#i need to learn how to write action

[glitchy-npc]

54 for whump prompts?

54: “You were right.”

Thank you @keltena for the same prompt!

Late afternoon, maybe an hour till sunset. 

The Boneyard is almost empty this time of day. Only a handful of people and their dogs, the last few stragglers trying to tire out their energetic companions before heading home for the night. 

Routine. Normal. Not that you’d know.

Is this what your life would have been like if you had been born human? A boring, safe, nine to five job and a dog to come home to? Something to care for, to guard you in return? Love, free from judgment.

It doesn’t matter, those thoughts are pointless. You’re not here for the dogs or their people, you're here to confront your tail. You don’t know who but you’ve felt someone tracking you the last few hours. Not direct thoughts but a prickle at the back of your neck, a feeling of being watched and you’ve survived too long to ignore those kinds of instincts. In an initial spike of panic you had been worried it might be the Special Directive, but waiting so long isn’t their style, they’re far too efficient. You doubt it's Ortega either, even if you can’t read him he’s never had any patience and he should be all too eager to confront you now after what you did to him. Stop thinking about Ortega, nothing good ever comes from that.

Did Hollow Ground send someone to babysit you? Watch you? Either way, maybe the presence of witnesses will keep things from getting messy.

You close your eyes and wait. 

It's not long before someone sits down heavily next to you. You don’t jump, you felt the familiar portcullis of the Marshal’s shields slam shut around his mind as soon as he entered The Boneyard, a bigger tell than even his heavy gait. His work legs you’d guess. That doesn’t bode well for you, neither does his silence.

“How long have you been following me?” Maybe letting him know you're not as easily ambushed  as the first time he met you here will level some of the playing field.

“What makes you think I’ve been following you?” Of course he answers a question with a question. Asshole. 

“Please,” you scoff. “Do you expect me to believe this is a coincidence? You're not even here with Spoon.” That thought makes you a little sad, you suppose you’ve lost your dog walking privileges now that you’re a known villain. That's a shame, Spoon is a good dog. 

The Marshal doesn’t bother to offer any other excuse. Maybe you don’t deserve one.

“So are you here to arrest me?” Might as well start with the worst possible scenario.

“No.” The admission is quick, the ‘not yet’ left unsaid. 

“Then what, just here to remind me not to fuck up?” Your laugh is dry.

“What makes you think you haven’t already fucked up?” You can feel his eyes on you but you don’t take the bait, you keep staring straight ahead. You wonder if he means your choice of career or the mess you've made of your friendship. 

“Shut up, you know what I mean. You’re fine with me off the leash for now but if I fuck up and get someone killed, that blood would be on your hands too.”

“There's already blood on my hands, for a long time” His sigh is heavy and tired. You sneak a glance as he clasps them together, mechanical fingers interlocking. “At some point you just stop trying to wipe it clean…and try to do better.”

“Do better…” You echo his words and shake your head. “Is that what this is? Honestly I’d prefer being arrested over having to sit here and listen to your platitudes.” It’s not much of a joke but it gets something between a laugh and a cough out of him. 

“Believe it or not, I’m not here to lecture you.” You're about to call bullshit before he continues. “I thought you might have questions for me.” 

“Sure, I got one, is cryptic bullshit just wired into your brain or something? You always do that.” Talking like you're supposed to know what he’s talking about, reading minds doesn’t work miracles. You roll your eyes but catch a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Maybe, but you’re smart enough to figure it out.” Ugh. Flattery? Asshole.

But he’s not wrong, it’s been almost six months after the crash and you haven’t seen any of the Rangers since – well, aside from a not so gentle reminder from Lady Argent that she’s getting impatient with your lack of progress on your little shared project, but the Marshal doesn’t need to know that. Instead you opt for something safer. Maybe you can spin this into information you can use. 

“Has Herald been keeping up with his training?” Somehow calling him Daniel feels wrong. That was a name he shared with Tegan, not Retribution. 

“I’m…not sure, he’s mostly been out on patrols.” Is that a warning? Maybe you should watch the skies more often. 

“You're just a wealth of information aren't you.” 

“To be fair, I thought you’d ask about Ricardo.” 

Fuck. As if that wasn’t the most dangerous topic between you. Maybe the Marshal will let you get on with your work so long as you toe the line, but you doubt he’ll keep letting you break his best friend's heart, not after last time. You wonder if he’d care if it's breaking yours as well. 

“Is he still mad about you keeping the photos from him?” The photos, what a quaint little term for the evidence of your torture at the hands of the Farm. Impossible to survive, maybe that makes them feel unreal. It’s a low blow shifting the blame, but then again, you are the bad guy here.

“We talked.” There's an undeniable tension in his clipped words.

“You mean you fought.” 

“I mean we talked. Yes, it got bad…and maybe he won't forgive me, but we cleared the air. It’s a start.”  

“Never would have pegged you for an optimist.”

“I‘m not but…are you?” You catch his quizzical look out of the corner of your eye.

“You have got to stop fucking doing that, I am litterally not reading your mind right now!” You curse yourself for losing your cool but it's really the most irritating thing about him. He never says what he means.

“Are you still angry? That I kept the photos from him.” He’s looking at you but you don’t dare look back, you can feel his gaze practically searing into your clenched jaw.

“When I was…recovering” A simple word for the agony that was being trapped in a medical bed in your base, helpless, hurting and all too vulnerable. “All I did was hate you.” If Ricardo had known, even suspected you were alive, maybe he would have tried to save you, maybe none of this would have had to happen. Maybe-

No. You’re long past maybes.

“And now?” There's something fragile in his question, not something you're used to hearing from him. Not fear, but something terribly adjacent to hope. 

Your sigh feels bone deep. You can only lie to yourself for so long. Even when it feels so much better than the truth. 

“No. You��you were right.” You wish it didn’t feel like pulling barbed wire from your skin to admit that. “He would have gotten himself killed looking for me…and I don't want that.” The last is said no louder than a whisper.

The Marshal nods, maybe he's made up his mind about you, or himself, you don’t know. You don’t want to. He stands up before the silence between you grows too long, looks like your interrogation is over.

“Take care, Tegan.” Your old name feels like a bruise neither of you will stop poking. 

The words slip out before you can stop yourself.

“Say hi to Spoon for me.” 

Chen hesitates, but doesn’t turn around.

“I will.”

[hkpika07]

Hot take. Spencer is misunderstood and is a complex character who isnt all that bad, you guys are just mean.

[memento-morri-writes]

I've been thinking a lot about how Rook's reunion with his former mentor, Zara, is going to go, and since I can't predict what the DM is going to have her do or say, I can only dwell on what I know is going to happen. Which happens to include taking off the illusion ring that's been hiding his injuries from her. So have a snippet of the description I have planned for that moment:

tw for description of (mostly healed) injuries

He hesitates, twisting a ring on his finger. Looking at it more closely, she can tell it’s very finely crafted, and must have been very expensive. A large emerald is set into the band. Rook sighs, and pulls the ring off his finger in one quick motion.  Immediately she’s struck by the difference in his appearance as the illusion melts away. He looks awful. His warm, healthy skin fades to a dull and sickly grey. There’s huge bags under his deeply sunken eyes, and his cheeks are hollowed, as though they have been carved out by an overeager sculptor. He looks like he’s recently risen from the grave.  While he was thin before, now she can see his ribs under the skin, and his collarbones are exaggeratedly pronounce. Thin white lines left by dozens upon dozens of recently healed cuts are scattered across his body. On top of that, faded bruises cover most of his visible skin, a mottled mosaic of purple and yellow. They’re clearly days, maybe weeks old, and she can only begin to imagine what they must have looked like when fresh. Bandages are barely visible under his shirt, wrapping around his back, hinting at even more injuries.

[seaofadventure]

as someone who's been thinking ab garp for over a year the OPLA is such a moment of vindication fr like?? first off, incredible casting, but also just the whole.        how duties as a marine conflicts with morals but that it’s worth following your own code of justice        and his love and fear for his family that stems a lot from having Some kind of relationship with Roger      like?? Was genuinely surprised when they outright said that Garp wanted Luffy to stop because he reminded him so much of Roger but like Yeah and just—

[roboyomo]

about to go sleepyy but. Insane Kenix Thoughts (Again! An Another Time!) (How Many Fucking Times!— ^_^)

Something about Kenix comforting Sora the day she joined the sins crew while she was full on crying and confused at everything surrounding her. Something about him Resonating with a child's helplessness, offer a warm embrace to hold onto. Did you see your own past self in that girl? The days where you were left all alone in the dark, being able to only weep and wonder why everything around you was like this. Yet you had no one's shoulder to cry onto. You had no one by your side, and now you have decided to be that someone for an another lost kid. Have you seen your own desperation in that child, wanting to help her because deep down you know how scarring this situation is for her? To seek comfort despite the unknown environment, because you wanted someone to let you know it is safe?

Have you wanted to save someone from what you had to endure yourself because you just knew how deeply terrifying it must all be to experience such loneliness at a young age? Have you just wanted to not let someone else go through what you had to? Have you just wanted to show the lost child that compassion that you didn't get yourself when you needed it the most.

[nightsandreala]

The first part of my postcanon AU that I started this year, it takes place 4ish years after NiD ends, NiGHTS finally goes to try and repair things with Reala 🤭 Idk if I ever shared this fic by itself so i’m storing it here 👉👈

NiGHTS stared down intensely onto the ground before them, eyes fixed on a familiar blue-spotted egg that rested in a makeshift nest sculpted out of snow. At their side, gaze equal in intensity if not even greater, was Reala, every muscle tensed, braced against the harsh cold of a winter's night in Spring Valley.

“It’s about to happen soon, I think.”

“Hm.”

It was New Year’s Eve, now minutes away from New Year’s Day, and though partaking in a holiday centered around the passage of time in the Waking World would likely seem arbitrary to most Nightmaren, NiGHTS had insisted the two of them celebrate. It would be their first holiday together (NiGHTS had informed him, their voice thick with disappointment, that he had come too late for Christmas. Reala had not seen a reason to be upset.), and NiGHTS felt that everything they’d been told the new year symbolized— hopefulness, forgiveness, beginning again— aligned with what they wanted for themself and Reala. The celebration so far had been rife with tension, as was the current entirety of Reala’s life here; there had been a minor confrontation earlier over some ages-old conflict, which had thankfully hadn’t escalated, and for the remainder of the day, both siblings had quietly resigned themselves to their respective spaces, until night fell upon the valley.

The faintest, faintest sound of a crack broke the silence, and NiGHTS failed to contain a gasp. The cracks started small and thin, from a point in the middle of the spotted eggshell and worked their way around each side until the two halves were fully separated, a bright-red gem with the hands of a clock barely visible through the gap. With a sudden flash of blindingly-blue light, the halves split apart and both Nightmarens flinched, as the clock inside was revealed in full. And it rang, quite intensely, for a full 60 seconds before the clock’s spinning hands came to an abrupt stop, both pointing straight upwards. The ringing stopped just the same, leaving the top half of the eggshell slightly askew, the red jewel clock sitting lifeless inside the bottom half. Seconds passed in the sudden silence, and out of the corner of his eye, Reala saw NiGHTS turn to look at him.

“I guess that means it’s New Year’s,” they said, unintentionally hesitant. Reala’s gaze turned from NiGHTS, to the eggshell on the ground in front of him, then up towards the sky, as if in search of some sort of sign that something had changed, about the world, about NiGHTS, about himself.

“It doesn’t really… feel new, does it,” NiGHTS went on, trying desperately to gauge Reala’s reaction. “I always think it’ll feel different.”

Reala’s silence was becoming crushing.

Thinking it would be different. That seemed to have become a regular theme in NiGHTS’ life lately, three-going-on-four years after Wizeman’s defeat. A short time for Nightmarens, what with their lifespans and the Night Dimension’s lack of linear time— the concept of complete freedom still felt new and unfamiliar to NiGHTS, undoubtedly even more so to Reala, without Wizeman’s control for the first time in all the years he had lived, and had accomplished next to nothing with it. NiGHTS had wandered between Nightopias for the first two years as they recovered, some of the minds of familiar visitors, some all new, but had felt Reala’s familiar presence lurking within each one, a shadow in the corner of their eye, always out of their sight, yet always following their movements. No attacks or capturings or confrontations, they never spoke a single time, but NiGHTS was always aware of him— Reala made sure they were. And NiGHTS, perhaps against their better judgment, simply carried on without him.

Early in the newly-passed year, though, NiGHTS began to feel the change. Elliot and Claris were visiting Nightopia less and less with each year— not of their own choosing, just due to a combination of the workings of human brains and the business of life in the Waking World. NiGHTS had thought themselves used to visitors disappearing, aware of how brief human lives truly were, and how little of their time was really spent asleep, but those two were the first visitors they had really allowed themselves to befriend, to get attached to. Every one of the second-level Nightmarens had been noticeably absent as well— whether this meant they were simply living out quiet existences in the remains of Nightmare or outright gone remained unknown to NiGHTS.

It was fine, though, they had been telling themself. That they were used to being alone, they had been alone for decades after their rebellion. That Elliot and Claris’ absence just made it even better when they did visit. That they had never been too close with any of the second-levels, anyway.

Not like they had been with Reala, such a long, long time ago.

Even more recently, as Spring Valley began to don its yearly festive decor, it was becoming unbearable to think that their closest sibling, their twin, was still so isolated, mentally, physically. When NiGHTS, with the same power they had once used to create their world in Nightmare, cobbled together a small place to stay in Spring Valley, Reala had, as usual, silently followed from a distance. NiGHTS had found his new residency easily— scratch marks on trees became evident in one area, and in another, the colorful remains of Nightopians and various third-levels led them to a shallow cave behind a waterfall. They had tensed themself when they stepped in front of the cave’s entrance, memories of previous confrontations with their sibling flashing in their mind. Violent and angry and always at full power, like the last time they had seen Reala, standing as the final obstacle between NiGHTS and Wizeman. But they hadn’t worried about holding their own against him then. They worried even less now. Despite the assortment of tiny bones scattered across the floor, it was clear that Reala hadn’t been doing well, muscles deteriorating, slow and shaky and unsteady as he got up to face his twin. Such a far cry from three short years ago— NiGHTS could picture it still, Reala perched high on the throne in his lair, a vicious scowl hidden under a mock painted-on grin, stalling his attack for only for a moment to threaten NiGHTS in their native tongue.

But surely, three years had felt different to him.

“Reala? You didn’t think I was just going to ignore you forever, did you?” A desperate attempt to reignite some form of their past camaraderie. Reala was despondent.

Not only weaker, he was quieter now, too, but not a quiet anger, just quiet, as if he had nothing at all to say to NiGHTS, and was instead just prepared to hear them apologize or beg for forgiveness or anything, staring at them wearily. His eyes were usually the same color as the fire that lit the lamps in his lair, NiGHTS remembered, the color of a bright icy-blue sky opposing the endless deep-purple galaxy held in NiGHTS’ own. Now, even in the slight shadow of the cave, they could tell they more resembled the color of stone or old snow. Lifeless, so tired. Reala’s silence was infinitely more devastating than any attack NiGHTS had taken from him before, and they quickly found themself becoming desperate for some indication that he was even really alive, found themself almost missing their usual routine, Reala’s overconfident threats, NiGHTS’ refusal to ever back down or surrender, the invisible yet mutual and ever-present feelings of betrayal and loneliness and hurtthat remained even now as they merely stood across from each other.

“He isn’t going to—” NiGHTS scrambled to find their voice, flustered as if Reala might up and disappear if they stopped talking. “He can’t destroy us anymore. We don’t… have a choice but to live now.”

NiGHTS froze at their own words, the weight of their situation collapsing on them only then. Wizeman was gone, and with him he had taken the only power strong enough to create and destroy a first-level Nightmaren. Visitors would be born and die, the worlds created by their Ideya would fade away, and even other Nightmaren could perish eventually, but both of them, NiGHTS and Reala, would exist forever now, always intertwined, they had to, NiGHTS wanted them to, both of them, together—

That was what NiGHTS wanted to tell him, and more, “I missed you” and “I don’t want to fight anymore,” “I’m sorry” and “Stop ignoring me,” and they wanted to scream or cry or just hug Reala but they didn’t, all the words and actions just tangled in their mind, wanting to happen all at once, and instead nothing happened at all.

They found something suitable, eventually. “You could come and live with me. I want you to.”

NiGHTS remembered feeling over the ridge of the gem on their chest absentmindedly, its faint glow bathing the cave in a soft red, the light slightly pulsating in an uneven rhythm. Reala’s gaze was filled with an uncertain emotion, yet unbreaking as always. No arguing, no fighting or attacking. Too tired. Maybe Reala agreed that they had done enough of that already. He bowed his head ever-so-slightly, horns turned towards the mouth of the cave, nonverbal but clear— “move over.” NiGHTS understood. Reala followed them out.

Back in the current year, the new year, the present, NiGHTS idled, floating inches above the snowy ground despite the feeling of heaviness in their chest. Of course, they hadn’t expected an easy task when they first set out to go find Reala— convincing their twin to forgive them and want to live would be more difficult than any challenge an Ideya Palace or Nightmaren or Wizeman himself could ever pose— and perhaps they were being too impatient. Still, they longed for even the smallest sign that something was working, that Reala was getting even a bit better.

One more try couldn’t hurt, they supposed.

“You know, Claris told me earlier that this year is the start of a new century— a new millenium, actually.”

“Is it?” And their eyes jolted up off the ground towards Reala’s, the weight in their mind dissipating as Reala spoke. “I’d imagine humans must be excited about that.”

(That was the most they’d heard Reala speak all day.)

“Well, I think we should be excited about it, too.” They nudged the egg back upright, and the two halves clicked back into place just like new, the clock inside remaining quiet, though its hands had resumed rotating. “Imagine it, a whole century, a whole millenium where we can do whatever we want!”

So much for the somber reflection of mere minutes before, NiGHTS spun upwards in the air, twisting and twirling with newfound energy. Reala remained close to the ground, though, deep in concerned thought. What to do with so much freedom, so much time— the idea alone quickly became overwhelming, terrifying. Soon enough they would, if he was really staying, have to rearrange NiGHTS’ living space to accompany Reala, but before that there was the matter of convincing Claris to even let him stay in Spring Valley, and what to do if that didn’t work, and the seemingly endless amount of built-up conflict he and NiGHTS would need to resolve concerning themselves—

An unexpectedly harsh landing right beside Reala shook him from his mind. “Rere!” Oh— when was the last time he had been called ‘Rere?’ He’d always insisted that NiGHTS only call him Reala, that being the name that Master Wizeman had intended for him, but his usual nickname felt gentle and comforting now, easy to accept as his own. NiGHTS tugged at his arm, eager to get back up in the sky already. “You know we’ll be able to fix whatever it is you’re worrying about, right? You’re allowed to just have fun tonight.”

NiGHTS’ smile was gentle only for a moment before it twisted into the delightfully devilish expression they always took on when they were about to do something mischievous, and they took off once again, kicking up snow as they went.

It wouldn’t be easy for them, not for a long time, and never perfect. There would be fighting and healing, rearranging, amending. Plenty of everything. But at least neither of them were alone now, and there was more than enough time now for all of it, even the things neither of them could anticipate. But now, tonight, Reala leaped upwards after his twin, into the open night sky, the same way they had once leapt from one of the palms of their creator, in an eager search of dreams to destroy and Ideya to collect.

But surely, this century would be different.

[nostalgicfortomorrow]

mako and bolin parallel each other because:

mako kept everything soft and sweet inside of him, curled into a tight little ball while he trapped himself in a hard casing in order to protect his brother.

bolin kept everything hard and angry and destructive into a pit of lava in his soul, hoping it would never come out. he encased it in layers of softness and naivety because someone has to make sure that people doesn't consume themselves with their own anger but bolin being able to bend lava when there were no other "softer" options, while the fire burned in his eyes and you could see the stone and flames consume him and he knew that theres no other way to do this except embrace this side of you BECAUSE HOW ELSE ARE YOU GOING TO SAVE YOUR BROTHER WHO DID EVERYTHING TO PROTECT YOU AND YOU DID EVERYTHING IN YOUR POWER TO MAKE HIM HAPPY.

[quillheel]

─  romantic gestures.   bold what applies to your muse , italicize if there's potential / it depends.

holding hands · buying flowers · cooking · cuddles · writing a poem / song · holding door open · tying shoe laces · sharing a milkshake with two straws · offering their jacket when it's cold · kissing in the rain · publicly confessing love · long walks at the beach · doing the titanic pose on a boat · taking cute pictures in a photo booth · sharing a taxi / uber · kissing the back of their hand · slow dancing · getting tickets of their favorite artist / sports team / other · introducing them to your parents · lighting candles · flower petals on bed · love letters · star gazing · brushing / doing their hair · picnics · teaching them to play an instrument / sport while gently guiding their hands · compliments · late night drives · taking selfies together · drawing them · self-made gifts · massages · proposing with a family heirloom ring · lending them your favorite book to read · paying for dinner / coffee · mixtapes / playlists · surprise birthday parties · feeding them · handing them keys to your apartment · making space in drawer for their clothes when they stay over · sharing a blanket · couple costumes · tucking a hair strand behind their ear · running after them at the airport / keeping them from leaving · moving cities to be together · blowing a kiss · breakfast in bed · defending them in a fight (verbally / physically) · joint bubble baths · dropping the L-bomb ("i love you") · dedicating a song at the karaoke bar to them · wearing their clothes · yawning before putting an arm around them while watching a movie · granting them the last bite (from meal)

tagged by: stolen from @infog <3 I legally HAD to tagging: @tenebriism @braveryhearted @autonomousxselves @fantomevoleur @musesofthesun @pluviacuratio @tendercoded / @manebloom / @lncanting @cozyfarms @deiscension @shadowedresolve @sakuaxe @lovlorne @leuvspell @adoranoia and you!!!! ( multi's, decide as you please! )

[snickerdoodlles]

there's a point at which someone's fear of being a dick wraps back around to them just being a dick anyways

[stupid-lemon-eater]

i read fantine's descent for the first time last night - i had fallen behind on les mis by 10 days so i read it all in one go when i was meant to be going to sleep, and at several points i just had to Stop and stare across my dark bedroom at the mirror and the faint outline of my face lit up by my ipad and just Breathe for a second.

the thing i found most interesting while reading it was just how horrifying it was. as mentioned in the post i just reblogged, fantine had to choose every single time to carve herself away, to give up more and more of herself until she was unrecognisable, and she did it all out of hope and love for her daughter who she doesn't even know was being mistreated, that all her sacrifice was doing was lining thernardier's pockets while cosette still suffered.

and that would be interesting enough as is, but the thing that struck me the most while reading is how all of the actual horror of fantine's fate is stripped from her in adaptations (or at least in the musical/movie) in favour of the lurid idea of her having to go into sex work. the book itself treats fantine going into sex work as another tragic loss on effectively the same level as cutting off her hair, learning how to live in winter with no heat nor light, losing her modest lodgings for an uncomfortable attic with no bedding, her persistent illness or removing her front teeth — it's, "Let us sell what is left!" — what's one more loss on top of everything else, right?

(one could even make an argument that the tooth removal was treated as the most horrifying part of fantine's descent - it certainly was for me, as someone who had two wisdom teeth removed recently! the imagery of her bloody smile with the hole where her front teeth should be lit up by candlelight is definitely one that's going to haunt me.)

but in adaptations, we don't see that slow chipping away of personhood, of identity, of belongings and comfort. it's kicked out of the workhouse - hair cut off - prostitute - dead. bamatabois is changed from an arrogant, wealthy asshole with nothing better to do with his time than torment those less fortunate than him for the crime of merely existing to a potential customer who gets angry when fantine turns him down. by adding that dynamic to their interaction it softens bamatabois' cruelty, makes it less about an act of completely unprovoked dehumanisation and, well, cruelty against someone vulnerable that was answered by that person snapping and lashing out.

bamatabois in the book did not just target fantine because she was a sex worker, but also because her hair was cut, because she had no front teeth, because of how she dressed, how she behaved - in short, she was an acceptable target.

it feels as though the people adapting the novel don't understand that the tragedy and horror of fantine's fate was not the fact that she had to sell sex for money, but the fact that she had to give up everything of herself to the point where she was an unrecognisable wretch drinking brandy to keep the misery at bay with the only thing keeping her alive being her love for cosette. even the tooth removal, when it is adapted, is changed to her back teeth, making fantine's loss less visible and more palatable, and is oft ignored in favour of focusing on fantine's work as a sex worker in a way the book never does, not realising that the sex work was a symptom, not the disease.

[windupaidoneus]

now some people may not like to hear it but even the worst people who exist are still people & there is no human being who has More right than others to decide whether others deserve to live or die (does not mean i personally condemn murder in self defense or anything of the sort or killing fascists or whatever i'm just saying as a baseline This Is How it Is) & this is why the death penalty is not a good thing no matter how good & trustworthy the people in any government might be. people on average also deserve the chance to learn to do better. & no, someone who's been forcefed propaganda their entire life will not let go of that deeply entrenched mindset so easily, it's not particularly unrealistic & it absolutely sucks to deal with but in the context of tangibly working toward world peace it's also not an issue to try & help such people both in material ways & in helping them learn better rather than cut them down or abandon them to a grim fate. all this to say that's why i don't think garlemald is written badly, as unpleasant as the experience might be. walks off the stage

[mischiefprincess]

I have so many thoughts about Mobius, I absolutely HATE the way he treats Loki in various moments of s1, the way he tries to manipulate him and use him for the tva's mission, and he has the audacity to feel betrayed by Loki when he runs after sylvie and leaves him behind in s1e2???

Sir you KIDNAPPED LOKI AND ERASED HIS ENTIRE REALITY, MENTALLY TORTURED HIM WITH FOOTAGE FROM HIS TRAGIC FUTURE, COERCED HIM INTO WORKING FOR YOU UNDER THE THREAT OF BEING ERASED FROM REALITY IF HE DIDN'T COMPLY AND YOU REALLY THINK YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO BE MAD AT HIM FOR TRYING TO ESCAPE???

What he does after is even worse, I could NEVER accept him putting Loki into a torture loop to be kicked in the balls and to hear Sif telling him that he deserves to be alone and he always will be, the worse part imo is that a lot of lokius fans seem to think this is cute and a show of Mobius's feelings towards Loki, what the hell???

First off he doesn't have the right to be mad at Loki, second, torturing someone like that is absolutely fucking VILE and I don't care that people think it's cute or funny

BUT

I blame those disgusting actions more on the directing of s1 who was very keen in humiliating Loki at any given moment than in the character of Mobius itself, I ADORE Mobius in s2 bc he is sweet, caring and understanding of Loki, he truly is a good friend and I love their dynamic in it, I don't know what Kate Herron had against Loki but she truly tried her best to diminish and humiliate him whenever she could, every character is annoyed by Loki in s1 and he's treated like a fucking idiot, thankfully that was changed in s2 and he was finally treated with respect and dignity

Btw I should say that I appreciate lokius very much and I think they're cute together but pls stop with the crap, Mobius's "jealousy" isn't cute or funny, he literally abuses Loki just bc he can and Loki never gets a proper apology for that, Mobius apologizes to sylvie but never to Loki (KH when I find you...), again I blame this on the directing and writing of s1 and I don't think s2 Mobius would've done all that to Loki bc he's a different character in it

[dabidagoose]

I'm gonna kill everybody who's written an academic article/journal/book/etc. There needs to be a way for me to learn interesting things that doesn't require I spend hours staring at pages with only text on them and the most confusing and inane vocabulary known to man..

[yatiso]

oh man i wish i knew how to help when ppl are feeling sad but the thing is when its myself thats upset i either ruminate and cry and go nonverbal and beat myself up until i make myself tired and want to get better or i ignore my feelings and stay busy

[ncmcrcysideblog]

my biggest gripe with s5 is the show wants me to think j.ohnny is suddenly ready to be a dad after NOT dealing with his shit properly and that having a new kid suddenly means that not being there for r.obby for the first 17 years of his life doesn't matter anymore and I say fuck that

[slutty-cthulhu]

no actually theres no difference between the democrat and republican party and voting at all ever is anti-leftist, actually um you should go tweet about firebombing a walmart and make a rael difference for once like i do