#ball theory of grief

[monkeymeghan]

So I’m sitting in the recliner, super comfy and settled in, and watching the yankee game. Then all of a sudden out of nowhere the memory hit me of hearing my brother walking up the front steps behind me (the chair is near the door) after 11pm to tell me about mom. Knowing what those footsteps meant. I physically felt my heart drop. I opened the door, looked in his eyes, and fell into his arms sobbing. We were in the doorway and it was freezing outside and he eventually asked if he could come in. He made a comment that “ye golden girls” was on the tv, which it was. Then we sat at the kitchen table and talked and cried. I remember it all so clearly, it’s strange. I was just totally blindsided by this memory, I felt it viscerally in my gut, like it was happening again.

Shoutout to @shortstorylonger for recently introducing me to the ball and box theory of grief. I read up on it and it made a ton of sense. Something in my head clicked with this. Much better than Kübler-Ross’ DABDA, which is factual, but not necessarily helpful. It made me see how this intense pain won’t be so constant forever, even though it feels like it will be.

[badolmen]

Thinking about grief as a wild bird caged in my chest. The first few hours weeks months years she beats her wings until they bleed and molted feathers fill my gut. She tires herself, cold and pathetic and small as she accepts captivity. She learns to swallow cut fruit instead of leaving it to rot and she learns to gnaw on the wooden toys instead of the bars. But she remembers. She was wild. And you never know what sight, what sound or scent carried on the breeze will remind her. She will fight for a freedom I cannot give her without carving my heart out of my chest. She tires herself. The cycle continues, increasingly infrequent but never gone, never forgotten, an undomesticated pet unsuitable for release.

[shima-draws]

Okay so a few things about the ending to the DLC. Spoilers below obviously

-Really REALLY disappointed they didn’t go with the whole toxic possession arc thing with Kieran and the new mythical (Pecharunt?) TO BE FAIR that was more of a fan theory than anything but it was one that made a lot of sense and had a lot of evidence to back it up. I guess I got too attached to the idea and was inevitably let down when the game didn’t go in that direction. Still it would have made more sense to give that extra edge as to why Kieran’s treating everyone so awfully,, and having him finally break free of that control during the final fight VS Terapagos would have been SO sick. Either that or before we even get to Terapagos Carmine calls Kieran out and that’s when he finally fucking explodes and rages and vents about his inferiority complex—and THAT is what summons Pecharunt, those negative feelings that it probably feeds off of or smth idk. Then we’d get a split second of Kieran finally being back in control and begging for help. And then Carmine realizing her brother has been under the influence of this Pokemon the entire time and. Okay I’m getting off track into AU territory now lmao sorry moving on

-Switching back to the Terapagos fight, I really enjoyed it! It wasn’t too long of a fight to be drawn out, but it was just long enough that it didn’t feel anticlimactic (also the MUSIC? STELLAR. Pun intended). ALSO ARGHFHH the five stages of grief Kieran goes through in that fight to finally accepting that he’s been going about this the wrong way and has been an awful friend and the way the LIGHT COMES BACK INTO HIS EYES I ALMOST CRIED. This is 10000x more emotional and powerful if you choose to bring Ogerpon with you and fight with her bc that really just. Hammers in the fact that despite all the bad blood and bitterness, Kieran still chooses to fight alongside you and the Pokemon he coveted so much…AND he even processes things enough to fully let go of all his hatred and anger and allows you to catch Terapagos because he KNOWS you’ll take good care of it and after all this time he still trusts you even though he’d probably hate to admit it. #GOOD WRITING

-Something really scary I realized. Kieran brought a Master Ball with him to catch Terapagos. 1. Where did homie even get that. 2. The fact that he was READY and didn’t even give Terapagos a chance to react, that he was essentially catching it against its will (which probably led to its power going out of control), that he was enforcing his own twisted desires and beliefs onto it and not considering its feelings (sound familiar? Looks at Ogerpon). BOY. 3. We’ve only ever seen ONE other person use Master Balls in SV. The AI Professor. I don’t know if this is significant in any way but if the Pecharunt theory WAS true that would make them so so similar and that’s eerie to me. Two characters controlled by something greater than them that they can’t fight…can you imagine how INSANE the dynamics would be listen to me

-Another thing I was kinda disappointed about was Briar? I guess I was just picking up on the vibes that she was actually a villain and would try to steal Terapagos from the player, but I probably gave Nintendo too much credit on that one lol. I do like that she’s not inherently evil, she’s just too absorbed and obsessed with her research to really pay attention to what’s going on around her. BUT. They should have pushed that WAY further. Either commit and do the full villain arc where she snatches Terapagos from Kieran right after he catches it to use it for her own purposes, or pressure him into Terastallizing it so much that it makes him uncomfortable. I want to see Lusamine levels of unhinged obsession. What she had was just a little bit too excited about Area Zero, not a full blown unhealthy and dangerous thing that puts everyone around her in danger.

-Following up on that. Drayton. I kept expecting him to also go villain arc IDK LOL I guess I want everyone to be gay do crime in this DLC 😂 But I seriously kept thinking he was just using the player to knock Kieran off his throne so he could take it right back from us. But no he actually genuinely cared about Kieran and kept pressuring us to beat the Elite Four so WE could knock some sense into him since Drayton wasn’t strong enough to do it himself. Which is a very sweet sentiment, I think :’) But am I the only one who was like bro calm down right after the fight where he was getting up in Kieran’s face and calling him ex-champion…..either he’s way too honest and doesn’t realize he was being cruel OR he was doing it on purpose to be a silly goober (but everyone else was like DUDE. LOW blow.)

-I still have questions. HELLO. HELLO. The notes in Area Zero mentioned the professor meeting a child with a white(?) book? Is that the Scarlet/Violet book? We still don’t know how the whole time travel paradox happened and why Heath talked about meeting Paradox Pokemon DECADES before the professor even brought them to Area Zero through the time machine? What is with the weird ass crystal tree sitting in the middle of a lake in the depths? Is there any significance to the Crystal Pool in Kitakami being connected to terastallizing and Area Zero? I’M JUST. AGHHH. I’m fairly certain we’re getting more content, maybe an epilogue to the DLCs but I’m going CRAZY I NEED TO KNOW NOWWW

-Also isn’t Area Zero like. Top secret hush hush. Why did Geeta let Briar publish a whole ass book about the HIDDEN SECRET of Area Zero that was miles under a closed off SECRET lab. I thought they were denying Briar access to Area Zero for YEARS, probably because they didn’t want her blabbing to the public. Idk. Maybe my memory is fuzzy on that one. Just feels very contradictory fhhdd

-The small little subtleties of Kieran regaining his regular personality as we went down….I ADORED that. His little smiles and him unable to contain his childish excitement and Carmine smiling at him with a knowing look bc after all this time her brother is FINALLY acting more like himself. And Kieran trying to brush it off like “wh-whatever” like he’s some sort of edgy teenager pretending he doesn’t care. GAHHHH it was so cute I wanted to cry 😭

ALL IN ALL it didn’t QUITE meet my expectations but it was still really good, especially considering this was all DLC content. Nothing will ever EVER top the main story of SV but the entirety of TTM and TID came pretty darn close. Kieran my sweet baby boy my blorbo I’m so glad you got your redemption arc and that you finally came to terms with your perception of strength and how it affects others. Baller DLC Nintendo do it again 👏

[eternity-death]

// HSR LEAKS

Some letters sent to Sunday… interesting things that I’ve noted:

The Oak Family leader can be impeached by the other Family Heads.

Sunday has more siblings? Or had. Maybe Oti didn’t mean siblings in the literal sense… but we can’t be sure. I wonder what happened to the rest of them..

Adding on to this ^^^: In Robin’s letter, she says, “You are the only family I have left.” So maybe there really were more siblings than just Sunday and Robin.

Sunday and his siblings were adopted by someone called the Dreammaster. So this answers my question about wether or not Sunday and Robin were raised via congregate care. But then this also raises the question of where Halovians come from. Are they born through natural copulation? Are they asexually reproduced?? Etc. I’m also curious about who exactly the Dreammaster is.

Sunday has been executing personal investigations regarding Robin’s death. He must be absolutely distraught and desperate for answers.

The Family is definitely a group with a toxic environment. It’s clear that they value image and function using a collectivist mindset. The Family has just lost an Emanator of Harmony and they still refuse to deviate from their main goal. They won’t even allow Sunday to become sidetracked by it. And it’s harder for Sunday because Robin was more than just an emanator; she was his sister. But he can’t act on his grief, and we watch him contain himself for the sake of The Family at the end of the first Penacony quest.

There is a traitor in The Family. They are trying to ruin the Charmony Festival, but why? What are they trying to achieve? (I’ve seen some theories that the Charmony Festival this time around is supposed to brainwash all the guests. We’ll just have to see.)

In Robin’s letter she asks Sunday to stay in dreams less and to walk in reality more. He’s probably always on the job/a bit of a workaholic. She also says, “… but please also ensure your own safety. You are the only family I have left.” This makes me wonder if Sunday and Robin’s other siblings were lost through nefarious means.

Robin sends Sunday a lot of sweets. Does he have a sweet tooth?

Who is Dominicus? One of the harmonic strings; aspects of Xipe and most likely emanators. There are four of them:

Aelenev — The Commander of the Eternal Centurion

Dominicus — The Wisher of the Harmonious Choir

Constantina — The Singer of the Panacoustic Theater

Beatriz — The Merrymaker of the Blissful Ball

It is also stated in the data bank that the harmonic strings can assume any members of the family and are facets of Xipe. So it’s possible that Robin is some sort of manifestation of Constantina, and perhaps Sunday is some sort of manifestation of Dominicus (Dominicus in Latin is Sunday. There was a theory going around that Sunday is Dominicus. But these letters debunk it.) OR… maybe Dominicus will use Sunday as a vessel/temporarily possess him. (Could this be Boss Sunday???)

There’s a lot to think about.

[neyswxrld]

stormy weather

Echo, no pairing

summary: Echo has a low and is in a lot of pain after his physical therapy. Wrecker is there to help. Set after TCW S7 E1-4.

warnings: derpessed feelings, hopelessness, phantom pain

words: ~1400

a/n: hello everyone! here's another fic for @summer-of-bad-batch! this time i could even bring in three different prompts: "you're a bad liar.", battle scars and the bonus prompt light in the darkness. it's been a long time since i wrote something for echo, i hope you enjoy!

MASTERLIST

Physical therapy was horrible.

He hated it with all his guts.

His legs hurt, they burned, and he felt like they were going to fall off. But the worst thing was: he couldn't make it feel better.

Hell, he didn't have those legs anymore and still they made his life so much more painful.

Pump, the physical therapist, tried to help him a lot and even though his tips and advice sometimes did wonders, he still hurt.

Then there was his stomach - he had problems adjusting to the amount of food he needed. When he was on Skako Minor, he was mostly fed with fluids. Now he needed to chew his food again, taste the grossness of it, and just swallow down the weird consistency.

Also - his muscles hurt. Pump always said he needed to build them up, so he can be fast and strong again. And he knew he had to. He really wanted to. But on some days, he just felt like he couldn't.

Today was a day like that.

Pump made him do some exercises with an odd looking thing. He never did those exercises before. Not even in ARC training. And even though he tried so hard, at some point he just couldn't do it anymore.

He felt like a failure. Like he wasn't good enough. How would he ever be able to keep up with everyone? Especially with the Batch? He could learn all their crazy plans, but how could he contribute anything, when he just wasn't strong, fast and persistent enough?

Pump had tried to cheer up him up, but Echo almost fled out of the training room.

He needed to get away. At the same time, he already felt the embarrassment creep up his neck. He felt like a shiny, on his first day on a Venator-class Star Destroyer, where everything was just overwhelming even though they already learned how it would be like on the inside. In theory, at least.

He was stumbling along the walls, trying to find his way to the Batch's barracks.

He just wanted to be alone and sulk in his hammock, until he felt better about his sorry self. He was so disappointed in himself and his lack of ability.

When he reached their barracks, he slipped inside. Relieved, he realized that he was alone. The others seemed to have training, or were up to something else.

He sighed once, before making his way over to his sleeping place, not bothering to turn the lights on.

From outside, he could hear thunder. The rain rattled against the large windows, and not for the first time he could laugh about the irony of Kamino. He felt like the weather was mirroring his conflicted and sad feelings. The storm outside was just as unpredictable and unhinged as the one inside him.

He curled up into a small ball, trying to disappear in himself.

When his hands... His hand touched his metal knees, and his scomp made a small 'clink' noise, he sighed a second time.

Never did he expect to turn out... like this, when he finally passed his final test, such a long time ago. With Fives, Hevy, Cutup and Droidbait.

He knew it was practically hopeless, but he still always imagined how all of them made it out of the war alive. Together. He liked to daydream about what would happen after all of it. After all the pain, and fear, and grief. He was sure Droidbaid would start a bakery one day. Cutup and Hevy would open a gym, just to train like maniacs themselves. And Fives probably would have traveled a lot. He always wanted to try and see new things. Just about his own future, Echo wasn't sure. But he soon realized, it wouldn't matter anyway.

After Rishi, after Hevy's, Droidbait's and Cutup's death, he realized that all their dreams and hopes were indeed meaningless.

He always thought he would during the war.

He was so sure he would, when that shuttle exploded on Lola Sayu.

He never knew what life would have brought for him, but he never would have guessed to turn out as a cyborg.

He almost didn't hear how the door opened behind him. Just when Wrecker's face appeared in his sight, he realized that he had company.

"Hey, Echo. Back again already?" the brawler asked and grinned down at him.

Echo looked back with big eyes. "Yeah," he nodded.

"So soon, too? Thought it would take another half an hour at least. How was it?" Wrecker started to talk to him, patting the side of his hammock.

Echo blinked a few times.

"Yeah... I-... Pump decided we should take a break. It was... great," he murmured and looked around, just not to meet Wrecker's eyes.

Wrecker stared at him for a few seconds, not moving an inch.

"Are you feeling okay?" he then decided to ask.

"I? Y-Yeah. I'm fine," he tried to assure his new brother, and forced a light smile on his face. It didn't reach his eyes. He knew that.

Wrecker knew, too: "You’re a bad liar."

He sighed again. "I know," he whispered.

Wrecker carefully stepped over and took a seat next to Echo, making the hammock swing back and forwards a few times.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked and put a hand on Echo's metallic calf. He couldn't feel the warmth of Wrecker's fingers, couldn't really feel the pressure. It was almost as if they weren't there at all.

Echo looked at Wrecker. At his younger, bigger brother, who seemed so happy and joyful all the time. He was so strong and gentle at the same time. And when Echo looked into Wrecker's face, at the scar and his milky eye, he just knew he could talk to him. When someone could understand what he was going through, even just in a slight way, it was Wrecker.

"It's just hard... Adjusting and stuff," he almost whispered.

He saw how Wrecker's thumb was moving up and down, swallowed, and took another breath.

"Physical therapy feels like torture. I can't- I just can't really do anything like I could before. I'm weak, and exhausted so fast. And I know it takes time, but it just takes... so long," he started to play around with his scomp, "and everything hurts."

Wrecker nodded, with an understanding look in his eyes.

"I know it's hard. And it's never going to be like before again. But we can try. We can try to make it easier. To make it better. And to make everything feel okay again," Wrecker said. "Healing isn't easy. It's hard and it's exhausting. And it's not just a straight line up. It's like a road full of holes and bumps and stones. But you have to try to jump over them, Echo."

Echo looked up at him with teary eyes. Wrecker's expression was so honest and genuine, that he didn't doubt a word he said.

"I know it's hard, but you have to keep going. I know you can. And if you need help, we're always here for you," Wrecker ended.

Echo nodded. He knew, but everything just seemed so hopeless sometimes.

"What helped you the most?" the former ARC-Trooper wanted to know.

A small smile appeared on his brother's lips.

"My brothers. The Batch," he said, and his smile grew even bigger.

"Every time I felt like I was at the bottom and couldn't do it anymore, they were there. And they pulled me up again. I couldn't have done it without them," he confessed, and Echo's heart warmed a bit by that.

He smiled at Wrecker, and he realized that everything just felt a little lighter.

The storm in him seemed to calm down a little. The clouds made space for a small ray of sunlight.

He still had aches everywhere, and he still was way too exhausted. But at least he felt a little spark of hope in him, like a light in the darkness. Warm and cozy, and ready to get even brighter.

Wrecker's words felt good, and he knew he could seek out the others whenever he needed them. Even Crosshair.

He knew everything would be going to be okay again. He knew he could do it. He knew he would be up and kicking again, even if it would take some time.

Sometimes he just needed a little heads up.

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST

@isthereanechoinhere96 @trixie2023 @freesia-writes

[username8746489]

A scenario using both the "Naven is the head of Bliss Ocean" theory and my crack prediction that Lorelai is gonna join the organization

(Fic under cut; wordcount: 962)

Molly hated this feeling. After spending two years of her life on making sure her family wouldn't die, she was perpetually stuck in a state of discomfort unless she was doing something useful. And right now, she couldn't do anything but stand still in front of the head of Bliss Ocean and its newest operative.

Or more accurately, her teacher and sister.

She knew Lorelai was bad, but she didn't think she'd go join a terrorist organization once she realized she had to work! 

And Naven... 

"Are you alright, Molly?" The very man asked with a pleasant smile, as if they were having one of their normal interpersonal communication lessons, "I know this must be a lot for you to take in." Lorelai stood at his side, clothed in the witch's outfit from when Naven had first wormed his way into her good graces. 

Molly clutched at the straps of her backpack, nails digging into the tough fabric in an attempt to ground herself. "Why?"

Naven's head tilted to the side, making him seem genuinely confused, "What do you mean?"

"I... I know you're a mundie, but why all this?" Molly mumbled, unable to bring her voice any higher in the imposing atmosphere of the empty room. "I didn't think you hated inscribed..."

"I don't," Naven clarified, "But you do have to understand that epithets are dangerous, Molly."

"I know that!" Molly stamped a foot, summoning all of the confidence Giovanni had instilled in her, "But-"

"After all... epithets were the thing that killed your mom, weren't they?"

A beat passed. The room was silent for an uncomfortably long second.

Molly's fingers dug tighter into the fabric of the bear hoodie her mom had made her, "...What?"

Lorelai snapped her body to face Naven, staff trembling in her hands, "Naven-"

"You've never thought about it, have you?" Naven continued, ignoring her presence entirely, "Of course you wouldn't. You were already greving so much, it never occured to you to consider what caused the fire."

Molly's body felt colder with every second, the sound of her heart beating becoming so loud, it threatened to drown out Naven's words. Lorelai's panicked nature wasn't helping much, only fueling Molly's anxiety. 

"Don't you remember that night?"

Of course she did. How could she forget? The fire climbing up the walls, the smoke hanging in the air, vision obscured from the tears spilling down her face and seemingly evaporating in an instant in her little ten-year-old mind. 

"Your Epiphany happened in a very stressful moment, so I don't blame you for not connecting the dots before now."

She had been choking her little throat out, sore from inhaling smoke and, more importantly, screaming out Lorelai's name as she desperately banged on her sister's dream bubble with her tiny fists to wake her up, epithet flaring to life to break through the solid exterior and plunging inside to pull Lorelai free. 

One of the dream bubbles that she made in her sleep with no issues.

The dream bubbles that would often augment reality around it.

"About how Lorelai's epithet summoned the fire that burnt down your house."

It felt like a knife to Molly's chest. 

"A... Ah..."

Naven's face fell, stepping forward and reaching out a comforting hand, "Molly..."

Before he got any closer, Molly collapsed to her knees, hands in her hair as she screamed. A whole two-years worth of anguish and grief exploded out from the girl, wailing and screams echoing around the room and ringing in everyone's ears. There was no physical element to it, not even a stray use of her epithet. But even still, there seemed to be a barrier around Molly, preventing anyone from approaching her as she curled up into a ball.

Naven knelt down to the ground, "You understand why Bliss Ocean does what it does now, right? Molly, you're one of the brightest people I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. That's why I'm trying so hard to help you see my perspective. I want you to join me-"

"You promised!" Lorelai interrupted, voice cracking, tears in her own eyes as she grabbed Naven and pulled him back up to his feet. "You promised you would let me tell her!"

"You knew?"

The witch flinched, suddenly remembering her audience. Molly stared at her, button eyes unmoving like a doll's. No emotion could be read in her pupils, but it still managed to cut the other girl down to size. Lorelai's grip tightened on her staff as her outfit seemed to fizzle under Molly's gaze, threatening to fade away at any moment, the edge of the fabric bubbling like it was being boiled.

"You... You k-" Molly choked on her words, unable to even utter the sentence she wanted to scream at her sister. It had always been like this, stuck being so quiet that everyone else walked all over her. 

Naven walked over to the twelve-year-old, still so very young for all the trauma the world had dumped onto her without regard. He put his hands on her shoulders, and Molly hated how she instinctively relaxed under the hands of the teacher she had once trusted so much.

"These past two years of suffering was because of one epithet. I just want to make sure such a tragedy never happens to anyone else. You understand, don't you Molly? You wouldn't wish your pain on anyone else, would you?"

Naven smiled at her from where he was hovering over her shoulder. Then his eyes opened for the very first time in the months she had known him, pupils staring down Molly with all the might of a predator standing over their prey. 

And in that moment, that was all Molly could see him as. 

"So won't you join Bliss Ocean?"

[chickenoptyrx]

You do so right by z Broly, you understand his potential. Your au with him and Trunks is a delight

Glad we all appreciate my blatant misrepresentation of the character 😌 im partly joking but man fr, 12 year old me would hate that instead of him bein a badass edgy monster, I draw him as.. *checks notes* .. an immature loser with bad coping mechanisms uwu

Ok but in true ask tradition! :U im hijacking this ask to talk about a dumb theory thats been rolling around in my head for like 2 years now: android 16 and broly similarities:

Ok so. If you aren't aware. The android arc of dragon ball was originally going to focus on the androids 19 & 20 and trunks even names them specifically

But Toriyamas former editor, Kazuhiko Torishima, didn't like them as the main antagonists and so Toriyama changed it to focus on 17 & 18 as the bad guys and introduced 16 as a sort of mystery

Now. This gets almost completely dropped once that same former editor ALSO doesn't like these androids and cell becomes the main villian for the arc (yeah yeah, the bomb thing is technically *there*, but its so inconsequential most people forget its even a thing :T )

So. Idk exactly when movie 8 went into production, but we know Brolys LSSJ form was inspired by trunks SSJ grade3 form that appears several chapters after cell has been introduced and the androids have become power-up fodder, so im gonna argue its safe to say the decision to move away from their story had been made

(side tangent that I find absolutely hilarious btw- despite gokus commentary in the HTC, SSJ grade 3 was the strongest form of ssj we saw at this point, so its pretty appropriate to use it as the basis of the strongest scariest ssj form.... rrriiiiiiiiggght up until toriyama introduced SSJ2 on Feb 2, 1993- near exactly 1 month before the first Broly movie hit theaters. Completely undermined what, up til then, looked like a trend in stronger form = bigger and beefier right as the big beefy strongest guy ever movie came out 🤣 absolutely love it!)

So anyways. The movies overall also tend to have varying degrees of similarities with recent arcs in the show and Toriyama, while not overly involved, would give the studio designs and story notes. And. Idk. Yall can tell me im reaching if ya want, but: A guy who's made into a weapon by his father who's on a quest for revenge and has this conflicting view of his son as both someone he feels he failed to protect, someone he cares about, but also as a tool for that revenge, and someone who's destructive power hes become deeply afraid of.. now where have we seen somethin like that 🤔 may be an extra reach but I also think its neat that despite their different face shape, Toriyamas gave em the same expression

Lol they're also both just ridiculously tall bastards. Like for no gd reason. And yeah, to me atleast, it explains why hating goku specifically gets shoehorned into brolys backstory (listen I can absolutely do the mental gymnastics to make it make sense! I'm fine with it! Its fine! I actually like it! ... but it IS a dumb shoehorned plot point! Both things can be true D:< ) look just lookit these tall ass shits

Anyway. My last note is just this statement from Toriyama about 16 and Gero. The way gero is presented is really in line with how I see Paragus as this tragic failure of a father- honestly caring about his kid, but letting grief and revenge drive him into conflicting corners where he wants revenge FOR the life denied his son, but also actively shaping his son into such a terrifying weapon that ultimately hed rather his kid just never be conscious cause thats the 'only way to keep them safe'

“Dr. Gero’s son who died young a long time ago served as the visual model for Android 16. He was a high-ranking soldier for the Red Ribbon Army but was shot down by the enemy. Dr. Gero reserved special feelings for 16 as “his son,” and although he equipped 16 with immense power and a frightening destructive device, he didn’t want to see him be defeated on the battlefield and thus programmed him to have a gentle personality. 16 was consequently considered a failed creation.” The smaller caption below Toriyama’s quote reads: “Was the reason Dr. Gero didn’t want to activate 16 perhaps because of his parental love to not see him destroyed?”

[irisintheafterglow]

More Than It Seams (Chapter 4)

summary: you're a hero costume tech working for one of the biggest fashion companies in quirk society, and the days until the most important fashion event of the year are dwindling fast. if you weren't stressed enough, a certain half-and-half hero keeps appearing with rips in his suit. (pro!todoroki x reader)

word count: 2.8k

cw/tags: swearing, mentions of needles, probably inaccurate fashion design vocabulary, strangers to lovers, no specified pronouns for reader, mentions of food/eating, mention of character death/disappearance, descriptions of wounds and blood, grief with happy ending

note: second to last chapter let's gooooo !!! in theory this could be considered the "last chapter," but don't you wanna know how the ball goes??? and maybe shoto and reader have their first kiss ;). thank you for all the support you've given this series!!

likes/reblogs/feedback are appreciated :)

New Voicemail Message [11:32 A.M]

“Hey! Just checking in; I just finished the whole flame side and I’m about to start the shading for the ice side. If you’re able, I’d love for you to come see it and maybe I can buy you lunch this time. No pressure, just let me know. Alright, bye!” 

New Voicemail Message [5:36 P.M] 

“Hi, hi, hi. I picked up Soba takeout for dinner if you’re free. I have both of our usuals, and I can drop them at your agency too if you’re busy. Oh, also, the lady behind the counter was so confused that it was me by myself; you should’ve seen her face. Anyway, just wanna make sure you’re doing okay. Bye!” 

New Voicemail Message [8:24 P.M] 

“Hey Shoto, it’s me, again. I’m sorry for spamming you with voicemails and shit. I just, honestly? I’m kinda worried, haha. I know it’s dumb. Like, I know you can handle yourself and everything, but part of me still wants to make sure you’re good, you know? Just, uh, let me know. If–when you’re home. I miss your stupid voice. Okay, bye.” 

New Voicemail Message [11:56 P.M] 

“Hey. I’m aware that I keep bothering you. If I did something to make you upset, I’m really sorry…I’m about to go to bed, but I’ll see you tomorrow? Obviously, you can’t see it, but uh, I’m sticking my thumb up, haha. Call me when you can, please.”

[2] Missed Calls: Big D(esigner)🧵👑💖 

New Messages: Big D(esigner)🧵👑💖 

12:00 A.M hey  12:00 A.M idk if you’re awake 12:00 A.M but if you are 12:01 A.M please check the news 

The incessant buzzing phone in your hand woke you from your position on the couch. You don’t remember falling asleep, but you assume you passed out after eating a late dinner, waiting for Shoto to call. His food was in the fridge, untouched, while yours was only half-eaten, plastic bowls and utensils messily scattered across your coffee table. The notifications at the top of your phone made your heart drop into your stomach, and you prayed that the thought hiding in the back of your mind wasn’t true. 

You stood as the TV clicked on, only for your legs to give out beneath you as the reporter detailed where he was last seen, what he was wearing, possible suspects, and the statement from his manager. There was no substance in the public statement, only reassurances that efforts are being made to find him. You shut down the TV after they got into the part of the statement that sounded like a fucking eulogy, talking about how he was a loyal friend, devoted hero, and embodiment of a good person. You didn’t need to be told that. You’d seen it firsthand for the past two weeks. Anger, confusion, worry, and grief came in waves, crashing against each other as you curled into yourself. Your eyes welled to alleviate the burn after staring at the screen, your forehead throbbing from the flashing reds and whites of the “BREAKING NEWS” title screen. Your lungs and throat felt empty, consciousness detached from the body. 

No sobs rang out in the darkness of your apartment that night, and it terrified you how silent you were. There was no crying, no convulsing, no thrown objects across the room to create dents in the walls. It was just…silence. You couldn’t tell if you’d slept or not, hours passing as you stared wide-eyed at the ceiling after dragging yourself back onto the couch. It was an effort to breathe, to force yourself to inhale and exhale like it was opening and closing your fists. 

As sunlight permeated through the lightly swinging shades, your phone alarm went off. You stared at it, the musical sound seeming to be coming from underwater. The notifications at the top of your phone once you finally turned it off were like reading in a dream, with letters blurring and rearranging until you didn’t know what the original message was. Hey, thinking about you, they said. We understand if you can’t make it in today, they promised. Hello, you were one of the people last seen with Todoroki Shoto. Our news outlet would like to interview you. Fingers gripping the phone so hard you wanted to snap it, you slammed it onto the coffee table. Flashes of white-hot rage took over your body, directed at no one in particular. You pulled a pillow into your chest, fighting back the impulse to scream, scream, scream until either your voice or your lungs give out. 

“Hey.” It was your roommate, and she held her cat in her arms like a newborn baby. Your empty eyes stared back at them. “I won’t ask if you’re doing okay because that’s a bullshit question. I just wanted to tell you that I’m here for you if you need anything. Just call me, yeah?” You barely nod your assent, and her gentle fingers brush away the tears that had broken through your resolve. “I know it’s hard, and I know you’re grieving,” she said as she rose from the crouch she took to be eye-level with you. She takes your hand, giving it a squeeze. “But I also know that you’re one of the strongest people I know. We both know it’s Friday, and we both know those assholes in the commission aren’t going to postpone the one event that brings them money.” She doesn’t say it, but you know what she means. You need to get up and finish your pieces. “Do your best, okay?” 

Just do your best. 

It’s what you repeated to yourself as you struggled from the couch to your bedroom, then to the bathroom, then finally out the door and through the gate in your office. Your other designer, the one who had told you to check the news, runs over from his station. Shaking your head decisively before he could speak, you brush past him with an understanding hand on his shoulder. Your aching throat didn’t have the voice to give one last round of encouragement to your staff, but they looked to you anyway as you took your spot at the front of the room. 

“Just do your best,” you said before turning to the embroidery thread shelves and picking out the most vibrant shades of blue and light purple you could find. The rest of the office worked with a fervor you’d never seen before, and you gave them a sad smile whenever they’d glance up to check on you. All the other heroes’ ball looks were finalized, ready to be handed off to their stylists who would do the final dressing and accessorizing. Seven mannequins lined up in front of a window: Cellophane’s intricately beaded suit, Momo’s sweeping velvet ball gown, Deku’s sleek three-piece, Red Riot’s fiery matching set, Pinky’s princess-like mermaid dress, and Bakugo’s sheer-paneled, explosive applique-covered denim jacket. 

Everyone’s looks were finished, except one. His tailored leather pants were complete as well as the simple white button-up, and the silver pocket chain rested around the headless neck of the mannequin. All that was left to do was finish the design covering the back of the coat, which you worked on tirelessly far past when your staff had left the building. It should have been a day of celebration with champagne, balloons, and cake to commemorate another successful Hero Ball; but, 11:30 and 5:00 passed with no trace of him, and you couldn’t find it in your mind to participate in festivities. Whispered goodbyes and “see you tomorrow” floated around you, and it took more energy than it should have to smile and nod. 

Time ran away from you again, and the coat was finished at midnight on the dot, embellished with small buckles, two rows of buttons, shoulder pads, pockets, and the stunning ice and flame embroidery on the back panel. It truly was the greatest piece you had imagined and created, your quirk allowing the thread to almost act like paint as you added subtle nuance to the two opposing cranes. The fire crane rose from the bottom corner of one of the front panels, forming a circle with the ice crane that descended from the shoulder pad of the opposite front panel. Draping the finished piece on the mannequin and attaching the pocket chain for good measure, you stepped back with your hands on your hips to admire your work. He was gonna love it, when he saw it. If he saw it, the pessimistic demon in your mind whispered. With a deep breath that you didn’t know you needed, you turned to pack your stuff and head home. 

And that’s when something large slammed into M’s office window. 

The thud startled you, the dull noise of something hitting the glass bouncing off the empty cavern of the room. Your fingers wrapped around a pair of scissors as you approached the half-open door, cautiously guiding it open and squinting at the distorted figure behind the dark glass. Your eyes widened when you realized the object was huge, the size of at least two very tall people. One hand tightly gripping the scissors, the other slowly slid into your pocket to call the police when you heard a voice call from the other side. 

“Needle! Needle…wait, what? Needle, uh, sprouting from…Needle sprouting from thumb? Jesus, Todoroki, who would ever say such a thing–” You threw the window open, sending it flying upward as you took in the people set precariously on the ledge. You recognized one as Deku, the number one hero who sometimes visited your office to implement support tech into his costume. His gloved hand grabbed the edge of the window, easing him and the person he was carrying into M’s office and collapsing onto the couch. Deku quickly stood, closing the window and scanning the surroundings for threats. Your hand unconsciously rose to brush the matted red hair from the other person’s face, and the oxygen left your lungs as you zeroed in on the scar barely visible around the blood splattered on the person’s left eye.

Shoto. 

His body was in tatters, with scrapes and cuts and punctures covering his body like some zombie Halloween. The white of his hair was covered in so much blood that his entire head was red. His suit had burnt off on his fire side, and his ice side was nearly blue from discoloration. Your body moved on its own when you took in the most significant wound, a large gash cutting diagonally across his abdomen. Mind empty except for the battered man on M’s couch, you shoved your hands into the fabric scraps box and brought them back to Deku, who pressed them against Shoto’s gash to stop the bleeding. Fingers pressed under his chin, you felt a faint heartbeat and could see his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. He was dying, and you needed to do something to stop the blood loss. 

“I tried to get him to go to a hospital, but he said it wasn’t safe,” Deku said to you, eyes clouded with concern. “He was barely able to tell me your building’s address before he passed out. I trust his judgment, but I really need you to know that, if Todoroki doesn’t get stitches, he will die. Do you have some way of stitching this up?” The fabric in his hands was soaked a dark red and the realization of what Shoto wanted you to do hit you like a train. 

He wanted you to give him stitches. 

You’d never tried your quirk on any actual humans, only textiles. Your parents had suggested becoming a medic because of your quirk, but the idea of manipulating something to enter a human body was an idea that you couldn’t stomach. There were others with more efficient quirks who could do that, but none of them were with you now. An idea dawned on you, and you reminded yourself to applaud your planning skills later. 

“Deku?”

“Yeah?”

“I need the sutures from your toolbelt.” His eyes widened in understanding, and he frantically pushed aside objects in his belt to find the roll of medical-grade nylon you’d placed there as a part of upgrading his first-aid kit. “Sorry, I added…more items,” he muttered apologetically, finally handing you the unused spool and the box containing the sterilized needle. Like clockwork, you threaded the needle just as you had millions of times before. Averting your gaze as Shoto groaned in pain from Deku cleaning the wound with alcohol pads that you’d also put in his belt, your hand soon hovered over Shoto’s wound in preparation to close it. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, ignoring the image of the sewing machine and instead opting for a simple knot at select intervals. Fighting down the bile in your throat as the needle pinched Shoto’s skin together, you shakily guided the thread through the skin layers and tied it into a tight knot. You felt Deku’s eyes watch you in amazement as you worked, delicately patching Shoto back together as you had with his suit the first day he’d walked through your elevator doors. Slowly but steadily, you moved your hand and the thread across the wound, sewing it shut like you’d attached his trenchcoat panels. They were, by no means, medical-grade stitches, but you believed they got the job done as the color slowly returned to Shoto’s face. When you finished stitching the large wound, you helped Deku wrap the lower half of his chest and his arms with gauze. With more scraps of fabric, you gently scrubbed off the blood and dirt, combing through his tangled hair with wet fingers. 

“Thank you, Deku,” you said quietly to him as you threw used fabric scraps into a trash bag. “For bringing Shoto to me. I was really worried.” 

“Of course,” he replied, smiling warmly. “I only wish that I’d met Todoroki’s partner under different circumstances.”

“Partner? I mean, yeah, we’re business partners, but–”

“Oh, no. I’m so sorry, then. I, uh, meant romantically.” Your face began to burn from Deku’s assumption. “He just talked about you a lot, you know. How much he liked being around you, how you seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. He told me about all your soba dates and how he didn’t want them to be considered dates since he wants to take you somewhere much nicer when you’re done with all the ball stuff, but I still think they’re dates.” Holy shit, Deku was rambling. “I teased him about it since I don’t think he’s ever been in love before, but–” 

“Midoriya, I implore you to stop talking.” You both gasped, turning to look at a barely-conscious Shoto, who was trying to sit up from the couch. 

“Todoroki, you’re awake! Wait, no, no–you can’t sit up yet,” Deku stutters out as he rushes over to carefully push Shoto’s shoulders back down, moving the hair from his forehead as his head falls back against the armrest. You feel out of your body again as you kneel next to him, fingers brushing his cheek in relief. “I’ll uh, give you two some space,” Deku declares as he scrambles to pick up the trash bags and exit M’s office, leaving you alone with Shoto. 

His gentle eyes find yours. “Hey, pretty.”

“Hi, handsome,” you whisper, reciprocating the weak smile he gives you as he takes in your exhausted face. “What the hell were you thinking, coming here? You needed a hospital. It wasn’t safe risking your life to come here, Sho,” the shortened version of his name slips from your mouth before you could stop it, but the even softer look he gives you sends any regret or embarrassment running. “What would you have done if I wasn’t in the office?”

“I just knew you would be.” 

“That’s a terrible plan.” 

“But it worked out.”

“That it did.” You press your lips to his forehead and relish in the way his eyes shut in contentment. “I finished your coat.”

“You did?” 

“I did, but you can’t see it right now. If you lift a single finger off that couch, I’m going to reopen your stitches.” He lets out a pained laugh, wincing at the pain shooting across his chest. A thoughtful look crosses his face again, and you adore the way you could see him working things out in his mind. What those things are, you’d never know, but his pure intellect was enough to admire. 

“Do you still plan on attending the ball tomorrow?”

“Not if you’re still hurt.”

“In that case, I am no longer hurt.” He smirks at you, with an immature, boyish, attractive smile. “And I still haven’t…chosen a plus one.” 

You feel your heart cease racing in your chest. “Yeah? And who’s the lucky winner?” Your voice shakes slightly as you attempt to relieve the tension with a joke. 

He looks at you again with that expression that makes you want to kiss him. 

“It’s you. It’s always been you.” 

As you finally drift off to sleep slumped against the couch, your face close enough to his to feel him breathe, you know in your mind that it’d always been him, too.

[1] Missed Call - Midoriya Izuku

New Voicemail Message [2:04 A.M]

"Hi Yaomomo! Hope you're doing well. I need a favor..."

[crumblinggothicarchitecture]

Swift is neither tortured nor a poet. She’s just a spoiled little grifter who wants everyone to worship her.

She is literally talking about idol worship in at least two of her songs.

"False God"

"Clara Bow"

In both she is discussing being the center of worship- and arguably she has a much longer list of songs in which she wants to plainly be the center of attention:

"Mirror Ball"

"Anti-Hero"

"Master mind"

"Bejeweled"

Even in the songs where is she seemingly lamenting the bad attention- she denotates that thought with her "Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?" song in which she says, "if you wanted me dead, you should've just said/ nothing makes me feel more alive" (2024). Putting aside the obvious theatrical melodrama (no, Taylor Swift your critics don't want you dead- good grief) and focusing on the fact that over and over again she stirs up old drama for the sake of keeping the attention focused on her- this narrative of "I swear I don't love the drama/ it loves me" ("End Game") falls flat.

I do agree with your conception that she is a grifter- especially in her early work in which she was always singing about a "small town" and "kitchen tables" like she really tried so hard to write about the mundane hoping it would attract the middle class- "average joe" audience. A thousand country singers have used the same grift before her.

Despite neither being from a small town nor having humble beginnings- Swift thinks that if she just drops enough imagery suggestive of mid-to lower class aesthetics in her music, we will all just automatically relate to her. I will be going into detail on this soon- because there is a real rhetorical device at work here, and this gives me an excuse to talk about reader-response literary theory. I never get to talk about this theory in my real-life job lol :) so stayed tuned hahah

[fivelakesinwriting]

Six Little Harringtons (S. Harrington)

Author's Notes: This turned into more than what I had intended - Steve and his wife take the kids on their annual road trip all while taking a (somewhat painful) trip down memory lane.

Warnings: Swearing, sexual references - innuendos, mentions of grief/ death, *contains brief (personal) theories about what might happen in the final season of Stranger Things, parenting/children, pregnancy, fluff!

Requested: Nope!

*My work is not to be transferred, copied, translated or reposted to any other sites without my permission. And you do not have permission. Please see my masterlist for all other works and warnings. Thank you! xoxo

The first Summer was easy. It was just him, the wife and Junior in the station wagon heading down to the coast. A little trailer hitched to the back of the car and away they went. Sunshine, sand, more cassette tapes than anyone knew what to do with and a surfboard no one knew how to use.

Then the twins were born. Three little Harrington's smiled back at him in the rearview mirror that Summer. He was vacuuming Cheerios and Lego pieces out of the backseat until almost Christmas.

Baby number four, the Hellraiser, was a total surprise. They felt like they had finally gotten into a routine with the other three kids and then after a particularly rowdy night out, she came to him one morning and told him she was pregnant again.

Well, fuck.

They swore they were done after number four, because she had been such a handful.

"She's Hell incarnate." Steve muttered late one night after a long battle of trying to get their restless toddler to sleep.

But even as a husband and father, Steve was insatiable with the sex drive of a teenager. Which was why when she told him she was pregnant for a fifth time all he could do was laugh and pull her in for a kiss, while giving himself a silent pat on the back.

That Spring he invested in a Winnebago, cleaned it up and got it ready for the Summer. Then one blazing hot Saturday morning in July he helped load all five kids into the RV. Three boys, two girls and all the comforts of home they required to make it a smooth ride.

"Alright, Harrington's. Are we ready?" Steve smiled as he buckled the last seatbelt on the last baby seat, then ran a hand through his hair.

"Steve! Can you help me, please?" His wife called for him at the bottom of the RV steps.

"Yeah! I'm coming, honey. Stay where you are." Steve replied with a tickle to the bottom of his youngest daughter's foot before he stood up and hurried out of the RV.

"Honey, I would have brought this out. You know you're not supposed to lift anything heavy right now." He uttered as he took the cooler filled with snacks for their brood. He lifted it up into the RV, checked on the kids once more pleased to see them all snoozing peacefully in their seats and gently closed the door.

"Are we stupid for doing this?" His wife asked with her hands on her hips, looking up at him.

"Road trip with five kids? Yeah. But it's tradition." Steve smiled as he placed a soft kiss to her forehead and smoothed a hand on her growing stomach.

"Wait until the RV is full of angry teenagers, then we'll see how much you like this tradition." She laughed with a kiss to his chin.

"What are you talking about? I was a dream as a teenager." Steve scoffed before he pat her hips and made his way to the drivers side.

"I know you're lying, Harrington."

..

They only drove for about four hours that first day. Two hours, a break for a picnic and a run around in the park, and then two more hours. They ended up at a beach near their motel, but nowhere near their destination. If having five kids taught Steve anything, he knew to let them run out their energy before bed time. Especially on a road trip.

"When we started dating, did you think we'd end up here?" His wife asked as they sat on the sand and watched the kids laugh and play along the shoreline. Cartwheels, kicking a ball and playing tag. Five little best friends.

"Are you asking if when I found you abandoned on the streets of Hawkins ten years ago if I thought that we'd be married with a bunch of kids? Definitely not. I didn't think we'd make it through the night." Steve laughed softly, the grief and trauma still tangible.

They had met days after Steve returned from the Upside Down, after the loss of Eddie Munson. Hawkins was in flames, the city quickly burning to the ground. Residents were evacuating as quickly as they could, leaving all belongings behind.

Steve was swerving and speeding through the wreckage of the streets when he drove passed her home. Covered in dirt and soot, she sat on the front lawn of what was once her home. He couldn't explain his actions, but he couldn't just drive by her. He slammed on his brakes and yelled for her to get in.

She had been by his side throughout the fall of Hawkins. At first he thought they had been paired by tragedy, but as time went on he realized that life was easier when she was around.

The smell of smoke was overwhelming. Burning buildings, torched cars and inflamed foliage surrounded the once quaint town of Hawkins.

His stomach was in knots and his body was sore, but he had to keep going. He got in his car and drove as fast as the old Volvo would go, the engine rattling under the hood as he pressed the accelerator. He rounded the corner of a familiar street, ignoring a stop sign. The city was in ruins, traffic signs no longer mattered to him.

It was her (once) white denim jacket that caught his eye. A jacket covered in dirt and soot from the fires. She was sat on the front lawn of what he presumed was her home, crying. A girl no older than himself, all alone in a crumbling world.

"Get in! It's not safe here!" Steve yelled through his open window.

She asked no questions. She got up from the front lawn and ran towards the car, climbing into the passenger side.

"I'm Steve." He breathed out as he pressed the accelerator once more.

"Callie."

She had stayed at his side through the remainder of the fall of Hawkins. Held his hand as he watched his friends perish, helped him rebuild his life while they rebuilt the town.

The first boy, while nicknamed Junior due to his uncanny resemblance to Steve, was legally named Edward - Eddie - after the boy who gave his life for Hawkins. He had been born with a full head of dark hair, like Steve, and eyes like his mother. Steve didn't think he could love anyone more than Callie, until he met his son.

They had not planned on naming the rest of the kids after anyone else from the Hawkins Tragedy, but the more they thought about it, the more they wanted their friends to live on in more than just local folklore.

The twins were Ellie, affectionately called El after her namesake, and Will. Both named after the two teens that had sacrificed their lives for their friends and for Hawkins. Callie hadn't know them for as long as Steve had, but her life was equally as enriched for having known them.

The fifth was a boy, Harry, named after Steve's grandfather. Steve admittedly didn't have much of a relationship with his actual parents, but his grandfather had been a major influence in his life and when he saw his fourth child, it was like looking into his grandfather's eyes.

The fourth baby, the Hellraiser, was named Maxine, after the girl who had given Steve the most grief during those early days in Hawkins. The original hellion in his life, and the girl he would have died to protect if he could have. While the girl was still alive, she wasn't able to live her life the way she had before. He had told her he named their child after her, and Max gripped his hand and gave him a smile from her hospital bed.

"Alright, Team Harrington! Time to go to the motel and get some sleep! We've got some driving to do tomorrow." Steve called out to his children as he stood up from his spot on the sand then extended his hands to help up his pregnant wife.

They got all the kids back in their respective car seats and made their way to their motel for the night. After three bedtime stories, one about a girl named El, the kids fell asleep. Little Maxine asleep in the bed with them, her foot in Steve's back.

There once was a girl named El, who was the most powerful girl in the world..

Steve and Callie laid in the bed together facing one another while the kids snored softly in the bed and cribs surrounding the room.

"What are you thinking about?" Callie asked softly as she ran her fingers through his hair.

"You, and all of this." Steve whispered back as he gestured around the room.

"Can you believe that we're going to have our sixth baby?" She laughed.

"Oh, yeah. My plan to have a family band is pretty well complete. Just one more kid to go. She's going to be the tambourine player." Steve smirked as he placed a hand on her belly between them.

"And have you decided on a name for our tambourine player, finally?" Callie asked as she ran her thumb over his hairline.

"I've been thinking about the name Malia." Steve replied as his eyes fluttered shut, feeling her soft fingers on his face.

"I love it. Malia it will be. The last piece of our puzzle." Callie smiled before she placed a soft kiss to his scruffy chin.

"Now if Max would get her foot out of my back, everything would be perfect."

[moodcrab]

Sheogorath IS Lorkhan!!!

My take on the creation of Mundus goes like this. Lorkhan god of space wishes to create the physical realm Mundus.

Why? Because his fellow Et'Ada may all be powerful gods but with nothing to do they would remain big balls of untapped potential for eternity. In other words, what use is space to grow with no limitations from which to break through? Or bounce off of? You can't build muscle without resistance. You'll never fulfill your potential if there's no motivation to do so. Take Arkay, a god like any other but with no mortals to live and die, no souls to psychopomp, what is he for?

So Lorkhan decides to create Mundus by playing a trick on some of his fellow Et'Ada, while recruiting others to help him play the trick. Those he tricked would one day become the Aedra, Magna Ge and the Earth Bones. Those he recruited, as well as those who refused to take part one way or the other, would become the Daedra.

But part of Lorkhan's plan was its failure. He intended to get caught last minute, and at the moment of Convention Magnus and his followers fled Mundus creating the sun and stars, while the Trinimac and the Aedra ripped Lorkhan apart, his broken body created the moons, his heart was launched into the sea where it would create Red Mountain and eventually the Numidium, and his soul was shattered throughout time and space to wander Nirn as the Shezzarine. This is when the Deadra who didn't follow Lorkhan saw their opportunity, and attacked. Jyggalag, the mind of Lorkhan that sought to bring order to this crazy universe, was driven mad and cursed to live as Sheogorath.

In short, Mankar Camoran was right. So where's my proof?

Let's start with linguistics. The Bretons are man-mer, one foot in both sides of the Ehlnofey schism. They have the merish view of Lorkhan as this devilish trickster god, but they call him Sheor, like his manish name Shor.

Shor - Sheor - Sheogorath

Lorkhan is also known as Shezarr, the missing god of the Cyrodiilic pantheon. That Lorkhan shaped hole keeps getting filled with gods of war/ spirits of the endeavours of man. One such god was Ebonarm, sworn enemy of all Daedra, with the notable exception of Sheogorath. Why is that? Perhaps Ebonarm sought vengeance for Lorkhan's betrayal, which Sheogorath is not only innocent but one of the victims?

How about that guy you meet in The Shivering Isles, Dyus of Mytheria? He is the one thing of Jyggalag's world that Sheogorath refuses to destroy after returning from the Greymarch; his librarian. The keeper of the knowledge of CREATION ITSELF! Not only is Sheogorath unable to bring himself to destroy Dyus, he keeps him immortal and imprisoned in the library.

"As the Great Library, it once contained all the knowledge in creation. However, spare me your grief. My imprisonment is as meaningless as my immortality. Time and place are nothing. Constructs of a feeble mortal mind attempting to categorize and understand the world around it. If you were one of the fortunate few, you would one day understand and accept this. However, you are not and you will not."

"Contained within its walls were the logical prediction of every action ever taken by any creature, mortal or Daedric. Every birth. Every death. The rise of Tiber Septim. The Numidium. Everything. All predicted with the formulae found within Jyggalag's library."

It's interesting he uses both Tiber Septim (Talos) and Numidium as examples as both are examples of those Lorkhan shaped gods filling the Shezarr hole, and both use the heart of Lorkhan/Mantella to achieve divine power. So Jyggalag/Sheogorath hold the knowledge of creation, which they would know because they are manifestations of the mind of the creator Lorkhan.

Mankar Camoran believed that Mundus was a realm of Oblivion as Lorkhan was a Daedric Prince (Jyggalag??), so Dagon has every right to inherit it. This can easily be written off as an excuse to dominate the mortal plain, but if my theory is right then this belief is a legitimate way of interpreting it. If Mehrunes Dagon was one of Lorkhan's loyal recruits he might want to conquer what he sees as his inheritance.

"How little you understand! You cannot stop Lord Dagon. The Principalities have sparkled as gems in the black reaches of Oblivion since the First Morning. Many are their names and the names of their masters: the Coldharbour of Meridia, Peryite's Quagmire, the ten Moonshadows of Mephala, and... and Dawn's Beauty, the Princedom of Lorkhan... misnamed 'Tamriel' by deluded mortals."

"Yes, you understand now. Tamriel is just one more Daedric realm of Oblivion, long since lost to its Prince when he was betrayed by those that served him. Lord Dagon cannot invade Tamriel, his birthright! He comes to liberate the Occupied Lands!"

Consider Boethiah. If Lorkhan was plotting against the other Et'Ada who would make a better ally than the Prince of plots? Consider what she did to Trinimac, the Aedra that "killed" Lorkhan. She not only humiliated him in battle, she ate and excreted him as Malacath. In doing so she transformed his followers into the Orcs. She exposed the grandest Aedroth knight to be just the same as the Daedra, using Mundus as a playground and mortals as toys, and she turned his merish followers into ugly brutes, exactly what the mer accuse men of being. And she did so in the service of the Chimer, leading more elves away from their "ancestors". I mean, she could have just killed him... But she chose to destroy what he was. Strip away his pretensions. It just feels personal. Vengeful.

Consider also that Boethiah is almost certainly the Night Mother of the Dark Brotherhood. Think about it. Why would Sithis care about contract murder in Tamriel? He is the void. Boethiah on the other hand is all about sneaking around plotting to murder people, and tricking a bunch of goths into worshipping the wrong god. Using the corpse of some poor Bravil girl she has made a cult to Lorkhan, who is a being of Sithis. Ever wonder why the statue of Sithis in Oblivion is of a man with his heart ripped out? Remind you of anyone?

But it's just a theory. It gets crazier when you accept that Lorkhan and Akatosh are the same person. But that's a rambling theory for another blog.

[luigixfanxayjay]

NEW ONE-SHOT FIC EVERYONE!!!!! NEW MARIO ONE-SHOT FOR YOU ANGST FANS TO ENJOY!!!

I made this short Mario writing as a bit of a vent about personal stuff and a movie au/theory. Beware if you read, this will get angsty. 😃

TW tags: violent depections of severe seperation anxiety, trauma, psychogenic pain, panic attack, hyperventilation, and self-blame/self-hatred.

As Mario watched as Luigi left through the door, it was agonizingly slow. Mario was just standing there and filled with worry, unable to do anything.. not even speak or reach out. Suddenly, he felt as if a knife stabbed into his chest. And then another. More and more stab him with more and more force. This wasn't physical, he thought. It was his anxiety. Mario calls out his twin brother's name but he has already been long gone. At that moment he realizes something.. he couldn't breath. He got to focused on his thoughts that he lost contol of his rapid breathing. He starts yelping, screaming, whining and starts pacing at a rapid rate. He steps back and catches his leg on the rug, falling back to the floor. He sits up in terror and starts crawling back with his legs until he hits the bottom of the couch in the living room. Tears well up in his eyes. It felt as if the world was shattering like glass upon his very feet, and all that was left was the very small platform he sat on. He curls himself up into a ball, darting his eyes down to the floor. His chest hurt immensely from such lung overexersion, and he presses both of his hands against his chest as a reflex. He screams, screeching for help at the top of his lungs. He missed his brother and didn't want him hur.. wait, that thought. He was the one who didn't look out for his brother and got him lost anyway. Now he's gonna get hurt without Mario. This was all Mario's fault. His fault, his fault his fault. Suddenly he felt and saw as his arms went limp to his sides. His vision grows blinder. No. No no no no no no no-

"Mario!", a familiar voice screams. "Oh my stars! Breath! Calm down, please!". It was Luigi.

Mario opens his eyes as though it felt like forever. Luigi was sitting down, next to Mario, pressing his gloved hand on Mario's chest. He seemed to have came home in a panic. Mario wasn't sure why, or even why he was doing like this all of a sudden. What caused him to wake up like this? "Shh shh shhhhh..." Luigi consoles. "L-" Mario painfilly hesitates. He couldn't speak either, he still couldn't breath fully. It took a few minutes of silence until Mario could finally breath well again and Luigi finally explains. "I was only gone for 3 minutes! Right when I was about to enter the store, the princess called me to report to me that the neighbor Toads heard you screaming and that she was worr.." Luigi pauses his shaky voice to wipe away the tears that had already started forming, "I.. I thought you were getting killed!". Mario remembers now. Well damn, he scared his brother yet again. You know what?.. he deserves this pain. All of it. "I-.. I hate my-.. se-" Mario mumbles, but is interrupted by Luigi's hugging embrace. "NO! DON'T YOU DARE!", Luigi shrieks. "I do.", Mario achingly denies. "I don't ca-ha-hare! I love you! I-hit's not your fault~!" Luigi sobs. It didn't matter at this point to Mario. He was just so glad Luigi was okay. In the silence broken by Luigi's occasional soft sobs of grief, Mario wondered: Why did he panic? Wasn't he the perfect goody two-shoes? Was something.. wrong?

[burritowitch]

Lonnie's 'in case of my death' note from shadow of the bat #41 which according to @lesbiananitafite reads a hell of a lot like a suicide note because he is Not Normal, written out below because it is so hard to read as is:

It looks like tonight must have been that night. I know I've caused you a lot of pain and grief over the past couple of years, and I'm sorry for that. You thought you were bringing me up to be the All-American boy, playing ball on the weekends, studying hard to be a doctor or lawyer. Instead you got a criminal. My memory is tainted, my good intentions derided. And, probably, I'm dead.

How to begin to explain how I feel? The world is like an alien planet to me, the brittle laughter and hollow fun of a theme park overlaying the nightmares of war and discrimination and brutality. The people society respects-- the great and the good-- are, in most part, the small and the evil to me. It's as if I see with laser eyes, burning away the surface illusions that hide the fact that we're zombies-- puppets controlled by somebody else. Again I'm sorry, because I know you're upset. You're good people-- nearly everybody is good people-- and that's what the elite take advantage of. But society is changing. The information revolution allows every man to see the great and good are no better than him. The old power structures and their fascist ways cannot compete with the anarchy of tomorrow's technology. The time of the common man is coming. No longer will he have to march to battle as fodder for bankers and arms makers. No longer will he live in a fog of deceit stoked up by politicians' lies. The future is freedom... and all I ever wanted was to hasten its birth.

I think it all began with Xuasus. I was eleven when he became my penpal... Every month I wrote to tell him the wonders of America-- Every month he wrote back with tales of hovels and soldiers and the brutal repression that made up his life. After a year, his letters suddenly stopped. Mine were returned "Not Known." Another year passed before I found out why he Xuasus wrote once more, a single sheet scribbled in some seedy back alley. His father had been arrested and not heard from since. His mother took ill. His sister died of malnourishment. At the age of 11, Xuasus was fending for himself on the streets. Remember I asked you to help me find him, Dad? You said it was another country, the rules were different there. We could do nothing. But I couldn't just forget a friend like that. I started to haunt the library. I found out Xuasus' country was a dictatorship, at war with Marxist guerillas, with ordinary people caught in the crossfire. I found out the guns came from Europe, and Russia... and here. A few men made big profits, while half a world away, poor people suffered. I read about war and the history of war, and the psychology of war, and the horrors of war. You never knew it but--

That's when I went through those months of nightmares. Remember? Anyway, I soon realized something-- almost all wars were caused by only one man, or one small group of men. And every time the elites ordered 'Fight!' it was the ordinary men who became canon fodder-- and ordinary families followed him into oblivion.

I learned that the state is more important than the individual. I learned that politics is soaked in blood. But I couldn't accept that it had to be that way. Remember how crazy I was about books, Dad? I used to make you take me to the bookstore every Saturday. Flying saucers, cults, conspiracy theory, religion, the occult... I drank it up, tried in vain to make sense of it all. Then I discovered Scudder Klyce's "Universe" and the jigsaw finally fell into place.

Scudder Klyce worked out the secret of humanity. Vox populi, Vox Del. The voice of the people is the voice of God. The elites are parasites, vampires sucking on the life-blood of man, turning everything good and decent into foul corruption! That's when Anarky was born. I couldn't help Xuasus-- but I could give the people of Gotham a voice, no matter how small, against the forces that oppress them.

--If I am dead, please don't think ill of me. I only wanted to bring a little sanity into an insane world for a little while, I was something no one else had ever been... the voice of the people. One day-- and it won't be long-- the tyrants will die away, scorned and mocked by their former victims. One day you'll see that I'm right; maybe then you'll be proud to say "My son did that."

All my love, Anarky (alias Lonnie Machin)

[lady-of-swag]

Being an ENTP girl is like:

Having much more empathy than ENTP guys because it was browbeat into you by society.

Being good at reading people's moods. Absolutely dog at responding to said moods.

You're not actually a nice person. Your high Fe has turned you into a massive people pleaser (yes, there is a difference between being nice and being a people pleaser).

Likely got mistyped for an ENFP at first, or some other Feeler type.

All of your friends tend to be IxFx types (they just gravitate towards you)

Furthermore, you collect introverts like Pokemon cards.

Every guy you've been romantically involved with so has been typed as an INFJ (you forced them to take the test, but you don't trust 16 Personalities so you used several different platforms).

You probably get a lot of grief for being loud, argumentative, or stubborn. You've noticed that the males who exhibit the same behavior are less likely to be scolded for it.

As a student, you have a tendency to procrastinate to the point where you're in danger of flunking an entire semester, only to get your crap together in the last week or two and walk away with semi decent grades.

BUT you were probably a good student in the past. "A pleasure to have in class." At some point, you got kicked in your metaphorical balls by gifted kid burnout.

You probably went through an "I'm not like other girls" phase in middle school, to be honest. Girl trust me, I did too.

You think that INTJs are hot in theory, but in real life you find them to be insufferable, arrogant know-it-alls. It's okay, because they probably think the exact same thing about you.

[cicadaknight]

okay i have more (critical) barbie thoughts under the cut.

i really did enjoy it overall. it was fun, cheeky, surreal. i loved the experience of watching it in an energetic theater. i even cried a couple times. but i’m baffled at how powerful it was for so many people when it fell so flat for me. honestly, maybe what i’m feeling is just because i’m trans and it didn’t resonate as strongly with my experience of womanhood or masculinity.

i keep coming across people using gloria’s monologue to dismiss criticism by saying “anyone saying barbie isn’t feminist enough are doing the exact thing gloria pointed out! women have to be perfect but it’s just never good enough!” Y’ALL. having issues with a high-budget, corporate funded movie that has the same milquetoast girl-power messaging you’d find in teen mags from the early 2000s… is not the same as oppressing women under patriarchy. you can critique media and still resonate with aspects of it. good grief.

another response i’ve seen to critiques (specifically of gloria’s monologue) is that the movie’s messages are meant for barbie herself! not for the audience! it had to be super tame and generic because otherwise barbie wouldn’t have understood! all those speeches and ideas are aimed solely at barbie who is learning about all of this for the first time! it’s not for you if you already get it! what?????? that’s not how media works and you know it.

also, the idea that it’s meant to be palatable for a “wider audience” so it couldn’t have included intersectionality without losing people. translation: “wider audience” means white suburbia? white men? cishet people? where the most “representation” they can tolerate is a 3 second clip of a voiceless barbie in a wheelchair dancing? or a black president barbie who mostly says one liners and disappears? a wider audience being the same audience every blockbuster is catered towards?

i’m just spit balling here, but i don’t think it would have been impossible to introduce some unironic nuances like:

america’s latinx character experiencing sexism differently from stereotypical barbie?

maybe not using mount rushmore repeatedly to symbolize who’s in power?

avoiding comparing bringing patriarchy to barbieland to indigenous genocide?

a harsher perspective on mattel’s role in all this? where the outcome isn’t just will farrell’s character griping that he doesn’t even want to be in charge, he just wants to be tickled? (wtf was that lmao)

making a more obvious statement that patriarchy isn’t just a symptom of men stumbling across power and relishing it but that it’s rooted in violent white supremacy and capitalism? i’m positive there’s a way to address that without going full blown academic feminist theory mode.

having the black, fat, and disabled characters speak more than 5 collective minutes? (but at least they had screentime at all, right? ✨representation✨)

explicitly queer characters instead of “weird barbie” and allan being coded as the outsiders to an otherwise regimented cishet universe?

but all those ideas are irrelevant, right? because the movie was just SOOO self aware and layered in irony and if i was smart enough and hadn’t missed the point, i’d know the writers were in on it all.

[thehomeofplatonicfics]

Hiya! I am soooo happy you opened your request box cause I've been loving all your fics so far <3 Can I request a hogwarts legacy mc reader fic talking to a portrait of professor fig after the events of the game? I always think they game never acknowledged how upset mc would really be losing fig, like their expression in the funeral was so blank it was painful!!

A/N: Oh my gosh, anon! Thank you so much for being the first person to send me a request! I 100% agree with you, like I was sobbing during that scene and MC just scrunches their nose?! I honestly think this is my best fic, so please if you like it do tell me! <3

I Miss You

MC!Reader x Professor Fig (platonic!)

It had only been two months since you became the hero of Hogwarts. Only two months since the only father figure you’d ever had died. The professors had quickly commissioned his portrait, and for over a week now he had hung proudly inside the office of his Magical Theory classroom. You had yet to visit the portrait of Professor Fig. The upcoming OWLs, only days away, were your main excuse. That you simply didn’t have time. In truth, you were scared to confront your loss head on… no one could make you admit how much Eleazar Fig’s passing had affected you.

As you left an early morning study session, you mused about how difficult it would be for Professor Fig’s successor. They would surely know that they had big shoes to fill. You imperceptibly shook your head to yourself, whoever they were… you almost felt sorry for them.

Heading down the corridor towards the Great Hall for a well-deserved breakfast, you walked past the classroom you’d come to know so well. Suddenly, you felt rooted to the spot. It was like you were hit with your grief all at once. You realised what you were truly afraid of… the future, one you had to face without your mentor.

You needed to see the office. You needed Professor Fig. Gliding towards the classroom, eyes searching the corridor for anyone watching you, you slipped through the classroom door. Passing through the empty classroom, you cautiously opened the office door that you once used to bolt through. The confidence was gone, maybe forever.

It was difficult to miss the large painting hanging behind the professor’s desk, and your eyes instantly locked with his familiar brown ones. He gave a smile of relief, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat. “Ah, Y/N. I wondered when I’d be seeing you. What brings you here?” You felt yourself welling up, and you balled your hands into fists to try and maintain some composure. His voice was like a drop of rain in the midst of the hottest desert.

“I just… I just need some advice.” The words tumbled out of you before you could think about it as you slowly stepped closer and closer to the painting. “The Hero of Hogwarts needing my humble advice? Sounds serious.” He spoke with a bemused tone. You jumped up to sit on top of his desk, hunching over to make yourself as small as possible, hands clasped tightly. Anything to stop yourself from breaking down. “You are… were a hero too.” You muttered under your breath.

“What troubles you, my young friend?” He looked at you with furrowed brows and a concerned gaze. He had never seen you so downtrodden before.

“Well, I don’t know… I guess just - everyone else has had five years to prepare for the exams. And I, well, I’ve only had one.” You rolled your eyes at yourself, almost feeling silly for complaining about it. “And you’ve done exceptionally well, you’ve surpassed any expectations that anyone had of you. Including me, and my expectations of you were already very high.”

“What if I’ve not done enough?” You questioned, deliberately looking anywhere except at Fig’s painting. “What if I don’t get the grades I need?” The painting shook his head with a lopsided smile. After all you’d accomplished, you still couldn’t see your true worth. “I know you shall. I’ve seen you work, I’ve seen your abilities. There is no doubt in my mind you’ll get at least Exceeds Expectations in every class.” You shook your head slowly, wanting to believe it but feeling like something was blocking you. A few moments of silence passed, the professor patiently waiting for you to continue, knowing instinctively that something more was bothering you.

“What will my future be? What do I want to be?” You looked up, staring directly into his painted eyes, desperately trying to remember his real ones. How warm they had been, how you could see decades of wisdom and experience behind them. “I’ve known so little about this world, and now I have to decide my whole future in it.” Your voice cracked as you struggled to keep your emotions bottled in. Professor Fig nodded his head sagely, and you knew he understood what you needed in that moment.

“You’d like my help to decide?” It was more of a statement than a question. “Help me prioritise which subjects to focus on.” A hand ran through your hair, then over your face. “I’ll need the best grades in subjects I carry to NEWTs… and those exams determine my career, right?” The painting hesitated, clasping his hands in front of him before humming in agreement.

Silence again. This time it was charged, heavy with words unsaid. You wanted to break the silence but didn’t know what to say. Technically, the Professor Fig in front of you wasn’t really him and as you chewed on your lip staring at floor below the painting, you were painfully aware of it.

“I think you should consider taking Magical Theory as a NEWT.” Your head whipped up to meet Fig’s gaze, eyebrows raised. “No… No, I couldn’t.” He frowned, his head tilting slightly. “Why not? We spent the whole year researching your own magic, I think you could teach the class yourself now.” He chuckled to himself, but the eyes that once sparkled when he laughed remained the same dull brown. Another reminder that things would never be the same. “Because… it wouldn’t be you teaching me. I don’t think I could stand it. Someone else standing where you should be.”

You stared at each other for a few moments before you broke the eye contact, lowering your eyes into your lap, your hands almost bleeding from how deep you were digging your nails into your skin.

“Y/N, I may never have taught you officially in my class, but you’ll always be my proudest achievement. I hope you know that.” He always knew exactly what to say, even when you didn’t know what you needed to hear. The tears slipped down your cheeks before you could stop them, and soon the floodgates opened and all the bottled emotions came seeping out at once.

“I miss you so much. I don’t know how I’ll do this without you.” Loud sobs echoed across the office, and a hand lay on your chest as you tried to fight the intensity of what you were feeling. “You taught me everything, I wouldn’t even be here without you. And now I have to continue on without my… father.”

The painting of the Professor looked shocked for a moment before he melted into a warm smile. If he could have hugged you, he would have. “I’ll always be here, Y/N. I know it isn’t quite the same. But the advantage of being a painting is that you’ll always know where to find me. I won’t be off on a week-long research project… or sent off on one of the headmaster’s silly errands.”

A quiet giggle escaped you, soon developing into a real laugh. It was brief, but it was time you’d laughed since he died. Professor Fig smiled down at you, pleased to see a glimpse of your old self again. You wiped away your tears, summoning a parchment and quill. “Okay. Let’s get down to business, shall we?” You announced with a true smile, one that the painting returned with a fond nod. It wasn't quite the same, but the painting would help you through your grief. You'd always have a piece of your mentor in your heart.