#me when show references real life & history. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wellntruly · 1 year ago

Text

If you read the novel Catch-22 (1961), about U.S. Army pilots & sundry stationed on a Greek island during World War II, you will encounter this off-hand description during the period where Yossarian is hiding in the field hospital:

At which you will either pause worryingly, or you’re normal.

I am not normal, because I have watched the television show M*A*S*H (1972-1983), about U.S. Army medical staff in a mobile surgical unit during the Korean War, and which features a character called Hawkeye Pierce, who frequently looks like this:

Now this bathrobe, iconic simply, appears red to the observer. However, deep into the run there is a line in which Hawkeye refers to it as "purple"—great consternation. But film cameras and light waves being what they are (capricious, devilish), it could very well be maroon in life. It could very well be maroon. It’s what I assumed after that comment. But what I'd never asked was, what is it made out of? Is that corduroy, could it be corduroy, could this be—

Oh noooooooo!

Why is Hawkeye the only one who is wearing the robe of patients from the last war, I ask you! Is it for the METAPHOR. To make me YELL. Did the costume department make it for him, or did they just already have one on hand in the WWII storage? Wait it wasn't real was it? Where is it, where is this robe!

Well babe, it’s in the Smithsonian:

A) of all, fucking fantastic, could not be a place I more want Alan Alda’s bathrobe as Hawkeye Pierce to be than the National Museum of American History. B) well well well well well, what do we have here:

[sic]

So looking THAT up brings you nothing that makes any sense, even trying to correct for spelling. But not to fear: historical re-enactors are here.

On the website of the “WW2 US Medical Research Centre,” an absolutely delightful combination of words and spelling brought to you by two European history buffs, and that’s Europeans who are obsessed with history, specifically American medical units in the 1940s, there’s a page for pajamas, and why look who’s here:

OH ho oh HO!

“Progressive Coat & Apron Mfg. Co.” is so similarly bizarre that I would be very willing to bet that something like idk, the imperfect process of digitizing thousands of records for a website catalog, could have absolutely resulted in “Agressive Coat and Manufacturing Company.” Which would mean yeah, yeah yeah: vintage World War II, slash Korea, just five years later. It was authentic, what they gave Alda to wear, along with his dog tags.

Just Hawkeye though still, which is what's odd.

BUT HANG ON.

Heeeeey now!

So I was recently reminded that in the pilot episode, but the pilot episode only, Wayne Rogers as Trapper John McIntyre also has the regulation corduroy MD/USA bathrobe! In fact, he actually has what would appear to become Hawkeye’s—observe the location of the embroidery. Pocket, like Hawkeye’s in every robe appearance after this first episode, the robe that ends up in the Smithsonian Museum. Whereas the one with the embroidery on the chest that's hanging above Hawkeye's cot here, a common variant that shows up when you’re searching around on military history websites, after this appearance I believe is seen just once more on a visiting colonel later in the first season, then quietly vanishes. Alda ends up in Trapper's, and stays in it for keeps, while Rogers gets, of all things, a cheery goldenrod terry number.

But like, why. Why just Hawkeye in the WWII surplus robe. Both Doyle and Watson have avenues here that I like to think about. For the Doylist side, I suspect it was a decision of like, this is simply too matchy. It’s 1972, our TV screens are small, we gotta take any chance we can get to distinguish these tall white men constantly wearing the same of two monochrome outfits.

In fact, I actually wonder if there was a world where Trapper might have stayed in the maroon and Hawkeye could have ended up in Henry’s robe.

The light blue & white striped bathrobe McLean Stevenson wore as Henry Blake was sold at auction in 2018, and the item description contains the curious detail of it having a handwritten tag inside reading “Hawkeye.” Well heeeyy again.

And here’s another curious detail:

There was a blue & white striped Army-issue robe as well

Now Henry’s is clearly NOT vintage WWII, lacking the pocket embroidery, being terry cloth, and also of course: pastel. But it’s INTERESTING, isn’t it? They had to have been GOING for that look, with that same unusual collar shape and that multi-stripe patterning.

(Also, for real 'what the hell even IS this color' fun, this militaria collectors purveyor has one of the maroon versions too, with photos you can page though and laugh as it flips between looking clearly purple and clearly red in every other photograph. Cameras!!!)

Anyway now we turn to the Watsonian explanation, which seems to run like this: the men at the 4077 were just casually passing their robes around to each other. It's about the intimacy in the face of war, etc. I can see bathrobes going missing when they bug out, getting stolen from the laundry by Klinger and scrapped for parts, being handed off to a poor cold Korean kid who needs it more, and then they need to get to the showers and one of them is like hey, just take mine, and then it’s his now. And eventually most of them end up in warmer-looking civilian robes than the Army holdovers that were being distributed early on, but Hawkeye, he just hung on to Trapper's.

And as a side effect, still looks like he's been injured in World War II.

#thank you for going with me on this journey #and thank you in particular: to Joseph Heller #really froze me in place at that line buddy #M*A*S*H #M*A*S*H hours #Catch 22 #Joseph Heller #WWII

1K notes · View notes

felikatze · 4 months ago

Text

listen to me. the Emblems are living existential horror. I am just going to talk about them and you can do nothing about this.

They are. Explicitly. not the people they seem to be. Emblem Marth knows he's not the real Marth. He's aware that he is simply a simulacrum, the personified image of Marth, as seen by myth and history, reconstructed into a person.

Listen to me. Look me in the eyes. What route is Corrin? What route is Byleth?

All of them. It's ALL OF THEM. And that's why they're so vague. That's why they're nigh contradictory. They're every telling of that character, rolled together into a ball.

And in Elyos? That's fine. There is only one Marth, and one Corrin, and one whoever Emblem. But you see, in Askr... There's so many of them. And they're just Another One. Just Another Marth.

But also, now suddenly all too keenly fake.

Any given Corrin in FEH is not filled with contradiction, because FEH is not restricted to having Just the One - you can have one for BR, one for CQ, another for Rev, keep some vague... The multiplicity of the characters can be portrayed in different figures in different stages of life.

But. the Emblems are just "stories".

DOES ANY EMBLEM EVER REFERENCE POSTCANON?

My theory is. the Emblems only remember what is contained in their story, within their game.

Take for example, Emblem Lyn, and Emblem Roy. If Lyn truly is the Lyn-- how come she doesn't recognize one of her best friend's children?

And yes, Sigurd is keenly aware that he dies, but... His death is part of the story, no? It's not something that happens far off and far away, it's part of the plot. Of course he's going to know it.

Whereas Emblem Hector, who dies in a different game to his Emblem's origin, is blissfully unaware of his own fate. It's not part of his story, it's part of Roy's.

(Listen. This first crossed my mind when I read all of Emblem Hector's bond conversations. He references Serra thrice, and his own daughter not even ONCE.)

They are their games, down to the fundamental level. FEH can have a Celica be Queen of Valentia, but that's just one blurb of epilogue, so obviously Emblem Celica is not.

You cannot change my mind on this reading of them. You cannot.

And. The game of course never explores this. But how does it feel for them? To only have this nebulous sense of identity? To remember and feel iterations of you that contradict one another? FEH opens so many doors it is too cowardly to explore in depth.

How does Marth feel remembering both versions of his own past, one with Kris and one without? How does Corrin feel knowing every path she has walked? How do they feel seeing versions of themselves that are specific lived experiences, instead of just legends?

In Elyos, there is no one to contrast them. There are only the legends, only the Emblems. Nobody truly remembers exactly how their stories went, so they never need to specify and show their version of events. They just exist, as the holy, powerful, worshipped Emblems.

Does Lucina know who her mother is? Does Roy? Does Lyn know who she marries? Does Hector know he's going to die? Does Byleth see every student dead or saved?

They are their games and they are every version of their games they are every version of themselves which amounts to being NONE of them.

Which amounts to vague platitudes and allusions to other events and what is a doylist fear of spoilers and an advertisement is also a watsonian nightmare.

This isn't even the worst thing about them.

They're not just simulacra. They're also tools. Literal objects to be called upon and dismissed at will. Sure, in the Somniel, they can move around. But.

They can only affect the physical world in the arena. In combat. Because that's what they are! They are tools of war!

And sure, the divine dragons ask them nicely for their powers, and they get to keep their free will when summoned this way instead of having their souls subjugated.

or well. Do they...?

Do we ever.... see an Emblem say no...?

Of course, the divine dragons are Just and Good and Nice. Obviously the Emblems want to aid them. Obviously the Emblems would rather fight beside Alear than Sombron, saving the world they've been entrusted to. Because the Emblems are their stories, the manifestation of Good and Rightous Heroes, always ready to save the day and slay evil.

Which, of course, leaves us with something unconfirmed.

Could an Emblem say no if it wanted to?

The line between divine and fell is dangerously thin. (That is a conspiracy rant for another day.) Like, we see Alear combine prayers and incantations into one package with just prayer effects. You can use an incantation as a prayer if you put your mind to it and you can probably also do it the other way around.

The Emblems either have no choice at all, or are given a choice with one option they would never pick, which renders having a choice moot in the first place.

They are tools, and they know this. They are swords, and it's all a matter of how nice the sheath is.

And yet. All of them remember being human. All of them have loved ones that do not exist, not for them. And what strikes me about the Emblems added to FEH so far... they're all universally stoked to be able to eat.

It's like a fucking sensory deprivation chamber. Unable to touch, to eat, to decide where you go, and the only physical sensation they DO feel is when someone touches their ring. Like I'm realizing this as I write this goddamn post. An Emblem going "That spot was bothering me" when being polished is the only time they ever express physical sensation. Like feeling the dirt on the metal is all they get.

(Side note: you know you're fucked when you look up the petting minigame for Lore)

Like. They know they're fake. That they never had anything outside of this half existence. But they remember it anyways. Of course these memories are going to be precious to them, as vague and muddled and contradictory as they are.

They're tools. They're literal objects. They're alive. They just want to eat some good food again. They want to be with people they love, with people that are long dead and gone.

And this weird spirit existence has to be enough. Smell good food instead of eating it. Make friends with your wielders, enjoy the scarce scenery you get to witness after every battle.

It has to be enough. There's nothing else for them.

And when their duty is done, they can finally rest.

#feli speaks #fire emblem #fire emblem engage #I THINK ABOUT EMBLEMS. A LOT.

376 notes · View notes

bluemooniegif · 3 months ago

Text

Soukoku's first meeting could not have been written more perfectly. Allow me to explain

A quick note on the manga panels: these are fan translations from BSD Bibliophile. At one stage they refer to Dazai as 'the youngest boss in Mafia history,' and the executive meeting as 'a meeting of five bosses.' This is just a stylistic choice! All of the panels shown here are from chapters 8 (volume 2), 10 & 11 (volume 3)

I love this scene more than life itself, because it is literally the PERFECT introduction to Chuuya, his character, and his relationship with Dazai. Let's talk about it!

First: some context. Dazai seems to be in a bit of a predicament- he's walked right into a trap set by the Port Mafia, an organisation that we don't know much about at this stage in the story. What we do know, and what we can observe, is this:

Dazai is a former executive, and appears to have walked into the trap on purpose

He is now being held in a room that Akutagawa describes very negatively- the fact of being here is dangerous

Dazai reveals that Akutagawa was once his subordinate, and that he thought very lowly of him at the time. He claims to still think of him this way. Akutagawa has a violent reaction to this.

This is a PERFECT example of 'showing, not telling' within a story. Rather than making a bunch of asides, describing what Dazai and Akutagawa are feeling and why, Asagiri & Harukawa have plopped us into the middle of a rather awkward reunion. I feel like I've walked into my friend's Christmas dinner and am now witnessing family politics unfold real time. It's like watching a car crash.

Now, we move between settings a bit, jumping around to watch Yosano DESTROY Kajii, Atsushi rescue Kyouka, and subsequently be injured and kidnapped by Akutagawa. We watch the Agency fall into disarray when Fukuzawa demands that everyone go looking for Atsushi- interesting, considering that Dazai is IN THE BASEMENT OF THE PORT MAFIA RIGHT NOW.

I've had lots of discussions and arguments about the meaning and significance of this. I won't delve too deep into it for now, but the way I see it is this: something the ADA is really REALLY good at is splitting up Mystery-Inc. style and working to solve cases etc., together, but apart. Dazai is also something of a stray dog (... cat), regularly wandering off and reappearing of his own accord. He's been with the ADA for several years at this point, and they would understand the way he operates well. Even if there's no indication whether he explicitly told anyone what he's doing or where he's going (which honestly, does that matter, when Ranpo would know immediately anyway?), we can safely assume that this is more or less a regular thing for them.

Anyway, back to the point. the Agency is not fazed by Dazai's disappearance... and neither, for some reason, is Dazai. He stands chained to the wall in the PM's basement- the same one, we discover later, where he's brutally tortured countless victims and traitors, and he's humming a little tune to himself, smiling, totally relaxed. We as the audience know he's pretty unflappable, and Akutagawa's expression when he sees him confirms this, too.

But. BUT. This doesn't last.

With the ADA descending into chaos, we switch perspectives back to Dazai again. He's bored at this stage, and thinking to himself that they must be searching for Atsushi soon (an indication that he was riling Akutagawa up earlier, btw) when he hears it: A voice that makes his resolve crack. A look of panic on his face that, at this stage, we haven't seen yet.

He turns, and we see Chuuya for the first time! He's got this strange smug look on his face, something deeply vindictive. Here's a current mafia executive, and he's so happy to see Dazai chained to the wall of their Torture Basement that you can't help but wonder... is there something that Dazai did to him, personally, that makes him feel this way? Or is this guy just so deeply involved with the PM that the fact Dazai left is like a personal slight against him?

Now, we don't really have long enough to truly panic over this predicament, because almost immediately these two fall into their old habits. Dazai isn't PLEASED, but he isn't afraid. He goes right into bantering with Chuuya, who surprisingly meets him right in the middle. Their regular dynamic shines right through: it's quick-witted quips, inside jokes, and knowing looks. It's this odd relaxation in their posture. In all of this, we have an acknowledgement of what they were, and evidence to suggest that they still are... whatever that thing is. Whatever you wanna call it: partners, boyfriends, best friends, buddies. That much is up to interpretation; the only undeniable fact is that they once knew each other better than themselves, and still do.

Then, the fight. This, to me, comes across as more of a way to display how powerful they both are individually: Chuuya punches concrete so hard it shatters in several places, Dazai snaps his fingers and breaks out of handcuffs.

We have front-row seats to what is in my opinion one of the best action sequences in early BSD, not just for what physically transpires, but what it tells us: they deeply understand each other on multiple levels. They're constantly predicting each other's moves, and they know where each other's weak spots are.

But there's also been a lot of growth. Dazai surprises Chuuya a few times, and vice-versa. Despite their apparent closeness, it's still clear that they haven't been together like this for a long, long time.

Then, they reach checkmate. It appears as though Chuuya has won, and we're fed some more Dazai lore- he was the youngest executive the PM ever saw.

This is how Chuuya remembers Dazai. Again, I want to remind you that this is the first time so far we're seeing PM-zai, and he is worlds away from the Dazai we've grown to know so far.

Though Chuuya seems to have driven Dazai into a corner, the roles are quickly reversed when Dazai claims to know something about a meeting between all five of the Mafia's executives. Chuuya quickly realises this is one of his 'predictions,' further proving the depth of their mutual understanding.

With hindsight, we know just how big a deal a meeting of this scale is, and knowing a certain stormbro (who I won't reveal just in case of spoilers) will be there makes me lose my mind, personally. It clearly affects Chuuya, as well, which was undoubtedly Dazai's goal.

With the power balance disrupted again, they quickly fall back into that same bantering dynamic. The volatile nature of their relationship is so perfectly portrayed within this short scene that it actually makes me sick, I genuinely don't think it could have been more perfect

Anyway. Chuuya has realised, at this stage, that Dazai had multiple goals when he allowed himself to be kidnapped, and one of those was to piss Chuuya off (which is something I think he could've managed even if Chuuya wasn't physically there). This, in turn, pisses Chuuya off, especially when he realises the predicament Dazai has left him in- let him escape, or the Mafia suffers. A test of loyalty, Chuuya's greatest weakness. Do you understand why I am tearing my hair out and howling at the moon??? This is fucking insanity.

And then, the final moment! The part we all know and love! Not only does Chuuya choose to err on the side of caution, allowing Dazai to escape- he also leaves with the repetition of another inside joke. And Dazai laughs- he looks genuinely happy, too.

That is all. I'm gonna go cry now ಥ_ಥ

read this original thread on twitter

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #dazai #chuuya #skk #soukoku #bsd theory #bsd analysis #analysis #they make me cry

234 notes · View notes

piratecaptainscaptainpirates · 10 months ago

Text

There's definitely a conversation to be had about the presentation of real historical figures in historical fiction, I think. As both a professional historian (PhD student 🤘🏾😔) and a man of color, I'm a bit more sensitive to this than a lot of people, and for me it always comes down to the question - what real harm is being done here?

And that's where I think OFMD does well enough for me to be comfortable. If you look at the fact that the show is based on real-life terrible people who did awful things and participated in the slave trade and you don't wanna fuck with the show, that's completely understandable, but I find it so much more palatable than (for the easy comparison) a piece of media like Black Sails (I actually like Black Sails, believe it or not, but there are a lot of things about how it treats many of these same figures that make me uncomfortable).

Now, yes, OFMD is hand-wavey with the slave trade in the Caribbean. None of our main characters own slaves or directly reference the slave trade (again, this is a romcom, I'd be shocked if they did). For me, this works alright for two big reasons. First, there are things that I think you can include in a romcom and have it still be a romcom, and a thoughtful, respectful depiction of the slave trade would take the show firmly out of romcom territory. Second, the show doesn't pretend racism doesn't exist, it treats its characters of color as three-dimensional people, and we always get the last laugh when racism is depicted. The very first episode sets the scene by having racist English Navy officers demean and call a Black character "slave" and they immediately get their asses kicked for it. Compare this to a show like Black Sails, where one of my main criticisms is how we're expected to sympathize with characters who actively participate in the slave trade and own slaves.

My other thing here is the people OFMD is working with are both heavily mythologized and not treated with any degree of historical accuracy. Many of our characters who are famous pirate names you might know are nothing like their real-world counterparts (take pirate queen Zheng Yi Sao, who wasn't even born yet when the show takes place). We know so little about any of the real people, anyway, that OFMD doesn't even bother trying to get anything right.

Like I said, I'm a professional historian and I love working with the golden age of piracy. That's a big reason I was drawn to this show in the first place! And if there's one thing I know, it's that pirates have been made into legends. We know very little about the real people, and in pop culture they're just myths.

The characters in OFMD are basically fictional characters working with the loose mythology based around the real people.

Now, back to my big thesis here: are the real, awful people benefitting in any way from OFMD taking these characters and making them into the good guys? Realistically, no, I'd argue. Most people with any critical thinking skills know that real pirates were not good people. Many people think Blackbeard is a made-up generic pirate character as it is. I've been to the real-life Stede Bonnet's grave site (NOT for the show, this was years before it aired and I was visiting the archives there to see the trial documents for a research project), and the historic marker there says he was "brought to justice." No one is wataching this show and thinking "oh those real guys must have been pretty great dudes!" because it's not about those real people.

This show isn't trying to change your perception of the real people, it's showing you fictional characters with the same names. One of our characters is runnig around in crocs, this show isn't trying to teach you about history or the real people and it's obvious.

If you're put off by the premise, I get it! But I just don't buy the idea that OFMD is putting anything harmful into the world just by existing.

#ofmd #our flag means death

531 notes · View notes

sashaisready · 4 months ago

Text

This Must Be The Place: Chapter 19 - This must be the place

Biker!Bucky x Femme Reader

Back at your beloved late grandmother's home to pack up her house, you have a run-in with the town's biker gang 'The Howling Commandos' and find yourself entangled with the metal armed President.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Some very mild references to smut, grief

Last chapter....let's goooo

(gif doesn't reflect how reader looks)

You seemed to somehow move both in slow motion and in the fastest sprint of your life as you flung yourself at Bucky. He caught you with an audible ‘oof’ as you dived between his arms.

“Thank-you,” you squeaked tearily, burying your face into his shoulder, “thank-you”.

He didn’t speak, he just moved his arms around your back and held you firmly against him. You could feel the difference between metal and flesh as both enveloped you. Being back in his embrace was like meeting an old friend after a long absence – Safe. Familiar. Home. The two of you stayed like that for a moment. You weren’t really thinking, merely reacting. Bucky was almost perfectly still, as if any movement might break the trance.

You pulled away and looked up at him. He looked right back, his blue eyes practically burning into you.

“You knew this fence was important to me…”, you began.

He nodded, his face stoic.

“You knew that Granny asked me to do this…”

He nodded again.

“And…you were right,” you hesitated, “I have been putting it off. I guess…I guess it feels very final. It was the last thing I needed to do with this place. The last thing I needed to do…for her”.

He cleared his throat as he dropped his gaze, his voice soft, “I just thought it might help…if you didn’t have to think about it, it might be easier for you. And then…easier for you to leave”.

“Thank-you…”, you sniffed, “Do…do you want me to leave?”

His face suddenly hardened, and your heart ached as you thought he might tell you that he did, but his fingers dug deeper into your waist as if he were afraid that you would let him go.

“Of course not,” he replied gruffly, as if you’d insulted him. “Losing you has already been a nightmare. I don’t even know how I’m gonna feel when you’re really gone and I won’t even be able to bump into you around town. But you need to do what’s right for you. You need to be free to make your own decisions. If this fence is holding you back, I want to help you move forward”.

He looked at you as he told you this, those blue eyes carrying a depth of intensity that overwhelmed you.

You didn’t respond, just stared back at him, your mouth slightly agape. His words had stunned you. He was putting you first – your needs, your dreams. He had done all of this – the car, the fence – not as some grand gesture to win you back and show you what a good guy he was, but because it was to help you. To make you happy.

Bucky wasn’t necessarily a man of many words, but his actions spoke louder than he ever could. You understood that now. It didn’t magically undo the hurt he’d caused back at the bar, but it showed you that he was willing to support and be there for you, for the sake of your own happiness rather than his.

“Buck…” you whispered.

You didn’t even know you’d done it until your hand found his cheek, cupping it slightly. He turned his face into your palm and closed his eyes, as if relishing the feeling of your skin on his. The two of you stayed this way for a short while. It was nice to just be with each other for a moment, not weighed down by your complex shared history.

“Can I say something?” he asked, finally breaking the silence.

You found yourself nodding.

He sighed as he moved from your hand and turned away, seemingly trying to gather the words.

“I don’t know why…I did that. Why I went through your purse that night. I’ve replayed it over and over in my mind and I wish I had a real answer for you, but I don’t. As I did it, I thought to myself ‘what the fuck is wrong with you?’ and then I found the cash…and everything just went blank. I was so hurt by the possibility that you might have done that to me…that maybe you didn’t care about me the way I cared about you…and it’s like I lost all reason. And I know I should’ve come to you privately, and apologised for doubting you, and going through your stuff. I should’ve asked to talk rather than yelling…but my temper got the best of me. It’s not excusable. And it’s not enough. But it’s the truth. And truly, I am sorry.”

You looked at your feet as your stomach felt like it was tumbling to your knees. His sincerity burned in your ears.

“I didn’t tell you this…but before that happened, I knew I was…falling in love with you,” he said quietly.

Your face flushed and everything around you went a bit blurry but you still couldn’t quite handle meeting his eye.

He cleared his throat and continued. “And maybe…I don’t know…maybe on some level I was trying to sabotage it. Because it freaked me out, how I felt…I mean, and because I knew you’d be leaving, and maybe part of me was looking for reasons to end things before I got in too deep. Before it hurt too much. And that’s cowardly…and shitty…and inexcusable, but I guess that’s me. I’m not…good at this, Sugar. I struggle with my feelings. I can’t really regulate my emotions sometimes. Which is embarrassing as a grown ass man. But I’m trying to learn and be better”.

You finally managed to look up, your heart pounding in your chest as his admission sank in.

“Thank-you Bucky…I appreciate that…” you said quietly, “I just…it broke my heart that you could think I could do something like that. To anyone…let alone you”.

He sighed heavily, his regret evident, “I know. I know that isn’t you. And I know you don’t believe me…but that wasn’t me either, or at least not who I want to be. I’m ashamed by how I acted”.

The silence hung heavily between you both until you spoke again.

“I…I was falling in love with you too,” you admitted shyly, “that night…I had planned to tell you. Before…y’know”.

“Fuck…” Bucky winced, his voice low, “…I couldn’t have fucked it up any more than I did, huh?”

He smiled crookedly at you and playfully slugged your shoulder, an attempt at levity, but you could see the tension in his face.

You smiled back. “I guess…I guess I understand why you’d be freaked out. I was freaked out too. I kept thinking about what would happen when I left and doing my best to push it to the back of my mind. Just completely avoiding it. I guess neither of us really dealt with it….”

He took your hand in his, squeezing it softly. You took a deep breath as you looked into the depths of his baby blues and everything suddenly felt a bit clearer. You decided in that moment that enough was enough. No more dancing around the hard stuff. You owed it to yourself to lead a life where you tackled the problems head on, rather than hoping they went away by themselves or that someone else found the solution for you. Because dealing with the hard stuff is living, even if you’re uncomfortable in the process. Keeping your head in the sand was merely treading water, kicking the can down the road didn’t make it go away. You owed it to you. You owed it to Granny. You wanted to make her proud. And if it didn’t work out? Hell, it didn’t work out even when you did nothing. So you should at least try to have a say in your fate, even if you’d be knocked back sometimes.

“Buck…”

“Yeah, Sug?”

“I…I don’t…” you hesitated.

“Don’t what, Sug?” he asked gently, his fingers squeezing your palm.

“I don’t…”, you exhaled, “I don’t…want to leave”.

He tilted his head as he looked back at you, a look that took you back to every morning you woke up next to him, to every kiss you’d stolen, to every moment you’d spent in your bubble – just the two of you, hidden away from the rest of the world.

He reached his hand out towards you, his finger propping up your chin.

“Are you sure?” he asked quizzically as he held your face.

“No,” you laughed nervously, “but I never am. All I truly know is…I’m not ready to go yet”.

He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling as the world around you disappeared, “then…don’t”.

And then he kissed you.

You weren’t sure how the kiss was somehow saccharine yet sexy, desperate yet patient, all at the same time. You pushed yourself into him as his arms wrapped around you, holding you impossibly close. The rough stubble of his beard pressing into your cheek, pleasantly scratching at your chin as you silently remembered how it had felt all those times before. His familiar scent made you giddy, all cologne and the faintest hint of motor oil, the subtle caress of his laundry soap from his white t-shirt.

It wasn’t a movie-perfect kiss by any means – teeth clashed; heads bumped – but it didn’t need to be. It said the unsaid. It was real. It felt like coming home.

He pulled away for a moment, looking at you with puzzlement as he seemed to fully take you in for the first time.

“What?” you uttered breathily, a pang of anxiety that he might be regretting what he’d done.

“Are those…my boxers?” he asked incredulously, the familiar shit-eating grin spreading across his face.

You looked down at yourself, the flush of embarrassment working its way to your cheeks as you remembered that you’d gone outside in your pyjamas, initially expecting a delivery driver.

“You left them…they’re comfy,” you sputtered with mortification, shifting your arms over your thighs in a weak attempt to cover up his stolen underwear.

“Have you…have you been wearing them this whole time?” he smirked, “Since we broke up?”

“They’re comfy! And you left them at my place…finders keepers!” you spat back, annoyed at his amusement.

“Sugar…you keep ‘em,” he smiled as he pulled you towards him, “they look better on you, anyhow”.

You rolled your eyes, batting him away as you poorly masked your smile.

“Shut up and kiss me,” you groaned.

“Gladly…”

And he did.

Six months later…

You waved animatedly at Wanda and Vis as they entered The Snake Pit, smiling as you began to prepare their usual drinks. Wanda beamed back at you and Vis pointed to a free table, giving you a thumbs up as they settled in and took their jackets off. ‘I’ll be right there!’ you mouthed exaggeratedly at them as you plucked a couple of glasses out from beneath the bar.

“Settle a bet for us, would ya?” Sam asked as he and Clint pulled out the stools in front of you and sat down.

“Nope…” you muttered sternly as you poured Wanda’s usual, “Nooot getting involved with your bets. Not anymore. I learned my lesson from the firecracker incident…”

“…we all did,” piped up Steve from a few stools along, glaring warningly at Sam.

Sam rolled his eyes, “ohh don’t be so dramatic…it was fine”.

“Only because we’d just upgraded our fire extinguishers,” Steve barked as he sipped from his beer glass with contempt.

You giggled with amusement as the three of them erupted into bickering, with a passing Thor and Parker also joining to pick their side of the argument.

“Business as usual, huh Sug?” came a voice from behind you, as a metal arm wrapped itself around your hips.

“You know it…” you chuckled as you turned to face Bucky, rolling your eyes good-naturedly.

He grinned and leaned over to kiss you, causing the MC members in front of you to groan.

“Shut your pieholes,” Bucky admonished with a sneer, “If I wanna give my old lady a kiss, she gets a kiss”.

“We know…” Sam sighed. “Everyone within a twenty-mile radius knows, the way you’re all over her…”

“Well, I damn well hope so,” Bucky replied as he glared over at the corner of the bar, “there’s a guy over there who was getting a bit close…”

“Oh relax…” you laughed as you finished pouring the drinks, “he just couldn’t hear me over the jukebox while he was ordering…”

Bucky scoffed, “Yeah…like I haven’t heard that one before…”

“It’s true,” Steve chimed in solemnly, “we’ve all used that one…”

The group descended into gregarious laughter and chatter, so you used the opportunity to slip away – bringing Wanda and Vis their drinks. You talked with them for a while as you transferred their glasses from the tray to their table. Their wedding planning was going well, although they still had a lot to do.

You caught Bucky’s eye from across the room and the two of you shared a smile, almost conspiratorial in its intimacy. For a minute you were transferred back to the old days, when nobody knew about your relationship, and it was just the two of you – sneaking around, the two sole holders of something clandestine, something private – just for you both.

Bucky was loud and proud about your relationship now, and sure, you were also proud to be his old lady. You weren’t a dirty secret or something to keep quiet, but that didn’t mean you didn’t sometimes long for the intimate silence of days gone by.

You’d called off the house sale as soon as you and Bucky had shared the kiss out on your lawn. Granny’s house was yours now, although you and Bucky had spent some time making it more ‘you’, helping to exorcise the ghosts and put your own little spin on it. You knew she’d approve.

You and Bucky were enjoying being together, but you still lived apart. There was no hurry to do much else, for now. You’d got your old job back, you’d spent more time with the MC, and started to build a life here in this town. It was nice to finally start to lay down roots, to finally find somewhere you felt like you belonged.

Getting to know Bucky again was part of that, you had forgiven him for what had happened – but it wasn’t a magic wand. Trust always takes time to rebuild. And what was the rush? You loved him. He loved you. Neither of you were going anywhere. Milestones would happen in time.

Although you spent most of your nights together…

And sometimes you couldn’t wait until you got home…the bar’s office had seen it’s fair share of action…

He wasn’t always great with words, but his actions said everything he needed to. He would regularly tune Sally up and fill her tank, you couldn’t remember the last time you needed to go to a gas station. He’d make you breakfast, bringing it to you in bed as you lazily rolled over and smiled at him through half open eyes. He’d take you out on his bike, encouraging you to hold him tight around his middle as he upped the speed – listening to your squeal of excitement as the wind whipped through your hair. He’d even arranged a charity donation box for the animal shelter and propped it at the end of the bar, a photograph of Granny proudly mounted behind it – every penny and dollar collected in her honour.

It felt like he was honouring you, too.

You’d often think about him sleeping out on that road for you, insisting he stay despite you pushing him to go. You thought about him fixing the fence so you could freely leave on your own terms. He was the first person (apart from Granny of course) to fight for you. Even when it got tough. You felt very lucky to be loved like that, to be seen like that.

Peter Quill had mysteriously left town a few months ago. You had interrogated Bucky, asking if it was a coincidence that he apparently got a new job out of state, but he maintained it was. You weren’t so sure, but you wouldn’t pry. You just hoped it was true. Peter had sent you one finally text apologising for his behaviour, explaining that what had happened between you had been the catalyst to get therapy. You hoped that was true, too.

Tom, the once-thief, was doing well in the rehab facility over in the city. The staff there seemed positive that he’d come a long way with his gambling and was on the right track.

As you headed back to the bar, tray tucked under your arm, you saw Amber and gave her a wave as she headed over to her new boyfriend, Eddie. He seemed nice, even if you think you caught him talking to himself over by the men’s room once. She smiled back at you as you passed.

You resumed your post, serving a round of beers to a few guys as Bucky stood behind you, his hand on your waist as he chatted with Steve. As the customer handed you a cash tip and left, Bucky leaned in and kissed your temple without even looking up. It was as if he was on auto pilot, unable to avoid it. Life was good. Maybe this ‘making decisions’ thing wasn’t so bad after all.

You placed your tip into the shelter donation box and smiled wryly at Granny’s picture as you passed, then went back to serving.

“Who’s next?”

THE END

Hiiiii! Thanks again to anyone who reblogged/left a comment for this story, it’s honestly been wonderful and I hope you enjoyed how it ended. I know a few of you didn’t think Bucky had atoned enough, and I’m sorry if that’s the case. I’m pretty satisfied with the journey he took!

If you aren’t familiar with the title, it’s my favourite Talking Heads song and I think it’s really beautiful – the lyrics partly inspired this fic, you can find them here if you’re interested.

Once again, thanks for your support. My Ko-Fi link is here if you’d like to support me further (but no pressure obv!). It’s wonderful to be in such a great community!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes #this must be the place fic #biker!bucky #motorcycle club au bucky

158 notes · View notes

g0at0ad · 5 months ago

Text

so what the hell is the protocol?

everyone in the tmagp fandom is rightfully going insane over the multitude of references to "the Protocol". given that this statement was given in 1685, it existed far before the magnus institute was ever a thing, so what gives? well here's all our information on it so far.

it was first mentioned in episode 4, "taking notes". alice. confronts sam on him looking it up. it's described as very super duper secretive, and sam could get in a lot of trouble if people found out he was looking into it. this bit is also a little strange, because alice (and seemingly ONLY alice) gets a security notification about sam looking it up. why alice? this could be another case of the computers having some sort of sentience. one od them wanted alice specifically to know what sam was up to.

in any case, the information we get about the protocol is that it involves a group called starkwall, who are apparently private military contractors. they involved in something called the "San Pedro Square Massacre", so despite how secretive they are, there is at least one event that is well known enough that sam knows about it.

starkwall doesn't get mentioned much, but (and this might be a reach) in episode 7 "give and take", a bunch of weird shit happened at hilltop centre. and i know we've all already lost our minds on the "hilltop" aspect of this, but what i'd like to point out is how the episode ends. the statement giver is saved by a bunch of seemingly military personnel, who proceed to go in guns blazing and burn the building down. the statement giver is then told they're not to talk to anyone about this group or what their identity is. sounds like starkwall to me.

and then we have this episode, where robert talks extensively about the protocol. he never explicitly says what the protocol is, but through context clues it's pretty easy to guess that it's some sort of procedure enacted to protect the world from supernatural events. in this case, isaac newton and his dog that is now a tree. robert hooke advocates for the destruction of isaac's lab and all his research.

some people have already pointed out that in real life, isaac newton did study alchemy, and most of his research on the subject was destroyed when his lab burned down. so if the tmagp universe has at least a similar history to ours (aside from all the supernatural stuff), then the protocol was enacted and they did end up destroying newton's lab.

but that's not the only use of the protocol mentioned in this episode. robert hooke also mentions the use of the protocol in london some years prior, seemingly to do with an "awful plague". again, this statement is given in 1685. in 1666 was the great fire of london.

so the protocol seems to explicitly have to do with solving supernatural problems by burning them down. we have the great fire of london, we have isaac newton's lab, and we have hilltop centre. we still don't know what exactly the san pedro square massacre was, but i'm willing to bet it ended with flames.

which brings me to the magnus institute. many notable things are different about it compared to the TMA world, the most notable being that it burned down in 1999. i'm also willing to bet that starkwall, or whatever they're employed by, was behind this. this show is called the magnus protocol after all.

#gertrude probably knows about this #tell me what you know old lady #tmagp #tmagp spoilers #the magnus protocol #the magnus archives #tma #samama khalid #alice dyer #theory #toadtalks

186 notes · View notes

mayumml · 8 months ago

Text

Midori is not a good lover

The REAL Sou Hiyori relationship headcanons <3

first off, you don’t know if he genuinely likes you or not and most likely will never be sure

Maybe you’re a piece of pawn in his stupid chess game but what can you do?

Midori manipulates and gaslights you just like with anyone else, you’re the primary victim that receives most of it though

He seems like a man that didn’t have a heart, and he literally doesn’t

Feels like he doesn’t know how to act in a relationship or more like he doesn’t care enough to

You think he’d choose his work over you anytime

He’s so on and off with his affection

He treats you like everyone else, particularly more strict with you sometimes and scolds you more often than the other participants

This fucker is adamant about “being fair to all participants and not letting a personal relation change that” and yet you feel like he’s being the most unfair to you

Even more passive aggressive when it comes to you, he loves to bring up the past and laugh when you get pissed

But then sometimes, he would appear out of nowhere and gives you a quick peck

You’d expect him to be open to PDA, and yet he only ever initiates (and allows) any affection when it’s just the two of you

You’re conflicted, though, at certain times he’ll choose a timing where most of everyone is gathered in one place and approach you with the most affection you’ll ever receive from him

He makes sure everyone is looking, maybe it’s his way of showing his twisted sense of superiority?

Midori very quickly reverts back to ignoring you if he is satisfied

You learn that he is extremely possessive

Yes, you get fed up with his shit many times and he knows it well

Does he ever apologize? Never.

Like ever.

You could confront him, but he’ll give you the same saccharine smile and feigns innocence

“What’s wrong with me showing my lover off to everyone? Does that upset you?”

When you try to explain that’s not why you’re upset, he convinces you that you’re overreacting and somehow makes you seem like the bad guy for “not wanting to be seen with him.” (bitchass)

Weirdly loves small talk

Midori would interrogate you whenever he pleases and ask about your favorite color to wear on a rainy day

You cant tell if he really cares about your responses at all because he just stands there and blinks with his smile and throws follow up questions at you

Kind of feels like he wants to know everything about you but also nothing at the same time

Remembers small, itty bitty details about you

It’s endearing but also freaks you out because he remembers which angle you prefer to wear your collar

Very touchy when he wants to be, but acts like a jerk when he decides he doesn’t feel like it

Limited use of pet names because he prefers calling you by your name

Will call you sweetheart (mockingly most of the time), “my favorite participant,” or a shortened version of your name

Likes to receive but doesn’t give, unless he needs something

You don’t know why you’re still with him

Midori is very good at making you feel special but also worthless

Will give you overly expensive presents that you don’t need and stare at your reaction as you open them

(does he think this makes up for his neglect as a partner?)

Very likely to give you jewelry with his initials, he might have one with your initials but won’t wear it

Sucks at comforting

He actually just doesn’t comfort at all

He makes things worse when you’re upset

“You’re crying? Humans really are sentimental beings, after all. I guess crying is all that you’re capable of.”

Let you play and style with his hair in private

Gets defensive and change the subject when you mention Shin’s history with him

Avoids personal questions like the plague

Actively tries to poke into every corner of your life. Boundaries? What’s that?

Not a very good partner, he’s just not a good person in general

Midori rarely mentions your relationship in front of the other participants, but when he does, he refers to you as his lover

Will pair you with him with the red light, he knows you don’t have the guts to kill him

Urges you on to kill him way too often

He gives you a smug knowing grin and a kiss when you can’t do it

Don’t try to physically hurt him, it turns him on (he won’t hesitate to break your arm)

Remember when I said he’s very possessive?

Fucker treats you like an object

no one takes what belongs to him

Won’t be the type to defend you and won’t fight if someone hits on you

He would direct the conversation elsewhere and weird out whoever it is somehow (always works)

Shows up a few days later with news that the attacker mysteriously jumped of a building (willingly?)

His romantic side is very unconventional

“Would you love me even if I was a worm?”

“Worms are rather dirty and invasive, are they not? I’d rather not deal with a pest, thanks.”

191 notes · View notes

laceylavender · 3 months ago

Text

Gale and Katniss are proof that you can grow up in the same circumstances and still learn to see the world in a different way.

Growing up in famine, abuse, violence, poverty and under control of a corrupt government gave them similar circumstances to grow up in: being the oldest sibling, their fathers dying in the mine, becoming the providers of the house at an early age, losing almost everything to said government. While Katniss developed a sense of empathy for everyone affected by this government (whether they were more privileged than her, or not), Gale developed a sense of hatred and thirst for vengeance because the people that weren’t his people had privileges that no one should have, while his family and his friends were being starved, or killed.

That’s why from an early age (pre-teen to full blown teenage years) he had always been thinking with the mindset of a hunter, only he wasn’t only hunting in the forest for prey and food, he was hunting in the real world and he was hunting his enemies, perpetrators and by-standers who did nothing to stop them, they all fit in the same category for him: the enemy. He grew up thinking of ways in which he could kill them if he could, that’s why earlier in the books he tells Katniss he would kill the Capitol citizens if he could, they were nothing to him.

When Gale sees the Capitol bomb and fire his district and kill his people, then gets evacuated to district 13 and has the opportunity to do something, to be of value and design strategies that can help kill said enemy, he does it. No second thought.

The thing is, both Katniss and Gale were right in certain aspects, especially in those they couldn’t agree on, and for me is easy to see from the perspective of both.

In war it should be common rule to offer the possibility of surrender first, but when your enemy doesn’t surrender and you see your own army lose more and more members, you attack - most of the time these are “last resort” attacks that end in lots of human life lost, but when you still give them a last chance to surrender like they did with the train in 2, it still shows a little glimpse of hope and empathy, that not everything has to be lost to war, and this is the part Gale didn’t understand, because if he paid too much thought to it, the lines would get blurred in his head, it was easier to see in black and white.

Personally, I’m in a grey zone when it comes to both of their thinking, and that’s why as a world with increasing and escalating issues we’ve created mechanisms like humanitarian law, war law, international human rights, etc, etc, we need to draw the lines, this is the playbook Katniss was referring to. What’s too much in war? A bullet to the head? Burying people in a mountain just for the sake of killing them? Where’s the line? Hijacking and manipulating people, stripping them of their consciousness and identity? Sending children into an arena to murder each other? Human trafficking? Sex trafficking? You see where I’m going? This is not about Gale, it’s about war.

Look at history, look around you. What do you see? What do you make of it? And please, use critical thinking. Is it acceptable to kill group B if they’ve killed people from group A? Do people from group B deserve a second chance, although their victims didn’t? Your opinion and reasoning depends a lot on the morals you have, and your own experience with war and abuse, which, if you’ve been lucky enough not to have a first hand experience with it, you should also take it into consideration before saying something. Just think, consider, see beyond yourself, see from different points of you, keep the definition of good and evil close to your hand and take note where they start to get blurry. What do you see?

#Im sorry #I just can’t stop thinking about this #the hunger games #gale hawthorne #katniss everdeen #president snow

97 notes · View notes

toxicanonymity · 1 year ago

Text

night walks: soaked

3.6k / creepy!joel miller x f!reader / night walks

Warnings: I8+ mdni, alcohol, dirty talk, grinding, jacking off, oral F receiving, unsafe P in V sex, creampie, angst. very brief ass play. drug references. impaired editing. Shoutouts: various anons & night walks asks and Qs including @selfproclaimed-moviecritic and @missannwinchester. Picks up from Morning After. Floor plan here. Can read alone I think.

A loud clap of thunder startles you awake. You sit up in Joel’s bed, untangling yourself from the sheets. Joel’s not there. There’s music coming from the other side of the basement, and the clink of weights. You look around for your clothes and remember they’re out there scattered around the couch. Great. You get out of bed, wrap the sheet around you, and sheepishly emerge from his bedroom. Joel counts down from five as he finishes bench pressing then racks the weight. He’s shirtless. He sits up and wipes his brow. He does a double-take when he sees you walk in, then looks you up and down with a twinkle in his eye.

“Lookin’ good,” he says.

You gather your clothes from around the couch and say “Just getting dressed.” Your phone is dead. “What time is it?”

“Hell if I know. Look perfect to me, pumpkin.” He doesn’t take his eyes off you. “Real life goddess.” Lightning flashes outside.

You sit down with your clothes in your hands and look away as he watches you get dressed. You’re too tired to care and your head hurts. There’s a loud clap of thunder as you pull your tank top on. Joel picks up his water bottle and takes a swig, then puts it down and stands up to stretch. You pull your sweatpants on under the bed sheet. He walks around the couch and you do your best not to ogle his glistening body, dressed only in shorts. You start putting on your shoes and the fridge opens behind you.

“Hair of the dog?” Glass bottles slide out and clink against each other.

“Nah, I gotta go.”

“In this mess?” he asks as thunder rumbles. The blinds are pulled up on one window now and it looks pitch black outside. “Didn’t ya walk here? Gonna get soaked.”

He comes back with two beers and hands you one. He also brings cold pizza.

“Seriously, what time is it?”

He looks back to the kitchenette. “Four somethin’.” Shit, no wonder you’re hungry.

“Thanks.” You bite into a slice of pizza first, then take a sip of your beer.

“Attagirl. Let’s watch somethin’ while this clears up, hmm?” He turns on Netflix. His recently watched list is mostly action movies and nature documentaries.

You slide your shoes back off and ask, “You like animals?” You’re wondering if it’s his own Netflix history or someone else’s.

“Hell yeah, who doesn’t?”

You raise your eyes in surprise and nod. “Got a favorite?” Thunder crashes.

His face gets serious and he exhales like it’s a really difficult question. “Well shit, can’t pick just one. But big cats are cool as hell. D’you know leopards are basically nocturnal?”

He hands you the remote control. Not really caring what you watch, you idly click on the #1 trending: You.

“Oh, not this creep again,” he says and leans back with an exaggerated eye roll. “Addicting, though, ain’t it?” He looks at you, takes a sip of beer, and rests his hand on his inner thigh. You put on Narcos.

You watch a few episodes and have a couple of beers as it storms outside. At some point, you bring your legs up on the couch and he coaxes your feet in his lap. He massages your feet. You don’t talk much, and when you do, it’s nothing serious. But it’s still the most talking you’ve ever done. You mostly discuss different shows and the neighborhood.

“Why haven’t I seen ya at the pool before?” he asks.

“First summer here,” you say.

“Wanna go sometime?”

“I dunno,” you say. “Don’t like the sun much.”

“Oh hell no, not in the day,” he laughs. “They don’t lock the gate at night.” He winks at you and gives your foot a squeeze, running his other hand up your calf to massage it. He lowers his voice and adds, “We could go any night ya want.”

There’s a long moment of silence. He takes a deep breath as he kneads your calf and watches you watch TV. His face darkens. You have to assume you’re both thinking about the same thing - the pool at night. Joel scoots closer to you on the couch and pulls your calves into his lap. His cock hardens against your leg through his thin sweatshorts. Then he gently bends your closest knee to make room for himself. He gets between your legs and slowly lunges toward you, laying the bulge in his shorts against the crotch of your pants.

“Any night ya want,” he repeats, then brings his mouth to your neck. He kisses and lightly sucks your delicate skin and gently presses his hard length against you. Then he kisses you on the mouth. He tastes like beer. He puts his forearms down either side of you and slowly thrusts against you. He kisses you on the neck again, then murmurs, “my turn,” behind your ear. “Show ya what this mouth can do.” You have flashbacks to the blow job you gave him the night before.

Joel makes his way down your body and hooks his fingers into your sweatpants. As he brings the waistband down, he kisses the crease of your thigh and you squirm uncomfortably. “I’ll take your word for it,” you say somewhat cruelly as he plants a wet kiss just above your mound. The truth is you already know, from the restaurant bathroom.

He pauses. “What’samatter, pumpkin?”

“I just feel so dirty,” you admit.

He smirks and opens his mouth to say something predictable, but you cut him off.

“Physically dirty. I need a shower.”

He pauses.

“So take one,” he offers. He sits back and extends his hand to help you up. You hesitate and he raises his eyebrows at you. “Why not? We got time. Shit, I could use one, too.”

You swallow hesitantly. Showering with him? Far too intimate. First you end up in his bed, then his shower, all in the same 24 hours?

He seems to read your mind and clarifies, “Ladies first.” The storm isn’t letting up. You don't have anything to lose and definitely need a shower.

The back of his bathroom has a frosted window and a free-standing shower with no door and a drain on the floor. The ceramic tiles of the wall are dark peach with one row of black just below the window. The ledge of the window holds the soap, body wash, and shampoo.

“Faucet's kinda weird,” he says. “I’ll get it started.” Your eyes scan his bare back as he turns on the shower for you, standing out of the way of the water but getting lightly sprayed by tiny droplets. The water is loud. He has a couple of small tattoos you don’t remember seeing before. They look abstract from what you can tell, but they’re faded and the lines are blurred from age.

“Guessin’ you like it hot,” he says and turns the dial. He gets a towel and hangs it on a hook for you.

“Thanks.” You stand there awkwardly waiting for him to leave.

“Mmm hmm.” He hesitates by the door to his bedroom, a few feet away from you with his arms crossed. He checks you out, then uncrosses his arms and abruptly steps forward into your space. He grabs your ass and pulls you into him, your hips meeting his. He grinds himself into you again, sending a fresh pang of desire through you. He kisses your mouth, then your neck, and sucks your earlobe. He grabs the hem of your shirt from behind and takes it off, discarding your tank top. Then he slides his palms into your pants, leaving his thumbs hooked outside your waistband. He takes your pants down, dropping them to the floor as he grabs your bare ass cheeks and pulls you harder into him, his clothed hardness pressing into your naked front.

Steam billows over from the water. He goes to check the temp, his tented shorts getting sprayed again. His back muscles are a sight to behold. They flex gracefully under his skin with every movement. He must spend half his time working out. He checks the water and mutters, “Alllriiight.” You step toward the water. He turns and looks. “God damn, pumpkin,” he says as he shamelessly observes your naked body head on.

“Shut up,” you whisper to the ground and cross your arms. Lightning flashes outside. Your parents always told you not to shower in a storm. It’s exciting, somehow. "I'll be quick," you say.

"Take your time," he mutters and slowly walks backwards, palming himself as he takes in your form again. You watch over your shoulder as he disappears into his bedroom. You imagine he’s about to jack off. If you’re honest with yourself, you’d rather he wait for you.

You turn down the heat a little and examine his array of products in the frosted window, briefly distracted by the silhouette of your reflection. You soap up your body, starting with your shoulders and back, probably using way too much shower gel. You close your eyes and inhale deeply as your hands slide over your body and your nostrils fill with Joel’s aroma.

You open your eyes to see two silhouettes in the reflection and your breath hitches as they combine into one. Joel’s strong arms wrap around you from behind. He wordlessly gropes a soapy breast and presses his naked, rock-hard length into your back side, sliding his other hand across and down your stomach for leverage. He grunts, “Mm” as he presses his cock against you. His voice is low and smooth as he mutters, “Filthy, aren’t we?”

His hands slide down your waist to your thighs. His stiff cock shifting against you makes you weak in the knees. He presses it against you again. It swells and you moan softly.

“Yeahh, that’s my dirty girl."

You start to warn him, “Joel-” He bends his knees, putting his hands on your hips. “Don’t let me fall,” you say. you're still covered in lather.

As he slowly stands up straight again, he drags his hands and cock up your slippery body and runs his closed mouth up your neck to the back of your ear. “Nothin’ wild in here, baby,” he murmurs. "We’ll get clean together. . . ‘fore we get real dirty.” His voice echoes low and sexy. You breathe a sigh of relief. Knowing the perils of getting soap somewhere you wouldn't want to.

He plants a kiss on your jaw and uses his hand to bring your mouth toward his. You turn around to face him. His lips press into yours as his arms wrap around you again, your tits pressing into his chest. He looks a lot different with his hair somewhat wet. Sexy in a new way. He reaches his long arms down and squeezes both your thighs below your ass, then slides his hand up your crack and grabs a cheek with an, “mm” into your mouth.

You drape your arms around his neck. He works his hands up your back, massaging what’s left of the lather into you, and slides his hands through your underarms on the way to your breasts. Your nipples pucker under his palms as he massages your breasts from the front and watches a small trail of bubbles slide down between them. “Fuck me,” he breathes. He looks up at your eyes, then turns you around again.

He brings you you both directly under the water again. He rinses your back, then gets your breasts again from behind, pressing gently against your ass with his cock as stiff as ever. “You’re gorgeous, pumpkin.”

“Thanks,” you whisper and begin to rinse your own body. The sight of your own hands gliding across your skin is something he has to see. You turn to face him and he’s covered with your lather, from his light chest hair down past his happy trail to his slippery cock. He watches you darkly, and begins to slowly stroke his raging erection. You reach down and grab it. His lips part.

“You’re always ready, aren’t you?” you ask.

“For you? Hell yeah.”

You stroke him gently, assuming he would stop you if it was a bad idea. He doesn't. His grunts and sighs echo off the tile. “All yours, baby,” he murmurs. He puts his hands around your waist and watches as his hips thrust into your fist. When he’s about to come, he says, “Guess anywhere goes?” taking his cock from you. He points it at your stomach.

To hell with it. You kneel down. “Tits,” you say.

“Fuck yeah, baby.” He breathes audibly and you watch tension spread across his face. Then he shoots a huge load all over your chest with a long groan that echoes and makes you ache for him.

He helps you to your feet. “Still need my head between those legs, baby.”

“Do you mind if I, uh-” you look down at the cum on your chest.

“Sure, pumpkin.” He quickly washes and rinses himself, and gives you a light slap on the ass as he steps out to let you finish bathing.

You dry off, wipe the mirror with your hand, and use his mouthwash. Then you step into his bedroom with a towel wrapped around you, tucked under your armpits. His hair is fluffier again. He has on pj pants but still no shirt. He sits down on the edge of the bed and looks up at you, captivated. He murmurs, "c'mere," and spreads his knees. You stand between his knees and he unfastens your towel, letting it drop around your feet. “So fuckin’ hot,” he whispers, his eyelids heavy as though hypnotized by your body. “How ya keep your hands off yourself, hmm? Body like this.”

He takes your breast in his mouth and closes his eyes as he sucks at your nipple and palms the other one. He moans, "Mm," into your mouth. He releases your breast and gently pulls you by the hamstrings toward his lap. You straddle him. Your naked cunt dampens his pants as you meet his warm package, already semi-hard again.

Fuck, it’s all you want. You can’t get enough of it. Watching him jack off only made you want it more.

He lies back on the bed, taking you with him then rolls over so he’s on top of you. He slowly kisses his way down your naked body, his lips brushing away the remaining water droplets in your cleavage and belly button. Between your legs, it's even slicker than before the shower.

He slides off the bed and kneels on the floor at the foot of it. He pulls you by your thighs so his head is right between your naked legs. “God damn, you got the juiciest pussy,” he whispers right to it. He plants his nose at your entrance then drags it upward, slickening your clit before digging into your cunt with his tongue and lips. He moans and grunts as he devours you. When he thrusts his tongue into you, all you can think about is his cock and how bad you want it.

“Fuck,” you breathe. “Joel,” you say.

He looks up at you from between your legs but doesn’t stop. He knows you’re enjoying it, why should he?

“Stop,” you say. “Come up here.”

He knows what you want. You can see it in his eyes. He rests his head on your inner thigh and asks with puppy dog eyes, “Why? Don’t like it?” He knows you do.

“It’s not what I want.”

“What do you want?”

“I think you know what I want.” Your hips lift and your legs try to lift him toward you by his underarms.

“Hell yeah, I do,” he says and palms himself. “But lemme hear it, baby. Just this once.” He plants a kiss on your clit and swirls his tongue, looking up at you.

You sigh. “I want your cock.”

“Damn right,” he says and takes his pants off. He takes his time making his way back up your body. Far too much time when you’re desperate to be filled.

“Jesus, give it to me,” you beg.

“Ohh, I’ll give it to ya,” he says. He reaches down and fingers you, then nudges your asshole, using your slick to push the top section of one digit inside.

You gasp.

“Ya like that?” he asks.

You moan softly. “God, I just want you inside me,” you beg.

“Yeah, baby.” He removes his fingers and uses his other hand to drag the head of his cock through your slick.

“Now,” you whisper and grab his wrist, stopping him with the head of his cock at your entrance.

“Yeah, baby.”

He presses forward and nestles his cock for entry. “Yeah,” you nod. "Now."

“Fuck yeah,” he breathes.

When your bodies are aligned, the clean skin of his stomach against yours is a feeling you didn’t realize you needed so badly.

He shoves his length into you with a grunt. You moan softly as your body accepts him, then you bite your lip.

“Don’t hold back on me now, sugar,” he murmurs, staring down at you darkly. “Tell me what ya want.”

“Fuck me,” you say.

He smirks and backs up enough to slam into you again, watching your mouth fall open with his girth. He retreats once again and slowly fills you to the brim. Too slowly. Then he slams into you again and slowly backs up. You moan unrestrained and wrap your legs around him, using all your leg strength to pull him closer into you.

“Fuck me, really fuck me,” you beg him, “Faster,” you say.

“Think about it all the time, don’t ya,” he says as he continues fucking you slowly.

You nod.

“Hell yeah,” he says as he moves his hips and buries his cock inside you, accelerating but barely.

“All the time,” you say, and he speeds up a little more. “Fuck me,” you beg him.

“Yeah, I’ll fuck ya,” he whispers, and finally he does.

He rails you at a perfect rhythm. He watches your tits bounce, occasionally dipping his head for a taste of your skin. He plants his mouth on your neck and marks you. It barely takes any time at all until your spine is arching and he’s saying “yeah, come for me, baby.”

As you see stars and flutter around him, he says, “God damn you look hot when you come on this cock." He fucks you through it and doesn't stop. "So damn hot," he repeats. A minute later he bottoms out with a shudder and pulses into you. It isn’t as much as usual given that he just emptied himself in the shower but his stamina sure is impressive for his age. He rolls over and lies on his back next to you.

“That’s where it’s at, baby,” he pants. “All about communication.” He goes to the bathroom and washes up then pulls on his pajama pants. He goes back out to the couch while you get dressed again. You're too physically satisfied to feel bad about asking for it.

When you join him on the couch, he’s gotten the weed box out and he’s rolling a joint.

“Not for me,” you say. “I should really go.”

“Still rainin’,” he says.

“Barely,” you shrug.

He looks at you and nods. “Alright, pumpkin. ‘Least lemme give you a ride.” He squeezes your thigh and stands up.

He stops his car in front of your house and your aunt comes to the window then walks away. Joel sees her and sighs.

“What?” you ask him.

“Nothin’. See ya around, pumpkin.” You go around to the basement entry.

Your Aunt knocks on the basement door soon after you’re inside.

“Was that Joel Miller dropping you off?” she asks.

“Why?” you ask. Her eyes fall on your neck and you cover it casually.

“Oh, honey,” she says. Then she just shakes her head. “That man is trouble. He’s probably shagged half the neighborhood.”

It’s just gossip, but your heart still drops. “He was giving me a ride.”

She looks at you skeptically. “A ride from the back of the neighborhood?”

You don’t have an answer. “How do you know that for sure about him?”

She puffs out her cheeks and exhales. “Guess I don’t. Ask anyone, though. He’s got them coming and going at all hours.”

You swallow, waiting for her to say something else, then say, “We’re just friends. Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?”

“Just be careful, honey.” She starts to go back up the stairs then comes back down. "Actually yeah, there's someone your uncle wants introduce you to. Real nice boy he works with."

"Uh - okay," you stammer.

"Great," she nods, "I'll tell him." Then she finally leaves you alone.

You have a lot of questions you don’t want to ask. You know Joel’s not a good guy. The last thing you should do is get more entangled with him. You're not thinking with a clear head and you know it.

You lay down on your bed, exhausted, and plug in your phone. When it turns on, it chimes with a text from a new number. The text on your lock screen says “Hate me ‘cause they ain’t me.” You roll your eyes and crack a a smile. Sounds like Joel knew what your aunt would say to you. At least he’s aware of his reputation? Is that a good thing? How does he have your number?

You open the text, trying to think of what to say. There’s an earlier message from him. It's from overnight - a topless photo of you. You remember now - he said you should see how hot you looked. You posed for him and gave him your number to send it.

Thank you so much for reading and engaging!

All Joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @lokanda @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @wolvesandvampires @taeslarityy @str84pedro @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @gracieispunk @prettypartyfavor

NW: @tehweeana@ele-meno-p@swedishscumfuck

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #dark!joel miller #joel miller fic #pedro pascal smut #night walks!joel #toxicanonymity ☠️#nightwalks☠️#joel miller x you #creepy!joel miller #pervy!joel miller

1K notes · View notes

alastair-1205 · 4 months ago

Text

You know what I just thought of tho? Why does nobody in the LMK universe know what happened to Macaque?

Becasue IRL we know it's Very likely that Wukong killed him (Or at the very least severely maimed him) in the show becasue we know the events of the Actual Real Life Book "Journey to the West". But we also know that the same book exists in the LMK universe since both Tang and Macaque himself have made reference to it. So like. Why isn't what happened to Macaque common knowledge?

MK apparently hasn't read it and never found out through any other means (we see him ask Macaque outright about it). Hell, Macaque is so unknown to him, MK gets deceived by him in the first season. But he does still know the stories becasue of media about it in the show universe (Monkey King the Animated Series tm) and from Tang who presumably did read the book, and while I can imagine an in universe show omitting something like their main character killing their bestie, I can't think of any reason why Tang wouldn't have told MK if Tang had known.

All that to basically say, yea MK apparently is lowkey uneducated outside of pop culture - which is really funny to me - but even their resident scholar seems to have no idea so what gives? Who the hell wrote Macaque out of the history books? Was it Wukong? Was he so guilt ridden and angry that he made sure that was the one major event that didn't get preserved? Was it some of the other original JTTW gang, knowing Wukong would hate the general public knowing anything about it? Those are literally the only two theories I can think of - and the first is the one that I think is most likely.

And on top of that, imagine how Macaque felt when he realized this. That his death and even existence at all was the one thing that wasn't remembered. Idk it's just a really interesting bit of accidental world building that I don't think will ever get explained, but it'd be really cool if it did.

#im so normal guys #totally #monkie kid #lego monkie kid #lego monkie kid spoilers #lmk macaque #lmk mk #lmk sun wukong #lmk tang #This is the type of shit someone on youtube would make a video essay on in universe is all im saying #Crack theory is that Wukong thought the world couldn't handle his tragic gay love story at the time so he censored his own life

91 notes · View notes

avocado-writing · 1 year ago

Text

notes: I did a lot of research for this and yes, the manuscript I reference is a real thing. I didn’t put its name in though because that felt a step too far 😂 set in the light, the dark, and the spaces in between after ch3 so hope that’s ok! requests like this give me life.

relationship: aziraphale x immortal!reader x crowley

rated: G, pure fluff

word count: 1.4K

if you like my work you can buy me a kofi!

You’re the one who makes the tea.

That’s because you’re the only one who changes how you have it: sometimes you fancy a chai, or a green tea, or a lapsang souchong. Sometimes with sugar or a little bit of milk, sometimes with neither, sometimes with an oat alternative. It changes. You’re human, you go through phases.

But Aziraphale and Crowley? Nah, they’re creatures of habit. Despite the angel’s wide and experimental palate he’s oddly rigorous when it comes to his cuppa. For him, it’s loads of milk and four sugars, drowned to the point where it could hardly be called tea any more. Crowley likes his black and strong and nowhere near anything that could affect the taste. You wring the teabag tortuously into his mug with a teaspoon before grabbing all three servings and heading into the shop.

You put yours down first, on the side next to the book you’re currently reading, then hand your husbands theirs. They both take them from you in the same way, the way they have done for centuries now, a domestic ritual: accepting the mug you offer and then your hand, pressing a little kiss of thanks and affection to the back of it.

A heartfelt intimacy just between the three of you.

☕️

“Hurry Crowley, it’s starting!”

“Yes, yes, alright angel, hang on.”

“We won’t hang on and we’re not pausing it. Not a threat, just a fact,” you call into the kitchen. A couple of seconds later, Crowley emerges from the kitchen with three wine glasses and a bottle of Pinot Grigio.

“I’ll be mother, then,” he mutters as the other two of you barely take your eyes off of the telly. You’ve got your legs slung over Aziraphale’s lap and he only takes a break from stroking your knee in absentminded, loving circles to take the proffered glasses from his husband, one for himself and one for you. Crowley plonks down the other side of Aziraphale and throws his own legs over him too, the two of you playing footsie for space across his plush thighs. Eventually the three of you find a comfortable pile and settle in.

“Another ten weeks of torture begins,” Crowley says as the Bake-off theme ends and the show starts. You nudge him with your toe.

“You don’t have to watch it with us,” you tell him. He harrumphs but doesn’t argue because, really, of course he’ll watch it with the two of you. It makes you both happy.

🍞

Your work is as a consultant for museums around the country, which is a fun way of saying you get paid a lot because you know a lot. But mostly, you only know a lot because you’ve been around for a very long time. So whenever a shard of pottery or a scrap of clothing needs dating they call you to come and put its history into context.

Also, for the bigger museums, it’s a chance for you to smuggle out the stolen artefacts and return them to their country of origin. You consider it a hobby, a bonus perk of the job.

You’ve set up this exhibition. It’s for pottery around the end of the Roman rule in Britain, stuff you’ve found and identified around the country on archaeological digs. You lead Crowley and Aziraphale through, discussing your findings in detail, before you come to a small, surprisingly intact, terra sigillata oil lamp. It sits on its own, spot lit. You asked for it that way.

“See this? I made this. Over a thousand years ago,” you tell them, quietly, gently putting your hand to the glass of the display case. Aziraphale and Crowley take a careful look at the engraving on the object. It bears the profile of a man, and with the sharp cheekbones and little glasses there’s only one person it could be.

“Oh, Nightingale. It’s lovely,” Crowley says, surprisingly touched. He wraps an arm around you and buries his face into your hair.

“You could say I’ve held a flame for you for a long time,” you say, and grin. Crowley groans.

“Did you put my face on a lamp just to keep that pun up your sleeve?”

“Maybe.”

🔥

You next return to the museum when you pick up that Aziraphale is jealous. He isn’t jealous often but he’s pants at hiding it, and it’s not hard to guess why: he’s just seen that Crowley stuck with you for such a long time you put his face on a piece of bloody pottery. You’d probably be a bit put out too.

So for a couple of weeks you throw yourself into your work to find the thing that will make it even. And you do, even though it takes a lot of overseas bargaining and promises to do some pro-bono work.

You finally get the museum in America to agree to send it over for a showing. You arrange a special exhibition specifically for this, where it’s held behind a huge glass case in a dark room with only a small light on it.

But you get special access because, well, you’re you. So you sneak Aziraphale and Crowley in one night and walk into the display room, wearing a face mask and a pair of protective gloves.

There it sits: the Canterbury Tales. One of the oldest versions in the world.

“Oh, this is wonderful!” Aziraphale gasps, peeping over your shoulder to inspect. “I can feel the adoration coming off of it in waves. This was a labour of love, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. I’d let you have it for the shop if I had the power. But I think they’d notice if I shoved this one down my top,” you sigh, scanning the pages for what you’re after, then stop dead when you find it.

“Here. Look.”

You point to one of the illustrations, a mounted rider on a beautiful white horse. Aziraphale takes in a quiet breath and draws closer. Because just as plainly as you put Crowley on your oil lamp, you drew your angel in the Canterbury Tales. Curly hair, pink face, beaming smile.

“Oh my,” he whispers. You stroke the little picture and remember toiling away over painting it, repeatedly wiping your brow to make sure your sweat didn’t smudge your work.

“I put you in all the copies I could get my hands on. And you,” you turn to Crowley, “your face is probably buried on my pottery in a dozen dig sites across the UK. I’m just saying I’ve loved the two of you since the day we met; always have, always will.”

Your husbands look at each other and then at you, before as one they step forward to embrace you.

“And we’re lucky to have you,” Crowley whispers in your ear, as Aziraphale kisses your cheek. Their hands meet at your back and they interlace their fingers with each other, you wrap your arms around them and stay like that for a moment; three working parts of a whole.

They kiss, and then they kiss you. You feel warm and rosy. Then you spend the evening reading through the book from beginning to end.

📖

You keep your wedding ring on a chain around your neck at work. Not because you’re embarrassed that you're married; far from it - it’s far too precious to risk losing while constantly taking protective gloves on and off all day. So you don’t blame your colleague for asking you on a date. He’s young, fresh out of uni, and of course has no idea you’re old enough to be his grandparent forty times over.

“That’s very kind,” you tell him, and his face falls because he knows where this is going, “but I’m already happily married.”

He sighs in embarrassment but manages to recover quickly, instead telling you: “they must be someone special to have you.”

He’s doing the polite thing by not assuming the gender of your spouse but it turns out “they” is right on the money. On cue, Aziraphale and Crowley walk through the door to pick you up at the end of your shift. You wish your colleague goodbye and go to meet them.

“Evening, darling,” Crowley calls.

“How was work, my love?” Aziraphale follows up.

“Oh, fine. I’m tired now. And hungry. Can we go and get dinner?”

You link an arm through either of theirs, heading out into the London afternoon.

“Ooh yes, that is a good idea. I quite fancy fish and chips!”

“Let’s go to that spot round the corner. They make their own tartar sauce. Crowley, are you getting your own chips or nicking mine when I’m not looking?”

“The best tasting chips are the ones you steal.”

“Oh, he doesn’t even deny it—!”

Your colleague watches you leave the building, a little dazed, and supposes it takes all sorts to make a world.

Taglist: @angiestopit @dazed-soul @idontmeanto @smile-eywa @staygoldsquatchling02 @underratedboogeyman @specter-soltare @candlewitch-cryptic @cool-ontherun-world @emilynissangtr @willbedecided @cool-iguana @bdffkierenwalker

#crowley x reader x aziraphale #good omens x reader #ineffable husbands x reader #crowley x reader #aziraphale x reader #Request #fic: the light the dark and the spaces inbetween

431 notes · View notes

prying-pandora666 · 1 year ago

Text

On Alucard and Maria

Are there actually fans advocating for Alucard to be written as Maria’s father figure in the new season of Nocturne? Like that would be a good thing and not infinitely creepier? I don’t think they’ve thought this through.

Alucard is the single most popular character in the franchise. He’s also probably the most shipped character. And yet he has only had one canon love interest in the decades since he’s existed. It’s Maria. And you’re telling me that you think that because he’s 300+ and she’s 17-18 when they started living together in the games, that it would be grooming. However, somehow him inserting himself into her life at age 16 when she’s just lost both her parents wouldn’t come off like grooming!?

Does this man look like he should be picking up random children!? He’s literally terrified of his own cursed blood. Maybe LISTEN TO HIM.

I’m convinced fandoms have forgotten what that word means. Grooming has specific features. It doesn’t just mean “older guy and younger girl.” A relationship with an age gap or an uneven power dynamic can be exploitative or abusive without being a case of grooming. Grooming specifically refers to the process of forming a relationship with a child with the intention of leveraging that relationship and trust to train and prepare (aka brainwash) your victim for the harmful activities the groomer wants to normalize. The relationship Alucard and Maria have in the games is in no way grooming. You know what would be grooming though?

Coming into a 16 year old’s life when she’s vulnerable, traumatized, and recently orphaned only to insinuate yourself as a new father figure. This is so highly inappropriate and a huge red flag. Consider what you’re actually asking for here. These characters do not exist in a a vacuum. They have a long history together as each other’s only canon love interests. You cannot fully extract them from the games, art, interviews, audio dramas, animations, and more where they’re depicted as a couple. There are decades of this precedent and you are asking Netflix to knowingly take the characters with an established romantic dynamic that the audience is already primed to see as romantic and instead portray their meeting as him trying to be her new daddy?

“Oh look! Alucard and his… daughter? Yikes.” This is an official advertisement btw.

THAT is grooming! Think about the optics of this! It would be abysmal! No it would NOT fix the problem of their age gap to make him act like a groomer and get in good with her as a dad. You just cannot completely extract them from the legacy of their relationship in the source materials. It will be incredibly creepy and textbook grooming if you get your way.

Is this really what you want to associate with an “adoptive father Alucard”? Because the art we create doesn’t exist in a vacuum. All the old content—official and fanmade—is still going to exist.

What is so objectionable about the original dynamic anyway? It’s a pretty fun subversion of the tired and problematic vampire trope of “vampire man stalks teen girl and coerces her into being his”. Instead in their original relationship, Maria is the one who pursues Alucard! It’s the young woman who takes initiative and is given the agency to go after what she wants. She courts and woos him. That’s part of the fun!

Yes, Alucard is 300+. He’s also a fictional creature that doesn’t actually exist IRL and stays eternally young. There are no actual people who will ever have his problem of staying 20 forever so it’s rather silly to say he can’t date any humans because of course he will have an age gap with any of them.

The only real problem I have seen people bring up is Maria’s age, but from what I can tell, the show’s already fixed this. Check it out.

In The Games

Rondo of Blood: Maria is 12. She and Alucard do not meet. Richter is a brother-figure and not romantic.

There is then a 5 year time skip.

Symphony of the Night: Maria is 17. She and Alucard meet to save Richter. At the end, Alucard says his goodbyes and intends to return to a life of solitude. Maria goes after him because she has developed feelings for him and doesn’t want him to suffer a life alone.

Maria is given agency to pursue what she wants and prove herself even against Alucard’s resistance and hesitance to let another person into his life.

They spend a year together before we get the audio drama.

Nocturne of Remembrance: Maria continues to try to get close to Alucard. They end up saving each other’s lives and in the end he finally confesses his romantic feelings for her. She is an adult and perfectly able to make her own choices. She chose him. He admits he returns her feelings.

How fandom can look at a story about a young woman subverting the trope and chasing the vampire to get what she wants—basically an anti-Bella Swan—and still find a way to disempower her just so they can pearl clutch? I couldn’t tell you.

So now let’s look at what the show did.

In The Show

Nocturne S1: Maria is 16. She’s been aged up from 12, probably to give her a more active and believable role. But this also means she’s within a normal age to start feeling attraction and expressing her wants. Within her society, she’s even considered of marriageable age. However we are spared the discomfort of our modern values clashing with her contemporaneous ones because Maria in this season isn’t interested in romance. She’s interested in revolution, equality, justice. They’ve portrayed her with so much love and strength. There is no indication they’d betray her by writing her as the child victim of a male suitor. In fact she only meets Alucard in the final few seconds of the season and the two do not even speak a single word to one another.

Now let’s remember the games had a five year time skip. The show only needs two years to get Maria to the adult age of 18, but assuming the follow through with the timeline and go for the full five?

Maria will be 21.

21.

Fan concept for adult Maria. Credit:@esp-art

Are you telling me a 21 year old woman is not old or mature enough to make her own decisions? How is this not a total infantilization of women? Do you think a 21 year old badass vampire hunter needs protection from the ace depressed dhampir boy who just wants to sleep and has in no way tried to pursue her until after she expressed consistent and persistent interest in him?

It is not “grooming” to meet someone when they were younger and then meet them again years later as an adult. That’s a thing that happens! In real life! Adults can still make decisions for themselves! It is only grooming if Alucard behaved in a way that would manipulate teen Maria and put her under his control and authority before she can consent. There is no indication that Alucard in the show is going to do this. And yet the fandom is basically demanding it by saying he should make her “his baby girl”?

And what of Maria’s feelings in all this? She just lost her mother and was betrayed by her father shortly after discovering he even existed. She has lived her whole life without a father. She is in no desperate need of a new one. And if she does need a family member, she already has one! Richter is 19 and is her trusted adoptive brother. Why wouldn’t she go to him over a total stranger she just met and who is half vampire - literally a predator creature that feeds on humans!?

Yeah, hi, Richter Belmont still exists. He and Maria consider each other family. Why would you want her relying on a strange man she just met as a “father figure” rather than her trusted and loving brother?

Have none of you even considered how Maria would feel if Alucard even tried to fill the paternal role? He’d have to force it on her through manipulation and coercion. No way she would want to view him that way. Especially considering she is 16 and likely to be as attracted to the sparkly 20 year old looking sculpted marble beauty as anyone else!

Don’t mind the beautiful eternally young man who looks made of pure porcelain and light. No teen girl has ever been attracted to this, right? No way it could be exploitative and creepy for him to present himself as her new daddy, giving himself authority and influence over her as his child to mold as he wishes, right? Oh yeah, this is MUCH better than Maria pursuing him of her own volition once she becomes an adult, right guys?

We are truly in the stupidest dark timeline.

Frankly, I don’t care if Netflix has them get together or not. They would work just fine as friends too. I just sure as hell hope they’ll ignore the fans clamoring for a creepy daddy/daughter dynamic. Dressing it up as “concern” won’t hide that for some it’s a fetish, and for others they’re just useful idiots who haven’t thought it through.

I implore you to think it through.

#castlevania #castlevania netflix #castlevania nocturne #alucard #maria renard

281 notes · View notes