#or he is a pure tradgedy

[corvid-corvette-coven]

in the mood to steamroll perpetuators of systemic violence in a very “Who has wounded you so deeply, you forget the face of your neighbours and slash at terrors built in their place. You wound us all by bleeding such violence onto the world.

Who has marked you, O’ sibling of Leda, that you would betray your sister. Who was it that called you to channel the wrath of Zeus, conduct his electric fury on earth to shock and bind us all into line. It is your curse that makes us mortal, you cut down your siblings of this life and call it justice, you call it sanctuary.

You turn to the sky, waiting for it to shine upon you, as the lamb who dominated hordes of “wolves” to kneel before your Shepard in the highest. For your efforts, the other lambs are kept weak, they’re kept slow, and anxious, and you are slaughtered. Soon shall every lamb follow.

You are the brave lamb who adores how the Shepards spoils grow when sheep are put to the knife.” kind of way.

Gosh darn it Hozier already wrote this one.

[melit0n]

Anytime I see people who say 'Erik should have gotten Christine!' I always let out such a loud sigh because they are completely missing the point of the book.

The tradgedy is not, and never has been, the fact that The Phantom didn't get Christine, it's the fact that he never got to be human.

Erik, as a character, is so insanely full of love and yearning and that is exactly what leads people to sympathise with him; to lead them to the point of 'if he got the girl everything would be fine'. He's poetic with his suffering and expresses his truama in a obsessive and borderline psychopathic way in order to deal with it and get what he wants. To have what he never had; real affection. To be kissed without his masked chucked at his face.

To be looked at with fondness instead of fear.

Leroux's whole point with the character of The Phantom isn't that he's another man who deserved the girl, his point was how real life literature Others are treated. Erik is both The Hunchback of Notre Dame's Quasimodo and Jane Eyre's Bertha Mason. Both, of which, despite the fact they don't conform to societal standards, still deserve to be treated as humans.

Erik deserves to be treated like a human despite his deformity, despite his otherness that has literally forced him into the basement of an Opera House he helped build; to be loved like any human wants love. Everybody in that book demonises him for such a human feeling and that is the point. That is the metaphorical kick to the chest.

Further, rounding back around to the 'if he got the girl everything would be fine'. If Erik got Christine, he wouldn't learn that the fact he murdered multiple people to get there, that he threatened to blow up half of Paris, that he tricked a young girl into believing he was her dead father, was wrong. If he got what he wanted, with no consequences, then it wouldn't teach Erik anything, because he would never learn what real affection would be like.

That's why, at the end of the book, where Christine shows him genuine love, willingly, he absolutely crumbles because he realises that is what it means to be human. To feel human; pure love given of someone's own accord.

To love is to be changed, as the poets' say, and that's exactly what it does to him.

[irl-w0lverine]

Pairing : gambit x reader

Warnings : pure fluff

A/n : last fic before my october fics!! I finished xmen 97 last night and cried so have this gambit drable!

After a recent tradgedy, you had fell into a deep pit of depression, not leaving your room at the x-mansion at all.

"hey... You ok Chérie?" he asks softly as he lowers himself onto the corner of your bed.

Gambit was the first to notice.

The only to notice.

However that didn't stop him from taking care of you. Wether it was bringing your sustinence, giving out a bath or just to keep you company. He was always there no matter what.

"its gonna get better.. You just have to believe it first..." he whispers as he lies down next to you above the covers, his thumb grazing over your cheek bone.

"now try and get some sleep my love.. You look like your part of the living dead.." he says sweetly, giving you a small kiss on your nose.

"g'night Mon amour"

A/n : please start to submit more requests!! I need ideas for October

Thank you so much for reading! <3

[taxi-cab-to-slowtown]

ALL OF THIS. but let me say one more thing: fascism is ingrown in our school system in America and probably in other places too. It has gone from looking at a book or text critically, analyzing the good and the bad and the importance of it, and become just dissecting if it is a "good" book or a "bad" book. Fascism wants you to see the black and white in EVERYTHING "that is badly written so it's bad" "that book's author is transphobic" "that gamemaker gave money to Donald Trump" etc. We think we're being progressive, we're targetting people who hate the people we think they shouldn't hate, but really we're boiling it down to its base elements and saying "this thing is bad and so this WHOLE thing is bad"

A lot of times when I say that I'm an Edgar Allen Poe fan people point out to me that he was a racist. Yes, he was, and you can see that in his work, but by aknowledging and accepting that, I can look at how harmful those racial steryotypes are, and how they were influenced by Poe's time and situation. When someone says "you know he's a racist right?" they think what they've done is proven why I shouldn't like him, but actually the way his racism influences the text is important to the analysis and seeing the influences of his texts. There's also the fact that there are a lot of GOOD things about his writing, things you miss when you pass it off as "he's a racist". For instance, a lot of his texts rebell again the idea of sexuality as sinful, and preventing love. For instance "Annabelle Lee" is a tradgedy where heaven prevents a pure romance because its jealous, that's an outright rejection of the societal norm of the time, which had sex as something uncouth. And don't even get me started on the way Poe utalizes uncouth words in his horror to pull on that feeling of arousal and disgust. For instance in The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket he says, “I at length breathed a faint ejaculation to God, and resigned myself to die." I won't get super into it more becuase this was all part of an essay I wrote but the point is nothing is EVER black and white, and when you approach it as such, that is the influence of facist thinking.

I think one reason we see facism in Gen Z in fandom spaces most often even when they are verbally left-leaning is that the school system has facism baked into textual analysis. No longer is it critical theory and exploration, it becomes "is this text good or bad" "is this character good or bad" "should this character have done this" etc. Part of this is because of the decline of the school system. Good and bad is easier to work with when you have a population of students who more and more cannot read as well as they should be able to. but also, it's because fascism in this country is getting worse and worse, and teachers can't even recongise the dangers of the types of lessons they are teaching.

Stop thinking "is xyz good or bad" and instead think "what is this text saying about xyz". We can all say that Poe is racist and that's bad, but Poe doesn't matter. What matters is the text. What is the depiction of Dirk Peters saying about racism against natives in America in the 1800s, how has this racism influenced the climate of America and American litterature today? What can we do to lessen the impact of this influence? If you label all of Poe's work as "bad racist" then you loose the importance of these texts to the whole narrative.

And that's what fascism wants.

it's true and you should say it.

[assortedvillainvault]

Some More Disney Villain Headcannons:

Once again relating to my self indulgent mixed universe AU, but for the ladies this this time:

Ursula:

Being impaled by a shipwreck in your moment of glory leaves a certain amount of psycological scarring.

Yeah hers is definitely one of the more brutal villain deaths and as such there’s not many that can relate, except Maleficent, who especially relates.

Fortunately for Maleficent ‘swords of truth’ tend not to be scattered around the realm waiting for her. For Ursula... it’s a bit more complicated.

She still has her lair underwater, but due to how squished the merged realms are it’s actually a lot shallower than it was originally, meaning the proximity of ships is much closer.

Ships make so much noise underwater (yes even the wooden ones without engines) that she straight up is a twitching mess, the groans of tons of wood resisting the pull of the water is burned into her brain 24/7.

It’s part of why she spends so much time on land these days.

The pirates at the very least know not to bother an irate sea witch and there’s at least a couple that are easy on the eyes. The navies can go drown themselves.

There’s one captain and ship in particular that stands out - mainly becuase the tentacle beard is an outrageous look and he tends to play the organ at three in the morning outside her lair. While underwater.

Being of grecian descent herself (Tritons sister and thus Posidon’s daughter) she’s partical to a good tradgedy and she gets a good chuckle out of the whole Calypso shebang. Jones despises her. She loves the Kracken though.

Initiated an impromptu Villain Song Contest in the House of Mouse. Absolutely smashed it and could only be thrown out after her piece was done, due to the fact she suckered herself to the stage and legit nobody short of hercules could move her.

Has weekly catch ups with the other theatrical villains for shittalking and duets.

Yzma:

Hhhoooooooooooooooooooo

She didn’t die in her story but was utterly humilated and in short? That’s probably worse. Becuase now she’s still a villain to the heroes and a laughingstock amongst her peers.

It’s honestly probably not as bad as she feels it is but it GRINDS that she’s tried so hard to be a formiddable villain but she was still delegated to villain-aligned comic relief.

SO many things smashed with a hammer. So Many.

Turns up to a semi regular Bitches’ Night with Cruella and Madam Medusa. Medusa can capitulate about whiny brats to her hearts content and Cruella can talk fashion. It’s a win-win-win. Jafar comes sometimes as well and she finds it a relief to talk to another royal visier who’s monarch was a moron.

Kronk still turns up with meals sometimes becuase he’s worried she’s not eating enough. She lets him in becuase despite her best efforts rage and scientific obsession does not constitute enough calories to live.

Absolutely brought down the house with her cut villain song ’snuff out the light’ when Ursula instigated her little competition. The applause nearly broke her composure after decades of not being appreciated for her work

Would follow the undead of this strange new realm around with a clip board and scalpels for days if she could, were they not so angsty about her prodding.

She’s still one of the best scientific minds in the ‘Verse and if left to her own devices could become quite a threat to whomever she chose if her own ego and impatience didn’t get in the way prematurely. If by some miracle she manages to get anywhere, then, well. Enter Mim.

Madam Mim:

Mim is having the TIME of her LIFE

Who cares about the little Arthur brat she’s got places to be and problems to cause!

If one wishes to witness pure joy put Mim in a lab and tell her not to touch anything. There will be casualties within the hour.

Her favourite people to bug are Yzma and Merlin becuase scientific types tend to get extra screechy and they have so many doodads to mess with. Plus even if she swallows a transmogrification potion it’s not like she can’t reverse it. It’s her signature form of magic for a reason.

Obviously there are people she won’t touch becuase she values her life but that doesn’t mean she won’t rant about them while playing cards.

Her no-touching list comprises of Hades, Maleficent, Chernabog and Oogie’s kids (don’t ask). Everyone else is fair game.

Regularly goes drinking with the Fates and the witches of Morva.

Played fuck-marry-kill once while on a pub crawl and everyone needed brain bleach for her responses.

The Horned King wasn’t seen for two weeks afterwards and honestly nobody blames him

Has ruined multiple balls, soirees and royal events with her presence alone and has made a mortal enemy out of Merryweather and Fauna after making Flora cry

Will flirt outrageously with any undead she comes across. Rasputin flirted back and now they are unironic besties who scope out new targets on the weekly. 

Look, she hates kids, ok? Despises the little brats. Take them away or she’s turning them into woodlice. Yes she put Lilo’s art on her fridge because she’s not a complete monster. Why does she have a fridge in medieval England and how does it work? God knows.

[tora-the-cat]

(okok first preface: write what you want and read what you want this is literally just my two cents I’m not judging u as a person/writer/consumer I’m just giving my perspective and being cool and right and pretty about it <3 thanks for understanding)

The fun thing about DabiHawks and problem with its shippers is like..there’s exactly 2 ways that it can work and they fall on polar oposite sides of the scale. It’s either gotta be a crack-comedy fic or an angsty dark complex probably-vent fic, there’s NO in between, and trying to make an inbetween is generally just confusing and/or bad. 

like those AUs where they meet as kids? Cute! but if it’s not hospital shennanigans that somehow end in revolution or angsty shakesherian tradgedy then what even is the point. cozy domsetic AU? Everyone’s-a-hero Au? with THESE characters? lmao sure Jan

the Hawks-joins-LoV aus? Absolutely lovely! but character wise makes NO sense lmao no one trusts Hawks and he’s too brainwashed/disconnected/privilaged to actually defect when he sees no way it could work and benefit him long term. It’s either gotta be a Crack Au where we just roll with it so he can do some arson with his boyfriend and bond over quirk reppression with Toga or a borderline-psych-horror that seriously and realistcally tackles what would have to happen to cause such a shift in his character. 

Soft Hawks....like i technically can kinda see the appeal on a purely aesthetic level with minimal to no media comprehension. But, in reality, your two options are little gremlin hawks and anti-villain morally-grey-certainly-questionable Hawks (or a mix of the two)

Soft Dabi.....ok I have a less kind view of this lmao Fuck Off don’t minimize his trauma this boy is Fucked Up and your only real options are Feral Dabi and Feral Dabi But In A Fun Cracky Way (that maybe turns chiller eventually)

[mollyollypuddingpolly]

Home For Christmas

Anne and Gilbert

A/N : I began writing this way before Christmas, I don't know why a was in a Christmas-y mood this summer but anyways I thought it turned out good enough to post.

---

He'd told her he'd only be home two days before Christmas. He told her it was the only ticket he could get because he had been so busy studying for finals that he forgot. She was disappointed, but didn't let that show in her letters. The last few times she has seen him where in two day intervals when she ventured up to Toronto on a free weekend, so she had hoped for much longer. Of course the break continued after Christmas, but his classes resumed early, so they couldn't even ring in the new year together.

Anne decided she'd make the most of her time before he arrived, spending it with Marilla and Mathew so when he did come she could spend more with him without feeling guilty of neglecting her family through the holidays. Of course, they'd share Christmas dinner together. A tradition since Bash joined Gilbert at the Blythe farm.

Anne and the other girls stepped on to the snow dusted platform and pulled their coats tighter across themselves as the warmth from the train gave way to the chilly December air.

Anne smiled, remembering her first time standing on the platform. She glance at the small bench where she once sat, eagerly awaiting what would become her home. As the train cleared the station, She spotted the cherry tree now not white with bloom but with snow. Still beautiful and breathtaking. Pure white amongst many evergreens. Still a bride, she thought and a warmth filled her cheeks when her brain reminded her, you'll be a bride someday after all Anne. And what an adventure that will be. She shook her head to clear away the thought, still plenty of time before that of course.

"Anne!" Diana's voice pulled her from her thoughts, she turned toward the sound and noticed Diana had already approached her parents who had offered to bring Anne home too. She quickly made up the distance, allowed Diana's father to take her bag and climbed into the carriage.

"What ever had you so preoccupied?" Diana asked with an raised brow. Anne smiled sheepishly.

"I was just remembering the first time I got off at this platform. When Mathew picked me up and didn't have the heart to tell me they'd sent for a boy," Diana smiled and took Anne's gloved hand.

"And I am forever grateful to him for doing so," She said. Anne hummed with a smile, "Just think, if you'd been sent back not only would you and I never have met, but I'd be in Paris being 'finished'," she said saying the last word with such distaste she she received a sour look from her mother next to her. Anne only smiled, she could only imagine where she'd be if the Cuthberts hadn't kept her, and her imagination could come up with some horrifying possible alternatives.

To keep her mind off that she looked at the passing scenery. Snow had fallen the night before, just enough to give the fields a soft cover but not cause difficulty along the roads. She inhaled the cold air and exhaled watching her foggy breath disappear into the winds. She gazed at the lake of shinning waters, it's beauty enhanced by it's now glistening frozen surface. And she held her breath when the crossed the bridge, as she always did because her imagination didn't often like to let her think crossing one wouldn't end in tradgedy.

The carriage slowed as it approached the gate of Green Gables. Anne's heart jumped at the sight of her home. She hadn't been to visit recently due to spending her free time preparing for finals, but now she was home. And there was nothing that could make her happier.

Or almost nothing.

Anne walked towards the front door, which flew open before she reached it. Mathew stood, arms outstretched, which she willingly jumped into. Dropping her bag onto the wooden deck. He squeezed her tight and she breathed in the warm smell of a wood fire on him. Then he picked up her bag and led her inside.

"Marilla!" Anne said, walking into the kitchen. Marilla stood inspecting a tea cup. Which she quickly set down at the sound of her name. She turned to her Anne and beamed before pulling her in as well.

"Oh how we've missed you!" She said, then more sternly, " I trust that you did well in your exams."

Marilla leaned back, her hands still resting on Anne's shoulders.

"I believe I did, we get our results when we return," She said. Marilla nodded asking about Diana and the other girls before Mathew spoke up once more.

"Well we best get you set up in your room, I can carry up your bag," he offered, halfway to the steps.

"Nonsense," Marilla said quickly with a sharp look at Mathew, "Anne can carry her bag up herself," Mathew nodded suddenly.

"Right, here you are then," He said passing her the bag. Anne looked at the two quizzically.

"Okay… just let me take my jacket and scarf off first," she said, setting the bag down again. The two nodded, smiles plastered on there face. Anne looked at them with narrow eyes before turning back out into the hall.

She took the steps slowly, taking in the comfort of being back home. She remebered again her first day at Green Gables, she was too upset then to enjoy her walk down the simple hallway, but now this was a place filled with memories. Like the time she and Diana had raced up the steps giggling about bosoms before getting in terrible trouble that almost forced them to stop being friends. When Ruby Gilis had to stay with the Cuthberts after her house burnt down. And Anne finally made a second friend. When she realized she did love Gilbert and raced down the steps and to his house, but then thought she was too late. Caught up in her thoughts, she almost didn't notice that her bedroom door was slightly open.

Almost.

She shrugged, Marilla probably left it open after dusting. She pushed open the door, excited to see her simple, cozy room after the long train ride. But when the door pushed back her heart leapt with joy, and it wasn't over her small, comfortable bed.

"GILBERT BLYTHE, YOU DEVIL!" She hollared, tossing her bag and running into his arms with a grin. He grinned back and laughed as he squeezed her tightly.

Anne wouldn't know it, but down stairs Mathew and Marilla were giving each other a knowing smile.

She leaned back before diving back in, this time their lips met, his arms twist up her back, her finding solace in his hair. A chill went up her back every time they kissed and her face turned warm. She couldn't help but smile into the kiss as did he, she pulled back unable to contain her laughter, instead resting her forehead on his.

"What are you doing here? You said you couldn't get in untill the 23rd!" She said, her arms at rest on his shoulders. He adjusted his around her waist with a cheeky smile.

"I actually got back yesterday, but I wanted to suprise you. So when you told me that you wouldn't be home untill today…" he left it off letting her fill in the rest. She pulled back, lips pierced, intending to give him a sour look, which gave way to a smile.

"You sneak! And Marilla and Mathew where in on it?" She leaned back, still in disbelief, how did you convince Marilla to let you up here she thought but didn't ask. He smiled.

"They were, and so was Diana. I had to make sure you wouldn't get some funny idea of coming up to Toronto to suprise me," he said, she sucked in a breath at the thought, she wouldn't put it past fate to cause that kind of chaos.

Anne lead Gilbert downstairs, where tea and family was waiting for them.

"Bash!" Anne shouted, dropping Gilbert's hand to give the man a hug, he accepted squeezing her back tightly.

"Anne! Ah it's so good to see you! Gilbert's been here only one day and he's already talked my ear off over how much he missed you," he said as he let her go, she turned to Gilbert, smug, who suddenly seemed interested in a spot on the ground.

Anne greeted Delphine she's so big! Then everyone sat down for tea and scones.

Anne laughed when Delphine bit into a scone, smearing jam all over her face. She leaned forward and helped the small girl by whiping the corners of her mouth. Marilla was having what started out as a friendly conversation about Gilbert's studies turned into a long, explaination of all he'd learned so far, Anne commented when she could, and made a mental note to check out some medical books from Queen's when she returned so she could keep up.

It warmed her heart to see him so passionate about becoming a doctor. She remembered briefly a time when he almost gave that up, thinking the task too much for him bare. She didn't know if it was her words that day or his own self reflection that brought back his desire to purse medicine, perhaps some combination of both.

After tea, the two went for a walk through the forest. The path that she took to school untouched since the snowfall, their foot steps were the first.

"Diana isn't sure yet if she'll be aloud to continue to Redmond, but I really am excited about the idea," Anne explained, she knew he'd heard it all in her letters but something about him being here made it feel more real. " Of course, I can only go if I get the Avery Award, but everyone says I have a shot at it. Oh! And Cole has applied to an art school in Nova Scotia too! So at least I'll have one friend,"

Gilbert smiled, rubbing his thumb in circles on her hand as he held it.

"There's not a doubt in my mind that you won't win it, Anne," He said turning to look at her, she peered into his eyes. Eyes she could get lost in and had many times before, even before realizing what that meant.

"I hope so," She said, still unsure. But she wouldn't know until end of spring, so no point in worrying.

Gilbert seemed to think the same thing, taking hand he turned her around, spinning her slightly so they stood face to face, she laughed as he did it.

" I was just thinking about when we first danced together, and how we haven't had the chance to do that again,"

"Well," she said with a smile, "There isn't any music, but I do believe my imagination is more than strong enough to make up for that," she said holding out her hand and he took it, guiding her in a waltz as he hummed along to a tune he'd heard once before.

They stepped back and forth, through the clearing in the woods, as snow began to gently fall down on them. Anne looked up at Gilbert with such happiness and piece in her mind that nothing could have ruined this moment.

Nothing.

Stepping into the middle Gilbert spun Anne once more, but it was hard to tell with all the snow how safe the ground was, and catching a bit of ice, Anne slipped, falling down and taking Gilbert with her.

"I'm so sorry, are you alright?" He turned to her urgently worried she'd hurt herself. But she was staring up at the sky with a smile, and when she turned to him she began to laugh, which he returned as well. They laid there, laughing for far longer than anyone in there right mind would lay in the snow. Then Gilbert laced his hand in hers and began to help her up.

"Merry Christmas, Anne," he said once they both were on two feet again.

"Merry Christmas," she replied, giving him a kiss.

"

[electric-eulogy]

Saw this in the replies and thought it was interesting...!

Pocketcat is many things to me, and uncanny is one of them. He's an abysmal character. I have many thoughts on him, and I wish to share a few as they impacted how I draw him.

Do be aware that there will be spoilers for both Fear and Hunger games! I am going to try to keep things mostly vague for the sake of being brief, though. So I am absolutely not touching upon everything.

To spare everyone a long scroll, I'm putting them under the cut.

Pocketcat, to me, really is the embodiment of identity theft. Not only that, but he is also one of the most directly unashamed portrayals of a masked predator (quite literally, too).

With the information about him provided in Termina, specifically referencing his relationship with Daan, I think his character suddenly becomes all the more impactful. This is where my idea of him being the personification of identity theft really solidifies. He's someone who has to have his consciousness; actually, it's more like his purpose, passed from soulless husk to soulless husk to survive. He purposely deprives whoever is the "Next Pocketcat" of their ability to connect to others in any meaningful way. Severs their ability to create meaningful connections to the world around them, but not ever directly.

He's identity theft in the sense of wearing someone else's face... wearing their skin, but not being the same person at all. He can have all the same mannerisms and underlying ticks and tocks of whoever he used to be, but he's not them anymore. He's not anyone. He's an incomplete erasure of whoever he used to be, a forced permanent hiatus of the self to serve a bigger purpose.

He's an identity broke down to be molded to a cause, and not even necessarily a good one. Just a cause. He's a dead but still breathing servant. Good for nothing but to service something bigger than himself. Bigger than anyone, really.

And he does his job well! And that's just one of many horrifying things. He's just about five steps away from looking at you and saying, "Well, good friend, dear friend, come to look at my van. The one that I use to kidnap children.", and that's a whole new and unique brand of horror. Because he's completely unabashed about it.

He'll look at you and tell you that you're going to be his accomplice in this tradgedy that he's orchestrating... but he'll do it in such a way that you give your OK without comprehention. You'll give your consent for him to do something (possibly to you, possibly to someone you care about, possibly on an even bigger scale) you don't even fully understand. You tell him that you'll help, and that you give your consent for him to ask you do do these terrible things. Or for him to make you. He doesn't care about the specifics... he doesn't even care about giving you the full picture.

Because you gave your OK. You gave him consent.

That is a massive theme in his character. Consent. Even if it's just vague, iffy, and extremely situational (life-or-death sitiations and the like), to him it's still consent.

He's so strongly unashamed of what he is and what he does, but for all the wrong things. For all the wrong reasons. He's incredibly blunt, for the most part, about what he is and what he does, but he says it in such a way that it's hard to realize that at first. A special brand of psychological games.

A romantic, but not in any way that could be even neutral. He's just fucking terrible.

To cut this short, I would start digging into his lore (oh man, is that something to talk about), but I do not feel as though it would be appropriate to do so here... I think Pocketcat is horrifying.

He's a bony husk of a corpse, still shuttling around and breathing... but that's purely running on the graces of powers greater than ours. He's like... a fragmented shell of a human, all skin and bones and aching compulsion.

Fear & Hunger sketches that I made from requests off of the F&H Discord server... they were all done quickly and without thought. If they look awful it's because the most time I spent on one was 6 minutes.

Featuring the following:

Pocketcat, from memory

The Girl (I am terrible at drawing small children don't stare)

Dysmorphia, Radiant

Cahara strangling Le'garde

Sergal, on his spear

[nobuverse]

@despairfiles​ said :  [ 🧸 ] [ 💄 ] [ 👥 ] [ 💥 ] to all

Heckin’ interesting HC Questions ll Accepting

 ( Oh. Okay. We’re doing this under the cut then ) 

[ 🧸 ] does your muse have any guilty pleasures or hobbies that make them embarrassed?

Archer! Nobunaga: Nobu’s definitely more poetic and well read than she lets on. She brags a whole bunch about her knowledge of other cultures and her own prowess because she wants other people to take her seriously, but I see her being a fan of Haiku poetry and classic literature as well. 

Summer! Nobunaga: I mean the woman is pure chaos with no filter - does she really have anything she’d want to hide? yeah a little. I bet she actually uses classical music to help her calm down sometimes ( don’t tell anyone though !! ) 

Demon King! Nobunaga: I mean?? not really. The fully ascended demon nobu king is pretty much incapable of feeling guilty about anything to begin with.

LOST: Okay don’t snitch on her but sometimes she takes two cookies from the communal cookie plate instead of just one -

Nobukatsu: He’s very artsy, actually! He used to be big into origami and try his hand at sculpture every once in a while. ‘Course, it wasn’t very conductive to being the son of a Daimyo family, so he got bullied into giving it up

Chacha: Again, not sure if she’d be ashamed of much of anything. 

Okita Alter: Nope. Her hobbies are stated loud and clear.

Okita: She really likes collecting different set of clothing, but of course, prefers the traditional stuff. 

[ 💄 ] does your muse have an aesthetic? do they adhere strictly to it?

All Nobus: Aside from red and skulls? Not really. Nobu does what Nobu wants and that's about it. 

LOST: I wouldn’t call it an aesthetic but she really likes her shinsengumi uniform. It makes her feel special

Nobukatsu: He tends to try and copy his sister too much to have an aesthetic of his own, sadly.

Chacha: Bright, colorful and preferably pastel. Of course, she’ll take about anything she’s given, despite how picky she tries to act. All that matters is its from you.

Okita Alter: I don’t think she understands this question

Okita: Very traditional and formal. She always sticks to it, and never strays away from it.

[ 👥 ] does your muse have many friends? do people feel they can rely on your muse?

This is actually a resounding no for all my muses, with maybe the exception of the over trusting Okita Alter. They all grew up in violent periods of time or did violent things that warranted them making a lot of enemies. 

Even Chacha, who acts happy and innocent, has a lot of deep seated trust issues with adults. She tries her best to be very close to all the children at Chaldea, though. 

[ 💥 ] is your muse determined, or do they give up easily?

Contrast to the last question, I think this is actually the one thing all of them share in common. They all got to where they were because of how determined and stubborn they were - with the exception of Chacha, who’s life was marked into history by tradgedy. 

I’d say the most hard-headed of any of them is Okita, since she refuses to adjust her way of thinking of her views, whereas Nobunaga is at least somewhat willing to listen to other opinions. 

Okita Alter is probably only determined rather than hard-headed. She doesn’t give up when the going gets tough, but also easily drops something if asked to do so. 

[villainousshakespeare]

In The Timing

Tom Hiddleston/Reader

Rated E 

Warnings: Smut, Angst, *But in this chapter only FLUFFFFFF with a teasing mention smut 

Chapters: 4 of 4 + Epilogue

After a horrible first date, you end up at a pub filled with University students. You are feeling rather old and sorry for yourself, until a blond haired Adonis strikes up a conversation with you. Obviously he is too young for you, but what could a little flirting hurt?

@yespolkadotkitty @hopelessromanticspoonie @nonsensicalobsessions @caffiend-queen @thecutestlittlebunbunfairy @vodka-and-some-sass @arch-venus25 @devikafernando @devilish–doll @hiddlesholic @just-the-hiddles @kellatron55 @myoxisbroken @wrathkitty @shae-annelore @kellatron55​ @from-hel-i-with-love​  ciaodarknessmyheart

Chapter 1 - First Meeting

Chapter 2 - The Morning After

Chapter 3 - Years Later

Chapter 4 - Time’s Up

Epilogue

"Ladies and gentlemen, you know my first guest as Loki the God of Mischief and The Night Manager. His new movie,  In The Timing, is currently nominated for a slew of awards, including the Oscar for Best Picture. Please welcome back to the show Mr. Tom Hiddleston."

You smiled as Tom jogged out onto stage to thunderous applause. Or maybe "thunderous" wasn't quite right. Thunderous implied deep, and the cheers for your man were much higher in pitch, clearly spearheaded by all of the overeager women in the audience. You couldn't really blame them. In his monochromatic blue suit and leonine mane of hair, Tom was definitely scream worthy. Still, that didn't mean you wouldn't take great delight in teasing him about his status as heartthrob later.

The response to  In The Timing had been incredible, with glowing reviews and box office receipts that were much higher than expected for an independent romantic comedy. Now, with the studio making a push for it on the awards circuit even more people were coming out to see the movie that was your labor of love in more ways than one.

All of this was wonderful for you and Tom, as you were both receiving accolades and prizes for your disciplines, but it also meant an endless round of press junkets, talk show appearances, and gala screenings all around the world. Most of the weight of this, of course, centered on Tom's deliciously broad shoulders, but you had your own share of speaking engagements as well. To your amusement, he had insisted that the studio coordinate your schedules, so that you were promoting in the same city at all times. He had just gotten you back, he insisted. After seventeen years apart he was not going to spend one night separated from you if there was anything he could do about it.

You were only too happy to go along with this plan. The state of pure euphoria you had been coasting through your days in had come to a screeching halt the first time you were asked to get up onto a stage in front of a thousand people and answer questions about your process and the characters you had imagined. Only Tom, standing to one side of the stage like a proud and nervous papa watching his child win her first spelling bee had kept you grounded. Every time you started to falter, you would look over and see him practically speaking for you with his body language. It would make you giggle inside how earnestly he watched you, reacting to the questions with amusement or indignancy on your behalf. What did it matter, you realized, what anyone else thought of you, when the over grown ginger in the wings believed in you so completely.

That didn't mean, of course, that you would let him off the hook for the swooning fangirls. Someone had to keep his head from becoming too big to fit through the door.

"So, Tom," Colbert was saying as you focused on the interview, "I hear you've got a new picture out."

"I have," he answered with a smile, playing along with one of his favorite hosts. Between the Hank Williams duet and the Hamlet soliloquy, Colbert was right up Tom's alley.

"Yeah, I hear it's pretty dreamy. Or rather you are pretty dreamy in it."

"I don't know about that," Tom chuckled with humility, face going a bit red. "I don't know who would have told you such a thing."

"Oh, my female staff, my daughter, my wife..." Stephen deadpanned as the audience laughed. "What is it about this film that is so... I believe the word was "swoony"."

"Swooy? An excellent word. From the old English geswogen, meaning "in a faint"" you rolled your eyes as Tom pontificated.

"If you say so," Stephen laughed.

"I would say that it's the waistcoats, Stephen," Tom said with an impish grin. "They are rather constraining, depriving the wearer of appropriate oxygen. Hence the swooning."

"I see. Interesting. Now, this is a romantic comedy. Normally those are not big Oscar bait movies. Oscars tends to go more for tradgedy or history... the feel good tropes.

"Exactly," Tom laughed along.

"So what is it about this movie that makes it so appealing to awards voters? Is it the waistcoats?"

"Maybe," Tom smiled. "Maybe it's the waistcoats."

He was so charming, you thought you could feel the adoration from crowd washing towards the stage. He would be on cloud nine tonight, you knew. Tom feeded off of the energy of a crowd in a visceral way. It wasn't ego, exactly, or at least not just. It was the validation of his hard work, and the knowledge that he had shared something with an audience that had touched them on a personal level, made them experience something as a communal group.

With a smug smile you wondered if he would be able to wait until you were back to your hotel tonight before sharing that excitement with you, or if you would have to find a closet or some other private room to slip into for half an hour or so. Over the last few months there had been a number of times when, sometimes for no other reason than a look you had thrown at him, Tom had siezed you by your wrist and dragged you to some semi-secluded spot to have his way with you. Hell, once or twice you had even been the one to push him into an alcove and reach for his zipper. Your relationship all those years ago had been marked by insatiability for eachother, and if anything the years apart had only added to the ferver to touch, taste, and fuck eachother senseless.

"Along with the costuming, which is brilliant - bless our wonderful costuming department - I think the thing that sets this movie apart is its writing," Tom was saying, throwing an adoring glance in your direction. "It really gets to the heart of what it means to be in love. How we, as human beings, with all our foibles and idiosycrosies can be our own worst enemies in the persuit of our heart's desire."

And seriously, how could you not love this man to distraction? 

"The course of true love never did run smooth," Colbert threw in.

"Exactly. Shakespeare said it best as usual. But do you know which character that was?"

"Helena, Midsummer Night's Dream," Stephen said uncertainly.

"Close, very close," your walking Shakespeare anthology smiled sugly. "Hermia. Act I, Scene 1 I believe."

"I'll take your word for it," Colbert surrendered to the master. "So, you're nominated for a slew of awards - a BAFTA, a SAG, an Oscar... is there anyone that you are really gunning for? It's the Oscar right?"

"Well, sort of," Tom hedged.

"What do you mean sort of?"

"I am enormously flattered to be nominated for all of them, of course, and so excited for the film to be recieving so much love. But the award I'm most excited for isn't an acting award for me, or even Best Picture. It's the Adapted Screenplay Award."

"And why would that be, Tom Hiddleston?"

"Well, as I mentioned before, the writing, particularly the dialogue, is truly the star of this picture."

"Uh-hu. No other reason?" the host prodded. "I know you're a private man when it comes to your relationships..."

"With reason, you have to keep a bit of life for yourself."

"Of course. So, what do you want to share with us Tom?"

"Well, it just so happens that the writer of this particular movie is someone very close to my heart," he smiled a dopey smile that made your stomach do filp-flops.

"How close exactly are we talking?" Stephen asked, also shooting you a look.

"Well, Stephen," Tom grinned, "it just so happens that this particular author, this beautiful, brilliant, compassionate woman, has recently become closer to me than people may realize."

"Really?" Stephen grinned back at him. "You know, it just so happens that I see her standing there in the wings. Shall we invite her out here?"

"Well..." Tom threw you a smile, eyes saying that he knew he would be in trouble later, "I really do think that she deserves to be the one sitting out here discussing the movie. She is the reason it is a success after all."

"What do you think ladies and gentlemen?" Stephen asked the audience as you glared at both of them. "Shall we bring her out?"

As a chorus of enthusiastic yeses assailed your ears, you vowed that you would make Tom pay for this later, possibly ususing the pair of fur lined cuffs he didn't think you knew he had purchased when you were strolling through the village the day before. Resigning yourself to your fate you sighed and nodded you head once to their entreating glances.

"Ladies and gentleman, she is the writer behind In The Timing Victoria Thomas," you still were not used to hearing your pen name spoken out loud as often as it was, or responding to it. You were going to have to do something about that soon, you thought.

"That is her pen name, indeed," Tom said as you walked slowly out on stage, glad that you were dressed in a chic Calvin Klien dress that flattered your figure, "I hope you will all join me in welcoming the newly minted Mrs. Hiddleston!"

  It had been a complete suprise. You and Tom had been walking through Central Park, Bobby frisking around you as he chased invisable prey. Your fingers were linked together, and Tom had at least somewhat learned to shorten his long stride to make up for your significantly shorter legs. After a bit of wandering, you had made it to the Shakespear Garden near both Delacourt Theater and Belvedeare Castle, and Tom had pulled you down beside him on a stone bench.

  "This garden," he told you conversationally, "has every flower the is mentioned in Shakespeare's plays planted in it."

  "That's so interesting," you teased, even though you did find it interesting, you loved to give him a hard time over his love of all things Shakespeare.

  "All of those flowers," he went on as though you hadn't spoken, "and not one of them is close to being as beautiful as you are."

  "Tom," you sighed dreamily, snuggling against his chest. Honestly, how had you gotten so lucky?

  "Darling," he said, a nervous tone creeping into his usually confident voice. "I wanted to ask you something."

  "What's that?" you said lazily, enjoying the smell of his skin as he kissed the top of your head.

  "Would you look at me love?" he asked.

  You lifted yourself off of his chest to see an anxious expression to match his voice.

  "I know that we have not been back together for long," he began, hands figiting, "but I think you know how much I love you."

  "I do," you smiled at him. "I love you too."

  "And we have, if you think about it, known eachother for almost two decades."

  "I suppose."

  "Given that, and that I don't think I will survive parting from you again," detaching himself from you, Tom dropped down onto one knee and your mind went blank. "My darling love, will you marry me?"

  You gaped at him in stunned disbeleif, unable to move or speak as the sun glinted off of his copper curls. As your eyes met his you saw a look of hope begin to shade into panic, and realized that you had not given him an answer. Just as you were wondering how mouths and tongues worked, Bobby barked loudly and jumped up onto the bench beside you, breaking the spell that you had been under. You burst out laughing, and after a moment so did Tom as Bobby licked at your face.

"Upstaged by my own dog," he grumbled good naturedly, some of his confidence coming back as you were beaming at him. "  B ut come, darling, ' what sayest thou then to my love? speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee  .'"

  "I say yes," you smiled at him as he rose to spin you off your feet in a circle. "Of course yes, Tom!"

  Two days later, in a quiet ceremony attended by just imediate family flown in secretly and his ever vigilant puplicist Luke, the two of you were married in the same spot by your fiesty dirctor Susie, who had obtained her liscense online for the occasion. It was peacful, and even if one or two persistant pedestrians had been able to snap a quick picture of you in your ice blue dress and Tom in a perfectly tailored Ralph Lauren suit, Luke had been able to keep any whisper of it out of the press. As gossip control went, it was a minor miracle.

"So, you two crazy kids tied the knot, huh?" Stephen asked as the crowd finally died down.

"Yes," Tom said quickly, looking a bit nervous. "Though as you may be able to tell by the expression on my beautiful bride's face, we hadn't made the announcement public yet."

"Oh that's okay," Colbert waved it off, "they won't tell, will you guys?"

The crowed laughed at the notion of it staying a secret after such a public announcement.

"Well, congratulations Tom, and to your lovely wife, my condolences."

"Oh, I think Tom's the one who's going to be needing condolences soon," you joked, and Tom gamely winced, though his eyes said he wasn't sure how much you were joking.

"So, why did you agree to marry such an obvious fixer upper?" Stephen asked you. "Couldn't you find anyone good looking?"

"It's a struggle, Stephen," you sighed and the audience laughed, as you had married, by your own reconning, the most handsome man on the planet. "But, well, I'm in love you see."

"Ah," he nodded sagely.

"Yup, I'm in love with Bobby, and the only way to get the dog was to say yes to the man."

"My evil plan worked, you see," Tom chimed in, laughing his endearing ehehe

"You used the dog to get the woman? That's next level planning!"

"Well you see, Stephen," Tom said, staring into your eyes with an intensity that made you forget you were on national TV, "I have been in love with this particular woman for seventeen years. And if it had taken adopting an entire three ring circus to finally get her to marry me, that was what I was going to do. Fortunately for our home, one adorable Spaniel was all it took."

"Seventeen years? Really?" Stephen looked back in forth between you, a wealth of unanswered questions in his eyes.

"Indeed. She led me quite a chase, but I wore her down in the end."

"I have a feeling there's a story here," the host said, in huge understatement, "but I'll wait until your next visit for that."

"I'm afraid that story is not suitible for television," Tom demured.

"Well, can you at least give any advice to the fans out there? Some help for the lovelorn?"

"Well, in the end," he said, giving it his usual deep thought, "all I can say is it's all in the timing."

"And that, my friends, is what we call a segue. You can catch the movie in theaters now."

Tom glanced over to you and winked with a cocky grin, and you thought of all the things that had gone between you, the years and passion and the love. You loved this man with everything you had. He might be insufferable, he might occasionally push you beyond your comfort level, but you knew in that moment and every moment that you were loved with a fierce, constant heart. It was the happy ending you had always dreamed of. And it was yours.

                       Notes:        

Thank you all so much for reading. It has been a wonderful story to write.

[hazelwitxh]

Nothing makes me angrier than the rise of kylo ren comics, not at the writers or artists, but at Lucasfilm for thinking it is a good idea to release comics telling us how pure, misunderstood and tortured young Ben Solo is. It means nothing now he is dead. There is literally no point to them.

Lucasfilm be like here’s even more tradgedy for you to look forward to reading

[hearth4days]

Personally I have:

The Extra™ One

Mwehehe

Backstabber

Too pure to hurt BUT I DO IT ANYWAY

The Other Extra™ One- now with tradgedy

Why did I hurt him so badly

Never use him but I still love him

Goth

Purity™

Will you ever be consistent?

Angry

Never talks, but he always hovers. Watching. Waiting.

I need to give him less attention

Above para's brother AKA Grumpy

Angel

I need to do more research for you

Where did HE come from???

And finally,

*Sob*'s carbon copy with superpowers

the types of paras

the old friend

• has been around forever literally

• story is somehow both constant and changing

• ol reliable

• you may or may not have a clear idea of their face

the everywhere para

• did everything

• knows everyone

• story is the most inconsistent shit ever

• appearance changes depending on your daydream

the angel

• you’d never hurt them much

• way too good for this

• pure and lovely and deserves better

• tends to appear in a positive setting

A Bit Of Villainy

• mwahahaha

• meant to be the antagonist of the whole shebang

• problematic fave

• you high-key love them actually

there’s more i know it keep them coming