#idk i like to portray him that way
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N childhood memory thing!! i'm back on my "N has a secret mom" crap (1200 ish words)
N hurried through the halls of the castle, stumbling to put on his shoes on the way. Since he was about to have an audience with his father, he figured heâd better at least put on a pair of shoes. Admittedly, he hated wearing shoes, but it was better than adding to the numerous screaming arguments that would spark if he didnât
He turned a few corners, smiled and waved when the occasional maid bowed for him- he was a prince, after all- and found the entrance to his fatherâs office.
However, when he smoothed down his shirt and got ready to knock on the door, he saw it was slightly ajar.
N nervously shifted, then knocked three times. After a few moments with no reply, he called out, âFather? Are you there?â
No reply.
Brimming with curiosity, he peeked through the crack, squinting through at the warmly lit office. He began to pry the door open further, but stopped himself.
It had been expressly and repeatedly stated that N wasnât allowed in there. And N wasnât really in the mood to get hit or yelled at or grounded.
He stepped back and mulled over it for a few minutes, then decided. He opened the door with a creak, then slipped in.
He was at the age where he wasnât one to follow rules, after all.
N had been in the office a couple of times, mainly for the odd brief discussion with his father. The floor was covered in an intricately embroidered carpet N would have loved to feel on his bare feet, and the walls were lined with bookshelves holding books on subjects from philosophy to art. N itched to flip through them, excited by the prospect of a whole room of books he hadnât read yet, but figured heâd better not mess with anything. (At this point, he was risking having to wash the floors, too.)
âFather?â he called again, just so he could pretend he was still looking for him.
There was a large painting hanging above the desk. It depicted a cloudy, misty evening, where a Hydreigon clawed and tore away at a flower- a gladiolus, if N remembered correctly. Whatâs more, based on the tiny doodles heâd seen on the corners of his fatherâs notes, he could safely assume his father had painted it himself.
N stepped closer just to marvel at it. His father had never shown him his art, or anything personal, really. Maybe thatâs why the concept of wandering into his forbidden office was so alluring.
He carefully turned around, ready to leave before he could get caught, but saw something very interesting on the desk.
There was a notebook (N didnât even want to look at it, for he knew his father would likely kill him), as well as a few open books. One of the books was a sketchbook, where the open page depicted a near identical drawing of the vase of flowers nearby.
But most strikingly, was a small picture, in sunbleached colour, of two people.
One of them was his father. He looked younger and quite dapper in a dress shirt and slacks. His eyes were turned up in a smile, including the right eye N had never seen.Â
N picked up the frame to get a closer look.
The other person was a woman around his fatherâs age, clinging to his arm and beaming with all the light in the world. Her hair was a light pink and tied up in a bun, and she wore a pretty yellow dress.
She kind of looked like Nâs older sister. Her eyes were more like his other sister, though.
And of course, as he stared down at the window into his fatherâs past, that was the moment when the door creaked open, with his father on the other side.
âN? What are you doing in my office?â the man said with a frown.
Nâs heart hammered against his chest, and his head began to feel fuzzy. âIâm sorry!â he quickly sputtered out. âI know Iâm not allowed in here, but I was looking for you, but you werenât here, and-â He bit his tongue. Excuses would only make things worse!
His fatherâs eyes fell to the frame in his hands. âWhat do you have there?âÂ
âI shouldnât have looked,â N said, wincing as his father drew nearer, âbut I was curious.â He squeezed his eyes shut, but his father didnât strike him, or yell. Just placed a hand on his back and peered over at the picture.
âThatâs an old photograph,â he simply said.
N went still, mustering the courage to even speak. âWho is she?â
He didnât think his father would reply. Surprisingly, he was wrong.
âMy wife. Your mother.â
Mother?
Of course, since he was fourteen, Nâs first thought was, My dad gets girls??
He couldnât say that, obviously, so he looked closer at the picture. Sure enough, he could see little traces of himself in her brown eyes, and her freckles, and her smile full of crooked teeth.
âSheâs pretty,â N said, at a loss for anything else to say.
âShe was very beautiful,â His father gently took the frame from Nâs hands. âand very kind.â He set the picture back down on the desk.
Was.
Ah.Â
N knew better than to inquire further, and his father knew better than to let him.
âNow, what did you need me for?â his father asked, voice edging on annoyance.
Nâs mind went blank. In all his excitement and discoveryâŚhe totally forgot why heâd wanted to visit in the first place.
He bowed his head. âIt slipped my mind. Iâm sorry.â
His father rolled his good eye. The one that wasnât concealed by an eyepatch. âAlright, then.â He patted Nâs back. âGet out of my office.â
âYes, sir!â N hurriedly shuffled out of the room, but paused at the doorway. âI like your art.â
âOut of my office.â
âCould I read your books sometime?â
âOut.â
N ran off, for he knew when his father was reaching the end of his short fuse. Still, it was a miracle he wasnât in more trouble, but maybe his father was busy thinking up a punishment.
He kicked off his shoes and scooped them up as he ran.
He always imagined his father was hiding wicked, magical secrets behind the door to his office, like a Griseous Orb or maybe a Time Gear! (If confused about the latter, please consult Nâs favourite book, Explorers of Sky)
But, everything in that office was soâŚnormal. Why would his father feel the need to hide something so ordinary, like art or books or a picture of his wife?
Wife. N still couldnât believe a lady would like his father.
He closed himself into his room and flopped over onto his bed, then thought about the womanâs smiling face.
He had a lot of questions, and he doubted theyâd be answered.
âShe was very beautiful, and very kind.â
âŚThatâs what his father had said. Heâd sounded uncharacteristically tender and forlorn, as well. He must have really loved her. It seemed hard to imagine, since he was always yelling and mad about something.
âShe was very beautiful, and very kind.â
N wondered if she would have said the same thing about his father.
#eughhhh i keep meaning to post my writing but i always forget or am too nervous#helen jumpscare!! remember her?#tbh i haven't thought about her either since that post i made in 2021 or whatever#more accurate title: ghetsis has a heart?? of course he does he's human :)#def not a good human but still a human#idk i like to portray him that way#pokemon#pokemon black and white#pokemon bw#n harmonia#n pokemon#natural harmonia gropius#pokemon n#ghetsis#ghetsis pokemon#plasma leader ghetsis#team plasma#my writing#oneshot#short story#pokemon fanfiction#fanfic
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ALEX TURNER, RIO DE JANEIRO, BR. by Zackery Michael
#i feel like this photo is so wildly underrated#probably one of my all time favourite shots of alex#itâs so moody and brooding and evocative#you can almost taste the drizzle in the air#hear the distant buzz of the traffic#and the way you can *almost* see alexâs eyes and where heâs looking at but not quite???#idk it just feels so poetic. so fitting with the kind of way he sees and portrays the world through his lyrics#it feels like something so profoundly *him* has been captured in this photo#and it feels like it fits the whole atmosphere of the car so perfectly too#aghhhh. i'm just obsessed#â¤ď¸â¤ď¸â¤ď¸#alex turner#zackery michael#alex photos#the car era#arctic monkeys#lulu posts
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saw some lego dinosaurs today :3
#australia adventure#i also watched the jurassic world movie for the first time AFTER going to the exhibit#it feels like it Could have been a good movie but the writing is so sexist and i spent too much time yelling EVACUATE THE GUESTS OH MY GOD#chris pratt sucks but they should've made him a horse girl for dinosaurs. that would've fixed it a bit#claire as a character is done so horribly dirty like. she's extremely competent and professional#but the entire narrative is like... portraying her as in the wrong for... being professional? for not being maternal enough?#what kind of moral is 'omggg u just need to let loose' in a movie where a SUPERMURDER DINOSAUR IS OUT OF ITS ENCLOSURE#SHE SHOULD'VE STUCK TO PROTOCOL AND EVACUATED THE PARK IMMEDIATELY!!!!!! AHHH#justice for claire jurassicworld 2024#literally every character is telling her that whatever she's doing is wrong and bad#it's excruciating to watch. anyway#indominus rex just feels like wasted potential. like it's scary for a little but it just looks like a slightly wonky t rex#should've done the thing where you barely see it and it keeps outsmarting everyone in fun and clever ways#i also personally. think they should lean into the tragedy of creating the most perfect predator but it cannot exist on this earth#i feel like there should be a sorrow and grief in having to kill a magnificent beast#like titanic or something. idk. like as a dinosaur kid im like. i like Cool Creature. in my heart im siding with cool creature#it wants enrichment. give it a meat pumpkin#would've loved to watch a defunctland style video about the theme park
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TWST fic writers stop reducing Silverâs entire personality to just âsleepy boy who falls asleep all the time and is sooooo sleepy and tired and did i mention he sleeps a lot and also he loves his dadâ challenge (impossible) (gone wrong)
#also if u portray him as LIKING sleep i will personally bite you#and before u say âoh but he really doesnt have a personality besides those traitsâ that is incorrect#heâs blunt and honest to the point where he can come off as rude#heâs calm and collected and keeps a cool head even during an emergency#heâs a drama queen and often takes things too seriously#heâs not stupid exactly but can be very naive and doesnât understand relationships very well#heâs extremely passive and rarely stands up for himself#he finds ways to blame himself for things that arent his own fault#he deeply admires and respects people who are strong and protective of their loved ones#heâs selfless and always tries to do what he considers to be the ârightâ thing#he has a lot of trouble expressing his emotions and is insecure abt others not taking him seriously#he is so much more than just âprecious sleepy boi uwuâ#or atleast thats my interpretation of him idk u guys can do whatever you want#it just bugs me when ppl misinterpret his character so badly#this is what 2 years of hyperfixation will do to a person#twisted wonderland#disney twisted wonderland#twst silver#twst analysis#diasomnia#character analysis
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forgive the brief jesus chris superstar rant but. there is a very important difference between the pharisees being villains and the pharisees being antagonists. they're technically antagonists because they're actively working against the interests of our protagonist, but i don't believe they should ever be played as villains. they're not evil or bad or wrong. they're terrified just like literally everyone else in the show is, and their actions are completely justified. to me that's the entire point of the musical. it's not about christianity; it's about the impact the roman empire's brutal and violent imperialism had on everyone on all levels. including jesus and judas, but also including the pharisees, and even herod and pilate. when a powerful coloniser forces their presence on innocent people they are the only winners. everyone else suffers, even the puppet kings and high priests who look like they're reaping some sort of benefit from it all. that's roman propaganda. the romans kept native rulers like herod and caiaphas in power to maintain the illusion of provincial autonomy, and keep populations appeased and therefore under control. everyone in the show is acting out of fear of the romans. the one roman character we do see (pilate) is acting out of fear of his own emperor. it makes no sense to cast the pharisees as two dimensional Bad Guys, especially when the same productions that do that usually offer a sympathetic portrayal of pilate. it would be so easy to stage and direct a production in a way that makes it obvious that the pharisees are doing what they're doing because they truly have no choice, and not because they're pure evil and want to kill jesus for the sake of it. it's not only an antisemitic trope but also undermines a really important theme of the musical. if you can see the humanity in the violent roman governor installed forcefully on conquered land then you can afford some humanity for the pharisees too. they are victims of pilate and victims of rome just like everyone else
#THEY ARE NOT ALLIES OF PILATE. they have a common interest yes. ie avoiding punishment from rome#but the pharisees have no choice but to go to pilate. they have no real power. because like i said. they are puppet rulers#i am just tired of seeing the pharisees as villains#IF YOU WANT A VILLAIN (idk why you need to have one i don't think this show is about that) IT SHOULD BE FUCKING PILATE. AND NO ONE ELSE#THE PHARISEES ARE NOT VILLAINS. THEY ARE NOT EVIL. THEY ARE VICTIMS.#i am tired of seeing them costumed or directed in a way that makes them stereotypical Bad Guys#the 2k version of jcs is my favourite but i HATE how it portrays the pharisees at times especially annas#when annas pushes judas to the floor for literally no reason it's like. you are going out of your way to make these guys seem evil#sucks because the actor from 2k is the best annas i've ever seen in terms of presence and voice#and the actor who plays caiaphas in that film does a really good job at showing fear instead of pure anger and evil#but it's generally all still done in a way that makes the priests seem evil. in my opinion#and yes i called pilate violent. he's not in A Lot of productions but. the real pilate was an extremely brutal governor#and there's a very good reason for portraying him as such. especially when you consider the themes i mentioned here#jesus christ superstar#jcs#ask to tag
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We all know Timmy is Wandaâs mamaâs boy but we need to keep in mind heâs still Cosmoâs kid too and that Cosmo would love him just as vehemently as Wanda
#fairly oddparents#not that anyone has portrayed him different#certainly not distance he loves Timmy he probably says it the most in the show and in fanon#but still- watching New Wish there felt like there was a disconnect with Cosmos character-like he wasnât as well defined as he was in OG#thatâs in part due to them toning him down from being an idiot plain and simple but I feel like it wasnât fitted with something else it was#simply taken away#just to say he didnât have as much of a presence to me in New Wish as Wanda did and I crave spinning Cosmo around in my brain#I want to see Poof being his Dadâs Boy yknow and I want to see cosmo doting and I want to see when he gets like. parental rage for the sake#of his kids#yknow? Yknow? part of him feeling detached in a new wish has translated into him not wanting to get as close to Hazel as he did Timmy-#to try and play it more like godparents are supposed to- just a presence for a couple months#but also because like. he got SO attached to Timmy and heâll never regret it and heâd never do anything different#but idk. if it were me I wouldnât have the capacity to go through losing my godkid again after becoming that attached#thatâs not even mentioning that they donât HAVE to be in hazelâs life the same way they were in Timmyâs because Timmy was going through#neglect and Hazel has loving family and friends all around her at all times- her blocks are mental#in that way cosmo and Wanda just have to do the Typical Godparent Job of aiding her- not becoming people she desperately needs in life#which also bleeds into why I think Peri was having such a. difficult time#godparents arenât supposed to be attached the way his family was to Timmy and that how he learned it#but his first godkid is Not Easy and lends immediately to the issues Timmy was having where he HAS parents he HAS things (though . Timmy#was not rich and would sometimes not be fed⌠devâs dad also forgets to feed him but dev is still able to eat you know)#and how he grew up with his parents as godparents and how heâs been taught are conflicting and itâs nature vs doing a good job quoteunquote#I didnât mean to ramble so damn much in the tags Iâm really sorry#told myself if I had more to say Iâd write it down and post it later but I must be heard.
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Aventurine x reader
You die.
âââ ââ
âžâ
â âââ
TW: DEATH, heavy angst, gore, blood, kind of disturbing, a bomb explodes, derealisation/disassociation, graphic, I'll be so honest this fic is kind of fucked up
Lmk if I should add any more specific warnings!
If you're sensitive to violence and dark themes, you probably shouldn't read this.
âââ ââ
âźâ
â âââ
This mission had gone terribly awry.Â
It was only meant to be a routine checkup. The IPC was planning on allocating resources from this planet, something the locals had not been pleased about. Aventurine understood. He would not be particularly happy to have his planet drained of all that made it worthwhile either. (He had not been happy. But all things considered, he thought he was being generous. Nobody was being directly killed, the IPC merely wanted a cut of the many materials the planet offered. The Avgins on Sigonia had all been very intentionally exterminated. He was not doing that to these people.)
Still, he couldnât afford to take risks, hence the many IPC assigned bodyguards he had brought along. Deals like this, where the clients were undeniably on the losing end, were bound to go wrong in one way or another. Often violently so.Â
He just had not expected the bombs. He had not expected the mass amounts of guns. The people were more capable and vengeful than he had assumed, then. Ultimately, it was his own fault.
Most of his goons were dead. Most of the government officials were dead too. It made sense theyâd want to go out in such a loud and proud way. A declaration to their people they wouldnât lay flat before the otherworldly corporation that had come to essentially take away what made their planet their home. Bold to be ready to kill so many of their own, but he could respect it.Â
Under normal circumstances, he wouldnât be very angry. It was fair, all things considered. Heâd had this long coming; being killed by the people whose lives he was ruining. In their positions, heâd love to kill him, too. The only issue was that this hadnât happened under normal circumstances.Â
No, you were with him. Youâd been just a bit away from him when they opened fire, when they set off the bomb.Â
It was so stupid. It was so, so unbelievably stupid that heâd let you come with. It was your job, yes, but he should have reassigned you to some other mission. Something safer. Something that didnât involve visiting planets to drain them of all their worth. Something that didnât bring about rage from the clients.Â
He could see you. Heâd been saved from the brunt of the impact, and his luck had once again protected him from serious harm. He had only been slightly grazed by a bullet, had only been slightly burned by the heat of the explosion. Nothing serious. Nothing he couldnât walk off within a week or two. You had not been so lucky.Â
Your arm was outstretched over your head, body lying limply on the floor. Missing the other arm. There was only a gaping, red hole where it had once been attached to your body, a little bit of bone sticking out of the gory mess. The blown off hand with your engagement ring lay close enough to him that he could touch it. Maybe intertwine his fingers with it for the last time. The pinky was missing. Â
He pushed himself onto his feet on unsteady legs. He could barely feel his own body at all. One glance down at it told him heâd been right in his initial assumption, though. No parts of him were missing. He was intact.Â
He stumbled over to where you lay, your expression calm, almost peaceful. No pained pinch between your brows, no worried frown on your lips. Were you unconscious, or were you dead? Though he knew it was unlikely youâd leave this place alive either way, he hoped desperately for the former.Â
He fell to his knees next to you. Something was buzzing beneath his skin. Something was buzzing in his vision. Had the world always been so blurry? Had there always been such a loud noise ringing in his ears? His hands trembled as he carefully reached out, a hand tenderly cupping your cheek. Your face was red, slightly burnt in places. Your hair was singed. You felt hot to the touch.Â
No, not hot. Warm. Warm as in alive. He couldnât hear you breathing, but warmth meant life. Warmth meant life. You were alive, surely.
He brushed his thumb under your eye. Tried to find something to say, but he found his mouth refused to open. Carefully, so carefully, he shifted you onto his lap. He stared at the dust from all the debris that had settled onto you. He couldnât breathe.Â
(He thought back to a time when the dust had been sand. He thought back to the red that had painted the ground then as it did now. He thought back to another body he had pulled closer, with hands much smaller and weaker than the ones he had now. He thought back to the taste of salt as tears fell in an endless stream from his eyes to cover his face and hers.)
He moved his free hand to your neck, gently pressing a finger to where he knew he was supposed to find your pulse. It wasnât there, but only because he wasnât searching hard enough. He carefully felt around, and though he couldnât find it, he knew it was still there. He just didnât dare press down hard enough to find it. The same applied when he felt your wrist. He was just bad at finding things today.Â
(He stupidly hadnât found a good enough reason to put you out of this mission. He stupidly hadnât found anything that happened before the explosion suspicious enough to leave early. He stupidly hadnât found his way next to you quickly enough to save your life.)
When his hand landed on your chest, absent of a heartbeat, tears started falling from his eyes. But why was that? You werenât dead. In fact, the longer he looked at you, the more sure he became this couldnât be you. Your skin wasnât this hot. Your arms were both still attached. You did not have fresh burns covering your face. Most importantly, you were alive. Alive and well and happy and safe from this little mishap. He had misremembered, you had stayed home during this mission. The hand heâd been so sure belonged to you had been someone elseâs, heâd merely mistaken the ring for yours. It was such a bland ring, after all. Heâd have to buy you a new, much prettier one once he came home to you, and apologise for his oversight in giving you such a boring design.Â
He ignored the repeated whispers of ânot again, not againâ going through his head. Nothing was happening âagainâ. This was not Sigonia. This was not a person he loved, or even knew. He couldnât understand why his body curled over the strangerâs, sobs wracking his frame as he pulled them close, soft apologies tumbling from his mouth. He nuzzled his face into your- their hair, hand carefully cradling the back of their head as the other supported their back.Â
The body smelled like you. The body felt too similar to yours in his arms. The body had your face, even if your features were a little damaged. The longer he stared, the more he could feel his gut sinking. So he shut his eyes and reminded himself that there was no possible way this was you. It couldnât be, it couldnât. The universe would not be that cruel to him, would it?
Then again, maybe he had deserved this. If it was real. He was not a good man. He had not come to this planet with good intentions. Losing the thing most precious to him, the only thing precious to him, after taking away so much from so many others was a befitting punishment.Â
But you hadnât deserved this. Wouldnât have, if it was real. You were so kind and generous and perfect and lovely, so different from him, so different from the position your job wanted you to be. You didnât deserve to die.Â
Die. Dead.Â
Dead. Dead. Dead.Â
You were dead.Â
(Aventurine had seen so much death in his life. He should have been used to it by now. He was used to it. He had just forgotten how much it hurt when it is someone he loves.)
He held you tighter. If he held you tightly enough, could it piece you back together? If he held you tightly enough, could he replace the parts of you that were missing with his own? The sobs that escaped his lungs were violent, and quickly, some morphing into gagging. He felt sick. He had to turn himself away from you briefly to throw up, not wanting to soil what was left of you further, before he desperately held you again. Would it be the last time he held you?
Maybe if he took you back to the ship quickly enough, something of you could be salvaged. Maybe he couldnât piece you back together, but he could find someone who would. There had to be something he could do. This couldnât be it. He couldnât lose like this again.Â
He could barely stand. His body was already weak and your added dead weight made it even harder to balance. He picked up the parts of you strewn about on the ground he could quickly spot. Your hand, your shoulder, what he thought might be your bicep. He couldnât find your forearm and he didnât have time to properly search for it. Maybe someone could put all of you back together? Maybe youâd be whole again. He wanted you to be whole again.Â
(He couldnât save his people. He couldnât save his mother. He couldnât save his sister.)
(But things had to be different now, surely. He was a different person now. He had power, he had wealth, he had everything. What would it all be good for, if he couldnât save you?)
Other IPC personnel met him outside the building as he stumbled out, and Aventurineâs mind was so hazy he couldnât make sense of anything that was happening. He was pretty sure his own, now dead, workers had sent a distress signal. People rushed in to find anyone else from the wreckage. After, Aventurine found out he was the sole survivor. (He always was.)
(You had not survived.)
He demanded you be taken into surgery. That the medical staff on board had to get you to breathe again. For some reason, they had been hesitant. He threatened to have them fired or killed if they didnât get to it. He set you as first priority, putting the best doctors they had on hand to work on you.Â
They sewed you back together as best as possible at his insistence. They got your heart pumping blood again, they hooked you up to machines and forced your lungs to breathe. The surgery lasted for four hours.
It did not change the flatline on the screen signalling your brain activity.Â
He could find the best doctors in the whole galaxy, but he already knew the line would remain flat. Nothing was bringing that back.
He stared at you for hours after your surgery. Interlaced his fingers with yours, feeling the artificial warmth of your hand. It did not feel like you. The temperature was wrong. The look on your face was wrong. Your body was wrong. Everything about what remained of you was wrong.Â
He eventually laid his head on your chest, and then he cried.
He cried until the black spots in his vision grew so numerous he could no longer see, until everything faded and he could no longer hear the beeping and humming of the machines keeping you hollowly alive.Â
(Why did he ever let himself love again?)
âââ ââ
âžâ
â âââ
Sorry that was messy I wrote everything today because I am con-crunching tomorrow and won't be available for like at least 3 days after this (usually I write over the span of multiple days so I can re-read for grammatical/spelling errors and so my language will be a little more varied + I get fresh ideas). Sorry this fic was ?? kind of messed up ??? I think ??? I think my perception of what's messed up and not is kind of weird (I grew up on warrior cats HELP.) so to me it didn't feel that fucked up to write about Aventurine literally picking up your body parts after you died but I've realised upon mentally summarising that part of the fic that maybe that was kinda horrific. Just a glimpse into my twisted mind heh đ.... sorry
My inbox is open, feel free to send in asks or requests, I'd love to ramble about things <3
#[rawbin]#[aventurine]#[by me]#[rawbin fanfic]#aventurine x reader#Idk what to say about this idk what trigger warnings I am supposed to put in the tags bro#idk if I portrayed his reaction the way I wanted to. I wanted it to come across more clearly that he was so devastated he couldn't even -#-comprehend this really was happening at the same time as he was slowly being hit by the realisation that this was in fact happening#Can't stop making him suffer sorry bro#Hope I got it across he's kind of a bad person also. In my previous fics I feel like it comes across a bit as if he's needlessly blaming -#-himself for being a monster. Want to make it clear he is actually on the mark and IS actually kind of a monster !#(hence why he's kind of flippant about taking resources away from a whole ass planet.)#(Remember when he basically scolded Topaz for not like colonising Jarilo IV ?đ)#I probably have more to say but I'm tired so erm bye#aventurine honkai star rail#aventurine hsr#aventurine star rail#hsr aventurine#reader x aventurine#hsr#honkai star rail x reader#honkai star rail#hsr x reader#reader insert#aventurine#star rail aventurine#death#tw death#angst#heavy angst
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hello i offer you romarriche princess carrying merold. have a good day.
#I LOVE OLD FRIENDS TROPE I WANNA KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT THESE TWO#Oh the red bouquet episodes...#Roma trusting in merold and his abilities...#And merold having roma as this partner that actually knows him beneath the facade he keeps putting up....oh i'll be sick...#I knew from the moment they started portraying roma as this guy who is good at house chores that he's gonna be the secretly strong type#We respect malewife himbos in this household#So i just had to draw him carrying merold#I still don't actually understand how his red cape thing works so i didn't draw it :/#Give us the characters from the back plssss#fragaria memories#fragmem#merold#romarriche#merorriche#romero#Don't mind me i'm just coming up for pairing names#Not necessarily even romantic ship names i just combine names of any dynamic i like#I love the way tumblr tags let me ramble endlessly weeheeeee twt doesn't allow me this#If you read the tags this far. Idk what to say. Congratulations have a flowerđş#cookie draws
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IN THE DREAM I DONâT TELL ANYONE, YOU PUT YOUR HEAD IN MY LAP ; SHOKO IEIRI
synopsis; ever since the battle in shinjuku came to its conclusion, nothingâs been the same as it used to. but you donât think anyone is doing quite as badly as shoko.Â
word count; 4.5k
contents; shoko ieiri/reader, gn!reader, canon-typical mentions of death (iykyk), angst, hurt/comfort (but not very heavy on the comfort), jjk spoilers (up to chapter 236!!), mild gore (mentions of blood, autopsies and general gore-ish imagery? nothing too bad tho), shoko ieiri deserves better, includes gojo slander (stay safe gojo nation)
a/n; first of all i just wanna apologize to the shoko girlies for writing angst when weâre already so starved of content, i have like 50 fluff drabbles planned for her but chapter 236 threw me into a mental angst pit so </3 yeah. i love my wife!!
shoko hasnât been herself for a while.
the thought sneaks its way into your subconscious, as your feet carry you to her morgue â a rotten thought you just canât seem to rinse away.
itâs not very hard to notice. she doesnât talk as much, for one. not that shoko was ever much of a talker, but now the silence around her is deafening. thick and heavy like the spine of a knife. and she smiles even less.
you canât remember the last time you heard her laugh.
the crescents beneath her eyes are darker than ever, darker than you thought possible. a murky purple that youâd find soothing in any other context, but like this itâs just revolting. her eyes are deep and dark, the same as ever, but now theyâre glazed over with something you canât quite put your finger on.Â
apathy, maybe.
or bloodlust.
the scent of cigarette smoke that follows her is suffocating. indistinguishable from her natural scent. you donât know if sheâll ever be able to scrub the tobacco stench off her skin.
(youâve given up on counting the exact number of cigarettes she smokes each day. youâre not sure you want to know the answer.)
she doesnât even look alive, anymore. like some part of her already reached its expiration date. a spectre, wandering the hallways, filling the air with the slow, ominous clacking of her heels.
shoko hasnât been herself for a while â and itâs so obvious. her grief is so heavy, her sleep-deprivation so severe. youâd have to be blind not to notice it.Â
so why hasnât anyone said anything?
you gnaw at your bottom lip, trying to suffocate the bitterness swimming inside your veins. itâs a dumb question, really, because you already know. you donât want to acknowledge it, because itâs so unfair, but you know. of course you do.
no one has the time to. itâs as simple as that.Â
no oneâs doing well, anymore. not since shinjuku.
not since gojo died.
shokoâs grief is a fickle thing. always with her, tucked away within those eyebags, in the pockets of her coat. in that smell of tobacco, never-fading, always lingering. it follows her like a ghost, like something sheâll never quite be rid of.
(like something she doesnât want to be rid of.)
shokoâs grief is a fickle thing, and it always has been. but recently, itâs been downright overwhelming. it used to be subtle, the kind of thing you notice if you look close enough. if you squint. if you even care enough to try.
but now, itâs more like a haunting than a simple ghost.
(geto. nanami. yaga. and now gojo, too.
how many people does she have to lose before whateverâs watching is satisfied?)
shoko hasnât been herself for a while, and itâs obvious, and itâs sickening. she still does her duty to a tee, but she isnât quite there anymore. gaze always forlorn, as if sheâs trying to convince herself of something.
and yet no one says a thing.
everything is one big mess, right now. you donât want to blame anyone. everyoneâs exhausted, completely and utterly spent, but theyâre still planning it all out. even in the midst of their mourning. because they donât have any other choice.Â
this is not the kind of situation where you should be pointing fingers. a part of you is angry, livid even â but you know the others are doing just as badly. itâs not like you arenât, either.
still, though. isnât this just too unfair?
âi brought you coffee!â
making sure your voice doesnât waver is tougher than you initially assumed. just the sight of her sends a tremor running through your ribs; sunken down in her chair, papers in hand, eyes scanning the pages methodically. papers of what, youâd like to ask â but you already know.
(sheâs reading through the post-mortem examination report, again. searching for something you donât understand. youâre not sure she does, either.)
and she looks exhausted.
try as you might, your voice ends up sounding a little stale, as it flows from your lips and reaches her ears. but the attempt is there â the attempt to sound cheerful, calm. normal. to give her something to hold on to.
shoko looks up at you, and her lips curl in a way you think is supposed to form a smile. it doesnât. her eyes look into yours but itâs like sheâs not seeing you at all.
when you go to give her the cup of espresso, your fingertips touch. only for a second, before she curls her fingers around the ceramic handle. she receives the coffee with a small murmur of thanks, but you donât notice because youâre too busy thinking of how cold her skin feels.
(cold like a ghost. cold like death.)
shaking away the shivers down your spine, you allow your gaze to trail over the morgue. it looks the same as always. cold, empty. foreboding. today, you think it feels just a little chillier than usual. matching the temperature of the outside world, where everything lies buried in heaps of snow and frost.
hesitantly, you plop down in the seat right next to hers. with such a narrow distance, you can smell the tobacco sticking to her clothing. it makes you want to throw up.
(you try not to look over at the couch in the corner of the room, where a certain someone used to slack off. his awkwardly long limbs would dangle off the edges, and shoko would pretend that she didnât enjoy his company. you were more than content with silently admiring the smile she was trying to hide.)
shoko doesnât look at you, professional in the way her eyes run across the files. cause of death: damage to central intestines, subsequent loss of blood. from a cut to the stomach, right below the liver and spleen.
you look away before your eyes can read another line.
leaning back in your chair, you exhale a tiny sigh. desperate to fill the silence with something, anything at all. you scramble for topics, racking your brain.
(what could you possibly tell her that she doesnât already know?)
âthe others are still planning everything out,â you speak, playing with your fingers idly to distract yourself. âi think itâs going well.â
shoko hums, unaffected. âthatâs good.â
sheâs speaking to you, but that feeling of unease still wonât go away. her voice sounds still, flat. empty of emotion. but you can tell sheâs trying to be polite.
thatâs no surprise. shoko isnât the type to ever show how sheâs truly feeling. sheâs not the type to ask for help, either. people come to her for help, not the other way around. thatâs all sheâs ever known.
(in that sense, the two of them were alike.)
but that just makes it all the more important for you to be there. even if youâre a little awkward, and even if you canât do much. even if itâs only for a moment or two, you want to see her smile. you want to feel for yourself that sheâs really there.
looking over at shoko, you wring your hands together, the cold air of the morgue nipping at your sweaty palms. sheâs drinking from the cup, one finger around the handle as her other hand flips through the papers.
âdoes it taste okay?â you ask, softly. if only you could ask her that under better circumstances, with cups of espresso made with better coffee machines than those at jujutsu high. âi made it myself, soâŚâ
âitâs fine.â shoko takes a sip. dragging her syllables out, as if mustering the will to speak. âdonât worry.â
short sentences. almost cold, but you know better than that. she just doesnât have it in her to pretend that everything is normal, anymore.
and it makes you uncomfortable. this silence.Â
a couple months ago, it would have felt comforting; a quiet, peaceful kind of solitude shared between the two of you. nostalgic, like the smell of morning dew. or the way moonlight feels on your skin when the world falls asleep.
the silence you had with shoko always felt so tender. a single moment of peace, before the other shoe dropped. just that one moment was enough to give you the hope you needed to make it through another day.
you loved being silent with shoko. you loved her silence, the way she could soothe your very soul without saying a thing.
but now it only stings your skin. you fear that you might drown in it.
there is nothing to say. you want to ask her how sheâs doing, but you already know. you want to ask her why sheâs still reading the files from gojoâs autopsy, but you already know.
you want to ask her if she can still keep going, like this. but you already know.
she doesnât have a choice.
(something crumbles, deep inside your chest, like ashes cast into the sea.)
âhey. shoko?â
she hums, again. weak. quiet. absentminded, acknowledging your words but not really hearing them.
you take a deep breath.
âi think iâm going to quit being a sorcerer.â
silence.
for a moment, nothing happens. nothing moves, or speaks. the air is cold and crisp and carries no meaning, no words, nothing at all.Â
like time is frozen. frozen like all the bodies shokoâs had to dig inside these past few months. frozen like gojo was when she found him in the snow.
frozen like your youth, a glass marble kept in your pocket for moments when you feel as if the ground beneath your feet is about to slip away. then youâd take it out, and look deep inside it. watch the swirling of greens and blues and purples. that streak of indigo right in the middle of the glass. memories of the past, to give you comfort.
to remind yourself of why youâre doing this. to give you a reason to keep moving forward.
(south or north, it doesnât matter. stay as you are or move forward, look to the past or to the future â none of it matters if you arenât alive. thatâs the conclusion you came to.)
shokoâs expression, too, is frozen. it doesnât change, even as you let those loaded words fall from your tongue. you watch her carefully, out of the corner of your eye. she doesnât even look at you, gaze still glued to the tiny letters detailing exactly what gojoâs pulse was at when he got cut.
but something flickers, in the depths of her irises, so fast you barely catch it. something you canât identify, but itâs still something. itâs movement. itâs alive.
ânot right now, obviously,â you elaborate. suddenly a little nervous, now that the words have been made manifest. âbut⌠you know. once all this is over.â
not sure what else to say, you trail off, fidgeting with your fingers again. voice wavering pitifully towards the end of the sentence, because deep down you know itâs not a question of once, but a question of if.
(if this ever ends. if i donât die tomorrow, or the day after that.)
you swallow the lump in your throat, and look at her. trying to find her eyes. trying to keep her alive for as long as you can, this sequence of motion, this moment frozen in time.
trying to reach her.
âyou wonât ever have to worry about me dying,â you throw in, like the words are light and not heavy as bricks. but you know she needs to hear them. âiâll leave, and then â and thenâŚâÂ
staring down at your lap, you link your hands together. exhaling, a little breathless. sheepish, in a way. â⌠well. i donât know. i havenât thought that far ahead, yet.â
you never had the chance to. you didnât even really think of it as a possibility, as something you could do. and you know itâs not a possibility for shoko. the choice to be a sorcerer was never hers, from the very beginning.
a user of the reverse cursed technique. capable of healing almost any wound, more power and capability than a child should ever have. invaluable. sheâs saved so many lives youâre sure sheâll be reborn as a god.
but the choice was never hers.
a soothing kind of ache blooms in both your palms, as your nails dig into the soft skin. hard enough to form crescents, like the ones under shokoâs eyes, that sheâll never be rid of no matter how much she sleeps. the choice was never hers.
isnât that just too cruel?
they donât deserve her. none of them do. the elders didnât, the jujutsu world doesnât â not even the students. no one deserves it; everything she does for everyone, day and night, just slaving away in the morgue or her office. cutting up curses and old friends. every second of the day, always that same buzzing of her name being called.Â
shoko, someone needs healing, come quick!Â
shoko, i know itâs 2 am and you have work tomorrow, but thereâs a curse that i need you to dissect.
shoko, i think i got a paper cut, would you mind taking a look?
none of them deserve her.
you think of gojo. a flash of white hair, a grin brighter than the sun. a bloodstained smile â one shoko had to wipe away.
something ugly claws its way up your throat.
none of them deserve her. especially not him.
what were you thinking, leaving her all alone like this? so much for being the strongest. you couldnât even stay alive.
why would you die with a smile on your face? do you have any idea how cruel that is to her?
you idiot. donât you know how much she missed you?
â yeah. none of them deserve her. gojo doesnât, the world doesnât, and neither do you. no one does.Â
what shoko deserves is to live a normal life.Â
and she never will.
itâs foolish. itâs naive, a juvenile daydream. but you wish for it so, so badly. so much that even just the thought alone feels like too much to bear.
you wish you could bring her with you.Â
you wish you could take her hand in yours, and run away. leave it all behind, every single thing, without caring about the consequences. youâd hold her hand and never let it go, and then youâd run and run until you were both high on adrenaline and breathless laughter.
maybe you could go somewhere, together. somewhere better. outside of japan, where there are less curses. money wouldnât be an issue, you both have more than you know what to do with â one of the perks of having a job thatâs bound to kill you. you could settle down in some smaller town, peaceful, maybe a little secluded. just to make sure no one finds you.Â
maybe you could open up a little shop, together. or spend all your days tangled up beneath the blankets, catching up on lost sleep. talking and whispering, like youâd do back at the sleepovers you used to have. youâd make her coffee every morning, and tea every evening. youâd spend the rest of your life trying to make her laugh as loud as possible.
thereâs nothing you want more. absolutely nothing. there never will be.
â but you canât ask her.
you canât ask her to come with you, no matter how much you want to. thatâd be the cruelest thing you could possibly do to her.
she would never agree. youâd only be hurting her more. so selfish, all of these wishes. it was so much simpler back when you were just kids. when you didnât have to care about duties or responsibilities. when your cognitive empathic abilities were just a little more lacking.Â
a sigh flows from your lips. resigned, but somewhat hopeful, all the same. tainted with the murmurs of a memory thatâll never happen.
âmaybe iâll open up a bakery, or something.â you tap your fingers against the desk, smiling a little to yourself at the thought. or trying to. âthen you could come visit.â
shoko looks into her cup of coffee. watching the swirling of the vortex, the abyss that gazes back at her. she doesnât look at you but you can tell sheâs listening. then she puts the cup down, and you glance at her now-empty hand.Â
shokoâs hands have always been pretty. even when theyâre covered in grime, or stained with blood. thin, a little bony, smooth skin obscuring clear blue veins. moles litter her hands like stars in the sky; one right beneath her pinkie, another by her wrist. the more you look, the more you find.
tentatively, you broach the distance between you. curling your fingers around her slender ones, where they rest on her lap. linking hands. itâs a slow movement, drawn out and careful, accompanied by the heavy beating of your heart.Â
(her skin is cold to the touch. your skin buzzes with unease, but you donât let go.)
then you smile. a small thing, not really optimistic, but the attempt is there. something for her to hold on to. looking deep into her eyes, admiring the hazel glow that never quite left them.
âiâll give you free pastries.â
a moment passes. shokoâs fingers squeeze around yours â weakly, but itâs there. movement, motion, life. a way of reaching out. a way to hold on.
her eyes continue to trail over the page, but you know sheâs not reading any of the contents. youâve caught her attention. a small victory, but youâll take what you can get.
âi donât like sweets,â she reminds you, leaning back a little in her chair. allowing her eyes to flutter shut, at last â and itâs not much but itâs something. a moment of relief for those tired, tired eyes. more tired than any 29 year oldâs should be.
âiâll change your mind,â you promise, mustering up enough will to sound smug. âmy pastries will be out of this world. youâll get a sweet tooth in no time, sho.â
she exhales a breath, vaguely amused. your smile widens, hopelessly. her happiness was always the root of yours, wasnât it?
then she looks at you, one eyebrow raised in lazy scepticism. âcan you even bake?â
ânope,â you deadpan. âbut iâll learn. youâll see.â
this time, shoko almost chuckles â and itâs more than youâve gotten out of her in recent memory. god, you missed that sound. a little raspy, from all the cigarettes, but still so honeyed and smooth. hearing it makes you feel as if everything will turn out fine, in the end.
(what a powerful thing, for a voice to do. one so lovely it anchors you to the earth.)
a faux pout curls its way to your lips, and you squeeze her hand lightly. âdonât laugh, iâm being serious!â your pout shifts into a soft grin, a little teasing. âiâll get you addicted to sugar instead of nicotine.â
âhahaâŚâ
shoko laughs. shoko laughs and itâs beautiful.
shoko laughs, a genuine laugh, and itâs so beautiful that you almost donât notice the tears in her eyes. almost.
and then you realize your mistake.
a memory comes to you, then. you recall a hushed conversation, beneath a cloudy summer sky. the air was heavy with the scent of lilacs and cigarette smoke. two people were beside you, and all you cared about was listening to the tilt of their voices. that, and nothing more. a time before everything and everyone went south.
(âyou know, shoko. you really should drop those death sticks of yours.â
âi donât want to hear that from the guy who needs 40 grams of pure sugar every day just to function.â
ârude! and as far as addictions go, sugar is a cut above nicotine, donât ya think?â
âwhatever. just worry about yourself, gojo.â)
by the time you realize, itâs already far too late. the tears have already begun to fall. little droplets of grief, sticking to her skin.
they trickle down the contours of shokoâs face, and fall onto the paper in her hand, smudging the letters. she clutches it tightly, crinkling it, just to make the damage worse. her other hand is still holding yours, chipped nails digging into your skin gently.
but she keeps laughing. low, hazy laughter â pained. she sounds like sheâs in pain, and thatâs because she is. even if no one ever cares to mention it.
(how cruel, for her to be born with the reverse cursed technique. capable of healing any physical wound; leaving her with too many mental ones to count. never to be healed or acknowledged, in this life or the next.)
you can only stare. helpless to her sadness. her eyes are a little red, and sheâs biting down on her lip hard enough to draw blood â a drop of scarlet falls onto the paper, and you think of gojo again.
you think of shoko finding him. running to his side. doing all she could to heal him, to patch him up â getting blood all over her hands and clothes. red everywhere, staining the pure white of the snowfall. like something out of a painting.
she did all that she could. pressing down on his chest, positive cursed energy pouring out from her fingertips in tandem with the snow. pressing two shaky fingers to his pulse point, just in case. just to find any sign of life, absolutely anything. hoping so tenderly that sheâd feel the flutter of his pulse. that heâd get up, and laugh obnoxiously, and ask her if she really thought heâd leave her behind so easily.
youâd never seen her look so scared. so desperate, a primal kind of fear youâve learned to associate with self-driven survival. the way some animals can claw their way out of a predatorâs stomach if theyâre swallowed whole. but she did that to save him. trying to claw him out, herself. from the belly of the beast.
she did all that she could.
but gojo didnât do anything. he just laid there, split in two. frozen in time, eternally young. watching the sky. smiling.
(what a wonderful way to die. what an awful thing for an old friend to find.)
before your mind can catch up, your body acts. muscle memory, in the way your arms curl around her midriff to bring her close. tucking her into your side while she sniffles and cries. still laughing, like sheâs still trying to convince you that sheâs fine. like sheâs isnât falling apart at the seams.
the dam breaks. the ice shatters. everything comes crashing down â and youâre there to pick up the pieces. despite everything.
itâs not enough, it never will be. but at least itâs something.
itâs heart-wrenching, the way she clings to you. like youâre the only thing she has. the dry laughter that spills from her throat devolves into sobbing, her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath, nails clinging to the fabric of your clothing like sheâs trying to anchor herself. broken sniffles fill the space between you as she hides away, in the crook of your neck.
(the sound makes you feel like someone drove a knife from your sternum down to your stomach.)
all you can do is hold her. quietly, delicately. as if she could break if you squeeze her too hard. as if sheâd shatter like a sheet of glass if you were to say the wrong thing again.
you hold shoko like sheâs fragile. because she is, regardless of what anyone else says. because sheâs a human being, and sheâs grieving, and she needs this.
eventually, she musters up the will to speak â and itâs awful, raspy, broken syllables she has to force out of her throat.Â
she chokes on the words like theyâre poisonous. like sheâs been carrying them around for decades, bubbling beneath the surface, waiting to be let out.
âdonât â donât end up here,â shoko pleads, voice wavering through the syllables. full of fear. âplease.â
you know what she means. she doesnât have to say it, because you know.
donât end up in my morgue. donât end up on my autopsy table.Â
shoko sounds meek. she sounds close to falling apart. youâve never seen her like this before, clutching onto your sleeves as if begging you to stay.Â
âyouâre â youâre the only one iâŚâ
she doesnât finish, cut off by a broken sniffle. but she doesnât need to.Â
youâre the only one i have left. i canât lose you, too.
please donât die. please donât leave me behind.
a shaky inhale. your arms tighten around her waist, tugging her closer. praying that sheâll feel the steady beating of your heart, the undeniable proof that youâre alive. that you havenât left her yet.Â
you blink away the tears in your eyes, grasping for control over your wavering voice.
âi wonât.â
and maybe itâs cruel, maybe itâs the cruelest thing you could do to her â making a promise you know you might not be able to keep. but you do so anyway. helpless to her sadness. at the complete mercy of her grief. youâd do anything to stop the tears from falling, to soothe the turmoil in her chest.
âi wonât let you be alone, shoko,â you murmur into her hair, with all the comfort you can possibly muster. ânot now, or ever.â
three words yearn to be spoken, resting on the tip of your tongue. three little syllables, desperate to be heard after living in the back of your throat for so many years.Â
and for a second, you think you might say it.Â
you think you might say it, breathe life into the statement. you can almost taste it, can almost hear it. can almost see what her expression would look like.
but shoko sniffles, and hugs you tighter. protective, like youâll leave if she doesnât. so tightly that it hurts a little.
and you swallow the words, once more.Â
right now, this is enough. itâs enough that youâre alive, that youâre here. thatâs what shoko needs, right now.
she doesnât need your love. she just needs you to stay alive.
so you will. you decide that you will, no matter what. youâll leave, and youâll open up a shitty bakery that wonât get any customers â and youâll give her free pastries for the rest of your life. youâll get her so addicted to sweets that sheâll have no choice but to come back for more.
shoko cries like a child. filling the silence of the morgue with her shaky breaths and quiet sniffles, little hiccups and whimpers. the tears never seem to stop, and you wonder how long itâs been since she last let them fall.
you hold her in your arms, smoothing a palm down her back, counting the bumps of vertebra â and donât say anything. thereâs no need to.
for now, the soft patter of your heartbeat is enough.
ijichi stands just outside the morgue, unmoving. not saying a thing.
itâs muffled, hushed and quiet, but still audible. the sound of childlike crying. the kind all sorcerers do their best to keep to themselves.
in his arms lie a bundle of papers. the final pages of gojoâs autopsy report. itâs important that shoko sees them â vital, according to her. something about the six eyes, the possibilities they hold. the hope that maybe, just maybeâŚ
â he clutches them tightly, and then walks away.
#the wlw urge to leave everything behind and start a bakery togetherâŚâŚ#idk how to feel abt this i just!! needed to get some shoko thoughts out!!! sheâs my fave jjk girl and i love the way her grief is portrayed#i just hope gege does her justice but i have a good feeling that he will!! if not its on sight#sheâs so special to me. the airport scene hurts sm because she really is all alone now :(( its so fucked up i SOBBED into my pillow#well i mean. she still has ijichi. and i love him dont get me wrong but like. STILL#im delusional tho so i think next chapter shoko will use her rct to heal gojo#and then weâll get a scene of him leaving the airport with shoko. trust me gege and i are like thisđ¤#sorry for basing all my titles on siken poems. anyway go read ��i had a dream about youâ its so shoko#shoko ieiri#shoko ieiri x reader#shoko ieiri x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x reader#jjk#jjk spoilers#jujutsu kaisen spoilers#jjk 236#jujutsu kaisen 236#âŚ. i think. thats all the tagsâŚâŚ.
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thinking about frank and sex (in a sad way)
#marvel#frank castle#the punisher#not as in about sex with him but like how hes portrayed in relation to it in the comics if that makes sense#hes just always so deeply uninterested not just in the women but the act itself too like#so many times hes like. not pressured thats the wrong word but like i can think of at least two times i saw#where the women just kinda. walk themselves into his bed. and hes like 'eh idk about this' but then just kinda does it anyway#like i imagine the writers intended for this to be like a cool guy thing yk like ah he gets so much action and he DOESNT CARE cuz hes COOL#but ME personally i cant help but read it like. god idk i dont want to say him letting himself get used and using them in turn#theres this expression 'going through the motions' that kind of feels right here but idk how to explain it#hes just so weird about it. every time. in my mind i cant imagine him ever really wanting it very much#like maybe to feel good sometimes but its never. idk am i making sense am i just saying shit#is he gay asexual missing his dead wife or just so so fucking traumatized and dead on the inside that his body is just an object now#so many fun ways to interpret this#<guy who is not having fun interpreting this#wish i could just project my thoughts into your heads so youd see exactly what i mean cuz i dont feel im verbalizing this well enough#god take a shot every time i say 'like' or 'just'. youll be off your face from this post only#i may be making shit up tbh idk the thought struck me out of nowhere while i was looking at the ceiling
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âOf course you have an Other Brother,â he says, waving off her denial as he opens some nearby cabinets. âWho else would I be if I wasnât?â
Small WIP sketch of the Other Brother from IDKSomethingClever99âs fic âMari in the Pink Palaceâ!!! OMORI and Coraline are my two biggest interests ever so this fic was like winning the lottery for me. Not to mention how good it is⌠please go read it ragh
#omori#omori au#omori sunny#coraline#this fic cured my artblock and writing block partially too is there anything it canât do#Idksomethingclever99 what are you PUTTING in this thing itâs like a drug in the best way possible#Anyway this is a really lazy and terrible other brother design⌠I had so many other ideas for his outfit#I had wanted to keep the bug motifs the other mother has in her outfit as well as referencing the recital#Cause. You know#mariâs perfect world#Where he gets good at the violin lmaoâŚ#But I got lazy so here was a very simplified design I made#Fingers yearned for rest couldnât draw complicated ideas I hadâŚ#Anyways anyways love this fic#So much#god#i fucking love how mewo is portrayed too#Sheâs like a weary mother trying to give some tough love to her kids landkrk#Sheâs such an asshole but I say that affectionately#Not to mention the fact that she didnât info dump like the cat did in coralline to mari because she was more focused on getting her home-#-and safe from the beldam than actually telling her what he was doing⌠christttt#And yes I will still call him the beldam#Them??? Idk djdjdjej#I also love how all the other friends are gahhhh⌠I canât WAIT to see their other forms when mariâs getting the eyes#Fun fact this drawing was originally meant to be a redraw of that one scene with the cocobugs#Since itâs super pretty and I wanted to draw it#But itâs not in the fic yet (next chapter I think?) and the author takes a lot of creative liberties which I LOVE so I wanna read the scene#First before attempting to draw it#But I really hope they lean into the uncanniness of Sunny of all people surrounding himself with bug imagery#Since that goes against what mari knows about him a LOT and will further cement that something is NOT RIGHT with this guy
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I am a trans feminine Even Kelmp truther and I really hope this new season adds fuel to that fire
#there is no way that kid ia a cisgender man. look at him. listen to him. its impossible#like idk if he is a trans woman but some kind of freaky nonbinary gender with lots more femme than he has now? yeah#dimension 20#mismag#misfits and magic#i severely doubt brennen would feel comfortable portraying that in a PC. especially one he loves so dearly#but one can dream#chaotic lore#really i think he has that autistic relationship to gender where its confusing and doesnt make sense (projecting)
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the absolute worst part of being an idw ravage fan is that there is a version of ravage that lives in my head that is just. not the ravage we see canonically in mtmte. the ravage we have in mtmte fits so oddly into the story, and i've added a lot of extra thoughts/story tweaks to try and make up for it. WHICH MEANS sometimes i catch myself talking about something that makes no sense to other ppl because it Did Not Happen Like That in canon
like i was writing a meta post about ravage on the necroworld (specifically about this scene here-)
AND THEN STOPPED. because i realized i was yapping about a version of ravage that quite literally does not exist outside of my own head.
#transformers#maccadams#maccadam#mtmte#more than meets the eye#lost light#transformers idw#idw transformers#idw tf#tf idw#idwtf#idw1#tf idw1#idw1 transformers#ravage#idw ravage#tf ravage#transformers ravage#mtmte ravage#necroworld#(kicks wall) i just dont like how ravage was portrayed in idw. i think ravage would of fit much better if he actually STAYED#angry with megatron throughout the entirety of mtmte. or at the very least their dynamic was different. i would of much rather have ravage#be consistently confronting megatron on both his past actions and current beliefs over him becoming passive in the way he was in canon#and i wish ravage was actually aware of what the decepticons had done and how far they'd fallen rather than the weird naivety we got from#him in canon. idk im rambling in the tags#i wish ravage could of seen his own statue. wish we could of known what he thought of it all.
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i find john winchester rly interesting and dislike a lot of wider fandom takes on him and when i think about him as a character iâm almost fond of him but i still like. totally 100% get it when people just fucking ferociously hate him. and i do too! i mean at the end of the day no matter how fascinating he is as a character, heâs an abusive father. heâs pretty directly responsible for all of sam and deanâs shit*. i feel like itâs understandable to vicariously hate him
#*imo a lot of samâs arcs/issues arenât john related but he certainly didnât help and usually made it worse. i do genuinely think john#is responsible for like 99% of deans dysfunction though. dean learnt to behave that way from somewhere lol#idk i am passionate about john mischaracterisation and i do think he loved his kids and often tried his best#but like. that doesnât mean anything in regards to how angry i am at him as a person. i totally get wanting to kill him with hammers#people will be like Everyone hates john more than any other character!!! and itâs like well. other characters arenât our main characters#abusive dad.#sorry whenever i talk about john itâs vagueposting about fandom takes on him and usually iâm going the other way round and getting#irritated at simplistic portrays of him#but. this annoys me too#spn#john winchester#supernatural#oliver talks
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Sometimes I feel that Barnaby and Wally have this friendship like big bro/Lil bro, and Howdy being Barnabys bf has to put up with a lot of Wallys shenanigans for Barnaby (doesn't mind cause he also adores Wally I'm a big bro way)
i view them (as a trio) Similarly! though a little to the Left cause i don't view Barnaby & Wally's relationship as big/lil bro. rn to me they're very close friends - borderline queerplatonic! like... Wally is Barnaby's special little guy, yk?
so in my mind, in this trio, Wally's not exactly a. uh. third wheel to Barnaby/Howdy i suppose? oh this is difficult to translate into words - he's part of the relationship without being Part of it if that makes any sense? like of course he's gonna be With them a lot. Barnaby's not gonna be like "ok go do something else so i can make doe eyes at Howdy". that's his Little Buddy. they're gonna Include him as much as possible, i'd imagine. and i doubt Wally would mind being around while they flirt chat. he'd probably love being Barnaby's "wingman"
#and since its canon that all of the neighbors like wally - howdy would probably be delighted to have him around!#who wouldn't want to hang with him??#honestly barnaby could probably show up to one of their dates w/ wally in tow#and howdy'd be like 'oh hi wally! joining us this evening? lets go then!'#honestly i view barnaby/howdy + wally similar to like#a married couple whose best friend lives with them#thats the best analogy i can think of atm#hes very involved in my mind. barnaby is extremely important to him yk?#i like to... muddy traditional relationships and Expected Dynamics#i find it interesting and a bit more real in a way?#like not every relationship - platonic or romantic - is gonna be clear cut or 'typical'#love & relationships are much more varied and nuanced than what is more often than not portrayed#plus idk it sorta rankles when i see platonic relationships sorta sidelined or viewed as something to be 'put up with' by the romantic side#theyre important! and platonic love is not Less than romantic love. its just... different. to the Left.#am i aromantic? i might be aromantic. maybe? idk. am i? hm. something for me to Not think about <3#rambles from the bog#laughingstock#insert meme here of the three of them holding hands#picturing sally introducing them like: this is howdy & this is howdy's boyfriend barnaby & this is barnaby's best friend wally#to be very clear here i do not ship wally with anyone in the Least. like At All. i have thought and pondered on this a lot#hes so aroacepilled in my mind....#and that only frees up space for him to get Funky with his relationships hell yeah you go little buddy#hes living my dream smh. in my head at least#the imaginings i have are Different from canon obviously#which is half the fun!#in canon i hope things get messy as hell. i hope it hurts me as well as the characters#i hope the dynamics i have in my head get dashed against the rocks and then decimated by ocean waves#i hope i can look back upon these posts and cackle evilly at my past self's naivety#future me i just Know you're having a delightfully painful time. enjoy <3 ill catch up eventually <3
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gonna be annoying in the tags
#i have never understood the character = actor thing#like genuinely i dont fucking get it at all#if anything i think it both discredits the actors effort and the people that actually created the medias efforts#actors very rarely have anything to do with the characters creation nor do they have anything to do with a character outside of portraying#them like tbh i feel like its a massive insult to the work that goes into acting and writing#plus i just dont really care for actors personally#but thats just a me thing#idk!!! charlie cox does not equal matt murdock he had nothing to do with creating matt murdock#or like cillian murphy as jonathan crane#i dont like jonathan crane because he looks like cillian murphy i just like jonathan crane#like yeah he did a great job with acting in the trilogy and portrayed him great#but cillian murphy doesnt have any of the traits i like in jonathan crane idgaf about that guy aside from like two roles hes done#i dont know man#i just feel like itd be shitty to put months or years into the creation of media#into method acting and portraying these characters with the help of writers and directors#just for characters to not be acknowledged as seperate from their actors#idk. like jonathan crane is played by cillian murphy they have the same face whatever#but that is in no way shape or form the same guy at ALLLLL#idk. also fucks with fandom portrayals of characters#i.e booktok white women projecting poorly written smut onto every middle aged man ever#like you dont look at animated media and equate that character to their VA why would you do it for live action shit#you dont look at writers work and equate their characters to themselves#uuugggggghhhhh#plus i think the film idustry in general tends to give actors too much credit for the creation of media#not to say actors do nothing because they definetly do im interested in acting myself#but brother they r not the ones that direct and write and edit and sound mix and all this other shit#skyler posting#soigh#anyways
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