#or any singular positive trait

[honeydewandcake]

I wanted to ask if you had any favorite pairings for Dandy's World, and if so, what themes or scenarios do you see for them? If no pairings interest you, what about a singular Toon? :]

Tapping my fingers together because I think it'd be really cool to write something from your ideas and interests.

I really enjoy Dandy/Shrimpo and RnD/Shrimpo

For Dandy/Shrimpo I see a show star that is loved by everyone and a hated character who everyone avoids. Dandy really wants to get along with Shrimpo since he thinks everyone deserves love. Dandy might be people’s favorite, but Shrimpo will be his one and only favorite. Shrimpo is stubborn and pushes Dandy away, but after some time he will draw warmer towards him. Maybe because of his starvation for any affection.

For RnD/Shrimpo, Shrimpo’s insults have no effect on Razzle or Dazzle. Razzle is too positive and Dazzle mostly agrees with anything Shrimpo says. They find him cute. I see RnD as one of the more handsome characters, and Shrimpo as one of the uglier ones. Contrasting traits is my favorite trope. Sometimes I think RnD will take Shrimpo to their room to watch movies together and stuff on their projector.

[short-yandere-stories]

Can you please do a yandere kenpachi zaraki x reader pretty please 🥺🙏

Of course! Big strong scary man but softie inside makes my brain go wild. I have another request for him in the inbox, so have this softer one first, and I'll go a little more crazy with the other one later :>

:✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:

:✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:

CW: yandere behavior, takes place post TYBW so spoiler warning, slight infantilization, unhealthy dependence, possessiveness, mentions of fighting, mentions of being severely injured

This is a yandere work. Proceed with caution and please be mindful of your triggers.

:✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:

✧ Kenpachi is not used to nice things. Ever since he was a kid, violence and fighting was all he knew.

✧ So, naturally, at first, he has no idea how he's supposed to treat the newcomer who personality-wise definitely does not fit into the 11th squad.

✧ Of course, no one whose fighting abilities are not personally accepted by Kenpachi has no chance of joining his ranks.

✧ You barely know how you managed to impress him, in all sincerity. You were far from as strong as he was, but he must have sensed something about your abilities that made him accept you.

✧ Your persistence had been admirable too, Kenpachi had to begrudgingly admit. None of the other guard courts had been of any interest to you. You'd had your eyes on the 11th squad, and that was the one you were going to become a part of.

✧ Kenpachi Zaraki's squad is full of people who seem to have next to nothing in common, so in a weird way, you fit right in.

✧ At first, Kenpachi didn't pay it much mind. You weren't a seated officer and wasn't brought along on too many missions, but you were always looking after the others upon their return.

✧ He joked that you'd fit in better in squad 4 with the healers, and the venomous glare you'd sent him had been laced with so much fire that he immediately fell quiet in shock.

✧ I consider this to take place after Kenpachi properly learns about Yachiru and she disappears.

✧ Your kindness is not a trait Yachiru had, but your positivity reminds him of her.

✧ Slowly, he finds himself seeking out your company more and more frequently, even going so far as to not take fights seriously at all or force his spiritual power down enough to be cut, just so you can be the one to patch him back up.

✧ You're surprisingly good at handling his temper and making him calm down as well, which the rest of your squadmates are quick to pick up on, dragging you along whenever they had to deliver unfortunate news that would make Kenpachi's anger flare up.

✧ In next to no time, Kenpachi has given you an unofficial seat of sorts, making sure that keeps you close to him at all times. It makes the loss of Yachiru's physical form easier to bear as well.

✧ The squad had filled you in about the last Lieutenant, and you felt your heart ache for the sake of your captain every time he looked over his shoulder with a grin to shoot a few words to the little pink-haired girl who usually sat on his back or shoulder, only to have his face fall.

✧ I believe that he would be pretty normal at first, that is until you are severely injured at the hands of a few hollows on a mission that he'd selfishly brought you along on. One moment of Kenpachi being occupied had been enough for an attack to reach.

✧ When you woke up, bandaged and in pain, but alive, in the barracks of squad four a few days later, the first thing you saw was the captain sitting next to you. He looked like he hadn't slept a wink while you'd been unconscious.

✧ The relief on his face once his eyes met yours was immense. "Don't do that again," he said gruffly, clenching his fist. He'd been beating himself up ever since the incident, cursing himself for that singular moment of not even a second that led to you being in this state.

✧ He would make sure nothing like that would happen to you ever again.

✧ He had already lost Yachiru (even though she was technically still with him) and he refused to lose another person he cared about.

✧ As soon as you'd regained your health, he'd firmly banned you from leaving on any missions at all, which had made you lash out and punch him (dealing absolutely no damage) much to Kenpachi's amusement.

✧ Knowing how stubborn you could be, the times when he personally had to leave on a mission, he locked you up with shackles blocking your spiritual power. No matter how mad you got at him or viciously tried to fight back and stop him, you were like an angry kitten, all bark and no bite.

✧ At all other times of day, you were effectively thrown onto his shoulder, taking Yachiru's place. It was the only way he could be certain to keep you from sneaking away on missions as he had no doubts that you would run off with your zanpakuto the second he let you out of his sight.

✧ Really, who was going to stop him? Few were strong enough to oppose him, and the positive impact you had on keeping him calm unfortunately had Head Captain Shunsui siding with Kenpachi. "For the greater good," he'd said in a meeting, shooting you an apologetic glance as you clenched your fists and bit back tears, seated in Kenpachi's lap.

✧ You'd spend your days glued to his side, wondering if things would have been different if you'd never smiled his way.

✧ If you'd known how things would turn out, you'd never have followed your dreams and fought to join the 11th squad.

:✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:

[what-even-is-thiss]

What do you think gay men are attracted to in men that they can’t be attracted to in women?

It can’t be anything about femininity or masculinity obviously. That’s both sexist, and cultural so can’t be what drives men-only attraction.

It can’t be anything about stated identity because someone could lie just as easily as they could tell the truth in such a statement, and it makes no sense because homosexuality and heterosexuality exists in other species with no stated identities. It’s not like other animals without gender are all pan.

Saying idk it’s the vibes or some indescribable trait men have that women can’t but “I can’t explain” is a nonanswer.

Soooooooo what is it? Or do you think any sexuality but bi/pan is just cultural performance or an identity rather than an inborn orientation?

- [ ]

There’s whole subsets of philosophy and science dedicated to this sort of thing, dude. If you’re looking for one particular answer that applies universally to all gay men or all of one orientation or gender etc that’s not useful and if you insist upon getting that one particular answer you come across as dangerously ignorant.

Asking what it is that makes someone gay is a bit like asking “What’s an American?” or “What’s a country?”

At first they seem like straightforward questions but once you dig even a bit below the surface you’ll find that everyone and every place and every situation has a different answer. Is the EU a country? Is India? Is Idaho? Why? Why is a Mexican an American in Spanish but not in English? Spanish speakers will be insulted if you say they’re not American but Canadians will be insulted if you say they are. And Americans as in persons and from the United States of America aren’t as clear cut a group as that quick little definition I gave you would suggest. Why would someone living in the US for over a decade not consider themselves an American? Why would someone who just moved here insist they are American? Is it citizenship that makes you American? The continent you live on? How do you draw lines between continents? At what point do you identify more with your adopted country than the one you were born in?

Being gay is similarly complicated. What makes you gay? Your gender? Your attraction? Who you’d prefer to marry? Who you’d prefer to have sex with? Is gay a political position? Does it mean you’re happy? Is it a girl’s name? A surname? Is it only for men? Is it also for women? Is it a slur? Is it a reclaimed slur? Is it just a word? Where are you in time? What language are you speaking? Are you personally more attracted to genitals or hands or smells or the whole package? Can you sometimes fall for someone not typically your type? Is it a personality thing? How much of your attraction is influenced by your genetics, the balance of hormones in your parent’s womb, your society, your upbringing, your friends?

The only available answer is a non-answer because sexual orientation isn’t an arithmetic question. There’s no A+B=C that can be applied universally to all people who identify with a certain term. Any more than one singular definition can be given to a country, a gender, a continent. There’s some things that just don’t have one solid iron clad definition and anyone attempting to give them one typically has an agenda.

Anon, I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and hope that you’re not here attempting to cause trouble and that you’re genuinely curious. But if you’re here attempting to set up bait, please reconsider how you think about definitions and queer identities and identity more broadly.

[esotericange1]

Sylvia Plath and an Analysis of her Birth-chart

In present day, Sylvia Plath (1932-1963) is regarded as an extraordinary figure who attempted to eliminate mental health stigma in literature. Plath’s writing style was characterized by intensity and passion, a stark contrast from the modest writing style during the 1950s. Due to her strong convictions, Sylvia was ostracized by many in the literature community for deviating from the traditional style. Unfortunately, Sylvia proceeded her writing career with regrets and frustration, writing under an alias. Many people during the time were unaware of her work since she published under different names; even her most famous work, The Bell Jar, was only published after her death.

…Although she perished without ever knowing the influence she would have on the literature community, Sylvia is regarded highly today and is constantly referenced and idolized.

Today, I would like to explore her birthchart and any possible explanations for her woes, successes, talents, and legacy.

29 degree Aquarius Rising

) 29 is the final degree of a sign, signaling a critical influence. People born under a 29 degree carry a large emphasis of the rising sign.

) Furthermore, the Aquarius rising translates a complicated individual with otherworldly qualities.

) She has felt excluded from an early age, a complete outcast from her peers. Although she acknowledges her eccentricities, she is not necessarily demoralized by them.

) She is unconventional and innovative, which happens to be her charm.

North Node first house

) Although the north node is not technically a planet, it still holds significance regarding life purpose and meaning.

) The first house is related to personal identity and appearance, whereas the north node is all about self identity. Considering the two are paired together, it signifies that identity and self-discovery are highlighted themes in her life.

) She could have been unsure of her self or hyper aware of her opinions and identity. With the other placements in her chart, there is no doubt that she felt different from others.

Virgo Stellium

) A stellium refers to a cluster of planets in a certain sign.

) In her case, she has a cluster of planets in virgo.

) Generally, the virgo stellium can mean that there is an emphasis of virgo in her personality. Virgo traits are associated with precision, detail, and perfectionism.

) She constantly strived for perfection. Virgo is ruled by mercury as well, meaning a talent for communication and writing.

Jupiter and Neptune in Detriment

) Jupiter relates to expansion and positivity, while Neptune is linked with dreams.

) Both planets happen to be in a detrimental position

) Planets is detriment debilitate the presence of that planet

) she may have felt surrounded by pessimism or limited in some way

) in her writing, she refers to her multifaceted interests but also feeling limited by a singular career

If anyone wants a free analysis on their birth chart, I’d be glad to. I’ll probably turn my asks on soon so people can submit. Maybe I’ll also consider payed readings in the future…who knows ;)

[scribs-dibs]

SYSTEM ERROR: A SECOND EXCEPTION

RAHHHHH MERRY CHRISTMAS!!! THIS IS MY SECRET SANTA GIF FOR THE SUPER DUPER REALLY COOL SHRIMP LOVER @tetrachrxmacy !!!!! i hope you like it !@!1!1!1!1!1

not explicitly romantic (kinda a found family typa thing. youve been RECRUITED!1!!1!1!1), depictions of (minor) blood and injuries, reader is referred to using they/them, svarog mightttt be ooc....but I DID TRY!1!1!1!, Clara is in here quite a bit, i think that's it?

wc; ~2.2k

"Inquiry," Comes the thundering pulse of Svarog's voice, "Why did you risk your life for Clara?"

The unfortunate drawback to humans is their inherent weakness.

Emotionally and physically unstable. Failure to adapt to a multitude of climates. Consistently distracted by irrelevant matters.

Weak.

Svarog is a machine, and as such, knows very little of empathy. There is no need for feelings, for they imply a lack of logic. There is nothing logical about the way humans feel, with their emotions so influential it often becomes their undoing. There is little point to it all, he thinks. If anything, it seems the most logical course of action is to discard emotions altogether, so humans can function and think better. Survive better.

So matters such as this can be avoided.

This is yet another deficiency in humans: their impulse. It is your impulse, your lack of thought that has landed you here.

The Overworld has changed, compared to the stone-cold tomb he was to protect the Underground from. But it is still starkly bright, an expanse of pure white and tall, sharp trees. Against it, a figure– yours, no doubt, for his calculations of faultless, laying in hiding against some rock and rubble. Blood has stained the fresh white snow, blotches of crimson dragged along in an unsightly path to you. Your hand is dyed a shocking red, too, inadequately covering a gash near your side.

Analysis: Across your abdomen, a long, superficial gash. The cause: Likely the result of an altercation, as is normal with your recklessness. On your face, a smile. Conflicting information.

Such matters are none of his concern. You are, and have always been, a human as ordinary as any other. As such, it is only logical you are just as weak as any other human. The only reason he's stepped foot up here is because–

"M-Mr. Svarog, do you...think you can help?"

The automaton takes a moment. This is the voice of Clara. His precious Clara. Who has flushed, tear-stained cheeks from stressing the urgency of your situation. He kneels and rests a hand on her head. It is his best effort at comfort.

Svarog doesn't want much to do with you. You are unpredictable, brash, and quite obviously lack self preservation skills. Most notably, these traits are all horrible examples for Clara, but despite this you are her dear friend. As such, he has been forced to tolerate you, time and time again. You have accompanied Clara on a number of excursions, but none of them involved danger. Part of him, tempted by the technicality of you not technically being from the Underground, wants to just leave you here as payback for putting Clara in this position.

But as Svarog gazes at his daughter again, panicked, ruby eyes illuminated by the pink light of his singular one, he cannot bring himself to say that saving you is a waste like he wants to. This is another thing that sets Clara apart from every other human: It is always difficult to say no to her.

He lets out a sound, then. One that would expel steam if he produced it, heavy and almost tired-sounding...if he were human, it would be a sigh.

"Very well. For you, Clara."

(And from what you can tell, further away and with your heartbeat ringing in your ears, you swear his tone is softer with her. You are almost warmed from the brutal cold at the sight of it. When Svarog stands again, and the soft, near-fuzzy light of his eye sharpens again as he focuses on stepping closer to you.)

It is Clara who takes the lead, running and almost tripping over herself just to land at your side. Svarog tenses. (Your threat level is low, but not zero.) Vaguely, he makes out the sound of her desperate apologies, but for what he does not know. Humans find themselves hurt for a number of reasons, none of which are the fault of his dear daughter.

But then--

"I'm so sorry! Yo-you saved me- and then…and then I left! And- and there's so much blood--"

"You only left to get help, Clara. It's okay, see?"

He appreciates that you use your unbloodied hand to point to him, your smile unwavering but still tense.

"Help is here."

Svarog supposes that changes his view of you, slightly. Your injuries were not the result of your own ever-foolish recklessness, but out of responsibility for Clara's safety. What Clara wields is a strong will and a kind heart, never a weapon. You, an outsider to him, put your life on the line to keep her safe.

He runs a careful eye over Clara again.

Assessment: Not a scratch to be found. You have been successful in your goal.

So perhaps you are worth saving.

Blood-stained snow crunches beneath his feet. The automaton stands just behind Clara, peering down at you pensively. He can see how the light of his eye wavers as he analyzes you, recalling the fatal flaw of all humans. You are weak. He needs to be careful.

No. Correction. He needs to be gentle.

It is strange. He hadn't considered extending such a kindness for someone other than his daughter. But Clara herself is trying her very best to support your weight enough so you can stand, and the movement is enough to have more dribbles of crimson slipping from your gash. That won't do.

"I will take them, instead."

It stalls him for 2.5 seconds, trying to comfortably balance you on one of his arms. You rest against his torso, solid and cool, contrasting this warmth of your body as more blood smears across the surface of him. He has to be quick.

Clara reaches for one of his hands and walks alongside you both. Though she seems relieved, the subtle signs of worry across her features are not lost upon him.

"Inquiry," Comes the thundering pulse of Svarog's voice, "Why did you risk your life for Clara?"

You hum, but he knows this sound is not contemplative.

"It was the right thing to do. Clara's a kid after all,"

"B-but! But I could've- You shouldn't have had to protect me!" The girl grows teary-eyed once more, and Svarog can see how your brow furrows at the sight.

"And," you start, cutting off Clara's self-deprecating ramble, "I wanted Clara to be safe. I can handle this fine," (False: This is a lie, you're hurting. You're uncomfortable, too, but have said nothing. These actions go against his idea of what ordinary humans would do. Perhaps you're not as ordinary as he thought.)

"But Clara? I don't wanna think about what would happen if those jerks got to her, you know?"

Highly unusual behavior, on your part. Humans will do anything to survive. Taking a risk this grave for someone else, for his Clara...

Something within him stirs. Getting you to safety suddenly becomes much higher of a priority than he had estimated.

Svarog sinks down and scoops up Clara with his opposite arm. He doesn't know much about healing humans other than his daughter, but your survival is important to him now. He'll do whatever he can.

Softly, Clara calls for you. You must look particularly hurt, because the more she stares, the more guilt seems to consume her. You try to offer her one of your best smiles.

"It'll be okay...Mr. Svarog will help you feel better, I promise!"

You want to respond, but you suppose your body's weariness finally caught up to you.

You drift off in Svarog's arms, the clink of metal rocking you softly to sleep.

⋆★⋆

It takes very little time for Svarog to get you to safety. He is unable to fully understand the intricacies of the human body, just as you would be clueless when faced with inspecting the mechanics of an automaton. But though the injury you sustained was less than ideal as was the process of stopping the bleeding and wrapping the wound, his task had been completed.

His posture is less rigid. He feels his guard lower significantly. Assessment: Relief.

When he had taken Clara in, she was but a child. He supposes there was no reason for him to care enough to take her in, other than the clear, irrefutable orders to preserve humanity within the underground. But just as he was mistaken in thinking “true rationality” was the key to helping Clara and the rest of the underground, perhaps he was also mistaken in thinking that you were ordinary and insignificant to him.

At the very least, you make Clara immeasurably happy. That in itself is enough to value you just a bit more.

Furthermore, you’ve become somewhat of a common presence here. Clara talks highly of you when you help around the settlement, and though he still thinks you are reckless and brash…you still have enough sense to keep the ones important to you safe. You aren’t the hard-headed fool he had initially taken you for.

Svarog finds himself just a bit more empathetic, then. Though you are weak now, you’re clearly strong enough to hold out for this long on your own.

He is alerted again when you start to stir. Your eyes flutter open, and for a moment he can see panic threaded into your features.

“You are awake,”

When your gaze flickers to his, he sees the way you deflate on your exhale.

“Hi Svar-”

“It has taken one hour, forty-five minutes, and fifteen seconds for you to wake up after we brought you down. How are you feeling?”

He is strangely eager. Though your vitals are stable, it is a different matter entirely to hear that you’re fine from you.

You seem taken aback by his sudden interest at first. Briefly, the automaton ponders if he should back away and give you some space. But then you smile softly up at him, a true smile, without pain dulling its purity.

“I’m much better now,” Your fingers move to trace over the bandages wrapped around your middle. They aren’t verysecure, like the person who wrapped them was overly-cautious about squeezing you too tightly, “Did you do this?”

If he had a visible expression, you’re sure it would be tense. Instead, as if trying to keep calm and collected, he offers a slight tilt to his head.

“Is it unsatisfactory?”

“Oh, no! It’s fine,” You trace over it again, this time in the opposite direction. You can almost picture it: Svarog tentatively wrapping the gauze around you, Clara guiding him with worried, gentle instructions. It’s a cute thought– if only you were conscious to see it.

“It’s perfect, actually.”

Svarog feels himself relax again.

The call of your name alerts the two of you immediately, and he would usually be concerned if not for the fact that he recognizes that tone. It’s Clara, clearly excited to see you both upright and awake.

“You’re okay–! I was so, so worried!”

For some reason, Svarog feels at peace when you hold Clara tightly in your arms. You smile sheepishly at the sudden affection, softly petting at her head.

It's a strange feeling. Truly, Svarog did not pay any mind to you before. But now, when you're under his care, and Clara runs to you as she would a second home, the automaton feels himself starting to shift. You, previously a thorn in his side, insistent and unyielding, has also been a constant presence for Clara. You, who he thought to be nothing more than a foolhardy adventurer, has saved his daughter from harm. And now, shy as she is, Clara embraces you tenderly, ardently, with all the love in her heart.

"Love" itself is a concept hard to quantify. But if "love" is what he feels when Clara runs up to him and hugs him in that same way, and you return these affections without so much as batting an eye...

If risking your life, too, is an act of love, then he supposes you must love Clara that much more.

"Mr. Svarog, they can stay with us for a bit, right? Until they fully get better?"

Assessment: Clara adores this individual. This individual adores Clara, in turn. Threat level has decreased significantly over time. This individual has taken great risks to ensure Clara's safety. Ensuring their safety, in turn, has become a priority.

You blink, seemingly taken aback.

"O-oh! I wouldn't want to cause more trouble–"

"No,"

That tone was too harsh.  You jolt at the sudden sound, clearly surprised at his quick answer. He attempts it again:

"No. You should stay. Your chances of recovery will increase at least 20% if you do so,"

Svarog takes a look at his daughter, still wrapped tightly around you as if you will disappear.

"Clara will enjoy spending more time with you, as well."

There is a soft purse in your lips, like you contemplate speaking. He keeps his glowing gaze trained on you, hoping to encourage you to speak your mind.

Success.

"...Will you enjoy me staying here, Svarog?"

The automaton pauses. This is not about him and his preferences, Clara's benefit has been at the forefront of any decisions regarding you. But, strangely, he finds himself..warmed at the idea of you staying with the two of them. Not as a meddlesome, ordinary human, but as a part of them. Weak on your own, no doubt, but stronger together.

"Conclusion: You belong here. You’re a part of our family."

⋆★⋆⋆★⋆⋆★⋆⋆★⋆⋆★⋆⋆★⋆⋆★⋆⋆★⋆⋆★⋆

RAHHHH TY FOR READING!!!! comments and rbs appreciated <3

[studentofetherium]

the way people wax poetic about horror as a woke genre all feels so needlessly hypothetical

like, sure. horror can be a genre for marginalized people to see themselves and find catharsis. it can be used as a vehicle for stories about queerness or disability or race. but how often is it actually

every horror movie I've seen that brings up any kind of neurodiversity frames it as a bad thing. queercoding certainly exists, but is used for negative traits. you can find positivity in these things, but nothing is unique about horror in this respect

it feels like cherry picking to say that the genre is A Singular Thing, and not a massive umbrella covering decades of works across myriad cultures and locations

horror could in fact be all these things... but if that's your view of horror, then it's a very limited one which ignores much of the genre

[bestworstcase]

Say, what was that about the 1/2/4 motif for Ozpin you mentioned the other day? I’ve been reading your stuff for a good minute now and I don’t think I’ve seen it come up once before that.

it's about the symbolism of the huntsmen academy teams and the vytal festival; huntsmen and huntresses are meant to "protect their fellow man" and

for this reason, trainees are grouped into teams, ensuring the continual development of communication, empathy, and teamwork; traits that are vital to any guardian of peace.

but the way the initiation process is designed, the way these teams form, creates conditions detrimental to this notional goal: you're tossing a bunch of teenagers who don't know each other into semi-random pairs to choose a single token which, unbeknownst to them, selects the other half of their team, and then you put one of them in charge and more or less tell them to figure it out.

it should come as no surprise that most professional huntsmen work alone or in pairs. there is one (1) singular example of an academic-model team-of-four functioning at the professional level—team BRIR in arrowfell. and of course we have team STRQ, who fell apart in spectacular fashion within at most five or six years of leaving beacon.

aside from the more general issue that the mechanism used to assemble these teams is just not a terribly effective way to build functional teams, the interesting part with regard to oz is that the system is designed such that the pairs are most likely choosing their token under pressure—i.e., while fending off grimm, i.e. not having any time to actually deliberate or discuss or otherwise work together to make this very important, defining choice about their futures; and indeed they're not even told that it will be defining in any sense so they're unlikely to treat it as important at all.

which is to say, the probable outcome for any given pair is that one of them will grab a token without putting much thought into it, and then they run. this is—i suspect, at least in part—a test to find out which of the pair is most decisive under pressure. whether they know it or not, every student undergoing the initiation is also auditioning for a leadership position and the structure of the initiation reflects that.

so you have this one -> two -> four pattern. the teams of four are composed of two pairs, each of which first faces a task which inherently sort of expects one to make the pivotal choice.

and then the end result is one student leading three others with no real structure beyond that. delegation and separation of duties is left wholly to the leader's discretion.

we see this same kind of symbolism at work in the vytal tournament, wherein the point of the quads bracket is for the winning team to select its two best fighters to go on to the doubles round, and then winning doubles pick the best solo combatant to compete for the championship alone by fighting a series of 1v1 duels. notionally the point of the vytal festival is to celebrate peace, cooperation, harmony—but its main event is about breaking down the team into smaller and smaller units until One Warrior emerges as the very best, standing victorious all alone.

it gives the lie to all of ozpin's talk about the importance of standing together; even his Festival About Standing Together is really about finding The Chosen One. the point of the team and of the pair is to act as a good enough foundation for The Lone Champion to reach the actual tournament. the quads aren't even properly part of the tournament itself, they're the qualifiers.

and that's why the teams fail, fundamentally. they exist in a system whose underlying purpose is really to pry them apart and extract singular heroes from teams that are good enough. whether oz consciously intended it this way or just cannot let go of trying to find the right Chosen One to replace himself is an open question, but it is top to bottom designed to find The Ones Who Are Special.

[adhdnojutsu]

Uchihas are Jew-coded

Preface: I'm Jewish. As with all marginalized minorities, outsiders are welcome to listen, ask questions etc. but not talk over or goysplain us. This applies especially to challenging our indigeneity. Which is not in "Gobacktoeurope"...

Obito

I first started headcanoning this after seeing Obito's Kamui dimension. His panic room looks a lot like the Holocaust memorial in Berlin.

He also said this to Rin:

Talmud (Sanhedrin 37a): “Whoever saves a single life is considered by scripture to have saved the whole world.'

Tikkun Olam: if I ruled the world...

Jews have a collective imperative of Tikkun Olam, aka fixing the world. Obito's and Madara's drive to do so means little on the face since many anime villains have this goal, but given the previous things mentioned, this looks like part of a pattern. Itachi and Sasuke, too, wanted to shoulder the weight of the world to make it a better place. Even if it meant the whole world hating you - like the whole world has hated and still hates Jews.

Let's delve deeper into that hatred, shall we? The anti-Semitic conspiracy theory that we secretly run the world is directly tied to our imperative to fix it. You can't fix anything without power and influence. In fact, the whole notion of Tikkun Olam being our job, may strike Gentiles as conceited and inspire hatred. Obito and Madara needed to "run the world" in order to "fix it" and were happy to accept that this meant being hated.

This "Jews control the world" conspiracy theory connects seamlessly to Konoha's suspicion of the clan conspiring to take over and using the Sharingan, a trait unique to the Uchiha, to control tailed beasts in order to execute such a take-over. Kotoamatsukami is the ultimate parallel to Jews secretly controlling the media, and with them, public opinion (but not in our favour?).

Just like the Sharingan, Jews have, or are accused of having, singular qualities that facilitate our rise to power. This is because Judaism is a closed (ethno)religion and opting in (converting), having interfaith families etc. is discouraged. In some ultra-Orthodox communities, this is taken quite far... Let's just say that Uchiha wives, too, take their husband's last name, but Mikoto Uchiha looks like Sasuke looks like Izuna... go figure.

Of course, in the case of Jews, this quality is not so much a gate-kept genetic trait, as a gravitation towards intellectual and influential professions passed down through generations. This is a direct result of anti-Semitic policy though: often being excluded from handicraft etc, Jews shifted the focus to administrative, financial and legal sectors. Jews are also traditionally studious, so our apparent domination of the Noble Prize is a result of this.

But no matter the cause of our success in certain areas, it would obviously have Gentiles eyeing us with suspicion. Why is a single ethnoreligious minority so prominently represented in positions of influence and acclaim? What might we be plotting? Why shouldn't we be plotting, since we ARE - allegedly - conniving, manipulative and greedy? Better get rid of us. Remember: Nazis hated Jews and were scared of arts and literature. Being Jewish and being an intellectual are, if you ask anti-Semites, shortcuts to power. You know who else hates books and Jews? Every single terrorist organization, be it Taliban, Hamas, ISIS,... Anti-intellectuals are often anti-Semites. Education is power. Jews love education. Terrorist regimes hate smart subjects. Ignorance is cheaper than bullets, after all.

Ghetto Uprising/Beware the Beginnings

The clan suspected the compound was just the beginning. Although the discrimination the Uchiha actually suffered - a compound, which all the other clans got, too, and surveillance - was not comparable to the Warsaw Ghetto or any other real world segregation, Fugaku and other clan members expected it to take a turn for the worse if ignored. And in order to prevent another Holocaust, you must recognize and fight the beginnings.

These beginnings are upon us once more. Anti-Semitism has been skyrocketing, and blaming Israel, a single, far-away country, is dishonest, considering:

Palestinians have massacred Jews decades before there even was a state of Israel; what Nakba was their excuse in 1922? What Nakba was there in Iran?

Jews are entitled to Israeli citizenship, all moving expenses paid, so why do many live in Diaspora? Could it be that they do not wish to be involved with the state of Israel? So why take it out on them, unless one already hated Jews?

The most recent rise in anti-Semitism didn't follow Israel's bombardment of Gaza, but the DAY of Hamas' mass rapes, mutilations, torture, and murder of 1000+ Jews on October 7. People who don't usually praise children, including those of "colonizers", getting slaughtered and mutilated, suddenly praised exactly that. These people have always been anti-Semitic and found an excuse to be loud about it by weaponizing Palestinian suffering, which they only care about because Jews are the culprit. Proof: Houthis are starving Muslim children in Yemen, China oppresses Uyghur Muslims, Assad gassed Muslims, America bombed Muslims for 20 years, but - crickets. Think about it.

Likewise, the Narutoverse counterpart of the Nazis or Hamas, Tobirama and his acolytes, have found many a lazy excuse, most notably the Kyuubi attack. They suspected an Uchiha, and little did they know they were right, except, just like Netanyahu and the people under his command, a single deranged Obito did not represent a critical mass of Uchihas. And yet, the clan, just as world Jewry, faced collective punishment. The Narutoverse Nazis were frothing at the mouth for an excuse for decades, and notable Uchiha individuals kept delivering, not least because their own incompetence, just like Netanyahu's, allowed things to get that far to begin with.

Isobu

Doesn't Isobu look a lot like shellfish? And isn't he why Rin killed herself? Rin was Obito's everything and she died because of this monster. Not that it was Isobu's fault, but still.

Jews aren't allowed to eat shellfish. Obito has every reason to hate shellfish for the mere memory that stuff evokes. I know it's a bit of a reach, but again, patterns.

Dress Codes

For a proud, prominent clan with a bit of a superiority complex for their gate-kept characteristics, the Uchiha sure dress very modestly, the women even more so. In fact, they might just be the least flashy of all Konoha communities. The muted colours and baggy cuts scream "modesty". If you've ever wandered an Orthodox Jewish neighbourhood, you'll see the women tend to wear long, plain skirts, long, tight sleeves, ultra-conservative shoes, and plain, long or covered hair.

Mikoto fits right in, but so do other Uchiha women. Izumi is a bit "daring" with her sleeveless look, but her overall style still fits. Nobody in that clan seems to have much vanity, while the general population of Konoha and the Narutoverse at large, is a lot more individualistic.

"This guy just slaughtered the whole police force, let's throw a kunai at him and see what happens" bless her little heart

Flag Infestation

Uchihas have no chill when it comes to plastering their logo everywhere in their compound. They were driven out of the general public and are doubling down on pride as a result. Same applies to Jews in the safety of our indigenous homeland (the Jewish Temple of Solomon in Jerusalem predates Islam, born in modern Saudi Arabia, by many centuries, so don't Gobacktoeurope me).

Oh, and a Nazi found an excuse to ghetto them up, assigned some of them authority to keep their own in check (Sonderkommando/"Konoha" military police), then got rid of them all and managed to sell it as a necessary evil.

[oscconfessions]

charlie-tomato from hfjone is by far my most disliked object show character. I hate that stupid little baby with a passion. he is a useless, annoying, and disgusting object with ZERO purpose whatsoever. I don't really understand why he was created or why any person would ever like him. he is a baby!! a literal freaking baby!!!! there is nothing, I repeat NOTHING interesting about charlie-tomato. the singular positive trait he has is possibly looking "cute" and that is it. he can barely be called a character at all!! his pointless existence is so infuriating to me, I want to waffle-stomp, publicly cancel, and set him on fire all at once. charlie-tomato is the worst object show character to ever exist and I wish I could erase him from the entirety of the OSC.

charlie is the ice age baby of the object show community-📻

[cliozaur]

This one IS about Javert. There is A LOT of Javert in it. Hugo doesn't hold back on metaphors and distinctive traits for him: “this savage in the service of civilization, this singular composite of the Roman, the Spartan, the monk, and the corporal, this spy who was incapable of a lie.” Each of these attributes carries a sombre undertone. And Javert is full of contradictions: despite his inherently violent nature, he stands absolutely submissive and calm, bowing to the back of M. Madeleine, and patiently waiting when “it should please the mayor to turn round.” This sharp change results in “a melancholy depression” noticeable on his face.

Hugo manages to find some positive qualities in Javert, describing him as having a “clear, upright, sincere, honest, austere, and ferocious conscience.” If only it were channelled in the right direction, toward a better cause. And Jean Valjean seems to sense this potential when he expresses: “Javert, you are a man of honor, and I esteem you,” and even provides Javert with a list of transgressions he believes Javert can address. However, the narrative remains silent about any redeeming deeds by Javert.

Javert is portrayed as man who has never been gentle and is willing to treat himself as harshly as he treats others. In a monologue about the dangers of kindness, Javert emphasizes, “I do not desire that you should treat me kindly; your kindness roused sufficient bad blood in me when it was directed to others. I want none of it for myself” and he goes on and on about it, concluding with “it is very easy to be kind; the difficulty lies in being just." However, the irony is revealed later on: the most challenging thing for Javert will be to survive kindness, and it will prove so unbearable that it will literally kill him.

I’ve never thought of Javert’s demand for Valjean to punish him this way before, but now I do find something subtly homoerotic in Javert’s words: “I have failed in my duty; I ought to be punished; I must be turned out.” And after a pause he added: “Mr. Mayor, you were severe with me the other day, and unjustly. Be so to-day, with justice.”

[bardic-tales]

I've finally got Aurora's character page filed out on here. For reference, all my FF 7 OCs can be found at the FF 7 Muses Hub. I just need to fill out her twin's bio. I will most likely do that tomorrow.

face-claim: Anastasia E G

Aurora’s creation came long after the rebirth of the Omniverse, a time when all that had existed before was scattered and remade. Born of reality magic, she was crafted by Bianca to be her and Sephiroth’s daughter, a child who would carry their legacy forward. Her origins, steeped in the blending of celestial, infernal, and Jenova’s and Sephiroth’s alien cells, made her an unparalleled force. Aurora’s upbringing was a careful balance of love and strength, tempered by her parents’ darker tendencies. Raised in the abandoned town within the Ethereal Nexus, she was taught to control and harness the power that coursed through her from an early age. While Bianca was a loving mother, it was Sephiroth's stern lessons in power, dominance, and survival that truly shaped her. Aurora grew especially close to Sephiroth, viewing him not only as her father but as a model of strength and authority. Their bond, one rooted in shared ambition and unyielding loyalty, made Aurora a “daddy’s girl,” eager to impress and earn her father’s approval. She craved his validation and sought to live up to the impossible standards he set, pushing her toward ever-greater feats of power and control.

Though Aurora was raised in a home where love and care were present, she was always aware of the weight of her heritage. Her father, Sephiroth, instilled in her a deep understanding of power, teaching her to never show weakness and to always dominate those who stood in her way. From Bianca, she inherited a cold, methodical mindset and an understanding of how to manipulate the fabric of reality itself. The Jenova cells within her only amplified these traits, pushing her to pursue her goals with unwavering determination and a level of detachment that would make her father proud. There was no room for mercy in her world, and Aurora embraced this reality wholeheartedly. She was not a ruler who relied on justice or fairness, but rather one who ruled with fear, power, and a singular desire to shape the realms to her will.

Aurora’s rise to power in the Abyssal Realm was marked by brutality and cunning, not diplomacy. She crushed any challengers with ruthless efficiency, manipulating both her celestial and infernal influences to annihilate her enemies. The legacy of Jenova loomed over her actions, as she, like her father, sought to claim the position of her progenitor's favored child. Her struggle to be “the one” who stood apart from the shadow of the Remnants mirrored the drive that Sephiroth had once felt in his own pursuit of supremacy. Aurora ruled the Abyss with an iron grip, creating an empire where loyalty was earned through fear and power. She was a leader who would not hesitate to eliminate anyone who threatened her reign, using her inherent brutality and control over the cosmos to impose her will on the Abyss. Though her relationship with her brother Lucien remained strong, her one-sided rivalry—shaped by the same competitive fire that had burned in Sephiroth—was fierce, and both sought to prove themselves as the true inheritors of their parents’ chaotic legacy.

tagging some fellow mutuals: @themaradwrites @littleshopofchaos @serenofroses @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@nightingaleflow @prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap @prehistoric-creatures

@seastarblue

[schnee-gheist]

Talking 'Bout Noises (Atlas!au)

Noises are the form that ghosts take after giving up their sentience and consciousness to survive in Static. They can be any shape, any size, any form, and be perceived in multiple ways (Ex: a human might see a humanoid form with multiple eyes. A ghost might see a tall pillar with one singular eye. Any shots taken with Genlock that hits the form the shooter perceives will hit, it is unknown how). They will always be malformed from what originally was the ghost's form, but some specific traits may stay along, say a certain number of legs, arms, or size and height. They all have a specific and consistent set of attributes and visual indicators to tell that they are a Noise, however.

The following is said traits; A matte skin or fiber that is their body which doesn't interact with any forms of light or shadow (typically black, white, or a combination of the two as visual static), multiple eyes plastered around its body (that are all found more often than not to be blind), a liquid form that can easily change through methods similar to body manipulation in normal ghosts, the ability to infinitely regenerate any portion of their body immediately through their liquid form, and enhanced senses that allow for inhuman and un-ghostly reaction speed and awareness (eyesight is not included, for obvious reasons).

(Examples:)

While they work off of instinct, they also tend to work in Waves, with each member having a certain role. They are inherently chaotic and violent, and will attack anyone on sight no matter the context. Despite most not having a mouth, they also seem to be able to use clicks and hums to communicate with themselves, audibly similar to the sound of objects and textures shearing each other in a quick manner. The commutation itself seems primitive, mostly likely due to their inability of sentience and existence as a husk of a ghost, typically being used as exclamations or intensifiers for certain actions.

When Genlock touches a Noise, it seems to force its skin tissue to become fully solid, firing through the skin and burning the edges into stability. The solidified skin cannot be regenerated, and cannot turn fluid with the rest of its body, causing tension and conflict with the 'dead' skin and normal Noise skin.

Noises partake in a hivemind. Once more, their instinctual mind doesn't allow use of the typical positives of Hivemind, with two exceptions. A Noise can psychically control another Noise interchangeably with its own body, and vice versa. If a Noise sees you, EVERY Noise sees you. So obviously, don't try to get caught in the sightlines of any Noise whatsoever, no matter how 'weak' they may appear.

(It was once rumored that Atlas was a Noise. Doesn't make sense. To be able to speak and have feelings, actions of your own? But still be forced into a hivemind of beings that purely be to kill? He would've gone crazy and joined them in violent ferality long before any of this happened. There's no way he's a Noise, Right?)

Right?

[ficandkaboodle]

Papa’s Favorite Ghoul: Primo

Banner Credit Goes to @saradika-graphics! Word Count: 3281

Man, where do I even begin? I guess by stating that there’s two tropes I like: AUs where characters switch dynamics, and when characters or people go by titles that don’t traditionally align with their gender identity. Like woman kings or, in the case of Star vs the Forces of Evil, Jushtin the Boy Queen. Admittedly they’re more so applied to align with the importance placed on patriarchal and/or matriarchal power but we’re not getting into that. Nor are we getting into the kind of weird patriarchal traits of the Catholic Church the Church of Ghost keeps hold to — there are real-world explanations for them, I suppose, and this is fanfiction.

What we are getting into is my blending of the two aforementioned tropes to create this…Well, I guess it’s a series of sorts now because each character segment got too hefty to belong to one singular post. My bad. But I digress:

Somewhere out there, there is a universe where you were a part of the bloodline that has long reigned the Satanic Church as a dark papal dynasty. And now the title of Papa, for better or worse, has fallen upon you. You’ve trained your entire life for this — mephistophically, that is. But few things can prepare someone for dealing with ghouls more than actual exposure can. And now with the task of utilizing music to corrupt and recruit falling upon you, you’ll have plenty of time to become familiar with these literal hellions.

Don’t worry, though: If there’s one thing that has remained consistent throughout the millennia, it’s that a Papa almost always finds that one ghoul form whom they develop a fondness for . . .

You had not, in fact, been the one to summon the ghoul known around the Ministry as “Primo”.

He had been walking these unhallowed grounds since before you were born. A ghoul having an extended tenure topside wasn’t unheard of, but the implications set by his humanoid appearance of a very tall old man seemed to punctuate that point. Was he genuinely that old? Did he use a bit of ghoul magic to influence his appearance? You weren't going to ask.

Coupled with the way he carried himself, his presence commanded respect, something which the Clergy had been surprisingly willing to oblige despite his species.

Primo was, for all intents and purposes, the ideal ghoul: He had an intense work ethic, he was loyal, and he was tame enough to be of use while also posing a threat to anyone who did the same towards the Clergy.

Even something as simple as his horns seemed perfect for his position: The four horns of a Jacob sheep’s spiked warningly from his flesh, the perfect sort of horns for a ghoul of the Satanic Church to bear if there ever was any!

Even though his original summoner had long since passed, they never asked him if he wanted to return to the Pit. And, to their credit, Primo never expressed any desire to. It was that kind of dedication that endeared him so and kept him at the ready to be a conduit for the Old One’s message.

It was also probably the only reason why he’d involved himself in the “Ghost Project” you had recently proposed in a board meeting, even though he had made it extremely apparent that he did not see you as worthy of the title of Papa. If anything, he did so in order to keep an eye on you.

Primo had served many Papas in his time topside. Suffice it to say, you were nothing like any of them! Where your ancestors commanded their dark flock, Primo felt you merely timidly nudged them. Where the Papas of yore spat promises of the Dark One's ire and the rot of man, you seemed to more so focus on concepts of personal principle. Not entirely incorrect, but it certainly felt like a watered down method of leading.

Where was the damned soul made of brimstone and hellfire? Where was that penetrating glare that could freeze the doubters? All the old ghoul saw when you assumed the mitre was a soft-spoken slip of something or other that had fumbled their way through the bloodline. Had it not been for The Mark that paled your left eye, he might have more vehemently – more violently – questioned your ascension.

But the Clergy made no movements to dismiss or discard you, and Primo had never been one to take impulsive action. So here he began to find himself: Sitting at a drum set for rehearsals, battering away whilst his peers made fools of themselves as they writhed about, mimicking sexual proclivities or just plain goofing off.

But for as much as he would glower at them, his true poison was always fixated on you: You, who clearly just wanted the attention the Dark One was supposed to be receiving. You, who was just plain wasting his time – time that could be put to more use around the Ministry instead of spending hour upon hour listening to you warble the same cheesy lyrics, bastardizing unholy psalms passed down through millennia.

But he was nothing if not a professional, attending all rehearsal sessions, barely speaking unless it was to keep the more juvenile bandmates in line. Though more often than not, need only shoot them a sharp stare with those magma-red eyes of his and they would stop immediately.

That was all you needed when, surprised that he would pick something as raucous as the drums, you attempted to offer something not as physically demanding or requiring of too much movement.

You had meant nothing by it, of course. If anything, it was an attempt on your part to at least try and build a communication with one of the people (?) you would be working with indefinitely. Your peers and predecessors as a whole weren’t known for extending much kindness to the ghouls under their power; that was something you wanted to change during your reign. The rest of the ghouls, bandmates and Ministry-established alike, seemed to appreciate that well enough but Primo . . . Well . . .

Weren’t earth ghouls supposed to be less . . . intense? Stubborn and a twinge terse, perhaps, but usually they still had a bit of gentleness to them after a point. But then again, Primo was in a class of his own. Or maybe he’d just been a fire ghoul at some point? Might explain the eyes . . .

Really, though, the praise you’d heard regarding his dedication towards Papas past had yet to make any real appearance beyond him not taking you out. And perhaps volunteering to participate in your brain child, though you felt that was more so out of obligation to the Church rather than out of any real reverence.

Given how blatant he had made his dislike of you from the get-go, you decided to accept his (admittedly impeccable) drumming skills as the closest thing to respect you were going to ever get out of him. Much like the Clergy, you weren’t going to look this gift horse in the mouth too hard.

Your magnum opus couldn't afford it and for as confident as you were in the prospects of it, you knew you would need all the help you could get. Even if some of it came from an ancient earth ghoul who wished you would keel over so the next guy could take over.

If Primo could grit his teeth, then you sure as shit could to get the results you were looking for. Even if the results meant enduring painstakingly awkward rehearsals, right up until Ghost's very first performance.

Primo knew not to expect much in the way of venues. After all, bands that merely copied their principles never had an easy foothold in the world, never mind an actual band representing the Church. In the end, it did make the most sense to perform in lowly places, places inhabited by those most vulnerable and willing to lend an ear. Still: He had not anticipated this . . . “Whiskey a Go Go” place to be your debut. Oh well. The crowd here clearly looked susceptible enough; he could handle it.

He didn’t approve of you donning your chasuble for such an event but at that point, what did it even matter? He just needed to literally play his part and get this over with. Maybe then this tomfoolery could be put to bed and you would be reprimanded for wasting the Ministry’s time and resources, sullying their trust.

At least, that had been the idea when the first song was signaled in.

But as the setlist progressed, Primo couldn’t help but note how his expectations weren't being met. In fact, quite the opposite was beginning to take hold. Like how the words sounded different even though they were the same ones he’d heard ad nauseum.

Snippets and verses clipped from corrupt hymns made themselves right at home in the measures, something he’d internally protested the first times he’d recognized their presence.

Rhythms sounded more coordinated against the acoustics of the venue, far different from the way they resonated in the makeshift practice room back at the Abbey. This was what they were meant to sound like? Not a tangled mess of notes and words struggling and biting and fighting for dominance, but actual music stretching to the rafters? Huh. Who would’ve thought?

And all the shenanigans his peers had participated in – back at the Ministry, it seemed so juvenile, so distracting. They weren’t taking this shameful display with any kind of seriousness. But in that moment, the jumping, the showboating, even the gyrating all seemed right at home on the stage.

But above all else, it was the response to it all: Audiences loved it. They loved the words, the chords, the riffs, the "ghouligan" behavior. And, perhaps most of all, they seemed to love you. Who you were, in this moment, was far from whom Primo had been seeing – whom he thought he saw – in the pulpit and at rehearsals.

All that had been apparent child's play. Or perhaps they were simply the wrong environment for your fullest potential. Here, on the stage, you positively bloomed, transforming into something radiant, something filled with infernal fervor. A little hell flower decked in infernal regalia, your chasuble catching the stage lights like petals collecting sunlight.

During the few times you would turn your back to the audience and faced him, he could see it even from his furthermost position in the back: That fire he thought you lacked, blazing from your every pore, brightening your eyes and casting long, dark shadows upon all before you.

Primo had been right: You truly were unlike any Papa he’d ever served before . . .

From then on, Primo was to decidedly keep a closer eye on you. No more having the rug pulled from beneath him. Clearly you were like a mystery seed: He had no idea what your potential truly was, having not quite encountered something like you before. As such, you needed to be . . . studied. If at a distance, for now.

However, it's a bit difficult to go unnoticed when you're a 6'1" ghoul with large horns when out of a glamour. Never mind that you had grown so used to his stare being fixed on you that you always knew when it had reappeared. Only, you couldn't help but feel that something about it was . . . different. Somehow.

It was normal enough to feel them during black mass because everyone's eyes were on you. But to feel them when you would go to the library to request old tomes even most Clergymen did not seek; when you slipped members of the Children's Ministry candy to perk them up after a particularly boring Latin Studies class with Bishop Malicion. Even in what should have been the sanctity of your office, you swore you could feel those red-hot eyes affixed to your person!

But the heat of them was gone now, and hadn't quite been there since the Whiskey a Go Go. Instead, they felt more curious. Maybe like a cat? Ghouls were often likened to cats above all other manner of beast but Primo had only resembled one in the way he composed himself. A trait like intrigue just seemed bizarre to picture him exhibiting, let alone so obviously.

However, you were still Papa throughout all this: Best not to dwell on it and instead keep focusing on keeping your project afloat. You would deal with whatever was going on with old Primo later.

(Though you couldn't stop yourself from feeling slightly giddy at the possible improvement. Having him give you the slightest hint of a nod while passing in the hallways was leagues better than having him radiate bloodlust or disdain!)

Later, however, came quicker than you had prepared yourself for. In fact, it arrived one curtain call during the band’s slow creep towards notoriety.

In hindsight, the fact he willingly held your hand for the final bow should have been a sign that something about tonight was going to be different. Normally, if he had to join hands with anybody, he made sure to position himself at the very end so he need only spare one hand and with another ghoul. Being virtually in the middle with you would have required effort on his part.

But you were abuzz, the performance having gone splendidly with a highly receptive and interactive crowd. You were quite proud of yourself and your ghouls if you said so yourself. Maybe the energy that evening was just enough to make Primo feel less rigid than usual?

You’d only just risen up from your bow, ready to release his hand when you noticed that he himself was not letting go of your own. Odd, considering he’d done so with the other ghoul he'd been holding. You tried not to look perplexed when you spared him a glance; maybe something was wrong and he needed you to be on high alert? Though, no, that wound up not being the problem – in fact, there was no problem whatsoever.

He just needed to keep your hand in his so that he could raise the back of your hand to his mask – where his mouth would be.

It was a pantomime of a kiss, sure, but the gesture was still very evident. Screeches of delight erupted from the audience below as heterochromatic eyes widened against black paint, staring at scarlet ones peering through the eyeholes of a mask.

Suffice to say, what fans Ghost had already garnered had a field day. Soon, fanzines featuring the visage of their new favorite band's lead singer and drummer would appear in grungy coffee shops and to be swapped at both Ghost shows and shows of other bands. It wasn't Time Magazine but the marketing practically handled itself, and that was good enough for the Ministry to quietly applaud Primo's forwardness.

Clearly the Ministry's favorite ghoul knew what the people wanted and took it upon himself to stoke the flames to drum up further intrigue and popularity.

So surely it made sense to continue fostering this relationship, right? For the good of authenticity, of course.

It wasn’t long at all before you found yourself confiding in Primo, bouncing lyrics off of him. Lyrics turned into discussions, dissections of your faith’s principles and even a few misconceptions that most were too tired to correct at this point.

And he, in turn, used his many, many, many years of wisdom in his services to you.

Even divulging into his life before the Ministry, what little there was worth recounting. There was good reason he’d stayed up here so long after all: Life topside was just so different, so brightly-lit when compared to the Pit. Sure, he might’ve been built exactly for the life infernal, but that didn’t mean that a ghoul lacked a capacity for more.

The biggest example in his case was the garden he’d kept during his time here. It was almost funny: You’d walked these grounds for so long, so used to the presence of the greenhouse that sat towards the back of the garden. The brightness of the vegetation and bushes stood out from its darker, more gothic-leaning surroundings in an almost silly way.

Really, though, your only real interactions with that section of the Ministry could be boiled down to times spent in your office. The window there allowed just enough of a view of the little land below, one you couldn’t help but look at when the tensions in your poorly-postured back traveled into your skull, or when a delivery ghoul delivered more heaps of papers for you to look over and sign. (Suddenly, feeling Primo's intense gaze on you even when you thought you were alone made sense.)

Your path to the antipapacy was basically carved out for you, it ironically left very little room for extracurriculars such as gardening. But you could always count on catching a Sibling or earth ghoul or two, hauling heavy sacks of soil and carting that season’s harvest in a wheelbarrow.

Their decision to spend their time on such a long-term task that demanded constant attention and dedication was admirable to you. You could relate to focusing in on a project that would take time and focus.

And to see their efforts be rewarded with something brilliant and fortifying, something that caught the eye and could be used to nourish both the body and mind . . .

In way, perhaps seeing the hardships that produced flowers and fruit might have served as inspiration and motivation for your idea to entice the masses with music. Just a twinge.

To learn that the very things that refreshed you in your moments of exhaustion had grown under the same watch as the one that had once wished you ill initially amazed you. And amused you.

The idea of ever having been afraid of Primo seemed so silly now, you couldn’t even remember what the heat of his ire felt like. If anything, the pierce of Primo’s gaze had softened into something . . . Well, the proper words escaped you any time you tried to settle on one. "Passionate" mixed with "admiration", but still with its tenderness.

As it turned out, that warmth earth ghouls were often characterized with did exist in the old curmudgeon. It was exhibited as the years marched on and as you both grew closer.

It was there even in small moments such as this, with you kneeling in the soil, planting your umpteenth flower. You had learned under his watch years ago and no longer needed instruction, but it still felt lovely to share this type of thing together. Even after all this time.

A grunt escaped you as you wobblily stood back up from aching knees, another when you cracked your back.

“One of these days, Primo,” you sighed, “I’m gonna get down and not be able to get back up. You can just bury me here, then.”

It was a joke, of course, and you were totally prepared to not get a laugh from the old ghoul. Primo’s sense of humor, you’d long since learned, was as mysterious as it was strange. It was frankly a wild guess as to what would make him laugh on any given day. What you hadn’t prepared for, though, was the way the ghoul’s eyes stared back at you. You didn’t feel unsafe or anything, but you certainly felt . . . observed.

There was that curious cat vibe that had started it all from way back when. But, knowing Primo as you now did, you knew he was simply collecting thoughts. He would eventually reveal them to you in due time.

In the meantime, though, it served you better to shake it off. Supper would be served shortly, anyway.

“Remember to wash up,” you offered, standing as high on your toe tips as you could just to place a peck on the soft, weary flesh of his neck. To that, you received a quiet grunt typical of your partner.

As you left, though, Primo kept his eyes on you, tail thoughtfully swaying behind him. He remembered seeing you sparingly in your youth, which was impressive considering how unimportant you’d been back then. You weren’t Papa, you weren’t anything, really. You weren’t important to him.

But now, years later, here you stood: Wrinkles that weren’t there before were beginning to carve their permanence into your features, standing out even through your papal paints. Just the other month, you’d noted an increase in silver strands popping up in your hair. You sighed something about the stresses of dealing with the next projected tour or an onslaught of paperwork, but Primo knew that soon, more silver would come sprouting out at your temples. More than you’d probably bother dyeing, if he knew you. If he knew the people before you.

He'd seen this all happen before, many, many times. You may have been different from all other Papas he’d known, but all Papas were alike in this one way.

A heavy sigh broke him from his stagnation, and Primo began to trek back to your chambers to wash up. Before he even entered the building proper, his mind was made: If and when your time came, Primo would finally request to return back to the Pit.

[gloriousburden]

a lot of his traits seem like contradictions, obvs bc his character is a lot abt having a range and abt facades and masks and the chameleon shifting identity (and maybe some traits might be only from the show and its influencing my mind and confusing me) but do you think he is more:

charming or aloof?

melodramatic and flamboyant, or stoic?

outgoing and playful, or mellow?

more stuck up, or low self esteem?

more chatty, or reserved?

more abt thinking and logic, or feeling and emotion?

and do u think there's anything from ragnarok or the show that isn't ooc or is even positive abt or regarding him? im not sure i can think of any...

No, that’s so true. It would be easier to say what he isn’t, than what he is. He’s so complex and I love everything about him 😞

Damn. This is hard. It’s hard to put him into singular categories/boxes… especially since he’s written a bit differently in each movie. He’s definitely a mixture of all of these things.

a lot of these things, I feel go hand and hand for him. He is charming, but it’s in a bit of an aloof manner. If that could even make any fucking sense 😭 it’s a cold kind of charm. A reserved charm. A sick and twisted charm. I love sick and twisted Loki but he is more charming than he is aloof in all honesty. I do want to say that in moments where his “mask” is down, that he is a tad bit more charming. Though, he definitely has moments where he’s more aloof.

Melodramatic and flamboyant, or stoic… okay I’m gonna go with more melodramatic specifically. If there aren’t tears streaming down his face, is it even a Loki scene? Also, he has a more melodramatic/flamboyant way of speaking imo. He is definitely stoic, but I feel the drama overpowers that a bit. The stoicism is more associated with his facade/moments of deceit. Maybe a toned down version of melodrama and flamboyance. He is definitely expressive, but obviously… it’s nothing like the series. But he’s also stoic too! AHHHHHH

Ahhhhh outgoing and playful, or mellow… yeah he’s quite playful. He just has different ways of expressing it. I don’t think he’s very outgoing at all. I see him as being more introverted/reserved. He’s not afraid of social situations by any means, but he doesn’t love them. He wants meaningful connections, but I think having a ton of those would overwhelm him a bit? I don’t see him as the “loud” type. He’s playful, but in a quiet way. Ahhhhhdhshjdkehd I don’t know how to articulate it 😞 I do think he suppresses parts of himself due to insecurities/expectations, but I do genuinely believe he is the more quiet type. I don’t think it’s JUST because he dislikes being “vulnerable.”

Definitely more low self esteem. Loki definitely does have confidence and he doesn’t entirely dislike himself, but I don’t think he necessarily loves himself at all. His bits of “arrogance” come more from being a god above humans as well as from his own intelligence. It’s not from him loving much of his own traits.

More reserved. Yeah he definitely likes talking, but he’s the type to think before he does for the most part, anyway. Which causes him to withhold a lot of the things he likes to say. I think even if he were really comfortable with you, he would not want to ramble a whole lot. He may see it as a sigh of lower intelligence, but even then… he’s hypocritical. A lot of the traits he dislikes in others, may be alright when he does it himself. He contradicts himself a lot, as he’s searching for a purpose. A meaning for himself. Some kind of clarity as to who he is. (I’m starting to sound like Tom Hiddleston)

More emotion/logic… I think they get mixed up for him. He relies on his emotions a lot, but I feel like he does this thing where he sees his feelings as entirely logical. Maybe he has moments of clarity where he realizes… damn, some of this is not entirely logical. But, they go hand and hand for him. What he feels, is logical to him. He’s swayed by his feelings a lot. Though obviously, he is able to be ACTUALLY logical. He’s able to suppress his feelings, but it doesn’t work for long.

Yeah a lot of this probably contradicts itself but I like to think of it as Loki trying to find a sense of self but continuously failing because he doesn’t really like much about himself…

Thank you for the question this was interesting

[coraniaid]

I really do think that the least interesting way to approach any longform narrative written over the course of several years by different writers is to act as if it everything that happens in it must somehow be internally consistent. Especially when we're talking about television writers with an (at best) flexible approach to world building and logical consistency; writers with a clear willingness to abandon previously established facts about the setting if it allows for (what they think will be) a more interesting story in the moment. In such a context it is just not sensible to insist that any late season retcons definitively establish some singular Truth about how the show Really Worked in its original seasons.

Specifically (and I'm aware I wasn't being very vague before) the idea that the (often rather bad) writing of Buffy's later seasons establishes definitive Facts about the world of the first few seasons which, if they contradict earlier claims, mean the original world-building lore we were given must actually have been examples of the in-universe characters being wrong or telling deliberate lies is, I'm sorry, almost offensively stupid. We don't "find out more" about the rules of how the world works in later seasons of the show in a way that implies these rules always existed in some fixed and unchanging state. The world of the show has no such rules because it does not, in fact, exist. What happened is that the later writers of the show (who were mostly different people) had different ideas about what would make for an interesting story (and unfortunately these were mostly worse ideas).

There seems to be a bizarrely popular take online that says you can't really understand the first few seasons of Buffy until you've watched the later ones, as if the entirety of Buffy is a single coherent narrative meticulously planned out from the beginning in advance. But you do all get that that is absurd, right? Yes, sometimes the show frequently changes its position on how its worldbuilding is supposed to work, but that's not because the writers are slowly revealing something they had planned out years earlier and knowingly had characters lie to each other about. It's because they are making things up as they go (which, to be clear, is more difficult and significantly more impressive when done well).

The reason Giles claims in Season 1's Witch to have never cast a spell before is that the writers had no inkling of the backstory they were going to give him next season. You obviously can go back and interpret this as a lie Giles is telling Buffy for some reason, but it doesn't meaningfully improve your understanding of the episode to do this. Similarly, the reason that nobody in the show talks about a "Watcher's Council" until Season 3 is that before Season 3 the writers had no conception of such a thing. It's fun to come up with in-universe reasons for why Giles might not mention the Council, even when meetin a second Slayer, but I think we should admit than when we do this we're engaged in something closer to fanfiction than analysis.

We don't "find out" that the character of Anya introduced in The Wish was probably autistic even before becoming a vengeance demon: the writers just changed their mind about how her character worked and why she acted that way (and indeed in The Wish itself she doesn't act that way at all; Anya being "strangely literal" didn't really take hold as a character trait until the show's fourth season). It is not "revealed" that Buffy tried telling her parents about vampires before the show began and they had her locked up: this is just a particularly stupid retcon that doesn't make any sense if you actually remember the first two seasons (woud Buffy joke with her mom about being distracted by thoughts of "saving the world from vampires" in Bad Eggs if the last time she'd mentioned vampires to her mom she'd been institutionalized?). We don't "learn" that Giles and Buffy were always wrong about people not "turning into" vampires (meaning they were specifically wrong about people like Jesse and Ford, and that Buffy herself is some sort of unrepentant mass murderer): the later writers who imply that this is what happens after all just didn't care about continuity (or what this change would mean for the morality of the show's protagonist's entire reason for being).

You have to watch each season of the show as if it were telling you the truth about its world building as the writers understood it at the time, or none of them make any sense. That is, in fact, how you have to watch most television of this form: there was no long term master plan. There is no singular truth about what "really" happened. The rules of the setting are just subtly (or not so subtly) different from season to season. Nobody writing Season 1 of the show had the slightest idea what would happen in Season 7 and anyone who suggests otherwise is full of shit.

[arrestmebobbygoren]

Queer Theory Song Analysis: 'Should've Said No' by Taylor Swift

Have we talked Queer Longing? Taylor’s music embodies Queer Longing. Looking from afar, seeing everything, hoping for nothing, and memorizing every detail because you know that this is the closest you will ever get to touching.

On the surface, this song can read as your typical country song: guy succumbs to his weak nature and does a good woman wrong. 

But notice that Taylor never actively genders the character she is in dialogue with as ‘male’; we as the audience, who are socialized into a heteronormative perspective, will do this for her — because we learn to link active traits, such as pursuit of sexual desires, with maleness. 

But the conversation that Taylor is textually engaged with in this song is really one of activeness vs passivity, where the passive position is given the moral weight.

Now the same socialization that teaches us that agency is the right and, quite frankly, the responsibility of ‘maleness’ also teaches us that passivity is the moral essence of ‘femaleness’. Women are damsels in distress who must wait for Prince Charming, who, in turn, may only settle down once he has thoroughly exhausted himself sowing his wild oats (though of course not with the chaste object of his castrated desire).

And while taking on the mantle of female passivity can be too much for any one person to bear, this weight can be particularly crippling for queer women, whose socialization may make them feel simultaneously alienated from and by their own sexual desires. Because when women are only taught how to be desired (and have to learn on the fly how to shield themselves from the often unwanted and sometimes downright dangerous gaze of men), it can feel incredibly disconcerting and even monstrous to discover oneself in the position of desirer, particularly if the object of this desire is another woman.

While the hetero read of this song is perfectly valid, I find that Taylor’s music always gains an additional degree of complexity when examined through a queer lens. 

And this song is no different. What on the surface can read as the righteous anger of a woman betrayed by a man with a wandering eye and an open fly suddenly vaults to a higher gear when viewed as a woman mocked and taunted by her own unexpressed desires, which I think can be distilled down to two narratives. 

On one hand, we can see Taylor railing against the ease with which a man can casually pursue the women he desires without consequence, while she holds herself back from doing the same, due to societal and familial expectations, professional ambitions and internalized homophobia. 

On the other hand, we can see a Taylor who has bifurcated herself for the same of survival, into the passive angel who yearns but never acts, and the devil who lives for the hope of it all and occasionally slips out, only to be chastised and shamed into repent by the part of herself that retains the moral high ground. 

It is this latter point of view I find to be the most compelling framework from which to examine this song.

We begin with the ‘socialized' version of Taylor shaming herself for her newly discovered desire of what she considers to be base and impure impulses. Against a backdrop of immense promise, this precocious golden child can’t help but feel like she has become something grotesque.

[Verse 1]

It's strange to think the songs we used to sing

The smiles, the flowers, everything is gone

Yesterday, I found out about you

Even now, just lookin' at you feels wrong

Taylor finger wags, she shames, she extracts a concession from herself. It was a one-time impulse, a singular loss of judgment, a moment of weakness that she vows never again to let herself repeat.

[Pre-Chorus]

You say that you'd take it all back

Given one chance

It was a moment of weakness

And you said yes

Taylor creates a mantra (turn if off, like a light switch, and if you can’t, well then REPRESS, BY GOD, REPRESS!), strengthens her resolve, and she reminds herself of why she has to keep herself in check. She has a reputation to manage. She shouldn’t even have to have this conversation with herself. Her eye should be on the prize of fame and success at all times. And if this rogue part of herself would be so kind as to just shut up and disappear, she wouldn’t have to beat herself up so. 

[Chorus]

You should've said no, you should've gone home

You should've thought twice 'fore you let it all go

You should've known that word

'Bout what you did with her'd get back to me (Get back to me)

And I should've been there in the back of your mind

I shouldn't be asking myself why

You shouldn't be begging for forgiveness at my feet

You should've said no

Baby, and you might still have me

Unfortunately, she can’t put this genie back in the bottle. She can’t trust herself to stick to the script and behave, now that she’s seen what lies beneath.

[Verse 2]

You can see that I've been cryin'

And baby, you know all the right things to say

But do you honestly expect me to believe

We could ever be the same?

[Pre-Chorus]

You say that the past is the past

You need one chance

It was a moment of weakness

And you said yes

But at least she can handcuff the desirous self to her disciplined self, and blindfold her, and maybe tie her ankles for good measure.

[Chorus]

You should've said no, you should've gone home

You should've thought twice 'fore you let it all go

You should've known that word

'Bout what you did with her’d get back to me (Get back to me)

And I should've been there in the back of your mind

I shouldn't be asking myself why

You shouldn't be begging for forgiveness at my feet

You should've said no

Baby, and you might still have me

Oh, oh

The great escape! The prison break! The light of freedom on her face! The desirous self is not going quietly. And for a second, Taylor loses her resolve. She longs to feel and taste and touch and know! She begs the desirous self to dish! Will she just live vicariously? Or will she throw it all away?  

[Bridge]

I can't resist

Before you go, tell me this

Was it worth it?

Was she worth this?

No, no

No, no, no, no

No! (You knew this was coming). The gag goes on. The desirous self gets lowered into the trunk. This is Taylor’s version. She is calculated. She is a business, man. And she won’t let herself get in her own way. She can do it with a broken heart.

[Chorus]

You should've said no, you should've gone home

You should've thought twice 'fore you let it all go

You should've known that word

'Bout what you did with her’d get back to me (Get back to me)

And I should've been there, in the back of your mind

I shouldn't be asking myself why

You shouldn't be begging for forgiveness at my feet

You should've said no

Baby, and you might still have me