#WHAT ABOUT THE EMOTIONAL CONTEXT !!!!!!!

[bixels]

tarpit site.

[rookflower]

thinking about the character again (cinderpelt) and it's likely unintentional and a result of either her shifting narrative role from young go getter to wise mentor or a shift in how the books display their own politics but i find something really tragic in-universe in how she develops from a character who will actively and willingly break the warrior code when it conflicts with her own morals (immediately lying to cover for graystripe and silverstream, acting in direct defiance of her leadership to nurse littlecloud and whitethroat back to health) but overtime through her role she gradually grows more god-fearing and pious and embodies somewhat of a "starclan is always right, even when they are cruel, and we need to accept that" position

[thereareotherwaysofpersuasion]

The Storm of Vengeance Which Consumes

Yeah. It's that scene. The swiss cheese scene. The Sushseidon scene. But it's Poseidon POV with a lot of internal emotions. This was written as part of a personal series I'm working on where one of my OCs is looking into Poseidon's history and experiences this memory.

A lot of this was inspired by the various fanarts/animatics I've seen. Such as Gwendy's use of Hermes' sandals, HAH Studios' Get In The Water (specifically Ody's hand on Horseidon's nose), sloansloan's Ody pulling Poseion's hair. So if you're reading something and are like "hmm, this seems familiar" it was probably inspired by something. The discorporation is part of the lore in my series.

Enjoy!

Words: 2300 Warnings: Torture (obviously), graphic descriptions of violence, uhh. Yeah. It's that scene, soooo Characters: Odysseus and Poseidon (with various others mentioned/referenced)

Anger consumes his heart, his mind sharp and clear on the currents of vengeance. The mortal escaped him once. But not this time. His shadow consumes the single man on a raft, his towering figure of water imposing an air of terror. At long last, it will be over. At long last, he will have his revenge. 

“We’re both hurting from loss. Why not leave this here and just go home?” the mortal offers, pain in his features as he pleads. 

The words make the god hesitate. The anger that has carved a home in his heart leaves his chest aching. The minuscule hope that he could let this pain go, that he could be free from it; it tempts him. Could it really be that simple? And yet— “I can’t,” the near broken voice of Poseidon leaves his mouth. 

The mortal dares to raise a hand in offering. A soft gesture. 

And despite himself, the god leans down towards it, ready to receive it. He’s desperate for the relief from the storm, desperate for it to finally be over with.

“Maybe you could learn to forgive,” the mortal offers a gentle smile. 

He stops short, his face a mere few feet from the mortal. What is he doing? Is he, the King of the Seas, swayed by a few silver words and a decade of chase? Is his resolve so fragile? His eyes sharpen. “No.” He pulls back, his form cracking and growing as more water rushes up to join his form. 

The seas grow rougher, almost becoming like solid glass pillars. The wind swirls around harder, creating tornadoes of water.

“Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves,” he declares his mantra once again as he raises his trident, spinning it before plunging it into the water. “Die!”

The water shatters into thousands of rugged pieces. The raft on top of it falls into the depths. 

He watches the mortal that has evaded and outsmarted him at every turn finally sink beneath his power, finally drowning under his wrath. A sharp sense of satisfaction stabs at his heart, adding to the burden of vengeance he carries. But he counts it as worth it. Because he finally did it. His mission is complete. His anger is satiated. 

At least it should be. Why does it feel like he’s not done? He killed the man. He enacted justice. For his son’s pain and his own pride. Why does he not feel satisfied?

The wind continues to whip around, stringing out his long wet hair. The storm rages on. Both outside and within. At long last, he turns to leave.

“Poseidon!” a voice screams in anger behind him.

He turns, his eyes widening. 

The mortal floats high in the air, windbag in hand and Hermes’ winged sandals on his feet.

Fury fills the god as the mortal has once again escaped his demise. He bares his teeth and turns fully around. He barely gets to raise his trident before he feels himself being pummeled. 

Though the mortal’s weapon can’t break his skin, the speed at which each blow is delivered leaves him dazed. Like six hundred men are beating his body. Like the souls of the mortal’s lost crew have come back for revenge of their own. Water is knocked from his form in showers of droplets from every strike. His eyes try to track the mortal, but he’s nothing more than a blur in the air.

In the span of a mere few seconds, his form has been beaten down to its smallest height. His concentration has been shattered, his vision spinning as he falls from the sky, landing on a rocky outcropping.

The first thing he notices when he opens his eyes is the storm of his design raging around them. The second is the mortal standing at the rock’s edge, looking out at the consequences of his actions. A twisted sense of irony and victory worm their way into his heart despite his aching body working to heal itself from the borderline magical onslaught. 

And he laughs. 

“You idiot,” he spits at the mortal, pushing himself up by the rock behind himself. “Can’t you see? You sealed your fate just to beat me!” he continues laughing. The pitiful thing about mortals. For how clever they think they are, their hubris will always be their doom. “You really thought you could control my storm? That it would bow to your whims, King of Ithaca? You will never get back! And it is all by your own hands. Just like the lost lives of your crew.”

The mortal’s head slowly turns towards the god drunk on power. “You’re going to call off that storm,” he growls as he stalks towards him.

A scoff leaves the god. “Or what? You can’t kill me.”

The mortal bends down towards the golden trident laying between them. “Exactly.” He picks it up.

The trident shines in the hands of the descendant of Hermes.

The god’s eyes narrow in confusion at the statement. But as he looks at the prongs coming closer to him, then the mortal’s no longer human eyes, a new sensation fills him. One he hasn’t felt in centuries. The predatory steps unlock something almost human within him.

Terror.

“Wait.” The god starts trying to get up. “Wait!”

But he isn’t fast enough. In his arrogance, he let the mortal breach his weakness. In his own hubris, his own haughtiness over his immortality, he forgot the warning of Prometheus’ fate. Immortality can be a curse.

The metal embeds itself in his chest, pinning him to the rock. For the first time in eons, the cosmos hears him scream. For the first time since Titanchomy, he feels real pain. The sting of a death he cannot have, the tearing of flesh, the warmth of ichor seeping out of his wounds like currents withdrawing from oceanside caves at low tide.

And when the barbed ends are withdrawn, it pulls his body with it until a foot on his stomach stops him. He gasps as the metal is freed, but the relief— if he can even call it that— doesn’t last long. He sees the next blow coming and raises his hand to stop it. 

But the mortal sees this and aims directly for the shoulder.

His arm goes numb, limply falling to the side as he cries out again.

“How does it feel to be helpless? How does it feel to know pain?” the mortal mocks as he dislodges the weapon with a struggle, the barbs getting stuck again and pulling more flesh with them.

His ears burn at the humiliation, his chest tight as he breathes laboredly. His mind is assaulted with the sting of pain, an overwhelming force like none he’s ever experienced before. No one dares to strike the King of the Seas, especially not in a truly hazardous way. No one… except Nobody.

The next stab plunges into his stomach, slicing through muscle and intestines. His own howls join the chorus of wind and thunder.

It is no doubt music to the mortal’s ears as he continues to lay out the god’s sins against him, as he continues to enact his justice.

The god slides further and further down the rock, his eyes and markings glowing as his body desperately tries to heal itself. He’s never been discorporated before. He’s never had his physical form stripped away from him. He’s never experienced the shame of being trapped in his own domain from his failures. But as his body is torn to shreds by the overzealous mortal, he fears for the first time that this may actually be it. This may be the first time he experiences as close to death as gods get.

His power is split between trying to heal himself and trying to start a counter attack. An earthquake, a tidal wave, anything. 

But the mortal, once champion of the Goddess of Wisdom, accounted for that too. And he strikes where he knows it will hurt. The soft flesh of the abdomen, the already broken ribs and pierced lung, the knee, the other shoulder. Every blow breaks the god’s concentration, keeping him trapped against the rock. “Look what you’ve turned me into!”

The god can’t help but comply, staring up at the monster of a man he made. A mortal pushed too far, a man immeasurably beyond his breaking point. It’s almost in slow motion as the god’s gaze fixates on a droplet of rain washing his ichor off the mortal’s face. He can only breathe laboriously, unable to attempt to stop the trident from sinking into his collarbone.

The mortal grabs his hair, pulling the god’s head back to look at him. “Look what we’ve become.” 

His eyes sting, his throat raw from his screams. He’s lost the strength to even try to turn his face away, to fight back for control of his head. The warm vengeance that kept him on the shores of Ithaca for ten years has been transferred into the mortal, leaving the god cold and broken. 

Like a forest that has been consumed by wildfire, leaving fragile dead trees in its place. Like a hurricane that levels towns, like tidal waves that wash everything that was once held dear out to sea. The god has lost everything. A new monster was birthed from his storm of vengeance. 

And even when he thought he finished it, even when he got what he wanted, it didn’t feel like enough. He was left disappointed, unsatisfied. Killing the mortal didn’t end the storm. His revenge has consumed them both, eating them alive as the god’s father had once devoured him.

Up until now he thought Zeus stripping him of his divinity and enslaving him to a mortal king was the worst blow his pride could be dealt. But another mortal king is proving him wrong.

The mortal throws the god’s head backwards into the rock, twisting the trident as he pulls it out.

The god gasps, clutching his stomach. This has to end. He has to make it stop. Before he fully experiences defeat. Before he takes on more shame. “Enough,” he orders.

But who is the king to stop? Who is wielding the trident? And so the mortal continues his assault, reopening half-healed wounds in the god’s shoulder.

The god squeezes his eyes shut, a long groan of agony leaving him, “Stooop!” He feels sick as his voice dips further and further into desperation, pleading with the mortal, begging of all things. He cries out louder, as if the mortal couldn’t hear him the first time over his ranting.

But no. The mortal did hear him. The begs were clear as day. And they were ignored. “You didn’t stop when I begged you!” The trident’s aim is true, an extension of the mortal’s emotions, plunging into the god’s throat and left eye at the same time.

The god’s body locks up, convulsing. His whole head is engulfed in pain, the sharp point that penetrated his eye having sunken into his skull. His remaining eye widens as what would have been his loudest scream is silenced by the prong piercing his vocal cords. The sweet metallic taste fills his mouth and drips off his lips. 

The scene goes black. For a moment, he feels himself slipping away. No. He can’t give the mortal that satisfaction. He can’t let him win. Even if he already has. He barely hears the distant words of the mortal, though is mouth is slowly moving, “You…”

“You told me to close my heart! You said the world was dark!” The mortal makes an upwards strike with the trident, lifting the god’s body off the ground a bit to glare at him.

The god weakly glares back with one blue eye flickering in its glow. “Monster!” he cries out, hoping that will break the man, hoping that will end this torment.

But instead, it just seems to fuel the monster in the man as he rips the trident out. His response to the accusation comes in the words the god was so fond of as he raises the trident, unknowing how close he is to finishing the job, “Didn’t you say that ruthlessness is mercy upon our—”

And the god’s resolve shatters. His own words being used against him are almost more painful than his own weapon. “Alright!” he cries out.

The mortal hesitates, trident raised overhead.

The god forces his remaining eye open, though his sight of the mortal is obscured by rain and blood. “Please,” he rasps, brought to his lowest of lows. Subjected to begging for mercy from a mere mortal.

The mortal grips the trident tighter before dropping it with a clang.

The wind and waves die down as the god’s vision flickers. His head slumps forward as the scene turns dark. He barely feels his body hit the cold rocks. Every muscle pulses in pain. He doesn’t know when the mortal flew off on Hermes’ sandals. He doesn’t know how long he laid there trying to heal. Perhaps Apollo would be gracious enough to tend to him. But as time goes on, no one shows. He’s left alone on the tiny island, laying in his own ichor. Olympus has shunned him, probably mocking him.

The god finally begins to move, though immediately crying out as a sharp pain flares in his chest, a crack sounding like something broke. He lays back down, but the pain doesn’t lessen. His head gets lighter and lighter. His body gets weaker. It feels like fluid fills his lungs. Which shouldn’t be a problem, he can breathe underwater. But apparently he can’t breathe ichor.

There’s no storms for months. The tides are the calmest anyone has ever seen. Not a single earthquake is recorded anywhere. For the God of the Sea was nowhere to be found in the mortal world.

[starry-bi-sky]

i have... ✨Danyal Al Ghul Headcanons✨ but specifically for my yaelokre danyal oneshot

There's also the tumblr post here but I recommend the link in the title because its the ao3 version, and that one is edited and has some stuff in it that's not in the tumblr post, and will be the version I'm using.

So for summary: this Danyal is also from a Demon Siblings Au where Danny is five years older than Damian. However, things turned out a bit differently, and Danny and Damian had a fantastic relationship with one another. Danny loved music and regularly came up with songs to sing to Damian with. Specifically the folk band Yaelokre's EP "Hayfields" (seriously go fucking listen to it its sooo good. Harpy Hare is the second song but its my favorite. Special shoutout to @gascansposts for introducing the band to me)

He falls off a train when he's twelve and Damian is seven while the two of them and Talia are on mission. He ends up with magically induced amnesia and wakes up in Arkansas while the Fentons are on their yearly Divorce-iversary visit to Aunt Alica, and since he can only remember his name, he ends up being taken into their care.

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

Yaelokre Danny has the same facial scar as Things in Threes Danyal, since he was initially another version of him where things turned out better. I'm debating on whether or not I should take it away however, and give him a different scar (maybe from when he fell off the train?), just because the scar is a pretty key identifier for Ti3 Danyal.

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

Danny frequently visits Aunt Alicia in Arkansas! Well, only after he gets settled in and stuff. He doesn't really like the city that much and prefers the countryside where Alicia lives. I know she lives in a cabin but I'm changing it to a farm, so she puts Danny to work and gets him to help her.

I don't want to confine his hobbies to only being star stuff, because people tend to have more than one hobby and I feel like it reduces him to one-dimensionality, so he likes to garden, and learns guitar. His room becomes filled with plants, and he turns their roof into a rooftop greenhouse right below to OPS Center.

He has a complex relationship with the weapons from his past, but he's not... like... appalled by it? When he finds his weapons in the Fenton attic all he thinks is that they're his weapons, and he starts carrying a knife on him afterwards. Essentially he becomes fascinated with weaponry because its one of the few physical ties he has to his past, and while he's not training like he is in the League, he allows his strong muscle memory to guide him through his katas.

Danny likes climbing things. This causes Problems For Everyone Else.

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

Danny was not the "kinder Al Ghul" in the League. His kindness extended to his brother and family, and that's it. To everyone else he had high expectations out of them, and the pride you'd expect from the grandson of Ra's Al Ghul and trained by its top members. While he wasn't like, unnecessarily cruel or anything, he wasn't merciful either.

This transfers post-train fall as him coming off as no-nonsense and unforgiving. He's not fond of the idea of giving people second chances, and is skeptical of the idea. He's disgusted by incompetency and views it as an unforgivable offense, especially if he thinks that the person should know better, although he's not sure why. Some egocentrism for the soul.

He doesn't like being touched by anyone who isn't family, and gets irritated when anyone grabs him or holds onto him for extended amounts of time. Dash has gotten hit so many times. With Jack Fenton's tendency for abrupt physical affection, it doesn't make it any better. I'd argue it'd make it worse because Danny doesn't want to be touched more often than not.

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

Danyal had a red scarf in the League that he wore on his last mission, it came off before he fell off and caught itself on the roof. Damian still has it and took it with him to Wayne Manor. He's got it locked in his room and takes it out when he's alone and missing Danny the most. One time he forgot to put it away before leaving his room, and Dick was visiting the manor for something and found it. Damian found him holding it and freaked out.

Dick could only say "I've never seen you wear this, Damian, this is really pretty--" before Damian shoved him to the floor and stole it out of his hands, before screaming at him; "Don't touch this! You don't ever touch this! This is mine! You hear me!?"

It caused such a commotion that the rest of the family present came to see what the fuss was about, and Damian kicked them all out of his room. Dick is the one brother Damian's the closest with, so the fact he reacted so strongly shocked them all.

This is likely what leads to the "Danyal" conversation.

[sparring-spirals]

Compromise. Im not going to actually WRITE meta but i AM going to lay out a list of things I'm thinking about broadly and thematically and would probably write meta about if i were properly caught up and informed, but is instead influenced much more by early campaign F.C.G:

**edit: no this is kind of meta again. sorry.

- F.C.G grappling with the questions of: being made. purpose. whether it matters if you find your own purpose if you were made with one in mind and you "choose" something else. Can you actually? Does it matter? Is your choice a choice at all?

- Wanting so badly to heal people and help people and the unique fear of waking up and seeing damage done by your own hands. To the same people you wanted so badly to help. You extend healing and you offer comfort or kind words but all the while, in your core is a tightness. In your core is a danger. How much good do you need to do to get the blood off your chassis? Can you, at all?

- Metal body. Metal hands. A little wheel. You were a turtle once and it felt so wondrous to breathe. You try out tongues or little wooden legs or whatnot but it always comes back to an inorganic metal body and empty insides no matter if youre filling them with liquids or secret goods to smuggle or pastries (faux warmth). Maybe everything like wooden legs dangling off a metal body. All for show.

- A coin in hand. Looking for a higher power. Thinking about choice. Deferring choices.

- You love your friends, so much. You love people being kind to each other. You love your boyfriend and their wonderful way of thinking. You love being alive. Even when you doubted you were at all. You love, truly and deeply.

- Ashton raging at F.C.G for being a martyr. For aching for a good enough reason to get himself hurt or killed or blown up. Ashton looking at F.C.G knowing they're all messed up inside and trying so hard to stop them from letting it destroy them.

- Ashton always worried about how they're always trying to find a big enough cause, a good enough reason.

And so with those things, I remembered about F.C.G:

- F.C.G looking at their friends all down. Ashton laid out unmoving.

- F.C.G with something awful in their core. Ready to spill out. The same something awful they were always worried about. They were always aware of.

- F.C.G always looking for that reason. For that bigger and better cause.

- F.C.G always feeling like they didn't understand purpose, like it was so. unattainable- finally, briefly, startlingly- sure. Finally free of doubt. Their friends down and something awful and destructive in their core and one last thing they can do to maybe make things worth it, and the ability to choose it. They were made for something. They chose what to do with it.

- F.C.G finding that reason. F.C.G making that call. F.C.G thinking it was worth it.

- I think because of him, they succeeded. They won. That is certain.

- I think. "Worth it". Is always a subjective thing.

- I think. A self sacrifice is never just one person giving everything up. A self sacrifice, unfortunately- is one person making a choice.

And everyone else caught, in the blast radius.

[aq2003]

fishing boat percy

[doodlejoltik]

my favourite writing device is having an un-Rei-liable narrator

[lightbulb-warning]

so has anyone figured out WHY there is the Need To Share our Artworks™ or is it just the vibes and our Soul apparently

[aro-culture-is]

Aro culture is wanting to scream at your friend to just dump their hateful racist asshole boyfriend, while at the same time knowing that they won't listen to you because they are in love and apparently, that erases their ability for critical thinking

While also not saying any of that because it would be rude

A "hateful racist asshole boyfriend" sounds ripe for a situation in which your friend could be dating someone actively grooming them for domestic abuse.

In those cases, individuals often already have poor boundary control, and it's not the critical thinking actually missing: it's the security that creating boundaries doesn't mean losing someone who they feel cares about them. Judgements on their ability to "think clearly" are both misplaced and encouraged by the abusers, as worsening self esteem leads to an abuse victim seeking comfort... often from the abuser.

I think it's very, very important to recognize that the best thing you can do for them is to be there, continually reaffirm that they can always tell you anything, and rather than pressure them to break up... ask them to tell you about the relationship. You can guide them to red flags, but also try to present possible communication elements. There are guides online by great resources talking about how to best support these conversations.

And, of course, it's always possible it is simply that your friend actually is racist and they put up with the behavior because of that. It's not hard for some bigots to find an in through less overt bigotry. But I strongly encourage folks to realize that "in love with no capacity for critical thought" is a very dangerous warning sign that someone may be unable to recognize healthy boundaries, and worse - to recognize unhealthy boundaries.

[lazyveran]

i think its interesting to point out that azula and katara are both people that value and strive for control, however they value different types of control

katara is someone who's been forced to become an adult at a very young age. she was given the responsibilities of a caregiver without the room to be a child. i think she focusses on an orderly, stable emotional/domestic dynamic and laboriously denies her own needs to achieve that. its also the fact she is, no doubt, attempting to emulate her mother in a way that a child cannot really comprehend. there's an expectation afterall for her to fulfil that empty space. so it comes off as controlling, perhaps even emotionally manipulating at times, while she in turn can be stubborn and wild with her own emotions. it's a fascinating dynamic because she constantly needs to be controlling people, not so much their action but their manner, headspace and so on, but also accepts help from others (when shes not being stubborn)! it's not healthy, per say, but she accepts people as people with their own thoughts, feelings and desires, and moves to accommodate that after they push back

azula on the other hand needs to control everything, all aspects, at all times. she too was forced to be an adult as a child, but she also never had a healthy example of an adult to begin with. her caregivers either left her at a key developmental stage or were. ozai. and as a princess, she's been taught to be a certain role with a country wide responsibility as soon as she could talk. alongside her military training, too! (all of this is taught, might i add, by people who are required to maintain a professional distance. even if she's a child, their society requires her emotional isolation) azula values absolute control and order in all aspects of her life, she's never allowed herself room to contemplate what a fufilling emotional dynamic is. she views everything on a wider scale, so much so she's always a politician, military leader and absolute ruler in every aspect. and in turn, everyone else is not allowed to have their own desires in the face of that. azula quite literally cannot approach people on an equal level, her background and her desperate need to control actively dehumanises them. while intellectually, she's a genius with an innate knowledge as to how people tick, they are always below her in class, in skill, and in her eyes, maturity in itself. which is ironic, really, since that very mindset is more childish than anything - viewing people like toys to play with, rather than humans with thoughts and desires outside her own

there's just. no separation for azula between her inner self and outer self need to control - unlike katara. because despite katara's need for control too, she's FAR more conscious of how a relationship should function. she's far more mature, really, than azula ever will be. in fact i'd argue katara being 'immature' is more an indicator of how stable she is than azula's demeanour. she feels her emotions, feels others emotions, and takes them at a human level. azula tantrums when someone doesnt dance to her tune

[dennisboobs]

It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia

↳ Chardee MacDennis: The Game of Games // The Gang Goes Bowling

[dollsome-does-tumblr]

just checking.

[cienie-isengardu]

The Brothers Sun

Warning: rant not spoiler-free

Recently, I watched Netflix’s The Brother Sun and to be honest, I’m still not okay, because my mind is for days processing everything and analyzing over and over again.

I don’t watch much TV series and I decided to give the series a chance mainly for the titular brotherhood between Charles and Bruce and the series did not disappoint me in that regard. I’m absolutely drawn to Charles, not just because of his good look (and he does look very good), but his whole character and development through the story and also, how despite being such badass, he was also the one in need to be saved from the life (trap) set by his own father. But above everything else, how much he is similar to his mother, how both sacrificed so much for the family. 

I swear, I don’t remember the last time when a female character captured me the way Eileen “Mama” Sun did. All female characters were pretty cool and each interesting in their own way, but Eileen definitely stole the show and ultimately, it is her and Charles' relationship that glued me to this series. And I still think about the parallels between those two characters, especially in regard to Eileen’s two lines, from episode 3 (how those who cook for you and clean after you are those you forget about) and from last one (how much she sacrificed for Bruce and no one ever asked what she wants). Because Charles is the one cooking for people he cares about and who was showed doing widely understanded cleaning (getting rid of the dead body, unpacking Alexis’ things and making her flat more home-like, tidying own room before sleep and we were told he always loved do that as a child) but also the one trapped, the one who never had a choice, the one sacrificing everything for the family’s sake - even when he was allowed to pursue his own dreams, the family came first. And I’m so, so much thinking about Eileen and Charles, as he was the one that would fully support her when she finally decided to take something for herself, to take control over triads as the Dragon’s Head. Bruce, understandable, didn’t want her to be involved with gangsters and murderers, especially after everything they've been through, but also, he didn’t want that for his own sake. She was his mom, there was a normal life to choose and I don’t think he truly gasped how much Eileen sacrificed to spare him the cruel life his older brother was forced into. But Charles would step away from the position of head of family - something he may never want but would carry on as a dutiful son - just to make her plan (desire) come true and later step away from the one thing (baking) he desired for himself to support and protect her. And I’m truly touched by their relationship and how it evolved from each doing things their own way into a well-working team, but also, if Charles will learn from his mother how to be so cunning, he is gonna be a much more dangerous figure in the future.

[sweetpea-sprite]

i do think it's really fun how they consistently show oliver building a wall around himself whenever anything fucked up happens to him. he stays in his room for three days after allie dies and leila is so unsure of what to do she just goes into his room to leave him a slice of pie and leaves within ten seconds. he stayed in his room when he got bullied and had to be dragged out of it. when he discovers the truth about allie he stays in a coma and then within the coma IN THE ROOM.

even outside of his bedroom any time anyone's like hey you good he goes yes ^-^ even when it is blatantly untrue. right after he gets out of the soulsnare coma esther is like ARE YOU. OKAY. and he goes me? i'm fine ^-^. when you see alicia in the glittering grotto oliver swears to save her and esther goes "oliver..." and he immediately goes sorry everybody ^-^ and keeps moving. but the most insane example of this comes from dotdd and it's when he is GIVEN DEADLY POISON AND COLLAPSES IN THE STREET AND STOPS BREATHING AND WHEN HE WAKES UP AFTER BEING GIVEN AN ANTIDOTE EVERYONE AROUND HIM GOES HOLY SHIT, OLIVER, ARE YOU ALRIGHT, AND HE GOES haha i was just tired ^-^

the only time he doesn't do this is when he is actively in distress right at that moment. if he's not actively sobbing then baby he's completely fine you have to trust him don't EVEN worry about the tear tracks. actually coming back to this i lied the other time he doesn't do this is specifically to drippy (awww) when he's trying to convince him that we HAVE to break into myrtle's house mr drippy it's the only way because if you hadn't helped ME i would still be shut away! which isn't concerning at all i promise!

it's also worth noting that when the problem concerns other people this does not apply. again this is most noticeable in dotdd (because it's superior) but he has some small moments in wotww. he's also very blunt about other people. does not mince his words. recognised character trait. in dotdd it even nets him a nemesis. but HIMSELF? he gets genuinely pissed off at drippy referring to him as a crybaby and insists it's not true. when helping myrtle drippy even remarks on it as he asks if oliver is crying and oliver snaps at him that he wasn't and he says "so much for you being honest..."

it's just such an underappreciated character flaw of oliver's i think. world's sweetest least emotionally vulnerable boy

[scarnemo]

Gummies, a short comic

(I’m no writer so bear with me)

Nika is acting strange

grabbing hold of the mechanic’s hand

Chuchu takes Nika to the Earth House dorms to see what’s up

Once standing now her back suddenly against the floor

Chuchu realized

she was the bottom of this relationship

Woah…Nika…

She’s on top of her

uniform unzipped

Where did the tie go?

The mechanic was leaning closer

she’s so…wobbly…ah…she fell over

Nika was now lying beside her making grunting noises

What’s gotten into her?! This isn’t like her at all…

“Nika-nee…”

Wait, what is that?

What the hell?

Gummies?

Is this what’s causing her to act so strangely?

Where did she even get these?!

Chuchu glanced over at Nika

She’s sitting now

and…chewing something..!!

She got it out

Nika on the other hand was now clenching Chuchu’s jacket tightly

She would NOT let go

Damn it Nika…

The mechanic brought the jacket down to Pom-Pom’s feet and pulled

Chuchu reluctantly stepped out of it as Nika kept pulling

The mechanic fell back, jacket in her grasp

Ah…she took my jacket…

Chuchu raised a hand to reach out towards Nika to give it back

but she was hugging it dearly

no clear sign of giving it up

Chuchu blushed

Cute…

She turned around, scratching the back of her neck

Well, it can’t be helped..

She looked back at Nika who was rubbing her face all over her pink jacket

Nika…

Chuchu walked over to her mechanic

squatting down, arms over her knees

Nika fell over to her side, giggling with the jacket in her face

Chuchu chuckled,

“You’re so drunk, Nika-nee.”

This wasn’t the time to play around though

even Chuchu knew that

She placed her hands under Nika and lifted her up

carrying her in her arms

Yeah she can carry her

Nika was taller but it wasn’t going to stop Chuatury Panlunch

Chuchu had notified the other Earthian girls via text to come to the dorms

She explained the situation and handed the near-empty bag of gummies to Aliya

Lilique placed her hands on her knees and looked down at a now sleeping Nika

She was worried

Nika wasn’t looking too good

The three knew they couldn’t take Nika to the nurse’s office

They would get in so much trouble for having these kind of gummies on campus

knowing they wouldn’t even get a chance to explain because they’re Earthians

then again

How did Nika even get these? There’s no way she’d eat these if she knew what was actually in them

Did she not notice the taste? Well, Chuchu didn’t know how they tasted like

For all she knows they could taste the same as regular gummies or even better!

Someone must have given these to Nika, saying they were just normal fruity gummies

Chuchu was going to get to the bottom of this

but for now

she’s going to stay by Nika’s side and look after her

Bonus:

[aq2003]

i enjoy how hard he's chosen to die on this hill he just like me fr