#the other the rely on it to make any sense

[giveamadeuschohisownmovie]

I’ll just come out and say it. Okarun’s development from weirdo nerd to unhinged badass actually makes sense. It’s actually refreshing to read a story where a nerd becomes a badass and have it not feel forced or feel like the author’s self-insert.

I think what made the story work for me is that the story doesn’t really change who Okarun is as a person. He’s not a cool social person, he’s a fucking weirdo nerd who gets on people’s nerves. And he’s still that way several chapters into the story. What makes his journey feel natural is that even though he doesn’t turn into this cool, social butterfly who everyone likes, it’s clear he doesn’t need to be:

1) Momo falls for him, which makes sense because, like Okarun, she’s a complete weirdo who gets on people’s nerves

2) Aira, the popular girl, falls for him. This would be forced in any other story, but it makes sense in DanDaDan because Aira is also a complete weirdo. The difference with Momo and Okarun is that Aira is weird because she has main character syndrome.

3) Okarun becoming more aggressive and unhinged makes sense when you consider that he wants to protect/impress Momo. Not only is she the first friend he’s ever made, they’re practically soulmates. The manga’s overall story is about how even though Okarun and Momo are weirdos who don’t fit in, they fit each other perfectly. So what happens when someone meets their soulmate? They’re gonna do whatever it takes to protect them, hence why Okarun’s development into a badass makes sense.

4) The story really puts Okarun to the test. For example, in the most recent chapter I read, Turbo Granny actually had to tell him to stop whining and go back to focusing on the fight that was happening. Okarun didn’t even get a chance to do the typical shonen hero “I’m weak, I want to get stronger, I wish I was better” speech. Most other shonen series would let their hero have their “I’m weak” moment. DanDaDan, on the other hand, said fuck that, Okarun needs to step up or he’s going to die. And I do think that’s intentional on the author’s part since the manga feels like it’s mocking all the familiar tropes in the genre.

5) So far, the series doesn’t rely on surprise power-ups. This really works for the development of the entire cast since it forces the characters to use their wits to resolve their problems. Since this post is about Okarun, I do think that part of the reason why Okarun’s journey into becoming a badass feels natural is that he has to use his wits. I mean, he’s already a nerd, so having a nerdy character outsmart their opponents makes sense. I’m mainly referring to the chapter where Okarun defeats Evil Eye by using reverse psychology.

[drdemonprince]

Genuine question regarding the way turning your creativity into a career has broken your brain: do you think getting a job not reliant on creative output would solve the problem, or do you think this has long term damaged your relationship with creativity?

I see so many friends who tried to "make it" as artists never pick back up with their art in the same way they did before after they reach your point, even after they get jobs outside that field.

Do you think there are things that can be done to mitigate this and repair that relationship? I wish I could help them.

oh, I uh. Also have a full time job that is not reliant upon creative output. and so that has not worked great. because i've had like double the things to do, in my mind. (tho admittedly my job is really easy and i get away with fucking off a lot). For years it was the perfect scenario because i was not relying upon my creative output for income, and so i could just do time theft from my main job and write on the clock for fun!!! but then. the shit i did for fun became a whole like Business and so now i've basically had to maintain both adequate productivity at the main job WHILE succeeding in the creative job. and i die

It's so kind of you to ask how to help your friends revive their inner creative spark and enjoy making things again. i'm not sure what the answer is. i know that i still feel moved to create. i would never stop doing it. i think what i need, personally, is to stop being a Business -- to not have an agent and editor and PR person and Marketing team and a whole host of other people needing me to do what i do and sending me new obligations all the time. my plan is to not conventionally publish anything else after this upcoming book, at least not for a long time. or to only go the small press route moving forward. i think something like that is what it takes for a lot of people in this position -- to get back into making because it is enjoyable again, and to do silly frivilous creative projects that are social, without any sense of obligation. im trying good lord im trying but ive got to retrain my nervous system to not see creative work as this scary thing i could fail at doing at any time.

[seastarblue]

Training

Trying my hand at whump bless ft Kaiden and Sir Santhuff

and now the TWs: exhaustion whump, sleep deprivation, paranoia, poison (delivered via arrow), chasing? whump idk man she’s getting chased, ankle injury, suicidal ideation/thoughts, whumper trying to make whumpee “perfect”, training whump, fantasy whump, mentions of setting a bone back into place, beating, hair pulling, using whumpee as a punching bag, uh yea 👍

———

The knight collapsed onto the damp earth, tremors causing her whole form to quiver. Her runeswords—a pair of them, specially designed for her—slipped from her grasp. She tasted metal; from what, she did not know. Her quick, frantic breaths mixed with the crisp night air. A creek babbled nearby, mingling with her buzzing thoughts. It was nearly pitch black, and the dark spots now cluttering the edge of her vision didn’t help in any way.

‘That can’t be good,’ she thought, her mind feeling sluggish and slow.

That was even worse. She needed to stay alert, no matter the exhaustion deadening her senses, no matter the chill that seeped into her bones from the wet night, no matter how much she wanted to lay down and sleep right there in the mud.

He was going to find her, sprawled out on the floor, panting, pathetic, and she wouldn’t—couldn’t—let him see her like this. Not after he had gotten so close to catching her just now: she remembered the sting in her leg from the arrow he’d shot at her.

‘Get up,’ she told herself. ‘Get up and prove yourself. Prove him wrong. Make him proud.’

Staggering to her feet, she gripped a nearby  fallen tree to heave herself up. She wavered in place, dizzy, then steadily moved forward, inch by inch, step by step, making her way to the creek. Water would assist the wound, her sluggishness, and provide her a good way of making it back to the starting point—the goal of this gruesome training session. She needed to make it back before Santhuff ensnared her in one of his many,  many traps. He’d almost gotten her twice on the first day, and the number kept increasing as fatigue and hunger set in. She couldn’t hunt for food; he was hunting her. She couldn’t rest for longer than a few hours before his arrows whizzed past her head and into the bark behind her. She even tried to sleep nestled in a tree, but the lack of suitable escape routes made her already frayed nerves go haywire.

He might actually kill her at this point.

‘Though,’ she realized with chagrin, ‘that would just prove him right, wouldn’t it?’

She couldn’t have that. Santhuff had already been reluctant on letting her join the Azari in the first place. She would never had guessed it, given his previous enthusiasm on the night of the Ball, unless she hadn’t been eavesdropping on him while recording an entry for his diary.

So, pride and ego giving her strength, she started cleaning the possible poison out of her leg wound, and replenished her thirst with the river water. She looked up into the sky above, the twinkling stars winking at her, as if to say, ‘You can do it, just a little further, see, past the little berry bush, then you’re free.’

The knight got up again, feeling a little better at least, and started moving towards the goal point, moving quietly to avoid snapping twigs and the like.

Maybe she’d actually make it. Maybe she could prove Santhuff wrong. Maybe the self-deprecating part of her would see that she could do it, she could be just as good as the other Azari, then it would quiet itself forever. All she needed to do was make it to the goal.

She told herself that again and again, until the small yellow flag, magicked to glow gently for visibility, came into view, just a few dozen paces ahead. There wasn’t a need for the glow now—the sun had started rising, bathing the forest in gentle pinks and purples.

Lowering her guard—a bad idea, in theory, but she didn’t care—the knight stumbled towards the flag. The thought of a warm bed, a nice meal, and most of all, the boost of confidence, almost made her sob with relief.

She’d won! Against the First Justice! No one had ever bested him before—much less a new recruit—and here she was, outlasting him at his own game. Not outwitting—she was too frazzled for that—but she decided outlasting should be good enough tonight.

Just as the thought passed, an arrow flew by, nicking her face. A trickle of gold blood followed, and then the knight-turned-target was sprinting in another direction, away from the flag, her saving grace.

She’d been noticed. Damn it. She should have waited till she was certain Santhuff had moved on, till the wound on her leg had healed completely. Now she ran, branches whipping at her face, snagging her muddy clothes, and puddles splashing as her boots landed on them. Regret trailed near behind her, but the First Justice was nearer yet.

Despite her greatest efforts, the target’s injured leg caught onto a root, and she fell on hard earth. Her ankle twinged, and she was fairly certain it had twisted, if not worse. She’d have to fix that somehow before her curse healed it wrong.

“…you’ve lost.” the First Justice said, striding over to his target. He returned his bow to his back, the quiver still half full of arrows, some of which she knew were tipped with narcotics. “You know what that means, Kaiden.” He sounded dissatisfied, and that drained Kaiden of any pride she had.

She turned to get a better look at him. That was all she could do, after all, the fatigue—or perhaps the poison—had gotten to her. Once she was prone, she couldn’t find the strength to right herself and run again.

His eyes, normally blue, were stark yellow against the dark night, and Kaiden knew: he wasn’t simply displeased. He was furious. Dread filled her as he continued speaking.

“I am greatly disappointed. You have spent three days in pursuit of the flag, and what do you have to show for it? Nothing. Nothing but a muddy face and shame.”

He was now right next to her, looking down as if she was nothing.

‘I might as well be,’ she thought. Kaiden stared at his shoe, not wanting to make eye contact or even look upwards. She stayed like that for a while, panic slowly setting in.

Then, a rough hand pulled her hair, forcing her to look Santhuff in the eye. “Well?” he spat, teeth bared in a snarl. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Kaiden simply stared. She could have died if his aim was just a little off earlier, and Lloyd Santhuff never missed. He could have killed her just like that, left her body out to rot with the wolves and vermin, truly killed her by cutting her head off—but he didn’t. She needed to keep it that way. If she said anything, it could—would—get worse.

The forest was silent for a few moments, the only sounds being the crickets, the swooshing of the branches, and Kaiden’s wildly beating heart.

Then he let her hair go and she crumpled to the ground in relief.

Santhuff turned to leave, and Kaiden made to follow—as best she could—but he stopped her with a swift kick to the ankle. The twisted one. She bit her tongue, drawing more gold blood, and braced herself for more blows.

One on her back, another at her gut, two more on her other leg, and a final one to the gut. Kaiden tried her best to stay silent, but she let out sob after sob.

A kick. Then another sob. Then another kick, and another, and another.

Then, finally, he stopped the assault, and stepped away.

“Come to the clearing a league north,” he said, voice devoid of any of the rage from mere moments ago. “In 3 hours. Don’t be late.”

And then he was gone, leaving the knight with the twinkling stars above. They didn’t seem so helpful now. In fact, they seemed to call to her now, mockingly:

‘Come join us, foolish girl, you will never succeed. The only certainty you have is death, so for once, do the useful thing and join us!’

~~~

It took Kaiden a couple of hours to make it to the rendezvous point. She was worried that she was late, but if Santhuff’s silence was anything to go by, she wasn’t. ‘Thank the stars,’ she sighed with relief.

Back to Vespar they went, a teacher and his student, a hunter and his quarry, the First Justice and the rookie Azari he’d sworn to mold to perfection. No matter what.

———

and then they lived happily ever after n Lloyd got yeeted off a cliff <3

finally trying my hand at whump lemme know what yall thinkkkkk plzzzz

I had fun!!!! this was fun :3

nyeh heh heh heh @bamber344 @aalinaaaaaa @abiteofhoney @cc-writes-stuff

[acommonanomaly]

I’ve seen a lot of criticisms of how the Crows are portrayed in The Veilguard, the biggest one being that they are “sanitized,” and while I can sort of see why people think this, I personally don’t see it. 

I was thrilled with the Crows in the Veilguard. My Crow Rook playthrough was so satisfying, and I came to love the Crows even more than I did before. 

Maybe that’s because I don’t feel the need to be constantly reminded that they are assassins who kill people for money. Or maybe it’s that I love them because they are assassins who kill people for money. I thoroughly enjoy morally gray characters, those who struggle against or give in entirely to the darker sides of their natures. I enjoy them because they are a warning of what any of us could become under the right (or wrong) circumstances.

And that’s why it’s so vital to me that they are not dehumanized. 

Of course some of these people who have gathered together as a group are going to form found families. I LIVE for that shit. Them being assassins doesn’t mean they're incapable of seeking friendship, family, and love. They’re people. Of course they’re going to fight for the freedom of their city and their people when Treviso is occupied. That doesn’t mean they aren’t assassins anymore and it doesn’t mean they’re knights in shining armor. It means they’re people fighting for what they love.

Zevran told us about the horrible recruiting methods of house Arainai and their torture of children. But it’s also heavily implied that he really cleaned house and stirred up change. I like to think that his campaign against his house made waves, that it changed some things. Not to mention, I find it very likely that each house has its own methods, its own way of doing things. 

And really, there’s no reason to believe that there isn’t dark shit still going on behind some closed doors just because the Crows don’t open those doors to Rook, especially a non-Crow Rook. The Crows not showing dark shit to this ally who is helping them doesn’t mean they don’t have dark shit going on. The Crows absolutely have their infighting and betrayals, look what happened with Illario!

(As a side note: I would have loved for Caterina to have been called out for her abuse of Illario and Lucanis, but Lucanis has been through a crap-ton of trauma and probably feels like Caterina is all he has left, especially after Illario’s betrayal. It makes sense that he’s not ready to face that just yet.)

What I find really fascinating is how a lot of the Crows seem to see themselves. The Crows grow up in a place where being an assassin has become completely normalized. Antiva has no standing army and relies on the reputation of the Crows to deter other nations from engaging in open conflict with them. Many of the Crows seem proud to be Crows.

And they have their own code they live by, even if we in the real world wouldn’t find it a particularly moral one. 

It’s illustrated most clearly in regards to Jacobus:

.

.

.

Imagine the chaos that would ensue if Crows were allowed to just kill willy nilly? How would they look then? They do not want to be seen as mindless killers. They don’t want their new recruits to fall into the habit of killing without a contract, as this would make them something other than what they would like to see themselves as. 

This makes sense and I like seeing it examined.

I love the Crows being explored more deeply and given more depth. I love seeing them as people as well as assassins. I would love to see even more of it, to see how these people who go out and kill for money behave once they’re not on the job. 

This is good stuff and I’m all for it. 

[gh0stly-pages]

Out of Our Minds (Part 5)

Ledger!Joker x Harley Quinn-esque f!reader (18+)

CW: violence by gunfire and gas, implied deaths/fatal injuries

Words: 5.8k

Chapter Summary: After a long night of plans, you're ready to break your patient out of Arkham Asylum

previous part: part 4

Notes: Welcome back! sorry for the long wait, life has been pretty busy but here's the next part! Things are really cooking up in this one. Just wanna preface that in this series you are NOT a good guy, you're turning into a villain like Joker, so there will be lots of violence and so if you're uncomfortable with that stuff I advise you not to keep reading! I won't be getting graphic though (and I really hope that I don't have to be the one to remind you that in real life, murder bad) Also this whole chapter includes a plot for breaking out of Arkham that is very farfetched but we're gonna pretend like it makes sense, okay? okay. Enjoy!

Arkham is cloaked in shadows.

The patients are forced into these shadows, pushed there by people desperate to remain in the light. They want to be the light. To show themselves as all things good and pure. They walk around with their chins held high and their shoulders back, clucking like birds. They are bright. Intelligent. Classy. Or so they want to be seen as. What lurks beneath is all darkness.

These people avoided the shadows, and thank goodness for that.

As you lurked in the shadows, preparing for the madness to come, you couldn’t help but smile.

_________________________________________

Your heart is pounding as you approach the two guards outside of Joker’s cell. You’ve managed to move his session to be the last one of the day, and the anticipation has been killing you.

You don’t know how you got here. You don’t mean literally, you know how you got there, walking with shaking legs through security, scared that somehow they would see it in your face. That you were hiding something. They didn’t even question you, waving you along while looking bored. After that, you realized they couldn’t read you at all. They simply didn’t care. So now, you hold yourself with confidence, hoping everything goes just the way you planned.

But getting here, being Joker’s accomplice, that you were still figuring out.

“Hello boys,” you say to the guards, even though they’ve seen you enough times to know the drill. They hand you the little remote, enter the code, and the door unlocks. Not a single word exchanged. You give them your best bitchy smile before walking through the doors. “Thanks.”

There Joker is, his face paint still intact, though smudged. You let out a deep sigh of relief, and while the door closes behind you, you take your seat, not exactly sure where to start. “Mr. J,” is all you can manage to get out.

Joker leans forward, dark eyes glinting. “Yes, sweets?”

You take a deep breath. “Are you ready to break out of Arkham?”

The smile on his face is like none other you’ve ever seen from him. It’s giddy, it’s dangerous, it’s thrilling. God, you love it. “Doll, that, ah, might just be one of the best things I’ve ever heard you say.”

It took you all night to think up a plan, with the little time you had. You knew you had to take advantage of just how little people cared for you, finally it was serving as a positive. You’d racked your brain, setting up a giant piece of paper on your wall and drawing out the layout of Arkham. You’d marked where the guards would be, how they’d move, the security cameras and alarms scattered around the building. It had all looked like a mess at first. A puzzle you wouldn’t be able to put together. Yet the more you thought about it, the more you realized you were thinking too much about how to perfectly escape and not how to rely on your own strengths. Not only could you fly under the radar, but you were light on your feet, had learned a few tips from Joker on weaponry, and the only people who (mostly) respected you in Arkham were your patients. 

You’d not gotten any sleep but it was worth it as you pieced everything together. The main part of your plan did not necessarily involve high level theatrics like J, but Arkham was in for one hell of a ride.

Reaching up into your hair, you pull out a hair pin, reaching over and grabbing Joker’s wrist. “Here’s what we’re gonna do,” you say, starting on attempting to unlock the cuffs. Joker’s lesson was somehow still fresh in your mind but it wasn’t an easy task. “I’m going to press the button on my remote that will alert the two guards outside the door to come in. We’ll be standing on either side of the door, and we’ll need to take them both out.” To your surprise, the handcuffs unlock with a small click, and you beam as the cuffs fall away. 

Joker lifts his hand, moving his wrist, which is partially bruised from the cuffs. “And what about the other layers of security?”

“There’s two layers of security. That was the tricky part, but I’ve talked to a few of my patients and they’ve agreed to… start a ruckus as a distraction. As long as most guards are occupied with the patients, the ones out there won’t have backup. We can knock them out easily.”

He smacks his mouth. “It all sounds too easy.”

You move to his other wrist, pushing the hair pin into the cuff. “I know, but it’s not gonna be easy. Things are going to go wrong but we’ve gotta try.” Again, with a bit of a struggle, the cuffs pull open with a satisfying click. You look down at his ankles, grateful that it seems he hasn’t been cuffed there. “You’re free.”

He stands up, stretching himself out, and you watch with earnestness as he groans and cracks his knuckles. “Not just yet, dolly. Got that remote handy?”

You grab the remote from your purse before tossing the purse to the side. You won’t be needing that anymore. “Got it.” As you stare down at the remote, everything hits you way too fast, like a mallet to the chest. Your breathing falters, your heartbeat speeding up with a rapid bump bump bump-. It’s not that you’re scared, not necessarily, but you’re scared that you’ll fail both you and Joker. You’re not J. You don’t know how to do this shit. “I…”

Everything goes blurry and it takes you a second to realize Joker has moved in front of you. He places his hands on your shoulders, bending slightly to look you right in the eye. “You’ve got a sharp mind, dolly. I, ah, know you wouldn’t fail,” he says, an odd reassurance but it works, and you can feel your breathing go a bit steadier. Then you realize how close the Joker is. He’s touching you, no cuffs, no table between you, no barriers. He’s right in front of you, all of him. “We’re getting out of here.”

“Right,” you mumble, straightening yourself. Much to your disappointment, he drops his hands from you, moving towards the door. You suppose it’s now or never. With a shaky breath, you follow after him, moving to the opposite side of the door. Now, the both of you stand on either side, prepared for whatever comes your way. “Ready?” you ask him.

He nods. “Ready, Doc.”

You press the green button.

The both of you press your backs to the wall as you hear the door click open. It’s far too early into the session for you to be leaving, so the guards must know something is wrong. The first guard walks in, the door swinging open so that it blocks the view of J, while you hold your breath to keep quiet. The guard doesn’t notice you, and his mouth drops open as he sees the table empty. He draws his gun, holding it out. “What the fu-“

Springing into action, Joker grabs the guard from behind, picking him up and throwing him across the room. The guard screams, his gun flying away from him as he hits the floor. In one quick swoop, Joker grabs the gun off the floor and jams the butt of it into the guard’s head, just as the other guard runs inside the room, already firing shots. J made it look so easy, but this other guy is your problem. Filled with a sudden adrenaline, you come up behind him, kicking him forward. You’re not the strongest, so he only stumbles, immediately whipping around to try and shoot you. Combat certainly isn’t your strong suit, not yet, but you can move exceptionally well. You sidestep him as he tries to ram the gun into your stomach, and you opt to knee him in the groin. He groans and tries to shoot you again, and you squeal as the bullets pierce the walls. Thank god the room is soundproof otherwise the guards outside would have come running in. From the corner of your eye, you catch Joker watching you. He’s holding the gun. He could shoot the guy easily but he doesn’t. He wants you to take the guard down. 

“Bitch,” the guard mutters, opting to try and throw himself on top of you just for you to dodge him again, lifting your leg and giving him a good knock to the ribs. He cries out, and as he tilts to the side, you give him a good punch to the temple. With a sick pleasure, you watch as he collapses to the floor, eyes wide open, barely breathing. Quickly, you grab his gun, not wanting to take any chances. 

You look up at Joker, who’s smiling as he watches you catch your breath, gripping the gun in your hand. “Impressive, doll. Though, ah, you definitely need to work on your skills.”

“You’re the one who gave me a night to think of this,” you grumble, and he chuckles. “Wasn’t exactly able to take a defense class.”

“I’ll teach ya.”

Suddenly, the room begins to glow red, sirens blaring that make your bones vibrate. You look at him in panic, he looks at you with excitement. Clearly, you both have very different definitions of fun. The sirens aren’t for you though, the Arkham security team doesn’t like to cause commotion for just a single patient causing mayhem. The patients must have started a ruckus, whether it be a riot or starting a fight with one another, you hadn’t gone into the details. You just told them to be distracting. 

You tilt your head towards the door. “Coming?”

“You go first, doll.”

You move ahead, prying the door open. Two more guards stand in the room, talking in hushed whispers beneath the blare of the siren. They don’t even notice you as you hold out the gun, firing into one guard’s shoulder and immediately spinning and shooting the other one in the hand. The guard whose hand you shot drops to the floor, their gun hitting the ground alongside them, and you quickly move forward and kick it. But as you kick the gun, a bullet flies out in front of you, nearly grazing your nose, and you spin around, the guard who you shot on the shoulder aiming his gun right at you. Fuck. You tense as his finger moves to pull the trigger again but before he can move any farther a bullet digs into his side and then one into his chest and he goes limp. 

You turn to see Joker huffing with the gun in his hand still smoking. “Doll, you’ve got a lot to learn. You’re not even-“ He turns and shoots the other guard in the chest “-getting in good shots. You’re leaving yourself vulnerable. Gotta make sure you get em’ where they can’t shoot back.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, suddenly feeling embarrassed. You didn’t expect to be this unprepared.

Seeing your expression, Joker falters a bit. “No apologies. I’ve told you, it, uh, doesn’t mean anything to me. It’s just a word.” He comes up to you and nudges you with his shoulder. “C’mon. Last room of guards before we have to run, right?”

“Right.”

“Well then,” he says, pointing to the door with his gun. “You first.”

This time, you don’t want to screw things up. You put the gun behind your back, pulling the door open with your other hand and entering the final room. This room has a security camera in the corner, so you don’t want to go in all guns blazing. You have an idea, and with the gun, gesture for Joker to stay hidden. You hope that’s what your gun waving conveys anyways. Three guards turn to look at you, the ones that greeted you when you first came in, two men and a woman. They’re all masked but you can make out the slight outline of their face beneath the face shield.

The woman runs forward, no gun drawn, leaving it still hanging at her hip. “Miss l/n, what happened?” She tries to crane her neck to see behind you but you’ve inched the door closed enough so she can’t see too much on the other side. “What happened with the nutbag? Are the guards attending to him?” 

You nod rapidly, trying to look like you’re startled. Your acting skills might need some touching up, another thing to work on. “Yes, I- I just wasn’t feeling very comfortable… Felt like I needed to get out of there.”

The woman snorts. “Alright, ma’am. Well, is there anything you need from us? Some other whackos are causing a disturbance.”

“Yes, I, um-“ You pull out your gun. “I need you to step aside and let us through.” You slam the barrel into her stomach, sending her flying backwards, and in one fluid motion you shoot the security camera in the corner and then train your gun on one of the other guards. You can sense Joker step out from behind you, shooting the other guard before he can even lift his own gun. The guard you’ve trained your gun on aims his gun right back at you. “You’re gonna let us go, ain’tcha?” you say, trying to keep your voice from shaking. You have to remain confident. “Or else this bullet is going in your head, right, Mr. J?” you say, looking at Joker. If you’re gonna be a villain to these people, might as well play the part.

Joker nods, mimicking your stance and pointing his gun at the guard. “Whaddya say, doll, what should we do if he, uh, refuses to listen?”

You tighten your finger on the trigger. “I can think of a few things.”

The guard drops his gun, raising his hands in surrender. It sends warmth through your chest. Even if it's sickly satisfying. You feel proud. “Okay, okay,” he blubbers, looking between them both. “Please just don’t kill me, I’ll let you go, please.”

Joker giggles. “How generous, you know, normally I’d use you to get out of this place but I don’t think we need the extra weight.” Joker shoots the man in his left hand, bam, then once in the other, bam. “Looks like you won’t be able to do much! Buh-bye!” The man faints immediately.

Seeing Joker at work, this sinister side of him you’ve only seen on the screen, makes you shiver, and your grip on the gun only tightens, knuckles going white. “The uniform. Take his uniform.”

Joker pouts at you. “Aw, it ain’t even my color.”

“J,” you warn.

“Kiddingggg, doll. Why so serious?” Grabbing the man, Joker strips him of his uniform roughly, getting each piece off before stripping out of his own clothes. Your cheeks turn pink and it all happens so fast before you can even think to turn your head and give him privacy. He pulls his shirt up over his head, chest in full display. The first thing that catches your eyes are all the scars and bruises littering his stomach, pink and jagged, scars you want to trace beneath your fingertips. He’s surprisingly toned, just like his arms. Not muscular exactly, but strong looking. Before you can get a better look, he pulls on the guard’s black undershirt, then fastens on the bulletproof vest. When he catches you staring, he grins. “Enjoying the show?”

You turn your head as he kicks off his pants, though you can still see him in your peripheral, throwing on the black cargo pants the guard had donned. “No,” you lie.

“And, are you, uh, gonna be gracing us with a costume change as well?”

You bite back a smile. “No.”

“Pity.”

When he’s finally done, you turn around just as he puts on the helmet. You don’t like that it’s hiding his face from you but you can still see his scarred smile if you look hard enough. “Lookin’ good, soldier,” you tease, saluting him. 

His lips twist into a smirk. “Lucky I like givin’ orders. Let’s move.”

“Okay, J, for this part, you’ve gotta follow me. I’ll run up ahead and lead you down to where we need to go, you gotta take out anyone you can. Got it?”

“Let’s see if we die or not, shall we?”

“You could try and be positive .”

You open the door, poking your head out to look around, and shit, it’s chaos out there, guards running back and forth, clearly busy with whatever the patients started. You can hear screams, banging, and laughter beneath the sound of the still screeching sirens. The place still glows a flashing red. You point to the right, down a long hallway. “This way!” you shout, running towards a set of doors at the every end of the hall. Arkham is a bit of a labyrinth but you know it well. Down that hallway leads to another hall which leads to more doors which then, finally, leads to the staff wing of Arkham. It’s where the back exit/entrance is. And also where you’ve parked your getaway vehicle. 

You don’t wait for Joker, but you can hear his steps behind you, the combat boots he stole pounding on the floor. Nobody seems to notice either of you at first, or they’re too busy to even give it any mind. You know eventually someone will run past Joker’s conference room and realize he’s not inside. His room empty. All traces of him gone. But you hope you’ve bought at least a bit of time. 

As you run, more guards run past you, and you’re nearly knocked off course as one bumps your shoulder. You keep steady on your feet though. Thank goodness for all those gymnastics lessons. The only time you glance over your shoulder is to make sure Joker is behind you before you push through the doors. Once you see him in all his suited up glory, you carry on through the doors, Joker just a step behind. “To the right again,” you yell. There’s less guards down here, but that means even more likely you’ll be caught. Already, you can see them turn to you, wondering what the hell you’re doing running off with one of the guards close behind. As the two of you run, one of the guards turns their attention to you. “Hey! What are you two doing?” the guard barks, running up in front of you. “The lady has a gun!”

You could probably give them an excuse that you’re running away from the danger but you feel too angry. “Running to safety, dumbass!” you say, using the gun like a hammer and hitting them on the head like a game of whack-a-mole. That was a hell of a lot more fun than shooting a gun. As the guard crumples to the floor, at least five other guards take notice, and you have to quickly jump over the guard’s unmoving body to run as fast as you can through the doors. You can hear gunshots explode all around you, it’s like a miracle you’re not hit, and you can tell which gunshots come from the guards and which from J. But before you know it, every single one of them falls flat on the floor. “Nice one, J,” you say, and he cuts up ahead of you, opening the door for you.

“Ladies first,” he says.  

“So gentlemanly.” You shoot out ahead of him. Now you’re in the staff hallway, lined with doors which leads to locker rooms and places to conduct meetings. At the very end of the hall is the exit. You’d be jumping for joy if it wasn’t for the fact that any second more guards would be chasing after you.

You grab his arm, pulling him down the hall, running faster than you ever have in your entire life. “Exit this way!” you scream through the chaos, heading into the “staff only” area of the building. Looming ahead of you, just down the hall of rooms and lockers, is the staff exit, leading to the back end of Arkham. You look over to Joker. “You ready?”

Joker moves his arm away from you, instead grabbing onto your hand with his own free one. “As I’ll ever be.”

The two of you barrel down the hall, practically slamming into the exit doors, desperately tugging them open. There doesn’t seem to be many people around except for a few guards lining the outside, and Joker moves to take care of them as you yank him towards your car. Well, your stolen car. You weren’t gonna risk coming in your own vehicle. “Here,” you say, pointing to a black car in front of you. Letting go of J’s hand, you stuff yourself into the driver's seat, and Joker shoots at another guard before cramming himself into the passenger seat. “Drive,” he yells, and you grab the keys from your pocket, turn them in the key hole, and slam on the pedal. He throws off his mask, tossing it in the back seat. “Faster!”

As you get to driving, you remember the final bits of your plan. The part you’re most proud of. “Hey, J, wanna hear what other distraction I planned?” you yell over the roar of the engine, as you swerve around the parking lot.

“Whaddisit?”

“Gas! The same kind they might have used on you. Rigged it all up on my own. The patients should be all rounded up in their cells by now and the guards? They’re getting knocked out cold!”

You have to focus, but you turn towards Joker, your heart swelling in your chest when he looks impressed. His eyes are wide as he pulls down the window and looks back at Arkham as you pump it straight out of the parking lot, taking down the small security gate. In your rear view mirror, you can see green explosions of gas within the windows. If all worked well, only the guards should be getting knocked out about now, leaving no one to come after you. Police will be on their way, but that at least gives you a bit more time and them a distraction. Plus, they aren’t sure what they’re looking for, no clue what car or who helped Joker escape, not until they can wake the guards.

Now, you realize, you can’t just go back to your apartment. It’s too risky. You look at J as you slow the car, trying to blend in with the rest of Gotham traffic. You failed to plan this far. “J, I don’t know where to go now.”

“I do,” he says, leaning over, making sure not to put too much weight on you or crush you as he takes hold of the wheel. “Just pump the gas, doll, I’ll get us somewhere safe.”

It sounds like a horrible idea, but you nod. You’d make it work. “Okay,” you say, and as the light turns green, you hit the gas. It’s scary as hell just controlling the gas, letting Joker swerve you both around, but you trust him. Ha, funny. You trust the Joker. He drives you towards the outer parts of Gotham, and as you enter a rather dingy residential street, he moves the car off the road. “Park it here,” he says, and you obey, pressing the brake and shifting the car into park. 

“Why here?”

“I’ve got a spot around here.”

“You have an apartment?”

He snorts. “No, I’ve got a, uh, hideout spot in one of the abandoned warehouses at the outskirts of Gotham. And it wouldn’t be very wise to park right outside the entrance.” 

Smart, you hadn’t thought of that. Clearly you lack experience in this realm. You grab the keys and throw open the door, Joker doing the same, and the two of you begin walking on the sidewalk, Joker taking the lead. Darkness has already set over the city, and the two of you walk beneath the light of dim street lamps. It’s cold out, and your white coat isn’t exactly meant to keep you warm, so you hug yourself to try and keep away the chill. “Is it very far?” you ask, and you realize this is the first quiet time you both have had together since escaping. You’ve been too anxious over escaping to even think about everything that’s happened. To think of how the Joker is right next to you, taking you to one of his many hideaways. 

Joker shakes his head. “Not too far, doll.”

Silence settles upon you both, the two of you far too preoccupied with getting to the warehouse to say much of anything else.

As you walk, the blare of sirens starts up in the distance, and when you turn behind you, you can see police lights in the distance. You’re positive they’re not for you, not yet, but if they even caught a glimpse of the Joker, the two of you would be over. Joker knew this too, clearly, grabbing your arm and picking up his pace, practically dragging you as he began to run. Everything is a blur as the two of you fly through the streets. Even though you’re not bad at running, after a few twists and turns, your legs start to hurt, your chest feeling heavy. But Joker doesn’t stop, probably used to running from lord knows what. Before you can register anything, you’re climbing over gates and Joker pushes open the large doors of the abandoned warehouse, pulling you in and up a crumbling flight of stairs until you reach the second floor.

Finally, Joker and you stop moving, taking time to catch your breath. Fuck, everything hurts.

You gasp, throwing yourself against the concrete wall of the warehouse, sliding down until your butt hits the floor. Your chest moves rapidly up and down as you try to catch your breath. Joker crouches in front of you. “Breathe, just breathe, good girl.” He holds out his arms. “C’mere.”

Immediately, you lean forward and throw your arms around him, going limp. He stands up, taking you with him, your legs dragging lifelessly on the floor until only the tips of your toes touch the concrete. You bury your face into his shoulder, and for a second everything feels right. Finally, a quiet moment, and everything crashes down on you, every decision you’ve made. It takes a second for you to process that you’re hugging the Joker, and he’s letting you hug him back. This man, this villain you’d become infatuated with, was holding you close. You’ve imagined something like this before, even when you didn’t want to, but this is better than any of that. “We did it,” you mumble into his guard shirt, which smells like rust and gunsmoke. “We escaped.”

“You did it,” he says, and when you finally pull back to look at him, he’s smiling at you. He gently settles you back on to the floor. “They’re going to come looking for us though. We’ll need to lay low for the moment.”

“In here?” It’s strange to be so close, your arms still wrapped around his neck. “This where you usually stay?”

“I stay all over.”

“Very spacious,” you say, moving your head to look around. “Where do you sleep though? On the hard floor?”

“Chaos doesn’t sleep, darling.”

“No, but people sure do.” You tug gently on one of his locks of hair and he growls. “You need sleep.”

“Can’t sleep now. Not when we’re being pursued.” He wrinkles his nose. “This your first time being a wanted criminal?”

“Duh.”

“I really can’t believe you did it, doll. Made up a whole plan and everything and got me out of Arkham.” Much to your dismay, he moves away from you, walking to some other part of the building. You hesitantly follow after him. “We can camp out here for the night but then we’ll have to move.” In a secluded corner of the room, a moth-eaten curtain hangs from the ceiling, concealing that whole part of the room. Joker takes the curtain in his hand, then looks at you. “Course, we can’t exactly fend for ourselves without weapons, can we?”

Yanking back the curtain, on the other side is a wall full of all sorts of weapons. Guns, knives, even TNT. There’s crates full of clothes, Joker’s clothes, you assume. Some clown masks. All sorts of tools for mischief. You look at it all like a child in a candy store. “J, this is amazing. Isn’t it kind of risky keeping it locked up in here though?”

“I’ve got some goons guarding it. And nobody in Gotham comes in here anymore, I’ve made sure of it.” He shrugs. “If anyone were to find it, let em’ take it, I’d just get duplicates and use them all on the thief.”

You move forward to get a better look at everything as Joker drifts behind you. It should be scary just how much violence is here at his fingertips but know it just makes you swell inside.

“So, how about it, doll? Pick your poison,” Joker says, holding your shoulders from behind. You look over all your options. The guns weren’t exactly your style, you were better at hitting people with them than you were at shooting them. The blades looked nice, and you’d like to learn to use them, but they could only do so much. Something that did catch your eye, sticking out from the other weapons, was a mallet in the corner. It was a tad comically large, definitely not the regular kind you’d see on a construction site. You move forward, Joker moving with you, and grab the handle. 

“Whaddya have this one for?” you ask.

“Uhhhh, to kill people with?”

You glare at his snarky response, though you’re still smiling. “I figured that much. Where’d you get it from though?”

“Amusement Mile.” The old, abandoned theme park towards the other end of Gotham. It’s been shut down ever since you were a child, but you remember your parents driving past it. Seeing a place that must have been so exciting and colorful look so dark and decrepit was chilling. “Found it at one of those old high striker games. Adjusted it a bit.”

Lifting it, you test the weight. It’s definitely heavy, but the weight is distributed evenly, making it easy to maneuver. You give it a quick swing, the whoosh of the mallet like music to your ears. This was what you needed. Sturdy, not too hard to wield, and perfect to pair with your swiftness. “I want this one.”

“Gonna play a game of whack-a-bat with that one?” He maneuvers in front of you, grabbing the handle of the mallet before you could give it another swing. “You can take that one. But you need a gun too. The mallets they’re, uh, too big to get around places sometimes.”

You look back at the wall and point at a small silver gun. “I’ll take that one too.”

He grins. “Are you sure you’re, ah, ready to cause some damage?”

You drop the mallet. “I’ve been ready.” All your life you’ve been pushed to the side. No, pushed to the ground. You were ready to hurt some people back. To make skyscrapers crumble and leaders fall. This anger inside you boils, and you can feel your grip tighten on the handle, envisioning every person who has wronged you.

Joker’s laugh pulls you back to reality, stepping up closer in front of you. “Calm down there, lovely. They call me the Harlequin of Hate but I think that title better suits you,” he says, cupping your chin. “My little Harlequin, partner to the Clown Prince of Crime.”

————————-

That night, you’re stuck sleeping on a mattress on the floor. 

You flop down on your back, the mattress not the comfiest thing you’ve ever slept on but it works. There’s no blanket, so no way of keeping warm, and you try and shift around to find a comfortable position. Joker sits on the edge of the mattress, his knees tucked up to his chest, and it’s such an odd sight to see him so regular that you laugh. His head jerks to look at you. “Admirin’ the view?”

“Maybe,” you say, smiling as you lay on your side. “It’s just weird to see you here. Not in Arkham or fighting B-Man.”

He hums. “It ain’t everyday I bring people around ere’. At least, not like this.”

“Lucky me, huh?”

“You realize you’re in this forever now, right? There’s, uh, no goin’ back from here.”

The weight of it settles on you. “I know... I wouldn’t have gone along if I didn’t know that.”

“Well, if you wanted to go, you could go now. You could walk free, tell the cops I threatened you and made you do all this.” He looks down at his feet. “I, ah, won’t stop you.”

You’re surprised to find your eyes watering. Joker, this menace, a force to be reckoned with, was giving you the option to leave. He could be fooling you, of course, but you could tell from the way the words escaped him awkwardly, uncomfortably tender, that he meant every bit of it. He’d let you go, you could continue your regular life, maybe find a better job. But that wasn’t the point of why you freed him. You wanted to escape too, to show Gotham how corrupt it was, and you wouldn’t do that without J. “I’m not walking away,” you say back.

“You’re insane, ya know that?”

“I know.” You stare at one another in silence. Finally, you yawn. “Are you… are you gonna come to bed?” You’re not sure exactly what’s going on between you and Joker. You like him, you know that much, but how much exactly does he like you? Enough to keep you around, obviously. But to what extent did he want you around? Did he want not just your loyalty but also your affections? You were ready to give affection, but was he? 

Joker shakes his head, and you feel yourself grow disappointed. “You go on, doll. I, uh, gotta keep watch.”

“Mr. J-“

“I like it when you call me that.”

“-You’ve gotta get some sleep. You’re gonna pass out without it.”

“I’ll be fine,” he grumbles. “Don’t ya get your pretty little head worried over it.”

“You’re an ass.”

Your anger only makes him smile. “If you’re so, ah, worried, then just wake up early and I’ll drift off for a bit.”

“Then that’s exactly what I’ll do,” you say, flipping over, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you ticked off. You’re not actually upset, you just wished Joker prioritized himself a bit more. That was something to deal with another day. “Goodnight, J.”

“Night, darlin’.”

That night you dream of Gotham in flames. You dream of chaos. You dream of him.

Taglist:

Taglist: @lightsabergirl / @knoepfl / @jeffswh0re / @itsmrshamilton / @heath-ledger-jokers-wife / @lolwey / @ilovetoomanymen / @amazingzou/ @ronniesweetkisser / @emberhatesthemoon

lmk if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

[papiliovolens]

Spoilers for up to Ch. 20

This drabble was written as an exploration for Nightmare's motives for Ch. 25, so it will have some hints as to how he will act.

it also hints at more multiversal mechanics going on in the background of everything

This is a glimpse at his interpretation and first impressions of Classic, courtesy of an evil overlord who thinks he knows everything :)

this also became a lot longer than i was expecting, so enjoy 1000 words of nightmare being nightmare

The multiverse was nothing if not predictable.

Regardless of its infinite multitudes, it followed specific patterns. Universes fed off nearby ones to fuel their creativity, forming clusters whose links became jumbled in a heated mess of wired connections. The universes' influences on each other were palpable.

Ultimately, universes could dissolve into basic templates through which each spread its roots into the larger multiverse to cement a place for itself. Thus, despite the multiverse's infinitude, it lacked any carbon copies.

It seemed everyone had a different idea as to why.

So, Nightmare relied on the patterns in each universe- how, regardless of their separation from other universes or how out-of-place they seemed, they acted in predictable manners. It made most missions comically easy once Nightmare conducted a little research. The current state of affairs between monsterkind and humanity, the existence and status of the Underground, and the presence of resets told him all he needed to know.

Even Dream's responses had become expected, although that was more due to his inherent benevolence than anything else.

So, yes- the multiverse was predictable to a reliable degree.

- Until a week ago.

Nightmare planned his missions meticulously. They did not fail. Perhaps delayed, and he occasionally needed to iron out minor kinks, but outright failure was never a factor.

The fact that Dream happened to be in the universe Nightmare chose that day was unfortunate, but it was an easy fix. He sent his men to the Capital with a single order, causing enough panic to draw Dream's attention away, and his plan was back on track.

It worked flawlessly for all of about ten minutes.

Nightmare's goal had been simple. Investigate one of the negativity spikes that plagued the multiverse as of late- the same that had Dream floundering like a fish out of water. For all his supposed wisdom, Dream had failed to realize that the emotional spikes were not the result of any 'affliction' or 'sickness' as he seemed to believe.

So when the spike Nightmare was tracking vanished completely, he had nearly gone into a frenzy, and Dream, unfortunately, sensed his sudden anger. His brother came like a moth to a flame, and Nightmare was happy to turn his frustration to his pathetic brother.

The battle had been going as he expected. The arrival of a Sans was slightly unexpected but hadn't even made a blip on his radar. He begrudingly gave the monster a bit of respect at how they managed to get Dream away from his for a few seconds, but it was child's play to find them and send the Sans off to the pits of whatever hell awaited him.

Oh, the way Dream's face had fallen felt heavenly. His face crumpled like Nightmare had not witnessed in decades, and- yes, he wanted to take a picture to make the moment last forever. The way Dream shook, his frown, the tears brimming at the corners of his sockets, the way his face twisted with the hopelessness Nightmare had always dreamed of-

And then the Sans, whose soul Nightmare had just shattered, threw a bone at his skull.

Nightmare was not ignorant of resets, but the situation screamed foul play. It had been nowhere near enough time for a reset or load to occur, especially since the Sans was from a different universe entirely.

Nightmare could not deny his interest as the Sans reentered the battle and somehow dodged him at every turn. Yes, skeletons tended to have a high tenacity for dodging, but few could bear to stand so close to his aura without collapsing.

Nightmare's memories toward the end of the battle were fuzzy. He remembered his brother finally releasing his fragile hold on his aura, enveloping the forest in its sickly sweet tones. Nightmare responded in kind- flooding the air with negativity to choke Dream out.

Then the Sans, somehow still standing despite the clash in auras, dared to grab him, and then-

Nothing.

Nightmare had not slept in a millennia.

He would have thought the same nightmares he inflicted on others on an hourly basis would fill his dreams, but his sleep was oddly peaceful. No demons nor haunting visages visited him, and he idled in the darkness of his mind for what felt like days.

The multiverse was meant to be predictable. It moved in expected and flawed ways, but ways that could be measured and recorded for future reference.

This Sans was an oddity—an anomaly. A strange mystery in a multiverse Nightmare had already scavenged for everything of interest to him.

There was no record of this Sans, Classic, anywhere until a month prior. It seemed he had fallen into the multiverse out of, quite literally, nowhere. While a universe suddenly gaining access to the rest of the multiverse was expected, what was not was the extent Classic had spread his influence in such a short time.

With Ccino's report, Nightmare wasted little time reaching out to the destroyer and protector. Error had appeared particularly peeved when Nightmare reached out to him, dismissing him until Nightmare uttered Classic's name. The destroyer had gone quite still, seeming to hover threateningly near a crash at the name alone, and a wave of nostalgia flowed over him.

It was a plethora of information Nightmare had not been expecting, and he happily bid Error farewell when he recovered enough to threaten to decapitate him.

Ink, on the other hand, was a dead-end. Getting him to talk was easy enough, but he hardly reacted to Nightmare's probing about Classic, stuck with that annoying blank look on his face. Ink only muttered something about a metal chair, blinked at him, and then greeted him with a child's enthusiasm.

And, of course, there was his brother. From his and Classic's interactions on that day alone, it was not difficult for Nightmare to glean the burgeoning friendship between the two, and the expression that crossed Dream's face at Classic's fake death began to make more sense.

It seemed Classic had undergone a rather unconventional introduction into the multiverse. The more Nightmare heard, the higher Classic raised on his list of utter buffoons.

It was strange. Unexpected. Exciting.

Nightmare had not faced a new mystery in centuries. His studies were his first venture into the multiverse outside of spreading negativity, and it had successfully occupied him for most of his existence. But then things got predictable. Nightmare found that, with enough time, any question at all got boring quickly.

Classic presented a new project with novel results.

And Nightmare was very, very curious.

[boymanmaletheshequel]

One facet of Hellenistic and Roman, /Greco Roman paganism that I’ve always found extremely interesting to me, is how inherently human and relatable it’s gods, and their correlating counterparts are, especially when compared to deities in other ancient religions. They are divine, of course, this is made clear enough, but they all have aspects and traits to them that are inherently human. Rage, lust, joy, love, conflict. They represent, if nothing else, key elements of humanity and the human condition, which is something that no other ancient religion I’ve studied quite compares to in the same way. And not only that, but their relationship to people and humans as gods is clearly very symbiotic. They rely on their subjects for their fulfillment, interact with them directly on a regular basis, and often times even respect and revere them as not necessarily always equals, but as at the very least, creatures worthy of their consideration and respect, sometimes even falling in love with, and baring children with them. This is something that doesn’t really happen in any other ancient religion I’ve seen, sure, there are aspects of it in them, but not nearly are they portrayed as objectively or centrally as they are in Hellenism and Roman paganism. Each god represents some aspect of humanity in ways that are inherently non-Devine, Aphrodite is a lover, sometimes desperate to a vulnerable degree you wouldn’t expect a god to be. Dionysus is regularly consumed by madness as a result of his addiction and mental illness, and falls into spirals of depravity that are hauntingly ungodly. Artemis hunts even though she doesn’t need to, she respects her body as a goddess woman just as much as any human woman would, and fights back just as violently as well. Apollo finds much of his joy and happiness through the humans he falls in love with, and faces much of his suffering and sadness through them as well. Persephone fucking dies. maybe not literally in the sense of human, medical death, but absolutely metaphorically, and the grief her mother Demeter experiences is so inherently human, and so shockingly, gut wrenchingly tragic, that it is pretty obvious that this is what her story is meant to represent: a divine allegory for death and grief, an element that so many religions completely separate from their deities. Even Zeus, the primary deity, is a father figure who’s connection and relativity to fatherhood as seen in human men is almost identical. and if it weren’t for the pre-established lore and status of him as a an extremely powerful deity, there are moments in his Mythos where you might even forget that he’s a god, an all powerful, all divine, objectively non human god to begin with. I think it’s what makes Hellenism so emotional and so drawing to me, and to many other pagans, it’s a relationship that is mutual, and relatable, which is an element that is lacking in so many religions, even the major ones like Christianity and Islam. Yes, there are still elements of this in those religions, but it always feels like the stories constantly hammer in the fact that they are divine, so divine, so utterly unrelatable, so inherently disconnected from their subjects and their plights as a superior enitity, that there’s a limit to how connected one can feel to them. In hellenismos, this limit doesn’t seem to exist, and that’s something that makes it so much more personal and fascinating to me than any other religion I’ve studied. The gods are us, and we are the gods. At the end of the day, I think that’s what all religions should be about, and ultimately, are about, wether we realize it or not.

[myersesque]

ok. so. viktor is my favourite character in arcane. i am also physically disabled and hate the Magical Miracle Eugenics Disability Cure trope with a fiery passion. naturally i have a lot of opinions about where his character is going, but for now, here's a relatively simple one:

internalised ableism has always been part of viktor's character. he describes himself as "a poor cripple from the undercity" (yes, quoting how other people speak about him, but still); he shies away from the spotlight even when jayce encourages him; as a child, he directly acknowledges his disability as the reason other children don't associate with him.

i watched a video essay recently ("how arcane writes men" by schnee) that identified viktor's tendency to just suck it up and push through his problems rather than dwelling on them as a stereotypically masculine trait, which he is written to both subvert and lean into. whilst i agree with that to some extent, i think for viktor specifically it's more of an insight into a very common mindset for disabled people to have; a lot of us do not want to be pitied, and understand that acknowledging our hardships will often unfortunately lead to being treated as attention seeking. he doesn't dwell on things because he can't, unless he wants to be looked down on more than he already is; he's already had to fight to even be acknowledged as more than somebody's assistant, or respected as a zaunite living and working in piltover. i can't imagine he's keen to show any further "weakness"; he only ever cries when he's alone. it makes sense that he'd want to save himself rather than relying on anybody else.

the dangerous thought process of "fixing" people with the hexcore begins with that desire to save himself. at first he's just trying to stop his illness from killing him, but then he progresses to carving runes into his leg, seemingly in the interest of fixing his limp - which works, albeit temporarily. he seems aware enough of the implications of what he's doing to be somewhat ashamed of it (or, at the very least, enough to hide it from jayce). i've seen a lot of (mostly able bodied) people interpret the scene of him running down the pier as victorious, but it always felt bittersweet and scary to me; the dark, painful fantasy of "fixing" the thing the world has always looked down on you for, and the unsettling knowledge that you were never supposed to exist that way. a man experiencing a moment of joy only when he has detached himself from a core aspect of his being; self hatred disguised as progress. he only seems to register the horror of what he's doing when it kills sky.

it's not a leap to say that, with the hexcore dulling his emotions and blurring the lines of his ethical code, he would turn this externally. self loathing so insidious that he mistakes it for kindness and mercy and points the blade of it at the people he swore he'd help. before merging with the hexcore, he was desperate to destroy it and rid himself of its influence, hindered only by his physical inability to do so; under its control, he's seemingly lost all those inhibitions, wiped clean of his understanding of its danger. no longer "clouded by emotion", no longer human enough to know better, no longer suspicious of the arcane.

what viktor becomes in season 2 is, i believe, a hellish mix of his own internalised ableism and the hexcore's desperation to spread and survive. his genuine desire to help people has been warped into stripping people of their individualism, forcing them into some predetermined ideal in the name of healing (very "the empty child" from doctor who). it's his own character flaws mixed with the inhuman apathy of the hexcore. the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and also dressed up so nicely that you don't even realise you're headed downwards.

this is not what viktor stood for, but rather a perversion of his own insecurities, with a fresh coat of hexcore paint to stop him (or his followers) from scrutinising it too closely. they took the guy who dedicated his life to bettering humanity, and warped him into something doomed to destroy it.

(or something like that. idk. i haven't slept.)

[misssakuramochi]

GENERAL RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS FOR SENKU

Age Rating: N/A

Warnings: None

Genre: General, Fluff

○ Senku is the most practically-minded and goal-driven man currently alive; romance is neither practical, nor his goal. What I'm trying to say is it takes both a person as unique and as patient as Senku himself to put it into his mind. Any romantic feelings on Senku's end are extremely gradual, and develop over time spent together, learning to trust and rely on one another. By the time Senku realizes how he feels he's too far gone to fight it.

○ Much as Senku can't fight his own brain, he still hopes things will pass over time if he focuses on other things. It probably takes Senku's romantic interest to initiate, picking up on him drawing away and confronting him about it, before anything will truly progress anywhere. It takes Senku some time to ease into the idea of a romantic relationship though, so he'll need some time to process before giving them a proper answer. In the end, he's upfront that his own goals and love of science will always be his first priority, but if they can put up with that he can't deny that he finds them exhilarating.

○ Dating Senku, honestly, isn't all that different from being his friend. For the most part Senku treats his partner the same way after he starts dating them as he did before. Mushy, flowery words that don't mean anything are a waste of time in Senku's mind, and cute little dates are a waste of valuable production time. He's probably the least romantic boyfriend in recorded history. That being said, there are some differences in how he treats his partner once they start dating - they just tend to be more subtle. Senku takes to teasing his partner more often to see their cute flustered face, is a touch more protective socially, and puts up with much more from them then he would most others. 

○ Additionally, once Senku has settled into a relationship, he actually relies on his partner more heavily. If he’s dating them he certainly admires them in some way or another, and holding back their talents because he’s worried unnecessarily would be illogical - it would also hold them back from growing, and having a relationship where he and his partner constantly inspire and push one another to be the best they can be is important to Senku. As such, Senku makes even fuller use of his partner’s abilities once they’re together as he’s able to get a much more intimate understanding of the strengths, weaknesses, and limitations. Of course, they always have his support ten-billion percent behind them in whatever task he’s appointed them to, or anything they take on for themselves. They’re partners in every sense of the word, and they work together with full trust behind them.

○ Senku's lack of use for dramatic prose shouldn't be confused for either a lack of communication nor a lack of praise. Quite the opposite, in fact, Senku is an extremely honest and forthright partner. Though his bluntness can absolutely be harsh and hard to hear, Senku's partner never has to worry what he thinks or where they stand. He'll just tell them. While this does mean he's expecting to be able to have the hard conversations at least productively, it also means his partner knows he's not just flattering them when he compliments them. Senku encourages the same kind of honesty and communication from his significant other, too. After all, how can they work together if they can't communicate?

○ As aforementioned, Senku's first and greatest love will always be science. Sharing this passion is one of the biggest ways Senku tries to show his partner he loves them. Though he's perfectly happy indulging in his version of quality time (read as: being in the same room as his partner while he experiments and researches and they do… whatever they want, really) he's elated whenever he has an opportunity to explain something he's working on and how it works. Though he hardly expects his partner to follow every equation and formula, he can't help but feel his heart flutter when they ask questions and try their best to follow - just a little bit.

○ Eventually Senku sharing his love of science as a way to show his partner he loves them evolves into gift giving; specifically, he’ll make gadgets for them of varying complexity. Of course, these creations are always extremely practical in nature (Jewelry? Why would he make them something useless like that? Flowers? What, do they want to try making medicine?? You get the idea.) but they’re romantic in Senku’s own way. Very often whatever gift he provides them with is a direct solution to some complaint they’d brought up at some point or another, even if he won’t tell them that directly.

○ Which brings us to the point of Senku having an impeccable memory when it comes to his partner. Of course, Senku has a sterling memory in general, but he’s extra sure to keep any information about his partner locked away for safekeeping, regardless as to how mundane it may seem at the time. Senku wants to understand how the person he’s learning to love ticks, how they think and why. It’s rather often than Senku will surprise his partner by bringing up something they’d mentioned what feels to them like ages ago - though he always downplays their obvious surprise that he cared enough to remember as if was an obvious thing to do (it is for him, but admitting it would be cringey.) Senku’s genuine interest in his partner makes him a fantastic listener.

○ It’s also that genuine interest that makes him scarily perceptive when it comes to his partner. He’s studied them, consciously and not, and he knows their tells. If something seems to be wrong Senku isn’t the type to let it go, either, and his complete lack of fear around blunt confrontation make it almost impossible for his partner to lie to, or hide anything from him. If there’s a problem the most obvious thing to do is to find a solution and fix it, so that’s his goal and he won’t let up until he’s able to start working on that solution. Unfortunately, this also makes it almost impossible for Senku’s partner to surprise him with anything ever - at least without a little help from friends.

○ It’s almost subconscious, but Senku involves his partner in every consequential project he can get them on board for. It isn’t that he’s clingy; far from it, actually. Senku is perfectly happy to spend time on his own and has absolutely no trouble entertaining himself for extended periods of time. Senku’s partner is more often than not the one seeking him out to spend more time together if anything. All that is to say that it’s less that he requires his partner’s company, and more that he becomes rather attached to being able to share accomplishments with them. The closer they become, the more the idea of finishing a sizable project without their smiling face cheering for the victory next to him makes him feel dissatisfied.

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A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Dr. Stone has had me in a vice grip recently, and this perfect little leek will not leave my brain alone. I hope you enjoyed reading these as much as I enjoyed writing them!

Requests are currently OPEN, so feel free to ping my inbox with anything you'd like to see written!

Safe travels, reader!

[moniquill]

You’ve dealt with your share of Evangelical Christians on this website, and you tend to be right about things, so can you give me your thoughts on a pet hypothesis I have on Christians (particularly Evangelicals) and lack of empathy?

My theory is like this: Christians believe that anyone who accepts Jesus Christ as their Savior and Lord (anyone who is a Christian) goes to Heaven, and everyone else goes to Hell. This means that good non-Christians, including people they interact with every day, will be tortured forever in the afterlife. This is distressing for most people, because they naturally empathize with non-Christian people who they have positive interactions with. Most people can extrapolate these good interactions to the billions of strangers in the world who aren’t Christians. If they have empathy for these people, they can put themselves in their shoes, and the pain of their eventual torture in the afterlife weighs on them.

This pain that is caused by empathy can be resolved in two ways: either the Christian dedicates the rest of their life to evangelism to save as many souls from the fires of Hell as possible, or they just cut off empathy to non-Christians so they can stop feeling this pain. Most Christians aren’t missionaries, so they just stop caring about other people. This doesn’t mean that they necessarily become cruel or impolite to other people, they just stop putting themselves in other people’s shoes/imagining life from another perspective, because that would be painful.

Once you’ve cut of empathy to a group of people for one reason (religious differences), it’s easier to cut off empathy for other reasons, or even to become bad at empathy through lack of practice.

Anyway, that’s just my hypothesis from being raised Evangelical. And I want to emphasize that this hypothesis is about empathy, not compassion, though they are related.

This all follows logically, and may apply to some individuals, but I don't think it can be relied upon in a diagnostic sense, if you get me?

The 'why' of what's going on in any given person's head doesn't matter to me unless that person is a close and personal part of my life, someone confiding in me because they want to better understand themselves and/or want to change and grow. I don't really feel motivated, personally, to explain the motivations and rationale of another person's bad behavior - I care about making the behavior stop and preventing it from happening again.

The only value in understanding why someone arrives at a place of diminished humanity (because that's what Evangelical Christianity does, really) is in either helping them regain it (applicable only in close personal relationships) or if it in some way guides a policy that prevents their diminished humanity from hurting others.

"You told Sally she's going to hell; we do not do that here. If you do that again, you will not be welcome here. Sally is not required to associate with you or accept an apology even if you want to give one."

is more important to me than

"You told Sally she's going to hell; why did you do that?"

The above is useful in understanding, as a person who's been hurt, why those people hurt you. It's a self-healing technique and entirely valid for that.

It's not useful for fixing the problem of evangelicals who think this way or preventing them from doing harm.

[radioiaci]

The thought occurred to him that Pentious might have some sway over snakes that existed here on the plane of the living. The visual that presented itself of a dozen water moccasins trailing after him with interest was enough to make him give a bit of a good-humored huff of laughter.

"We'll see. They'll start calling you a snake charmer if you flaunt that capability about though."

Not that there would be anyone to witness it, really. But he could imagine it making quite the splash in the news if someone were to catch wind of Pentious speaking in hisses to the bayou's entire snake population.

He'd been a bit awash in that imaginary scenario to notice the other's light tapping and satisfaction with his newly regained footing. But when Pentious - or Simon, rather - offered his hand, Alastor did not hesitate to take it, keeping stable to ensure that the other did not stumble or fall in his attempt to appear confident in his step.

"Water, most likely. It can get rather humid out there."

Alastor would guide the way back out once he was certain that their room was locked behind them - no need for anyone to snoop through their things - stopping briefly to see if they could take a few bottles of water for the 'road' before stepping out of the building altogether and back down the path that had led them there. They would follow it for a bit before they diverted - as Alastor tried to recall any larger landmarks that would tell him exactly where they were.

There was a lot of wilderness. He would have to rely very much on his sense of direction.

And memories long since filed away to gather dust in the recesses of his mind.

"Maybe I can reason with them," Pentious said with an elegant shrug. Despite his dashingly innocent current appearance, he was still a serpent at heart.

He would at least be able to read the animals' body language more than he had when he had been alive, that was for sure.

Pentious made sure that his wallet, passport and key were all securely tucked inside his pockets after which he sat down on the bed to re-fasten his shoes. He smirked up at Alastor as he did.

"I haven't done this in such a long time."

He admired his two feet, a sight he had grieved for a century at least, extending his ankles to see them from different views. Then, as he returned them to the floor, he enthused about the clicking sounds they made. He tapped his feet on the wooden floor, heels, then toes. Click, clack. A sound he had last produced in 1888.

So fascinating. And delightful.

After his short fun, he hoisted himself up, taking a bit of time to find his centre of balance once more. He swayed to Alastor and held out his hand for him, readjusting his hat so it wouldn't fall.

"I am ready to go, my love. Should we purchase water or other sustenance on the way?"

It sounded like their trek to the wilderness could take a little while.

[chirpsythismorning]

Yeah there’s gonna be plenty of little details in s5 confirming byler, but there’s one thing in particular that I feel like would be too hilarious to pass up on…

[anghraine]

jenndoesnotcare replied to this post:

Every time LDS kids come to my neighborhood I am so so nice to them. I hope they remember the blue haired lady who was kind, when people try to convince them the outside world is bad and scary. (Also they are always so young! I want to feed them cookies and give them Diana Wynne Jones books or something)

Thank you! Honestly, this sort of kindness can go a really long way, even if it doesn't seem like it at the time.

LDS children and missionaries (and the majority of the latter are barely of age) are often the people who interact the most with non-Mormons on a daily basis, and thus are kind of the "face" of the Church to non-Mormons a lot of the time. As a result, they're frequently the ones who actually experience the brunt of antagonism towards the Church, which only reinforces the distrust they've already been taught to feel towards the rest of the world.

It's not that the Church doesn't deserve this antagonism, but a lot of people seem to take this enormous pride in showing up Mormon teenagers who have spent most of their lives under intense social pressure, instruction, expectation, and close observation from both their peers and from older authorities in the Church (it largely operates on seniority, so young unmarried people in particular tend to have very little power within its hierarchies). Being "owned" for clout by non-Mormons doesn't prove anything to most of them except that their leaders and parents are right and they can't trust people outside the Church.

The fact that the Church usually does provide a tightly-knit community, a distinct and familiar culture, and a well-developed infrastructure for supporting its members' needs as long as they do [xyz] means that there can be very concrete benefits to staying in the Church, staying closeted, whatever. So if, additionally, a Mormon kid has every reason to think that nobody outside the Church is going to extend compassion or kindness towards them, that the rest of the world really is as hostile and dangerous as they've been told, the stakes for leaving are all the higher, despite the costs of staying.

So people from "outside" who disrupt this narrative of a hostile, threatening world that cannot conceivably understand their experiences or perspectives can be really important. It's important for them to know that there are communities and reliable support systems outside the Church, that leaving the Church does not have to mean being a pariah in every context, that there are concrete resources outside the Church, that compassion and decency in ordinary day-to-day life is not the province of any particular religion or sect and can be found anywhere. This kind of information can be really important evidence for people to have when they are deciding how much they're willing to risk losing.

So yeah, all of this is to say that you're doing a good thing that may well provide a lifeline for very vulnerable people, even if you don't personally see results at the time.

[kkoct-ik]

the lesser known did symptom of not knowing anything about your life because not only do you not remember anything (and the memories you Do have are heavily fragmented so you have no idea when they occured), but you also consistently destroy all traces of yourself during dissociative episodes. rip every diary ive tried to keep and almost every social media account. i will never know what i got up to or who i was during those years

i have a spreadsheet i use for documenting memories that turn up before i can forget them again. where i also do my best to estimate what year or season or month they came from. but its all just such a mess. even 2021 onwards which are supposed to be my therapy years are very very patchy. i wish i could just know my life

[angeldcgs]

lana wasn't used to men like sully, but, then again, men like sully weren't the sort who sought out her services. none of her clients who were married with kids had the level of care and respect for their families that mr. landry clearly did, most even viewing them with some level of resentment, as if they were to blame for a man's unhappiness. he wasn't the sort of guy she attracted in her real life, either— or, perhaps she herself wasn't as attracted to the sturdy, dependable types like him. he was obviously very handsome, but it wasn't until she saw the way he treated those around him that she really began to feel smitten. it was the sort of infatuation that made her a little crazy, never quite certain of just what she'd do in order to have him, and that potential for a loss of control scared her. she needed to feel like she was in the driver's seat of her own life, making her own choices and relying on no one but herself for her own survival, otherwise she'd swing to the other extreme and end up feeling like a helpless victim of the universe. it made sense, then, that she would have to be the one to take the first leap when it came to exploring a new side of her relationship with sully. "don't say that," she said with a playful giggle, gently smacking him on the shoulder. after taking a pause to wet her lips and let her gaze do one last trail up and down his form in the driver's seat, she leaned closer until her faintly glossed lips were very nearly grazing his earlobe. "i've got a real active imagination..." without delay, and as swiftly as if it had never happened, lana settled back into her seat, though she remained turned towards him with her touch ever present. had he been born later or vice versa, they might have had the chance to meet organically, and who knows what kind of connection they could've had in that case. she could've ended up becoming mrs. landry, or, more likely, he would've been just another in a long list of flames that burned too hot too fast and exhausted themselves within weeks. though the circumstances behind them meeting in this way seemed unfortunate, something about how unplanned it all was made her feel like maybe it was fate. when he didn't initially shoo her away, lana took it as a sign that he had accepted her advances, and so she brought her palm down to rest directly over his crotch, pressing down in order to get a feel of his cock through the flimsy fabric. "but i am worried, mr. landry! your wife—" becoming flustered by his gentle removal of her hand, she fumbled over her words before quickly correcting herself. "i heard her... on the phone... your wife, talking to her sister about how you two haven't fucked in seven months— that's before you hired me!" a fact she herself was quite reaffirmed by, as it was definitive proof that she wasn't the cause of any problems in their marriage. his attempts did little to derail her now that she'd gotten her mind set on tempting him, going right back to groping at him over his pajama pants. "d'you wanna find somewhere to park instead maybe? then i'll take care of you, just like you need..." her eyes darted from his crotch to his face, watching to see how his body responded to her touch.

upon finding lana cornered by one of his work colleagues at their last christmas party, a variety of emotions had come over sully and all revolved around how strikingly protective over her he had become. it had taken a lot of back and forth to get her to confess as to what was going on but once the nature of her previous job had been announced, those feelings of needing to defend her only grew more prevalent. it had been a shock to say the least, learning that not only had she slept with a man like that but she'd done so for money, he didn't know if it would be better for worse if for some strange reason she'd done it of her own accord. the details of her previous employment had been kept brief, namely because he didn't know how to address it delicately but also because he doubted his wife would be pleased with the notion of having a former sex worker looking after their kids. by that point, both sully and his kids were far too attached to let anything get in the way of making sure she stuck around, even if that meant keeping secrets and lying to his wife about why he'd made such a big deal about ending the party early that night. learning about her past had naturally brought about questions, for the next week or so he found it nearly impossible to go about his day without picturing her in all kinds of situations, both fetishizing her for that work and worrying about the possible things she had been made to endure as a result. he put himself in a difficult position of both needing to protect her from anything bad happening again and craving things from her that would have to come from her very exploitation. "oh, i think i'll leave it up to your imagination." he chuckled awkwardly and took a glance down to the hand that had settled on his shirt, in part because he felt it was wrong to be discussing his past rowdy behaviour, especially when he had worked so hard to leave it all in the dust and build himself into the man he was. although, he was also curious to what she thought him capable of. he'd engaged in the usual drunken debauchery expected of a man in his twenties, allowed himself to submit to each and every whim that came about no matter the cost, it had been a fun life but ultimately not maintainable. she was clearly very intoxicated, he didn't want to take anything she said or did too seriously or make her feel bad for acting out of sorts. the imagine of a bunch of young guys throwing themselves at lana didn't exactly fill him with joy but when delivered in that low, sultry tone, how could sully do any but do as she wished and pictured him there to save her? his arm tucked tight around her waist as he pulled her out from the dance floor, his hand wandering down the curve of her hips till his fingertips found the hem of her dress and helped pull it down to cover herself up, his days in clubs were far behind him but it was a nice thought nonetheless, one he banished immediately after he let it play out. he offered nothing but a small hum in response and before he could even think to answer her next questions, that nimble hand had made its way down his torso to the waistband of his pants. he didn't dare look down again, instead he kept his eyes on the road and swallowed back the surprised gasp that had threatened to come out. she'd always been a bold, confident girl but never to such an extreme, he chalked it up to the alcohol and god knows what else she might've ingested that night and quickly realised he had to be careful with how he dealt with her suggestive proposal. "you don't need to worry about me." carefully, he reached down and pried her hand away from his crotch, then brought it back over to her lap where he set it down with a gentle pat. "just relax, we'll be home soon." it didn't need to be a big deal. maybe she'd forget about it in the morning and they could both pretend it didn't happen, or perhaps she'd come to him apologising profusely and he would have the chance to comfort her once again. either way, sully knew he had to turn lana down before he was too weak to do so.

[recklessmoss]

i'm so unironically baffled at the amount of downgrades this site pushes out on a nearly weekly basis at this point. Near half if not all of them are almost completely useless and give absolutely zero benefit to user experience, if anything @staff is quite literally distancing their userbase.... do you think i want another twitter? Like what purpose or benefit does taking away dash avatars has... what's the benefit of taking away basic accessibility features.. fucking genuinely. I hate it here. I don't know how many more feedback letters I have to send in order for all this shit to stop... i'm so tired.