#i don’t know I just want them to have a habit of interchanging names when the situation calls for it

[snowflake-apocalypse]

Operation: Danger Zone

The Go-Lipsky bunch are hiding from enemies from their past. Jay gets caught on the street and runs into one. While Joss is at Lair HQ.

Dude: What’s your name, kid?

Jay: Uh, ... My name is... Bob.. Possible.

Joss:

Joss: Really?? That is the absolute worst terrible thing you could choose as an alias!! Just go bring the FBI some cupcakes while you’re at it!

[thevalleyisjolly]

Ok, I’ve rewritten this post several times because I really want this to be a productive and respectful discussion, but this is a conversation that does need to be started.  I’ve been thinking about the whole cultural appropriation story line in this season of The Unsleeping City so far, and of course I think it’s great that Cody is starting to realize why that’s wrong and that Murph is making it explicitly clear that it is wrong, but I want to reorient the conversation away from Cody now and talk about Ricky as a Japanese-American character.

Because when Zac went “Just to paint a picture for you...” during the museum fight episode, there was quite a bit of surprise from non-Asian people in the fandom that this was really a serious issue, and one that Ricky would be bothered by or speak up about.  But why wouldn’t he?  I mean, the character is Japanese-American, and so is the player.  Doesn’t it make perfect sense that he would at least be a little bothered by a white person appropriating Japanese culture?  Asian fans certainly noticed and pointed it out before that episode aired.  Ricky/Zac certainly noticed - go back through the episodes and observe how every time Cody pulled out a kunai or threw a shuriken, Ricky was cringing or facepalming with an uncomfortable laugh.  Even with seven different camera perspectives to watch at the same time, it should have been pretty clear in the fandom that this was an ongoing issue that would bother and was bothering Ricky.

And I think there are several different facets to this, but the one I want to address is how there’s a tendency in fandom to ignore or erase Ricky’s Japanese heritage.  Not literally (although there is a particular sting every time I see another Ricky fancast where the actor is of another Asian heritage than Japanese - Asian people are not interchangeable).  But especially prior to Season 2, there was a general trend in the fandom that liked to simplify Ricky’s character and overlook him as a complex player character because of traits that are very common in East Asian immigrant cultures.

Perhaps it’s because my heritage is East Asian and I’ve had more exposure to general cultural customs and behaviours among East Asian immigrants, but Zac’s portrayal of Ricky has always read as a very obvious Asian-American child of immigrants to me (and, y’know, Zac and Ricky are actually Asian-American children of immigrants).  Not expressing negative emotions out loud, not verbally articulating thoughts and feelings but expressing them through actions, deferring to other peoples’ needs first instead of expressing his own wants because it’s not about him.  With the caveat that I’m Chinese and not Japanese, these are common practices that I’ve observed in my own family, among friends and acquaintances (of various Asian heritages including but not limited to Chinese), in broader experiences with other East Asian immigrants.

(Asia is not a monolith and I’m not familiar with the immigrant cultures and experiences of people from other Asian heritages.  I specify East Asian here because that is broadly what I can speak on and because Ricky is Japanese, but other Asian people please feel free to discuss your experiences as well)

And obviously, these are not monolith traits observed at all times, I’ve definitely met plenty of East Asian immigrants who did express their emotions loudly, who used their words, who were assertive about their own needs and wants (this is not the post to be getting into different generations of immigration and the culture differences between those generations).  And it also depends on the context - from my own experience, in private within families, both emotions and words can get extremely loud (if you dare to risk the wrath of your elders by arguing with them!)  But my point is that the habits I pointed out above are still relatively common in East Asian immigrant cultures, even if not all individuals follow them at all times.

Particularly prior to Season 2, there was a common perspective in the fandom, usually couched in “uwu, I love that Zac is playing a hot dummy!!” that would go along the lines of “Ricky doesn’t have a character arc, he doesn’t get into conflicts with other people, he doesn’t say anything and is just happy to be there, he’s a shallow character who’s just a himbo.”  All of which I’d dispute, (*insert post here about Ricky as a character reclaiming Asian masculinity*), but I want to focus on how the main traits -refraining from overt emotions, remaining reserved in speech, not bringing up his own needs and wants- that were brought up and used to simplify and dismiss Ricky’s character were traits which are commonly found in East Asian immigrant communities.  The whole “remaining reserved/trying to avoid conflict” is something a lot of East Asian-American kids pick up at home because what you say or don’t say isn’t as important as what you do or don’t do.

And I mean, so much of Ricky is about doing things for people, showing his feelings through his actions, not his words.  Just because he wasn’t getting into PC conflict in Season 1, or expressing his emotions in the same ways as other PCs, doesn’t mean he was just a silent, cheerful himbo.  Which there’s nothing wrong with being a himbo, and it can be particularly empowering in Ricky’s case as an Asian man (see above linked post about Asian masculinity), but that’s not all there is to Ricky’s character!  And don’t get me wrong, I personally love that part of his ongoing character arc in Season 2 is speaking up about his feelings and expressing to other people what he wants (because there’s the “American” part of the Asian-American experience that’s not just about having Asian heritage but is also about negotiating that relationship in a place with different norms and customs).  But it doesn’t negate the “Asian” part of “Asian-American” either, which does impact and shape the way Ricky interacts with people and the world.

In hindsight, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that interest and meta in Ricky skyrocketed once he did start being more vocal and assertive in Season 2, which are common traits in many Western cultures.  And it’s not the only reason that there’s a deeper interest in Ricky now (shout out to all the Asian fans and allies who’ve been really diving into Ricky’s character this season!) and I choose to believe in good faith that it isn’t intentional or malicious (audiences do tend to gravitate more towards tangible moments of conversation and conflict rather than background acting).  But I think we as fans need to start questioning why as a whole, we really didn’t start giving deeper thought to Ricky until he began displaying more typically Western traits, because I think it’s emblematic of how, very subtly and unconsciously, we are used to privileging white “American” behaviour and ignoring or glossing over Asian (immigrant) traits.

In many ways, Ricky prior to Season 2 (and very arguably up until the museum fight), has been perceived in the general fandom as a sort of post-racial American-melting-pot character.  Fans don’t wholly ignore that he’s Japanese-American, you can’t really do that when his family name is “Matsui” and when the Season 1 finale showed that his interactions with the American Dream pretty strongly involved his parents’ immigrant experience.  But knowing intellectually that Ricky is Asian doesn’t always translate to actually perceiving him as an Asian person with all the implications and racial dynamics that entails.

An example of how this manifests: Ricky and Esther become a canon couple.  Numerous posts begin to appear (and periodically still do) that express opinions along the lines of Ricky/Esther being the only tolerable “het” couple.  Ignoring the fact that we don’t know Esther’s sexuality and we only have an offhand Ztream comment for Ricky, Ricky/Esther is a canonical interracial relationship between two non-white people, a Japanese man and a black woman.  Interracial relationships are already extremely poorly represented in media, to say nothing of interracial relationships between non-white people.   Yet we overlook the racial dynamics and only focus on the perceived queerness (or not) of the ship.

Or, for another example, taking the discussion on cultural appropriation and making it all about Cody’s flaws and character development, rather than considering how it affects Ricky as a Japanese man to see a white man disrespecting a part of his cultural heritage.

Anyways, I really urge D20 fans, especially if you’re not Asian, to start questioning and challenging how you really perceive characters, what kind of characteristics you tend to privilege and be drawn to and why, and what kind of fandom environment you shape in your interactions with the show and with other fans.  This is not to say that Ricky should be everyone’s favourite character or that you can’t dislike him, but it is important to think about why we have the preferences that we do.  I especially urge you to remember that Ricky Matsui is a Japanese-American character, that this was a deliberate choice which has been repeatedly brought up by Zac (who is a Japanese-American actor), and that you cannot and should not ignore Ricky’s heritage when you think and talk about him. 

(And if you think Ricky is being an “asshole” to Cody just for being, frankly, mildly perturbed in his direction because Cody spent most of the season so far being very offensive to Ricky’s cultural heritage, I really encourage you to think critically about your opinions and why you hold them.  And if, after thinking critically, you still don’t see why they’re wrong, please don’t let the door hit you on the way out.  Your conscious racism is not something that is welcome in this fandom, and Asian fans are not here to teach you better)

((White and non-Asian people can and should reblog this, but don’t clown around.  Productive, respectful discussion is welcome.  Asian fans are more than welcome to add their perspectives/agree/disagree, especially people with Japanese heritage))

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Dating Farmer Ted

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

- Regardless of where the two of you have your first conversation, Ted probably knew of and had a crush on you before you were even aware of his existence.

- He’d probably seen you around school and thought that you were really pretty but just didn’t have the nerve to introduce himself while you were with your friends/around people. But now was his perfect chance. 

- You’d been sitting outside of the school, waiting for somebody, when he’d slinked up to you all dorkily suave. Considering you were somewhat distracted by a book, you probably didn’t realize someone was approaching you until they’d; or rather he’d, sat beside you. 

- Somewhat surprised and curious, you looked up and over at him, meeting his eyes as he gave you a smile. He greeted you, making small talk as you sat together before asking if you “wanted to go out Saturday night”. 

- You found him sort of endearing and cute in a wimpy sort of way so; much to his genuine surprise, you actually said yes. 

- For your first date, the two of you went to the movies. He kept sneaking glances at you throughout the night and held his hand open on the armrest like halfway through the movie, waiting to see if you’d take it; which you probably did. 

- He probably rushes to go tell Bryce and Cliff about everything that happened after the two of you say goodbye. 

- You have your first kiss about a week after your first date. You were sitting together in his bedroom and he’d mentioned how “it may come as a surprise …but you’re the first girl he’s ever gone out with.” before telling you how he really likes you and is wondering if you’ll be his girlfriend. 

- Obviously, you agree and after an almost instantaneous “really?!”, he all but smashes his lips to yours. When the two of you pull away, he shyly apologizes but you just laugh and tell him it’s fine. 

- And there you have it, the geek finally gets the girl. 

- Lots of pda. He wants to show off and flaunt your relationship; particularly because he knows that no one would automatically assume that the two of you are dating whenever you’re together. 

- His arm around your shoulder. It makes him feel like a stud. 

- Handholding. 

- Hugs from behind. He does occasionally give you an actual squeeze but, more often than not, he just wraps his arms loosely around you while the two of you stand together. 

- He loves kisses on the cheek. He always tries his best to play it cool but his heart skips a beat whenever you give him one. 

- Clumsy kisses. You’re probably going to be his first kiss so expect him to be a little bad at it for a while; and possibly scrape you with his braces. 

- Soft kisses. 

- Sitting in his lap. He likes wrapping his arms around you and  looking up at your face or whatever you’re doing in front of him whenever you do. 

- He loves cuddling and enjoys doing it in any way that you can. Spooning? Great! You laying your head on his chest? Even better! Him laying his head on you? Wowza!

- You’ll probably catch him staring at you a lot. He’s just amazed that such a wonderful girl like you is giving him the time of day. 

- He calls you pet names more than your actual name, particularly in front of people because; once again, he likes showing off that you’re a couple. He must have at least a dozen different terms of endearment that he calls you interchangeably. 

- Lame pick up lines. He still tries to flirt with you; even though he’s arguably bad at it. 

- He likes making you laugh at his absurdity, especially if you’re noticeably upset; either with him or at something else. 

- Singing along and lip syncing to the radio together. 

- Dancing with each other. 

- Giving all of his geeky interests a try. 

- Letting him explain floppy disks and computers and all that to you. He’s actually sort of brilliant if we’re being honest here. 

- Pizza dates. 

- Movie dates. I can’t tell you why but I feel like Ted would enjoy watching old movies, movies with like Frank Sinatra in them and all the other golden age of Hollywood stars. 

- Taking walks around the neighborhood together; maybe walking a dog together if you’re interested in that. 

- Going to the park. You usually sit on the swings together and talk whenever you do. 

- Arcade dates.

- County fairs, carnivals, and amusement parks. He likes taking you to those types of things, he thinks they’re really fun.

- Having “his dudes” interrupt and tag along with you guys a lot. He’s quick to tell them to scram but you usually feel kinda bad and just tell them they can stay if they’d like to.

- He definitely tries to get you a bit out of your comfort zone but never minds if you just don’t feel like doing something. The two of you could just be standing and doing nothing and he’d be completely fine with it purely because he’s with you.

- He said it himself: he’s a total pushover for pretty girls. You can convince him to do pretty much anything because he’s too twerked up to say no.

- Doing his makeup. Did you see his lid space? The clean close shave? He’d probably outright refuse at first but he’d give in easy enough and you’d get to make him gorgeous.

- He loves the smell of your perfume. He’ll never admit it but he sprays himself with it before he leaves your house so that he can smell like you for the rest of the night. It’s comforting to him.

- He definitely messes around with your stuffed animals whenever he’s bored, you’re not paying attention to him, or just to make you smile.

- Making you laugh is one of his main missions in life. He loves hearing the sound; even if it’s at his expense. 

- Helping him clean up the messes he makes when he’s a total klutz, or just silently helping him when he’s awkwardly and cluelessly fumbling with something. 

- Standing up for him; especially if you’re higher on the social hierarchy.  

- Walking to class together. 

- Sitting with him at lunch; even though it’s sort of social suicide. You get a lot of stares and weird interactions from the other geeks but Bryce and Cliff have gotten used to you and have become pretty good friends of yours. 

- Him carrying your things, or you; he’s surprisingly strong for such a little guy. 

- You’re like 90% of his impulse control and one of the only reasons he’s still alive. You keep him in check because he desperately needs it sometimes.

- Sharing secrets. 

- Having earnest conversations. Most of the time, he feels like he needs to put up a front to seem cool but the longer you're together, the more he realizes you like him for him and that he can just be himself. 

- He can act like a bit of a jerk sometimes but he does genuinely care about your feelings and is actually pretty good at making you feel better when you’re feeling down. 

- He’s definitely pretty jealous. You hang out with him and a bunch of geeks who are constantly ogling and trying to get close to you. Not to mention the fact that you’re really pretty and could bag a boy who’s much higher on the social ladder than he is. 

- He’s not overprotective of you but he does care enough about you to put his weeny ass on the line. He may not be the most helpful in a dangerous/scary situation but he’s fully ready to get his ass kicked to defend you; he’s gotten it bruised for less than that. 

- You don’t fight a lot but the two of you do get into a few good arguments and fights. You’ll argue for a while until you move to just leave, he’ll stop you and calm his tone down while trying to reason with you and explain his point of view. He has a habit of saying the wrong thing or doing things without thinking so that may be part of the reason you’re moving to leave. 

- He is genuinely sorry whenever he’s blatantly messed up but he’ll usually apologize for his attitude regardless of who’s in the wrong and say “but you have to admit x” and you will have to admit it no matter how stubborn you are. 

- He likes when you tell him that you love him but he’s a bit too shy to say it back in fear of messing up his “stud persona”. He’ll usually just give you a kiss and tell you he loves you when you’re alone. 

- You’re his first love so he has that naive, “we’re gonna last forever” mindset; even though he doesn’t talk about it all that much. That’s not to say that you won’t though, I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful life together. 

[dabisburntsack]

False Alarm

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Pairing(s): Shigaraki Tomura x GN!Reader

Genre: Fluff !

Synopsis: When your long time gaming partner brings up the topic of May Day you can’t help but romanticise the olden holiday with your ever growing crush on him.

Wordcount: 1784

This is apart of a sfw flower collab done with the bnharem discord server! I loved the prompt for this collab and can’t wait to see how everyones fics turned out!! Special thanks to @pluviophile-imagines for helping my ass through this as I had a mental breakdown٩( ᐛ )و

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

⇾  signifies texting

May Day was a traditional holiday, one you wouldn’t have really heard of had your long time online gaming partner not brought it up in discussion as you fought against him to bring down the zombies on your screen.

“Yeah you pretty much leave a basket full of flowers with different meanings to them hanging on a loved ones door”

“I would have never pegged you for the romantic type” You replied amused.

“I’m- well, I’m... I would never do it-”

“You wouldn’t?”

“Pffft no, of course not”

“Shame, I think it's really romantic!”

The line went quiet, the only audible sound being the cock of guns and explosions going off in the game. You readjusted your mic wondering if he’d cut off when his voice came again; though quieter than the usual responses you would get.

“You think?”

“Yeah! Come onnn, tell me that isn’t the cutest thing ever”

The line paused again for the briefest moment, but when he finally continued speaking the conversation switched back to gameplay as if the short discussion about May Day had never occured. You shrugged and went back to chatting aimlessly about zombies yourself, though a small part of you may have wanted to carry on with the romance talk.

You had known the player ‘Decay_God’ for going on 3 years now and were as close as online friends could be. From what you’d gathered over the years, Tenko worked at a bar and had a shit ton of roommates. Though he constantly went on about how annoying they were, you could tell he cared deeply for them. He was passionate about what he did, whether it be his job (you didn’t know what exactly it was, just that his mood in your games would be whether or not he had received good news from his end) or his game play.

In the beginning, you didn’t really like him or his attitude; both being highly ranked in the gaming community you would constantly butt heads and his childish behaviour of when you would steal a victory off him annoyed you to no end. But as it went on, his temper tantrums died down and once you got to know him, you found his quips and wit to be quite entertaining. Now two years later, you would look forward to getting home from a stressful day at work to endlessly chatter about whatever topic was of the day.

You couldn’t lie, you had garnered a bit of a crush on him.

You didn’t even know what this man looked like. He could be a catfish! An old perverted dude! Hell he could even be a criminal and you’d be none the wiser! Although, if you were being honest with yourself… you couldn’t help but make the obvious connection to a certain infamous villain. One that happened to have pale blue hair and a decaying quirk. Even in personality they seemed interchangeable, from what you had seen on the news he was also akin to throwing childish temper tantrums and scratching at his neck when frustrated (a habit you regularly scolded Tenko for when you heard the telltale sound nails scraping along side the column of his neck.)

Whenever you did think about it though you stopped yourself, come on as if you would be gaming with Shig- no, you weren’t even going to say his name. So they had a few similarities, this was a whole villain compared to your sweet gaming partner. Dumb conspiracy theories aside, you couldn’t help the small flutter of your heart when he would say your name in a teasing manner or when he praised you for a particularly hard kill.

As you logged off for the night you laid your head against the wall your bed was propped next to and stared at the blank ceiling, your mind drifting back to the May Day conversation. A blushing Tenko came to your mind, his face obscured by a large hood, nervously rubbing at the back of his head before handing you a large bouquet of flowers. Your cheeks flushed and you slapped at them to stop yourself from heating up, vanishing the mental image mid thought.

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t as much of a small crush as you wanted it to be.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

After having a three day break, getting ready for work so early in the morning proved more effort than it should have been. Still trying to blink the sleep out of your eyes, you dragged your dazed body to your front door. You checked yourself for your belongings as you unlocked it, but as you took your first step out your foot landed in...ash?

You lifted your shoe to inspect the little decaying bits stuck to it, looking down you realised there was a pile of decayed dust on your doorstep.

You paled.

Instantly you were on high alert, tearing your foot from the contaminated shoe and snapping a picture of the evidence. You placed the shoe in a bag for further examination and bolted your door before texting your boss, the number four hero: Edgeshot.

Having the job of a personal assistant to such a high ranked hero meant you were used to lives being threatened. So far it had never happened to you and although this was small you could never be too sure. With the inside information you had, Edgeshot had always told you to be aware that someone may pull something sooner or later. It wasn’t completely out of the blue.

After seeing your message to your boss had been delivered, you reached out for the metal baseball bat you kept in the storage cupboard under the stairs, your quirk not really suited for defence purposes as it was made for technological aspects.

Checking every nook and cranny of your small apartment you didn’t see anything out of the ordinary and flopped back onto the sofa. Sighing, you ran a hand through your hair before going through your phone, checking the news, any odd sightings, anything you should possibly be alert for.

However crime rates seemed to be low and the only recent stories were from three days ago. Still not having received a text back from Edgeshot, you automatically switched to your messages with Tenko to type out the events of your morning.

I think I just got threatened lol

Instant response.

WHAT?!

If you don’t hear from me in 24 hours call the police :DD

Y/N

Ok okaY, damn you’re such a buzzkill

There was a pile of ash on my doorstep this morning, with my work you know I can never be too careful 

I’m fine though, I already told my boss

You waited as three dots appeared signifying he was typing but after a while they stopped. You furrowed your brows as they started up and stopped multiple times. After a full five minutes (during which time you grew bored and changed apps) a ping popped up.

With how long he had taken to type you were expecting a lengthy paragraph, what you weren’t expecting was a simple:

Oh

Oh? That’s all?

Yeah

You placed down your phone before another ping sounded out.

Are you sure they weren’t flowers

How the hell did you come to that conclusion

The typing ceased once more and you were left to your thoughts. What the hell did he mean by that? How did he come up with flowers out of all things like-

May Day?

You leapt from your seat, stumbling to look at the calendar attached to your kitchen wall, scanning the dates crossed off before turning the page and realising it was indeed the first of May. It surely couldn’t be a coincidence Tenko had brought up the holiday just yesterday. So he’d brought you flowers, because you said it was romantic… and he’d… dusted them. Dusted them, with his quirk, because he was…

Tenko could not be Shigaraki Tomura.

You did not have a crush on Shigaraki fucking Tomura.

Luckily at that moment the chime of your phone's ringtone going off distracted you. Looking at the caller ID you breathed a sigh of relief to see that it was Edgeshot. You could finally get to the bottom of this instead of drawing up ridiculous conclusions.

Edgeshot’s calm voice came through the other end of the line, stern but familiar. It seemed you’d been right to take the situation seriously, or so he assured you. But even as he talked to you, asking if you’d seen anything or if there was any other evidence of someone watching you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that it hadn’t meant anything at all.

Of course, if your gut instinct was right and you’d been gaming (and falling for) Shigaraki Tomura for three whole years and he’d been trying to romance you then that was. Definitely something. You just weren’t entirely sure what that something was.

You’d been talking to Edgeshot for nearly two hours when a knock sounded on your front door. Had he come by? What was the point of ringing, then? And wouldn’t he have told you?

You made your way over to the door and opened it expecting the sight of your boss, but instead you were met with a large bouquet of flowers perched on your doorstep. You looked up just in time to see a mess of unruly blue hair tucked into a black hoodie turning rapidly round the corner.

“False alarm,” you said quickly, ending the call on pure impulse and making a dash after the stranger.

You weren’t entirely sure what the plan was. It seemed more and more likely that you were right with each new development. What were you going to do if your gamer buddy really was an S-rank villain? Would you still be interested? Would he? He’d gone through the trouble of  getting you flowers not just once but twice, and honestly… the idea that he’d been so nervous the first time was kind of endearing.

That was a cute image, him standing at your door, so worried that he didn’t even notice he’d dusted the flowers in his hand as he set them down, probably running away quickly so you wouldn’t see him.

You reached out to grab the sleeve of your fleeing visitor and as they whirled round your suspicion after all this time was proven correct. You were speaking the moment his eyes met yours, all hesitation suddenly gone.

“You can’t just leave me flowers and run off like that, what if I thought it was another threat?”

Shigaraki’s scarlet eyes widened as they met your own.

“Hey Tenko” you grinned.

[androgynousblackbox]

have you seen the latest RaM episode? I was hoping to see if you had any thoughts about it! I really liked the exploration and the going off the gotdamb rails with the decoys. Also that scene with rick just. dick out and making morty peek at his ass for No actual reason sndhs

Don't forget the fact that his family didn't questioned for a single second that it should be MORTY the one to look into Rick's ass, like there was never anyone else but Morty who should be do it. It was gross, sure, but also such a... "guys would be guys" moment but not in the violent/toxic way but on the silly and unnecesary way, you know? Like Morty called it "punishment" and, sure, nobody wants to be farted into their face, but I can see Rick pulling a similar move on just any friend he feels like pranking to and, on a way, that was kinda wholesome. Okay, so I am going to pour my thoughts about this and the other episode as I usually do here so bear with me: -The fact that Summer IMMEDIATELY picked on what could go wrong about the whole decoy thing, and Rick has to aknowledge that Summer was smarter than this on this regard. This to me is talking again about how Summer IS actually smarter, emotional and socially wise (meaning with interelationships at least), that she could tell that if one Rick thinking he is not a decoy was going to make decoys then of course other Ricks would have the same idea. But Rick never saw this coming because he was only thinking of the decoys as instruments to be used and disposed, even as he was giving them actual personalities and filled their memories with real ones. He never considered they could go on to make their own because, well, they are not This Rick and this Rick is the smartest man in the universe, the guy that unironically think himself to be god, so OBVOUSLY think only HE would be capable of pulling that off. -The fact the immediately after a Rick wins while proclaiming himself "not a man, I am god!" only to be killed by what is essentially JUST A TOY, some little creature that was MEANT to be killed but got pissed when nobody did it. A literal "god" got eliminated for something fucking mundane that didn't even had to do with the main conflict. He doesn't even understand WHY this little dude just killed him, he died with uncertainty, and if that isn't the most human experience ever then I don't know. -With this episode and the first one, I HOPE this season is going to be about desconstructing Rick thinking himself above anything else. I said this before, but I don't trust fans who truly believe Rick is entitled to do anything he wants and be shitty with everyone because he is smart. It seems to be like these two episode literally adressed that kind of attitude by putting Rick on situations where not even he can get out of and revealing he is, in fact, still just a flawed human being. A major criticism that many people have levered against the show is that yes, we know Rick is sad and miserable, but the show still goes out of it's way to keep making him win on anything he wants (most of the time at least) and thus is signaling to the audience the idea that he is always right, that he should be always right, because he has the power to do anything he wants. The very first episode start with Rick about to fucking die with all his regrets ("I am a silly man, a silly old man") and then he is saved BY MORTY. If it wasn't because of Morty being there that would be it, they both would be gone. -The previous season was already descontructing Rick as the patriarch of the house and show how nobody "needs him" on the same way they needed him on the first season. The only character you could argue still gives a fuck about Rick's approval/recognition is Summer, but even then Summer was never submissive and passive like Season One Morty was to Rick, instantly believing anything he said. Plus, we all know that Rick COULD take Summer on all his adventures and she would never complain about it because she doesn't give a fuck about school anyway. But he still insist on taking Morty instead, despite his protests, because he just likes Morty better than Summer and he does not take well with Morty not relying on him. I don't fucking buy the whole "cancelling brain waves" excuse anymore because, come on, there is a million ways in which Rick could circunvent that problem if he wanted to

but he just prefers keep Morty around. -On the first episode Rick literally says "let me deus ex machina out of here". Deus ex machina literally means the hand of god because in ancient greek mythology many plays would have an element of a literal hand coming from the sky to take the characters out of any problem they are in. And it didn't worked! He needed Mr Nimbus to save them. Because he is not fucking god, and the show is finally showing us concrete evidence of this, while Rick is still the only one with this delusion on his head and this delusion is part of his downfall. The whole second episode is nothing else but Rick's ego fucking him in the ass, literally killing him over and over again. -Beth was GREAT rejoicing on Rick's existential crisis and she fucking deserved that moment, I am glad they gave it to her. -The way so many of the decoys decided to react to knowing they were decoys was so amazing. Like yeah, a majority of them decided to be all "oh no, there can only be one", but many other just off themselves because they couldn't handle not being The Original, insisting to the last moment that they MUST be the original because, well, that is what they think, and then other decoys were just ready to accept death because they had accepted there was no other way. -The only wish of Summer to be on the ocean was... so wholesome? Like it made for a beautiful scene in general, but then they dying hand by hand and just happy to be together, Rick apoligizing to Morty because they couldn't make his wish come true, such a good moment. -The fact that all those Ricks made decoys purely out of a sincere desire to protect his family, it's just great. It was still selfish to basically create life with the only purpose of it being destroyed, but it was motivated as another security measure to protect others, not just himself. -The skin wearing Rick on the swamps talking about "a Rick must provide for his family". Ricks CARE about their family so much. -The puppet Smits were so cute, I loved their voices. -THE MUPPET SMITHS. Even if it was nothing but a costume, it was cute and I want them on Pocket Mortys. -This scene is a Call Me By Your Name reference and nobody tells me otherwise:

As I explained on a server: 1. Italian. The movie happens on Italy. 2. Pool. Many crucial scenes include a pool. 3. Age difference. If they just wanted to imply Morty was flirting they could have used just an older teenager, they didn't need a literal hunk that kinda looks like the older character on the movie. 4. THERE IS FUCKING PEACHES ON THE FOREFRONT. If anyone saw Call me by your name, they know they literally fucked a peach at some point and then the love interest EATS IT ANYWAY. And what does it look like the guy Morty is with is eating? PEACHES. 5. Parents are watching and don't give a fuck. 6. I have decided. -Regardless if it's a reference or not, though, is still pretty fucking gay. -I have seen some fans theorizing that the Smith family we see in the end with Space Beth was our own, and at first I thought so too because they are with Space Beth but then I was... wait a minute, ALL Beth decoys knew there was a Space Beth. They went out of their way to show us this by always having Beth being the one who insisted that no decoy had to die, because she knew what was to feel like a copy. When Rick decided to make another family exactly as his own, he also made HIMSELF expendable and interchangeable. We don't need thirty Smith families, the show only needs one and it doesn't matter which one is it as long is one we can recognize. Why couldn't that have been another decoy family that just so happened to want to do a space trip while all the bullshit was happening? I don't think they are ever going to confirm if this was our original Smith family or don't, just like they won't confirm which Beth is the clone, but I personally think it would be fucking hilarious if they were a decoy and Our Rick just died thinking he was a decoy. -Also the way that Space Beth was just casually putting an arm around Morty made me so happy. Considering that Beth is also the mother who prefered to save Summer over Morty when their lives were in danger, I really like the idea that Space Beth sees how much Morty has grown and is proud of him for becoming a badass himself without Rick's help. That is just my headcanon though, but wouldn't be nice to have SOMEONE appreciate Morty? -Finally, but not less important... Rick knew Morty uses a yosemite shirt in order to cum. This man literally knew about the masturbatory habits of his grandson. Rick went as far on his desire to protect his family he used that knowledge for the decoys. He also told Morty to not fuck his double, which is a nice little reference to Morty literally doing that on the comics but also a subtle way to tell us that Morty is definitely Not Straight because, yeah, I am fucking counting selfcest as a form of queerness because regardless of everything else, that is still two identifying male characters fucking. We only need Beth showing attraction to some female character and the entire Smith family would be officially pan/bi.

[pedros-mustache-main]

like the movies

summary: he’s the writer; you’re the muse. there’s a cup of coffee somewhere in there, too.

word count: 3.3k+

warnings: fluff & pining—so, a change of pace from my usual angst. :) also: a serious lack of dialogue because i am feeling verbose. 

a/n: this is entirely @joemazzmatazz‘s fault. it was her idea (albeit given to me actual ages ago), but she said “do it” and who am i to say no? anywho, i’m relatively uncertain about how this turned out, but have it regardless!

your latte is hot, almost too hot. it burns your tongue on the first sip.

but you welcome the heat and the momentary burst of pain. the weather swirling outside borders on atrocious: freezing rain mixed with snow flurries, bloated, gray clouds, and a thin layer of ice on all surfaces. though the tip of your tongue stings upon that first sip, the heat that rushes to your chest pushes away the dreary weather you’d slogged through to get to the coffee shop.

you’re a regular here. not a regular regular, but regular enough that the interchangeable baristas recognize you and you recognize them. you exchange tight-lipped smiles and nods of greeting when you approach the counter, but nothing more than simple pleasantries. you don’t know their names, and they never ask for yours, but they remember your order: frosted blueberry latte with extra foam. it’s gotten to the point where you can simply walk up to the counter, money in hand, and the barista can repeat your order before you open your mouth.

it’s the little things, you suppose. in this little corner of the world, you feel seen.

today, you have your laptop open, latte pushed to the side, and a cherry and almond scone on a bright blue plate. you resist the urge to pull your foot up on the chair and rest your chin on your knee. though you’re here more often than you’re at home, this isn’t your living room. you settle for sliding your ankle beneath your opposite thigh.

being a paralegal is decidedly unglamorous. sure, it sounds highfalutin to the person sitting beside you on the airplane, but damn, if it isn’t stressful. you feel like a glorified secretary most of the time. pushing papers and getting signatures and making tens of phone calls to people and places that are not interested in speaking to a lawyer isn’t really what you signed up for. at least, it’s not what you ultimately want. it pays the bills for now, though; a partnership… that’ll come later.

you’re lucky enough that you can work remotely, hence your sturdy corner of the café. from where you sit, you watch customers enter and exit the shop. each time the door opens and the little bell tinkles above, a blast of cold air rushes into the cramped space. you enjoy watching the reaction of newcomer­—the way they stamp their snow-covered shoes on the wood floor and shiver, turn to their companions with a smile, hurry to the counter to order something sweet and warm. in those moments, you grow wistful, your heart lurching with loneliness. it’s been a long time since you’ve had anyone to meet for an afternoon coffee date, friend or otherwise. your job doesn’t afford much downtime, and what downtime you do have is devoted to menial life responsibilities. 

your phone buzzes, and you glance down. a text from your boss. time to refocus.

you work for a while longer, nibbling on your scone, sipping from your latte. the emails pile up, and your phone buzzes incessantly. a headache forms at the base of your skull as you struggle to keep up with the constant flurry of communication.

after receiving a terse email from your boss’s legal partner in relation to something that is no fault of your own, you shut your laptop. a five-minute break; you deserve that much. rubbing a hand down your weary face, you grab your purse, slide out from behind the table, and head for the restroom. in the poorly lit bathroom, you splash some cool water on your cheeks and sigh at your reflection in the mirror. you look tired, feel it too. the dark bags under your eyes bely how little sleep you’ve gotten in the last week, and your shoulders droop under the weight of the world. maybe by christmas…

who are you kidding? christmas is just as busy as any other time of the year. people don’t stop needing lawyers just ‘cause it’s the holidays.

when you return to your makeshift workspace, you immediately frown. you freeze several paces from the corner of the table and glance over your shoulder, tightening your grip on the strap of your purse.

someone had been at the table in the five minutes it took to freshen up.

nothing is gone, thank god. (in retrospect, you probably shouldn’t have left your laptop and phone sitting in plain sight. call it naivety, but you like to think the best of people. however, your line of work consistently reminds you that the bad in people often outweighs the good.) your laptop, though, has been nudged to the side, the movement causing the charging cord to fall out. several drops of dark liquid—spilled latte—dampen the corner of your yellow legal pad.

what truly catches you eye is the square piece of paper resting on your laptop’s keyboard like a discarded feather.

you look over your shoulder again, but the shop is largely empty save for the baristas and an older couple in the far corner. the weather is certainly a deterrent from lingering. perhaps someone had come in while you were in the bathroom and left you a note. had your car been hit? you hope not. you don’t have the extra funds for vehicular maintenance right now and even less time to fix whatever damage had been done.

leaning forward, you lift the piece of paper, and your chest tightens.

it’s a drawing—a drawing of you. blue ink scattered across the page in swirling lines forms the hazy outline of your profile. your chin rests in your hand, and the artist made certain note to emphasize your eyelashes, which are not that long in actuality. at the bottom of the page, a message in curling script: when you are old ­— yeats

your mouth runs dry, your palms moist with nerves. returning to your chair, you quickly type the words into the search bar of your browser. you remember enough from high-school english to know yeats is a poet, but when the poem loads and you read the words, you feel like you might fall over.

your neck snaps up, cracks at the sudden movement. someone had been here in the café long enough to watch you, to sketch you, and to think of the yeats poem in relation to you.

how decidedly… romantic. like something out of a chick-flick.

despite the warmth in your chest, you shut your laptop, fold the sketch, and shove it in your coat pocket, willing yourself to forget the random happenstance. things like that—serendipitous moments of romance—only happen in the movies. they certainly don’t happen to you.

whomever had left the note, well—at least they’d brightened your day. your mother would call it a gift from the heavens, an angel smiling down on you.

shaking your head, you gather your things and hurry out into the cold, wintery weather. you refuse to allow yourself to go home and daydream. you could use the note as a bookmark, sure, but there was no use in dreaming about the artist. no use whatsoever when you would likely never cross paths again.

except you do go home and daydream. why you ever thought you could keep yourself from mulling over a moment rife with potential is ridiculous.

all throughout the evening—as you make your stir-fry dinner, as you draw your bath, as you change the sheets on your bed, and fold the laundry—you consider the possibilities:

you’d been at the café for a handful of hours, but how much had you truly paid attention to the patrons coming and going? barely, if you’re honest with yourself. you had noticed the older couple when they came in; you’d wondered how they’d managed to get from the parking lot to the warmth of the coffee shop without slipping on the icy sidewalks. you’d noticed, too, a man who looked a lot like how you imagine paul bunyan: massive height, plaid shirt stuffed in worn jeans, impressive beard. no one else of note sticks out in your mind hours later.

what had you been doing all afternoon? hopefully you hadn’t done anything embarrassing. god, sometimes you have this habit of resting your fingers over your mouth in such a way that it pushes up your nose to resemble a pig’s snout. had you done that? sometimes you fiddle with your hair too much and bounce your knees and hum to yourself. you want to sink below the suds of your bathwater when you recall your propensity for talking to yourself.

your thoughts turn fanciful when you finally slip beneath your covers.

maybe the artist is like tom hanks in “you’ve got mail.” only instead of emails, you could exchange notes in a coffee shop and forgo the business rivalry part.

maybe the artist is like tom hanks in “sleepless in seattle”: soft and sweet and really good with kids.

maybe you just have a thing for tom hanks.

you turn your head with a girlish grin, tucking your lower lip between your teeth.

you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t daydream, but how could you not? yeats’s poem filters through your mind like the moon filtering through your curtains: how many loved your moments of glad grace, and loved your beauty with love false or true, but one man loved the pilgrim soul in you and loved the sorrows of your changing face.

with a muffled squeal, you allow yourself a moment to thrash in delight—like a schoolgirl with a crush and a note checked yes i like you tucked beneath her pillow. the idea that someone somewhere notices you, of all people, is simply too much to bear. you feel like your heart will explode and sunbeams will burst from beneath your skin. you feel warm and happy and drunk on possibility.

you settle, then, and sigh, smoothing your hands over the rumpled comforter. you’re a professional, though. a paralegal, for god’s sake. you’ll go back to the café. maybe not tomorrow, but you’ll go back. just maybe—maybe, maybe, maybe—you’ll run into your artist again.

you return to the coffee shop in two days, lugging your over-stuffed bag with you, earbuds snug in your ears. when you cross the threshold, you can’t help the way your eyes immediately scan the customers who have parked themselves in the various sitting areas. you’re looking for your artist, obviously, but you have nothing to go on other than the note tucked away in your jewelry box at home. a few words, a carefully drawn profile—that’s not enough to determine who had created the note from a simple glance.

begrudgingly, you remind yourself once again that life isn’t a movie. there’s no tom hanks waiting for you on the other end of the note. it’s silly to dwell on it any longer, really. you’ll get too wrapped up, too attached, and that wouldn’t bode well for the upcoming holidays.

the table you usually occupy is already taken by a man in a red sweater. his head is bent over his laptop, glasses slipping down his strong nose. you try not to take it to heart; the table was never explicitly yours. with a soft grunt of effort, you drop your belongings in an orange armchair across the room before meandering to the counter. julie (at least, you think that’s her name?) smiles when you approach, and she rings up your order, asking about the weather and plans for the holidays.

once your coffee is in hand, you return to your new seat and relax in the accommodating plush armchair. maybe the man in the red sweater had done you a favor after all. you glance up to look at him. if he stays as long as you often do, his ass will ache by the time he leaves. the wood chairs offer zilch in the way of comfort.

you quickly lose yourself in work, but the idea that your artist could be in the same room as you never truly leaves your mind. you find yourself glancing about the room from time to time, studying those who come and go, wondering if perhaps they were the one who saw something worthwhile in you. no one catches you eye; everyone is too busy with their own affairs, and you don’t blame them.

by the end of the afternoon, you find your latte completely and utterly forgotten. it’s cold when you take a tentative sip, and you sigh. maybe not five dollars wasted, but five dollars you had meant for a hot drink, especially considering the cold weather. rising from your seat, you take the latte to the counter and ask the barista to pour your drink in a to-go cup with some ice. might as well make the best of it, and you don’t like things to go to waste.

when you return to your chair, you nearly drop the plastic cup.

another note.

“holy shit,” you breathe. instinctively, your palm tightens around your cup, and the plastic gives a small crack. you wince and double-check to make sure no leaks have sprung before picking up the folded piece of paper on your messenger bag.

your fingers tremble as you flip open the folded note.

the same blue ink, same hurried penmanship. no drawing this time; only words.

she sat, much as i did, working fervently. i couldn’t help but watch, and maybe that made me a creep, but i’d been called worse. she sat with an heir of regality, her chin held firm, eyes dancing about the room like she owned the place. not haughty or self-possessed. just sure of herself. what did that make me then? alone in my corner? i didn’t like to dwell too long, so i—

the words stop in time with the seize of your heart.

you can’t seem to look away, to look around the room again in search of your artist, your writer. your heart pounds in your chest, flush rising on your cheeks. eyes—you feel eyes on you whether they are present or not. you feel dizzy. never have you felt so… seen, so noticed. not even in past relationships have your boyfriends took such care to notice the minute details of your being.

the strange urge to vomit rises in your throat. you aren’t afraid; you aren’t creeped out.

you’re just… overwhelmed.

so, you tuck the note in your pocket and leave, careful to keep your gaze on the floor as you exit. just in case your writer is still there, still watching.

you’re nothing special, nothing like the paragraph they penned. they should get that through their thick skull before they find themselves disappointed.

you don’t return to the coffee shop until after the holidays.

it’s not that hard to stay away. the hustle and bustle of work combined with the hustle and bustle of family gatherings keeps you from finding the time for an afternoon of solace anywhere, let alone the café.

you must admit that you think of your author often, try as you might to forget them.

by now, you have the cadence of the yeats poem memorized and the prose of the paragraph tattooed on the front of your mind. each time you pass a couple in a warm embrace, you wonder what became of your writer. you wonder if they think of you as much as you think of them; if they ruminate over the possibility of a life that cannot be.

if this were a movie, you would run into your author by random happenstance. you’d bump into them at the market, spill your legumes on the floor, touch hands in your haste to right the mistake, and—boom—as you look up, it would all fall into place.

if this were a movie, you would see them in the library or the post office or the deli or—

—or the coffee shop.

you sigh as you enter the café, wishing for your author to be there, knowing they won’t be. it is enough that you’ve experienced two mysterious love notes; things like that don’t come in threes.

that’s only in the movies.

the café still has its holiday decorations up. twinkle lights hang draped across the ceiling, and music filters over the sparsely filled tables and chairs. in the post-holiday haze, you didn’t expect the café to be crowded. in all truth, the sight of few patrons eases your mind.

less of a chance to run into your author. less of a chance to reveal yourself as the decidedly uninteresting person you are.

you set your belongings down at a side table, and as you reach for your wallet, a presence hovers over your shoulder. frowning slightly, you straighten, prepared to ask the person to kindly give you some space. when you do turn, your heart leaps to your throat, and the wallet in your hand clatters to the table.

it’s your author. you just know it.

there’s something vaguely familiar about the man, about his strong nose and groomed facial hair and crystal eyes. he’s tall, warm looking, like a hot drink on a cold day or a crackling fire. his eyes scan your face as though he is worried, as though he’s uncertain of what he should do now that you’ve actually faced him.

you speak before your thoughts catch up with your heart. “you wrote those notes, didn’t you?”

he nods, and the movement—so gentle, so reminiscent of a small boy on the verge of a scolding—makes you love him all the more. “yeah.” he sighs, lifts a hand to rub the back of his neck. “yeah, sorry about that. i wanted to apologize. wasn’t sure i’d get the chance, if you’d come back again.”

you shake your head. “no, don’t apologize. please don’t apologize.”

it’s his turn to frown, and he looks up from the table. you lose your breath momentarily. god, his eyes are blue. “when you left last time i thought… well, i thought i’d scared you off.” with a rueful chuckle, he shoves his hands in his pockets. “would serve me right, too.”

“why do you say that?”

“i mean, notes on your laptop when you aren’t looking? intently watching you? kinda stalkerish, huh?”

you can’t help but smile—smile at him, at the nervous twitch of his mouth, at the way he avoids your gaze. “i guess.” on a daring move, you reach out and touch his elbow. when you touch him, he feels like home. “but i don’t want you to apologize. i like the notes. i haven’t thought about anything else since you gave me the first one.”

“really?” there’s a hopeful tone in his voice; it sets your heart on fire.

“yeah.”

“i’m writing a book—a novel, really. i saw you so often that any time i got stuck, i just wrote about you instead.”

you could kiss him then and there. instead, you tell him your name, and he grins.

“i’m gwilym.”

“tell me, gwilym.” you pull out your chair and motion to the café counter. “how would you feel if i bought you a coffee? i want to hear more about that novel.”

“i’d—i’d like that.”

he follows you to the counter, his hand brushing the small of your back.

the barista—matt, you think—looks up from the register and laughs. “holy shit, i won!” he looks over his shoulder. “hey, julie! you owe me a fifty.”

you glance at gwilym, but he’s already looking at you. you smile.

matt continues. “we had a pool to see how long it would take for you two to get together. you were always looking at each other but never at the same time. you knew that, right?” still laughing, he rings up your orders without be asked. “coffee is on us today, guys.”

as you wait for your latte to be steamed and gwilym’s chia to be poured, you tuck your lip between your teeth to stem your widening grin. gwilym is strong by your side, the perfect height for you to rest your head on his shoulder. you look up at him, at the noble planes of his face, and your chest squeezes. when he looks at you again, your chest squeezes even tighter.

maybe life is like a movie after all.

[solarscholarsofmagick]

10 Things that EVERYONE Needs to Know Before Starting the Craft

1. Wicca and Witchcraft are Not the Same Thing

This is a pet-peeve of mine when people use those words interchangeably. So, what’s the difference? To put it simply, Wicca is a religion, while witchcraft is a practice. It’s like saying that prayer and Christianity are the same thing. Wicca is a relatively new invention, being created in the late 1950’s by Gerald Gardner after he spent a lot of time in Asia and became enthralled with their spirituality, which he merged with various occult practices that he came across in his travels. Witchcraft, on the other hand, is defined, at least by this author, as the act of manipulating the energy around you to achieve a goal. You can be either or you can be both, but they are not mutually exclusive.

2. Witchcraft Does Not Need to Kill Your Bank Account

If you follow many big-name witch influencers, more than likely, you will get caught up in the aesthetic of hundreds of beautiful crystals, perfect altars, sculpted candles, and much more elaborate and expensive things. Now, I want to make it clear, that there is absolutely nothing wrong with that, but it is not always feasible to have (or afford) everything required to fit that aesthetic. Rough, unpolished crystals will work just as good as the one you saw that was professionally polished and carved into the shape of a skull. You can get candles at thrift shops, not just at the website that sells specifically anointed candles for every specific intention. Remember, it is not the tool that makes the witch, but the witch that makes the tool!

3. Know the Difference Between a Coven and A Cult

While it is not necessary, there are definitely some benefits that come with finding a coven that welcomes you with open arems. So, first off, what is a coven?

A coven is a group of like-minded witches that help each other out magickally and hold a special bond or connection. They will often perform rituals together. Please keep in mind that there is a difference between a coven and a cult.

A coven is rewarding, full of (usually) great people and potential friends, while a cult is dangerous, toxic, and filled with people who often prey on the vulnerable or unaware.

Here are some potential warning signs of a cult:

They encourage you to cut off ties with your friends and family.

They try their best to make you dependent on them.

They pressure you into engaging in sexual/criminal/drug activities.

You feel as if it is dangerous to leave.

The “leader” equates themselves to a deity or is a “my word is law” type.

You feel as if you are walking on eggshells around them.

There is some “divine” goal that you must behave a very specific way in order to reach.

Those who manage to escape are demonized and/or are made into examples.

If you suspect that you or a loved one are in a dangerous situation, please contact the appropriate authorities.

4. Witchcraft Can Become Mundane

Pop culture has a bad habit of sensationalizing witchcraft. As cool as it looks, witchcraft isn’t all lightning fingers and demon-slaying. You most likely won’t become a soldier of a magickal war, facing down an ancient evil that was recently released. Sorry, I didn’t mean to burst your bubble!

That being said, witchcraft is extremely rewarding and can be as fun as you make it!

Just like with any other art, it requires discipline! It requires study, practice, and essential tasks (or as they are often fondly called, witchy chores). Some of these “chores” include cleansing, charging, decorating, meditation, and more. Unfortunately, as we all know, these tasks may feel tedious, but they are often very necessary. Again, it is as fun as you make it, and you will be less likely to burn out/hate performing the tasks if you view them as the essential tasks they are rather than unnecessary chores.

5. Learn As Much of the Basics That You Can

As much as we want to immediately jump into more flashy things such as astral projection and elaborate spells or hexes, you must learn the basics first. Why? Because, without a strong grasp of the basics, your magickal work can be unstable and reap results that you may not have intended, including ones that cause harm to you or those around you. To quote a cliche, you must learn to crawl before you can walk.

Here are some basics that I recommend you begin with:

Visualization

Meditation

The history of witchcraft

The elements of a spell

Color/stone/common herb correspondences

Grounding

Different types of the craft

6. Elitism Exists and it’s Bullsh*t

Unfortunately, no matter what community you are in, there will always be a few bad apples, but I will be referring specifically to elitists. Elitists in the witchcraft community tend to preach that their way is the only true way to be a witch, that you must have the most expensive of tools, or that witches who come from a family of witches are better than those who do not. If there is one thing that I want you to take from this article, it’s that, no matter what anyone says, you will NEVER be any less of a witch because of your bloodline, ethnicity, skin color, religion, spiritual practice, or socio-economic status!

7. You Don’t Need to Choose Between Religion and the Craft

One of the most common reasons of being apprehensive towards starting your journey through the craft that I see is a fear of retaliation within your own religion. For example, a lot of Christian witches will initially be afraid of going to hell for their practices. As someone who grew up in the Bible Belt of the Southern United States (poor Awen still lives there), I can definitely relate to this feeling. However, I, as well as several other religious witches, can say that you can have both. You do not need to drop one to have the other. In my eyes, your relationship with your god(s) is between them and you and is nobody else’s business.

To make things a little easier, however, I recommend sliding into the craft slowly. Dip your toe in the proverbial water. Try starting by engaging in activities that aren’t necessarily tied to witchcraft such as meditating, grounding, growing plants, or even just collecting pretty rocks. I also recommend reaching out to practicing witches within your faith for advice. It also may be a good idea to truly research religions of interest and make sure that your religion is a good match for you. It is okay to realize that the religion you were raised to be in, like being raised to be in a particular political party, does not have to be your religion. If it is and it causes you and others around you no harm, then I am truly happy for you and support you.

8. Learn to Listen to Your Intuition/”Gut”

We tend to have a 6th sense for danger or the presence of another being. You may recognize this feeling when you can feel that someone is watching you. Our instincts are built into us to keep us alive. Personally, following my gut has saved my life more than once. In one particular incident, my gut told me to stop at a crosswalk despite not seeing any nearby cars and the sign telling me to walk. Seconds later, a truck sped by, running the red light at full speed.

If you feel that a spell has taken a turn towards the unwanted, find a stopping point and seal it away. Feel as if a deity is calling you? Take the time to research them and their calling cards. However, please take the time to learn the difference between a negative gut feeling and general nervousness, as it does feel different.

9. Learn the Difference Between Good and Bad Resources

Misinformaion and toxic ideologies can be dangerous when it comes to witchcraft. You can read extensively about the difference between the two in my previous post about it here.

10. It’s Okay If the Craft is Not for You

If you decide to try out the craft and later feel as if it isn’t clicking… that’s okay. The initial decision to explore is not one for life. Just like how certain sports, hobbies, music, et cetera are not for everybody, witchcraft is not for everybody. Anyone who decides to judge you for that is wrong and not worth your time.

Please consider supporting us by viewing the original post on our website, here!

[linkspooky]

Frankenstein and the Monster

So there is loads of speculation on a connection between Dabi and Frankenstein’s monster. There are several people who have already commented on it, here, here, and even here. (These are all the ones I could dig up recently). Frankenstein is a novel that can be read in many ways, but I believe the themes of the novel parallels and helps illustrate the relationship between Ujiko, Endeavor and Dabi.

1. Endeavor and Victor Frankenstein

To very briefly touch upon the novel for those who haven’t read it, there are several differences between Boris Karloff’s movie depiction and the original novel. In the novel the creature is intelligent, well spoken, and a reflection of the Doctor Frankenstein himself. To summarize quickly, Frankenstein a very dramatic undergrad student discovers the secret to reviving the dead, uses that to create a monster, then upon seeing how ugly it is flees. The monster grows up in isolation, is spurned by every human he comes across, and then returns to his master and says he will kill everyone the Doctor Loves unless he creates him a mate. Frankenstein destroys the mate, and then the monster destroys his wife to be on the night of their wedding then they chase each other around in the arctic until both of them die. If that wasn’t a sufficient enough summary, this crash course video is a good writeup of the book and it’s themes. 

Frankenstein has a lot to say about science and treading in god’s domain, but it’s also written by a woman who was a teenager at the time (Mary Shelley) who existed in a soical circle of adult men who were much older than her. Just as much as it’s a novel about mad science gone wrong, there are strong themes of feminism, parenthood, and abuse intertwined in the novel. 

Another popular reading is to interpret “Frankenstein” autobigraophically, a reading that was encouraged via 1970s feminist criticism of the novel. Earlier readings along those lines centered Frankenstein as a tale of monstrous birth and look to Mary Shelley’s own experiences with birth, which were pretty terrible.

Mary Shelley’s mother died when giving birth to her, and Mary and Shelley’s own first child, a daughter, died when she was just a few weeks old. And in her journal Mary recounted an incredibly sad dream about this daughter. “Dream that my little baby came to life again; that it had only been cold and that we rubbed it before the fire and lived.”  [Crash Course: Frankenstein]

This is just some background information to add context to your reading. Percey Shelley first met Mary when she was 14, and eloped with her when she was 16 and already pregnant with his child (he was around 24 at the time). Not only that but Percey was married at the time when he eloped with Mary, and his wirst wife did not take it well. 

Harriet (Westbrook) Shelley was Percy Shelley's first wife. While he was still married to her, he ran off with Mary Shelley, leaving Harriet pregnant and alone with their first child. She committed suicide on November 9, 1816 by drowning herself in Serpentine. [x]

As I said these details are all to add context to Mary Shelley’s life while she was writing Frankenstein. A book in which most of the female characters are severely mistreated and harmed. 

There are some pretty feminist critiques to Frankenstein. For instance, the novel clearly shows what harm comes to women (and family and relationships) when men pursue single-minded goals. In fact thanks to Victor’s lack of work life balance pretty much all of the women in this novel die. Victor’s creation of the monster leads to the hanging of the servant Justine the murder of Victor’s bride Elizabeth on their wedding night. [Crash Course: Frankenstein]

To put it as frankly as possible (Haha, get it because frankenstein) there are several points in the novel in which both Victor and Frankenstein act like fuckboys. 

You could easily read the story as one of male entitlement. Victor in the first place, deliberately refers to his bride to be Elizabeth as a possession and says it as a term of affection. 

And when, on the morrow, she presented Elizabeth to me as her promised gift, I, with childish seriousness, interpreted her words literally and looked upon Elizabeth as mine—mine to protect, love, and cherish. All praises bestowed on her I received as made to a possession of my own. We called each other familiarly by the name of cousin. No word, no expression could body forth the kind of relation in which she stood to me—my more than sister, since till death she was to be mine only.

His actions towards Elizabeth in the novel are also, extremely neglectful. Elizabeth spends the novel passively waiting for him to return and marry her, but Victor has a habit of disappearing from her life for long periods at a time with no contact at all in pursuit of his endeavors. (Get it because I’m comparing Victor to Endeavor). 

Elizabeth is someone he feels entitled to own, and entitled to her love (he literally thinks his parents gave him to her) and yet Victor never takes responsibility for Elizabeth and her feelings too wrapped up in his own. When Elizabeth is grieving for the losses of her family, Victor has a tendency to leave her alone to go off to sulk on his own. Elizabeth even pleads multiple times for Victor to come home, to offer some support for the rest of the family with his mere presence and Victor delays these returns home as long as possible. 

“Get well—and return to us. You will find a happy, cheerful home and friends who love you dearly. Your father’s health is vigorous, and he asks but to see you, but to be assured that you are well; and not a care will ever cloud his benevolent countenance.

This treatment also extends to the rest of Victor’s family, who are people he seriously neglects throughout the novel, and also people who are the direct sufferers of the consequences of his actions. His youngest brother is killed, the maid is framed for the murder, Elizabeth dies on the wedding night, Clerval his closest friend is killed, and his father dies soon afterwards of old age / implied grief. 

The monster who Victor creates is also a reflection of him. After knowing the suffering it is to be created as a creature with no family, and no place of belonging he then instructs Victor to make him a woman. A woman that will have no choice but to love him because they will be the only two alone in the world. The monster, also feels entitled to feminine love because he is lonely, with no thought to whether or not the second monster might have feelings, opinions or her own, or might not even like him. 

“You must create a female for me, with whom I can live in the interchange of those sympathies necessary for my being.  This you alone can do; and I demand it of you as a right which you must not refuse.” 

The recurring theme is this: a sense of male entitlement, without a sense of responsibility. What do I mean by Male Entitlement? 

Male entitlement is a product of traditional societal norms. It is cultivated in men as they join a society which usually favors them over the other genders in their careers, relationships, character-standing, and more.   There’s more on it here, and the role of male entitlement in abuse. 

Male entitlement is an attitude where men believe they are entitled to power over others, and/ or ownership of the women and children in their lives. Victor calls Elizabeth a possession given to him, and neglects her throughout most of the book. The monster believes he deserves to have a woman to love him. It’s not masculinity. Masculinity is just masculinity. It’s the belief that they are entitled to power or ownership over others simply because they are men born in a society that favors men. Male entitlement can show up in say, a father who believes he is entitled to the love of his children despite never doing any of the actual work of childrearing and pushing it all on the mother. Believing they deserved to be loved simply for being a father, while being absolutely absent for their lives. GUESS WHAT HAPPENS IN FRANKENSTEIN. 

So, a lot of people interpret Frankenstein as a story of ambition gone wrong, but that interpretation feels like it’s missing something if you don’t include the feminist angle. Frankenstein when doing his mad scientist undergrad bit speculates how he would be a father of a new species. It is specifically, fatherhood accomplished without a mother. That this new species would owe him love. 

A new species would bless me as its creator and source; many happy and excellent natures would owe their being to me. 

An undeniable part of Victor’s motivation is that as the sole creator the child would owe him all of their love. I mean to once again connect this to abuse narratives how many real life parents believe their children have to love them no matter how poorly they treat them? 

No father could claim the gratitude of his child so completely as I should deserve theirs. 

Victor in the novel wants not only fatherhood, but also motherhood. He wants to create life which in victorian society at the time is the role of the woman. And yet at the same time, he doesn’t want to do any of the actual work of motherhood and the roles typically described to women. 

We can read the novel as an exploration of what happens when men fear, distrust, or devalue women so much that they attempt to reeproduce without them. In some ways Victor is trying to bypass the feminine altogether. He’s creating life without recourse to egg or womb.  [Crash Course: Frankenstein] 

Victor creates, and then proceeds to take no responsibility for his creation. He abandons the child for the most shallow of reasons (because it was ugly and looked scary), then leaves a sentient, thinking creature with no idea who it was, or why it was alive in the middle of the mountains hoping it starves to death on his own so he doesn’t have to deal with it. 

but now that I had finished, the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my heart. Unable to endure the aspect of the being I had created, I rushed out of the room and continued a long time traversing my bed-chamber.

Victor is the creatures parent, but takes no responsibility as a parent for raising the creature. In fact the child is punished when they are still an innocent, just for not turning out the way their creator intended. 

Frankenstein is a novel which portrays consistently men who aspire to greatness as described in their society (scientific invention, and in the framing device arctic exploration) but who consistently fail everyone in their lives at the most basic levels. In other words as Lizzo said, “Why men great, till they gotta be great.” 

This is where the fire comes in. The original post talks about dichotomy of fire as something that both helps and harms. Fire is a symbol in this book that can be read two different ways, and I think special context should be given to the subtitle of the story. “The Modern Prometheus”, a story which in classical times is a story of hubris where Prometheus steals fire from the heavens and is punished for it. Hubris in the classical greek sense means that a human acting like they know better than the gods. However, the story has a different interpretation in the Romantic / Enlightenment era where Prometheus is seen as a heroic figure stealing fire away from the gods to give knowledge to mankind. 

Fire in the book represents both. Victor is someone who has hubris, he assumes he’s a father who deserves the love of a child and sole responsbility for the creation of another being (effectively making him god), but abandons the creature literally five minutes after finishing him and makes no real attempt to take any effort in raising what is effectively his child. It’s also a story about Victor having ambitions to be great, and to do what no man has done before him. I don’t think the story emphasizes that ambitions are bad, but rather the dual nature of ambition as something like fire, something that can either warm or harm. 

He came upon a fire “which had been left” by humans (Vol. II, Ch. III), so a human tool left in nature. He was “overcome with delight” and joy, but touching it brought him pain. “How strange, [he thinks], that the same cause could produce such opposite effects!” He has learned the dichotomy of flame – to save and to hurt. [x]

Okay, now that we’re done witht hat extremely long essay on an english novel let’s actually talk about the manga where a goth stuck in his rebellious teenage phase tries to light his dad on fire. 

I’m going to be comparing the novel to Dabi and Endeavor in two aspects. 

Male entitlement, believing you deserve the love of a child without acting responsibly as a father. 

Fire, ambition as something that both helps and burns. 

Victor and Endeavor both are characters that decide to create children for very self serving reasons, and treat their families for the majority of their lives as tools to their own ambition. Endeavor wants a child that will carry out his ambitions for him, that he can live vicariously through. It’s not even an interpretation it’s directly stated text. 

Endeavor’s mad science also literally has him treat the woman in his life as tools to use for his own amibition. He fores a marriage on a woman to use her as an unwilling accessory to his eugenics project. 

It is not specifically a story of ambition got wrong, it’s also a story of neglect and abuse of all the women in his life. Endeavor’s ambitions all center around personal greatness for him. Shoto will prove his worth as a hero, as a mentor to him, as a great father. The fact that his motives are entirely selfish, (Endeavor is not focused on being the best hero he can be, but rather his own desire to be the strongest) is something that has an affect on his family and children. 

Fuyumi, Touya, and Natsuo are literally afterthoughts to Endeavor despite being just as much his children as Shoto. He literally only thinks of Rei in the context of “I needed her to give me a family.” Not only that but he’s also an extremely bad father to the one child that he does take an active role in trying to parent, acting extremely controlling towards Shoto and getting extremely angry whenever Shoto did anything that was outside of Endeavor’s wishes for Shoto to fulfill his ambitions. 

Endeavor just like Victor, inspires to greatness as a man and wants the signifiers of that as held up by society, accomplishment (Endeavor wants to be the number one rank even though he technically has far more resolved cases than All Might and the rank is literally just a number), family, and recognition despite having done none of the work. Once again why men great till they gotta be great. At the start of his arc, Endeavor feels entitled to Shoto’s love and obedience, and a role in his life, despite the fact that he’s hideously abused him for most of his life. 

Endeavor like Victor, also abandons several children for failing to meet his expectations. 

Part of Natsuo’s problem with Endeavor has exactly to do this sense of entitlement, Endeavor practically abandons his kids until they’re in their  early twenties to the point where he wasn’t involved in their lives at all (and also separated them from their mother). Remember another point of the book is that Victor wants sole parenthood, to create life without involvement of a woman. 

Endeavor does the exact same thing. He separates the children from their mother. Then while he is the only parent left in the household and effectively responsible for all of his children, he neglects most of them and completely fails to raise them. 

It’s implied besides trying to teach Shoto to use his quirk, he’s literally pushed all of the housework, and actual parenting you know, labor that is involved in raising a child onto Fuyumi. Fuyumi has cooked most of Shoto’s meals, it’s Fuyumi who attends his school conference in the novels. Endeavor has effectively committed the same crime as Victor, creating life and then running away from it by failing to act in any way as the father to his own children. His sense of entitlement shows in his actions and the way he treats the people around him in his life, he uses them for his own ambitions and they get burned. 

Endeavor is someone who has used all of the women in his life for his ambitions. Think Fuyumi, she grew up desperately wanting a family while having effectively no father and all contact cut off from her mother, and also had to take care of household chores and responsibility for both of her younger brothers. Think Rei, who has literally been institutionalized for ten years, and trauma from her experiences that haunts her to this day. Natsuo is someone who has no father, almost no relationship with his younger brother, and is still mourning his other dead brother. Shoto evens tates directly, he views Endeavor as someone to learn how to use his quirk from but hasn’t viewed him once as a father. Endeavor’s never been present as a father in Shoto’s life, despite controlling most of it and giving him all of the attention. He had ambition to pass his quirk from father to son, but never actually acted as a father. 

Endeavor’s treatment of his family, and his reflection for his past actions is also shown using this metaphor for fire. All Might’s ambition to become the strongest hero for the sake of a more peaceful society, is also represented by fire. Especially a flame that he passes from one person to the next, that Nana passed to him, and he passed to Deku.  

Endeavor is almost always associated with the more violent aspect of fire, when he thinks of the harm he’s done to his family it’s always juxtaposed to the fire on his face. 

(The right side fire, the left side Rei’s suffering face.)

Whereas the more gentle associations with fire are almost made with Shoto. Once again the novel of Frankenstein doesn’t decry ambition, it merely explores the consequences of ambitions that were extremely self-interested from the start. Endeavor only wanted to be strong for his own sake. Shoto who wanted to become a hero like All Might who would never make his mother cry, and All Might who wanted to create a safer society are people with strong ambitions that are associated with gentler flames. 

2. Dabi and Frankenstein’s Monster

Sins of the Father or Sins of the Fathers derives from biblical references primarily in the books Exodus, Deuteronomy, and Numbers to the sins or iniquities of one generation passing to another. Basically what it means is its a narrative trope where children are punished or suffer consequences for the action of their fathers. It can also mean that children inevitably reflect what their fathers have done to them, and even resemble their fathers. 

Everything the monster does is a reflection of Frankentstein’s actions. Everything Dabi does is both a consequence and a reflection of Endeavor’s actions. They are both written as sons to be narrative foils to their creator. If anything Dabi is even more of a frankenstein’s monster than Shoto, because a key element to the narrative is that Frankenstein was abandoned for not being perfect according to his creator’s wishes, he was punished for a defect. 

Touya just like frankenstein is a defective creation. One who suffers all of the consequences for what are his father’s sins. Endeavor deliberately took risks with his eugenics experiment that the child might have a quirk not compatible with their body, but it’s the child and not the parent who suffers all of the consequences. Toya literally died - whether he faked his death or not has yet to be revealed but he lost his home and family at a young age, spent most of his life homeless, and has to continually make use of a quirk that burns his entire body. Whether he wants them or not, his father’s sins are pushed onto Dabi. 

The flame that Endeavor is so keen on passing to his children, has literally permanently disabled Dabi, and will negatively effect him for the rest of his life. Consequences that Endeavor ought to suffer are passed onto Dabi instead. Dabi is burned by Endeavor’s actions towards him. 

This is once again something deliberately brought up by the book Frankenstein. The doctor creates life, takes absolutely no responsibility and leaves his creature to starve to death in the wilderness, and then the first time they meet again calls upon his creation to die. 

“I expected this reception,” said the dæmon. “All men hate the wretched; how, then, must I be hated, who am miserable beyond all living things! Yet you, my creator, detest and spurn me, thy creature, to whom thou art bound by ties only dissoluble by the annihilation of one of us. You purpose to kill me. How dare you sport thus with life?

The decision to create life irresponsibly was Victor’s, but the  person who suffers the brunt end of the consequences is not Victor, but rather the creature itself who just like Dabi has no home, and is constistently hurt by the environment around him. 

Dabi is also a symbol of the worst possible aspects of Endeavor’s ambitions. 

To compare Victor and the monster briefly. Victor

Has family / friends 

Home / Money / Wealth

Arrogant / Well Educated 

Self-Destructive 

A tool

The Monster

Abandoned

Ignorant (at first)

Homeless

A tool, but a more sympathetic one.

As you can see they are societally complete opposites. This can be said for Endeavor as well, he still gets to keep his family, his place in society despite what he’s done, he’s wealthy, succesful and well-liked in his community. Dabi is permanently disabled because of something his father did, is legally dead, homeless, separated from his family, and is a villain. 

While they are completely opposite in status, the monster and Victor are eerily similiar. They are both highly intelligent people who carry a strong ambition within them. The Monster basically learns speech, and reading all on his own, and as soon as he can be becomes as well-read as possible. 

Fortunately the books were written in the language, the elements of which I had acquired at the cottage; they consisted of Paradise Lost, a volume of Plutarch’s Lives, and the Sorrows of Werter. The possession of these treasures gave me extreme delight; I now continually studied and exercised my mind upon these histories, whilst my friends were employed in their ordinary occupations.

The monster also shares several of his father’s sin. He repeats the sins that have been done on to him, in the name of vengeance. Frankenstein’s claim is that he was hurt when he was still an innocent, punished before he had done anything wrong, but he also does the exact same thing to VIctor’s youngest brother killing him when he was just a child. 

Victor’s worst sin by far is selfish entitlement, forgetting to consider the feelings of his creation. Yet, the monster knowing how much he suffered by just being created in a world where there’s no one else like him also demands Victor create another creature. This is out of his own personal sense of entitlement, he believes he’s entitled to have someone love him, and if he had this he would be a good person again. 

He believes quite literally he deserves an Eve to share his loneliness in. His own personal feelings of grief and hurt matter more than those of: one the people he kills, and two a potential woman who would be created only to love him. 

But it was all a dream; no Eve soothed my sorrows nor shared my thoughts; I was alone. I remembered Adam’s supplication to his Creator. But where was mine? He had abandoned me, and in the bitterness of my heart I cursed him.

The monster also feels entitled to punish Frankenstein, but in this reccuring sins of the fathers he punishes people who are completely innocent of the crime that Frankenstein did to him and have nothing to do with his creation, just to get back at Frankenstein. Including, an innocent boy, a maid who he framed for murder, Frankenstein’s friend, and also Elizabeth. 

Dabi inevitably reflects his father and the environment he was raised in, and resembles him. Dabi who was raised by a quirk supremacist and thrown out because his quirk wasn’t good enough, kills people he doesn’t find worthy. Dabi’s methods are almost entirely based around his his individual strength because he was raised to believe that was the only good part of him. The same way Dabi was thrown out like burnable trash for failing to live up to his standards, Dabi will enact harsh vigilante justice and kill minor crimminals and heroes who fail to live up to his justice. 

Just like for the monster’s actions in punishing Victor, Dabi is called to consider the feelings of family’s of the people he kills. He is also punishing people completely unrelated to what happened to him, in his efforts to hold his father accountable. 

Dabi reflects his father, and quirk society the same things that burned him. He continually believes he has to be the strongest individually, accomplish everything on his own, and spurn others around him. Even those who try to make genuine connections with him like the league of villains. Dabi believes that the world has to be changed with the strength of ambitions of a single person, and his ambitions are far more important than the sense of family within the league. 

Dabi effectively distances himself from two families, the found family of the league, and also his original biological family. Think about how much it might save Natsuo to lean that his brother is still alive. Shoto at least, doesn’t want to see his father roasted alive on live television. 

Dabi’s ambitions are as self destructive as his fathers, as he only knows how to fight by completely burning his body up. He harms himself over and over again by using his quirk to try to change things. 

3. Endeavor and Ujiko

The book ultimately poses the question who is responsible for the actions of the monster, Frankenstein or the Monster itself. However, I think an element missed in a lot of analysis is that the mosnter accepts that most of what he has done is wrong, he just wants people to be held equally accountable for their actions. 

“You, who call Frankenstein your friend, seem to have a knowledge of my crimes and his misfortunes. But in the detail which he gave you of them he could not sum up the hours and months of misery which I endured wasting in impotent passions. For while I destroyed his hopes, I did not satisfy my own desires. They were for ever ardent and craving; still I desired love and fellowship, and I was still spurned. Was there no injustice in this? Am I to be thought the only criminal, when all humankind sinned against me? Why do you not hate Felix, who drove his friend from his door with contumely? Why do you not execrate the rustic who sought to destroy the saviour of his child? 

The monster’s problem is not that he shouldn’t be held accountable for his actions, but rather that he’s the only one whose ever held accountable for his actions. The Monster also spends most of the narrative being treated as a monster, whereas Frankenstein faces no real consequences for what he’s done from the people around him, never loses his standing in society, never is cast out for his wrongs. Frankenstein continually avoids any and all responsibility towards the monster up until his death, and only takes responsibility in violently trying to kill his creation. 

There are also oppurtunities for Frankenstein to take responsibility, which he chooses not to do anything. An innocent maid is about to be executed for a crime that Frankenstein knows she did not commit, and instead of trying to help her by explaining to everyone his creation of the creature, and also that the creature is likely responsible for the murder he says nothing. While not responsible for the women’s death, he is culpable in that he could have taken action to save her but didn’t. 

Franketnstein’s actions are again and again always to run away from the monster and avoid responsibility. From the beginning he runs away from the monster due to it simply being ugly. Both the monster (and also Toya) were punished when they were innocent children who had not committed any kind of crime, by the person who was responsible for raising them, educating them, and giving them everything they needed to become happy adults. 

“Remember that I am thy creature; I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel, whom thou drivest from joy for no misdeed. Everywhere I see bliss, from which I alone am irrevocably excluded. I was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend. Make me happy, and I shall again be virtuous.”

While Frankenstein and the Monster both entitled, their reasons for entitlement come from entirely different places. Frankenstein’s comes from his own arrogance, believing that he’s destined to do great things, and be a man of status and accomplishment. Why men great till they gotta be great. 

The monster believes he’s entitled to a family, because his father abandoned him, and he’s been homeless most of his life. The monster is violent, but only after he’s endured violence from people several times over. The monster is ultimately a victim of circumstance, and Frankenstein is the one who created that circumstance. 

Considering Frankenstein and the monster are foils, there’s a reason that Frankenstein fears and abhors the monster before it’s even awake. It’s because the monster reflects the ugliness of his own actions. The ugliness in himself that he is completely unable to face. He is a negative character foil in a character sense, and a shadow created by Frankenstein’s actions. 

The monster shows Victor what he is, selfish, entitled, and violent. Victor can’t ever confront the monster, because he can never confront those flaws within himself. 

Dabi is a reflection of Endeavor’s violent, abusive nature. He is also the direct consequence of all of Endeavor’s actions. So the question is, has Endeavor confronted the monstrous side of his actions? The answer is most likely no, because despite doing things as bad as any villain in the story he still views himself as the hero.

Shoto even tells us directly. Endeavor the hero and Endeavor the father are so different they’re almost like two different people. Endeavor continuing to be a hero on the television and coming home to his family is not taking repsonsibility for his actions, not truly, because he still hasn’t accepted the worst of what he’s done. 

In the narrative Endeavor currently feels guilt, and also a desire to atone but we’re also told again and again that atoning means taking responsibility and carrying everything. No building a house where his family doesn’t have to be around him and taking steps to distance himself isn’t taking full resposnibility because Dabi is still running around. Dabi is the embodiment of the absolute worst of Endeavor’s actions, the toxic environment that literally killed Toya, burned Shoto, and hospitalized Rei. I would say Endeavor still hans’t seen the worst of his actions because he still views himself as the hero, just the hero who has made mistakes. We’re shown this in foiling, the same way Fankenstein rejects the monster, Endeavor doesn’t recognize Dabi even though he is literally his own son. 

The strongest evidence of this is Endeavor and Ujiko’s foiling. They are two characters who have a lot in common, they both used children as experiments in their attempts to create stronger quirks including their own family members (Ujiko experimented on his own nephew). 

They’re both men of incredible wealth and status in society, who have deliberately used their status to cover up their cimes. Endeavor used his status to hospitalize his wife for years, he used his status to marry her in the first place, Ujiko uses all of his money and resources to find people to experiment on, and deliberately takes advantage of people in need by using his orphanage and hospitals to farm for materials to make his Nomus with. 

They’re both motivated by their own personal ambitions. They also feel entitled, Ujiko’s specific issue is that the scientific community failed to give him the respect and funding for his research that he thought he was owed. 

The source of Endeavor’s pain is that no matter how hard he works he’ll never become the strongest. The source of Ujiko’s pain is that nobody recognizes his work and achievements in his scientific community. They both want their hard work to turn into achievement, for their efforts to pay off, which again is not a bad thing until they get angry when they’re not given what they think they’re owed. 

Ujiko and Endeavor both become so desperate to accomplish their ambitions that they manipulate people to become tools to fulfill their ambitions for them. Shoto has to carry on his legacy, and learn to use his flame side like Endeavor always wanted. They both create children that they are technically the parent of, but don’t act as fathers. Endeavor is responsible for Fuyumi, Natsuo, Touya, and Todoroki but fails to live up to that responsibility. Ujiko creates the Nomu, which just like the monster in Frankenstein are new life created from the corpses of other people, and then just uses them and disposes them as tools. 

Ujiko even utters a line that is incredibly similiar to Endeavor in the regards to the way they treat Shigaraki and Shoto. 

However how does Endeavor react to Ujiko? Does he understand the harm that he’s done in a new light? No, he falls back on his hero narrative. I am the hero, and Ujiko is the utlimate evil. 

Endeavor so far, like Frankenstein, fails to truly confront the monster. Even when he finally realizes the destructive nature of his desire to be stronger than anyone else when he fights the Nomu, his response is to burn it alive. What is Endeavor’s response? To play hero, and defeat a villain. 

The thing about jungian shadow arcs is that you don’t destroy your shadow, you reintegrated it.  Endeavor can’t symbolically murder his past self because that won’t make his past actions go away, he can only accept them. The question now is: will he do the same thing to Dabi? 

When confronted with who Dabi is and his role in creating Dabi, what will Endeavor’s choice be? Is he going to play the hero, and destroy the villain he sees in front of him. The same way he did with the Nomu, the same way he did with Ujiko, the same way he’s trying to do with Shigaraki (who is, you know a heavy parallel to his own son Toya, and another abused child).

Will Endeavor act as a hero, or the remorseful father he also is? That choice is utlimately what Endeavor’s entire character is written around, does he want to finally be a father or does he want to keep being endeavor the hero? What is more important to him his own ambitions as a hero, or the people he’s harmed? 

Just like Victor, Endeavor’s entire arc revolves around Dabi. He is a hero directly responsible for the creation of a villain. Dabi would not exist if it were not for Endeavor’s direct actions. Not only that but his future will be determined by how he chooses to interact with Dabi once he knows the truth. Endeavor cannot truly take responsibility until he takes responsibility for Dabi.

[siswritesyanderes]

ooh! now that you've begun in dabbling in some s p i c i e r stuff (love it!!!) what would you think about Tom finding a familiar soul in the orphanage, if you want to make it real spicy, sister perhaps (continuing the habit of inbreeding in the family without conditioning; nice!) and him deciding that it would be only right, even though his sister is not a slytherin, to make her rule by his side- j-just to keep him in line, and continue the great line of slytherin! love your work :)))

Okay. Let’s do this. Ooh boy.

(N S F W) (TW: non-con) (TW: incest)

She was like him. She was, in fact, the only one like him in the entire world. It had seemed so, at least, when they were children.

She didn’t have his harsh temperament, or his impatience, but she had the same unsettlingly intelligent gaze and, most importantly, she could do the same sorts of things that he could. She made things move (most usually, books to her hand, especially if one of the other orphans had tried to take said book from her), she had made her hair grow back when a bully had cut it off (but not before Tom punished the other child for the mistake), and she could talk to snakes.

Even apart from her powers, they were very alike. They were quiet, and didn’t socialize much, and had a tendency to scowl. They spent all of their time together, and so that had developed rather identical mannerisms and turns of phrase.

It was tact that made her different; for some reason he could not hope to understand, his twin sister thought it worth placating the matrons and their fellow orphans. (Certainly, her social skills persuaded the caretakers to see his side of things more often than they would if he spoke to them, but still he found such diplomacy monotonous.) She spoke sparingly to the snakes, and only when he was already speaking to them, on the grounds that it was “rude” to do things that they knew made the others uncomfortable. She did not snap at anyone, or use her power to make them hurt; she ignored people who annoyed her and allowed Tom to handle people who provoked her.

“I’m glad for your temper sometimes,” she mused once when Tom returned, cool-faced, from scaring off a boy who had thrown a frog at her. “I don’t think you should always make a habit of it, though.”

“Habits are for people with dull minds,” he replied, returning to the book he had been reading.

When Professor Dumbledore came to tell them that they were magic and would be going to a place called Hogwarts, she let her brother do all of the talking; all of the asking and bragging (and, when the man set their wardrobe on fire, protesting). In the meantime, she observed from the social cues that Tom and the professor were developing a clear mutual dislike (as subtle as they both were about it) and considered the ways in which she could serve as damage control; it wouldn’t do for her brother to antagonize someone with power over them, as he had done with the matrons here.

The only time she spoke up was after Dumbledore gave them their allowance for school supplies, at which point she asked, “Are Galleons pure gold, sir?”

“Yes, Miss Riddle, they are,” the man answered.

“How many pounds to a Galleon?”

The professor told her.

She nodded, privately supposing that they could exploit the exchange rate of gold to pounds and pounds to Galleons and increase their money seemingly forever. She would tell Tom about it tomorrow.

That night, as Tom lay in bed with the day’s revelations running through him and his sister likewise resting on her side of the room, he whispered into the dark about how they would be running this new wizarding world before they were done. She didn’t answer, so he couldn’t be sure whether she believed him, but it didn’t matter; it was true. He would excel, because it was in his nature, and she would be with him because she was supposed to be.

At Hogwarts, they were sorted into Slytherin and Ravenclaw. Tom detested the separation, detested that they wouldn’t be sleeping in the same room, and he detested it more in the following weeks and months, as she came to make friends in her House. He had earned his housemates’ respect, through his own power and intelligence and aided on by the priciness of his possessions (thanks to his sister’s savvy Galleon exchanges), but it always soured his mood when he saw her laughing at the Ravenclaw table with some Other Person.

She knew him, though, well enough to make a point of giving him the most of her time, including leaving her friends straightaway, even mid-conversation, if he called her to be with him. It was out of respect for her that he allowed her these diversions, instead of scaring them away, but it was imperative that she show him that he took priority.

“You’re quite jealous,” she remarked in third year, while they were walking the grounds together without his followers. He had learned that she did not enjoy being near his followers and would spend longer times with him if they weren’t around. “It’s a sign of insecurity, you know.”

He ignored her attempt at starting a pointless argument. “I didn’t find anything using our father’s surname. I think our middle names must be the clue; ‘Marvolo’ and ‘Merope’ sound just like wizarding names, don’t they?”

“They do,” she agreed. “Thank you for keeping me updated on your search, though I wish you weren’t in Slytherin; almost none of the other Ravenclaws care about blood status. They don’t care if we’re Muggle-borns.”

“We’re not Muggle-borns,” he snapped, and was rewarded for his terseness with silence from her. His followers had come to uncomfortably ignore his heritage (or lack thereof) because he was frightening, cunning, and clever (and because his having grown in an orphanage with no knowledge of his parents allowed them to pretend that his parents could be purebloods), but there were only so few of them, because so many of his peers in Slytherin couldn’t get past his lack of a respectable name. No one provoked him, but he wanted them all to worship him.

And his sister, too.

When he found out that they were Slytherin’s heirs, he was sixteen, sitting at a table in the library by himself, poring over records. He checked over his readings several times before the feeling of vindication came over him.

He didn’t tell his sister about his findings until he had discovered the entrance to their Chamber, a month later; then, he dragged her out of the Great Hall (in the middle of a chess game with the “friend” he detested the most; that boy who she always seemed to be talking to and joking with) and into the girl’s bathroom, breathlessly saying, “Tell it to open.”

Flummoxed, it took her two tries to manage Parseltongue, but soon enough they were sliding down into the underbelly of the school, into their birthright.

As they wandered, with their wands lit, through the stone corridors, Tom felt the most alone with his sister he had in a while; it was like they were in their own world that no one else could access. Sealed away. She couldn’t talk to other friends here, nor had he any followers for her to take exception to. It was just them, and their destiny, and it was glorious.

He felt intoxicated by their aloneness, and wondered if this was how things had felt in the womb.

Their Chamber, their womb, their rebirth as heirs.

She seemed less pleased by the development; she kept murmuring, “I’ve read about this,” either to herself or to him.

“Relax,” he drawled. “This is our Chamber; nothing can happen to us here.”

“The stories say there’s a creature in the Chamber of Secrets, Tom. Some sort of monster.”

“A creature meant to serve the heirs of Slytherin; that’s what we’re looking for.”

“I don’t want to find it.” She turned to go back the way they’d come, but he grabbed her arm.

“Don’t go back. Aren’t you supposed to thank me for keeping you updated?”

She shook her arm from his grip. “Keeping me updated is telling me your findings, not tricking me into a dungeon full of snake skins. I can only think of the sort of monster that would leave these behind.”

“A snake, perhaps?”

“You’re not funny.”

Unexpectedly, her dry response awoke a rage he hadn’t noticed brewing inside himself. “No, that honor is reserved for Wilbur Cadwallader, isn’t it?” 

The memories were rising, unbidden, to the surface, now; all the times he had looked up from his plate because the sound of her laugh was audible to him even in the Great Hall. All the times he had approached her in the Transfiguration Courtyard for no other reason than because watching her converse with Cadwallader and that ditzy redhead friend of hers made him want to chew glass. That one night, fifth year, when she had spent her prefect rounds walking with Cadwallader instead of him.

“Don’t use your envy to deflect. I want no part of-” 

“Envy?” he repeated, very quietly. His sister was smart; she knew the difference between jealousy– the fear of losing what one owns –and envy– the desire for what someone else owns. She was too smart to use them interchangeably, which meant that she had chosen the word “envy” intentionally.

She recognized, also, his danger signs, and it was clear from her expression that she understood his change in tone, yet she carried on, “I want no part of Slytherin’s legacy.”

“I didn’t ask what you wanted a part of,” Tom said, still speaking very quietly. He noticed, suddenly, that he had grown much taller than her, in the past few years. “We are Slytherin’s heirs, and we are fated for greatness. It falls on us to restore the noble house of-”

“I’m a Ravenclaw,” she cut in coolly. “And anyway, I won’t be carrying the name of the family, in case you’ve forgotten; you will. Restore to your heart’s content. I want no part in it.” She tried, again, to walk away, but again he caught her arm, this time not releasing it. 

“You’ll be restoring it with me, because we’re supposed to do it together. We balance each other; we always have. I’m going to rule this world, and you will be at my side if I have to…” Her suddenly sharp look caused him to trail off, as only she could.

She stormed away, and he fumed in place but allowed her to leave because if they continued to anger each other, he would probably hurt her, and he did not want to do that.

They did not speak to each other for a time after that, though he glared at her whenever she was in his line of sight and she made a point not to look his way. In the meantime, he opened the Chamber of Secrets, left messages on the school walls in rooster blood proclaiming the return of the heirs of Slytherin, and killed a mudblood from her house.

It was after this that she stalked up to him in the school library, her eyes fascinatingly red-rimmed and her expression furious. “They are going to close Hogwarts.”

He found it interesting how, even though he had spent so long enraged that she was ignoring him, seeing her so upset still made him want to alleviate her unhappiness. He ignored this feeling, though, and maintained a dry tone as he replied, “Don’t worry; I’ve made arrangements for the culprit to be brought to justice.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve said not to worry about it.” He watched her as she seemed to decide whether or not to leave him now. It was so weird to him that she saw herself as an individual. It was so obvious that she belonged to him; she was his sister, and they were Slytherin’s heirs, a deteriorated bloodline in need of strengthening. In need of purifying. “You haven’t met the basilisk,” he said, suddenly desperate to get her back into the Chamber.

“There’s a basilisk?” she said indifferently.

“Our basilisk. You should meet her.”

“Why would I want to meet a basilisk, Thomas?”

“You haven’t spoken to her.”

“No, but I’ve heard her, in the pipes. She doesn’t sound a dazzling conversationalist.”

“Come with me.” Somewhere in the building, Rubeus Hagrid was in the headmaster’s office, trying to explain away his illegal acromantula even though the poor thing had been doomed the moment he walked into this school as a half-giant. Tom could only imagine how wonderful it would feel to have a second victory today.

“You’re plotting something,” his sister accused.

“How astute.”

She rolled her eyes, in a clear, if reluctant, concession. “If it’s something stupid, I will leave.”

He took her down to the Chamber for a second time, adamant that she would not leave, even if she wanted to. He led her down a few corridors, rather than to the stone atrium he usually visited. There was a large pile of snake skins in this hallway, more commodious than the trails of snake skins littered throughout, that would be perfect for his purposes, and he hoped to put them to use.

“Last time you were here, I told you that we would rule together,” he said.

“So you did,” his sister answered, almost boredly. “I don’t suppose you’ve lost your enchantment with that idea?”

He licked his lips. She was walking ahead of him, as there were no forks in the corridor for him to guide her through. She wasn’t looking his way, but rather watching the ceiling as she went, as though intrigued by the idea of the whole of Hogwarts being above them.

Always walking ahead when she should have been walking by his side.

Tom pulled out his wand silently. The hex that he sent her way would have cleanly and entirely disabled her for at least the next ten minutes, but the sudden light that the spell provided had alerted her to his intentions, and she had spun hastily out of the way, removing her own wand from her pocket as she did so; he should have taken that from her before doing anything else. No matter.

What followed was a short duel, with extremely impressive spellwork all around. They were evenly matched, and he didn’t say that lightly; few ever matched him. But it came down to who wanted victory more, and her wariness of him did not exceed his desire for her.

Soon enough, she was crumpled on the ground, groaning and scarcely able to move. He lifted her into his arms and walked her to the chosen pile of snake skins. They weren’t exactly soft, but they had enough give to them that they were easily preferable to the stone floor. He set her down on them and climbed atop her. 

Her eyes were nearly closed, but not quite, and they still followed his movement, which meant that she was conscious. Good.

“We’ve always kept each other in balance,” he said calmly, while keeping his wand leveled on her torso, working nonverbal magic to unfasten her robes. “No one of us could rule nearly as well without the other.”

Her gaze left him, instead peering at the far wall. He suspected she was looking for her wand, which had rolled down the corridor, but she wasn’t strong enough to move her head.

She should have been looking at him.

Her robes fell away, and his eyes feasted on her bareness. He had not seen so much of her in years.

She managed to growl at him, but only weakly.

“I let you have five years with those friends of yours,” he said softly. “I was generous, wasn’t I? I let you laugh and pretend with those idiots?”

She shut her eyes, because of course she knew exactly what would annoy him more than looking away from him.

He cast a mild stinging jinx to make her open them again, while at the same time removing her undergarments. “Watch me,” he hissed. “Watch me touch you.”

She watched, but only because he would keep stinging her if she didn’t.

He kissed her lips, then advanced his tongue into her mouth, and then moaned loudly, just so that she would have to know that she was giving him pleasure, no matter how much she hated it. She was naked under him, naked on a pile of snake skins in their Chamber of Secrets. He loosened his necktie, then his belt.

“We have the greatest magical lineage in the world, and it will be because of us that it continues,” he said.

“I will hurt you for this,” she told him, in Parseltongue because it was the only language she could manage in this state.

He thumbed licentiously at one of her nipples. “Maybe,” he allowed. “But I’d be careful making threats like that.” He pointed his wand at the middle of her head. “Maybe you’ll be better at carrying my babies if you don’t remember you’re doing it, hmm?”

She tried to keep glaring at him, but her bottom lip trembled, and she ended up closing her eyes again.

“Look at me,” he ordered, not stinging her this time.

She opened her eyes, and they were damp and scornful.

He kissed her lips again, more softly, and eased his trousers and pants down his waist. “Just think of how powerful we will be together,” he whispered, with the same awed tone he had once used to whisper to her at bedtime, when they’d shared a room at the orphanage.

(He’d been furious with Mrs. Cole when she’d made them move to separate rooms on account of his sister’s first menstrual cycle. Muggles always ruining things, always asserting themselves where they didn’t belong.)

“Ours will be the only bloodline that matters,” he breathed. “None of those so-called purebloods will dare say their family name in our presence. We will be royalty together.”

She was trying to move her arm, still trying to resist, but she was too weak. She would come around once she had to; she couldn’t stay mad at him once he had started making good on these promises.

He eased her legs apart and thrust himself inside of her. Her resulting moan rang through the stone halls, far from anyone who could dare to steal the symphony; it was just for him. Cadwallader certainly couldn’t hear her, couldn’t feel…Ohhh, Merlin. The contact, the perfect joining of two halves, was almost enough to make him release straightaway, but he knew that there was more, so he kept thrusting.

She listened to his hitches of breath and tried not to give him anything to listen to in return, though it was impossible not to make a sound. He was her first, but she would never tell him. She would go to the grave pretending that there was someone else before him.

Was she his first? Almost definitely.

This was so sick.

She thought that she wanted nothing more than for him to be done, but then when he finished inside her, it was a new kind of horrifying. Feeling him empty a load of horrors into her body, where they couldn’t be reached, all while making such enraptured sounds…They hadn’t taken contraceptive potions before the fact; she didn’t even know how to brew or access any, nor how to find out about them without destroying her reputation. And that was all counting on the assumption that Tom had only been trying to scare her, when he’d implied that he might erase her memory of this whole incident.

That thought sickened her the most, made her truly distraught, the idea that he might do all of this to her, wring pleasure from her helpless and unwilling body, and then she might be civil with him tomorrow regardless.

Himself, Tom intended to make full use of this night. His followers would cover for him if anyone inquired after his presence, and he would not be satisfied with exploring his sister’s potential only once.

He smiled. Upstairs, the whole issue of the dead mudblood was being squared away, with him scot free and even likely to receive an award for his heroism, and down here, he had finally achieved the correct amount of closeness with his sister.

He pulled out only once he was sure that none of his seed would be wasted. It actually wouldn’t be terribly convenient for her if she became pregnant while still in school, but it would increase her dependence on him, and she wouldn’t be foolish enough to name him as the child’s father (especially if he decided to make her forget that he was), so he could safely consider it a non-risk for himself.

He stared at her. Covered in sweat, even though she hadn’t been moving. Eyes closed, but he didn’t feel like bothering her over it now, when his mood was so good.

She probably considered it rude that he was allowed to keep his shirt and necktie on while she was completely bare; he rectified the problem, taking care to drape his clothes over the snake skins instead of on the dusty floor. He liked it better this way, at any rate; only skin against skin.

Clearing his throat to make her open her eyes, he pleasantly announced, “We’re going to go again, okay?”

Her gaze was positively gelid, but she didn’t growl, which he took as assent.

[alatismeni-theitsa]

You know what pisses me off about fancasts of greek mythology that use poc? They only care about the representation of random Americans. If they had actually bothered to talk to a greek person they would have easily found a bunch of greek poc to fancast the gods as. It's so transparent that they don't care about actual representation at all and only do it for #woke points

Big Post coming, I couldn’t resist :P

The US is the only country in the world and Greek culture is just a prop, with Greece not being a real country - except when we ship cheese :P Only the US exsits for them. They actually do what racist people do: they ONLY see colour. They don’t understand that a Black person in Canada and a Black person in Saudi Arabia couldn’t be more culturally different.

And yes, if they want to cast the gods or demigods as poc, it would be great if they casted people of Greek heritage! For example if Zeus has a child with a woman of Taiwanese heritage living in Greece then the child will be “biracial“, as they call it. There would be no issue for an Asian looking demigod in Greece. And even the gods, if they want, can appear as a different race, but I will elaborate a bit on that:

Now, as you know, I am against racebending in general (for all cultures). But I don’t have such a big issue when someone says “I feel comfortable worshipping gods as my own race” (something they bash Greek people for :P) or “I want to imagine what this god would look like if he lived for many years in Ghana“ or “This model of color gives me vibes of this goddess. Perhaps she could be one form of a goddess” etc. Because, as we know, the gods can take any form they want. If they go to Somalia they will be the only one white as milk in a radius of five kilometers. So they may want to transform and blend in.

But here comes my genuine question: How much could and how much should the Greek gods blend with other races and cultures when there is not this need to blend in? I don’t mean as a matter of worship but as characters on the media. Gods that in their depiction have been repeatedly depicted as White Mediterranean suddenly decide to go to Nigeria and pass as Nigerians because??? Isn’t that a type of appropriation of race? Like, using the appearance of another race because of aesthetics?

And what about the difference in culture? The Greek gods represent a set of values and habits from Greece. What do they have to do with the Korean values? (Obviously there are universal values and ethics but each culture prioritizes different stuff and sees virtue differently.) What do they even have to do with the local Korean pantheon?? People say “Greek gods are universal” and this means that, yes, everyone can worship them. But they also use that argument to say that those gods, their stories and values would fit in every society of the world. In a fictional work, that means going to Somali Muslim culture and telling them “your god is not real, you are actually praying to a set of gods your culture never knew”. Like, how much Persephone represents Somali culture and philosophy, ancient and modern? Does she even belong in this culture? And can she only belong there if you make her Black? If no, why do you change her race?

Let’s go for the opposite scenario. Let’s say a native Greek becomes a Hindu. Does that mean that they have the right to present Lakshmi as a white mediterranean and change her innate Indian values to Greek ones, in order to make her fit the Greek mindset? So, her Indian regalia should go and be replaced by ancient Greek ones or traditional Greek clothing?

I mean, if someone is to support race bending, it has to go both ways. But because Americans have equated the Greeks to white colonizers (bc they are light skinned) their gods are free real estate. They have created their own scale of what should be altered and what should not, even when it comes to deities and figures from other cultures. And because they have worldwide influence their system is imposed on us, too. And if we don’t like how they depict our figures, we are in the wrong.

Anyways, my point was: As you said, they are so desperate for woke points that they only change a superficial characteristic - skin tone / race - and then suddenly, supposedly, this Hellenic deity is part of another culture ?? Like, you put Hawaiian native clothing to a man, you name him Poseidon and it’s “representation for Hawaiians, yey!“ ??? Why would they even need Poseidon? They have Kanaloa but even if he has the same domain as Poseidon they are not the same. They are not interchangable, as those fancasts often suggest.

I don’t see any depth in those fancasts because they are so superficial, only taking appearance into account if they want to be labeled progressive. More than that, it’s a system “to set things right” by doing this coloring mix and match (notice I only said “color”, not “culture” or “set of beliefs”) in a naive attempt to stop discrimination.

If you want to elevate poc and be inclusive to other cultures, look to other cultures with non US American lens and learn how they view this difference in appearance. Then, you can talk to the poc of this culture and understand their needs. And of course those Greek poc could be cast as Greeks in movies, since this culture is part of their lives.

Finishing this infinite Τed Τalk, I would like to say that I really enjoy the mixing of cultures and I would be delighted to see stories where Greek gods/people visit other cultures or non Greek gods/people visit Greek culture. One of my fave posts in this blog is when Cretans and Nahuas joined in a song about freedom. So, in case someone didn’t get it, I didn’t say we couldn’t celebrate or take part in cultures that aren’t ours.

[lgbtqia-representation]

Marginalization within the LGBTQIA+ Community

Sexuality has and always will be a hotspot of discussion for everyone because of how central it is to anyone’s life; so then why is it that certain communities are still ostracized? Within any realm, there are people who perfectly fit into the bubble and others who seemingly never fit into it. While the LGBTQIA+ community, even by its ever-extending name alone, strives for inclusion there are sadly some aspects that are still less accepted within it, and even more so within society. “Pride, the one place that is supposed to be a safe haven for people of all sexual orientations is all too often a place where they must battle the same misconceptions that they encounter among heterosexual people.” (Allen)

Bisexual

Despite ironically being part of the original acronym “LGBT”, bisexuals have never really been part of it. “That June 2018 YouGov data shows that 20 percent of Americans now identify as something other than “completely heterosexual” or “completely homosexual.” That would amount to about 65 million people—a population approaching the size of California and Texas combined.” (Allen)

This community is large and vastly growing in representation each year at Pride events worldwide. Yet ironically the community faces two starkly different complications. First, the idea that bisexuality is simply a phase. People constantly assume that the individual claiming to be bisexual is simply indecisive about their own orientation. Even mass media like “The L Word”, a lesbian central TV show with hints at bisexualism, makes comments along the lines of, “Pick a side”. While the show has all sorts of other redeeming qualities, comments sadly are still highly remembered and affect the community.

Secondly, building off the first part, that because they are “just a phase” there is not a community for them of likeminded individuals. A bisexual is heavily affected by interpretation. For this example, we will assume the bisexual is a woman. If she shows up to an event with a current female partner, it is assumed she is lesbian. Whereas if she shows up with a male partner, she is assumed to be straight. In no situation does the individual get properly identified as a bisexual. This leaves them as dissociated from the community as a large based on who they are currently dating. “This hunger for representation from what is, in fact, a statistical majority of the LGBT community speaks to the fact that bisexual people face discrimination both from within that community and from the world at large.” (Allen)

Organizations like #StillBisexual work to connect the community through inspiring stories that shine a light on real issues from real people within the bisexual community.

The Asexual Spectrum

Before we delve in, if you feel you don’t know too much about asexual spectrum here is an amazing source that breaks down the different forms attractions/connection and how they relate to a person’s sexuality. Check it out here!

The LGBTQIA means asexual, not ally, like so many assume. This is just the tip of the iceberg of the issues they experience. Asexual means they are not sexual attracted to any person. This plays an important role in spreading awareness of the different types of attractions that are fundamental aspects to each of us people. Below is a wonderful depiction of the different types of attraction:

So, as you may have assumed from the title, asexuality is not a one and done sort of deal in explaining, rather it is a spectrum. This spectrum encompasses levels and frequency of attraction and desire to engage in sexual behaviors. On one end, a person would never want to have sex, whereas on the far other end, they would love to be having sex constantly. Within the middle area are the more normal sexual attraction tendencies. When looking at the asexual area of the spectrum other forms of attraction can affect how much someone may want to have sex.

Due to the lack of sexual desire, a lot of asexuals face rejection from the LGBTQIA+ community on the grounds that they do not want to have sex. However, this realm of the community still strives for all the same aspects as any other member: inclusion in media, destigmatizing of their sexual habits, and a desire to connect with likeminded individuals.

“Sex positivity is a long overdue movement meant to celebrate sex: Everyone should be able to have it, whenever and with whomever they want. But for some people that means maybe never with maybe no one.” (Khosla)

Demisexual

Within the realms of asexuality is demisexuality. This sexuality focuses on mental attraction and established relationships. The stereotype behind this sexuality is that of falling in love with your best friend. This is completely since friends are the only options for who they can feel attraction to. Without pre-established friendships, common interests and connections, or past histories together, a demisexual will feel nothing for someone.

This sexuality just like the others of this section face their biggest issue in the form of misunderstandings. Many people sadly assume that this is the same thing as “wanting to wait for the right person”. The issue with this is that as a person with a normal sexual attraction level, a person will look sexually appealing, whereas for demisexuals they do not. There is no sexual attraction and interests in any way until the emotional bonds are established.

“And from one demisexual to another, I will tell you this: we will not have our knight in shining armour, and that is okay. I will have some peace of minding knowing that the aforementioned knight is not a raving lunatic/serial axe-murderer masquerading around as a knight.” (Narasimhan)

Pansexual

Pansexual is one of the more complex sexual orientations while also simultaneously being the easiest in concept. Pansexuality and bisexuality are often used interchangeably which is not correct due to some very specific nuances. “Bi” derived from Latin means “two,” in the case of sexualities they mean the two standard gender options of male and female only. In contrast, a pansexual can be attracted to literally any person, any gender identity, and any gender expression. Pansexuality is specifically not rooted in the binary that bisexuality is rooted in.

As easy to be seen, with so many assumptions made about this sexuality it is hard to feel accepted into the community. They are constantly facing struggles about what their sexuality even is especially because it confronts the binary standard of sexes and gender expression. Overall, this sexuality is simply being attracted outside of the confines of societal binaries.

References:

Allen, Samantha. “Why Bisexuals Feel Ignored and Insulted at LGBT Pride.” The Daily Beast, The Daily Beast Company, 23 June 2018, www.thedailybeast.com/why-bisexuals-feel-ignored-and-insulted-at-lgbt-pride.

“Asexuality, Attraction, and Romantic Orientation.” LGBTQ, lgbtq.unc.edu/resources/exploring-identities/asexuality-attraction-and-romantic-orientation.

“Bisexual Health Facts.” Still Bisexual, stillbisexual.com/education/.

Boog, Isa. “What Is the Difference between Being Asexual and Demisexual?” Quora, 4 Sept. 2018, www.quora.com/What-is-the-difference-between-being-asexual-and-demisexual.

Khosla, Proma. “How the Queer Community Can Embrace the Asexual Spectrum.” Mashable, 26 June 2019, mashable.com/article/sex-positivity-asexual-demisexual-community/.

McNamara, Brittney. “This New Discovery About Bisexual Teen Girls Is Troubling.” Teen Vogue, Teen Vogue, 26 May 2017, www.teenvogue.com/story/bisexual-teen-girls-depression-suicide-ideation-young-women.

Narasimhan, Harshita, et al. “What Is Demisexuality, You Ask? Here's A Quick Primer.” Feminism in India, 7 June 2018, feminisminindia.com/2016/10/24/demisexuality-quick-primer/.

“Pan Pride All Day Long.” Facebook, www.facebook.com/panpridealldaylong/.

“Pin on Pride.” Pinterest, www.pinterest.com/pin/855754366679055022/.

Rosenblum, Karen Elaine, and Toni-Michelle Travis, editors. The Meaning of Difference. 5th ed., McGraw-Hill Education, 2008.

“Still Bisexual.” Still Bisexual, stillbisexual.com/.

Thomas, Sophie Saint. “What's the Difference Between Pansexuality and Bisexuality?” Cosmopolitan, Cosmopolitan, 18 Dec. 2020, www.cosmopolitan.com/sex-love/a20776748/pansexual-vs-bisexual-differences/.

Images:

Krishnan Rajagopalan, Lyndon A. Taylor 30 Apr 2020, et al. “The Evolution of LGBTQ Inclusion: Building Cultures of Greater Acceptance and Stronger Communities.” The Evolution of LGBTQ Inclusion: Building Cultures of Greater Acceptance and Stronger Communities | Heidrick & Struggles, www.heidrick.com/Knowledge-Center/Publication/The-evolution-of-LGBTQ-inclusion.

[priorireverte]

Congratulations Ashlie!

Your application for Neville Longbottom has been accepted. It was delightful to read and I am looking forward to seeing what more he brings to the group!

Please look to the checklist for the next steps and reach out if you have any questions!

OUT OF CHARACTER

NAME & PRONOUNS: Ashlie ( she/her )

TIMEZONE: est

ACTIVITY LEVEL: My main goal is to be online about five days a week actively working on replies, although I am always lingering around on mobile for plotting and such.

ANYTHING ELSE: Triggers: Flashing Gifs. Experience wise, I have been roleplaying online since 2011, and joined Tumblr roleplay around 2014.

CHARACTER DETAILS

NAME: Neville Longbottom

BIRTHDATE: July 30, 1980

DEATHDATE: –

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: demiboy he/they asexual/biromantic , Neville doesn’t put much weight on pronouns, either he or they really there is no preference for one over the other because he simply doesn’t feel any sort of connection to any of them. He tends to use the two interchangeably, although they are also still playing around with how they feel about the concept of masculinity and how it ties into his own idea of their gender so this may change over the course of the timeline.

BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Gryffindor Growing up, Neville was the one people always questioned. How could they possibly ever have been sorted into Gryffindor? They were quite timid as a child, fearful and easily taken advantage of. It was Dumbledore who had first seen the potential and they had and awarded him for it. They hadn’t wanted to stand up to Harry, Ron, and Hermione first year, they were terrified. But they also knew if they didn’t say anything their whole house would face the punishment that came with finding students out of bed past curfew, even if they later learned the three had a pretty solid reason. But Dumbledore’s validation had been what they needed to continue to experiment with that Gryffindor bravery they failed to see in themself. Telling a gang of eleven year olds not to sneak out isn’t the most terrifying thing they’ve ever done- but it was the first time they had fought back for what they thought was the right thing. That made them sure of themself when he joined the DA and made so quick to answer the call on those medallions and fight back when Hogwarts was under Death Eater control. Neville grew up very quickly and in a short amount of time, the catalyst for them truly feeling they belonged being prior to the true start of the war after learning their parents’ attacker had escaped from Azkaban Prison. Then Death Eaters took over the school they called home and it was no longer about proving themself to histheir grandmother or classmates, but about doing the right thing. It was then that Neville truly understood the meaning of bravery, chivalry, and the other traits true

OCCUPATION:  Current Auror / Substitute Professor of Herbology at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  (  Neville has been working for the auror department since he left Hogwarts and is currently still working for them. He however has just accepted a job at Hogwarts starting after summer break and put notice in at the department he will be leaving in the end of August. He has yet to tell anyone anything other than that he has subbed at the school a couple times for Professor Sprout.  )

FACECLAIM: Federico Cesari

CHARACTER BACKGROUND

POSTBELLUM

Neville had only been a toddler when they first learned the end of a war does not mean the end of the fighting or that some of the worst acts of violence and cruelty happen after one side has already surrendered.  The war was a terrifying thing and Neville didn’t begin to fully understand what it meant until after their side had already won. They cut a lot of people off after the final battle; kept isolated and trapped in a state of uncertainty. Some days they felt invincible- as if the scared little child who refused to let go of their grandmother’s skirt was someone else entirely and only the new version of themself who spat in Death Eater’s faces had remained. But as the adrenalyn wore off it became easier to fall back into the mindset of someone who thought they would never fit in or live up to the reputation their parents had set for them.

They went immediately into Auror training simply because they didn’t know what else to do. When Neville  was told he could join the program despite not obtaining the OWL results required they couldn’t turn it down. It had felt like some sort of sign that this was what they needed to do, They knew that they wanted to be an Auror at only eight years old- although back then it was more because they wanted to be like their Gran’s stories of Frank than an interest in the career itself, but they had still struggled to accept that their childhood dream had gone out the window when their OWL scores came in the mail. But their position in the war meant more than an Acceptable in Transfiguration, and with so many Death Eaters still to be captured they couldn’t bring themselves to accept the war had finally ended.

When they learned the position for the Herbology teacher at Hogwarts opened he applied on a whim, never thinking they would actually get the job and  struggled to get through the interview until they realized Professor Sprout had recommended them personally. They know they need to do this for themself, but they’re terrified to tell everyone about their plans to leave the Auror Department. It feels selfish- like they’re giving up the fight.

Now with Bellatrix’s return they are angry. At least they believe they are angry, but this is a different anger than the one they felt when she had broken out of Azkaban for the first time years ago. Perhaps it’s the mixture of jealousy at seeing so many people around them be reunited with their families while struggling with the guilt of avoiding their own. Or maybe it’s simply a deeper understanding. They are eager to find out.

PERSONALITY

Neville assumes their upbringing has a large part in the reason they’re so quick to think about what exactly is making someone behave the way they are. They are empathetic, quick to be understanding and patient. They wants to be there for everyone, even if that person doesn’t want them there. When Neville is invested in something they go on longer than anyone enjoys, putting every ounce of energy they have into it. When they love something they put their all into it and has never been one to do something half-assed. Even whenthey struggle, they give their all and don’t volunteer unless they knows they can pull through. Their love of herbology is clear to everyone who knows them and they spend hours a day trying to learn more about the subject they love so much. But he is also passionate about equal rights and fighting injustice. So passionate he put his safety on the line again and again to give a bit of hope to those around him that they could do this. So passionate even when he thought they had lost everything he still was the one to stand up and keep fighting.

They spent a lot of time lonely, and grew comfortable being by themselves. For a long time it seemed like everyone had their click but him. Sure he had friends, at least he thinks they all considered him friends, but until recently he never had that person he could go to. Now he still forgets to reach out to others for nothing other than to just enjoy each other’s company. He’ll call them to tell them about a book he thinks they would enjoy, or to tell them about the restaurant that opened up down the street from them, but he’s still working on believing people want to spend time with him and breaking the habit of spending his time along.

Insecurity and uncertainty had defined Neville’s life for so long, sometimes he does not know how to live any differently. He is quick to second guess himself in every aspect, and that has held him back many times. He decides how others feel without asking their opinions and can be quite pessimistic while doing so. Neville’s loyalty is also a trait he prides himself on greatly, but at times it can be entirely blind. He can have a bit of a black and white mindset when it comes to if someone is good or bad and once you have been deemed good in his mind he will follow certain people to their doom simply because they told him it was a wise idea.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY

Neville’s parent’s health had always been especially overwhelming and confusing for them, ever since they were just old enough to comprehend the two of them were not normal, that the way they behaved wasn’t the typical way the other adults in their life acted. Although for a very long time even after that they didn’t entirely understand their presence in their life was something normal to miss or that it wasn’t selfish to be angry over the fact that Frank and Alice couldn’t recognize who Neville was. They understand the pride they feel in being their child, and just how much they had sacrificed, but even now they cannot seem to fully comprehend why they miss something they cannot remember ever having in the first place.

So the excuses to not join Augusta on her visits to St. Mungo’s were plausible for a while. First it wasn’t safe to go, they couldn’t leave Hogwarts during the height of the war, the new job had just kept them so busy there wasn’t the time.  Although every time they rattle off another excuse they see more of that same look in their grandmother’s eye that they had grown accustomed to as a child and thought they had finally gotten past. It was the week of the first anniversary Neville and Augusta finally had it out. Neville hadn’t meant to snap at her, there was so much guilt and their anxiety was still high. Suddenly everything from their childhood with her came out at once. The pressure she put on them to live up to their father, never saying anything to the family members who harmed them in an attempt to “scare” the magic out of them. They feel a responsibility to work on their relationship, she’s the only family they really have and perhaps if that weren’t the case they would have dropped her. But Neville loves her, as strict and imperfect as she is; they know she loves him, even if she wasn’t always the perfect guardian.

HISTORY

Only months following the end of the war, a group of Death Eaters had captured Frank and Alice Longbottom, determined they knew what happened to the Dark Lord and were willing to do anything in their power to get that information out of the two Aurors. They tortured the two incessantly until they had both lost their minds, leaving Neville who had only been a baby at the time to be raised by Frank’s mother, Augusta.  She had been stern and old fashioned in the way she had raised them, expecting Neville to be every bit as brilliant as their father and then some as only a child, and she hadn’t done a spectacular job at hiding her disappointment whenever they didn’t live up to the expectations set for them. It had happened before, in a family as old as the Longbottoms it wasn’t entirely unheard of for a child to be born a squib, but that didn’t stop the fact that it was shameful, or dismiss the fears that Neville would live a horrid life if they failed to ever show signs of magic. Their entire extended family grouped together to attempt to make them to show some signs of magic, all going to different lengths in their attempts to do so. This destroyed their confidence and left Neville especially insecure even before they had the opportunity to start Hogwarts.

While everyone around them seemed to think of their time at Hogwarts longingly, Neville struggled during their time in the castle. Their Gran had been overprotective after taking them in and kept them separated from other kids their age so long they had a hard time making friends. Kids were mean, and it wasn’t uncommon for them to be the punchline of various jokes and picked on for the babyfat they had yet to lose or their awkward demeanor. While being bullied by their peers was hard enough, Neville hadn’t expected their professors to be even more terrifying than anything else they had dealt with in their young but still tragic youth. Severus Snape had been the human embodiment of everything they ever did wrong. As much as Neville loves their grandmother, she was never subtle about her high expectations for them and the more Neville tried to live up to them, the more they seemed to fail. Snape preyed on this, had a comment ready at every corner and made sure Neville knew they were inferior. They would never be as smart as their father. Never be as talented or successful if they couldn’t brew a simple potion correctly. The trauma of watching their parents’ health deteriorate as only a toddler left them with scars they still haven’t healed and Snape knew that as well. The gut wrenching  anticipation of knowing if they did their assignment incorrectly their beloved pet would be slowly and painfully killed only brought the teen nightmares and what ifs. Snape knew Neville’s secrets from the days he fought on the other side, then his time as his Professor and had a profound talent for using this against them.

When Bellatrix Lestrange escaped from Azkaban it gave Neville a reason to fight back for the first time. There was a connection between them and the fighting going on outside the walls of Dumbeldore’s protection and they were able to truly comprehend just what this all meant beyond knowing Voldemorts return was a bad thing. Even more than that, they wanted revenge. They wanted to get even with the witch who stole everything from them, caused their parents to be unable to even know who their own child was. And they did fight back, harder than they had ever fought for anything in their life, they practiced day and night with hopes they could prove they are much more than the stupid little pureblood with insane parents and could barely hold a wand the right direction.

Then they were seventeen and living their deepest darkest what ifs. Would I do the same? Could I take the worst of the unforgivables for the well being of another? Neville’s entire life had been controlled by that curse. The shyness, the isolation, depression. The fear. Suddenly they were thrown into war, still only a student, even if one privileged enough to be born with the blood that was ranked superior. Wands were pointed at them, doing everything they could to force them to be the one thing he grew up swearing they would never be. Neville took everything they threw at them to not become the people who tore apart their family. They grew more confident and collected and stepped up to do what they knew they needed to do. They lead an Army, and the DA was the most important thing they will ever be a part of in their life. It made them someone they could be proud of, instead of having to worry what everyone around them would think of them.

OOC EXPLORATION

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? This group is gorgeous, While yes, your graphics and theme is lovely, your plot, the character teasers, and the writing are beautiful. A post trio roleplay is so hard to come by, as is a group with passionate and active admins and members who want to write and develop characters and the little twist of bringing back the dead is captivating. Scrolling through the page simply left me inspired, there is no other way to explain it. Thank you for making this rp possible and giving me the chance to be a part of it.

ANYTHING ELSE? https://www.pinterest.com/aaestheticsdm/why-is-it-always-me-c-neville-longbottom/

[oikawasass]

⠀

⠀ ﹌﹌﹌﹌

⠀ 𝐎𝐈𝐊𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐀𝐒𝐒 𝟐𝐊 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓

﹌﹌﹌﹌

⠀ ➶ ☁︎ ︎︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ➴

- ̗̀➛ INFORMATION :

◌ a list of various prompts, divided into each genre will be provided below. these are the various prompts you will have to choose from when requesting !

◌ when leaving your request, please leave the gender of the reader, and the name of the character you wish to have your request written for. if a gender is not provided, it we be written with the default of a female reader.

⠀ ↳ also, when leaving your request, please include the letter in which the genre is listed under, and the number of the prompt.

⠀ ↳ for example, your request should look / include something like this : bakugou, C 12, fem reader.

◌ the general rules of my writing will still apply. please follow the rules and guidlines of my account.

◌ this will be a week long event. sunday, june 14th - sunday, june 21st. though i may extend it near the end.

◌ this will be for both boku no hero academia and haikyuu. the characters i do and don’t write for still apply. see my masterlists and rules for the characters (links in bio.)

◌ the character and reader positions are interchangable. just include it in your request if you’d like them switched.

◌ you are allowed to leave a maximum of three requests.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

now, with all that out of the way, onto the prompts !

⠀ ﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

⠀ ➶ ☁︎ ︎︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ➴

- ̗̀➛ FLUFF PROMPTS :

f1 : (char) letting (name) warm their cold hands under their shirt.

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f2 : (character) coming home from a cuddly date with (name) and realizing that their shirt smells like (name). (character) pulls their shirt up to their face to smell it before it fades away.

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f3 : (name) has a bunch of online friends and (char) is jealous.

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f4 : (char) and (name) spending the night on the perfect hill for stargazing.

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f5 : (char) and (name) in the morning after a one night stand.

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f6 : Them playing with chalk like they’re kids again.

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f7 : (char) is alone in the rain because they forgot to bring an umbrella, (name) offers to share theirs.

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f8 : (char): I’m never letting you go.

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f9 : (char) goes over to (name)'s home after staying up all night. Even though they do their best to stay awake, they end up falling asleep while cuddling (name). (char) is quite embarrassed (and half-asleep) when they wake up, but (name) doesn't mind.

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f10 : (char) and (name) pressing their faces together sleepily, not even kissing, just resting their foreheads together, noses brushing, breathing each other in.

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f11 : (char) used to have a friend who died/moved and (name) moves into their house. Because (char) used to be over a lot, they visit the house out of habit and (name) invites them over for some tea.

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f12 : (name) falling asleep in (char)'s lap. (char) holds (name) close and doesn't move from their spot for hours.

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f13 : (name) using (char)'s lap as a pillow.

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f14 : (name) and (char) meeting on a train when (char) falls asleep on (name)'s shoulder.

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f15 : (name) and (char) are in an established long distance relationship, (name) surprises (char) by showing up right before midnight on New Year's Eve.

⠀ ➶ ☁︎ ︎︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ➴

- ̗̀➛ COMEDIC PROMPTS :

c1 : Sleeping in the same bed with (name) is proving to be extremely annoying to (char) because at 2am they’ll be trying to sleep and (name) will randomly start singing this is halloween from the god damn nightmare before Christmas like it isn’t the middle of fucking august.

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c2 : (name) says they’ll teach (char) to dance but when (char) shows up to the agreed upon spot, they’re thrown for a loop due to the presence of pole dancing poles.

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c3 : (char)'s mom gives (char) and (name) very cheesy, matching shirts/sweaters/scarfs. (name) does their very best to pretend that they love it.

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c4 : (char) comes home to find (name) sleeping on top of the covers... completely naked.

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c5 : (char) and (name) at a theme park or carnival, and walking towards one of the many games to win a large stuffed animal. (char) is sure that they can win the game, but after many attempts (and a lot of cash down the drain) (char) gives up. (name), however, tries and succeeds on their first go.

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c6 : (name) tossing snowballs at (char)'s window, not knowing the window is open and has no screen.

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c7 : (name) and (char) getting sick at the same time.

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c8 : (char) and (name) reading mean tweets/comments about themselves and laughing it off.

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c9 : (name): what is the one thing I told you not to do

(char): burn the house down

(name): and what did you do

(char): made you dinner

(name):

(char):

(name)

(char): and burnt the house down

──

c10 : (char) gets the hiccups, causing (name) to laugh every time they try to talk until (name) gets the hiccups too.

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c11 : (name) gets addicted to painting nails and forces (char) to let their nails get painted on.

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c12 : (char) finding a prompt generator and putting up their name together with (name)'s name and reacting to the prompts they get.

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c13 : (char) and (name) are doing the deed. Unfortunately, they left the window open and a bee has flown into the room.

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c14 : (char) making a video 'proving' that (name) is the Illuminati, complete with The X-Files theme.

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c15 : (name): I love you

(char): *shoving laundry basket into (name)'s hands* stop saying I love you to get out of chores

⠀ ➶ ☁︎ ︎︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ➴

- ̗̀➛ ANGST PROMPTS :

a1 : (name): You know, there was a time that I would have died for you.

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a2 : (char): I love you.

(name): Pathetic.

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a3 : (char): I’ve got you now.

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a4 : (char) forgetting everything but (name) after an accident... but not remembering they broke up some time ago.

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a5 : (char): I don’t want to be alone right now.

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a6 : (char): I know that I hurt you. I know that nothing I can say will change the past. But…I’m hoping that you’ll forgive me in the end. I’m hoping that I can make this right.

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a7 : (name) having to help (char) undress after an injury.

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a8 : (name) and (char) were separated for several years for reasons they couldn't help. They finally find each other and have a heartfelt reunion.

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a9 : (name) kissing away (char)'s tears.

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a10 : (name) and (char) as a pair of villains.

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a11 : (name) holding (char)'s hands when they are shaking.

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a12 : (name) holding a sobbing (char). (char) cries themselves to sleep with their face buried into (name).

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a13 : (name) having to help (char) undress after an injury.

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a14 : (name) has died recently and (char) had hallucinations of them in denial.

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a15 : reader has gone missing and char finds one of their belongings and loses it.

◌ i look forward to seeing your requests !

[pinkysfaultorbrainsfault]

animaniacs - s1e60: the cranial crusader

sorry this one’s late! i went out tonight. it was nice. uvu

episode summary: after realising that the superhero they apparently live with has just one guy left to take down, the mice don capes and masks in the hope that getting there first will gain them noteriety.

the rundown:

we open on a shot of Mouse Car.

according to the narration it’s an opossum car, actually. never mind! rodents are of course interchangeable. opossum car is owned by the caped opossum, who seems to be doing some cool shit with it.

yeet.

thankfully, despite his track record with dangerous driving, the caped opossum makes it home safely, it seems.

good for him.

“chalk up another caped opossum law enforcement victory, alphonse.” obviously, yes, he’s supposed to be batman, but he’s less batman and more a man who’s been smoking 70 a day for longer than i have been alive.

good thing alphonse doesn’t seem to mind! if we’re going full batman here he probably raised the dude, so i can only assume his chainsmoking habits were encouraged.

“astounding, sir. remote?

“thanks.”

as the caped oppossum trundles off to “see if he’s made the eleven o clock news”-- oh? is that a grumpy boy we see in the background?

oh, that is an extra grumpy boy, today. something about superheroes must piss him off. either that, or AKOM got hold of this one.

brain pauses his seething temporarily to devote his attention to pinky, who is narfing quite happily to himself.

“what spectacular adventure awaits the caped opossum in his next issue?”

“grow up, pinky.”

the boys are fighting ):

brain’s in a bad mood today, apparently. as the two of them bicker over whether the opossum is a “crime fighting genius” (pinky) or “a self obsessed, nocturnal loon with a dreadful fashion sense” (brain) the aforementioned object of their discourse is watching the news.

it’s captivating enough for the mice to stop mid-callout post, anyway. i’m so sorry this is the only frame i could get of pinky. flashdance.

“tonight, the caped opossum’s calling card was found again, making a near perfect record for the masked marsupial.”

“except for!” oh god it’s this horrifying lady again. “arch fiend johnny badnote.”

(me: what would you do if i changed my name to johnny badnote? my boyfriend: scream.)

“that cursed johnny badnote! he’s the only thing standing between me and true superhero fame.”

and then he starts to cry and has to be taken away by alphonse.

to that, brain makes a funny face. i’m not sure why.

“are you pondering what i’m pondering?”

“i think so, brain, but i can’t memorise a whole opera in yiddish.”

okay.

as brain picks the lock on their cage-- actually, as brain does that i need to tell you that for some reason there are horrifying squelching noises at this part. i have no idea why. it’s like there’s a portal in there leading to a pasta bake. be thankful you can’t hear them from here. it’s incredibly visceral.

but anyway, no, as he squishes around in there, he explains to pinky that he shall “become a costumed, crime fighting hero, and thwart johnny badnote, overshadowing the caped opossum.” and then he’ll be so famous he’ll be elected, like, world president or something, immediately.

worked for batman. so anyway they go off and do that i guess.

TAADAAAAAA.

MOUSE IN SHORTS. MOUSE IN SHORTS. pinky actually looks sick as hell. i love it. i’m sure i went to class dressed like this once or twice. what an icon! hell yeah! the pink wonder is ready for action!!!

brain has put an awful lot of effort into padding out his muscles, and none at all into wearing any trousers.

hm.

undeterred by the possibility of Embarrassing Slip, the Cranial Crusader (which is his new name now) (better than the john, i guess) shows off his own calling card, which is basically just art theft.

not particularly original. still, they have shit to do, so they go off and steal mr opossum’s car.

which is a crime in itself, but they’re not going to let that stop them.

somehow, brain magically knows where johnny badnote’s hideout is. how? i can’t say. maybe he left his details at the Secret Club For People Named John B that they both go to.

“too bad we can’t use the power possum’s prehensile tail hook to lower ourselves down.” says pinky, who is in the middle of drawing The Caped Crusader Comic Book.

“why, who says we can’t?”

so they do.

good thing there’s no danger in dangling precariously over the edge of a cliff like that.

ah! wait, no, the train says you can’t. sorry, brain.

oof.

the mice are fine, don’t worry. pinky is immune to damage and brain had an albinistic edition of the yellow pages to break his fall.

look at his FEETS.

but that aside. the mice are undeterred, and pinky suggests they use the “power sniffer” to sniff out johnny badnote’s lair, and pushes a bunch of buttons to make that happen.

“you seem to know much of the crimefighter business, pinky.”

“i learnt everything from comic books.”

et voila! the power sniffer!

seems to be in working order. “egad!” yells pinky, “it must really smell something stinky!” before immediately crashing into the wall.

lol.

conclusion:

so it... doesn’t actually take them that long to identify that they’ve crashed right into johnny badnote’s lair.

regular bard, this dude. brain mentions that “thwarting the arch-twerp johnny badnote should be child’s play,”

before they get squoshed by a piano. hee hee.

“if that’s not a song cue,” says the adult progeny of the snow and heat misers, “my name isn’t johnny badnote!” and his name is johnny badnote, so you can tell it’s-- it’s the-- never mind.

he cradles the mice so gently in his palm, and tells them enthusiatically that he’s going to blow up the world.

OH I’M JOHNNY BADNOTE ARCHFIEND FELON SLIME

THE PUBLIC DIDN’T LIKE MY SONGS AND SO I TURNED TO CRIME

i love this bastard. he ties the mice to this giant egg.

“when my metronome yanks out your firing pin, my music box egg grenade will play lovely music for a few, precious, seconds, before kaboom! it gives me your last downbeat!”

“you call that a diabolical plan?” says brain, who is pictured near the bottom there. he’s the tiny white blob.

“oh, there’s more. when i hear that downbeat, i’ll play my missile launching pipe organ and blow up the wooooorld!”

man, i love this guy! why doesn’t he come back? i want him in every episode of the reboot.

“is that diabolical enough?”

“yes.”

but! as johnny badnote prepares himself to play the Johnny Bad Notes, he, uh.

he forgets they’re mice, and they can just... wriggle out.

with a triumphant “narf”, pinky rescues his beloved comic book,

and manages to yeet the grenade in the process.

oops.

still, never mind. nothing bad could come of that. brain leaves his Art Theft Calling Card.

“pinky, let’s get out of here.”

“hey, what’s keeping that downbeat?”

well, job done, i suppose. satisfied, the mice head back to the... possum cave? i guess?

but oh wait, what’s this?

you have got to be kidding me.

still, the imperceptively convenient inkblots do their job, and the mice get the bad news a little later, from the weird, weird looking woman from earlier.

“in other news tonight, johnny badnote was finally captured by a masterful crime fighter and great hero--”

“the caped oppossum.”

well.

that’s... that, i guess.

brain turns off the tv. his facial features seem to have shrunk in righteous rage.

brain: 3 ½ pinky: 5 ½ outside influence: 7

“minature crimefighters??? i’ve got to get out more.”

[bearpillowmonster]

Xenoblade Definitive Nonspoiler Review (Gameplay)

The combat is pretty simple but it gets better after the first little bit. If I were to add something to it, it would be to push the analog stick in a certain direction at certain points for more damage. It already has you pressing B at the beginning of the battle, just more of that. 

Some moves are more effective from "the side" or "behind" but your enemies move so frequently (unless you topple them) that you may be on the side when picking the move but that doesn't mean you will be by the time Shulk hits it. Same goes with Monado arts, there's that one move that you use when an enemy is inflicted with Break so that you topple them and it takes so long to activate that the break effect wears off before you even get to use it. Same with the Daze. I've felt so cheated so many times by that alone, I could keep going though. So many moves wasted.

Enemies can topple you, rendering you helpless and if they choose to use a special move right after then you're screwed because your party members are more than likely toppled too. That mechanic is stupid, I get that enemies can do what you do to them but it's not satisfying. 

You can play as a good variety of characters and they all have different weapons and move sets. Also your health auto-replenishes after a battle so healing is just during battles as certain characters moves. There’s an affinity system, so any NPC (and Playable characters for that matter) with a name can get put into the affinity log. You can also trade with them which is pretty cool especially considering you might need a specific item but don’t have the money to buy it (you will have the money) but relationship points are nice too, it kind of reminds me of the villagers in Minecraft but it puts you in the world a bit better.

The day and night cycle initially stressed me out but you can just change it if need be in the menu which is really handy because sometimes NPCs or a mob is only there during day or night.

But the quirk for playable characters is that reaching certain levels unlocks a “heart to heart” scene and if you know me, then you know I’m into that cheesy goodness. You see where they are on the map but it’s not like “Should I do this one with Fiora or Reyn or...?” They’re already set up for specific characters and have to be unlocked after certain main story events and relationship levels. Coming on top of that is that characters getting discouraged in battle, it doesn’t happen often but when it does, you can encourage them and that’s really cool because it improves stats.

Seems like even if a party member is in your reserves (you can only have 3 to fight with, the rest are interchangeable) then they still get the exp so you don't have to worry about grinding up a specific character, they're all pretty even. The one thing that doesn't improve is affinity, you need to have them in your party to improve that. All in all, it really just comes down to your level, who you have in your party, and luck, if you can't beat a battle, just switch around your party.

Sometimes you use a Monado art only for the boss to use a special move right after (which a Monado art would've come in handy with dodging that) but then you have to rely on using your teammates. You can't switch characters in battle and can only use links when they're available but whenever there's a special move coming, you can warn a party member and you can pick the move that you think most appropriate. A lot of time I heal or revive party members only for them to be killed straight after, or another party member already heals them, so it didn't matter if I used the move but it still counted. You can choose to have the party members stay near you and such but most of the time, I had worse things to worry about. Plus sometimes the enemy can just change targets in the middle of a special move, so if you used shield bullet, you better hope it's on the right person. Despite all this complaining, somehow the gameplay felt like just enough to make the grinding not as bad as it could’ve been because you know there’s a lot of it.

With the affinity system, it says a character’s “likes” and “dislikes” so you can increase relationships between characters by giving gifts from your spoils. And accept as many side quests as you can because chances are that they’re just clearing out specific monsters that will be in your way anyway. I’ve finished more side quests unintentionally than intentional. Plus, accepting missions can increase relationship, specifically with Reyn because he likes to help people.

Speaking of monsters, this game can be compared to Monster Hunter, there are so many different varieties and drops you can get, I take out certain ones just to put them in my index because they look cool. The one thing about the Monster Hunter games is that they lack any motivation or story and this game has plenty. The chests stay in place even if you die. I actually left some at Eryth Sea and came back multiple times and they were still there after most of the story (we’ll call it an experiment but the truth of the matter is that new enemies spawned and I couldn’t beat them at the time)

QUESTS I have a small complaint about the quest system. So you can set a side quest as active, except for the Colony 6 items, but in order to see where the location is, you have to be in that area. So imagine there’s one in Colony 6 for example, you’re in Colony 9, it’ll tell you it’s there but not where you should teleport. You teleport somewhere in Colony 6 and then it tells you where the side quest is. Why couldn’t I just go there directly?

Another small gripe, it auto saves but you can also manually save but if you die it doesn’t load the most recent one, it automatically goes to the auto save but you can manually load your manual save and it’ll be right where you left it but the enemies still respawn. It’s confusing because with auto save, I’ll find chests from the battle I just failed in, so did I still get the exp?

Normally with open worlds, you end up exploring all the parts but even if you count side-quests, that doesn't account for the vastness, I was surprised at just how much you can explore. I wanted to dip my toes in earlier but I realized "We're already past that section!" (story-wise) it just keeps expanding. Luckily, it's like Skyrim and you can fast travel and go back and do stuff you might've missed. It kind of justifies that it holds your hand trying to navigate you but I'm not complaining.

The side quests don't offer much, just kind of a time filler but I wanted to get the full experience so I played all of the Alcamoth as well as Colony 9 quests that I could get, to see if I got anything special (both day and night), yeah there's nothing special, I'm not sure if it does anything if you beat every side quest in the whole game but there's a ton. I worked on Colony 9's affinity a bunch so that I could unlock more, but I finished all the quests so what you need to do is talk to all villagers with a name and trade, I could never get to 5 stars so I quit and I’d rather be playing missions instead of hunting down villagers all day. Why did I try it though? For Desiree, she has a quest and I was interested in it, it even involves Dorothy. You'd think I'd be super buff and stuff for finishing everything in those two areas but no, not really, it certainly helped but I was very under leveled at various points, a habit that I have with RPGs because I hate grinding.

[cagestark]

Would love a vengeful Tony - those who ignore, insult or hurt Peter in any way find that texts intended for mistresses are sent to wives, their names go missing off guest lists for important events, shady business deals are exposed, etc. Those who are kind and thoughtful to Pete reap rewards, their businesses thrive, their children gain scholarships, etc. Everything is done quietly, discreetly. Nothing can be connected to Tony, but Peter is a genius too - he knows and loves Tony all the more. 😍

Read on AO3 here. 

Hope this is okay

Warnings: dark!Tony who will do anything for his precious boy. Explicit sexual content. Peter is 18+ though. Violence. Dark stuffs. But it’s still pretty soft IMO

-

Alternate universes are infinite. That means that there are an infinite number of worlds out there where Tony Stark does not own Peter Parker. In those worlds, Tony’s must be soft-bellied, burden with consciences that bow their backs over things like right and wrong. Maybe the attraction is there still, the lust for a boy with curls and eyes like liquid cedarwood. He probably jerks off in the dead of night for a kid less than half his age and then cries about it afterwards.

Tony feels sorry for those poor sons of bitches.

He has no such qualms. When Peter applies for the Stark Industries internship, freshly eighteen years old, Tony sees, wants, and takes. Finding out that his boy is also a super hero feels like kismet. Peter adores him. Its visible in the wide wet eyes, the flush that still blooms on his cheeks when he sees Tony naked even months after the first time. And maybe a little begrudgingly, Tony begins to feel the same way about him. His worth to Tony grows exponentially until he can no longer ignore that the boy is the most important thing in his life. Peter is precious. He is kind-hearted (foolish as kindness is), thoughtful, and intelligent.

And he is damaged.

It is months into their growing relationship when Peter finally confides in him, but Tony is no fool: he knows the signs of a bruised apple when he sees one. Peter is shy to the point of insecurity, apologizing for his enthusiasm, for the way his body looks naked, for using the wrong size coffee grounds in the French press. Tony himself has never felt the need to apologize for his own existence, so the habit in his young lover is particularly unfathomable.

Then they get drunk. Peter isn’t legal to drink—not in this country—but if he’s responsible enough to fuck who he wants to, he should be responsible enough to partake. Tony drinks scotch, but Peter coughs his face red when he takes a sip. Instead, he prefers the softer, sweeter or sour liquors and mixed drinks. They have a full bar, so Tony spends the evening making one of every kind of drink he knows just so Peter can take little sips of each, flushing with alcohol, eyes shy as he proclaims it’s good, if he like it and it’s alright, if he doesn’t.

They end up on the couch together, Peter reclined between his legs. It’s there in a soft, trembling voice that Peter begins to cry in his drunkenness and admits the love he had before, the one who bruised him.

“Tell me his name,” demands Tony.

Peter shakes his head.

“He never like, hit me,” Peter says. “But he did slap me sometimes. It didn’t really hurt, but it was so embarrassing. Like I was a, a child. Or a dog.”

Tony just hums, waiting. On the back of the couch, his hand in clenched into a fist, but still he waits. A sniper holds his breath when he needs to steady the scope.

“We went to school together—” yes, yes, go on, Tony thinks. “—he bullied me for a while. Innocent stuff. Then one day we had a heart to heart and he admitted that his animosity towards me was because he was gay. He didn’t know how to express himself, I guess. Or maybe he resented me, because I was out and he wasn’t. I don’t know. We started dating in secret, and I thought—god, I’m such an idiot. It sounds so stupid now—I thought that it was cute. We were like, enemies to lovers. Like the stories. But it wasn’t a story. Not a good one.

“Even after he came out, it felt like no matter what I did, he wasn’t happy with me. Sometimes, it seemed like he enjoyed being unhappy with me. My body was always too scrawny—this was before the bite—and I was always doing things wrong. He said that I embarrassed him. Maybe I did. I don’t know. He’d invite his friends over, the ones who used to bully me with him. They would make fun of me and he, he never stopped them. They’d say the m-most humiliating things to me. Why didn’t he stop them, Tony?” Peter asked, voice cracking, weeping into Tony’s chest.

“A name, darling. Be brave for me. Give me names.”

Peter turns to look at him, eyes red and glazed from alcohol, cheeks wet. He is painfully beautiful. “What will you do to them?”

“Nothing, my sweet,” lies Tony. Some lies are necessary things. “Nothing, unless you tell me to.”

He gives names. A whole list of them, and Tony doesn’t need his artificial intelligence recording to remember them. He doesn’t need an eidetic memory to remember them. They are burned into his brain along with the image of Peter now only thinner, cheeks wet and red because he was slapped like a dog.

Peter cries himself to sleep. Tony carries him to bed, undresses him with glazed over eyes. His mind is miles away. Once the covers are pulled up snugly against Peter’s chin, a wastebasket beside the bed should he wake and feel sick, Tony goes down to his lab, still buzzed, wearing nothing but his pajama pants. The air is cold, but he doesn’t feel it.

“FRIDAY, baby?”

“Yes, boss.”

“We’ve got work to do.”  

-

Peter is naked in his bed, artfully covered by a sheet still damp from their lovemaking. Belly down, he props himself up on his elbows with a Stark tablet in front of him, scrolling through news stories, filling Tony in on news articles involving him.

“This article says you’re trying to create a new world order,” Peter says. This is like after-play for Tony. Besides his cock, his next favorite thing to have stroked is his ego. When he hears Tony snort, the younger man glances over, lips still swollen from the tender abuse they suffered between Tony’s teeth. Peter smiles. With a flick of his finger, the tablet goes dark. He nudges it onto the end table and rolls so that he can spoon his naked body against Tony’s side. When he speak next, he sounds sleepy. “Can you imagine that, Tony? You ruling the world?”

He hums. He can imagine that. He does. Sees it in his dreams, knees bending in supplication to him, wills bending to his way. “Can’t you, Pete?”

The boy presses a hot kiss to one of Tony’s pecks. It’s amazing how little water can help a blossom to bloom, and for Peter, he would bring down a veritable rainstorm. Look how far he has come from days when he would hesitate to brush their fingers as they watched a movie together or were in the back of the car together. He is becoming a diamond, Tony’s crown jewel. “I can see you as a king,” Peter says.

Tony grins. “And where are you, my sweet?”

Peter hums. His hand drags across Tony’s flat stomach, gently scraping blunt fingernails against where stomach becomes pelvis, feeling the muscles beneath it twitch to his whims. The boy has come twice in the last hour, but he is already hard against Tony’s leg. “I don’t know,” he says, voice low. The hand drifts lower and brushes his soft cock, which makes a valiant stir. “Maybe I’ll be your—paramour. Your willing slave. At your feet to take care of all your needs.”

Tony frowns. He leans away, loathing even the brief look of anxiety on Peter’s face at his withdrawal, the cheeks flushing with anxiety, wondering did I do something wrong, did I sound stupid? Taking the softly pointed chin in his hand, he brings them so close their noses almost brush. “You are no servant, and I don’t intend for you to be anywhere near my feet. You will be my queen.”

And like that, his blossom blooms a little more, leaning forward to press their mouths together, soft and sensual as rose petals.

-

The galas are a treat since he’s starting dating Peter. They make games of them, usually delightfully sexual ones that have them tugging their dress pants down in the limo on the way home so Peter can sit on his cock—though there was that one lovely night that Tony took him into the bathroom during the speeches, locked the door behind them so he could bend his boy over the sink and rim him within an inch of his life. For the rest of the night, Peter hadn’t been able to look away from his mouth, blushing and adjusting himself.

Tonight, Peter is wearing a plug. Watching him shift restlessly at dinner has had Tony half-hard for the better part of the evening. Desperate for a reprieve to clear his head, he stalks to the bar to order them drinks: a glass of champagne for Peter and a scotch on the rocks for himself. If they know he is giving his underage date alcohol, they don’t dare say anything.

It’s there leaning up against the polished bar that he overhears Peter’s name spoken from a group nearby. His hearing is excellent, and it takes little effort to block out the white noise of the room to listen in to the conversation taking place among three heads ducked together. He recognizes them: the man is CFO of a private security franchise in upstate New York that made several attempts to offer Stark Industries security services. Tony had humored him for far too long, asking detailed questions about the company’s capabilities before turning him down—and why shouldn’t he know what techniques the little guys are using? It’s smart strategy. Hacking into the man’s private servers to read his emails had been purely for entertainment. All work and no play would make Tony a very dull boy indeed.

Beside him are two women, most likely a wife and a secretary, probably interchangeable.

“—look ridiculous together. Like father and son. If he wanted to feel twenty years younger, a prostitute could have done the same thing for him and with half the work.”

“He’s a cute kid,” the secretary or wife says.

The CFO snorts. “Have some taste, Margot.”  

Tony doesn’t see red. His hands don’t turn into fists, his teeth don’t gnash. He doesn’t get angry, he gets even, wracking his brain for the most insignificant details, anything that he could use to his advantage here—and then he remembers, something about a food allergy, berating the PA who went out to the local bakery for breakfast and brought pastries back to the office.

“Three more glasses of champagne,” says Tony, leaning against the bar. “And tell me. Do you have strawberries?”

When Tony appears behind them, drinks in hand, CFO’s soul nearly leaves his body. All the blood leaves his face. Even the secretary wives look anxious. One of them can’t even meet his eyes. There are probably rumors about the kind of man that Tony is and the kind of business he conducts. When his reputation does half the work of intimidating scum like this, then he considers himself thankful for it.

“Drinks?” Tony says, passing around flutes. “It’s an open bar. Please make sure to partake.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Margot says. Sensible woman. If only she kept better company.

When Tony returns to the table with Peter’s champagne and his own scotch, the ice hasn’t even begun melt. “That was fast,” Peter says. This is his second glass, and he is already looking more relaxed, eyes a little lidded. Whether it is from the alcohol or the plug inside his ass, Tony doesn’t know. What he does know is that he himself is unbearably hard, has been since the strawberry idea came to him.

“Let’s get out of here,” he suggests.

It’s as they’re leaving that the other shoe drops. It must have started as a tickle in his throat, maybe the buzz of numb lips. By the time CFO realizes he’s having a severe allergic reaction, his throat has swelled and his face is turning purple. A crowd gathers, and he and Peter are part of it, the boy pressed against him back to Tony’s front. From what he can gather, the man has an epi-pen that his secretary carries, but she has left it in the Rolls Royce. By the time the valet finds her car among the sea in the parking lot, the man is unconscious.

“Is there anything we can do?” Peter asks, watching as the paramedics administer an emergency shot of epinephrine.

“I’ve done quite enough already,” purrs Tony. His hips give a tiny aborted thrust, cock aching. Peter’s chest begins to rise and fall more rapidly. It’s a warm enough night for them to shed their jackets, holding them over their arms and in front of their erections like the gentlemen they are.

But nothing they do in the limousine on the way home is gentlemanly, and that’s the way Tony likes it.

-

There are three names Peter gives him. By the time FRIDAY is done working her magic, Tony has entire life histories, not just for the three boys who graduated alongside Peter at Midtown High School, but for their families. Their ancestries. Tony doesn’t know where inspiration will strike, so he has FRIDAY compile everything. He reads the files leisurely in the evenings when Peter is lounging between his legs watching television or even in bed when the boy slumbers next to him.

Of the three, he knows that Flash will receive the worst of it. Tony will be the old testament God, cursing Flash and four generations of his descendants. That is where he puts his true energy, drawing from that dark well inside of him where is wrath pools. It makes him giddy, wondering how far he is willing to go.

The inspiration is endless, with Flash’s life laid out in front of him. After graduation, he went to a second-rate technical school in New Jersey after a series of rejected applications to MIT. Had he been trying to follow Peter?

Afterwards, he moved north to Maine where he works for the Gulf of Maine Research Institute, probably spending his days smelling of salt water, working on electric monitoring systems meant to replace human observers on commercial fishing boats.

Digging into his criminal record is where it gets personal. Because there is very little. One domestic violence charge, the plaintiff being the State of New York, but it takes only a little elbow grease to see that it is Peter. Flash had pled no contest. He served no time in jail, just faced parole for 18 months and a required anger management class.

Besides that, there is nothing. No more charges. Tony tells himself that the vast majority of such personal crimes go unreported—and really, would it make Peter feel any better? To know that it hadn’t been personal, it hadn’t been just him that Flash had abused?

Tony has never been a victim of abuse. While he usually doesn’t have difficulty imagining how people will feel, even in such instances of heightened emotion, Peter is an enigma. The consequences of being wrong, of hurting his boy. It’s too much to bear.

Still, he digs deeper. Flash is married to a native Maine woman. FRIDAY has social media photographs included in the file, and they look—like a couple. He won’t say a nice couple, because he desperately wants them dead. But they would probably look lovely in side by side burial plots. The smiles look genuine, arms wrapped around each other. Pictures of them together on the beach looking out at the bleak Atlantic Ocean. But he knows the kind of masks people put on for the public. He’s more interested in knowing about Flash’s relationship when the camera is off, pointed elsewhere.

“Get me their phone conversations, FRIDAY, baby.”

But whatever he expected; it wasn’t this. The tenderness between them. The loving messages sent in the middle of the day. The largest argument they have is over what they will have for dinner after Flash comes home from work, and the boy apologizes for his terse messages within twenty minutes of sending them. He sounds contrite. He sounds genuine. He sounds in love.

Why does that make it worse? Why does that make Tony angrier? Tenderness existed inside this Flash the whole time—why wouldn’t he give it to Peter?  Tony logs off, turns off his systems, shuts down the lab for a while. Sometimes the wrath he keeps deep in that well inside him swells up like the tide, swells up like a spring after rain. It no longer feels like the well is inside him, but that he is in the well, looking up through a haze of fury towards a sky he can’t see.

He doesn’t want to act in anger.

The kind of justice Peter deserves is cool and calculated.

-

His boy is in his lap, confident enough to crawl there while the movie they were watching draws on behind them, their kissing a sensual soundtrack. Peter is so beautiful like this, when the slightest arousal melts away his inhibitions. It is animalistic, the way they lick into each other’s mouths, the biting of lips and gnashing of teeth. There is a restlessness though, a rising fever that isn’t being quenched quickly enough. More is needed. His boy needs more.

“You’re going to top tonight,” says Tony lowly, dragging his teeth across Peter’s hairless, cut jaw. He’s close enough to hear the boy’s breathy gasp. He clams up, going tense, drawing away. When they meet eyes, Peter is already anxious, unsure.

“Why would you want that?” he asks.

Tony frowns. “Why do you like having someone in your ass?”

Peter flushes. “I just—I guess I always thought that the person who. You know. Received—it’s, like, a power thing. People top because they’re stronger.”

“Are you not strong? Do you not want power, Pete?”

“I—I’ve never. I was always the one who. You know.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Tony assures. He presses his palm flat against the boy’s clothed chest, feeling his heart hammering away. When his thumb brushes the pebbled nipple, Peter shudders, eyes fluttering. “But you have power here. I’d like to show you.”

Peter swallows. “I’ll try.”

Tony blows him first, just to take the edge off. Peter’s stamina, while better than it once was, isn’t legendary. With the taste of cum in his mouth, he kisses his lover, legs spread and Peter propped between them. The amount of lube he slathers on his fingers is overkill, but it makes Tony warm: the innocence, the desire not to hurt his partner. How someone could hurt this sweet creature, Tony will never understand.

The first finger Peter presses inside him, the boy groans like he’s fingering his own ass. It’s been a while for Tony, but Peter’s pace is slow bordering agonizing, thrusting in carefully, catching softly on the rim as he pulls free. Two fingers feel fuller and Tony groans. Could he convince the boy to take him like this, half-prepared so that it might sting? But half the joy is the look on Peter’s face, eyes squeezed shut, mouth slack as he crooks his fingers to rub so gently against Tony’s prostate. When Tony moans, Peter’s entire body shakes, his cock hard and leaking, giving aborted little thrusts against the bed.

“Take me, Pete,” he asks. “I’m ready. How do you want me?”

“I—I don’t know,” Peter whimpers. He’s already gripping the base of his cock, knuckles white, wincing at the ache. Tony strokes his back to let him recover giving him the time he needs. Maybe he should suck him off again—but now he’s getting desperate himself. Let the boy come quickly. That in itself is a turn on.  

Desiring to watch, Tony just presses a pillow underneath his hips to improve the angle, holds his cock and balls in one hand, and lets Peter press forward, the head of his cock nudging Tony’s rim.

“Jesus,” Peter gasps, even though he hasn’t even pressed in. “I can’t do it Tony, I can’t—”

“You can,” Tony says, low and dark. “Fucking look at yourself Peter. So goddamn strong. So powerful. You could pin me to this bed and fuck me half to death if you wanted to, and god do I want you to. You could snap me in half, couldn’t you sweet boy? Take me. Overpower me. You’re strong enough.”

Peter keens. Wet and warmth hits Tony’s hole as the boy’s hand flies down, too late to stop himself and instead wrapping around his shaft to jerk himself off, strings of cum spurting onto Tony’s cock. He watches, half-amused and more than half-aroused. Wiping a hand through the cum, Tony wraps it around himself and fucks into his fist to spill onto his own abs.

“What did I say?” he says afterwards, pressing a kiss to Peter’s embarrassed face. “So powerful. God that was hot.”

“I didn’t even get inside,” mutters Peter.

“We can try again. If you want.”

He feels the boy smile against his chest. “I—think I’d like that.”

-

Justice starts closer to home than Tony thought it might, because on the first page of FRIDAY’s report about Flash Thompson, Tony discovers that Flash’s father works for Stark Industries and has for years. With thousands of employees, it isn’t difficult to fathom that a well-off man growing up in New York city, but it still irks Tony to know that at any time coming and going, Peter might have crossed this man, might have had to remember. Harrison Thompson is a consumer relation’s specialist working in their marketing department. The man looks trepidatious when he enters Tony’s office bright on Monday morning.

Tony can see the resemblance between father and son. He knows a lot about this man too. His record is not nearly as clear of domestic violence charges as his son’s. Abuse is a vicious cycle in which the offended can become the offenders. The seed of violence in Flash was probably cultivated for years before he met Peter—then again, after remembering the graphic images of a battered Mrs. Thompson, Tony can’t deny that Flash’s DNA probably came from the seed of violence.

The man sits, looking like he’s ready for his own execution. “Mr. Stark.”

“Harrison,” Tony greets. “Have we met? Tell me, in all the years that you’ve worked here, have I ever bothered to meet a little pissant like you?”

“Once, sir,” Thompson says, slow. He’s sweating. “We spoke on the phone.”

Tony coos. Inside his top desk drawer is a stack of papers, which he draws out onto his desk. Forging them took no time at all. He must look unhinged, eyes glittering like hellfire is just behind the pupils, grinning the way he is. “What a shame then, that we’ve had to meet under these circumstances.”

-

Everybody is talking about it, Peter texts. Tony is in a meeting when he sees it, but he has no qualms about answering his boy when he should be listening to shareholders complain about the way the media is spinning Stark Industry’s image.

Talking about what, baby?

An employee you fired yesterday.

From 5th floor.

Caught him stealing from me, baby.

Firing him was just the start.

Wait until the police get their hands on him ;)

Tony. You must know.

Know what, my sweet?

Peter doesn’t answer. If he is worried that the boy will be cold to him when he returns to the penthouse for the evening, his worries were for nothing. There is dinner on the table, with candles. Dinner is only half eaten when they end up in the bedroom, and after undressing him, Tony finds that Peter has shaved. Everywhere.

“Wanted to do something nice for you, daddy,” he gasps while Tony rims him, shifts to mouth at his tight balls.

The sweetest boy.

-

Flash himself, Tony never even meets. Tony has maids to take out the trash in his penthouse, custodians to take out trash from Stark Tower, and Bucky to handle the more personal refuse that Tony would rather not dirty his hands with. He has a thing about his hands.

It is handled all through phone calls from his untraceable line. Bucky is one of the only men in the world besides Peter that Tony would admit he likes: the man listens twice as often as he speaks, has incredible loyalty, and also takes initiative. “How bad do you want him?” Bucky asks.

“Use your discretion,” Tony says, feet braced up on his desk. That’s code for let him live, but not easily. Through the glass walls of his office, he sees Peter getting off the elevator, waving cheerfully to the secretary. When they spot each other, the boy blushes softly, and Tony winks. “But I’m sending you a little extra compensation. There’s an additional detail that’s very important to me, and I want to see it come to fruition.”

The others are child’s play. Via anonymous tips, he alerts the IRS about one of the boys’ fraudulent tax returns. The other keeps his nose cleaner, but that is no problem for a man who doesn’t mind playing dirty: Tony empties his bank accounts, trashes his credit score, and sends several fake incriminating messages to his wife. It barely scrapes the surface of what they are owed, but he figures that there will always be time to expand on a solid foundation of misery.

The pictures arrive one after the other an hour after the sun sets on the East Coast. The boy is barely recognizable: face swollen nearly to bursting from the shattered cheekbone and orbital fracture. Bucky’s gloved hand is visible in the last picture, clutching a head of dark hair to pull the boy’s head back so his throat is visible, wreathed in livid bruises. But the dog collar looks good.

Pet Supply, Bucky says. $4.99.

Tony sends him five grand. Then he saves the pictures on a private server that FRIDAY is under orders to destroy should it be breached or should Tony die. He’d delete them altogether but…one day, Peter might want them.

And he would give Peter anything he wanted.

-

“Boss, you’ve received a text from Peter.”

“Read it to me, baby,” says Tony, welding mask on, sweating. FRIDAY’s voice is barely audible over the sound of the blowtorch.

“It’s a news article, sir, from Portland Press Herald, dated this morning. The headline article is titled GMRI Employee Left Paralyzed After Overnight Attack.” Tony turns off the blowtorch. He takes off the mask to reveal his smile. Peter knows how much Tony loves to hear news about himself. “Shall I keep reading, boss?”

“Please do.”  

-

Peter never mentions it, but sometimes Tony catches him staring. The look on his face is one that isn’t easily read. On anyone else, he would expect to see fear, but this boy is finally starting to grow into his own. He is finally starting to see how he should be treated, and the ramifications he—and Tony—can rain down on those who treat him poorly. Instead, Peter looks hungry for him. So, fucking, grateful to him.

“Do you want to try topping again tonight, my sweet?” Tony asks in bed. “Do you want the power?”

Peter plants a hand on his chest and pushes him back into the mattress. Eyes heavy, he is sure the boy will finger him open, thrust desperately inside him to completion. Maybe he won’t even pull out, just rest his cock there until it hardens, and then Peter will take him again. Until he is strong and satisfied.

Instead, Peter throws a leg over Tony’s hips and sinks down on his cock. The look he gives is positively devilish, resting his hands on his thighs while he begins a brutal, perfect rhythm. He smiles, impish, delighted. Bruised apples are soft, riper and all the sweeter in spite of it.

Peter says: “I already have it.”