#i of course have my headcanons but still

[ppg-villains-defense-lawyer]

For real though thinking about Ace and the rest of the gang becoming adults is super depressing because it’s like. Even if they wanted to change and get jobs, cars, a place to live, etc. it would be virtually impossible (or at least, very, very difficult) for them to do it. 

None of them have much of an education, if they got one at all. They have no job experience, skills, or connections from people who aren’t villains who could vouch for them. They have a criminal record, and are generally known as a gang of thugs who are only good for causing trouble. 

It seems like Ace at the very least was somehow able to get out and become successful, but we don’t know about the others. I’d like to think that they all got out too and were able to build a life for themselves that makes them happy, but they could very well still be living in the Townsville dump, living the same way they did as teenagers.

[flambo19]

Stellaron Hunter Game Night 🎮

[tooranges]

some babbles about my octo trio’s little origin stories

(from 01/2023)

[vaperarmand]

one thing you’ll have to pry out of my cold dead hands is the fact that the famed buick of hate and ashbury’s “my first wife reminds me i never owned a buick” did in fact belong to armand. massive which could mean nothing moment but it means something TO ME

[jubilantmedusa]

Untitled Zukka Hurt/Comfort Ficlet #1 (because practicing drawing means I need to write little mini fics I guess...)

“You’re sick.” Sokka’s voice was as calm as the surface of water on a still night. Not a hint of accusation or contempt. No softness, no sting. Only observation. Reflection.

Zuko took a breath, deep to sooth his limbs that were threatening to shake. “I’m fine.”

Sokka frowned, and Zuko felt a knot form instantly in his stomach. His shivered, vision swimming as he saw the flash of another frown, superimposed. A different frown. Harsh. Sharp.

Sokka’s movements were calm. Fluid. Gentle as he raised his hand to Zuko’s forehead and pressed with just the right amount of pressure. “You have a fever.” Zuko felt his heartbeat pick up as Sokka’s lip began to curl, but as his expression settled Zuko realized that Sokka wasn’t angry, just concerned.

Zuko breathed deeply, pinning his arms to his sides before the other boy could notice that he was shaking now. Only, he must not have been fast enough because Sokka dropped his hand from Zuko’s forehead to grab Zuko’s trembling fingers. 

“Your hands are freezing.” Sokka hand tightened around Zuko’s as he pulled it upwards, pressing it against his mouth. Zuko couldn’t stop his hands from shaking even harder as Sokka’s breath warmed his skin.

—

“I can do that.” Zuko reached to grab his sleeping bag. “I’m fine.” Sokka lifted it over his head like they were kids playing keep away. Zuko huffed, crossing his arms, but let Sokka keep it.

“You’re not fine.” Sokka spread of the blanket. “How long have you been feeling sick?”

“Ugg.” Sokka paused. He looked up, holding  Zuko’s gaze until Zuko finally drawled, two days? maybe three.”

“Three days?!” Zuko felt his pulse quickening again, his shoulders bracing. “Why didn’t you say anything!” Even though Sokka’s voice voice was high he didn’t sound angry. In fact… Sokka’s eyebrows were scrunched, lips pressed thin. “You were training Aang this morning. Zuko, you shouldn’t be bending like that if you’re sick “ Sokka was worried.

“I’m fine.” How many times had Zuko said that now? “It’s just a fever. It’ll go away.”

“I mean, sure it will, if you rest. Can you, uh…” He gestured towards the sleeping bag, laid out and waiting.

“Oh.” It felt awkward to lower himself down when his legs felt so much like jelly, Zuko was sure it wasn’t graceful. But Sokka didn’t say anything, just stood there, eyebrow raised. Waiting. Zuko realized, then, that he was supposed to lay all the way down. So he did, somehow feeling boneless now that he wasn’t holding himself up. 

He blinked as Sokka settled a blanket over to his shoulders. It took Zuko and absurd number of seconds to realize that it was a blue blanket, one of Sokka’s own. Woven. Thick. Soft.

“Comfortable?” Sokka asked. When Zuko met his eyes he smiled.

It was nice, seeing Sokka smile. Zuko wanted to smile back, but he… there was a quivering in his stomach. Not sickness, just… waiting. “I’m fine,” Zukp said. When Sokka raised an eyebrow, he added, “I… feel fine.”

“I doubt that,” Sokka said.

“I do,” Zuko insisted. Yes, his body felt suddenly heavy. And his skin buzzed strange sensitivity that made event he gentlest touch feel like a scratch. But he was lying on his side, on something soft, and he was warm. “I… thank you.”

Sokka shrugged. “I didn’t do much,” he said. “Do you need anything else?”

Zuko thought for a moment. “Water?” He croaked.

“Coming right up, bud.”

Zuko let his eyes close for a moment, just listening to the sound of Sokka’s footsteps as he went back to the packs, the rustling of fabric as he was digging through something. Then there was a feeling, something hard brushing his fingers. Zuko opened his eyes to see a small, green glass. “A Ba Sing Se souvenir cup?”

“It was on sale,” Sokka said, chuckling. “Drink it. It’s medicine.”

“For what?” Zuko asked.

“The fever?” Sokka reminded him. “Do they… umm… not treat fevers in the Fire Nation or something?”

“Of course they do.” Zuko propped himself up just enough to tip the bitter liquid into his mouth before settling down again.

More sounds of shuffling as Sokka lowered himself, and then Zuko felt weight on his back as Sokka pressed into him, a hand settling itself onto his arm. Sokka’s touch was firm, but quiet. Soft. Sweet. “But not yours?” Sokka sounded sad.

Zuko swallowed. He remembered that feeling, tossing and turning as his skin crawled and his stomach churned. Waking up with a sweat drenched face but father still expected Zuko to do his katas. Run through his katas, go to school, sit up straight. There was punishment for slouching, even if he only slouched because he was shivering so hard he couldn’t mind his posture. “We were being trained to rule, Azula and I. Countries don’t stop because you have a cold.”

Sokka didn’t say anything, just started rubbing his arm. 

“You can rest now,” Sokka said after a while. “I can take care of you.”

Take care of him? Zuko tried to remember the last time someone had taken care of him. His Uncle had tried, of course, but Zuko had always pushed him away. He couldn’t let himself be seen that way - weak, sick. So he ignored the quiver in his Uncle’s voice when Iroh spoke to him from the other side of a metal door. And before that… before that his mother would, when father would let her. When Zuko was so sick that she’d block his bed with her body to keep father away, even if it cost her. Then sit with him and fuss his hair back with slender fingers.

“I’ll take good care of you,” Sokka said.

Zuko took a deep breath in. Not a sigh, just a breath, one to fill him up. He could feel his heart starting to race again, but... nicer this time, with Sokka so warm and solid against his back. He let the breath out. Slow. Controlled. Eyes still closed, he whispered, “Okay.”

[tathrin]

I was thinking about the weirdness of LaCE and the whole sex=soul-marriage thing again (as you do) and a thought struck me:

what if the way it works in cases of assault (or is believed to work by the elves; in this case it doesn't matter if it's actually what happens of just what they think) is that you don't end up with a full-on bond, no, but you do get bits of connection, like hooks stuck in your soul from the other person(s)?

And—if we run with the worst interpretation of the Celebrían situation—what if that's what motivates Elladan and Elrohir to be so determined to hunt down every single orc in Middle-earth?

If Celebrían left because she couldn't bear the feeling or thought or those orc-hooks in her soul (or the ptsd flashbacks and trauma that made it easy to assume the stories were true, and that's what was happening to cause her misery) and hoped that crossing the Sundering Sea would cut them off, or at least blunt them and let the scars heal...

Well, the twins know that you can't really sail back, of course they do. They know!

But Glorfindel did. And a whole host of elves came once, during the War of Wrath. So it's not that nobody has, ever. (They can look up and see their grandfather sailing in the sky every night, out of the Undying Lands. Maybe somebody could hitch a ride...?)

If they can make Middle-earth safe for her again...well, maybe she won't come home. But at least then she could, if a chance ever came to leave and cross the Sea again. She could.

And even if she doesn't, at least when they Sail*, they can tell her that they slew her nightmares, finally.

And maybe that will be enough.

[garlic-and-vanilla]

This ask is in your inbox because my brain has apparently chosen to title you as The Illithid Understander and I feel like you might have interesting thoughts to contribute to this topic (please don’t feel obligated to respond tho!)

When I played through bg3 for the first time, what really stood out to me about the Emperor as a character was that he is full of ambiguity. Many of the questions about him, on both a personal level and on a broader level as an illithid, simply do not have concrete answers in canon. I thought that it was so neat how the writers enshrined a vessel for open dialogue regarding some of the biggest themes and questions of the game/story in a character. I thought the whole point of the Emperor’s character is that there’s no One Right Answer about: its intentions, its morality, how much it still is or isn’t Balduran, how much it is or isn’t a monster, why it cares so much about the PC, if it made the right choices, etc.

Which is why I was utterly shocked to find out that SO many people played the game and just… unquestioningly seemed to think that many of those aspects had concrete answers. That this character that, to me, was defined by ambiguity, had been determined by so many to simply be Evil.

I have my own theories about each of the questions/ambiguities listed above, of course, based on my interpretation of canon. But I see them as just that, theories and interpretation. Maybe my perception of the Emperor as a bunch of unanswered questions is just an interpretation, too, but then what was the writers’ intent? (Did my success in high school English classes make me overly confident in narrative comprehension? Lol)

I’ve read many an interesting take on the Emperor on tumblr and ao3 that seem to vibe generally with the whole It’s Supposed to Be Ambiguous thing, and I’d love to hear your take.

First of all this is so funny and I am so honored to be The Illithid Understander lmao.

Second I am very sorry I haven’t answered this sooner. Alas I am not used to ever receiving asks and just now realized I even have one. And what a wonderful message!!!

Honestly I think you fuckin nailed it my man. In a game that spends so much time and energy asking the player to think about questions like “what does it take to be a monster,” “what aspects cause a person to become monstrous,” and “when does it become worth it to become a monster” the Emperor is the ultimate answer. The non-answer. His character embodies all the questions the game wants to ask, and then doesn’t answer any of them for you.

The game shows you characters and says “this is a monster.” Ketheric Thorm is a monster, and Orin and Gortash, despite how sympathetic their backstories and motivations might be. It shows you cycles of abuse, manipulation, cult mentality, and indoctrination. The power of grief, love, fear, and ambition to lead people down monstrous paths even as they think they’re doing the right thing, or the only thing.

You as the player character directly help your companions navigate these themes. You see how they’re affected, how they struggle, what they might become if they choose to give in, and what they become if they don’t.

Do they become monsters? Do you let them? Do you encourage them?

The game shows you clearly what monsters are, and waits to see if you’ll become one yourself.

Withers asks you, “Do illithids have souls?”

He claims they don’t, initially, but that story is contradicted the moment he meets the Emperor in the High Hall, and when you meet him after undergoing ceremorphosis yourself. There’s also lore out there that says illithids do have souls— non-apostolic ones.

So far as the game is concerned, I’m not sure there’s supposed to be a solid answer to that question. I think— like you do— that it’s supposed to be ambiguous. He is not a character the game points to and says “here is a monster.”

I agree with you wholeheartedly that the Emperor is made of ambiguity. The lack of answers are my favorite thing about him. He’s a mass of unanswered questions that you look at and see the themes of the story inside.

Is the Emperor a monster just for being a mind flayer?

Is he a monster because he came to embrace the power his illithid nature brought him?

Because a friend turned on him, claimed he was lost, and he killed them in self-defense?

Because he dominated Stelmane, a situation we have no context for?

How much of his behavior is genuine? How much of Balduran remains, and how much is illithid? Does he even know himself? Does it matter?

He’s a big mystery. We simply do not know everything about his past. We don’t know how much of his behavior is real, or an act. We have to make the deliberate decision to take him at his word, or not. To trust him, or not. To love him, or not. All of this complicated by the reality that his mind and experience are alien to us (a whole other post by itself).

Ultimately, there are no answers except what we come to decide about him for ourselves.

Some people have decided that he’s evil, for various reasons, and sure, that’s certainly a way to answer the question. To end the ambiguity by deciding the Emperor is, after all, a simple monster.

But isn’t it so, so much more interesting if he isn’t?

[hopeswriting]

imagine you're luce, and you're born the heir to a mafia family. you're mafia-born, and so of course also mafia-raised, and then also a donna-to-be. you're raised to be able to take on the role, to be good and capable at it, are taught to make one of your core beliefs about how the many must come before the few, because the family must always come first. you're going to be the donna, of course you must always prioritize the family above all else, it's your foremost and most important duty.

if caring about the few too comes at the price of the many, comes at the price of the family, is it even worth it? if the happiness gained from it comes at the price of a greater suffering for others, is there even any meaning to it, even if it's your happiness we're talking about? you understand, don't you?

you're not sure if you do, but you care about your family, love it, want to do right by it once you become their donna, so you nod, listen and learn.

(you don't have to be taught the pain and loss and guilt and anger and bitterness is a fair price to pay for the pain you decide has to be inflicted and the sacrifices you decide must be made, including by yourself. it's the least you could do, even.)

imagine you're luce, and the gift of foresight runs through your blood.

you would not call it a gift. you did not ask for it either. and you'll never come to see it as something wanted by you.

you can see the future, and it happened exactly as you saw it would, so of course it's exactly the way you wanted it to go. you can see the future, and it happened exactly as you saw it would, so of course you didn't care to try hard enough to change it. you saw the future before the shape of it had yet to be breathed into existence, and who's to say it didn't come into existence only because you saw it happen? you saw the future, and it happened worse than it had to for it.

you can see the future, but you still can't make it anything else than what it was always going to be. you can even make the visions happen at your will, but you still have no say on what you see or how much you see. you still can only be the witness of it before anyone else can.

it does mean double and longer the happiness sometimes, means relief and gratefulness and hope beyond words, and it'd be cruel of you to voice out loud your feelings for others to hear the many more times it means something else.

you can see the future, and it doesn't make it any kinder on you than on anyone else, does not give you any more power or control over it than anyone else, but at least you can see the future. you're given the time to make peace with it, to brace yourself for it, to bargain with it, to plead and beg and fight against it however desperately and hopelessly, even if in the end it still happens exactly as you saw it would.

(you can see the future, and it still doesn't hurt you any less than anyone else when it happens, but you don't expect anymore for anyone to hold you any less responsible for it anyway. it would be nice for someone to do it one day, but you understand.)

you can see the future, and you decide it's a kindness to both yourself and others to keep it for yourself as much as possible whenever you can.

imagine you're luce, and your family has this set of rings they've looked after and protected for as long as your family has existed. they're one set of three of the most important artifacts in the world, ones that help in safeguarding its existence and balance. they're duty, the very first one and the most important one your family was created for.

the pacifier around your mother's neck is duty too, and the most important and powerful artifact among twenty-one in safeguarding the world and its balance. it's been passed down in your family too, from mother to daughter. it's duty, but less tied to your family and much more to the blood running through your veins. it's a curse, in fact, as it demands heavy sacrifices the rings don't, and one that can only be tied to the blood running through your veins.

(your mother looks at you as if expecting some kind of reaction from you, and you can only wonder at which point you weren't supposed to see it as a given. duty and sacrifices have been one and the same for you for a long time now. is it even duty if it doesn't require any sacrifices from you?)

imagine you're luce, and your mother dies for duty. she's the donna, and so she dies for your family. she's the sky arcobaleno, and so she dies for the world. she's your mother, but she dies anyway, doesn't fight it either, even knowing she will leave you behind, even knowing she won't ever get to see what you look like all grown-up.

everywhere you look, duty stares back at you, from your mother and the pacifier around her neck, her love for your family and the life she gives up for it, her love for you and how she dies anyway while you're still only a child. duty, from your family members and how they die for you and kill for you, how they do both at your command, how their lives are in the palms of your hands and how they weigh only as much as you allow them to at a time. duty, from the knowledge your foresight gives you and the shackles tied to the blood running through your veins.

your mother's only duty while she lives too. she loves you, but she'd have had to give birth to you anyway even if she didn't. she loves you, but she still gave birth to you even knowing the kind of life you'd have to live, the kind of hands you'd inevitably end up with, the burdens she'd have to lay on your shoulders, passing them down from her own. because she loves you, she finds the resolve to raise you to be able to face all of it head-on and come out on top, but she'd have had to raise you much the same way anyway even if she didn't.

(she doesn't die for you, doesn't fight to be able to keep living with you, and this, too, is your mother surrendering to duty one last time.)

(you're so sick of it, so angry at it, so hateful and resentful against it. you're so stifled by it to the point you've stopped being able to breathe for a long time now. or you would have been if they had taught you how to face duty in this way too.

it's for the better they didn't. a silver lining, sparing you pain that isn't necessary for you to go through. everyone you turn to only teaches you how to keep holding your breath longer, and you listen and learn, obedient and dutiful as you've ever been.

you're grateful for it too. really, you are.)

everywhere you look, there's no room for you to so much as question any of it, let alone anything more. duty is commendable, something you ought to look up to and strive towards, strive to achieve. duty is the right thing to do. of course it is.

(you exhale a breath of relief that shakes you down to your very core.

thank god, it's at least the right thing to do.

you're grateful for it beyond words. really, you are.)

imagine you're luce, and before it even happens, you know the choice you'll make when climbing that mountain, when standing on top of it, when waiting for a bright light to shine down on you from above. you know the choice you'll make then, even when pregnant with your daughter.

it doesn't matter since how long you knew, be it years, months, days, hours or minutes before. all that matters is that before you can even contemplate the idea of making another choice and all its implications and possible consequences, before the thought can even come alive in your mind, you already know the choice you'll make.

(you can see the future, but just because you already saw it, it doesn't mean it's now set in stone.

you can see the future, but just because you're given the chance to fight to change it, it doesn't mean it still won't happen every bit like you saw it.

it doesn't mean it can't still happen even worse than how you first saw it happen because you fought to change it, no matter how already dreadful it originally was.)

imagine you're luce, and before it even happens, you know they'll be others with you standing on top of that mountain. you're the only one who'll know it before it happens.

(because you can see the future.

and oh, you did not ask for it.)

they're strangers, people you don't owe anything to. adults who choose to show up at the first meeting, and to show up to every following mission after that. the chosen seven, whose ambitions and prides lead them to walk the path of the seven strongest too once laid down in front of them.

you don't force their hands in making any of those choices for them. you're not responsible for any of them.

you become coworkers then, accomplices, your hands stained in blood to various extent, but now dipping in the same pool of blood as you strive towards the same goal together. you have each other's backs, learn each other's strengths and weaknesses, learn each other's personalities, likes and dislikes. you keep having to spend more time together as the missions keep coming your way.

inevitably, you come to care about them. even more damning, they come to care about you in return. enough so they'll look after your daughter even after what'll happen on top of that mountain. enough so they'll look after your granddaughter too, warmly and fondly enough she'll call one of them uncle.

you're still the only one who knows they'll stand together with you on top of that mountain, not knowing what'll happen on it like you do.

and you do care about them, you swear you do. really, you do.

(you care about them the same way your mother cared about you, and how she still raised you to have steel in you and be made of sharp edges you know how to use. you care about them the same way you care about your family, and how you still send them to their deaths as needed so the rest of your family you care about just the same can keep on living longer and safely. this is the only way you've had the chance to learn how to care and love.

duty and sacrifices have been one and the same for you for as long as you can remember. it doesn't matter at which point sacrifices came to mean love to you too.

and most of all, you love your daughter more than anything else in the world.)

imagine you're luce, and this is who you are. this is who you've been raised to be, the only way you've been given room to grow up to be. this is the life you've lived and the kind of life that has shaped you as the person you are now. this is what you've been taught and told is the best version of yourself you could have grown up to be. this is who you ended up being by what you've been taught and told are all the right choices to make.

you're still the only one who knows what is about to happen on top of that mountain. it hasn't happened yet. the fate of the world hangs on what'll happen on top of that mountain, the same world you'll have to give birth to your daughter in. the same daughter you're currently pregnant with.

now imagine you're luce, look me in the eye and tell me you'd know how to even form the thought of the possibility of there being any other choice to make. look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn't look at the only choice in front of you, and know deep in your bones it's the only right choice to make. that it is right of you to make it. because it simply has to be.

(imagine you're luce, and you're not doomed by the narrative. of course, you're not.

why would you need to be when the narrative has painstakingly shaped you all your life to become its perfect, faithful and dutiful sacrificial lamb?

and then, imagine you're luce, and you're even grateful for it, so, so very grateful it held up its end of the bargain too.

truly, you are.)

[coldflasher]

anyway, thanks to that moment in the sound and the fury where barry is standing around watching with blank frustration like "god i wish i'd taken a language in high school" while hartley verbally eviscerates both cisco and eowells in multiple languages, i now headcanon that len speaks a second language, mostly cos barry would find it really annoying

[gingermintpepper]

I was reading the Orphic Argonautica last night and the author has mentioned the various methods of divination Apollo knows and guess what? One of them is prophesying by studying the entrails of organisms. As soon as I read that I was reminded of your headcanon of Apollo being into hepatoscopy for divination and I giggled.

Awww 😳😳It's so nice of you to think of me!

Hehe, so fun fact, the overall practice of divination by studying the entrails of animals (including blood, lungs, intestines and so forth) is extispicy while hepatoscopy is specifically using the liver in prophecy and divination readings.

If, like magic in old text exactly like the sort Medea is described as using, the types of divination spoken about in the texts are reflections of the popular divination cultures of the time, I much rather prefer ascribing those to Apollo than I do some vague, somewhat mysterious power which he uses to see the will of the fates, especially since it's mentioned a few times that he'll teach his sons the language of the birds and how to read their signs and so on and so forth.

In short: HEPATOSCOPY APOLLO IS COOL!! HE'S SO NEAT!! Apollo at the altar who predicts the coming droughts and famines from the entrails of his flock!! It's just such a neat little image (to me)!

Also the Orphic Argonautica bangs, genuinely I hope you enjoy it! Orpheus is an insane man and I do not think him along with the collective subspecies of mythical man known as 'sons of Apollo' get enough credit for how truly unhinged they are at any given point in time.

[spacemanxpaninis]

Your f/o is so supportive of you taking your meds. Especially if you’re new to it and feel like they wouldn’t want to deal with someone who takes them. You sadly admit that you do but they just pull you close and tell you there’s nothing to be ashamed of, you can’t help it and they want you to feel better. “If these are the things that make you feel better, then how can I do anything but love them?”

[skitskatdacat63]

Stop flirting....

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

Bout to muse about something that is part headcanon part canon events

ㅤ

Tails is finally saved from his bullies by the (currently) small time hero he admires

Tails stalks follows his hero, uses his mechanical knowledge to improve Sonic's plane

While Tails follows Sonic around, even on dangerous journeys, the hedgehog keeps an eye out for the younger fox behind him, keeping him from being in too much danger

Sonic leads by example, demonstrating to Tails how to fight, and Tails runs maintenance on Sonic's plane and teaches him how to read

Soon enough, they become softly inseparable. Even if they can't adventure side by side (although they do more often than not), Sonic keeps contact with Tails whenever he can.

They strengthen each other's weak points. Where Tails lacks in raw strength, Sonic makes up for it with experience and speed. Where Sonic lacks in firepower, Tails has a machine, a gadget, or the technical know-how to take one. Sonic often rushes into danger, fighting without thinking too hard, but Tails' specialty is strategizing or making plans, and he's one of the few who can slow Sonic down enough to make sure he's prepared. And where Sonic supports Tails by being a force of nature, someone who can roll with the punches and execute one of Tails' plans with complete trust or faith, Tails also supports Sonic by understanding what he cannot, by crafting plans when Sonic is at a loss for how to proceed. They have such unwavering faith and trust in each other's abilities now.

Where Sonic is a hero, Tails is his own kind of hero, saving the people only he can save, helping in the ways only he can help. They support each other. They look out for each other. Even if Sonic is a force on his own, or Tails can go on solo adventures, they're more effective when they're together.

And no matter how things change as they grow, the people who come and go, the two of them are a constant. Sonic and Tails, ever at each other's sides.

[losersimonriley]

I know some of us like to pepper Gaelic endearments into our ghostsoap from time to time and I thought hey! Maybe I should finally share my little headcanon as to how Soap even came about knowing the language in the first place:

I like to think that his granny (who raised him and his siblings) was from the Inner Hebrides and grew up using it. She moved to the lowlands after marrying, became a Gaelic-medium teacher. Thus, Soap attended the school she taught at and had a Gaelic-medium education throughout primary. (Gme students are taught completely in Gaelic from p1-p3 with English being incorporated later.) While not continuing it in secondary, he still had a fluent adult at home keeping the language fresh in his mind. That’s. The bare bones of it anyway.

Anyway I wanted to share this because I’ve seen the occasional person say it’s ridiculous to suddenly see him speaking Gaelic in fics (which is a very fair point of course. few people are immersed in it, it remains a threatened language) but the thought of someone who wanted to include it in their work who then might not because of this is disheartening. Should they do the proper research beforehand, it is plausible when given the right ingredients.

It’s a language that should be celebrated, not discouraged, especially given the history. Having a character know it just really depends on the different factors you throw into their backstory. Even if the author doesn’t explain it, it should then be up to the reader to assume he’s not just pulling the language out of thin air. Idk, if call of duty fanfic of all things can expose people to Gàidhlig and garner interest in some to learn a bit of the language, I just. That is a good thing

[fromperdition4]

You know, it's funny - if Vegas had defended Kinn like this even a couple episodes ago, I would have taken it as him trying to manipulate Porsche.

Especially with the second instance, where Vegas brings Kinn up all on his own. In any other context, this would have been Vegas's attempt at reverse psychology - to plant the idea that Kinn could hurt Chay - you thought of that, didn't you Porsche?

But, no - Vegas is being completely honest here.

And it's thanks to Pete, who encouraged him to finally question what he's been told. Vegas is finally starting to understand that the abuse he's endured isn't Kinn's fault, or his own. It all comes down to Gun and Korn, and the war they've forced their sons into. They've all been blinded by the adults.

Unfortunately, Vegas hasn't really let go of his hatred for Kinn. He's spent his whole life yearning to have power over his cousin, to make him feel as small as he feels every day, and he won't let himself miss the chance when his father calls him home.

[presidentbungus]

in a similar vein to my last post i very much think demo’d be so good with kids. i don’t know if he’d be a good dad necessarily with all that emotional baggage and undoubtedly enough generational trauma to permanently ruin a toddler within seconds but he’d be a great uncle, godfather, weird neighbor, etc.

consider with me here. uncle tavish with the eyepatch and the peg-leg. he looks scary but he tells great stories about wizards and wars and explosions and he leaves in all the gory bits. he’ll show you how to make a pretty good firework out of the cleaning stuff your mum’s got lying around the house as long as you won’t tell on him. he’ll help you pull pranks on your adult relatives and he’ll take the blame for them. he’ll let you sip on his beer and scrumpy if you swear up and down you’re grown-up enough and when you hiss and stick your tongue out at the alcohol he’ll tell you that means you’re probably more mature than him. he doesn’t seem that rich but he’ll buy you a dirtbike or a pony or a whole set of expensive action figures for your birthday and he won’t even act like it’s a big deal. there’s something so simply enjoyable to him about kids (kids that aren’t his), so kicking with wonder and fierce excitement about the world, and he does whatever he can to give them what he never got—the push to run around and discover and do what they want, and to spit and curse and play-swordfight in the backyard and everything else all the adults in his life never really let him do. really, under it all, at the end of the day he’s got the big dumb heart of an absolute bloody sap and he knows it, and it’s almost relieving to know he’s still got it after all these years. you know? it works out