirtz's living room...)

(Doofenschmirtz and Littlebug are having tea.)

Doofenschmirtz: …all that to say, I am kind of off the market for an arch nemesis, though I do appreciate the offer! But I promised Perry the Platypus that I wouldn't take on another arch nemesis and then I promised my daughter, Vanessa, that I would stop my acts of villainy after she made me see that it wasn't actually healthy or what I really wanted in life. And now I'm helping out at OWCA, supporting my daughter, and sharing my non-evil inventions meant to help the world instead of trying to settle petty grudges. So I am sorry, but I hope we can still be occasional rivals or maybe allies?

Littlebug: (Confused)

Littlebug: (Looks down at List)

Littlebug: (Looks up at Doofenschmirtz and points to name on the List)

Doofenschmirtz: (Looks at the name) Oh! I see where the mixup is! I'm Dr. Doofenschmirtz! Mr. Doofenschmirtz is actually my father!

Littlebug: (Tilts head)

Doofenschmirtz: Well you see, a lot of my villainy has been related to my backstory…backstories. You see, back when I was…

(15 Minutes later.)

Doofenschmirtz: (Still going)

Littlebug: (Eye twitching)

Doofenschmirtz: And then there was the time I was shamed for not jumping off the high diving board and—wait, where are you going?

Littlebug: (Leaves)

Doofenschmirtz: Okay! Well feel free to drop by again sometime! What a strange girl.

(Suddenly, Perry the Platypus bursts in.)

Doofenschmirtz: Perry the Platypus! I'm not evil anymore! What are you doing coming in through my window?

Perry: (Chitters and pulls up a screen showing Littlebug)

Doffenschmirtz: Oh, the little living doll thing. Yes, she just left.

Perry: (Looks around warily and chitters)

Doof: What? No! She was perfectly nice!

Perry: (Gestures to Doof)

Doof: Oh, it turned out she actually wasn't looking for me, she was looking for my father.

Perry: (Worried)

Doof: What? What harm could she do?

TV Announcer: This just in! An attack in Gimmelshtump as an elderly citizen is being dangled from a rope off the condemned diving board at the old community pool.

Doof: (Eyes widen) …oh.

-----------------------

(In another universe, in the Fenton household...)

Jack: (Going to the kitchen when he sees a piece of fudge on the floor) Floor fudge!

(As he picks up the fudge, he notices another piece on the floor and proceeds to pick that up as well.)

(Then he notices another piece.)

(And another.)

(He follows the trail of fudge all the way into the basement and leading to the Fenton Stockades.)

Jack: And that's the last piece! (Picks up the piece inside the Fenton Stockades)

(The door slams shut on him, trapping him in the Fenton Stockades.)

Jack: HEY! Who's there?! Let me out!

Littlebug: (Nods resolutely and marks Jack Fenton's name off The List and starts to leave the Lab)

Voice: Ahem?

Littlebug: (Turns)

(Danny is standing there.)

Danny: You're not another ghost sent by Vlad to kill my dad, are you?

Littlebug: (Shakes her head and shows him her Bad Dad List)

Danny: Why is my dad on this list?!

Littlebug: (Gestures to the Fenton Stockades with a flat look)

Danny: Okay, I know that looks bad. But he's a good dad, really!

Littlebug: (Frown)

Danny: Look, I know he's fought me, but that's only because he doesn't know I'm half-ghost. And the times he found out, he was pretty supportive. I mean, there were situations going on at the time, so we didn't really get to talk it out, but he still seemed to care about me. Even in an alternate reality where I accidentally erased my existence.

Littlebug: (Uncertain)

Danny: If you want to look for bad dads, you should see Vlad Masters. He keeps wanting to kill my dad, marry my mom, and make me his son like some sort of twisted setup of Hamlet.

Littlebug: (Eyes widen)

Danny: So yeah, there are already enough plots against my dad, so I'd really appreciate if you—wait, where are you going?

Littlebug: (Holds up The List, now with Jack Fenton scribbled out and "Vlad Masters" written in on it)

Danny: ....you know what? Have fun.

(They leave.)

...

...

Jack: Hello? Anyone?