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nossbean · 2 years ago

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endless wips wherein i will restrain myself but a little: god please tell me about 2. LION HUSBAND and 4. TNAU no one asked for hello i'm asking for it 😘

💕💕💕 ! I talked about my dear Lion Husband here so let’s get into TNAU sequel no one asked for <3

TNAU is the acronym for Twelfth Night AU which is Alas, the frailty is to blame wherein Jaime and Cersei swap identities so Cersei can attend Jaime’s mens-only university to study politics and Jaime undertakes finishing Cersei’s degree at a women’s-only college in an otherwise men’s-only uni: this is all set in some quasi 1930/1940 Britain-ish version of Westeros. Ofc while there, it turns out “Cersei’s” roommate is Brienne and initial animosity turns to “oh fuck I think I fancy you but you think I'm my sister” in the vein of Twelfth Night, sorta. There’s a helping hand of the Amanda Bynes classic, She’s The Man, let’s be honest here!

This sequel takes place Later, as in, post the events of Alas, after they’ve sorted everything out. I can’t remember exactly what precipitated this fic — something Wasn't Great, and I wanted to write something unrelentingly kind, and I kept thinking about this bit from Alas:

In any case, the makeup [he’s put on Brienne] doesn’t work. He begrudges that it’s probably his fault, but it somehow looks like a lie on her face, a face made only for honesty. Jaime washes it off for her, he’s careful and gentle about it, and something about this makes Brienne tearful, and it breaks his heart

I’ve known why Brienne gets tearful here since writing it; even if Alas had become much more expansive, I’m not sure Brienne would have revealed what was going on there in any case. But while I was searching for something kind, I kept returning to that bit, to what was happening for Brienne, and what it meant in the context of Brienne-with-Jaime-who-was-then-“Cersei” and what it might mean later. So anyway, here’s the rough incomplete start of a fic that looks at that, set months, maybe as much as a year or more later (cw for recollection of child abuse):

'tis wonder that enwraps me thus

“Have you fallen asleep?”

With her eyes closed, Brienne only guesses where Jaime is by the dance of gentle light pressing on her lids and the mindful shifting of his weight across her hips, but Jaime’s face is near enough hers that his breath dissipates across her upper cheeks when he speaks. Demands, really.

Speaking is always the most awkward part. It oughtn’t be. Even when Jaime had been being Cersei, that first time they did this when Brienne didn’t know anything but that her deeply aggravating, incredibly unpredictable, inexplicably kind (in a sideways sort of a fashion) roommate was perhaps becoming her friend, when Jaime had done this — making himself comfortable, straddling her hips, curling over her with makeup and tools — his weight had been inexplicably soothing, just as it is now, and the various textures of makeup and application so gentle they mesmerised and mesmerise to the point of relaxation. Brienne had settled into it then, and she had been in a comfortable state now before Jaime’s question.

Pursing her lips in case the lippie isn’t set, Brienne murmurs, “No.”

Even to her own ears it lacks a convincing tenor for all that it’s true, and because regardless of how else he is metamorphosed, Jaime remains a pest, he singsongs, “Don’t believe you,” and twirls a makeup brush right under her nostrils.

Brienne doesn’t sneeze — congratulates herself — but she does wriggle and scrunch up her face, pressing back into Jaime’s pillow, and Jaime laughs as is his wont and Brienne fights a smile as is hers.

“I wasn’t sleeping,” she says, more earnest and less annoyed than she means. “You’re always so—”

“Charming, clever and rogue-ish?” Jaime intones, and Brienne finally opens her eyes.

Quick to assume, is what she’d intended to say, but Jaime’s diverted her, changed her sentence, and it’s instead become, Stunning, which she manages not to say. By the pleased smirk that spreads his lips, he reads it on her anyway. His hair is shorter now, though curls catch gold from the lamp and tickle along his shoulders. His eyes are thick-lined and mascaraed, and she thinks it’s blusher heightening the colour in his cheeks, making his eyes deeper, highlighting sharp cheekbones, but she’s only still learning all this and it doesn’t readily stick in her head. Mostly though he looks unburdened most days and wears it well. Lively and bright, just as puckish as ever, but free. Despite herself she sighs to look at him and her hand drifts up his thigh. Jaime’s grin turns soft in that way that still makes her stomach flip.

“I wasn’t sleeping,” she insists because, though he says it constantly, he’s right: she’s stubborn.

Jaime looks ceiling-ward in a well worn bid for patience she recognizes now as affection before dropping his face and giving a grandiose shrug to this. “If you insist.”

She scowls, he laughs, then ducks down to greet her up-tipped chin with a kiss.

“Hold on,” his fingers are light and careful then on her chin, gently keeping her in place. “Do this,” he says and opens his mouth a little, flattening his lips.

Brienne does as she’s told. Jaime draws his thumb across the skin under her lower lip and Brienne knows this action now: a little lipstick escaped outside bounds. Jaime’s face is so serious as he neatens his work but this, at least, is never as serious as all that. Brienne pokes her tongue out, catches the pad of his thumb just before it slides away. The taste is — mixed. The waxy stick of lippie dominates but she catches some of the tangy sweet of the orange she’d shared with him earlier, lingering or perhaps imagined. Her main prize is on his face anyway: a pleased uptick on the corner of his mouth, his eyes sparkling.

“I’m done anyway, take a look?”

This part mostly passes in a blur. Brienne asks questions, and she listens closely, but she can never quite wrap her mind around everything Jaime explains and describes. Mostly, for her, these moments are for her to watch as Jaime animates. He nearly always wears a smile but now the expression softens: less sharp, more at ease. The muscles around his lips loosen and that relaxation extends up to the corners of his eyes. Their green deepens. His voice goes quieter, a surprise to her, to discover this emotion in him lives close to his emotions around her, revealed in the slight rasp he takes on as he speaks ever more quickly, warming to his topic. It’s a different rasp, but near enough to what she hears in bed, or sotto voce in her ear when they’re in public and Jaime strives to create a beat where they two are alone, or when he greets her upon return to their room, Hello, chit. Jaime is beautiful always, but he opens as a butterfly from a moment of perfect stillness, like shaking off some sort of cold or rust or armour, and she knows it only happens with her, this spread of wings, luxuriant and warm and so vibrant she feels painted by some of his colour.

She feels badly that the details don’t make sense to her, and also sometimes gets the sense that he knows. That mostly he basks in her attention as though she is sunshine bright upon him on some leaf, keeping him warm in the knowledge that someone cares enough to listen and to take an interest.

And if she thinks on that for too long, her eyes will prickle and her throat will form a lump, and now is not the time.

He grins now at her, shining pride with no teeth, and she twists without thinking to tug him down into a kiss. He laughs against her mouth and she cherishes it and him and the way his hand comes under her jaw. It’s still strange kissing with lipstick — she knows and likes kissing him as he wears it but when she is the one who wears it…

A relief, when he murmurs, “Let’s get this off you,” and perhaps the primary reason she agrees in the first place.

She sets out the bits as Jaime fetches warm water. A ritual she yearns for, tries to learn from. She hasn’t told Jaime why, worries it will change his reasons or alter how he does it. And equally she knows that’s silly. If there’s one single thing she knows of Jaime, it’s that he takes things in stride, one more revelation won’t change that.

Brienne isn’t sure she has the words for it.

It had been so unexpected, that first time. He’d put the make up on her, and it had been a disappointment to see: she had thought perhaps it would make her appear more herself. Her face could be so harsh and Brienne never felt harsh. She’d imagined a softening, lushening, of her features. Jaime hadn’t managed that then, far from, and though he had recently, she found she didn’t mind overmuch any longer.

The shock had come when he washed her face.

She hadn’t in her life ever been handled so gently. Perhaps that isn’t fair: she can’t remember her mother but it is possible she had been kind. Her father hadn’t given her more than a supportive hand to her shoulder since she was seven years old, and her nanny… Roelle had not been kind. Roelle had not been gentle. Roelle had seemed only to have rough towels and rough cloths and a mean hold on Brienne’s chin as she scrubbed at her face: tears, snot, sweat. And Brienne, without realising, had learned that, too.

Roelle had not washed Brienne’s face in over a decade — Brienne had made sure of that. And yet until Jaime had held her chin in a light touch, wiped her cheeks slowly with care, Brienne hadn’t recognized that she was as harsh with herself as Roelle had been.

Jaime touches the tips of his fingers to her chin, exerts the barest amount of pressure to tip her chin up and then he smiles down at her. He hums, sometimes, as he does this. Sometimes he chats. Mostly though, he is quiet. He murmurs, “This is all right?” as he passes a soft cloth over her skin with gentle pressure. Tuts when she nods. She might try to answer but her voice deserts her, her heart takes up residence in her throat, and all she can do is sit and be cared for.

Endless WIPs meme

#writing meme #thank you for the ask 💙!#will i ever get the hang of present tense? REMAINS TO BE SEEN

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patchworkheartouija · 1 year ago

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M****************** Minion Marketplace: Fucked up robot things one of my exes made

(So I wrote up an OC thing, slime CEO fucker I’ve drawn before. Honestly I could have them be talking about anything and they’d still be fun to write. May make this minion marketplace thing a series, may also make this a comic. However currently I’m working on drawing up a big comic, it’s my first one ever and it seems to be going well.)

“So you’re thinking of becoming a super villain? Yeah you’re not fooling anybody “for the good of mankind” folks if you’re on my site you know what you’re getting into. My name is Delmonico, that’s right, Isabella Larcroft, don’t ware it out. Just kidding by the way, neither of those are my name, I’m not that stupid.

So anyway I’m known for being the biggest, (in every imaginable way) businessperson in the abyss, and recently I’ve opened up a new market! Evil minions! See I don’t have my own I just put a little me in a corpse and badabing badaboom it’s under my control and I have the one ally I can trust as a minion, me. But some of you are fancy bitches. Also some of you aren’t Abyssfolk. So I figured you’d want minions!

Now, you. Yes you. You’re dumb soft and fucking stupid, and you are feeling overwhelmed with CHOICES! Wonderful choices! So I’m creating this video series to go over the pros and cons of every minion to help YOU match with the evil minion you’ve always been dreaming of!

The first minion on my agenda, if you read the title, is the fucked up robot thing. I call em Skinwalkers, they aren’t, and that’s not what they’re official name is, but listen, I stole them from my ex after he fucked off and died, I get to pick what I name the bloody things.

Ok, so what are they? Skinwalkers are small, lightweight robots, with advanced AIs that mimic real people to a degree but with the ability to mute them if they get too fucking annoying and scream and cry everywhere. Those tears are oil, they stain.

Skinwalkers come in two varieties, big dick energy attack droids, and pathetic and useless service bots. I currently produce both.

BDEADs are PERFECT for your lone assassin, or even mass swarming foot soldiers. They never complain and if they do you can shut them up, they obey any order, they learn, they blend in as human, and they are ARMED. The cons of these is if you ask for them to bring you a nice cup of tea they will make the WORST cup you’ve ever fucking had oh my god like are you fucking stupid? Yeah they are GREAT at fighting and adapting to challenges but getting shit done? Pffft. Get a roomba to clean your house not one of these fucks.

Now, variety too, the roomba in question, aka the useless service bot/USB, Hah acronym is something that exists funny haha. Anyway. USBs are USELESS in a fight, give them a gun and they will somehow manage to shoot themselves. However for personal use as servants, god they’re… good? I dunno they cry a lot when you yell at them and I prefer my help having a spine. Good at the actual job though.

Both these droids are good, one for your wars, the other for your wardrobe, though I can see most of you would be leaning towards the latter, some of you appreciate the finer points of villainy. A villain should be sheik, attractive, sexy, me, not living in a gutter, ugly, bland, everyone else. Be me. Not you. Have a whole staff of minions to do boring shit for you.

Now, finer details. Will they rise up and betray you. For once I’m not lying when I say fuck no. These things HAVE to obey your every command! It’s almost funny. In fact, it is! It’s hilarious! My ex used to quality test each one he made. But that’s expensive and stupid so I just mass produce them and ship them right to your doorstep.

Skinwalkers are covered in a layer of synthetic… skin. Ok who am I fucking kidding here it’s fucking real. They also contain human souls in gem form as a purifier, the humans don’t do shit by the way they’re dead. No hauntings. I may have been crazy to hook up with my ex but not that crazy. Anyway they blend in with humans so good spies.

I could make some that blend in with other species. But you’d have to special order AND supply the cadaver.

Now insurance. You get none and you don’t complain.

Price? All your limbs, not an arm and a leg, all of them. If you had 10 of each.

Do I accept returns? No, also don’t be a pussy.

Can you beat them up? Sure. Go wild.

Do they have a remote to make them explode like a nuke? Yes. Will you be receiving it in your box? Add another 15k to the receipt and sure, otherwise I’m keeping it.

They’re too small. Small but deadly my good sir or madam or better.

Mx Salesperson this seems sketchy. No.

Ok. Buy my shit. Goodbye.”

#oc #monster oc #PH CEO Person #patchwork heart #ouija #ouijathicc #ouija bored #original content #original writing #original character #original work

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the-clockwork-three · 1 year ago

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tell me about these new blorbos you have reblogged very much just now. i am somewhat interested

AAAAAA thank you anon :D this is now The TGCF Zone and none of you can escape

Quick summary: these are Xie Lian and Hua Cheng from Heaven Official's Blessing, a 800k-word-long webnovel by MXTX

OKAY SO. Mò Xiāng Tóng Xiù (MXTX) is a Chinese author of webnovels. Specifically danmei or Chinese BL. She has written 3 novels, all of which have now been officially published in English, with the final volume of tgcf having come out last week. Her novels are, in order of writing: Scum Villains Self Saving System (SVSSS), Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation (MDZS), and Heaven Official's Blessing (TGCF), with the latter two's acronyms coming from their original chinese titles. I really like all three of these novels, although I've been on a svsss kick recently. Also I've been a tgcf fan for about a year now, just not actively blorbo-ing.

All three novels are cultivation novels. Cultivation is this idea in Asian literature and culture that comes from Taoism and myth. Basically if you meditate and train really hard in martial arts, you will gain magic powers, and eventually you could become immortal or a god. Svsss and mdzs focus on very powerful humans, but tgcf is about gods and ghosts.

Xie Lian (the guy in white in the fanart) is the crown prince of a country called Xianle. He is a good kid, and very dedicated to trying to "save the common people". A memorable thing he did was during a parade to celebrate the gods he deviated from his fight choreography (where he was playing the emperor of the gods) to save a child falling from a building. Symbolism!!! The child "falls" for him, wink wink, and Xie Lian is not afraid to to do the right thing even if that means going against what he's supposed to do etc etc.

When he was 17 years old he became a god of martial arts. But after a tragedy befalls Xianle, he gets kicked out of heaven for handling it... Poorly. He ascends for a second time as a god of misfortune but is kicked out again within half an hour.

800 years pass and he ascends for third time, this time as a god of scraps. Unluckiest man in the world, straight-up not having fun 95% of the time, but sweet and humble because the world has repeatedly crushed him to dust but it physically Cannot Kill Him so he has to cope somehow. This is where the novel starts.

Important motif: sword in one hand, flower in the other/the flower crowned martial god. While Xie Lian is very pretty and soft, he can fuck you up. Dude is obsessed with swords.

Hua Cheng is a king of the ghosts. He's mysterious. He once beat 33 gods in duels of their choice. He wears all red. He can make it rain blood. He can summon silver "wrath" butterflies. Everyone in heaven is a little scared of him. Luckiest guy in the world (except for the whole being dead thing).

But with Xie Lian he is gentle and kind. Hes always down to hang out. He doesn't mind that Xie Lian is the bottom of the pecking order of gods, he always treats him with respect. He dresSES AS A GROOM WHEN HE GOES TO PICK UP XIE LIAN WHO IS, FOR PLOT REASONS, DRESSED AS A BRIDE.

Pretty much everything about his backstory is a spoiler, ranging from "you're supposed to figure this out about 20% of the way through the book" to "literally the big twist at the end"

Whatever could be the connection between them ;) and surely one could not describe their relationship as.... Homosexual? Look they're kissing for totally normal heterosexual reasons. Xie Lian just needed the spiritual energy.

Anyways Xie Lian may be a god of literal rubbish, but Hua Cheng is forever his most devoted follower.

I love them, even if it's Been A While since I sat down and read the source material.

Tgcf also features such memorable side characters as: two guys I fucking hate, not because they're bad people but because they're annoying and boring. Rusalka and the Shepherd Girl if they were both genderfluid and gods. Cannibal ghost you can't kill because he's your cousin. The child of the body your cannibal-ghost-cousin is possessing. Even As A God This Poor Librarian Experiences Misogyny. Quan Yizhen.

The second season of the animated show is airing right, so... I guess now is as good a time to get into tgcf as ever :)

#is mise an crann #anon asks #asks

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embossross · 2 years ago

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I wanted to comment on the chapter 2 oh TDOTGITM but i can’t and idk why so I’m gonna leave my mark here.. lessgo.

FIRST OF ALL YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MANY TIMES I CHECKED YOUR ACCOUNT LIKE A CREEPY STALKER FOR AN UPDATE !

*coughs*

Well, I have to do a review. You have to know that I literally shook all the way through my reading, I would have been so nervous in Yasuko's place.

« When you brush your hair after a shower or laugh at a meme, you imagine his violet eyes are watching. » this. My very definition of having a huge crush on someone, to the point where that person becomes an obsession (and how can you not be obsessed with Haitani Rindou ?) We littaraly saw them everywhere with us, watching us, talking with us.

Poor Yasuko, certain that he can't possibly be a yakuza... I can't wait to find out what her reaction will be when she learns it (if she learns it, but I guess so).

The discussion that starts almost timidly, when both parties are sizing each other up and discovering each other, then being more confiant, I live for that.

The way Rin talks about Ran, and the memories he shares with her, I've said it before, but I would die for their interactions in the first chapter.

« Sometimes, I think every good thing I have is bound to collapse, and that I should just submit to it, so maybe I find that resistance inspiring » I MEAN, CAN I STEAL THAT TOO ???

« We aren't going to be friends. » oh the way I giggled like a schoolgirl, I think I even BLUSHED.

WHY DOESN'T THIS MAN ACTUALLY EXIST ?

I won't even talk about the part where he asks her to follow him into the storeroom and for what was next, that was just 🤌🏻 I'm wordless.

Now I'm going to calm down, stop stalking your Tumblr for at least a week (but I'll still follow your Hanma's story closely hihi)

Anyway, funny, i have Kitchen in my book-to-read list !

Thank you, thank you, for imagining this universe, this Rin, Yasuko. I hope i’m not too annoying and I'll see you at the next review !

wow so much to say, i think i need bullets lol

this is the first time i'm seeing an acronym for this story & i am horrified. why are my titles so long?!?! 😑 i chose the title as a couple literary references but god

i can't believe tumblr is being this difficult. it must be because of the mature tagging? because someone else mentioned issues with reblogging? idk but i am SOOOOOOO grateful that you're sharing your thoughts here instead because i love them 💖

when do i find the time / energy / inspiration to write the rin/ran tag team that i frankly deserve? bc you are so right, their interactions are everything!

SQUEALING at the call out to the resistance line! because that's like the theme work i'm doing. i'm a sucker for theme & the tension between rindou & reader on this subject is the inspiration behind this whole story!! you CAN use it however you like!

honestly just every one of your call outs - so grateful!!

do you want me to tag you in things so you don't have to stalk the blog? i'd be happy to. probably no update next week. my parents are in town lol

and kitchen is great! a wonderful rumination on grief and love. i have a quotes doc for this story and like half were pulled from kitchen & snow country. i'm gonna have to control myself!

#p.s. did you know yasuko's name from the kakucho fic?#or did i #accidentally share it somewhere else?#because it is her name!#but i never know if i should keep names under wraps for the reader #dyanmic lol #thank you so so so much again #this is an amazing review #🥰#asks

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tortilla-of-courage · 4 years ago

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Blog Intro/Master Post

Hi! I’m Tortilla (or Tort or whatever you wanna call me), any pronouns/gendered terms are fine but i default to she/her, local SkSw nerd

I periodically reply to a bunch of asks in a row, so... yeah, be aware lol.

i try to tag TWs if possible but if you ever need me to tag something just hit me up! (i usually do it in “#tw thing” format)

like/reblog spam are more than welcome! go wild, don’t be shy, you’re not annoying me at all /gen

i’m currently in college so i’m not posting as much but i usually try to setup a queue

i swear. a lot. i say the Fuck word Everywhere. i usually only tag “#swearing” on art posts, otherwise it’s free real estate

please don’t get overly NSFW in my asks or i’ll block you

i tag spoilers for ALL Zelda games, in case you don’t want to get something spoiled! format is “#game subtitle spoilers” (like, “#skyward sword spoilers”)

i also do post reacts of zelda games whenever i play! in that case i tag them as “#tortilla plays acronym” (ex. “#tortilla plays sshd”, “#tortilla plays oos”), so just assume those have spoilers AND will be spammy sometimes, so if you wanna block them go ahead. general tag for these will be "#tortilla plays" if you want a block all lmao

On Art Usage, you CAN use my art as:

profile pictures/headers (with a link to my blog if possible)

discord emojis/stickers

reaction pictures

for translation into other languages, please DM/send in an ask first!

please DON’T:

repost my art (with “repost” meaning saving the picture, then uploading it yourself somewhere, like say Pinterest, Twitter, Tumblr, etc - reblogs are NOT reposting, and those ARE encouraged)

LU Master Post (oh my god. the links all broke. i need to fix this. eventually. sorry.)

Zelda Master Post (needs updating)

Fast Food AU Master Post (needs updating)

For navigation tags and more info check the read more! <3

Other blogs:

main: @amamillalatortilla

fast food AU (WIP): @tortilla-of-wisdom

theories/language analysis/translations (WIP): @tortilla-of-power

AO3 Account: TortillaKun

normal art account: @tortillakun

english isn't my native language (it's spanish), so if i ever make a mistake I'm sorry in advance. i dont really need you to point it out unless it's like smth bad lmao

About asks/DMs: PLEASE don’t send in asks with overly NSFW content (xILF jokes and similar stuff are okay, but nothing explicit). I am 23 but i have no interest in getting that kind of message, fandom related or not, from anyone. Also please don’t objectify me in any form??? Overall don’t be an asshole. If you do that stuff I won’t hesitate to block you.

related but id prefer if you dont send me several paragraphs of fanfiction. if you really want me to read smth you can just post it somewhere and let me know where it is and I'll probably check it out

as for tags, here’s the main ones i use for original content besides fandom-related ones:

#tortilla rambles: just me saying whatever nonsense in a text post

#tortilla thinks: theory posts, or just pointing out coincidences between the games

#tortilla asks: asks i reply to

#tortilla posts: most of my original posts (art / theories / writing / etc), but lately i’ve been using it to tag stuff that doesn’t fit the art/writing tags

#tortilla reblogs: for, well, reblogs. in case you want to block that since i sometimes reblog a lot of stuff.

#tortilla writes: my writing (don’t write much but.. it happens sometimes lol)

#tortilla arts: all my art (will mostly be mspaint doodles but there might be something nicer thrown in every once and then)

#tortilla queue: queue tag

#Zelda art: my Zelda art (no AUs - besides maybe my own every once in a while)

#linked universe art: my Linked Universe AU art

All purely Zelda content (both original and reblogged) will be tagged #legend of zelda, with Zelda games tagged by their subtitles (”#Skyward Sword”, etc). The spoiler tag for each game is the title followed by Spoilers (”#Skyward Sword Spoilers”). will use #tortilla’s zelda tag for asks to not clog the main tags

All Linked Universe stuff (both original and reblogged) will be tagged #linked universe. Will use #tortilla’s lu tag when it comes to asks relating to LU, to try and not flood the actual tag with all that

LU stuff won’t be tagged with the main games’ tags, to keep stuff separated, unless under very specific circumstances (mostly in reblogs). if any of my original posts do mix the two it was probably an oversight, as i try not to do it, both at request of LU’s author and to respect the Zelda fandom’s space as a whole. The one exception to this might be my post about the Hylian Written Language, where I only included LU at the end for a brief conclussion regarding the entire thing

also, very rarely i’ll reblog something that’s not Zelda, like, at all. but if I do it’s almost 100% because it reminded me of a Zelda/LU character. anyways, if you dont wanna see those, i’ll tag them as #not zelda

feel free to @ me in anything! you can also send in asks or a submission, but please note that currently i have almost 200 asks, so it might take me a while to reply, or i might not in the long run if i end up deleting them if i feel it’s too late to reply to them. sometimes i overlook stuff since i can get a bunch of asks a day, so if you think it’s of utmost importance i look at it right that moment, feel free to send in another ask asking about it

Additional tags you might wanna check out/block/silence/etc:

#tortilla cries over animals: asks with pics of people’s pets - not sure how they started but they still come every once in a while, so if you wanna block it (or browse it) here it is. will usually be tagged along “#animals” and the respective animal in the pictures

#loftwingsona time: the craze about what SkSw Link would name his loftwing that slowly evolved into people making loftwingsonas. yeah oddly specific

#the linkceler saga: what the title says. look in it at your own risk

#tortilla plushie world: people shared plushies with me so?? yeah

#translation shenanigans: me and other people talking about translation differences in SkSw (at the moment, might cover other games later on)

#fav tag: very recent, but i’ll use it for posts that i really want to go see again from time to time c:

#tortilla plays sshd, #tortilla plays oos: my live-react posts about stuff that happens while i play the games. will add more as i play them. they WILL have spoilers so be aware

#tortilla rambles #intro post because i had forgotten about making one ahah #if this shows up in any of the stuff i mentioned's searches i'll scream #anyways welcome to my messy blog where i cry over sky link and draw #i'll probably come back to this and edit it every once in a while just as a heads up #tortilla posts #intro post #edit: 7/31

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notagamersdey · 3 years ago

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The Dream

Painting by: Henri Rousseau

Photo (2021) and Story By Tyler D. Ortiz

Rating: T

Word Count: 2k~

Warnings: bad language, panic attacks

A/N: So this story is inspired by the Pedro Pascal episode of the podcast Talk Art (31:14-34:15). Go check that out if you want to hear some fun stories by the hosts and pp.

Summary: Matias, after losing his chance to act in a popular TV show, is taken to the Museum of Modern Art by his sister where he realizes he has nothing to lose.

~~~

Today, I’m supposed to meet my sister Lyanna here at East Village Pizza. She said it was a special treat for getting my first “big” role on Law & Order. When I told her the news, she had jumped up for joy, squealing my ear off. It wasn’t a big deal, just another job for the bills, but she was adamant that this job was a life changer. She’s says that about every job.

I came to the pizza parlor early, grabbing my favorite seat in front of the window. We normally sat here when we came because it gave us the perfect view of cold, angry New Yorkers. I had ordered our pizza, waiting for her to arrive when my phone starts to buzz.

I open it up and put it against my ear, holding it with my shoulder, “This is Matias.”

“Matias, I'm sorry to tell you…” Fuck, “…but we’ve decided to go in a different direction...” It’s the fucking casting director, droning on, saying those same fucking words, “You have wonderful talent.,” “You didn’t fit the director's vision.,” etcetera. Etcetera. ETCETERA. It's all movie-talk for “You weren't good enough.”

Grabbing the scruff behind my neck, I slammed my phone shut and stuffing it into my jacket pocket. What the hell was I going to do now? Three hundred bucks – gone in an instant.

“Here’s your order, Sir,” A waiter places the small pizza in front of me, and you know, today was one of the rare days I was able to scrounge enough money to afford the luxury of a decent slice of pizza, and now I can’t even enjoy it.

“God dammit,” It’s moments like these when memories of my father came hit me like a freight train. He used to berate me about goals and aspirations, telling me, “It’s never going to happen, Matias,” and “It’s not a job. You won’t get anywhere with that.” In high school, I used to constantly fight with him, telling him my dreams were achievable. That I would succeed as an actor. He would laugh in my face; tell me they were unobtainable. I mean... Maybe he was right.

Now, I’m living in one of the most expensive cities with over 300,000 dollars in debt, 40 bucks to my name, and a dead-beat waiter job at Planet Hollywood that barely pays for food let alone the bills. I have no back-up plan, no emergency fund. I just had my bachelor's degree in acting, which won't pay for shit.

I shake my head. My neck and back start to ache, an oncoming migraine sitting on my temples.

Matias, the fuck do you want to do that for?

Matias, you’re not good enough.

Matias, you will always be alone.

I stand to leave, throwing the untouched pizza in the trash on my way out the door. The cold winter air bites at my nose when I step outside. I pull my scarf up closer to my neck and make my way down East 9th Street.

Leaving the restaurant doesn’t help. Hopelessness rushes over me like a tsunami. The texture of the wool sweater underneath my jacket scratched annoyingly at the exposed skin on my wrists. It’s a cold wintery day but I feel incredibly hot underneath the layers. A nervous sweat builds underneath my beanie. Everyone’s staring, I know it. They know I've failed yet again. They know I’m just a naïve child.

His voice repeats in my head like a tornado siren, yelling, screaming at me, “You will not survive.”

You will not make an income.

You will not have healthcare.

You are setting yourself up for failure.

…You will die- My phone starts to buzz again. I really want to fucking ignore it but if it’s Lyanna, she’d have every cop in the city on my ass within the hour.

“Hey.” I cough, trying to clear my throat. Act normal.

“Mat! I’m sorry I’m late, I’m-” She sounds like she’s running.

“Actually, Sis, I left…” I stop in the middle of the pavement, getting shoved and cursed at by the impetuous crowd around me.

“What? Why?” Her concerned voice seeps through the phone. Suddenly, heat shoots up my back. She’s going to be upset.

I move off to the side, leaning up against a wall of graffiti, “I didn’t get the job after all.”

I hear her let out a breath, “Different direction?” She asks, knowingly.

I nod, “Yea... said I could act the part, but I didn’t fit the type of Latino they were going for... whatever the hell that means.” I spit out, bitterly.

“Means they’re bigoted.” I can hear the annoyed twinge in her voice.

“Yea... probably...” Lyanna stays quiet. “Hey... So, I’m not really up for doing anything... Can we just go home?”

“Umm...” She hums, clicking her tongue, “No.”

“Lyanna...” Please.

“No, no, I’m serious, I know you. Once you get home you're going to sulk in your room for days. Let's bypass the self-pity and go have fun. Take your mind off it.”

I’m silent for a moment, feeling my anxiety subside as I focus on her words, “What do I get if your wrong?”

“A fresh slice of cheese pizza to replace the one you probably threw away...” She laughs, “Now, how ‘bout MoMA?”

“Sure… MoMA sounds good.”

I’ve always found it difficult to find the Museum of Modern Art. The only way anyone would be able to tell where this museum was is with the three bright red banners hanging off the side of the building holding their acronym in an even darker shade of red. This was basically every building in New York so, of course, I pass right by it. Lyanna managed to catch me before I got too far. She runs up to me and immediately linked her arm into mine.

“Hey stranger, took you long enough.” She greats, warmly.

“You know how it is.”

“Oh common, where’s that smile? We are celebrating!” She starts to pull me into the museum, warm air painting my face when she opens one of the doors.

“Celebrating a failure.”

“Celebrating life.”

We walk in and are bombarded with hordes of people packed in front of every corner of the room. It's as if every single person visiting New York had decided that they would all collectively visit the museum on this specific day. Maybe they were having an event. People of all shapes and sizes were packed in front of each art piece, creating a thick barrier preventing outsiders from looking in on their beauty. In the corner of the room is a balloon man handing out replicas of Jeff Koon’s Balloon Dog to children. I clench my teeth at the disgusting sound of rubber and latex rubbing together. I feel a hot prickling in my neck at the sight of a child squeezing the neck of their bright metallic green Balloon Dog, another child on the edge of crying as she violently hit her blue Balloon Dog onto her stroller seat.

Someone bumps into me. I feel myself tense up. Don’t touch me. I take my arms away from Lyanna, hiding them in my pockets. Lyanna looks up at me, “Hey, are you okay?”

Fuck no,“Yes.”

“You sure? You seem tense,” she raises her eyebrow.

“No. No... I'm good... There’s just.” Act normal, “A lot of people.”

“Well, if you’re sure...” Everyone is breathing my air - of course I’m not sure. “You wanna start off this way then make our way around?” she asks pointing to her left. I nod.

She guides me to the fifth floor, to our first painting. Shes pushing through the crowds so we could get a closer look. It’s a dark painting with a black, shadowy silhouette of an elephant trudging on an upwards incline. The air around him grey, as if he was pushing through a sandstorm. He is struggling to get to wherever he was headed. I’m suddenly pushed closer to the struggling elephant. Lyanna snaps at someone behind me. A balloon pop’s. A child's scream echo around the room. The dark clouds surrounding the elephant fill my edge of my vision as my eyes zoom into the lonely elephant. My throat begins to close. My heart hurts. A voice in my head whispers “You’re dying. You’re dying.” in a joyous chant. I try to breathe but nothing can get through. My hands prickle. My chest stutters. The elephant fades. Only the shadowing and silhouettes of people fill my vision. I still feel the pain in my throat, as I try to breath in air.

Lyanna speaks but her voice is muffled. The darkness that had overtaken my vision slowly fades away. I sit up straight, feeling the soft leather beneath me, becoming aware of my surroundings. We are in different exhibit. It's completely empty. I shift, feeling the leather bench beneath my finger tips. The silence is soothing.

“You feeling better?” Lyanna sits next to me with a cup of water in her hands, causing the leather beneath creaked.

I close my eyes. God. She grabs at my hand but I pull away. Please go away. I can feel her eyes burning into my soul. It’s unbearable. I turn away from her. Please go away. She grips at the cup tightly. The crunch of the cup is excruciating.

“Matias.” She attempts to grab my hand again. I see it coming from a mile away. Like in slow motion. The closer she got, the more I dreaded the contact.

“Fuck! Stop! Can you please just give me a God damn minute?” I stand up trying to get away.

“What is happening?” She’s mad. You’ve ruined everything.

“I don’t want to be fucking touched, Lyanna. Just stop. Stop everything. Leave me alone.” I’m staring at the floor. If I look at her, I’m going to lose it. Shameful. Embarrassing.

“I’m only trying to help.” You’re an embarrassment.

“You’re not!” She’s going to never going to forgive you.

“Okay…” She stands slowly, “Let’s relax for a moment… I’ll be back in a few minutes… Just text me if you need anything.” I don’t say anything while she walks away, the sound of her shoes fading. I sit back down onto the chair, head in my hands.

I take a few deep breaths, focusing on the ground beneath me. The floor is smooth, my hair is soft and messy, the pressure of my elbows on my knees grow. My eyes leave the floor only to be met with a flood of green. A naked woman waking up on a large red couch in the middle of a jungle. Light green paints the leaves towards the bottom of the canvas and becomes darker going up towards the sky. The bright flowers burst up in different directions as the moon peaks through the canopy. The woman is surrounded by hidden animals. I spot a few hidden tigers, a white bird on the top left, a person hidden in the shadows playing an instrument, a few monkeys in the trees and an elephant beyond the trees staring back at me. It was a paradise. So sure of herself, she sits there facing away from me as if she has nothing to lose. She sits unafraid of the world around her.

I can’t relate. I’ll never get my chance. I’ll never not be afraid. I continue to stare at her, trying to understand what she may have done differently. Maybe she kept going. Maybe she stopped caring. Or maybe someone gave her a chance. Whatever she did must’ve worked because she continues to sit as if she has nothing left to lose –

“Henri Rousseau’s The Dream,” I jump. Lyanna stands on my right, staring at the painting with a hand on her hip, “Most people hate this painting.”

“I don’t see why…”

“Eh… Everybody has their own opinions…” She approaches cautiously, “Do you feel any better?”

I nod. “S-sorry,” I look back to the painting, “I just needed a moment to myself.”

“Don’t apologize… I should’ve… I don’t know, been more mindful, I guess.” She sits down next to me. I can see her hesitate before she puts a hand on my shoulder, “Are you going to be okay?”

I don’t answer at first. I look back at the painting. The Dream she called it. Maybe, this was the woman’s dream. Maybe she is like me. Our chances will arise. She strives towards her peace with nature around her as I strive for success in the asphalt jungle. Just as she has nothing left to lose, I, too, have nothing to lose. We are the same.

“Yea… I think I will be.”

~~~

Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you think! Let me know if I missed a tag or a warning.

Masterlist || Taglist Form || Youtube || Redbubble

Till Next Time!

-Dey

#my writing #short story #short fiction #inspiration #talk art #henri rousseau #The Dream #Pedro Pascal #tw panic attack #Museum of Modern Art #I could taste the pizza #new york #original writing #original story #original fiction

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zwiezraczek · 5 years ago

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Criminal - Chapter 1

Billy (viliain) x Female reader (cop)

Chapter 1/Prologue: He is a hustler, he's not good at all CHAPTER 2

SUMMARY: You always wanted to become a police officer. And you became one of them, brilliantly and they offered you your first case. “The Ghosts” case. The case of fleeting people and one sneaky bastard parkouring around the town to annoy you. You swore to yourself to catch him them.

WORDS: 1.1k

NOTE: I want to thank 🐼 Nonnie for this great idea! We’re going for a series guys! I hope you’ll enjoy it!

TAGLIST: (leave a comment to be a part of it! )

~~~~

And around you, the world burned. And you started to burn with it. And them.

You still could remember when your captain gave you your first mission, your first solo case which – he had warned you – would be a long one. And you, poor young child, thought you would solve it quickly. A group small group of terrorists? Nothing complicated to dismantle, you said as your captain smirked because he knew what he was giving to you. You still couldn't grasp the intention behind him giving you this particular case. Was he trying to disgust you from your work or to bring the best out of you? You couldn't tell. And, everything seemed so easy with this group: you found out how many they were, where they would strike and on which day and you settled the trap. And they trapped you, you and your novice brain.

As you gathered a whole anti-terrorist unit behind the Central Bank with a smile, you entered the closed building at night hoping that they would be there. But they weren't. “Surprise dear policemen – and you, the one who fell right into our trap – we're not here!” With rage burning in your eyes, you touched with your gloved hands the wall on which somebody had written these words, especially for you. To humiliate you. And they had succeeded. You hated them, and swore to yourself that you would catch them all. One after the other.

You spent a few years trying to catch them all, as the head leading this case without any success. These sneaky bastards. And you couldn't afford being just on that case, you still had to work on other ones so you would feel useful. You closed your eyes as you tried to focus the best you could on this burglar case in front of you, looking at the files one of your colleagues gathered for you and trying to find some interesting data on your screen. It was all useless. You couldn't focus on the smallest case at all because of them. Because of “The Ghosts”.

You called them “The Ghosts” – because it was your case first and foremost – but the others decided that it was just “Case 6 Underground” – because they were an underground unit, working for God knew who and from what you all had gathered they were six – even if you were always arguing that they were “The Ghosts”. From what you had gathered, they were very well organized and communicating only through electronic devices before striking in a particular spot, for no apparent reason. A reason you would find out after their little mission, often a “good” reason. And you worked hard on predicting their next moves but they always managed to lose you in their maze of information – you and your co-workers – which annoyed you a lot – and made your colleagues laugh a bit when you were swearing in front of your desk in the open space. They all had code names, from One to Seven – because apparently they had lost one of them during a mission, somewhere, he was the driver and the youngest one, you even shed a tear when you heard about it – and you knew all of them by heart and could talk about them for hours.

One was the Mastermind, Two the Clever one, Three the Reckless Prick, Four – your personal favorite as your colleagues used to joke after you met him – the Skywalker, Five the Doctor, former Six the Driver and Seven – the newest addition to this receipt – the Sniper. All of them were your Ghosts. Why? Because they had decided to hide from you, because you could never see them all and you couldn't find any tangible information about them. You lied, you had half-succeeded once. With the help of one of your colleagues you managed to infiltrate their conversation, and you could feel your eyes sparkling as the messages popped in front of you, until Three – their big informatics brain – noticed you and kicked you out with a kissing emoji calling you a “snitch” and Four putting a laughing emoji before you were banned from their conversation. You still remembered the rage consuming you, as you clenched your fists on the desk. You hated this job as much as you loved it. For sure.

“Anything new,” you heard above your shoulder and turned back to find Jake looking at your screen with a great attention. No moron, nothing as you can see, you thought as your colleague seemed to look at your screen.

“You know, these people just stole a box full of important documents so well, there is not much to look at,” you replied sarcastically. You knew he wasn't talking about the case you were working on at the very moment, but about your own personal case.

“About the C6U,” he precised and you fluttered your eyelashes. They dared. He dared.

“Jake, for the love of God, don't make acronyms out of the names you all give to my case,” you complained, rolling your eyes before turning to face him on your chair.

“But isn't that cool,” he claimed with a smile. No, it's not Jake. It's absolutely uncool. He had probably read your thoughts because his smile faded right away. “Whatever, if you want I can take this burglar case so you can work on your C6... 'Ghosts',” he air quoted.

“Really,” you snapped out of excitement and you could feel your eyes sparkle. You only waited for this, to handle these proofs, files and testimonies to somebody else so you could try to gather more information about them – with more success this time.

“I wouldn't offer you that otherwise, besides it will keep me busy because I have nothing to do right now, I mean... Paperwork, you know.”

“Yeah, paperwork,” you repeated remembering your first year at the station when your captain gave you some paperwork to do and how you thought about quitting your job a countless number of times during that year. But it was enough thinking, so you turned back to take the files you had piled up on your desk and handled them to Jake. “You're saving my sanity with this burglar case, I owe you one Jake!”

“No problem y/n,” he said.

“I'm sending you the things I have gathered on my computer right away!”

And you were back on tracks again.

#ben hardy #four x reader #four/billy #four!ben #six underground ben hardy #six underground #6 underground ben hardy #6 underground #police au

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benisasoftboi · 4 years ago

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Unorganised thoughts on Trails in the Sky: First Chapter:

Going to keep this as spoiler free as possible because I want you to play this game if you haven’t

I’m well aware that I’m very late to the party here, but... Trails in the Sky is very good, everyone

It had been on my Steam list for like six years. My friend reminded me about the summer sales, and a combination of the price having dropped and good reviews convinced me to finally pick it up. And I am so glad I did

Calling it ‘FC’ from here on out because the title is long, and I can’t exactly uses the acronym that Trails in the Sky shortens to, can I?

So I love JRPGs. I almost exclusively play JRPGs. And FC, to me, is kind of the JRPG. It does basically everything that is expected of the genre, but it doesn’t feel generic because it does all of those things very, very well

Gameplay! The gameplay is fun, a good mix of allowing for strategy and tactics without being massively difficult. I really appreciate that - I don’t play JRPGs because I’m good at video games, but I also don’t like just mindless hitting things all that much

There are one or two slight annoyances with the combat system (if you’re fighting a lot of enemies you’ll be waiting forever for them all to take their turns, some of the animations are a little slow, when you’re in the field enemies touching anyone in your party can start a battle, which means you have to be extra careful where you step when you have a full party), but none of them are game ruining

And there are no random encounters! Yay! I hate random encounters!

Story! FC’s story isn’t the most unique JRPG story out there, but there’s lots of little touches I greatly appreciated

For one, (trying to work out how to say this without spoilers) - I really liked the main antagonist’s motivations. So very often it’s ‘destroy the world’ or ‘become God King of the universe’ or something. This person had a very understandable and honestly kind of reasonable motivation - like, you could really see how someone would think it was a good idea, the problem wasn’t that they were evil, it was that they either hadn’t considered or didn’t care about the negative consequences it could have on the average citizen.

Also, the conflicts don’t just stem from like, tangible nefarious forces - you also see how it results from things like untreated PTSD, or industrialisation, or societal sexism. Which is more compelling than ‘everything bad in the world is the result of the evil dragon god, kill it’

There’s also really good foreshadowing. During a certain scene at the end of the game, I actually gasped when I realised the connection it had with a certain character’s second S-Break. I will say no more, but people who’ve played this know what I’m talking about

Characters! FC has great characters

Estelle: I like Estelle. Firstly, it’s pretty rare for a JRPG to have a female protagonist (hell, it’s relatively rare to even be given the option to play as a girl!), so that was very cool. She has good character growth over the course of the game, and I really enjoy that - she starts out very hyper and optimistic, and she never loses that, but gets better about recognising the right times and places for it. It’s a pretty risky move to give the protagonist of a long game a personality (you have to spend a lot of time with them. Silent player avatars are easier and don’t run the risk of the player not liking them), but with Estelle, it pays off

Joshua: Joshua is very well designed. He’s the game’s real mystery - the whole time, we want to keep playing so we can find out what’s up with him. Appearance-wise he’s unique among the rest of the cast without coming across as ‘my first OC’, he has a great rapport with Estelle and I like him in his own right - I want good things for Joshua.

Joshua and Estelle are just a great duo in general. I found the romance subplot... weird, at first, but I came around. I want these kids to be happy, damn it!

Schera: Not my favourite, but good at what she needs to be. My least favourite to use in combat. I like her mentor relationship with Estelle and Joshua, and I also like her design

Olivier: MY BOY. I love him. He’s so great, I love ‘weirdo’ characters and he’s great example of one. I love his design, I love using him in combat, I love his interactions with other characters - Olivier is just the best and I want to be friends with him irl.

(It’s also pretty neat that he’s undeniably canonically biseuxal - that’s a rarity!)

Kloe: She’s fine. Not a huge fan (probably didn’t help her that she joins the party after MY BOY leaves), but I definitely don’t dislike her. She just feels a little generic, is all, and I predicted the ‘twist’ with her a mile off. I love using her in combat, though, and I really like her design

Tita: Tita is cute, and she’s a little girl with a big gun, which is always great, if silly. How old is she meant to be, though???

Agate: I 100% thought that I wasn’t going to like Agate. He comes in with that Arrogant Asshole Shounen Protagonist vibe and I hate that. But then you get to know him, and you realise that his earlier attitude was actually pretty understandable, and by the end he was actually one of my favourites

Zin: Eh. Like Kloe, I don’t hate him, but there’s just kind of nothing that draws me in with Zin. I think he joins too late, and doesn’t have enough time to really build up an interesting rapport with anyone. I liked his interactions with Olivier, though, and he’s pretty great to use - I have a massive bias for defensive characters

Maybe I’ll feel differently about some or all of them when I’ve played the second game - we shall see...

There’s also a tonne of major NPCs, pretty much all of whom I liked (except maybe Dorothy - I don’t hate her, but she kind of got old after a while. I appreciate that Estelle found her equally annoying)

But the other thing that’s really worth mentioning is the minor, faceless NPCs. Because they all have names and little stories and lives - like, when you’re in the city of Ruan, there’s a maintenance worker named Clive who’s offered a prestigious factory job. He turns it down to look after his brother Todd, which upsets Todd because he doesn’t want to hold Clive back. Then when you move on to the city of Zeiss, you can visit the factory and learn that they’re now struggling to find someone else. Eventually they hire a woman names Louise, who ends up being an excellent choice - but if you visit her home, you find out she has a strained relationship with her own sibling

And none of this matters to the plot at all! You can miss this entirely, but the fact that it (and hundreds of little stories like it) are there makes the world feel so alive. It’s full of people living their own lives that don’t revolve around what your team is doing. It feels real.

We’re told that Estelle and Joshua have to travel the world by foot so that they really understand what it is they’re tasked with protecting. It took me way too long to realise that it’s also so that the player understands, too

So many JRPGs ask you to save the world. FC is special because it actually feels like there’s a world to save

Now I’m going to go play the second game and hope they keep that up!

#trails in the sky #trails series #trails in the sky: first chapter #trails in the sky fc

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pavlikovskaya · 5 years ago

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the secret history live blogged

forever mad that i got spoilered so much on this book.

anyway hello! and welcome to this … shit fest of the secret history by donna tartt aka the biggest letdown of my life

enjoy! i didn’t

ok whaatttt the fuck. he was walked over?? he was packed and squished under ice?? WHAT DID THIS BUNNY GUY DO TO MAKE Y’ALL SO MAD????? istg what the fuck. cruel cruel fate

four against one, i knew y’all were assholes. you sounded like assholes before i even knew what your names were.

i have to say, i’m not a very big fan on the beginning: hello, my name is richard, i am 28, this is my story. makes it sound like he’s in an AA meeting, but i’ll let this one slide.

years at home dispensable like a plastic cup? fictional history and upbringing tales? [*clears throat in relatable*]

my father was mean, my house ugly, my mum didn’t give me attention, must kill someone to cope and serve the aesthetic™ of rejected, unloved child, brooding and mad at the world. got it.

if richard, plain and poor is the one who kills the rich asshole bc he’s a rich asshole, i might relate to him more than i thought.

[*slams book shut*] okay. okay. am i gonna have to google every other phrase in this godforsaken history book or is donna gonna go easy on my ass?

sounds like a university i would love to go to. oh, pardon me, CoLlEgE.

wait, they’d pay him back for the plane if he GOT IN??? and if he didn’t well then what, soz dude, tough luck , such is life, see ya never? makes a lot of sense. should pay him back regardless imo but hey, i had to pay £50 six times to audition at universities who, all six times, rejected me, so.

three days on a bus and arrival at six in the morning? i cannot fathom a worse scenario.

this prof conducts his selection on a personal level rather than on an academic one, said with a note of sarcasm? is he … you know … ?

ahhhh these saucy saucy tea spilling french people, gotta love em. ‘listen, i know i’ve only met you three minutes ago, but i’m bout to spill some serious tea which i must ask you to keep to yourself and never mention for i have some formidable enemies in the literature division, yes, my very own department, but we all actually love each other. you know, in a very shakespearian ‘i shall murder you at the end of the play but for now, let’s make sweet love under the stars as a witch friend of mine who will later murder you watches’ way. all very platonic. but don’t say a word of it.’

who do you think was with morrow when richard came to see him in the lyceum and what were they talking about? GODDAMN IT, this french bastard put me in a gossipy mood.

bunny — short for edmund…….

god, i love a redhead.

richard and me being whipped by francis and his long, flapping black coats, love to see it.

‘pseudo-intellects and teenage decadents abounded and black clouting was de rigueur’ can I enrol ~now~????

francis talks to cats and bunny yells from his window down at the incest twins to stop snogging in the garden. i can’t wait to see which one am I at the end of the book

henry and julian driving off together? do i smell something…. gay?

THEY WRITE WITH FOUNTAIN PENS????? [*flashbacks from my childhood intensify*].

i do not understand most of these references or sentences and if the whole book is like this, i will throw myself out the window in attempted suicide even though i live on the ground floor.

i have absolutely no idea what they’re on about.

hwhat

francis in black cashmere and cigarette smoke brushed past him and almost touched his arm. how bloody delicious is this??

‘give him some flowers and he’ll enrol you.’ ok, julian is definitely the gay prof everyone falls for.

at this stage, i would rater have voted we kill henry, not bunny, but we’ll see.

‘i was tired of being poor.’ [*buys a tie with pictures of men hunting deer on it*] ‘that’s better.’

‘i believe that it is better to know one book intimately than a hundred superficially.’ donna tartt gave me the book and the reason both.

constantly chuckling at the way richard is so completely mesmerised and intimidated by francis to the point that he’ll duck into a doorway to let him pass even though they’re going to the same lesson.

I don’t know how a ‘bostonian voice’ is supposed to sound like so francis will be slightly british in my mind for the rest of the book.

cubitum eamus? cubitum. eamus? CUBITUM?? EAMUS????? OH! GOD! HELP ME! THE SWEET SWEET HOMOEROTIC FORESHADOWING OF IT ALL!!! throwback to when, in a much too similar vein, boris, upon being asked by theo to say something in russian for him, he said ‘fuck you up the ass’. my heart is racing with yearn. i can’t fucking believe i just read this. it’s time to bust out the annotation tabs again.

oh my gooooddd whAt is henry’s problem????? he reminds me slightly of number one from the umbrella academy, but in a meaner, more show-offy, bastardish way that’s supposed to showcase his superior intelligence over all mortals like fuck you, go read harry potter and chill.

‘meke (s.p.) you Wear it’? i take it meke is actually make but what on earth is (s.p.)? google gave me 238 possible definitions for that acronym and, needless to say, i didn’t bother.

i love how donna’s main characters are funny essentially bc they’re bitches towards other people they deem inferior to them in their internal monologues.

if you were drunk and ‘slam-dancing’ at a party, i don’t have to be stuck up or elitist to judge you and hate on you. even less so if you throw your beer in my face.

‘love that jacket, silk, isn’t it?�� ‘yep, my grandfather’s. totally not from that annoying girl in my dorm whose mate your mates beat up at a party last term for shoving camilla and throwing a beer in her face and who probably only gave me the jacket because she wants to fuck me, nope.’

‘let me get that door for you.’ that’s it, that’s the tweet.

when bunny said they should round up the ‘officious fags and burn them at the stake’ i yelled the loudest what the fuck i’ve ever yelled at a book. i can see now why they killed him. and i bet that’s only the tip of the iceberg.

okay, his true colours are starting to show. it’s even more unnerving when i think about the fact that like half of this stuff is supposed to be true.

called it, they’re boning.

i can’t wait until francis locks lips with richard. i am simply tingling for it. i hope he and camilla have a threesome with richard at this country house. oh wait no, they’re all here. eh, maybe another time.

oh, we finally get some juicy inside gossip

if francis and richard don’t fuck in that gorgeous immense library, i will riot.

okay, what’s henry’s deal? he’s nice now? and he’s oddly … interested in/caring towards richard? like who the fuck says ‘i hope you slept well’ without at least a little affection towards them.

AHAHAHAAHA, NOW I GET ALL THOSE MOON LANDING QUESTIONS ON THE TSH RELATED UQIZZES I STUPIDLY TOOK. I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS REAL. imagine them lot in present day completely bewildered and confused at the fact that the whole world is in lockdown for some weird fucking reason. this is the funniest shit ever, swear to god.

dogs get heart attacks?

wow they’re being dicks. that shady shit they’re doing’s so fucking rude aajksdhfkfh and to think i had initially thought richard was the ‘leader’ of their group...

okay, they’re either all into bdsm or they’re some odd breed of late vampires who don’t have much of the traits/qualities of ‘classic’ vampires as they have possibly diminished over the centuries as the species was becoming extinct. maybe witches. hm. or occultists. I REALLY DON’T KNOW!!

richard be like ‘what should I tell you?’ well—and this is merely a suggestion—, how about you start with what they’re actually doing when they’re not hanging out with you?????

i can’t wait for bunny to figure/find out richard’s not actually rich and be a dick about it.

two months??? what kind of bonkers winter vacation between terms is that???

is being constantly cold part of the dark academia aestehtic? cos it certainly seems to be.

what the fuck are these (sp)s bunny keeps putting in his letters??

i hope somebody (henry, or maybe francis? as something that would bring them together?) is fake rich too.

ouuuuu here comes the dark, mental stuff.

richard dropped out of drama to study the classics. if we were villains is a group of people studying shakespeare. coincidence? i think not. it is with dread that i think at the possibility that i might like the other more because so far, i can’t say i’m heavily impressed with tsh.

now i’m all for weird, fancy names, but marchbanks is really an odd one. who the fuck looks at their newborn baby and goes ben? nah. tom? no. MARCHBANKS! perfect.

henry winter saves richard from a piping cold winter. ah, don’t bother, i’ll do it myself [*jumps out the window*]

henry dislikes electric lights? smokes cigarettes without filter? reads milton translated into latin ‘just to see if a language with no noun cases could possibly support the structural order he attempts to impose’? can this dude be any more pretentious?

BUNNY! IT’S BUNNY! HE’S FAKE RICH THE BASTARD! ALL THAT ‘oops, forgot my wallet’ BULLSHIT, I THOUGHT IT WAS A TEST FOR RICHARD OR JUST RICH PEOPLE LEECHING OFF OTHERS (why spend yours when you can spend theirs?) BUT NOOOO, HE’S BROOOOKE! AND AN ASSHOLE! WHAT AN ASSHOLE!!! serves him right, the asshole (that gay people being burnt at the stake comment really bothered me despite the fact that i laughed). and not only is he broke and leeching off of henry, he leeches in the most shameless, greedy, extravagant and ignorant way, ordering the most expensive thing on the menu fuck out of here.

ha! he got fat the bastard. found some sugar daddy to sustain you during your last month in italy or what?

this rabbit dude sure has some big balls for a broke ass bitch.

‘let me see your head wound.’ vs ‘your arm.’

‘that sort of tension which i, being rather more disinclined that way than not, am quick to pick up on. i had caught a strong breath of it from francis, a whiff of it at times from julian (…)’ sounds like we got another one boys, a straight dude with the best gaydar in the world. that being said, julian is the fakest bitch in the book so far.

this secrecy is killing the ever-loving shit out of me. argentina one way?? whY

lol if you’re gonna steal his book with the intention of having him come back to the apartment and see all that shit, at least don’t put it in such an obvious place where he couldn’t have possibly missed it. for such a smart guy, you sure are dumb, dude.

francis’ mother be like ‘give that bad boy a kiss from me’ and i’m like HE BETTER.

richard the worst liar. just say your mum called for fuck’s sake! you could get your boyfriend in trouble!

cheesecake cover: ‘please do not steal this, i am on financial aid.’ bunny: [*steals it*] the cheesecake: [*sucks*] me: serves you fucking right, pig.

THINKING ABOUT HIS HANDICAP. I’M YELLING. funniest thing donna tartt ever wrote.

i bet they’re all there sat at the table like nothing happened and weren’t supposed to leave anywhere at all.

called it! motherfuckers.

what the hell is going on. are they a gang of assassins or something?

richard: ‘you killed somebody, didn’t you?’ henry: [*laughs as if it was the most ridiculous idea in the world and how could you possibly suggest such a thing*] yep

bunny: gays are weirdly obsessed with food, don’t you think? also bunny: [*gets excluded from the bacchanal because he couldn’t stop eating*]

okay. i can see now why this book started the whole dark academia aesthetic

aight, that’s all good and great (far from it) but WHERE IS MY FRANCIS CONTENT????

going through the motions of hating and liking henry every other chapter.

everybody: [*burning clothes, cleaning the car, running this way and that to get rid of evidence*] francis: aight y’all imma take a power nap real quick cool? cool

there is hardly anything in the world i hate more than loose-of-tongues. bunny and that bitch ass hely from the little friend. god, i want to sock each and every single one of them in their stupid bloody loud mouths.

i want to know, i really want to know if there are any bunny apologists or … s…. s… [*grits teeth*] stans out there. don’t worry, nothing will happen to you, i just wanna talk.

if it’s henry and richard and not francis and richard,,,,, i will riot.

boy this henry guy smokes a lot…. more than me in my prime.

as if this dude reenacted the murder he wasn’t even present at in the lobby of a hotel just to torture henry. i can’t believe this character is still alive and has been for so long.

FINALLY! one francis moment that indicated there will be no more francis moments…. .

funny that, reading the secret history put something into perspective about the goldfinch for me.

i love how richard just casually throws it in there whenever he happens to mention camilla that he loves her and wants to kiss her and that she’s so beautiful and blah blah blah and then it’s never brought up again ever because he’s constantly going on and on about henry.

wait, don’t tell me it’s happening now, in the middle of the book! that would be most unexpected as there’s a whole entire book following.

henry is such a stone cold bitch, i wonder where they put his heart when they made him, in his ass?

don’t tell me henry went boxer dogs on JULIAN?!?!?! he wouldn’t. … would he?

i don’t know. i get it, obviously, the gravity of the situation, but going as far as killing him to silence him is a bit … extreme in my opinion.

thank you, charles, for being the only voice of reason in this madness.

okay, i understand it’s in richard’s best interest not to be involved, but they called him there to what, make him listen to all this and then send him on his merry way?

charles: well, if you wake up intending to murder someone at two o’clock, you hardly think of what you’re going to feed the copse for dinner. [*crickets*] francis: hey, how about asparagus?

henry: someone’s coming. quick! act normal! richard: [*turns to inspect the trunk of a tree*] [*footsteps approach*] richard: [*inspection of tree intensifies!!*]

you’re a bit late, bunny, just saying.

and now what the fuck is the rest of the book about? what do we do, let’s run, let’s stay, let’s go to the police, what do we do with him?

i love how richard describes himself as part of the process: we dwelt on it, we convinced ourselves, we devised plans when in reality, he was only there as an attaché, he wasn’t included much, almost at all in the actual planning process of it other than to give his insight on the poison route because henry thought it was his area of expertise so to speak when, really, it wasn’t and then was told about the other plan because they simply thought he should know. even then henry tells him ‘you can go now, if you like’ because there wasn’t anything they sort of needed him for anymore since he wasn’t going to be there, he was just a pair of ears. i like to think he was there in hopes to maybe dissuade them, try to stop them, tell them how mad it is, tell them there’s another way, but he didn’t do much of that either (not that I think he would’ve succeeded anyway, had he tried, henry’s one stubborn motherfucker). he didn’t come up with shit, he wasn’t supposed to even be there, i think, much less contribute in any way. had bunny not told him about the bacchanal, richard would have probably found out about it after it was already done, he was only included for the fucks of it and yet, he talks as if he was right there in the room with them, brainstorming ideas how to kill him. and i get how it only comes from a sense of obvious guilt because he knew about it, he was there and didn’t do anything to stop it, but he’s by far not one to have agreed to the whole thing or condoned it in any way from what he’s told us in book one. he himself says in the very same paragraph that he only watched. he’s very much a dark academia nick carraway type of character and i hate it. because i like him. he deserves better.

i’m pretty sure that the reason that serial killer autobiography you picked up in an airport was bereft of details is because no publishing house would allow such lurid specifications that might shock, disgust, enrage or give ideas to the reader in their book, not because the author is shy, richard, but ok, let’s move on. actually no, let’s not. you can’t expect the autobiography of a killer to only tell you about the murders, especially since in this particular instance, he was caught and went to prison. of course he’s going to tell you more about that than the killings, have you any idea what prison life is like? how much it eats away at your soul? how it crushes your spirit if you have one and how hard it is to get over? the time he spent in jail is going to haunt him forever and after such a long time in there, however long it was, you hardly think about your crime as anything but a huge mistake that was not worth the torment if you’re not a downright psychopath which, since he came out and wrote a book about it, doesn’t seem to be the case here but i guess you’ll find out all about it soon enough.

OH! a francis moment???? could this be it? please dear god may this be it.

it wasn’t, but there’s another one!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

‘it’s fun, i promise you.’ [*dies*]

if this is it, if that’s all, i am not forgiving this book.

‘i tried to pull him out but it was no good; his head lolled back uselessly’ YEAH. BECAUSE HE’S DEAD, RICHARD. [*scoffs*] ‘uselessly’

i wish i held any of my teachers and professors in at least half the high regard henry holds julian. i also wish they were half as competent and passionate about teaching as julian.

I DON’T BELIEVE ‘HE WAS JUST THERE’. IT’S BORIS AND THEO AT 6 AM IN THAT NEW YORK BAR ALL OVER AGAIN. HE’S ONLY SAYING THAT BECAUSE RICHARD WENT ALL ‘YOU’RE NOT HOT’ ON HIS ASS AND I REFUSE TO BELIEVE OTHERWISE. if they don’t kiss again—

i can’t help but admire the way they communicate sensitive information to each other in ancient greek, they sound like characters from jane austen novels while talking about drugs and saving face from tabloids and gossip, it’s rather amazing.

quite pointless to go through all that trouble to hide the cigarettes and deny having been smoking when the smell will be there no matter what and she’ll know for sure. i swear, all these seemingly smart ass people are actually idiots

my question is why would anyone, drunk or not, for any reason, leave the top down in the rain? why? what possible pleasure could one get from driving in the middle of the rain with rain actually pouring down on them?

isn’t linoleum a bit tacky for a house that looks like it’s been in architectural digest?

why is charles so on edge? why are they all always hiding??? camilla and her late night 3 am phone calls, her secret phone code with henry, charles mysteriously going out for cigarettes so brusquely without a word in the middle of the night and refusing to talk about it, what are they all always hiding?! nobody trusts one another with anything, it’s very annoying, to be honest. aren’t they supposed to be super best friends? you’d think that after a bacchanal and a double homicide, you wouldn’t keep secrets from one another, but i guess not.

ah, shame. was kind of hoping for some sneaky richard/francis basement action, but alas. what’s their ship name anyway, richis?

i just spoilered myself again, twice, by going through the tsh tag on tumblr and then looking for francis/richard fanfics on ao3 and finding out that francis marries? gets with? a girl who’s apparently called fucking priscilla. donna tartt really has a knack for weird fancy names, huh? i’m here for it tbh

richard you fucking snitch! you had one job!!!!!!

why the fuck are they still keeping him in the dark about shit? henry and charles quarrelled and charles is in jail and henry still won’t tell him what’s so bad about it and why he wants richard to handle all this shit instead of him and why bunny’s murder still matters and why why just why are they still using him as their pawn??

seriously, this exchange was about the worst they’ve had so far. he himself knows it: ‘there was a silence during which I felt acutely the hopelessness of ever trying to get to the bottom of anything with henry. he was like a propagandist, routinely withholding information, leaking it only when it served his purposes.’ THEN WALK AWAY. SAY NO. PUT YOUR FOOT DOWN. FUCKING—UGH!!!!!!!

they’re all so shamelessly using him… i can’t read. it’ll kill him, one way or another.

these ungrateful little shits i swear to god. richard bails him out, he’s all thankful and sweet when he wants him to do ‘this one little favour’ of taking him to his francis’ house so he can break in and when richard’s like i don’t have a car, he immediately turns sour and passive aggressive like you know what?! richard hasn’t slept all night and all morning waiting for your ass to go to court cos you were a drunken idiot and decided YET AGAIN that driving in that state is a great idea so he can bail you out and when you are finally out, you start being fussy and then it’s all ‘right. thanks a lot’??? richard doesn’t fucking need this shit! y’all are horrible friends. he’s not your bloody servant. how about you take that stick and privilege out of your asses and start treating him a bit more kindly, huh???

‘henry made me swear not to tell.’ WHAT. WHAT. BITCH, GET THE FUCK OUT.

this is by far the most toxic friendship i’ve ever heard of.

oh wow that kiss was hot. i thought it was just a speculation that they were incestuous with each other, but i-i guess not.

FINALLY it gets interesting. Mr Abernathy spilling some piping hot tea mmm

he literally just said i’d sleep with you if you got drunk enough to let me. oh dear god help me.

oh fuck it got sad. It’s patrick and brad all over again ugh always happens to the best of gays

finally richard my boy starts hating them, as he should. except francis, you’re a dick in that respect. he’s only joking for fuck’s sake, don’t get all butthurt, jesus. sensitive much?

uuuuuu tunts Tunts TUNTS! shit is hitting the fan. henry, henry, henry, our ‘golden boy’. nothing but a crook himself, the motherfucker. i’ve been waiting for this reveal since the beginning of the fucking book. if they gang up on him and kill him, i will never stop laughing.

it’s as if he’s begging to be excluded and hated, i swear. why is he being such a prick? does he love her? is that it? then there are a BILLION other ways to go about it, he doesn’t have to be such a shady bitch!! besides, wasn’t he in cahoots with julian?

‘i was depressed, i thought if i slept here it might make me feel better.’ that’s so precious tho….. funny, but precious. such child-like innocence in this grown ass intoxicated man, i melt.

clever, luring him out of the playground under the false pretext of a drink when he’s had plenty. think like a drunk

the only consistent, recurring and ever-present elements in donna tartt’s books are the hors d’oeuvres.

it’s so cute how charles needs him, i—

girls be like: watching a film, listening to a podcast, talking on the phone, having dinner, figure painting, filing nails, writing an essay and doing their makeup all at the same time

this so called love he feels for camilla is so unfounded and feeble and just … it seems so out of the fucking blue every single time he mentions it, i can’t read this shit. IT’S SO SEE-THROUGH!!

okay WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK DID I JUST READ. WHAT. THE ACTUAL. MOTHERFUCKING. FUCK. one second he’s ‘i love her so much’ the next he wants to strangle and rape her?????????????? i have zero goddamn words. i am fucking speechless. i don’t think i have ever been this confused at something since i watched the turning. i don’t think you realise quite how done i am with this fucking book at this point.

i think i do hate henry more than bunny and i’m afraid i’ll like if we were villains better.

richard: [*takes sleeping pills*] also richard: [*surprised he can’t keep up with the film he started watching after taking sleeping pills*]

‘look,’ said francis. ‘let’s just go, if we leave now we can be in montreal by dark. nobody will ever find us.’ vs ‘well, i’m not going,’ said boris serenely. ‘fuck that, i’m running away. do you want to come?’

this henry bitch is the most difficult piece of shit i’ve ever fucking encountered. ‘you mean, it’s something you need to tell me in private?’ oh FUCK OFF AND STEP OUTSIDE, FOR FUCK’S SAKE. IT’S ONE THING I ASK OF YOU, YOU TWAT.

huh, i thought he was doing this shit on purpose, leaving the page face down on the table so that julian could see it, i thought it was some sick twisted plan of his.

lmao called it. everybody saw through julian’s façade except richard and the others and i completely understand. in a fashion much like julian’s, i think he knew that, he saw it, but just chose to ignore it because the image he posed and richard himself constructed of him in his mind was much more favourable to what he really was. i mean, fuck, who the fuck says ‘i hope we are all ready to leave the phenomenal world and enter into the sublime’ with their whole chest and mean it?

if you think he’s not coming, why sit in silence staring out the window, ignoring everyone and wasting everybody’s time instead of telling them from the very start this piece of information you have on hand that could save everybody a lot of trouble, time and overthinking? why be all mysterious and enigmatic about it? just tell them from the start, you’re not in a film for fuck’s sake……..

charles, one of the four of them (henry, camilla, julian and himself) might be the one i despise the least, almost like had he not been so brutal towards camilla,,,, but i don’t know if i can trust her, that whole scene seemed … staged somehow. i don’t know. i don’t know

didn’t expect henry would turn on julian too though. first real thing he’s done all book.

agatha

christie

writes

good

mysteries.

richard does seem like the type of fellow who would grow up in a household where his dad would strike his mum for no fucking reason.

okay so did henry punch him for that comment or not? what was all that father beating mother bit for?

#boysweekendinthecountry! 🤪 #partytime! #ignoringourproblems! #woooo!!!

oh my fucking god chARLES!!!

yes, henry, great, brilliant, fucking splendid idea to antagonise the man pointing a gun at you.

MY PAUL SMITH SHIRT!!!!!!!!! AHAHAHASFSHDGFDK

i love how absolutely nobody noticed fucking richard BLEEDING RIGHT NEXT TO THEM

‘expected everyone to stop and look at me. no one did.’ and they never will. that’s your whole friendship summed up in two lines. you don’t matter to them, you never did, you’re absolutely unimportant. just a tool, a pawn, a nobody. sorry you had to get shot to realise that.

‘’he shot me.’ somehow, this remark did not elicit the dramatic response i expected. before i had the chance to elaborate—’ ELABORATE WHAT? ELABORATE WHAT?! THAT’S ALL YOU NEED TO SAY!! GOD, this hurts to read. this angers me beyond words, but it also fucking hurts so bad…

nothing, not even getting shot can make richard lose his wit

disGUSTING henry and camilla moment. I HATE THEM

oh shit. did not see that coming. well, glad that’s over.

ugh, time to read how francis got hetero married :\

[*chokes*] DUE TO THE VERY EXCELLENT EXCUSE OF HAVING A GUNSHOT WOUND IN THE STOMACH I DIDN’T TAKE MY FRENCH EXAM YAY!!! god, i fucking love Richard.

the thing is, right, i read that line, ‘i managed to get out of taking my french exams the next week’ about three or four times and somehow, the following line or even the words ‘gunshot wound’ never made it to my eyes! i don’t understand how! but i’m completely happy about that given the fact that i spoiler myself on every single book i read by reading ahead like an idiot..

how much do you want to bet that it was the inn keep who called the ambulance and not those fuckers? because of course henry, dead henry’s more important than slowly dying, almost dead but not quite richard.

despite everything, it sounds like he had a nice summer in brooklyn. good for him. god knows he deserved it, the poor guy.

yeah no, fuck henry’s post-mortem hero narrrative.

lol, at least he got a nice car out of it. this book shows me once again that things happen just the way they should happen.

OH MY FUCKING GOD NO. NO. NO. NO. NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!! I CANNOT READ. I DO NOT SEE. I REFUSE TO COMPREHEND THIS PIECE OF INFORMATION.

i will not say a WORD on this, much less his letter. i am hurt, i am wounded, i am grieving, my head is full of thots and i cannot speak. i died on this bed.

ugh [*rolls eyes*] this fucking guy again with his sudden, out of my ass declarations of love towards camilla. JUST GIVE IT UP ALREADYYYYYYYY!!! TELL IT TO SOMEONE WHO CARES!!! (francis) i wouldn’t be surprised if she was married or engaged and just didn’t bother to mention it ‘because he never asked’ or some bullshit excuse like that.

I HATE HENRY I HATE HENRY I HATE HENRY I HATE HENRY [*deep breath*] I FUCKING HATE HENRY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

he’s telling me about all these people and where they ended up after graduation but not only do i not give a single solitary fuck, i actually don’t know who the fuck he’s talking about?? like who the fuck is bram guernesnesnica? rooney wayne? what the fuck do i care what jack jud and frank did?

the only people i do remotely care about are the professors (the saucy french teacher and the boring, senile dude who wouldn’t shut up and who kept referring to richard as ‘jerry’ in his grad school recommendations letter ahahah that is the content i signed up for, not dumb and dumber’s bar or whatever) and the cat charles left at francis’ country house who lives in a ten fucking room apartment in boston.

love how ionic the whole marion storyline turned out to be. marred another corcoran who looked just like bunny and had a daughter who, despite having her and his mother’s name ended up being nicknamed also bunny. i’m sorry, i just—i have to laugh.

[*slams fists on the table*] THE AGENTS??? YOU’RE GONNA TELL ME ABOUT THE BLOODY FBI AGENTS???!!!!!! CAN THIS BOOK PLEASE JUST FUCKING END ALREADY??????!!!!!!!!

a dream. a dream. if it’s a dream of henry i will personally shoot you and make sure i aim a little higher than your abdomen this time.

[*shoots the book*]

oh, you died and suddenly you have a sense of humour?

‘that information is classified’ [*shoots a torpedo at the book*]

‘are you happy?’ / ‘not very.’ vs ‘are you happy here?’ / ‘not particularly.’

okay. so. final thoughts: fuck this book.

good night

24 notes · View notes

cagestark · 5 years ago

Note

Can i request something i dont see enough of, which is AlphaPeter/OmegaTony ? :D Lots of fluffy happy stuff, i love angst too a slong as theres a happy ending - { holographic-starker }

this was a tough one to write, but I enjoyed myself and feel like I learned a lot about myself as a writer, even. Thanks for the request, let me know if you’re displeased

Read here on AO3.

Warnings: ABO, consent issues because Tony is in heat. Alpha!Peter, Omega!Tony. Peter is 18+ though. Explicit.

The thing is, the kid is too polite.

Peter is freshly eighteen when he moves into the tower and begins interning for Tony, spending every last moment Avenging and patrolling and attending online classes. Being thirty years older than the kid, a part of him assumes that he should take on the role of a cantankerous old man complaining about the boorish youth. His knees have certainly taken it upon themselves to method act, protesting hours spent cross-legged on the floor. His hair has obviously been visiting wardrobe and makeup without his notice, because there are more gray hairs there than he remembers there being last year, last season, last month.

All this to say that Tony is getting older, and it is no secret that the younger generations are fucking irritating. Disrespectful, he’d say, channeling Howard or Jarvis through that internal Ouija board that keeps coming back no matter how many times he throws it out. And alright, it’s part of their rite of passage. Find him a generation who doesn’t annoy their elders and he’d eat Cap’s shield.

The one exception: Peter.

The kid has sweetness in his DNA. Authenticity clings to his red blood cells which explains why every bone in his body is genuine and kind. The respect he shows the Avengers is nearly comical—would be, if it didn’t drive Tony up the walls for other reasons. He is firm and gentle, thoughtful and conscientious. There are no valid complaints to be had about him.

The kid, if anything, is too polite.

Which means that he can’t possibly be doing this on purpose.

Peter presenting as an alpha shocked Tony to the core, and he wasn’t alone. “I’ve had him pegged as an omega since he was in diapers, Tony,” May had whispered to him while they watched Peter having his blood drawn by Bruce inside the Hulk-proof enclosure beneath the ground at Stark Tower. Judging by how Peter’s face flushes red, he can hear through the glass.

“A lot people had me pegged as an alpha,” Tony responds, maybe a little too coldly. But maybe it hits a little too close to home—children having their designations determined for them at such a young age. How much of Peter’s upbringing had influenced his disposition? Had he been groomed to be an omega even despite his biology? The thought makes Tony sick. He knows how that feels. He knows. “This doesn’t change anything about him. He’s still Peter.”

But it did change things.

Because now they are playing this game together, and either Peter is a better bluffer than Tony ever anticipated, or the kid genuinely doesn’t know what he’s doing to the older man.

It starts the first day Peter returns to his work in the lab after his rut. They have been putting in hours together working on a new AI, one Peter has affectionately dubbed Saturday, no matter how many times Tony tells him that the key to a good name is all in the acronym). Since it is Peter’s first effort to make an artificial intelligence, Tony is letting him lead. He is bent over the lab table examining a microchip the size of his thumbnail, miniature soldering iron clutched between in his fingers when the door to the lab opens.

He whirls around on the stool, beaming. Peter is dressed in his old Midtown High sweatshirt, the collar of his dress shirt blooming around his neck. His hair is dark from a shower, wet curls clinging to his forehead. He looks—good. Healthy. Strong. Fertile.

They smell each other for the first time.

It’s not Tony’s right to tell anyone to wear scent blockers, though he ingests his own via pill form twice a day, showers with them, has them mixed into the sterilization stations at lab’s exits so he can clean his hands and neutralize any happy-angsty scents that were brought about during the day’s tinkering. Because it’s a polite thing to do. Alphas and omegas are very sensitive to smells. Polite alphas will wear blockers to avoid overwhelming omegas or antagonizing other alphas in public—and when it comes to omegas, scent blockers are like protection, like the nano-tech suit he goes nowhere without. If no one can smell Tony, they can’t look at him like a piece of meat, lust over him, come on to him when all he’s trying to do is walk down the fucking street.

The kid is not wearing blockers. Before he presented, Peter had the blandly neutral scent of a beta, and he would have been incapable of scenting Tony. Peter smells of something fond. It takes Tony only a moment to place it: the mahogany of the bookshelves in his childhood home, the lemon-basil scent that would cling to Jarvis after days spent in the kitchen.

He sees Peter’s nostrils flair, surely trying to take in a scent that for all intents and purposes, he shouldn’t be able to smell. But by the way his eyes go hooded, throat bobbing, he can. The boy’s mouth opens, literally mouths the word wow. Tony feels remarkably like a rabbit caught in a dog’s gaze.

Tony burns himself. “Fucking—fuck!” He drops the soldering iron and it barely misses the microchip.

“Mr. Stark, are you okay?”

Peter comes over to examine the burn, a dark, flushed pink, the skin already raw and shiny. The smell comes with him, each of the boy’s emotions playing out like a symphony for his nose: concern, comfort, anxiety. And yeah, arousal.

Tony pulls away before their skin can touch, jamming his hands into the gloves that he should have been wearing from the start. “Fine,” he says. “Don’t worry about it.”

Peter becomes—distracting. At best. Arousing at worst. Days spent in the lab under Tony’s tutelage are filled with emotions for the young, enthusiastic boy: joy when he solves a problem, frustration when he can’t, the soft melancholic scent of rotting wood on days when his smile is muted and his eyes seem far away. Tony is too receptive to him. More than once, he’s found himself opening his mouth, desperate to ask for the love of God, Pete, will you take a shower? Will you wear something, anything, to come between your scent and my nose? But the kid doesn’t deserve that, and Tony isn’t sure he could stand the embarrassed, insecure scent he’d give off after being confronted. The need to comfort might be too strong to overpower.

Tony does his very best to maintain a professional relationship, but Peter seems determined to cross every boundary.

Next comes the scenting. To be fair: maybe he doesn’t know how incredibly personal it is. Tony knows that it’s common in schools to separate kids by designation and teach them only the information absolutely pertinent to them. Maybe growing up small and thin and soft hearted, pegged O’ from birth, they didn’t teach him what it means when an alpha scents someone who they aren’t related to.

Tony himself doesn’t know what it means when Peter does it. Maybe Peter doesn’t even know, maybe it’s just an itch that needs scratched, and he knows that scenting Tony can scratch it. Some things are just that innocent. But on his dark days when Tony is hunched over at the lab table, back and eyes aching from working through the night, all it takes is Peter brushing by. His steps will stutter just beyond Tony’s shoulders. He inhales—now Tony is trained like one of Pavlov’s dogs, and the relief, the arousal, it often comes right then, even on just the inhale—and then Peter’s forehead will loll forward, soft hair and skin nuzzling at the scent gland on Tony’s neck until their scents are mixed. Until Tony’s body is soft and pliant (except for his cock, which is hard and throbbing).

Then Peter moves on like nothing happened.

What the fuck, Tony sometimes mouths, keeping his eyes on the tablet in front of him, terrified to turn and acknowledge what the boy just did.

It might not be so bad if they weren’t so fucking compatible. Yeah, he can admit it. Tony had spent weeks agonizing about that after the kid first brought his scent down into the lab, he’s come to terms, thanks. It’s a biological fact, one he remembers any time he takes in a whiff of mahogany and lemon-basil. God, he didn’t think a smell could be so comforting and arousing all at once. It makes him ache, someplace in his chest where the arc reactor used to sit, and somewhere lower, deep in his pelvis where he should have grown children, if he’d been a decent omega. If he hadn’t spent so long trying to pretend to be an alpha, frying his biology, cooking his ovaries right to medium-well-done, AKA infertility.

What use would Peter have for him? Tony is old, past safe childbearing years even if he wasn’t barren. Alphas want legacies, they want homemakers, they want everything Howard worked so hard to empty Tony of. Far too often he finds himself maudlin and thinking such thoughts before the futility of them strikes him. His attractiveness is a non-issue; he is determined that he and Peter will never come together that way.

As it is, the scent blockers Tony takes, while being ultra-effective, aren’t as effective for a pair—not a pair. No, they’re not a pair. Just two friendly friends, mentor and mentee, platonic hi there Mr. Stark how are you doing goodness, no knots involved. God. He should not be thinking about the kid’s knot—anyway, the blockers aren’t as effective for people who are as compatible as Peter and Tony are. They are his last defense, and he often burns through them before the afternoon hits, body working overtime to make his scent potent again so that he might have a chance to attract the virile alpha across the room. It’s embarrassing, smelling so badly of pining omega that he can smell himself in the enclosed space of the elevator.

Like he is right now.

Although, it isn’t the elevator. It’s the bathroom.

Tony grabs the hand towels off of the rack and stuffs them at the bottom of the door where the crack is, desperate to keep his own smell in and Peter’s smell out. Then he crawls into the bathtub there and draws the curtain shut. As if that’s going to help.

He looks to the ceiling, wondering why a deity he doesn’t even believe in seems to be punishing him like this. Inside his pants, his cock is aching, and he can’t help but to press the heel of his hand against it, exhaling in the brief relief it gives. Lifting his wrist to his nose he breaths deep and can’t stop the groan that passes his lips. He smells like Peter, their scents combining, lemon and sugar to make lemonade, so sweet his mouth waters and his teeth ache.

When Peter arrived in the lab just moments before, he’d brought with him the scent of fury: scorched earth, and something sadder. His eyes were red from tears, lips pressed thin together. Tony watched him, paralyzed, as he tried three different times to enter his access code to the lab before FRIDAY showed mercy and let him in. Then as soon as there was nothing between them, it was like two oppositely charged magnets coming together.

They collided. Tony’s arms wrapped around him and Peter’s nose buried in that spot between his neck and shoulder, inhaling and exhaling fire on Tony’s exposed skin. Peter babbles away, lips brushing his skin, something about an argument with Ned and MJ, both sides feeling neglected and wronged, long overdue issues just now bubbling to the surface, he’d imagine. He can barely focus on what the boy is saying. It feels like there’s an invisible hand on the back of his neck, tilting him into the perfect position for his alpha to scent and find comfort in him. Tony holds him until all the anger and hurt and helplessness have seeped out of him.

What the fuck, Tony mouths to the ceiling. One of these days, he’s going to ask FRIDAY to create a montage of his WTF moments so that he might literally have concrete footage of how weird his life is.

Then one of Peter’s hands drifts up like he is going to cup Tony’s shoulder, but instead he firmly presses his thumb into the gland there and it’s like Thor has sent a bolt of lightning down. Tony’s entire body jerks and melts, every bone in his body relaxing for his alpha except for the one in his pants, and speaking of, Peter whimpers and shifts and there is no mistaking an alpha’s cock. There just isn’t. It’s veritably huge and hard and how many years has it been since he’s had an alpha inside him, since he’s been knotted—

The scents around them change, thick with arousal. It takes him that long to realize that Peter’s heightened emotional sensitivity might have a biological cause.

He is going into a rut.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter slurs, hips shifting. “You smell sooo good.”

It takes herculean effort to separate their bodies. The sheer heat and pheromones that Peter is throwing off are tangible even when he’s resolutely breathing through his mouth. He must be a sight: eyes wild and terrified, cock stiff, sprinting bow-legged to the bathroom so that he could get just a moment—just a moment to calm himself down and use his brain.

It’s going…about as well as can be expected, Tony thinks, desperately fisting his cock in the bathtub. If he could just rub one out, maybe it will bleed some of the fire from his veins. There is a gentle knocking at the door and Peter’s muffled voice, but Tony can barely hear it. He’s so close, building up to an orgasm so quickly that it should be shameful, but at least there is no one here to see. Wrist pressed to his nose, he inhales Peter’s scent like a man coming up from water, desperate for air. His balls are drawn up tight, stomach twisted into knots—and still he doesn’t cum.

“Mr. Stark, are you alright? Are you hurt?” Peter’s voice is raised, worried. Tony realizes that he has been whimpering, surely loud enough for the genetically enhanced boy to hear.

The pain inside him rises up but never crests, just rests there, aching in his gut. Cramping. Curiously, he reaches down past the petite testicles, down—

He’s wet. Soaked. The touch of his finger nearly brings him to ecstasy. This is what he needs, something inside of him, filling that emptiness that is so acute it aches. One finger isn’t enough. His hole is already loose, taking two easily.

The door breaks down. I’m in heat, Tony thinks numbly listening to wood splinter and hinges break. Maybe there was a slow build up that he missed, but it burned away in an instant in the face of this alpha. That is why Peter went into rut. Because of me. He barely has time to shove his cock back into his pants. For a moment, after Peter wrenches back the shower curtain Tony feels like a woman out of the old bodice rippers his mother used to keep in her bedside drawer. The ones with helpless omegas ravished by alphas who were driven mad by their scents, alphas who couldn’t have stopped their urges even if they wanted to.

The look Peter gives him is certainly aroused enough. He is hard in his jeans, a bulge that looks impossibly huge compared to Tony’s own. Peter’s chest rises and falls so rapidly that the older man is worried for his health. Those dark eyes scan Tony from head to toe and then the boy collapses, knees striking the tiled floor, groaning. He crawls to the bathtub and rests his feverish cheeks against the lip of the tub, mouth open and panting.

“Mr. Stark.” The voice is absolutely wrecked.

It is pure restraint as a result of his years of experience that keeps him from rolling onto his hands and knees to present for this boy, this wet-behind-the-ears alpha who has barely started his second rut and probably never popped a knot in his life.

“Mr. Stark I don’t feel so good,” groans Peter.

Even burning up, cramping, shaking, Tony reaches out to pet at Peter’s head. He hopes to offer comfort, but the boy snatches his hand out of the air in a bruising grip. Then he draws it to his mouth and presses in the fingers that were just inside Tony’s sopping hole. The boy’s tongue slips between the fingers, searching every crevice for more slick, groaning even as he licks the palm tasting only heart-love-life lines. “Mr. Stark,” Peter pants, trying again for words. “Can I have you? Please. Let me have you.”

“Yes,” Tony gasps.

They come together clumsily. It takes a moment for them to realize that Tony is trying to crawl out of the tub while Peter is trying to crawl in. They end up outside of it on the tiled floor, Tony spread out underneath the young alpha. Peter sheds his shirt and there should be violins, there should be mood lighting and a spotlight because the kid is fucking built. He almost has as many abs as fingers, so lithe and strong. He reminds Tony of spider silk, thin and so strong.

“Undress,” Peter says lowly, helping Tony to sit up so that he might pull off his shirt. Yeah, Tony isn’t 18 years old with genetically enhanced muscles but he likes to think he does okay. Peter’s eyes roll, palms flat on Tony’s pecs to drag down and down, over the scarring where the arc reactor used to be, scraping at the chest hairs. It melts the omega’s brain, primal parts of him purring. His body is satisfying to his mate, even if he is older and grayer and harder than any omega has a right to be. “God, you’re so—Jesus you’re hot Mr. Stark.”

“Knot me,” Tony groans. His hips are thrusting up into the hard cradle of Peter’s pelvis. His cock is throbbing, leaking, but it is nothing compared to the emptiness inside of him. The room is small and filled with so many potent scents that he can barely keep his eyes open. All of his senses are consumed by Peter, by what he’s doing with Peter. “Come on, kid. It hurts.”

Peter goes feral at the thought. He tears at their clothes, ribbons of jean and cotton, tennis shoes nudged off of feet. When he is naked as the day he was born, the fever in Tony seems to reach its boiling point. The kid is sculpted; it’s indecent. If there was any doubt he was meant to be an alpha, his cock disputes it. Tony, who has had plenty of fulfilling sexual experiences with people of all genders and designations, is still intimidated. Aroused. Anxious. He knows that his biology has prepared him for this. His body is made to take cocks of that size, but what if it doesn’t? What if he displeases this alpha, displeases Peter?

A hand comes to rest on his shoulder, thumb pressing into that tender part of his neck that has his legs jolting. “Easy,” Peter says, and Tony’s entire body relaxes. That voice drains all the fear and anxiety out of him, Novocain for the soul. Why was he worrying? His head is pleasantly fuzzy like with the buzz of a few strong drinks. Underneath it all is the ache in his cock, the emptiness inside him, but he does not beg. Does not squirm. Because unbearably tender, Peter assures: “I’ll take care of you.”

The tiles under his palms and knees are cold on his feverish skin when he turns over. He lets his back bow to appease the ache inside him until he is presenting fully, cheek pressed against the floor. The sounds Peter makes behind him are wrecked as he folds himself over the omega beneath him, mouth hotly over the skin at the nape of his neck. It makes all the hairs on his body stand on edge—god the only thing better than mating with alpha is bonding with this alpha, bite, bite, please—

“Can’t,” Peter groans. “Can’t bite you. You don’t mean that.”

Tony bucks the boy off until Peter is sitting back on his haunches, cock obscene between his legs, looking more like a confused pup than an assertive alpha. Tony bares his teeth even in the face of his instincts which recoil just at the idea. “I thought you knew what I needed,” he goads.

Peter’s eyes harden. Maybe this polite young man defers to him on most things, but not this thing. He fists a hand in Tony’s hair and wrenches him up until their naked bodies are plastered together from knee to neck. Teeth brush his neck again and it’s like touching a live wire. If he’d jerked any harder, he might have broken skin. As it is, Peter just holds him there, bite firm and bordering on painful until all the fight goes out of him. The boy guides him back down, body lax like all the bones are gone. One hand drifts up and back to run over where the alpha’s teeth were, desperate to feel the indentations.

“Didn’t break skin,” Peter promises, like Tony doesn’t already know. No broken skin, but close. Close enough to have him pliant and purring, the fever in his skin giving him the briefest respite. Then Peter’s fingers dance downward to where the omega is wet and hot and so empty it hurts. Just the brush of fingertips, the promise of pleasure, has Tony groaning into the tiled floor.

Gently, Peter presses in. Attuned to the alpha’s senses, he hears the younger man’s breath catch, turn high and breathy. A second finger joins the first and yes, that’s better, so much better than the gaping emptiness. By the third finger, Tony feels like he could cum from this alone, even if Peter has done nothing but skim his fingers over that spot inside him that’s so good it aches.

Peter hushes him, a hand planted over that fading mark on the back of Tony’s neck. His other hand grips his cock, notching the head where Tony needs it most. The omega takes the first half before he feels full, sated even, but then there is more. Peter makes the rawest noises, and Tony laments not facing him, not being able to see his expression. He can imagine it: the eyes squeezed shut, mouth open, head back. But then there is more cock inside him than he thought was possible, and it burns everything else from his mind. The only thing that exists is that cock, anchoring him to this reality. He can feel the flared base of the alpha’s cock already puffing, desperate to knot.

Content that his cock isn’t going to split Tony in half—though it certainly feels like it from the other side of things—Peter sets a brutal pace. The finesse his fingers might have lacked is overshadowed by his cock which probably couldn’t miss Tony’s prostate if it tried. All he can do is take it, fingers scrabbling to find purchase on the slick floor, body singing, prepared to burn out at any moment.

“To-ny,” whines Peter, drawing the word out obscenely. The next word is softer, said through teeth: “Omega.”

“Alpha,” Tony gasps. “Harder—more. Come on. Need it, need your knot—”

“Then take it,” Peter cries. “Take it! God, you feel so good, you’re perfect, perfect—”

Tony cums, cock spurting onto the tiled floor. Every muscles clenches, cramping, spasming as his orgasm goes on and on, spurred on by Peter’s cock. Tony can’t even take it enough breath to scream, just gapes, cheek pressed to the cool floor. He can feel Peter’s own end coming, the knot growing, the sounds he makes becoming louder and less inhibited.

When Peter finally cums, he howls, crying out the way a man might if he’d just been stabbed only he’s the one stabbing Tony, stabbing him with his cock, forcing the knot past the rim and Tony doesn’t know if he can take it, there is brief pain cresting and then—it’s like it all goes white. His first orgasm was nothing compared to this. This would be painful, if it weren’t so good, if it weren’t exactly what he needed. It’s so much deeper than when he cums from his cock; in a way that feels so external. But this is inside him, deep in his womb, his entire body and being rejoicing at the alpha inside him loading him with sperm. Every spasm of his body is matched a heartbeat later by the cock inside him.

The come-down is slow. Having lost his strength ages ago, Tony is prostrate on the floor, knees and back aching. Above him is a firm, warm weight. The breaths are too ragged for Peter to be sleeping. Still, there is no speaking. Not until the knot inside him deflates and Peter draws back, cum and slick slipping out from inside of Tony.

When he manages to get up on his hands an knees, reaching out to use the sink to brace himself to stand (trying hard not to slip in all the bodily fluids), he sees that Peter is sitting back on his haunches, face buried in his hands, shaking with tears.

Tony nearly flinches at the sight. His heart pounds—alpha, hurting.

“Peter? Pete? God, what is it? Are you—”

“I’m so sorry,” Peter wails.

“Wh—what the hell are you sorry for?”

Peter can’t even answer, he’s so distraught. Tony isn’t good at this. It’s safe to say that most emotional situations have him withdrawing, and hastily. But this is Peter: the young man he’s had a soft spot for even years before the attraction arrived. So instead he lowers himself back down and sits next to the boy, drawing him in. Peter buries his face in Tony’s neck, scenting and scenting. It isn’t hard to exude comfort and warmth, not when he has the young alpha in his arms. Peter’s tears slow and then stop.

Heart in his throat, Tony asks: “What that—not good for you, kid?”

When Peter pulls away, his face is twisted with confusion. “What are you talking about? That—it was—God, Mr. Stark. I’m going to be thinking about that for the rest of my life, probably.”

The omega inside him purrs. “Thanks for the ego boost.”

Peter sighs, wiping at his face. “That’s just so not how I wanted it to happen. When you’re, when you’re in heat you can’t technically consent. You ran from me and I literally—oh shoot, Mr. Stark, I broke down your door.”

“About that—it’s coming out of your paycheck.”

“I’m not being paid, I’m an intern—"

“You—what? You’re not being paid? That doesn’t sound—”

“Can we, like, talk about my pay later?”

Tony’s mouth clicks shut. He nods.

“I just,” Peter sighs, relaxed with his head in the crook of Tony’s neck. They’re both naked, sweat cooling rapidly, but their bodies pressed together are more than enough to keep them warm. “All that effort I put in trying to attract you, trying to treat you right, like an alpha is supposed to treat an omega—then I went and broke your door.”

“Jesus,” Tony mutters. “I should have known you’re too smart not to know what you’ve been doing. Scenting me like I’m going out of style.”

“You’ll never go out of style Mr. Stark,” Peter assures. “I thought I was being subtle. It never seemed to work. Then I got worried that maybe you just weren’t interested. But I can smell you.”

“I’m interested,” Tony says into the younger man’s hair. “Trust me. Interested is putting it lightly. Not to mention, I’m a pretty creative guy. I could have probably stopped you if I wasn’t interested.”

“Even if you could, it’s not right for me to, to just—consent is important!”

“You’re goddamn right it is,” Tony says. He draws Peter’s chin up so they can meet eyes, and even bloodshot and wet, Peter’s are still warm and sincere and painfully adorable. “So, while I’m of sane mind and in between waves, let’s just go ahead and say I’m giving you consent. Enthusiastically. Deal?”

It’s Peter’s turn to melt and then purr, a low growling in his chest, looking like the spider who caught the fly, only more charming and with far less legs thank god. He mouths at Tony’s neck, kissing the gland there to make him shiver, and when he speaks Tony can feel the brush of his lips moving against his skin: “Deal.”

#starker #abo #Omega!Tony #Alpha!Peter

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makeste · 5 years ago

Text

some asks about BnHA 241 and 240 and then some random other asks

I agree with this completely, anon (especially given his attitude throughout the rest of the chapter), but I didn’t edit my initial response since I think there’s a good likelihood that he still deadpanned the line despite being 100% sincere. one could say he was Accidentally Sarcastic. anyways yeah, Todoroki Shouto is a disaster more at 11.

(but also, he’s totally right and Bakugou is in full-blown denial over their blossoming friendship. because he already decided that they’re Not Friends, and thus he has to actively work to maintain that status now. which Todoroki is making very difficult these days! can you fucking do your part to keep the fucking rivalry going, Icy-Hot?? can you at least try?? why does he have to do all the work. sometimes he forgets for a moment and Todo catches him off guard and he responds normally without thinking and doesn’t realize it until later, and god. why is everything and everyone so stupid.)

I have not forgotten (though I did mix up Pixie-Bob with Mandalay though woop)! and that annoyed me too. we only have like six female pros out there as it is. why do half of them (looking at you too, Midnight) have to be mildly sex-crazed. I know it’s not serious and they’re not actually being serious, but still, is it really asking so much to get some female pros whose eccentricities are less specifically tailored to common male fantasies. you’re a fucking hero Pixie-Bob! you’re a fucking earthbender and you’re hot as heck. why are you so worried about not being able to Get A Man. with Mt. Lady it at least fits more with her general personality from what we’ve seen, I guess. anyways, y’all know I love like 98% of this series, but this is part of the 2%, so. it is what it is.

Tomura is Endgame Thanos, a.k.a. the most sinister and most genuinely frightening of the Thanoses. this really isn’t on track to end well sob.

ah, my bad. (regardless, it was still dramatic af.)

I think she’s a six-year-old (?? she seems six-ish, idk) girl who was terrified of her father and trying to stay under his radar (which was frankly the smart thing to do based on what we’ve seen), and was trying to teach her younger brother how to do the same, and I don’t blame her at all for throwing Tenko under the bus (if that’s indeed what happened); I’m sure she just panicked and didn’t mean it. she’s just a kid. -- was just a kid. anyways she was super cute and would have made a fucking awesome hero, and her death is easily the one I’m still the most raw about out of that whole fucking nightmare. I’m not getting over that. I want her to still be alive; at one point I was convinced of a conspiracy theory that AFO had secretly spared her too (because two Shimura heirs to manipulate are better than one), and Tomura only believed that she was dead due to his fragmented memories. but that seems less likely post-chapter 236.

so yeah, I’m still very upset about this. she was good and kind and loved her brother and had a lot of spirit and she did not even remotely deserve what happened to her.

thank you so much!! one of the best parts of fandom is interacting with other people and reading everyone’s different takes and theories. lord knows I miss a lot of stuff when I read, even when I’m trying very hard to pay attention. so I love when other people point stuff out and bring up ideas I hadn’t thought about.

also! without exception, every single person I’ve ever interacted with in this fandom on tumblr has been polite and courteous and civil as fuck, even on the occasions when we disagree, and I absolutely can’t take credit for that. people are just cool. so thank you everyone. (and particular shoutout to @thequietmanno1, who for some reason I can’t tag, but whom this ask is almost certainly referring to specifically.)

lmao anon this made my fucking day. thank you!!

all right, here goes!

a) this is possible for sure in that as a rule, I never put anything past AFO, and I don’t doubt for a second he’d be capable of this. but, it would kind of suck though. specifically it would suck for Tomura, who’s only just starting to come into his own at long last, and who has gone through quite a lot to get to this point. like, that would be devastating to see him reduced to a literal puppet after all of that. and if it did happen, I don’t know what the odds would be of him actually being “saved” after that (All Might at least would try, but I can’t see anyone else being concerned enough to bother. well except for the rest of the League, come to think of it. that could be interesting), and I’d be really sad if that ended up being how he went out. these things usually don’t end up working out too well for the body snatchee.

plus, this also hinges on whether or not AFO is capable of transferring his quirk to Tomura’s body. if not, there’s no way he’d take the tradeoff, regardless of how powerful Tomura’s own quirk has become at this point. that would just be a really bad deal. like trading the cow for beans, except these ones aren’t even magic beans, just like. normal beans. but if he does have a way of transferring the AFO quirk, then yeah. although he could take anyone’s body then if that was the case, and I can think of a few targets who just might be even more tempting than his protege. All Might’s protege, for one. ...you know what, this line of thinking is starting to get a little too horrifying so let’s move on to the other theory lol.

(b) a few people have mentioned the Shimura Momo theory to me, but to be totally honest, I can’t see much of a logical basis for it other than them bearing a slight resemblance and having similar hairstyles. Inko has also been brought up as potentially being related to Nana for the same reasons. it’d be cool, no doubt, but for me, I need more evidence than just that. I just don’t see how this would advance the plot or the characters’ storylines in any meaningful way. I guess it could potentially tie Momo in more to the central plot, but it’d be kind of a weird way to do it, idk.

then again I’m one to talk, because until fairly recently I was on board with Hagakure of all people turning out to be a Shimura (Hana, to be specific). she’s the traitor, she’s invisible, we never did find out what Hana’s quirk was, and this would mean that Hana was still alive this whole time which would be GREAT, because seriously fuck you Horikoshi!! but yeah that doesn’t seem likely now either. dammit.

anyway, so I’ll just say that both of these theories are possible, but for me personally, in order to be sold on a specific theory I need to be able to see how it logically fits within the storyline and how it moves the story forward. like, Dabi being Todoroki Touya is something I’m 100% on board with, because that’s an established mystery in the series (who is Touya, what happened to him, who is Dabi, etc.), and Dabi fits into place with the evidence we have, and it gives us a lot of Todoroki drama and gives Endeavor and Shouto a personal connection to the Leagu... Pliff. but for something like the Momo theory, I would need there to be some indication that there’s a third sibling we don’t know about, and some hinting about there being more to Momo’s past than we know, and right now I don’t see either of those things, so it’s hard to get on board. hopefully that makes sense.

anon I really like that you phrased this as an inevitability lol. (and I am 100% on board.)

assuming this happens at the very end of the series, I like to think Tomura and the rest of his gang will manage to “escape” the heroes (“oh no... Tomura... he’s getting away... this is awful... somebody stop him” meanwhile no one is making even the slightest effort to move lol), at which point they will live the rest of their lives happily ever after as Lovable Outlaws and All-Around Scamps. like, maybe they’ll still commit some crimes, but they won’t be like serious crimes or anything. they’ll have more of a Guardians of the Galaxy vibe, maybe. I want them to be happy and I don’t want them to go to jail even though they’re teeeeeeeechnically murderers, I GUESS (look, nobody’s perfect!!). but maybe they steal the occasional priceless artifact and inadvertently wind up saving the world. seems like the best compromise.

lol I don’t know what this means either. like in the way a Youtuber has their own brand?? or like Frito-Lays. idk all I really do is talk a lot about an extremely popular manga, so I don’t think that’d really count?? I’m fine with this just being a little tumblr discussion blog haha.

so I’ve gotten like a half dozen asks and messages about this lol. (someone actually told me a very specific detail about said past! so just to remind everyone, I’m spoiler-free on Vigilantes right now guys, I’m sorry. I know it’s no fun.) I regret to admit that I still have not yet gotten around to it. I don’t know what it is, but I’m having a lot of trouble reading new stuff right now. I tried to start the other new BnHA spin-off which @temperatezone told me about (and btw no I did not know about it, so thank you!!) (and also! BnHA has THREE SEPARATE FUCKING SPIN-OFFS right now, how fucking crazy is that. like, I don’t want to accuse a manga series of literally trying to take over the world, but!! seriously that’s just insane), which has an amazing premise, but I haven’t had time/been in the right mindset to start that yet either. it sucks. I’m sorry. I’m working on it. ;;

press f to pay respects to what could have been, guys. they literally had it all. class, an ironic acronym, you name it. and now it’s just PLF. the Iron Patriot of villain organization names.

#bnha #bnha 241 #bnha 240 #shigaraki tomura #all for one #yaoyorozu momo #shimura hana #todoroki shouto #bakugou katsuki #bnha spoilers #makeste reads bnha #asks #anon asks

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