#civilian form — mundane

[kuhli-mahou]

magical hero positivity post!!

shoutout to the magical heroes of color!!

shoutout to the black magical heroes!!

shoutout to the asian magical heroes!!

shoutout to the indigenous magical heroes!!

shoutout to the hispanic and latin magical heroes!!

shoutout to the mixed race magical heroes!!

shoutout to all the mahous of color i forgot to mention!!

shoutout to the physically disabled magical heroes!!

shoutout to the immunocompromised magical heroes!!

shoutout to the paralyzed magical heroes!!

shoutout to the magical heroes with rare disabilities!!

shoutout to the magical heroes with POTS and EDS!!

shoutout to the mentally ill magical heroes!!

to the ones with demonized or stigmatized disorders or illnesses like schizophrenia, BPD, NPD, or bipolar!!

shoutout to the magical heroes with misunderstood mental illnesses like OCD!! [me lol]

shoutout to the depressed magical heroes, the anxious magical heroes, the paranoid magical heroes!!!

shoutout to magical heroes who have autism, adhd, or both!!

shoutout to the physical magical heroes, the astral magical heroes, and the magical heroes whose practice is a mix of both or a secret third thing!!!

we're such a diverse, amazing community, and i love all of you <22

[buckyalpine]

Hello Shay ! I’ve been loving the civilian!reader fics, and I had an idea for a fic like that, but with a twist 🫣 reader is bucky’s sweet civilian gf, literal definition of sunshine, basically a lover, not a fighter. She’s a ballet teacher at a local studio (hint hint wink wink). And she lives with him and the team at the tower. One night, while the team is out on a mission, Hydra ambushes the tower and tries to take the reader hostage. And when they learn about it, they rush back home in order to save her. Meanwhile, Bucky and Tony check the footage just to see his precious sweet girl absolutely kicking ass. And I mean hardcore, like she even does the entire widow thigh-neck move. And everyone is like??? And Bucky’s just absolutely fucking HORNY bc “hell I’ve been in between those thighs so many times, you’re telling me I could’ve DIED???”

okay YESSSSS we live for a badass gf who appears to be nothing but sweet sunshine and killer on the inside. Fluffy fluffy and smutty smutty

-

"Be back soon, darling" Bucky cooed, kissing you again and again while everyone boarded the jet, getting in a few more pecks before having to leave on a mission.

"C'mon lover boy, the faster we get going, the faster you get back to your sweetheart!" Tony yelled, shaking his head watching Bucky look a you with puppy eyes, not wanting to leave his sunshine behind. "He's so down bad, I swear"

"Can you blame him, she's so cute" Sam smiled, watching the two of you cling onto each other for a few extra seconds, your form hidden, engulphed in Bucky's thick arms. "Look, you can't even see her when tin man hugs her"

"I'll miss you baby" you kissed Bucky's pouty lips, caressing his scruffy cheek before letting him run off, your cheeks heating up when he blew you another kiss before the doors closed.

"You're a little sap" Nat teased while Bucky blushed, strapping on his gear as the engine roared to life, rumbling as they took off. Bucky had 0 shame in everyone knowing how much he loved you and it started from the day he met you. He got called out immediately, questioned over the dopey smile he had on his face, the blush on his cheeks instantly giving him away.

Soon after you'd started dating, Bucky wanted you closer to him and he didn't have to ask Tony twice; his room was moved to a floor above so you'd have more space to live together. The last thing Bucky wanted was for you to get hurt because of his job. He felt more relaxed knowing you were in he safety of the compound on days where he was away.

"Who would've thought Bucky would be the romantic type"

"I did" Steve groaned, having seen Bucky's flirty side for years but he knew this was different. He hadn't seen his bestfriend like this before, clearly in utterly and desperately in love with you.

"It's adorable" Sam laughed while Bucky continued to smile, scrolling through his phone looking at pictures of you. His camera rolled was filled with various images of you baking, cuddling, sleeping, doing the most mundane things in the world, each making his heart flutter. He felt a pang in his chest, momentarily worried about if you were safe without him, the same anxiety he always felt whenever he had to leave you.

-

You stretched across the sofa, sipping on some hot chocolate and putting on your favorite comfort movie, deciding to have a relaxing night to yourself since the compound was empty. You didn't like when Bucky had to leave but you knew it was part of his job, slipping the fuzzy throw blanket over you shoulders before hitting play.

It had hardly been a few minutes before the screen went black making you blink, wondering if you'd sat on the remote by accident. Suddenly the rest of the lights turned off, a blasting sound coming from the entrance before you heard rushed footsteps nearing you.

Your heart started to race, having no time to hide or think, coming face to face with a number of masked men all towering over you. One grabbed you, pulling out a camera and hitting record, shoving it close to your face with a sinister smile.

"Look who we have, soldat"

-

The jet hadn't been flying for long, a sudden beeping alarm from the security system alerting Tony to check the cameras. His eyes grew wide, seeing the Hydra logo take over the screen before switching the live footage from the hacked system.

"Guys! There's been an attack on the compound!" Tony shouted from the computer, everyone rushing to see what came on screen, billows of smoke emitting from the main wing. Suddenly the screen went black, replaced with a man swearing a black mask, walking around the common room.

"Welcome Mr. Stark" His voice was thick with a Russian accent, the video panning to show the other agents infiltrating the tower. "Where is our soldat"

"You stay the fuck away from my girl" Bucky growled, his heart hammering in his chest, nearly crying when he saw someone grab you and shove you into a chair.

"She's precious to you, isn't she. We'll see you soon" he laughed, before the stream cut off leaving Bucky wanting to scream in frustrating, anxiety clouding all his thoughts, just wanting to get back to you to protect you.

"We have to go help her!" Bucky paced up and down while Tony rerouted the jet, speeding back to save you. "How the fuck do I know what's going on, there has to be something" He pleaded, hating that he no longer had eyes on you.

"Hold on, let me get into the back up feed" Tony tapped away at different keys, getting into the security system, selecting the camera for the common room where you were being held. "Here, I got it! I-Holy shit..."

The sound of screaming screeched through the speaker but it wasn't coming from you.

No.

"B-Barnes, you're girl just killed someone with her thighs" Tony stared at the footage with wide eyes while Bucky and the others watching in awe as your legs wrapped around one of the agents' heads, snapping his neck before flipping over and attacking another one of your assailants.

Bucky nearly choked, watching the men drop to the floor like flies, your arms and legs holding onto the men with a vice like grip until they fell, hardly breaking a sweat each time.

"Do you understand how many time's I've been in between those thighs, you're telling me she could've killed me?!!" Bucky practically moaned, seeing you fight, all his anxiety melting into lust, his cock straining against the thick material of his tac suit.

"Jesus Bucky, you're gonna poke an eye out" Sam's face scrunched up while Bucky adjusted himself, biting his lip to keep from making a sound, his tip leaking, breathing out a sigh of relief seeing you perfectly safe.

"Can't help me, look at her. Better count me out for movie night, m'gonna spent the whole night fuckin'-

"Okay, got it, you're a ridiculous, horny, pervert, and y/n probably won't walk for a week, will you please put that away" Sam shook his head, walking away when he tent in Bucky's pants got worse.

"I'm sorry, we've been housing a Hydra killer all this time?" Tony shook his head as the jet landed, still in disbelief over what everyone had just seen, both impressed and 100% scared of what else you were capable of. "You sure know how to pick em' Barnes"

As soon as the jet hit the floor, Bucky was sprinting off into he compound, running to find you, relief flooding his veins when he saw you sipping on your tea, seated on the couch again. You jumped up from your spot, jumping into your boyfriends arms, clinging onto him while the others also entered, glad to see you were okay. They got to work, clearing up the room, rounding up the few agents that were knocked out for questioning while also giving you and Bucky some privacy.

"Babygirl" Bucky hugged you tightly in his arms, burying his face into your neck, inhaling your soft scent, hoisting you up so your legs were wrapped around his waist. "Are you okay doll, are you hurt?"

"I'm fine Bucky" you reassured him, pecking his soft lips, letting him check you over before feeling satisfied you were okay, not finding a scratch on your body.

"Everything okay Buck?" you cocked your head noticing your boyfriends shift in demeanor, his soft baby blue eyes darkening into something else, biting his lip.

"Baby, I had to hold back from pulling my cock out on the jet and touching myself, you know how much that hurt? How hard I was the entire time, struggling not to jet my dick off watching how sexy you looked" He walked you up to your shared bedroom, his erection shamelessly pushing against your clothed core, not bothering to hide it one bit. "Where have you been hiding all that princess"

"Not hiding Bucky, just-never needed to do that" You shrugged shyly, squeezing your thigs around his waist playfully, making him groan as he dropped you on the bed.

"Can't wait to keep my face between these pretty legs that could kill me" He groaned, slicing your clothes off with his pocket knife before diving in without a care in the world, eating you like a man starved, tapping your thighs to wrap around his head.

"C'mon doll, squeeze em'" he moaned, humping against the bed feeling your muscles flex, his eyes rolling back, nearly cumming against the mattress at the strength he could feel, knowing you were holding back from hurting him.

you could kill him if you want.

Fuck, he was going to cum so fast.

-

"Oh god! Bucky!! PLease! D-DOn't STOP"

"That's it gorgeous, so good to me, so fuckin' pretty. won't last baby, gonna cum for you!"

"They're going at it like rabbits, didn't you sound proof their room after the first incident?"

"I did. This is after the sound proofing"

"Gonna fuck your thighs next baby, you got my cock so hard, almost creamed my pants like a teenager watching, you, oh shit-shit-m'so sensitive, keep clenching around my dick, that's it-fuckkk"

"Jesus christ, it's been an hour"

"Did you forget he has the super soldier serum? They're not gonna stop any time soon"

"I'M CUMMING JAMES"

"Gonna fucking cum for you y/n, OH FUCK YESSS you're so sexy when you fight baby, m'gonna fuckin' cum again, I can't stop"

"He's really gonna go all night, isn't he"

"Can you blame him?"

[dedef7890]

Satoru Gojo ( Husband) x Reader ( Wife )

- Angst ; Fluff and Angst….

Don't hesitate to leave comments to give me your opinions :) Comments motivate me to write more, and allow me to listen to your opinions and feelings to write things that please you :)

–––

To many, the logic behind your marriage to Satoru Gojo seemed completely absurd.

Stupid, senseless, pointless.

That’s what they thought, but it was so far from the truth. You and Gojo knew that.

Yes, it was irrational, but it was also necessary.

Sometimes, you didn’t need to understand everything perfectly; you just had to hold on to what worked, to what kept you both afloat. Maybe deep down, you were even more aware of it than he was, because despite his arrogance and detached demeanor, he didn’t always realize the depth of his own needs.

What an idiot.

This marriage wasn’t about romance or passion, and neither you nor Gojo were searching for that. It wasn’t a fairy tale with love declarations under the stars or impulsive outbursts of passion. No, it was far simpler than that, and yet so much more complicated.

Practical.

A win-win, as you both liked to say.

For Gojo, it was a form of stability, an anchor in a world where everything, including himself, could spiral into the infinite.

For you, it was the assurance of never being alone again. Each of you found what you needed, without pretense, without lies.

Gojo needed affection. It was almost laughable when you thought about it. Him, the man who seemed to have it all, the sorcerer no one could touch, the strongest of his generation. The strongest.

The strongest.

But you knew better than anyone. He needed to feel a connection, to have someone by his side who didn’t just see the legendary figure of the Gojo clan, but the man behind the blindfold. The man who hid so much, concealed behind his mocking smiles and nonchalant gestures.

Of course, he would never admit it. His pride was too immense, his ego too deeply ingrained for him to confess that he needed you.

But the facts were there.

And they would always be there.

As for you, it was simpler. You didn’t want to be alone anymore.

In a world as brutal and unpredictable as that of sorcerers, loneliness was an enemy as deadly as the curses themselves. The nights could be long and cold, and even surrounded by other sorcerers, colleagues, or friends, you could still feel an unfillable void.

Gojo filled that void, even if he wasn’t the most tender or attentive husband.

Your relationship was… different. But it worked.

You understood each other, each instinctively knowing how far the other could go. You were compatible, not in the romantic sense that so many people desperately sought, but in a much more fundamental way.

You were sorcerers.

Both of you knew death, horror, and the brutality of the world you lived in. You had seen comrades fall, innocent people devoured by curses invisible to the eyes of civilians. You knew that happiness, or at least the fantasy version of it, wasn’t necessarily for you. But what you had built together—this stability, this mutual respect—was enough.

However, love had no place in it. Love was a curse, not the kind you would fight, but a curse just as vicious.

Then there was something else. Gojo didn’t exhaust you, at least not in the way others did. He had this unique ability to walk that fine line between irritating and amusing. His presence was never overwhelming, even with his oversized ego. Unlike many, he didn’t smother you with unreasonable expectations or excessive emotional needs.

He gave you the space you needed, while still being there when necessary. And you did the same for him.

Behind his “strongest in the world” façade, he sometimes needed to be brought back to reality, and you were there for that.

You had your routines, almost mundane. He teased you constantly, always trying to get a reaction from you, whether with a sarcastic comment or an exaggeratedly affectionate gesture. He called you “Diva” when he wanted to annoy you, but within that nickname, there was a form of tenderness he didn’t know how to express any other way. And you played along, responding to his provocations with your own humor, always aware of the fragile balance you maintained.

Sometimes, you were more like old friends than a couple. In fact, you were friends, but now that you were married, you resembled an old couple more than a young one.

You understood each other without the need for words.

There were moments when you could spend hours together in silence, simply enjoying each other’s presence.

And then there were times when the teasing became more direct, more physical. Gojo wasn’t a shy man. He knew what he wanted, and he never had a problem letting you know, one way or another.

The moments when he touched you, when he held you, were rare, but those were the times when you often cried. Every time. Mostly because you were unhappy. Or tired. Or because you were in pain.

He grew cold every time you cried.

Every time.

Some said you were made for each other, while others claimed you were completely mismatched. But deep down, you had never needed the approval of others.

You lived in your own bubble, isolated from external judgments, and that suited you perfectly.

Satoru Gojo wasn’t an easy man to love, but you had never sought ease. You had chosen this man because you knew he would understand you, that he would be there, even if he never said so.

In the end, your marriage made sense. It might have been incomprehensible to others, but it was logical to you.

Gojo had never needed a woman to idolize him, and you had never needed a man to shower you with grand declarations of love.

On the days when he returned from particularly grueling missions, his shoulders heavy, his piercing blue eyes hidden behind his black blindfold, he didn’t need to speak for you to understand. You knew when silence was necessary, when you just needed to be there. On those nights, you didn’t say anything. He would drop beside you in bed, muscles tense, his mind probably consumed by everything. By everything but you.

In quieter moments, when you found yourselves sharing a meal in silence, or sitting side by side after a long day, you didn’t necessarily talk about important things. The mundane conversations often took over, and that was just fine. “You should’ve seen Yuji and Nobara’s faces; both of them totally wanted to kill me,” Gojo would sometimes say with a mischievous smile. And you would chuckle softly, savoring those moments.

You complemented each other, not in a romanticized, idealistic sense. Gojo provided a form of protection, not because you needed it as a sorcerer, but because he gave you a sense of comfort and security you couldn’t find elsewhere. And you offered him stability.

A long-lasting, durable stability.

The nights when he would wake up in a cold sweat, his body tense from nightmares he never shared, you would be there to place a reassuring hand on his back, cuddle him without a word, or tell him to go back to sleep as you let him snuggle against your chest.

He didn’t need to explain.

And you didn’t need to ask.

To some, it might have seemed emotionless.

But for you, it was the perfect balance.

––– BONUS –––

Silence filled the room, broken only by the soft rustle of sheets as you turned, sinking deeper into the mattress. The atmosphere of the bedroom, bathed in the gentle glow of dimmed lamps, breathed a tranquility that only fatigue could bring after a long day of exorcism. Gojo had just emerged from the bathroom, his hair still damp, a few droplets of water hitting the wooden floor as he dressed as casually as possible, wearing only sweatpants and a loose top.

“Hey, did you wash before diving into bed?” The question slipped naturally from your lips as you stared at the ceiling, your thoughts lazily drifting. You knew he had, but it had become a kind of ritual between you two, and besides, you were particular about cleanliness, hating the idea of anyone entering the bed with the dirt of the day or wearing outside clothes.

Gojo stopped at the foot of the bed, a mischievous pout on his face. “No, Diva, I just spent half an hour under hot water without washing, just to annoy you.” He rolled his eyes before collapsing onto the bed beside you, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.

With a satisfied sigh, his muscles finally relaxed. He turned his head toward you.

“We haven’t done it in a while, have we?” he said, his voice slightly husky from the warmth of the shower. He turned to you, his face buried in the pillow, strands of damp hair sticking to his skin.

His tone was detached, almost indifferent, but you knew this man better than anyone. Satoru Gojo had this strange way of addressing the most intimate subjects with a disarming nonchalance.

You sighed, turning your gaze toward the window. “I’m on my period,” you lied, your tone flat, almost apologetic. You knew it wasn’t true, but the thought of giving in tonight seemed exhausting, and besides, you had a lot to do tomorrow morning. The idea of stumbling around or being sore all morning wasn’t appealing. You loved Gojo, even if it wasn’t passionate love, but not tonight.

He mumbled something, buried under the sheets, a barely audible complaint. “You’re a terrible liar, you know,” he muttered, but without pushing further. Gojo knew when to push and when to let go, one of his rare relational skills, considering his overblown ego. “We can still cuddle, can’t we?” he finally asked, a hint of poutiness in his voice.

Cuddle. The word seemed so out of place coming from him. This man, who could manipulate the very space between objects, who could annihilate enemies with a single look, and yet, here, in this bedroom, he was asking… for cuddles. He puffed his cheeks, almost childlike, waiting for your answer.

Your heart tightened for a moment, a mix of tenderness and resignation. It was always like this with Gojo. He never directly asked for what he really needed. He wasn’t just this giant of power and arrogance, but sometimes, like tonight, he was just a man…

“Alright, come here, idiot.” You reached out an arm to pull him toward you, and he let you, like a big kid, nestling his head against your chest, his massive body pressing against yours. Silence resumed its reign, interrupted only by Gojo’s breathing, which gradually calmed.

“You know,” he murmured after a long while, his voice soft and almost asleep, “I hate it when you fake having your period. You’re a bad liar.” He couldn’t help but chuckle lightly, even though his eyes were already half-closed.

A small, involuntary smile tugged at your lips. “I’m sorry for not being as good as you at hiding things.”

His laugh slowly faded, and you felt his arms tighten around you a bit more. There was something comforting in that simple gesture.

You felt the warmth of his body, the heaviness of his breaths deepening as he slowly began to drift into sleep. “Hmm… Thanks,” he whispered faintly, barely audible, but you knew it was sincere, and only then did you feel Gojo’s arms also wrap around your waist.

You closed your eyes, letting yourself slowly drift into sleep.

Why was it so hard to breathe? Why did your heart ache so much?

Love. It’s a vicious curse.

[arirovi]

“The Girl Who Loves Smiles” is an evocative and provocative chapter, which “shows” before “tells.”

I think most of the reactions I saw about the chapter reflected that.

From the first moment, the chapter was evoking memories of the plot and the characters in us and with great ease. We all wanted it to be about Ochako, because the title alluded to her and consequently, also to Toga, and it was (but not in the way i'd expected).

On a personal level, I was hoping for a more direct and concrete resolution on them. I wanted to know if Toga is still alive or not. Find out if Ochako knows anything about her current state and how she is facing the end of her own battle.

Would the chapter present a final confrontation between the two?

Looking back, I think expectations played tricks on me again, but that's because, as a human being, I look for patterns everywhere. The pace of resolution of the previous two chapters had been just what I expected from this last one: a direct and concrete resolution, both for Todoroki facing Touya with his family, and for Izuku facing Spinner.

The change of narrative pace in this chapter, I think, affected many of us quite drastically and I have the feeling that this abrupt and unexpected change was put there with the intention of provoking us, but not in the sense of making us anxious (for the idea that there is not enough time to tie up all the loose ends), nor addressing the typical revenge speech of those who like a certain ship (we all know which one).

I think it was intended to evoke Ochako's motivation as a hero and provoke a real emotional connection with her in her process to endure that weight (at this particular moment).

The first time the chapter shows us Ochako, she is literally and figuratively silent (her mouth is covered), as they talk about Shoto, Kacchan, and Izuku's central role in the war. Of course, she was also a part of it, so why isn't she also included for her merits? And so, the first hint that someone is feeling pain appears in the form of an sfx, which is evocative of his own battle with Toga. The way of showing this, in white, invites us to remember what she did almost by force (since there are no flash backs), rather than focusing on the present plot.

Then she disappears from the scene for a moment and what are we supposed to do with these seemingly inconsequential pages? While I was glad to see how things improved on a social level; how Kacchan, Edgeshot, and the rest were inching forward, I was still bothered by why now?, when there's a bigger part about Ochako to address? Then Ochako returns to being the focal point and her first words are in response to what a civilian said, reaffirming what we already know: that everything is going better. However, just as she appears falsely cheerful, we as readers are forced to place our attention on these distractions instead of the pain (like Ochako did to).

It's frustrating and it's painful that everything seems to move so fast but in slow motion at the same time, that everything feels so superficial and mundane, when there is something more important that should be happening under the surface. And why does everyone seem so optimistic so quickly? Where is the feeling of the aftermath of something so terrible? The guilt? The trauma? The emotional resolution?

The thing is, we've been provoked to feel like Ochako all along. The narrative, so far, shows us what Ochako wants to see, the day-to-day life that Ochako struggles to experience, because it's what she supposes she should do and feel about it no matter what (and us with her).

And then, Tsuyu comes to tell us other thing that we were already shown before: Ochako is not responding, but not only to the most obvious thing, the text message, but to her surroundings and not to her friends either.

Now is when the “telling” becomes the center of everything: Ochako directly explains to us why she was not included in the group of heroes, her companions, who gained admirers (there were no recordings). She tells us, like an echo while reaffirming it to herself, that everything is improving, that the city looks like before, that it is time to be optimistic and positive because the war is over. She reminds us that he has been hiding his own pain because she loves seeing people smile, since that is a sign that they are happy moving forward.

However, even though she is saying it, she does not remember any smile of her classmates in particular (the words are on a black background) and instead, the only smile she remembers is Toga's, but whose image is tinged with the pain of his battle scar (which at the same time represents special, intimate connection with her).

In a few pages, all the evocation and provocation increase in a crescendo until reaching the point of no return. Ochako can no longer suppress the truth and neither can we: that the one smile she apparently couldn't save weighs more on her than all the other smiles she can see day after day.

It is a very intimate chapter, which seeks to incite a feeling of empathy and vulnerability with the character.

I don't know about you, but I felt very vulnerable too while watching her break down.

With this slow and almost artificial, forced rhythm, I felt that she invited me to live this repressed pain with her and to hope that, somehow, there is a kinder way out that does justice to everything she is having to endure.

And yeah, i hope the next chapter goes well.

[namelessuchiha]

baby blue dress — kakashi hatake x reader

╰┈➤ summary: kakashi hatake had sworn he never wanted to start a family, when you win your way into kakashi’s heart, things begin to change.

╰┈➤ warnings: nsfw (18+), praise kink, breeding kink, mentions of kakashi’s past, creampie, pet names (baby, princess, daddy, etc)

read it on ao3

w.c: 3,060

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

kakashi had concluded in his adult life that he would never have children of his own. with growing up never knowing his mom and ending up losing his dad at such a young age. he knew he would never want to bring a child into this world to endure the same pain he still held in his heart.

he was turning thirty-two this year. although it was only spring time and his birthday wasn’t for another few months, it weighed on his shoulders slightly. those his age were married, having children. hell, even his students were starting their families.

yet every night upon returning alone to his small bachelor apartment, he relentlessly attempted to convince himself that he was content in life. that nothing was missing.

it was one day, when the cherry blossoms were at their full blossom, that he made his way through the marketplace in konoha. his eyes were glued to the book in front of him. a hand stuck out in front of his face, waving back and forth. “excuse me sir, i believe you dropped this!”

like honey, he had thought. that’s what your voice sounded like to him. enticing and sweet. as he lowered his book, questioning what he possibly could have dropped, your face came into his eye sight.

his eyes widened and eyebrows raised slightly as he took in your glowing form. a bright smile adorned your lips, a floppy sun hat laid on your head, and the prettiest blue sun dress hugged your body in all the right places. he was completely enamoured. he swallowed, realizing that his mouth had become dry, before speaking.

“dropped what, sorry?” he forced out.

you held out your arms, a bouquet of bright flowers held in your hands. he looked into your eyes questioningly, only to see your eyes twinkle.

“they’re freesia’s!” you had said to him, “you look like you’re in need of something to brighten your day. take them, they’re all yours!”

through pink cheeks he had thanked you, and continued on with his day. that night, as he stared at the vase he had bought for the flowers, he couldn’t keep his mind from wondering off the image of your smiling face.

for weeks in between scarce missions and visits with the hokage, he found himself subconsciously walking through the market again, secretly hoping he would run into you again.

it proved to be useless, as he continued being disappointed. he didn’t even know your name, a civilian he had run into by pure luck that had caught his eye. eventually, he gave up attempting to seek you out. 

it was one day, after a particularly mind-numbing day, that lady-luck decided to favour kakashi. he was walking back from a visit at the memorial stone of those he had lost. out of the corner of his eye he saw blue. not just any blue, but the blue belonging to that stunning dress he had seen you in weeks ago.

he stopped in his tracks and whipped his head around. it was you, in that same dress, as beautiful as the day you had pushed flowers in front of him. the same flowers that now sat wilting on his windowsill. he knew this was his one chance, and for some reason his heart strings tugged him in your direction. “hey miss!”

it was these moments that kakashi would later on define as the beginning of the end for him. as the two of you began going on dates and spending time together more frequently.

he found himself even more enamoured by you, learning about your life, your worries, your likes, and your dislikes. truly, it was all so mundane in comparison to the troubles and tribulations that bounced within his skull. but it was so refreshing to him, to speak to someone and forget that once the two of you parted he would be back to his shinobi world.

kakashi fell for you slowly, reluctant to open himself up to someone so pure and kind-hearted in comparison to his blood stained past. this was better than his icha-icha novels that he loved so dearly. he was scared, to lose you as he opened about his past to you.

but when your soft hands cupped his face after he finished speaking, reassuring him, he knew that he has fallen deeply and utterly in love with you.

it was you who had made the first move, after months of pining after one another. the two of you stood outside your front door, bidding each other goodnight after kakashi had walked you home.

“can i try something ‘kashi?” kakashi was sure that through the silence of the night you could hear how loud he gulped.

“yes.” he whispered, scared his voice would give away how badly he was shaking in anticipation for whatever you were about to do.

your delicate fingers slowly pulled down his mask, giving him the chance to stop you if he wished to. when his mask was dropped around his neck, your kind eyes flickered back and forth. taking in every detail of his face.

as kakashi began doubting himself, you were right there to catch him beforehand. “kakashi…” you said airily, “you’re so beautiful.”

as your lips met for the first time, kakashi realized that his books did no justice to this feeling. the feeling of your lips on him caused a weight to fall off his shoulders, and butterflies to erupt not only in his stomach but out into his entire chest cavity.

as seasons changed in konoha and the new year began, the two of you were moving steadily. kakashi’s things had slowly began appearing in your apartment, what started with his toothbrush had quickly turned into your home being littered with his things. you harboured no complaints. as kakashi spent more time in your apartment weekly, you danced around offering for the two of you to move in together. nervous of scaring off your now boyfriend. eventually kakashi announced that he was selling his apartment, which was his way of telling you that he was moving in.

over a year after the two of you getting together, his thirty-third birthday came rolling around. kakashi had woken up to an empty apartment. a note stuck out on the kitchen counter, alerting him that you had gone to work and that you would be home around 6. although he was never a fan of getting older, it stung him a hit that there was no mention of you wishing him a happy birthday.

he shuffled around all day in the apartment, having the day off. his eyes flickered to the clock every few minutes, counting down until you would be home. maybe you had just forgotten this morning.

when you returned home, you smiled at kakashi upon entering. your eyes trailed down at his loungewear and you frowned. “want to go get ready kashi? it’s monday, it’s our weekly date night and I am starving!”

‘so she really did forget it was my birthday…’ he mused.

he silently entered your shared room, changing into street clothes and leaving to meet you at the front door. he felt his heart skip a beat as he saw you in that damn dress. the one he saw you wear all that time ago. that blue dress. his thoughts silences as you smiled up at him. and as you intertwined your fingers together, he too forgot it was his birthday.

except you hadn’t. he fell into your trap as the two of you walked into a barbecue restaurant and you led him to a booth filled with his comrades and friends.

you had turned around and chanted “happy birthday kakashi!” along with the rest of the shinobi sat in the booths.

his cheeks turned pink at the attention as he scratched the back of his neck, “mahh— you guys didn’t have to do all this, thank you.”

as you slid in next to him in the booth, you began to profusely apologize about pretending to ignore his birthday all day, thinking it would ruin the surprise. all was forgiven to him, he knew inside it was something you would not have forgotten. since when did he start caring about birthdays anyway?

later on, after enjoying a meal alongside everyone, kakashi floated around mingling. eventually he ended up next to his two closest friends; gai and asuma.

barely tuning into what gai and asuma were chatting about next to him, he watched you from across the room. a wide smile adoring your lips, that not only lit up the room, but his entire life. on one hip you balanced kurenai and asuma’s child, mirai. feeling like someone was watching you, you glanced over your shoulder and smiled reassuringly at kakashi, blowing a kiss his way.

he felt his lungs stop functioning, his entire world stopped spinning and paused. his eyes played tricks on him, imaging you balancing a child on your hip that had white hair and your eyes.

gai and asuma trailed off in their conversation as they both eyed kakashi’s line of vision. they looked back at each other and chuckled to themselves.

“you okay over there kakashi?” gai spoke loudly, clapping a hand down on kakashi’s shoulder.

kakashi snapped out of his daze, blinking rapidly. “sorry?”

asuma laughed again, “you know, i swore to myself for years that i never wanted to start a family. especially as the years went on, watching my friends around me lose their parents. and then i lost my dad.” he paused, thinking. “but when kurenai told me she was pregnant, my whole perspective changed. now every night that we put mirai to bed, i wouldn’t change a thing.”

later that night, you could barely get kakashi through the door of your apartment without him ripping all your clothes off on the way up the stairs. eventually you had made it inside, shutting the door before being pressed up against it by kakashi.

you giggled as he parted his lips from yours, leaving a trail of wet sloppy kisses down the side of your neck. his tongue trailed a path up and down as he found your sensitive spot, making a moan slip through your swollen lips.

“what’s gotten into you tonight kashi?”

he stopped his ministrations on your neck and ground his hard cock up against your body. leaning towards your ear he whispered, “just need you so badly baby, been craving that sweet pussy all day.”

his wet lips engulfed yours once again, hands curling up into your hair. his thigh nudged itself between your legs, pressing up in between your legs. you whimpered into his mouth, the dress you wore rode upwards as your panties met his pant-clad leg. rocking your hips, causing your sensitive clit to receive some much needed friction.

kakashi pulled back, leaning his forehead against yours as he pressed his thigh up more into your soaking middle. “that’s right baby, fuck yourself on my thigh.”

his large hands trailed down and grabbed your hips, helping you rock back and forth on his thigh faster. moans and whimpers left your lips as your head fell onto his shoulder, unable to keep it up. “keep going, not going to give you this cock until you cum on my thigh.”

“k-kashi—” cutting you off, he crashed his lips down on yours again. letting his tongue slip in and tangle with yours, he continued rocking you towards your first orgasm of the night.

your hips began to stutter as your orgasm approached quickly. “mm— kakashi! gonna cum.” you babbled into his mouth.

“cum for me princess, and i’ll fill you up as a reward for being such a good girl.” he watched as your hips stuttered one last time before your orgasm crashed down on you. your hands gripped onto his shoulders tightly, throwing your head back against the door.

“that’s it, just like that. you look so pretty when you come undone, even prettier when it’s on my cock.” you moaned in post-orgasm bliss at his dirty words.

his hands wrapped around your bare thighs, picking you up effortlessly and carrying you down the hall into your bedroom. he set you down right before the bed. you raised your arms as he tugged your dress over your head, his clothes following suit.

your knees met the ground as you ran your hands up and down kakashi’s built thighs. your eyes met his as one of your hands began lazily pumping his hard cock. the tip was red and angry, pleading for release. precum dripped out from between the slit, you lolled your tongue out, flicking it along the slit to clean up.

his eyes tightly closed as he groaned when your wet lips wrapped themselves around the head of his cock. he grasped your hair with one hand to pull it back from your face. slowly bobbing your head, your hand twisting and pumping what you couldn’t fit inside your mouth.

you hollowed your cheeks out before deep throating his well endowed member. tears sprung to the corners of your eyes as you lightly choked. he pulled your head back, making you release his cock from your mouth with a ‘pop’ sound.

your teary eyes looked up to his flushed face, questioningly. “can’t have you keep going or else i’m going to cum in that pretty mouth of yours.”

helping you up onto your feet, his lips crashed down on yours once again, backing you up onto the bed. once you were laid down, legs dangling off the edge. kakashi broke the kiss and began leaving sloppy kisses down your body all the way to the hem of your lace underwear.

his mouth hovered over your wet mound as you whimpered, feeling his hot breath through your underwear. “please kakashi—“

he chuckled, fingers playing with the hem of your undies. “please what, princess? use your words.”

“touch me, touch my pussy please.”

he hummed, wasting no time by sliding your underwear off and trailing his tongue up your slit.

“mm— you taste so fucking good. sweet like honey.” he said before diving in and flicking his tongue violently against your clit. your legs immediately clamping down on either side of his head as your fingers fisted tightly in his light grey hair.

his long and dexterous index finger ran up and down your slit, as his tongue and lips continued sucking and licking on your clit. slowly and lazily he pumped his finger inside your pulsating hole. loud and breathy moans left your lips as your hips began thrashing around at their own accord. kakashi added another finger and began curling them upwards, finding that sweet spot inside of you only he could find. kakashi’s hips rocked against the edge of the bed, needing the friction against his member.

as your second orgasm began building up, kakashi stopped his assault on your pussy, causing you to whimper. “i-i’m so close!”

“wanna have you cum on my cock.” he rose up from between your legs as you slid yourself higher up on the bed, kakashi crawling overtop of you. his face still wet with your juices as his lips captured yours once again, tangling his tongue with yours so you could taste yourself on him.

leaning back, he pushed your legs up, bending them at the knees. you watched through half-lidded eyes as he dragged his thick dick up and down your dripping pussy. the rubbing of his head on your clit enough to drive you mad as you began begging him once again.

slowly, he slid it into your hot and tight pussy and pressing his body into yours. slowly, he began thrusting as deep as he possibly could, before dragging it back almost all the way out.

you gasped, “a-ah! kakashi, you forgot the– the condom!”

“gonna fuck a baby in you.” he breathed hotly in your ear.

your face flushed even darker, if that were even possible. kakashi had never said such a thing to you. he had said once at the beginning of your relationship that he had never wanted children due to his painful upbringing. every time the two of you were intimate he was sure to wear protection. however, unbeknownst to you, you had opened his heart to options he had thought impossible for himself.

“fuck yes— ah… kashi—“ he continued, beginning to relentlessly pound into your tired and spent pussy. your juices coating his inner thighs and the bed sheets below you.

“want to see you swollen with my baby, won’t stop fucking you every night until you are.” you moaned wantonly, feeling yourself clench around his unforgiving pace inside you. “g-god i can feel you tightening up when i say that. you’d like that wouldn’t you? want me to fuck my cum in you and breed you?”

his thumb had found its way between the two of you, rubbing your clit harshly.

“y-yes daddy! want to— god i want it s-so bad. please, please, please—”

you felt your toes curling as you threw your head back, orgasm washing over you suddenly and so violently that you saw stars through your closed eyelids. kakashi wasn’t far behind you, not with the way your pussy was gripping him so tightly and—

“—hah” kakashi let out a long moan as he pushed as deep as possible, coating your cervix with white spurts of hot cum. his chest heaved as he continued lightly thrusting deeply, thighs twitching from sensitivity.

his sweat covered forehead fell against yours as the two of you breathed heavily. minutes passed before he slowly lifted himself and slid his half-hard cock out from you.

he flopped onto his back beside you, staring up at the ceiling. post-orgasm clarity beginning to wash through you, doubt and nerves began creeping up your throat.

“do you regret that? we can always go to the store and get some plan-b, i-i, if that doesn’t work we can always—”

“i don’t regret it.” he cut you off, “i want to start a family with you.”

he laughed airily, turning on his side to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “you make me want things i never thought would be possible for me. i love you.”

you smiled, “well i hope they get your hair and your perfect face.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

a/n: suppose to be working on unrequited but my brain could just not work until this was completed. a bit rushed but hope u all enjoy 👉👈

[kaurwreck]

okay, so, what if aya has been passively exercising an ability this entire time.

aya koda (author) wrote and reflected on the profundity of the past, observing even her most complicated relationships with immense and broadminded humanity. she was responsive and filial in her conservation of others through memory, even when communicating with herself through them. further, her writing is not cerebral or fanciful or nostalgic. it is contained within narrow, mundane realities like homemaking, bitterly aging parents, stifling expectations, physical illness, and the material world. but the wisdom, humor, and frankness of her sharp attention to detail lend an elegant and mature candor to her impressions of the past imbuing meaning into the commonplace, without romanticizing or deifying it. the distinctiveness of her internity radiates optimism and magnetic humility, rendering her world remarkable.

in other words, she's capable of sweeping ennui from even atrophy through sheer, clearminded ardence, refusing to cheapen her world despite its fickle propensity for change — and that is what bsd!aya brings to her every panel. she's so small and is only a civilian, but she is never swept beneath the gravity of the scenes unfolding around her. because even though she is little, she expands in others their immense capacity for change by enveloping them within the wideness of her own sincerity and perceptive verve. but I think it's more than just her energy that galvanizes others; I think that's her skill.

(analysis + skill explanation under the cut to spare everyone's dashes)

like, that's how she keeps collecting all of these older brother and father figures.

Kunikida becomes shaken when confronted by his helplessness and loss of life, he will waver and curl into himself until grounded again. In the Cannibalism arc, Ranpo brought him back to his feet, but he still sought to self flagellate after. In the Hunting Dogs arc, he threw himself from a helicopter and absorbed the impact of a grenade with his own hands to mitigate the potential for lost life, but not before visibly panicking. But, in the Walking Alone OVA, he is tied to a pillar and confronted by his past failure in the form of his former student, who he not only didn't reach, but seemingly instigated into an act of domestic terrorism. A young man, like Rokuzo, an explosion, like the Azure Messengers'—this time staking hundreds of civilians lives and that of a ten year old child who has a bomb strapped to her chest while he is being physically beaten with Ideals and enduring PTSD flashbacks of Sasaki's death (who he also envisioned while under Q's curse). But he's scarcely lowered his head when Aya calls out, "Kunikida!" — to which he replies, "That's Kunikida-san," which he previously told her to use for him because when he cares to mentor others, he tends to lecture them and demand proper behavior from them. From that moment forward, he is in his best form, stalwart and brave and resourceful and utterly serene against that which he cannot change or control— even relying on Yosano's schedule for the critical moment.

It's easy to miss that this scene contrasts with the other, similar instances where he's frozen or faltered, because he does find himself again each time. That's because the capacity is always within him, and he's far more balanced than anyone gives him credit (especially when set against his irl...). But, he isn't serene, his fear of loss and lack of control are things he still grapples with, and they usually spill from him in these moments and their aftermath. He hasn't fully self actualized, and although he pulls through each time, ideals intact, he has to wrestle that from himself (which he alludes to quite literally in Dead Apple). Yet, even as he was thrust into a full-blown panic attack, he caught that Aya called him by his name without a suffix and was rendered self-possessed enough to correct her, and then seamlessly move into what needed to be done without a moment of doubt. Then, even after that, he is thrown into a literal trolley problem. But, again, he doesn't waver. He remembers Sasaki and Rozuko, but not involuntarily; he invokes them with aplomb and acceptance, holding them and what they meant to him as strengthening, rather than destabilizing, his commitment to his ideals. Despite his habit of approaching those he cares about rigidly and patronizingly, he fluidly sinks to his knees and embraces Aya (and thus his own humanity and limitations) sincerely and warmly, promising her that he will hold her through it and cradling her without any awkwardness or reticence.

The name of the OVA comes from the literal translation of "Doppo," which means lone wanderer and invokes the image of a solitary wanderer— but "lone" isn't a character invoking loneliness; it implies that he's peerless, unparalleled, matchless. His name is a double entendre speaking to his individualism and invoking the image of an iconoclast heroic figure standing above the fray of mediocrity— which is the impression that made his former student feel taunted and spat upon. But, he sheds his lofty veneer in this OVA and expresses the height of who he's capable of becoming when grounded in reality but unhibited by fear and self-doubt: the Confucian virtue of ren, meaning humaness or benevolence. For Confucius, it was illustrated by love for others, including within relationships between people. But it further encompasses an inner drive for altruism that's cognizant that one is never alone in the home, the state, the world, and, ultimately, the cosmology of the universe.

If it were only Kunikida, I would think it an illustration of what he'll be as a leader or a moment of clarity. But Aya manages to reach Bram past centuries of ennui and morbid depression and learned helplessness. Not immediately, but by satisfying his seemingly silly and, to him, unattainable want for something as mundane as a radio. She does him one better and introduces him to streaming & earbuds, and quite literally expands his whole world so that he's, however briefly, no longer immobilized within the claustrophobic confines of his coffin, but floating untethered in the ever expanding vacuum of space. He wanted a radio, but, really, he wanted music that would take him outside of himself and the limitations of his reality, which he could consistently have with him in lieu of company to transcend the constraints of his purgatory. Shortly thereafter, despite Fukuchi having command over his kin through the sword and seal, Bram regains his air of nobility to snap, "Impudent!" at a vampire such that the vampire recoiled and even l looked askance. Further, like Kunikida, Bram is swept into his memories when he looks at Aya— but not wistfully or bitterly. They're light and beautiful and remind him of who he is and what is precious to him— his family and his vassals, his duty to whom had given him purpose and meaning. I'd relate his oath to Aya and his renewed observance of his role before his kin to the Confucian virtue li, meaning propriety, or observance of the formal rules of proper conduct conducive to social harmony.

She does it to Fyodor, too, whose triggering detail is her dirty hair. He attributes his compulsion to spare her as Bram's lingering oath, but I think it's a reflection of Fyodor's own inclination towards children. (I know he kills children in canon, but his perceptions of suffering and salvation are violently skewed, and so his expressions of righteousness (as in the Confucian virtue yi) look to us like sadistic violence.)

Which is to say, I think Aya brings out the highest capacity in others, triggered when they latch onto a detail she offers them that may appear mundane, but which touches on some core aspect of who they are or their memories.

I think she'll do the same for Akutagawa, which will be part of the transformation he undergoes from the version of him clinging to the spider's thread from irl!Akutagawa's short story of the same name (the headspace that causes Rashomon to resemble spider legs) to becoming the dragon complement to Atsushi's tiger (the imagery invoked by his armor from the teaser at the end of S5). The Confucian virtue I'd assign him would be xin, aligning ones actions with one's word/ honesty, sincerity, and faithfulness. Akutagawa keeps his promises.

(I specifically think Aya is elevating the Confucian virtue each character most embodies, which aligns with irl!Aya Koda's education in Confucian ethics as taught by her father; if that isn't apparent yet.)

This ability is more conceptual than many of the others, but the precedent for an ability like this is there in Fukuzawa's All Men Are Created Equal and Lippmann's unnamed ability, which reacted to and countered others' murderous intent.

Anyway, so yeah. I think Aya's ability is a mirror into the best, most focused versions of those who see in her some detail revealing themselves.

[sannylity]

Modern Vampire AU for Slimeriana.

Let’s say vampires are hunted down in the modern world, so they have to disguise themselves and blend in with humans.

Which seems easy enough. They don’t have any true forms outside growing some fangs, claws and a red tint in their eyes during feedings. Besides, they only need to feed once or twice a week. Sure, they still retain such ancient customs and traits, like feeling sickly during daytime (similar to having vertigo when under the sun for too long), garlic burns them and they stop aging past the time they were turned into a vampire. Otherwise, they’re your standard vampires who has had a long and complicated history with humans. Hence, why vampires have to hide.

Charlie is just a normal civilian, works part time in a convenient store for extra cash. He takes the night shift because he works an office job during the day. On weekends, he mans the cashier, which is a pretty mundane job when you only have to attend to 3-4 customers at night.

Until he meets Mariana.

A brooding lean and tall handsome man who only gets a pack of gum, which Charlie shouldn’t find as a strange feat, he has had teenagers trying to purchase alcohol with fake ID’s before. But this guy… Something about his presence unsettled him and it’s not just because he’s too gorgeous for his own good.

“That’s all?” Charlie asks as he scans the small pack of gum.

The beautiful stranger tilts his head at him with an amused smile. “Why? Do you recommend a different gum?”

Charlie looks away and quickly hands it back to him, unprepared for the response he got. “No, no… I was just making sure.”

The guy only laughed prettily at him before leaving.

It’s a strange enough encounter to linger in his head for at least a few more minutes. But he has an hour left in his shift, so he goes through the rest of his time as normal as possible. All he needs to do is take out the trash to the back and lock up the store.

As he’s struggling with two garbage bags in hand on the backside of the store, he is suddenly slammed against the wall, arms pinned next to his head with an ice cold grip. It hurts like a bitch as he winced, but as he tries to recover, he is suddenly confronted by the same haunting dark eyes from not so long ago.

“Forgive me for this.” is all the warning Charlie gets as he feels the sharp puncture of fangs on his neck.

—

In Mariana’s perspective, things are a little different.

You see, Mariana absolutely hates feeding. Unlike other vampires who indulge in feedings more regularly than what’s necessary, he never liked it. Who could blame him? He was human not so long ago, only turned into a blood sucking creature by an ex-boyfriend who fled from him as soon as his eyes turned crimson and fangs painfully grew into his mouth.

But now, he has to survive on human blood. Only feeding when he absolutely has to.

Until he meets Charlie.

Vampires could identify a certain liking to a human’s scent. And the cute guy behind the cashier just so happens to smell enticing for Mariana. It’s a shame that Mariana vowed to only feed once on every person he targets, if he wasn’t so famished, he would be his type.

For some reason, this guy’s scent is so much stronger, so much better that Mariana could feel his own blood rush with excitement.

“That’s all?” The cashier almost sounded disappointed.

Mariana finds it endearing, he doesn’t even like gum. He just needed an excuse to confirm his target, his mouth waters at his unmarked neck. He has to keep talking to stop himself from reaching over. He can’t risk it.

“Why? Do you recommend a different gum?”

Mariana stifled a groan as his eyes caught the way blood rushed to the cashier’s cheeks. How tempting.

“No, no… I was just making sure.”

At that, Mariana leaves quickly, stalking into the night to wait for the perfect opportunity.

Maybe he just needs to feed on this guy and this intense feeling would go away. He was only hungry, he skipped a week. That’s it.

When he does get the opportunity, the human’s scent threatens to overwhelm him as he pins him against the wall.

Whatever it is. Mariana just has to inject some poison in him, make him forget this ever happened and then drink just enough blood that would only make the cashier lightheaded and they never have to meet again.

“Forgive me for this.” Mariana bites onto his neck, releasing some poison that turns the man’s struggling into being pliant in his arms.

Mariana hurriedly began feeding but something shifted as soon as he did.

Somehow, the taste of this guy’s blood is unlike any other Mariana has ever had. Something about it makes him crave more, want more. He grips him tighter, continues feeding, moaning and eyes rolling back. It’s the purest pleasure in blood form.

Mariana can’t get enough and the human is just as responsive.

But Mariana gets a grip from reality before he ends up ruining the guy. He pulls back with a satisfied sigh, the high from his feeding slowly disappearing as he guiltily carried the unconscious man back inside and leaves him there.

Unbeknownst to Mariana, he just found his blood soulmate. And try as he might to stay away, but he only keeps coming back for more.

Charlie, on the other hand, wakes up with no memory of what happened. He thought he had only passed out from exhaustion.

But with how he wakes up tired lightheaded sometimes and the guy keeps returning to the store with the strangest purchases and the same beautiful smile, Charlie suspects that he’s a vampire’s who has been feeding on him.

And Charlie is not going down without a fight, he will catch him.

It’s with a wooden spike plunged on his shoulder did Charlie got his answers.

Yes, Mariana’s been feeding on him. Yes, he only takes enough and what? Charlie is told that they’re blood soulmates. That it’s a strong bond between a human and a vampire.

That Mariana is meant to protect his human with his life and Charlie is meant to provide for his vampire.

That they were meant to be.

And they were fated to fall in love.

[isca-rambles]

chenford prompts/ideas

I hope it's okay to just throw prompts out like this. I'm still very new to this fandom but very invested in Chenford (being caught up with a show is the worst, why do I fall in love with these types of ships until I know how it ends?), so much so I dusted out an old tumblr account and posted a ramble on ao3. I'm down bad for these clueless fictional idiots. * What if Armstrong didn't take Caleb's deal in 2x11? As in, he arrests Caleb instead of going with him. It wouldn't change them finding Lucy, I don't think, but could give some very nice (and by that I mean angsty af) interactions between Caleb and the others. Namely Tim, of course. * Tim is the one who goes to the prison with Nolan, so he's the one who goes with Nolan to the house to confront Caleb. Does Caleb still die in the same way? Does he live? Does Tim have to sit and watch the video feed for those agonising seconds while he waits for the rest of the team to touch down, after realising Lucy isn't in the barrel in the house? * What if Tim didn't give Lucy the 'Bradford special' back in 1x09, and she still gets shot? Any excuse for feral/protective Tim, especially since he'd be even more feral after Isabel's shooting. * What if, to help Jackson, Lucy offers to switch places and become's Stanton's rookie for that last month. What's the worst that could happen? * Lucy is exposed in 1x20 instead of Tim. * Lucy has serious thoughts about breaking the door down in 1x20 when Tim is attacked * Both Tim and Lucy are exposed in 1x20 and have to quarantine together * Not so much Chenford, though obviously Chenford, but just people supporting Lucy after Jackson's death. Give Lucy all the hugs please. * One of those 5 times fics but revolving around Lucy's moonstone ring. * Lucy gets greenlit instead of Nolan * Tim helping Lucy to wash her hair after she'd been injured in some way. Not sexual, not necessarily platonic, just helping. Either as friends or established lovers, post break-up or pre. Even a fully clothed over the basin 'don't expect me to dry it too, Boot' because he felt guilty. I just love a good bit of non-sexual TLC sometimes. * Honestly, same as above but with Jackson. So definitely platonic but just something sweet and soft. Lucy needs TLC, okay? I have feelings about this. * Overprotective (not necessarily 'I have feelings for her' but, ya know, we love a clueless Tim) Tim looking out for Lucy (in that weird way of his) with some of the more asshole officers/civilians they meet through her training/time as P2. Especially if she pisses off an asshole cop (akin to Stanton. If not Stanton. We hate Stanton) for some mundane reason, and Tim has to have her back when it escalates. * Lucy accidentally pisses off a very high ranking criminal. Cue everyone protecting Lucy even though she doesn't need protecting. * Tim and Lucy chat after the Stanton confrontation. * Lucy's ill or mildly injured but pushes through/stays in work. Tim keeps pushing her and she makes a mistake and/or gets hurt. Angela, Bishop, Harper, or Grey talk with him, and make him realise he has to know when to stop pushing sometimes. * Lucy's had a particularly bad day with some shitty criminals/civilians/officers. Tim thinks he gets it but he can't, not really, so his brand of tough love isn't working as he wants it to. Lopez/Harper/Bishop and/or even Lucy try to get him to understand he'll never understand what it's like to be a woman (and one of colour) on patrol. * Lopez/Harper/Bishop etc take Lucy out after said bad day. Tim can be there with Nolan if he wants. Jackson too. Jackson gets it more but everyone needs to hear how difficult it can be. Mainly ladies supporting ladies. * And if anyone wants to take a proper shot at the long-form disjointed ramble fic I did, or take ideas from it, please do. Basically post-break up, Lucy's in a bad place and Tim goes to comfort her and I have a lot of feelings about Jackson being gone and Lucy not having the support network she should with Tim and Tamara leaving her - ao3 ramble here

That should be it for now, at least while I keep working through episodes properly (also, ugh, watching these early episodes with Nolan/Lucy stuff is just...ick after binging all the Chenford stuff first ^_^). Thank you to anyone who takes these, you're a very talented fandom with some gorgeous writers! I'm working my way through Chenford fics on ao3, but if any of these have been done before please spread the love and share some links/reccs <3

[kuhli-mahou]

i need to properly get on the majokko grind seriously

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

Snippets part 11

"Settle down, please," Pullman snapped, ever so slightly bent out of shape. "You are all aware that you are to work as mercenaries for the Mages' Union, yes?”

We all nodded. Chris and I settled down on the sofa, with Merida standing ram-rod straight beside us. “What about it?” I raised my eyebrows. (You know, I always wanted to raise a singular eyebrow, like those super-villains in the comic books, but unfortunately genetics did not comply, and my magic had no hold over neurology.)

“The Mage's Union has long had a need for a group to specialise in dealing with the twice-dead. It seemed pertinent to assemble this team, in light of the recent crimes committed by ghosts, spirits, fae and demons. To name one incident, the spate of thievery committed by Kristavla Ko-clan,” Pullman said, inclining his head at Chris, who snickered.

“So? We're your new anti-twice-dead squad? You don't need me,” I said cheerfully. Chris was a nice guy and all, but every time I looked at Merida, I could only think of our struggle within her mind. Something deeply unnerving lurked beneath her conscious, something not quite sane. Something I deeply wanted to avoid. Even now I could see the inhuman stillness of her mind, like she'd been silenced. Even Pullman had minor ripples in his thoughts, like the movement of a breathing chest. “I mean, I can't speak spirit! Surely there's a linguist or inhuman psychologist you could ask…”

Pullman rippled with amused irritation. “Certainly, there are many linguists who would jump at the chance to aid our endeavours. But we already have an honest to goodness spirit on our side, and a second individual well versed in both the Cescereli, the official language of the spirits, and the pidgin used by the Fae. It seemed a better choice to have you on the team, given your… skillset.”

I grumbled under my breath. It didn't seem like there was a way out of it. (I would find a way, however. I always did.) “So what's our first task, then? Hunt down a secret triad of Fae? Stop an incubus prostitution ring?”

“Nothing quite so mundane, I am afraid. There is a peculiar being, whom analysts suspect to be Fae, rampaging the suburbs of the city Iraios, along the border with Palioden. So far it has destroyed five houses and killed at least a dozen civilians, alongside two teams of mercenaries. It uses elemental magic unique to the Fae, and seems to be resistant to any form of evocation,” Pullman explained. He had slipped into the bored tones of a lecturer, as though he had repeated it a dozen times. His mind wavered, drawing the knowledge from the depths of memory.

“I have informed the local Mage's Union that a specialised team will be sent to aid them. They will provide you with lodging and any resources you might require. Unfortunately, the Paliodaen Exorcist Corps are unable to provide any assistance to our endeavours,” he added, giving a peculiar glance at Merida. “One may well ask why.”

“I regret nothing,” she said simply in response.

There was definitely a story to sniff out there, I thought, one that could be turned to my advantage. Goodness knows I needed anything I could use against her. “You know,” I said slyly, “It would help if you explained how you got here, Merida.”

The look she gave me could have turned the very air solid. “That is none of your business,” she whispered. There was no inflection in the words, no growl or hiss, but the threat was there nonetheless. “Let us move on.”

Taglist:

@coffeeangelinabox, @dorky-pals, @calliecwrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @shukei-jiwa

@thewingedbaron, @pluppsauthor, @cowboybrunch, @wylloblr, @possiblyeldritch

@ramwritblr, @urnumber1star, @fortunatetragedy, @bigwipscholar, @ratedn

@vampirelover890, @possiblylisle, @illarian-rambling, @the-ellia-west

@finicky-felix, @evilgabe29, @glitched-dawn, @rivenantiqnerd, @dragonhoardesfandoms

@drchenquill,

(Anyone else who wants to get added can tell me in the comments, pm me, or send me an ask about it!)

[papersnatch]

Potemkin thoughts. Does he like to do things. What things. Tell me

GRABS YOU. I don't have many headcanons for Potemkin, but this ask got me thinking about his hobbies and occasional activites a little bit, so here ya go !

Wawa Woowoo Potemkin (Guilty Gear) Headcanons

(because I should probably give this a title for organization reasons)

(+ a quick doodle i made based off of one of these. don't ask where the screwdriver is going, not even i know)

Potemkin doesn't get a lot of free time of his own, because of the whole. Ya know. Being a government official thing? So he's usually preoccupied with some mundane task that Gabriel's assigned him to complete. But when he DOES finally get off duty?...

...actually, he doesn't even rest much in the first place. Potemkin is so used to working and working that once he gets some time to wind down, he just... can't! He never feels rested, just disappointed with himself, disappointed that he isn't working to his best potential, or whatever shitty excuse he manages to come up with. It annoys him.

Ahem. Anyways. Potemkin usually defaults to plotting himself down on a park bench and watching the world pass by. He finds it deeply calming.

(This way, he can also keep an eye out on the civilians of Zepp. He's always subconsciously working, even when he's off duty...)

You'll often see Potemkin wandering around the streets and town squares. He enjoys walking around and taking in the beauty of the environment around him, seeing as how he's always too busy to do so normally. It's the inner artist in him that can't help but notice the little details in everything.

Speaking of, inspiration tends to strike him out of the blue, so Potemkin usually keeps his own sketchbook on him - well, when he's not on duty. Whether it's figure sketching, environmental studies or still life, Potemkin greatly enjoys the arts. (But we knew that already, didn't we?)

(He owns a couple extra-sturdy pencils personally ordered by Gabriel, and he treasures them with his life. They all have the Zepp insignia on the very end of the pencil.)

A lesser known form of art he likes to dabble in is literature! Potemkin doesn't tend to write much of his own, but he sure as hell loves reading. He prefers the classics, the old shit like Shakespeare, Don Quixote, bla bla bla... well actually, moreso whatever would be the equivalent of 'classic' in the 22nd century. He probably has reading glasses, by the way.

Potemkin sometimes, very rarely, has to take some time off to repair his inhibitors. Usually someone does it for him, but there's a couple times that he's had to get hands-on and do it himself. Whether it's a scratch on the surface or a full on dent - it never gets damaged beyond that point - he always takes the utmost care in keeping them in tip-top condition. Although, Potemkin does freak out a lot over the removal of his inhibitors, so he tries his best to speed up the repair process. It's... very, very stressful for him, actually.

Potemkin occasionally attempts cooking for himself... or at least tries his damn best to, since his big ass hands always get in the way. He's often found himself breaking a frying pan handle or two by accident, much to his chagrin. Because of this, he often goes out to eat instead; whether that be gourmet level food prepared by a private chef or the cheap pre-made food from the corner shop. What a shame. Give my boy some homemade soup or something man :(

Oh, also, when he actually manages to make his own food, it's a 50/50 between tasting like shit and tasting fucking SCRUMPTIOUS. That's all.

Training with Gabriel. That's all I have to say, really. Gabriel is his mentor, the only one close to Potemkin that can match (and even surpass) his strength. Maybe they'd even spar from time to time? For funsies. Enrichment :]

Potemkin also has a very strict workout routine, obviously because of the whole genetic mutation thing. He doesn't feel the need to do it often though.

I don't have anything coherent for this one but I need you to imagine Potemkin hanging out with Bridget or Dizzy for me. Picnic with Potemkin and Dizzy and Testament. Okay? Okay. Glad you understand.

That's all I got for now... huh! This was fun! Maybe I should properly open writing asks...? anyways hi potemkin i like potemkin can you tell i like potemkin.potemkin guolty gear potemkin po

[littjara-mirrorlake]

Daily Life in the Phyrexian Spheres (Facade to Furnace)

Because we've heard about praetor politics and planeswalker battles, but tragically little about life for the average Phyrexian. What does that look like? Fantasy worldbuilding thrives on the mundane, and this series hopes to expand on that starting from the outermost three layers.

The Facade is largely uninhabited by humanoid Phyrexians, though creatures like Zenith Chroniclers benefit from consistent exposure to the suns and thrive plentifully. Phyrexian civilians or even praetors' agents may use it as a neutral ground for traveling, though Mirrans tend to avoid it for the unpredictable landscape and hidden pitfalls with deep oil pools. Occasionally, religiously inclined Phyrexians will embark on pilgrimages to monuments of spiritual significance before they crumble again, and researchers may chart the movements of the suns.

Mirrex, too, is sparsely populated save for wanderers, outcasts, and the occasional Mirran Resistance holdout. Phyrexians seeking to escape their roles without open rebellion often flee here. Some secondary bases of the Phyrexian rebellion are located here for their proximity to the Furnace. Occasionally praetors will send their enforcers here to sniff out rebel strongholds, but efficacy is generally low and it's rarely considered worth it. Mirrex, after all, is viewed by most Phyrexian authorities as an inconsequential wasteland, all but drained dry of its resources. The few who hide in Mirrex are more than happy to encourage that assumption.

The Autonomous Furnace is the outermost population center and the main home of the Phyrexian rebellion. Misfit Phyrexians from all spheres are drawn here as a result. Mirran refugees also cluster here, taking advantage of red Phyrexians' avoidance of or even sympathy to their cause. The rampant policing and surveillance of the other spheres only rarely reaches here, and when it does, it is swiftly thwarted.

The culture and attitude of the Furnace varies wildly by sector, as furnace bosses control large areas and go largely unchecked by Urabrask or other superiors. Working conditions range from surprisingly decent with a good amount of self-directed time to back-breakingly brutal with constant oversight. Commoners live in rickety habitations at or near their work areas.

Many sectors are openly rebellious, and a few remain vehemently loyalist, but the vast majority of Phyrexians here aim only to do their own work and stay out of any and all drama. (The work done, and who receives its final products, depends on the local boss's allegiances.) "None of my business" is the presiding mantra here, and residents are reluctant to either snitch on passing Mirrans or aid them too directly. Some, though, are driven by forbidden curiosity about humanoid ways of life and may furtively peek at Mirrans while working.

Generally, a red Phyrexian civilian's circle of concern is small; they care primarily about the quality of their own work, their creative pursuits, and their immediate social relations. Politics is often shunned, save for that which immediately threatens their livelihoods and homes--which increasingly translates to anti-praetor, anti-authoritarian, or even anti-Phyrexia stances (though the latter is rarely voiced even among dissidents).

As the Furnace steps further and further out of line with Phyrexian dogma, underground, creative subcultures have begun to form amongst artisans and rebels. Primarily working with metal and sculpture, such artists create statements about Phyrexian life, political commentaries, and calls to revolution. The population as a whole often appears too busy or apathetic to pay these artisans much regard, but their influence runs deeper than it seems at first glance, with increasing numbers of people choosing to redefine what being Phyrexian means to them. Self-modification serves as a tantalizing promise of a future Phyrexia without enforced hierarchies or roles. Urabrask actively encourages and supplies the artists of the Furnace, particularly appreciating displays of destruction that spawn new beginnings.

[kitchatt]

okay so, there’s this episode of Danny phantom where Danny is split into his Fenton and Phantom halves and he has to like reunite himself

I would love to see an Akuma do something similar? Like it’d be difficult without an identity reveal, but I love the idea of Ladybug missing the mundane in Marinette’s life, and Marinette missing the challenge of being Ladybug. And Adrien missing the freedom of being Chat Noir, but also Chat Noir missing the relationships he has as Adrien. Plus it would allow for some fun interactions between the super and the civilian forms

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

The 24th One

TW: Blood, guns, attempted murder, fear, pain, stitches, painful wound cleaning, emotional breakdown, threats, slightly flirtatious drama queen villain, male whumpee

"Take it easy," a firm, but somehow saccharine voice called out from Civilian's living room.

Treading lightly and letting out an involuntary sharp gasp, her gaze flitted over to a figure mostly hidden by the shadows, like a charcoal drawing, the first rays of the sun peeking through the sheer, half-open curtain outlining his edges.

"Who are you?" she questioned, going back into her room to fetch a gun from the safe.

She tiptoed into the room, fingers tightening on the weapon as she flicked off the safety.

Civilian was met with a soft, amused chuckle. "I thought the spandex would be telling," the man she now identified as Villain replied, practically slouching in her armchair like he owned the place.

Her breathing went shallower, and her face paled. The all-too-happy figure in a dark, form-fitting suit with heavily mussed up light brown hair lounging around in her living room was one of the city's most dangerous criminals. And she was all alone with him and a gun she barely used. She wished to curse the fact that she'd chosen to live somewhere quiet, right on the outskirts, closer to her job. It didn't seem all too convenient now, did it?

"I'm gonna need you to put that down, love," the villain crooned, voice gentle and silky, but the hint of warning in it wasn't lost on her, much like a rose with thorns scattered across its stalk in a subtle manner, but still not invisible to the keen eye.

"And why should I do that?" she challenged, strengthening her death grip on the gun, defiance ablaze in her eyes. She wished she was as brave as she might have looked.

Except that didn't matter because the criminal seemed entirely amused with the situation, raising an eyebrow and letting out a soft laugh, greyish blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight with mirth. "Ah, as much as I admire the courage, I'm not in the mood for any games, so put the gun down and don't even think about calling the police. Not that it would save you anyway," he growled. The playfulness was still there in his demeanour, but he didn't make an effort to mask the threatening air of his tone.

"I hope you don't think I'm joking," he drawled lazily, pulling out a gun of his own and training it on Civilian's face.

"No," she stage-whispered, trying to ignore the nausea washing over her and the tightness in her chest. She mentally cursed herself for not shooting him the second she'd recognised him.

But killing people was not like the movies. It isn't something you walk away from, something a good night's sleep, if you could even afford such a luxury, would help you forget. Only truly terrible people, like the villain in her armchair, she presumed, could treat murder as a mundane part of their daily routine, like how one regards brushing their teeth.

But now, she didn't hold an inkling of power on the crime lord because while the civilian might hesitate, might back out completely, he wouldn't.

And besides, he had goddamn superpowers at his disposal; he could create wind. She would have to be extremely lucky to get a hit on him, and that was never something she was willing to gamble over when it came to her life.

She pried for any weaknesses, anything to use against the villain, but all she saw was a calm, almost relaxed person and a deadly weapon in his merciless grip.

"You know I really didn't want to do this. In all honesty, it's been a while since I've seen a girl this cute," he supplied, and if she didn’t know better, Civilian would've sworn he actually sounded disappointed, "but I don't like having to repeat myself," he concluded, a slight downturn of his lip being the only indication of any negative emotion he may have felt, with nothing behind those cold, steel-coloured eyes.

He rose up from the chair, and panic gripped the civilian. Both of them shot and missed, except the villain cried out, letting out a sharp gasp as he fell to the floor, holding onto the chair's leg like a lifeline. His gun was hurled across the room with a loud clattering noise, far away from his grip. A nasty laceration across his his abdomen spurted out blood.

She wondered how he'd gotten hurt if no bullets had hit him, and when the sunlight moved further into the room, she noticed that he'd popped some poorly executed stitches with his sudden movements. He tried to use his powers to pull his gun closer but to no avail. The pathetic, little breeze he'd created could barely move a leaf. Apparently, his injury had affected his power tremendously.

For a moment there, Villain looked terrified. Frantically groping around for his gun, looking two seconds away from howling out in agony as he moved as fast as his injured body could handle. There were bruises on his face, no doubt from a previous fight, and his eyes were wide as saucers, his breathing laboured. He was now at Civilian's mercy, and he knew it. This was his end, no way around it. For a man the heroes said claimed to 'dance with death', he seemed incredibly frightened of it. For the first time that night, he looked unbearably human.

She didn't understand why some sort of misguided empathy had led her to crouch down to his level and ask, "Can you walk?"

"What?" he choked out, snapping his head up sharply at her. And as though the fear from before had never been, he clenched his jaw, contracted the muscles in his face to pull it into something stone-hard and expressionless, trying his hardest to pull his form up into a semi-standing position, holding onto the coffee table with a white-knuckled grip. He tried again for his powers, but they failed him once more. Still, she could see the hint of wariness in his eyes as his gaze trailed over to her gun.

She got up and threw it aside. "Goddamn it," she snarled, drawing in a sharp breath and exhaling slowly. Well, if she died for being foolhardy, at least it would be a noble death. However, she'd made sure to keep both guns in her room. No more chances.

The villain's eyes widened again, not out of fear, but out of shock, clearly not being used to any displays of kindness. She walked over to him, letting him put his arm around her shoulders, struggling to shoulder his weight. He was incredibly tall, lean muscles outlined by his suit. The civilian finally managed to get him over to the couch. "I'm a med school student, final year," she supplied, and he let out an overly exaggerated sigh of relief.

She would've smirked, but she caught herself. Don't get too familiar. "Friendly reminder that I don't have any anaesthesia on hand right now."

He simply responded with a scoff, rolling his eyes at her.

"Alright tough guy, how would you rate your pain on a scale of one to ten?" she asked, looking for a needle, thread and some antiseptic.

"Seven," he answered coolly. It still surprised her how he managed to preserve his composure while wounded like this, no wincing or shivers. But she reminded herself again that he was not a normal person.

Civilian unzipped the suit down to his abdomen, and the villain gave her an unbearably cocky grin, somehow managing to do that with blood snaking down from the ugly laceration on his body.

"Don't flatter yourself," she scolded, and she didn't understand why she'd said that, as though they were old friends used to exchanges full of banter. The civilian wondered if she'd become so secluded and terribly lonely that human interaction with anyone seemed appealing to her.

"Don't flatter me yourself with those eyes, love- ahggg!" The velvety tone and the lazy, half-lidded gaze were swiftly replaced with a sharp hiss as the villain squeezed his eyes shut, contracting and relaxing his muscles rhythmically to distract himself from the agonising sensation of the alcohol seeping into his wound, leaving his skin feeling like it was on fire.

"Easy, it'll be over soon," Civilian soothed awkwardly, unable to conceal the pang of sympathy she felt for him right now.

"Don't coddle me," he snapped, clearly more concerned with his wounded ego above anything else. Even beneath the smug smiles and stoicism, he clearly loathed the vulnerability. He hadn't been afraid of dying, she realised; he was afraid of dying in such a humiliating state.

Tragically poetic how he had the words 'Pride is my sin' tattooed on his right arm in all capitals, dark ink and a stylish font.

The civilian got him through the stitches, years of intensive studying and practice overriding her nervousness, stopping her hands from shaking the way they desperately wished to. Villain barely shivered or flinched during the process, and while he raised a sceptical eyebrow at her when she offered him a glass of water and painkillers, he swallowed them readily.

She washed her hands and threw him an icepack for the swollen bruises.

"I'm going to get ready for bed, and you should be uh, fine here," she supplied, gesturing to the couch with one hand as she zipped up the criminal's suit with the other.

"I guess this means I owe you a favour," he stated bluntly, a thoughtful, enigmatic look in his steely eyes.

"What?"

"I'm a crime lord, but that doesn't mean I'm a complete bastard," he reasoned, "you didn't kill me even when you had the chance. It's only fair."

"Why would I need a favour from you of all people?" She raised an eyebrow at him, moving a strand of ash blonde, wavy hair away from her eyes.

"In this city, you'll never know when you might need a favour from a guy like me. Anyway, take care of yourself, love." He sounded genuinely concerned, and the civilian hated it, so she awkwardly nodded at him.

When she got into the shower, finally away from the villain, her emotions came crashing down on her shoulders like solid rock. Her brave face in front of the villain had been a facade. She was terrified, incredibly guilty, all of the worst outcomes tormenting her mind in flurries of terrible thoughts. Try as she might, she couldn't stop the tears from streaming down her face. There was no going back now.

Civilian may have preferred to stay awake after sunrise, but she was too exhausted. Or actually, she wished to escape her hellish thoughts, and this was the fastest and easiest way to free herself from her shackles.

We all dream of being kind, of offering help to those in need, yet in an imperfect world, acts of kindness come with an expensive price, one not everyone is willing to pay. This hour's enemy is the next hour's victim, today's proud and cruel are tomorrow's weak and defenceless. But the beautiful irony of life is that no matter how far one runs away from it, vulnerability is a destined fate, written in stone, an unavoidable risk. It is the one thing in a person's nature that marks a human being as such.

Almost forgot, tagging for comfort fics: @roblingoblin285

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @a-fucking-simp-00 @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @theangstyclown @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @shr3ya @crotchgoblin69 @wtfevenisausername @pendarling @avloki-pal

Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

[lyledebeast]

Out of Sight, Out of Mind: Kinds of Evil in The Patriot

My least controversial take on The Patriot, at least on Tumblr, is that Colonel Tavington is the best thing about the film. But what I find most interesting about Tavingtont is revealed by his juxtaposition with Benjamin Martin. This is why I do not share the view held by many that Tavington is the only good thing about the film. As I've argued elsewhere, I think it would be possible to make a very watchable film focused on Martin's internal conflict . . . if he actually had one. The Martin we do have, though, is interesting because despite Tavington obviously being a villain, and an excellent one at that, Martin's characterization is even more evil. I don't mean that his actions in the film are worse or even that his past actions are necessarily worse than Tavington's present ones. Rather, the role of Martin's actions in the tension between fiction and history that permeates the film is evil. This discussion of evil is heavily indebted to Simone Weil's famous line: "Imaginary evil is romantic and varied; real evil is gloomy, monotonous, barren, boring" (Gravity and Grace, 1947) As concerns The Patriot, I would say fictional evil is spectacular; historical evil is mundane.

One of the most memorable moments in the film is the Green Dragoons burning Pembroke Church with its congregation locked inside. From Jason Isaacs' gleefully sinister performance as he addresses the congregation from the nave on the back of his horse to the women trapped inside crying and screaming to the flames rising against the backdrop of the dusky sky, it is a feat of theatricality. Director Roland Emmerich had the church frame rebuilt after burning it down during the first day of shooting this scene to bet better lighting, and it is stunning. It is also a complete historical fabrication, which numerous historians have pointed out. While British officers in the South Carolina campaign were notorious for their destruction of private property, there is no record of any British officer burning civilians in a church there or in any other colony. What I think a lot of people overlook, though, is that the implausibility of this action is actually referenced in this scene.

When Tavington orders Captain Wilkins to burn the church, Wilkins' response is stunned silence during which his eyes scan Tavington's face for signs that he does not mean what he says. Then he tries to argue with him: "There's no honor is this." That Wilkins knows some of the people in the church may account in part for this hesitation, but he has been serving under Tavington since before the militia was formed, and he does not seem apprehensive when he tells the civilians they have been "requested" to gather in the church. We know the Green Dragoons have burned eight militiamen's homes, killing any who resisted, but John Billings' wife and child are shot outside their house, the boy with the wooden pistol his father had given him inches from his hand (I always wonder what the Patriotic Americans who defend cops for shooting Black boys who turn out to have been armed only with cell phones make of this scene). It's possible Wilkins thought the townspeople would be safe in the church because it would prevent them from offering similar resistance. Whatever the reasons for Wilkins' hesitation, "Burn the church" is the only order Tavington ever has to repeat. Later, he assures Wilkins that "The honor is found in the ends, not the means. This'll be forgotten." Chilling words, but he is not angry that Wilkins did not obey him right away. Even he understands that this order is a significant departure from those he's given before.

Now, let's compare this scene to an earlier and much less dramatic one. While Martin is recruiting at a tavern, one of his potential militiamen, a man he clearly already knows from prior experience, asks a question: "Any bounty?" The statement is so vague the audience would not know what he is referring to were it not for Martin's reply: "No scalp bounty this time, Rollins, but I'll pay for the gear of any British soldiers you kill." The exchange is so casual you could almost miss that they are talking about trafficking in human remains. There is no sense of horror, shame, or regret on the part of either; this practice is simply part of their shared experience. No one can describe the plot of the film without mentioning the burning of Pembroke Church, but I have never seen anyone address these lines. This scene may be unimportant to the story, but I would argue it is very important to the kind of man Martin is. He did not engage in this practice once to the shock of his men; they engaged in it together often enough that it holds no more significance to them than trading rabbit pelts.

This dehumanization of Martin's enemies is also on display in his Fort Wilderness confession, and again it is glossed over by the narrative. Martin gives Gabriel a laundry list of the things he and his men did to the French and Cherokees they captured, but it took numerous viewings for me to realize how differently they treated the two groups. The French fort received a pallet of heads along with two survivors to tell the tale; the Cherokee settlement received baskets of eyes, tongues, and fingers. Both are gruesome offerings from any perspective, but it is easier to identify an acquaintance by their head, by their face that is always visible, than by a single eye or finger or a tongue. The Cherokees--including women and children, on whose behalf we are invited to be so shocked and sickened when they are White--would have faced the torture of uncertainty on top of so much evidence of torture done to others. If they cannot recognize whose parts they have, they cannot recognize whose are missing either. Shoot that scene for your film, Roland, and then tell us how bad Ben Martin feels about it after the fact.

Of course, what is most horrifying about Martin's treatment of his enemies is that it is based on historical fact. There was no fortress called Fort Wilderness in South Carolina during the French and Indian War, and there is no record as far as I'm aware of Francis Marion--or Nathaniel Greene or other figures on whom Martin is based--sending baskets of body parts to the Cherokees. However, there is ample evidence that Patriot forces carried out what we would today call a genocide against Cherokee people during the American Revolution: killing civilians, destroying crops and towns, and selling survivors into slavery. We do not see any of this in The Patriot, but the sparse details we do get in Martin and his peers' accounts of their past is enough to evoke it. Whether a given genocide happens in America, Poland, or Rwanda, dehumanization is one of the first steps.

There is a considerable amount of historical leniency in the portrayals of both Banastre Tarleton and Francis Marion in this movie. Marion did create problems for Cornwallis's army, and Tarleton's American Legion was unable to stop him. From there, though, the portrayals develop in wildly different ways. If anything about Tavington is less historically accurate than the church burning, it is how much he is despised by his fellow Redcoats owing to his actions. As I've said before, this has the unintended effect of making the British seem more ethical than the Americans, and this is doubly recognizable when the film has to invent atrocities to make Tavington sufficiently evil compared to Martin. Still, the church burning is one of my favorite scenes, the climax of Tavington's theatre queen arc. I could end the film there and be nearly completely satisfied, and sometimes I have. Nothing about Martin's evil offers this kind of spectacle, barring the scene in the woods where he takes a literal blood-bath, and that is what is so chilling about it. It's not just that Martin and his brothers in arms see genocide as being no big deal; the narrative encourages the audience to think of it that way, if indeed the audience thinks of it at all. What's important, surely, is that Colonial Americans overcame the evils of imperialism, not that they enthusiastically engaged in those evils themselves.

[wxldhxrt]

starter for @sonsofjustice

Since the Symposium and the shit show with the heartsong, it was almost a rare sight to see the son of Pan - Greyson having become almost a shadow. If he was hidden away inside his cabin his pack of wolfs patrolled outside keeping anyone away, and if he happened to be among camp, he was rarely seen in human form.

If you didn't know what to look for, the sight of a mundane house cat or small fox might go completely missed, and when venturing deeper into the woods around camp who was to say each deer or wolf or bear might not be him as well.

"Shit." Greyson growled as he pulled the arrow from his shoulder. He could hardly blame the civilian for shooting him thinking he was a decent hunt while in the form of a stag. But it didn't make the wound hurt any less and had forced him to shift back to tend to it.