#this is kind of muddled up but i think it gets the point across

[folkdances]

i think like the main issue wrt hamas bogeymanning is all non-muslims but especially westerners really have no place in the conversation surrounding political islam. this is in no way a recent issue, but you see these people throwing around words like jihad and sharia law with only an extremely simplified and oftentimes incorrect understanding of what their true cultural, religious, and political meanings are. the conversation of how these things affect people should be left to the people who actually live beneath them; it is never going to be the role of the non-muslim or non-palestinian to dictate the what is and what is not acceptable in a muslim or palestinian state (ignoring the fact that there are many non-muslims living in palestine).

an example i've seen thrown around is the age-oldforced-hijab issue. and yes forcible hijab is not right and actively hurts people, but when is it ever going to be someone who's never going to wear one's job to decide this? when we ask people to speak up about these issues, it's always oh but because it has never occurred to non-muslims that there might be nuance within a people, and we're still struggling to make people understand the idea that people want to wear hijab, and the hijab is never going to be the issue; it's the forcing that is.

in the case of hamas, people only parrot that they're """terrorists""" and """the next isis""" without (a) understanding hamas' own background, (b) the factors which caused this image to come into being and, most importantly, (c) have never once tried to understand an average palestinian's opinions on hamas because it has never crossed their minds that perhaps the people living beneath this government might have opinions on it; to them, hamas must be destroyed because palestinians do not know what's good for them, in the ideologies that bother humanizing palestine at all.

additionally, this principle applies to really any minority group. living in canada i often see similar rhetoric applied to the landback movement.

tl;dr i think that people who don't have a place in this conversation should only listen to what people who do have a place (palestinains with regards to hamas, muslims with regards to muslim states, etc.) in it say, and then elevate their voices without trying to add on their own opinions. it's not your story, it's not your life, and it is not up to you to decide, based on your worldview, how things ought to be.

[nereidprinc3ss]

come on home

in which the only person who can comfort you after your breakup with spencer reid, is spencer reid

inspired by the song "summer's end" by the artist currently known as phoebe bridgers

wc 2857

warnings: gn!reader (correct me if im wrong), minor mommy issues, angst, happy ending

a/n: thank you to the person who requested this:) u r an angel and I listened to this song the whole time i wrote (if you haven't heard, listen!!) i sincerely hope you enjoy, i like this one a lot<3

She hung up on you. 

Forty-seven minutes of being insulted and berated after you’d called her looking for comfort, and you put up with every single cruel word—just for your mother to hang up on you. And it’s exactly the kind of thing she’d do, so you shouldn’t be surprised. An ache, you’d expect—but it shouldn’t sting like this. You thought you knew better. 

Now you’re in a ball on your couch, clutching your phone to your chest and crying. There’s no point hiding it. Your roommate is out with her girlfriend for the evening—which is too bad because even though you feel like being alone, you’re sure that’s the wrong call. Your other friends are out having fun tonight, too. They’d even invited you, but you turned them down. Look where that had gotten you. Obviously, your mother is not the person you’re about to run to for comfort, either. 

You try to pretend, while you’re thinking of all these people who have ever cared for you, that Spencer Reid isn’t on your mind at all. You try to pretend like you don’t care that the person who loved you until you believed you actually deserved it is a contact going stale deep in the bowels of your text cache. With bleary eyes you scroll down, looking for your conversation where it gathers dust—the end of your relationship was a mutual decision, and you’re friendly, but you haven’t texted in a few weeks. Probably because every time the conversation starts to feel a little too easy, or the phone call lasts a little too long, that aching void in your chest gets worse and worse. Like pain in a phantom limb, you become acutely aware of what you do not have and how much it hurts.  

So blame it on the tears, or the mind-muddling melodrama of your relationship with your mother, blame it on anything but the truth—when your thumb drops on that call button like the plunger on a syringe, you don’t regret it.  

What you’re not expecting is for him to answer after the first ring. 

“Hi,” you say with a snuffle before Spencer can get a word in. There’s a brief interlude, in which you pick at your nails, comfortable to just sit in silence if that’s what he wants. As long as he’s there. 

“Hi.” Hearing his voice instantly melts a bit of the weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying. Another pause, for which you remain silent, because you can feel him formulating a question—and you’d like to hear him speak again. “...am I allowed to ask if you’re okay?” 

Your lips purse and twist to the side, pained and comforted by how easily he can tell that you’re distraught. One word across a tinny connection, and he knows. 

“No. Yes. I mean... I guess that’s why I called you. But you don’t have to ask me about it.” You sniff again and take a deep breath. “How was your day? What state are you in?” 

“I’m in the district,” he answers after a moment, easing into a casualness that he likely doesn’t feel for your sake. Wind crunches through the speaker. He probably just got out of work. “My day was... it was good. I got to talk about my job to a bunch of elementary schoolers, which is always a confidence boost.” 

You chuckle, still laying on your side on the couch and watching storm clouds gathering outside. 

“Nice, nice. What else?” 

“Let’s see... I forgot lunch, so I had three oranges, and they were actually pretty good. I reread Game of Thrones—I don’t know why I did that. I’m never going to like that book.” 

“Masochist,” you smile. He laughs, and you hear the sound of a car door opening. 

“Oh! I talked to my mom. Believe it or not, she says hi.” 

A completely inadvertent snort constitutes your response. It’s not what you meant to do, and out of context it’s sort of mean, but you actually think it’s incredibly endearing that he still talks to his mother about you. He scrambles to explain himself. 

“I swear, we barely talked about you this time. Mostly we talked about her new boyfriend Leonard.” 

“No, no, that’s not... I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you or your mom. That’s really sweet, actually. Tell her I say hi too.” 

When he next speaks, you can hear the smile in his voice. 

“I will.” Another long pause. You imagine him sitting in the parking lot at Quantico, keys vertical in the ignition of his old car and feeling the silence just as much as you are. He surprises you by not ending the conversation—instead he asks a question. It is concern, poorly disguised with nervous humor. Or maybe you just know him too well. “Do I get to find out what’s on your mind, or are you leaving me in suspense here?”  

You bite the inside of your cheek. 

“Um... well, actually, I just got off the phone with my mom, too. It didn’t go so well,” you laugh halfheartedly, “I know it was dumb to try and have an actual conversation with her, but... you know me. Always following blind optimism to the depths of hell.” 

“Why’d you call your mom?” he asks, so gently it brings a fresh round of tears to your eyes. Still, you attempt to put a cheerful affect on your strained voice. 

“Mm, you know. Just needed someone to talk to.” 

Spencer’s knowing sigh does little to make you feel better. 

“You know you can always talk to me, right? I know it’s... it’s different now, but... I care about you a lot. And, you know, I receive very few phone calls, so the line is pretty much always open.” 

Your laugh quickly devolves into a cry. 

“I appreciate that, but I can’t talk to you about everything.” 

“Why not?” he pleads immediately, voice thin and desperate like it’s his most burning question. A million lies dance over the tip of your tongue. A million things that feel safer to say than the truth. But in the end, it comes out anyway—choked, and so quiet, but aloud nonetheless. 

“Because I’m trying really hard to stop missing you so much.” 

Another long beat of silence. The back of your throat feels dry and hollow—a cage for your hummingbird heart. 

“If it hurts too much to talk to me, you don’t need to do that to yourself. But I also don’t want you to hurt yourself thinking you’re alone. You are... so important to me. I will always try to take care of you the best I can—whether that means staying away or being at your front door. If you ever need me, or even... vaguely want me, I will be there.” 

Each word caves your resolve. Each syllable is a slap in the face to progress you’d been pretending to make. You can be strong—you've proven that over the past ten weeks. You can be stone-faced and slash at your heart until the scar tissue is thick and jagged, and eventually it won’t hurt anymore. But maybe, by letting someone tend to the wounds, they’ll heal a little nicer. A little kinder. Even if you can’t undo the damage, maybe one day you’ll be soft again. 

“What if I vaguely want you right now?” you sniffle. 

Finally, you hear the silver jingle of keys turning. The sputter and rumble of an old engine coming to life. 

“Then I’m on my way.” 

Twenty four minutes later, there’s a soft knock at your door.  

After the call had ended, you’d wondered if you made it all up. Surely your ex-boyfriend wasn’t actually about to show up at your apartment. Someone you’ve grieved for can’t just come back—there are countless horror novels and movies based upon that very tenet. Does it matter if they ever actually died? How long is ten weeks, really? It feels like a lifetime. 

You shuffle across the room, wiping under your eyes with your already damp sleeves, and undoing all the locks Spencer had conditioned you to start using. When the door cracks open, and you see Spencer standing there, windswept and concerned, for the first time in months, it hits you like a tidal wave. You are, beyond a shadow of a doubt, still just as in love with him as you ever were. The relief that floods your veins as he looks down at you with so much care in his eyes is like sinking into warm water. It’s a dead giveaway, and maybe it makes this whole thing a terrible idea, but you can’t seem to care very much. You open the door wider, and he enters, and he stands in your kitchen with his hands in his coat pocket as you shut the door and he’s perfect. It dawns on you that for the first time since the breakup, you feel safe. Like you don’t have to be a stone pillar anymore. This, of course, translates into even more tears, which you try to hide as you face away, re-locking the door.  

“Sweetheart...” he sighs, because you can’t hide anything from him. Hearing the resonance of his voice so close to you once more is overwhelming. In an instant you’re rushing into his arms, and he accepts you without hesitation. You bury your teary face in the vetiver safety of his button-up and slip your arms under his coat, as if you could absorb his warmth and forever hide from the world that way. He pulls you even closer. It’s terrible and cruel how much he is exactly what you needed. “What’s wrong? What did she say?” 

You shake your head and gasp a small sob. 

Truthfully, you’re not really crying about the petty insults from your mother anymore. You’re back to square one, the reason you’d called your mother to begin with—you miss the man whose arms are currently wound around your shoulders. 

His hand smooths over the back of your hair. 

“Okay. That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.” 

You stay like that—content even as you cry because being with him feels so much safer than being alone. It feels right—or perhaps it’s just familiar. You don’t know which is worse.  

Spencer is rubbing soothing lines up and down your back as you cling to him, soaking him up in all his ephemeral, comforting glory. He surprises you by chuckling—it vibrates through his chest, buzzing against your ear. 

“Nice Magritte print. I bet the person who bought that has fantastic taste.” 

“Are you gonna ask for it back?” you mumble into the fabric of his suit jacket. He is, of course, referring to the painting you’d more or less stolen from his apartment seven months ago. You really don’t want him to take it home. It’s the most overt Spencer memorabilia you’d allowed yourself to keep in plain sight. 

“No, baby. You can keep it.” The words are low, and kind, and they settle you some, but you can’t seem to get him close enough. “What can I do?” he whispers after a moment, helpless as you take a shuddering breath. “Can I make you tea? Have you eaten?” 

“Will you just... stay for a little bit? I’ll—I promise I’ll stop crying.” 

There is an unexpected lull where you thought you’d receive pretty immediate agreement, but before you can pull back and ask what’s wrong, he murmurs, “yeah. I can stay for a while. But you have to kick me out before it gets too late.” 

You wonder if you’re imagining the double-entendre that seems to underline his words in bold red ink. Spencer is too smart to have not noticed a thing like that. You don’t mention it—it all boils down to the same unspoken idea. 

Don’t let me stay, because I might not leave. 

“I will,” you sniff, finally stepping back and wiping your own tears. It hurts to lose his touch, but at least you know he’s not going anywhere for the next few hours. This, as opposed to everything else lately, can be a beginning instead of an end.  

At least, until he goes home. 

Three and a half hours later, after tea, an impromptu dinner comprised mostly of cheese and crackers, and several vinyl changes on your record player (which served only as background noise for your long, ambling conversations), things are seeming to wind down to a natural stopping point. Which you hate. The whole time you’d had a dull ache in your chest because talking to him was easier than breathing and you knew it wouldn’t last. There had been one or two false bottoms already—the first when you’d yawned around nine, and the second when you’d gotten up to do your skincare and brush your teeth half an hour later. Even then he’d just leaned against the doorframe, watching your reflection above the sink as you talked for fifteen more minutes. Now you stand across from each other in the kitchen, plates restacked and everything in order. Of course he’d insisted on helping you clean up. 

“I should go,” he says, with a soft sort of finality in his voice.  

“Is your carriage turning into a pumpkin?” you tease gently, to hide how much you don’t want him to leave. He smiles—a small, weary thing—but genuinely and endlessly charmed by you. 

“That among other things.” 

“Would you—would you walk me to my room first?” 

The hesitance is clear in his eyes and the way his lips part as if to say, ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea’, but you're sure he’s really going to leave in a moment and you’re also sure he won’t deny you this one small thing before he does. 

“Okay.” 

It’s a short, silent walk through the living room and down the hall to your bedroom door, but you can feel him trailing behind you the whole way. You stop in front of your open door, turning face to face with him.  

“Thanks,” you murmur.  

His lips pull into a melancholy smile. 

“Anytime.” 

There’s nothing left to do but wrap your arms around each other once more, tuck yourself into the you-sized space between his head and shoulder and hold on for as long as he’ll let you. The hug lingers for longer than is wise. Spencer adjusts his arms looped around your waist, pulling you closer, and you nuzzle against his neck, grateful that at least he seems as reluctant to let this end as you are.  

But eventually, it relaxes. Your hold on each other loosens. His face is just inches from yours, and you get to study every plane and valley and line like you’d thought you never would again. It seems he’s doing the same—losing himself in the luxury of seeing you up close. 

“Will you kiss me goodnight?” you whisper, unable to muster any self-consciousness though you know it’s a fool’s errand. Spencer strokes your waist. 

“I can’t do that, honey.” 

“Why not?” 

His voice is just as quiet as yours. It falters slightly as he speaks, so gently, so patiently. 

“Because we’re not together anymore.” 

“Why not?” 

Your feeble, desperate supplication sounds pitiable even to you. You’re not proud, but you can’t find it in yourself to be ashamed, either. All you want is an answer. But it’s like a child asking why the sky is blue, or the earth is round. There is a definitive explanation, but mostly, the adult will shrug, and say, that’s just how it is. 

Spencer’s eyes squeeze shut. His head tilts down. 

“We can’t do this again, sweetheart. You know why we’re not together.” 

In theory—yes. You’d had so many conversations when you’d broken up. It had been a long, painful process, spanning multiple all-nighters at his kitchen table, nursing coffee and trying to convince each other and yourselves that it was the right choice. But it just feels like a horrible, horrible mistake. You feel desperate to explain this to him before he slips away again—the words come out flustered, inelegant as you cling to him.

“But I don’t think I’m getting better without you. I tried, I tried so hard to be good on my own, but everything is worse and harder and—and we weren’t sure about it then, and I don’t think it was the right choice, because I still really need you. Like, all the time. I’m—it’s not getting better without you. Nothing got better.” 

He swallows, eyes darting between yours for an infinite second. You’re breathless and your heart is pounding after your confession—you can feel your eyes stinging with the few tears that managed to escape as you spoke. 

“Everything is worse,” he agrees shakily. “Everything. I’m—I’m getting disciplinary infractions from Hotch like I’m a child because I can’t focus on anything. Game of Thrones is the most complex literature I can comprehend right now. I had to use a calculator the other day.” 

You want to laugh, but nothing is funny until he’s yours again. 

“Then come back. Please come back, Spencer.” 

Finally, he leans closer, until your heads are pressed together, and his nose bumps yours, feather light. You're dizzy. You exhale. He inhales. 

“I don’t think I knew how to leave in the first place.” 

When he kisses you, it feels like home. 

[sun-kissy]

Hi! Can I request James's sister with Sirius, but Sirius for some reason thinks she has a crush on Regulus? Thx I love your page! <3

thank you for the request angel! ♡

date | s.b.

tw: hurt/comfort, teensy bit of jegulus

potter!reader, sirius black x reader

“Potter. Do you think using unicorn’s blood instead would make our potion have a more iridescent colour? Because that’s what Slughorn wants,” Regulus asked dryly, shoving the book towards you and pointing at a paragraph which looked like nothing but muddled words.

You look at the book for a moment before sighing, letting your eyelids flutter closed and leaning back in your chair.

“No idea.”

Your hands come up to rub your eyes, exhaustion overwhelming your senses. Regulus and you had spent the whole day in the library like crazed scholars desperate for a good grade on an assignment.

That was exactly what you were. You had been paired with him for a Potions project, and ever since Professor Slughorn had made a breezy comment about your potion-in-progress, it had been driving the both of you mad. Although you weren’t exactly friends, there was a mutual agreement that doing well on this project was necessary to salvage both your grades.

The past few weeks were a blur - late nights wasted researching in the library and early mornings spent in the Potions classroom.

You groan and sit back up, willing yourself to hear him out and make sense of the lines in front of you. You blink and look up for a second when something, or rather someone, catches your attention. Sirius stands stiffly a few metres away, leaning on a bookshelf and looking over at the two of you.

When you meet his eyes, he quickly averts his gaze and pretends to be browsing the books on the shelf. You immediately sense that something is wrong - Sirius wouldn’t be caught dead in the library. You notice the hard look in his eyes, the subtle look of hurt in his features.

A frown instantly crosses your face. Your friend had been acting weird lately, ever since your lips accidentally crashed onto his at a party - and none of you pulled away.

It was a nice kind of weird, in which he fumbled over his words and his cheeks would get rosy when he talked to you. But ever since you had been swept up into the busyness of the project with Regulus, it was like whatever spark that was set ablaze had been doused out.

Sirius brushed you off every time you tried talking to him, yet you would catch him silently gazing at you in hallways and classes then immediately looking away as soon as eye contact was made. It made you mad, but more than that, it hurt your heart that the one person whom you thought would last forever was starting to drift apart from you.

Your annoyance started to get the better of you, slowly bubbling into anger in your chest. You take a deep breath and slowly stand up, your chair dragging across the floor. “Excuse me for a moment,” you mutter to Regulus, sidling your way around the table.

“Hey,” you make your way over to the bookshelf and stand in front of Sirius. He whips his head around, a false look of surprise on his face.

“Oh, hey Y/N! Didn’t think I would see you here. Anyway, I was just searching for a book for Moony - I should really make my way back now, James wants me to… plan some pranks with him,” he smiles, his lips pressed together. It’s obvious how forced it is.

You open your mouth to tell him your brother was in detention, his blatant lie adding fuel to the fire of irritation in you. But before you even say anything, he turns around to leave.

Anger flares up within you and before you can even think, you’re grabbing his wrist, your fingers wrapping around it with a vice-like grip. “Sirius!” you hiss, so unintentionally loud that Regulus looks up from his books, surprised. You look over at him apologetically.

Sirius turns back around, frowning. “What?” You flinch at the harsh tone, loosening your hold on his wrist but not letting go. You inhale sharply. “Talk to me,” you say, softening. “Please talk to me. What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on. What do you mean?” he bites back sharply, more hurt than anger in his tone.

“Let me go.” He tries to pull away, but you tighten your grip. “No. Something’s wrong, and you’re not telling me. Why are you ignoring me? What did I do wrong?” you ask, desperation seeping into your voice.

Sirius glares at you for a moment, seeming to be contemplating something. Then he sighs, his anger melting away as he runs a hand down his face.

“Fuck, you-” he gestures with his hands. “You-“ he groans and drops his arms to his sides. “Why do you play with my feelings like this? I thought we had something! I really- really thought we had something,” he mutters, his voice cracking slightly.

You feel your heart break a little. “Sirius,” you coo, moving your hand down to gently hold his. “We do. We do have something. Why would you think we didn’t?”

Upon hearing your words, he turns to you and huffs out a humourless laugh, pulling his hand away. “Really? You really think so? Don’t lie to me. I’ve seen you with Regulus.”

Your blink, your face morphing into one of confusion as you stare dazedly at Sirius.

“Regulus? You think I like Regulus?”

He frowns at you. “Of course. Why else would you be spending so much time with him? It’s like you forgot I even existed.”

The absurdity of his words brings a small smile to your face, and before you know it, you’re pressing the back of your hand to your mouth to stifle your laughter. “Oh my god, no. No way. He’s the most annoying partner I’ve ever had to work with. Why would you think I like him?”

The crease between his eyebrows softens, and you catch a glimpse of relief in his eyes, though he still seems suspicious. “You don’t? Then why have you been spending so much time with him? Going on study dates or whatever? You’re never with me anymore.”

You huff out a sigh, realisation dawning upon you. “For the Potions project, of course. Professor Slughorn said our potion wasn’t up to the mark, so we’ve been working our asses off to fix it. I really need to do well in this to pull my average up. I don’t like your brother, Sirius.”

“Oh,” he breathes out, and you can practically see the tension leave his body. “Oh. Sorry,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair.

You chuckle lightly. “It’s okay. It’s kind of my fault, I still should have made time for you. But is this why you’ve been ignoring me? You thought I liked Regulus?” you ask bemusedly. He winces and nods sheepishly, earning a laugh from you. “Siri, have you seen the way James looks at him?”

His lips start to curve upwards, his usual playful demeanour coming back to him. “I caught him drooling while looking at Reg once.”

You giggle at that, clearly imagining your brother gazing at Regulus with heart-eyes. Sirius grins back at you, taking your hand.

“So, we’re good?” he asks, intertwining your fingers together.

“More than good.”

“Great. Because I was just about to ask you out to Hogsmeade this Saturday. If you haven’t already got plans with emo boy, of course.”

“Sirius!” you whisper scandalously, trying to sound mad, but a giggle slips out and betrays your amusement. He chuckles, looking over at Regulus who was bent over a stack of papers and furiously scribbling down notes. “You better get back over there if you wanna survive till our date this weekend.”

“Date?” you ask mischievously, raising your eyebrow. “James would approve of that?”

He rolls his eyes at your feigned innocence, one hand on your shoulder as he gently pushes you back towards your table. “I’m pretty sure your brother is too lovesick for my brother to protest against it. So yes, love, it’s a date.”

[dallasgallant]

I never realized it before until recently but it’s so crazy how much and how often ponyboy babies johnny in the book….. always talking about him being the pet of the group (which is true but he really does talk about him like he was a dog or a cat like chill out girl 😭), how much hero worship he has for everyone around him, his stature and soft spoken-ness, pony really seems to preserve him by making him seem like 10 years old even though he describes many situations in which johnny is taking care of him especially in windrixville like staying awake for him on the train letting him sleep on him, his own jacket as a blanket when he goes to buy them food, etc lol I hope you get what I mean I don’t have the book with me rn so I can’t really give off exact examples off the top of my head but—

also maybe that’s why people are often soooo turned off by the concept of J and D being a ship because of how PB describes him, I’ve seen people think that J was the same age or younger than him and so they think of a big brother/little brother dynamic for jally when they actually seem more on equal ground than pony and dally (who in a kind of mentor/mentee relationship) and even pony and johnny (who I’d say are in more of a brother relationship… controversial opinion I know but I’m sticking with it!) in fact I’d say they’re the Most on equal ground in the whole story even more than soda and darry…. but I’ll let you guys figure that out on your own… even though JD only have a 1.5 age difference

okayyyyy so I definitely didn’t mean to make this about the ship dynamics of the book but I guess I can’t not be gay for five fucking minutes 😭😭😭 but it’s relevant to the point !!! idk I just felt like rambling to someone about it because pony really does talk about him like he’s so little and I think that really muddles the perception of johnny even though he’s trying to honor his memory because of the delicate ways he’s trying to protect him after he died :(

johnny cade they will never make me hate you </3

Oh yeah, I definitely think a lot of it is Pony’s recognition of himself as the youngest, as a “baby” and sort of projecting it off onto someone else. However, we know the gang doesn’t just see pony as “the kid brother” so it’s sort of his own issue to work out- as well as I think a bit of a lack of understanding? Or lack of a way to properly explain the way the gang treats Johnny, they take it a little easy on him as he’d been shaken pretty bad (they wouldn’t known/use ‘traumatized’ but they would know he changed a little) but they never really talk down to him.

No but yes I agree! Pony sort of washes over a lot of senecios where Johnny is clearly the older/more mature of the two of them. He’s the second youngest but he’s still 16. He’s still protecting and helping Pony like the rest of the guys and the whole “my fault for dragging a 13 year old kid along” detail…

No you’re right honestly. It’s weird to me as Johnny’s described as soft and close to Ponyboy but he never came across as 14 or that young to me in the book or movie— like there was always that knowledge to him that revealed his age. And I agree… he and Dally are on equal footing and trust. They have something going on whatever way you interpret it…. Personally I find “little brother” INSANE. As where people baby Johnny they over age Dallas… he’s 17 it’s a years age difference. If a friend barely older than me tried to pull that I’d throat punch them 😭 it’s ? They’re trying to make it cute but it feels a little demeaning? Putting the “little” in there. Dal doesn’t talk down to Johnny… honestly he talks up to him, gets mad expecting him to know better etc — trusts him with the gun, money etc everything and taking responsibility.

But no that’s also so sweet that in a way, even if Pony is being a bit off in how Johnny was treated that he’s trying to sort of protect him within his story. Honor him in a strange way. Ough. He was his best friend, you’d want to sweeten that image. Absolve.

[lorimnnn]

dbd killers with a crybaby!reader

don’t worry, i promise i’m working on pt.3 of Mine for the Michael fic. I’m just supr unmotivated but don’t want you thinking i’m dead or something. anyway:

summary: jiwoon hak and the ghost face with a reader who tears up easily. you’re sensitive and not good with confrontation nor blood, and are super sensitive to the pain around you. sometimes you get overwhelmed and just need to sit down and cry it out...

cw: i mean, it’s dbd? swearing, gore, murders, obsession

also, i’m taking requests!

---

THE TRICKSTER - JIWOON HAK

finds your tears entertaining, appreciates that you’re such a willing participant in his art

it takes a few trials for him to realise that your reactions aren’t temporary and are a genuine response to your surroundings

starts to find you a bit annoying after that

like, what are you doing here if you can’t handle it? all the survivors need a bit of grit to survive. you’re no fun otherwise. once he realises that, he starts to transfer his anger towards the Entity.

will be in denial that he feels bad for you

the first few trials that he realises if he chases you, you’ll just collapse and cry or sniffle really adorably pathetically. unintentionally makes you his obsession each trial because he saves you for last, mostly because you’re no fun and the easiest to kill

will mori you out of frustration

eventually starts snatching you by the back of your collar and dumping you through the hatch. not because he feels guilty. no, not at all. you’re just really, really annoying...

finds himself thinking about you always 

why are you always crying?

don’t you know you have to adapt?

you have to get over it. 

one day you’re the only one left again and not only that, but that dreaded Trickster is saving you for last again. from your point of view, he’s deliberately tormenting you knowing that mentally, you can’t take it.

he’s secretly going easy on you because he’s wondering whether or not you’ll have it in yourself to finish the generators and stand up for yourself

but you’re so distraught that you mess up one of the generators and it explodes, and you can’t take it, you burst into tears. you feel so bad for the other survivors for being roped in with you, and you can’t even do your part right without crying. 

“Aish!” he swears sharply. A knife slams into the wall next to your head and you jump, lifting your wet face from your arms to stare at The Trickster. Fear quakes through your body and you brace yourself for his assault, whether that be another mori or basically dumping you through the hatch like used trash (it hasn’t occurred to you that he might be being nice when he does it, because logically, he has no reason to be nice)

you start to whimper when the tip of his blade finds your chin, forcing your head back. it thuds against the wall and pain spirals across the back of your skull, a wince lancing across your expression--- a cute little look that earns you a chuckle from the demented idol. 

“You’re really annoying, you know,” he tells you. “You can’t do anything right.”

oh, and he’ll say this like he’s comforting you, his voice soft and sweet and soothing. your muddled little brain can’t begin to understand what he’s trying to say to you, and only clings to his faux kindness.

at this point, he’ll just have to accept it. he has a soft spot for you. you’re just so cute and helpless, and you can’t help it that you care so much for your fellow survivors even though you’re nothing but a waste of space on their team...

is this why you’re always compensating by using yourself as a human shield? honestly, while it’s partly admirable, he finds the more you offer yourself up to him like that, the less he wants to hurt you

With his other hand, he strokes buries it in your hair. The way he strokes it is gentle enough, but you’re well aware he can snap your neck in seconds if he wants to. 

“You’re really lucky you’re cute. I almost feel bad for you.”

he does. he feels extremely bad for you because you’re not designed for this kind of world, and because of that he just can’t bring himself to recognise you as another survivor

“Hah,” he’ll sigh. “I can’t do it.”

“C-can’t do what?”

He’ll roll his eyes. “What else? Kill you.”

pulls you into his arms before you can comment on it. the affection is too much, you cry into him. he’ll make some comments about you ruining his clothes, but he doesn’t really mean it. will pull you closer if you try pull away. 

also keep in mind--- is not sympathising with you at all. he’s a psycho. he just learned to find pleasure in your tears and realised you’re kinda cute and can’t be roped in with the rest of the survivors if you’re never going to play the Entity’s game. (this is when he’ll start thinking something narccistic, like, ‘of course she cries and makes noises. this is the entity’s gift to me.)

the type to lick your face and taste your tears. “no more crying when you’re with me, okay? or I’ll give you something real to cry about.”

he either means he’ll fuck you or kill you again, but could honestly mean both depending on how you take it

GHOST FACE - DANNY ‘JED OLSEN’ JOHNSON

so many pictures

will max out his film on your tears

he knew about you the second the Entity welcomed you into her realm. at first, he just thought you were cute. he blamed it on the fleeting infatuation he felt towards you, knowing that once your fear wore off, you wouldn’t be that cute anymore

it never wore off

he became obsessed

openly obsessed too, will seek you out and ignore all the other survivors despite the Entity’s will, and will track you down outside of trials to stalk you, taunt you, anything to keep you in the constant state of meltdown he finds so endearing

experiments with your tears. doesn’t want you panicked all the time, of course. 

because of how he targets you in trials, the other survivors quickly adapted and learned to abandon you if they wanted to save themselves or win. danny weaponised this fact, of course.

“aw, babe, don’t be sad. or do. you’re all alone!”

will pull your terrified body against his chest and tip your head back with his knife, forcing you to watch your fellow survivors scatter around you. will tour you around the trial to see what makes you tick the most.

“are you proud of me, babe? i hooked all your friends within the first ten minutes of the trial.”

cue a sniffle that excites him even more

and you’ll feel it too. his hardness against your back, solid and probing and thrilled at your sensitivity. he wants to traumatise you as much as possible. he wants you horrified, and he wants to abuse your fear until there’s none left. there’s never been so much of it before.

don’t get the wrong idea, though. no matter how much he likes you, he won’t touch you--- he’s not a rapist, he’s a killer and a perv. will exploit your face with his camera and mori you and hook you as much as he wants. there’s no stopping him.

not for a while

it’s takes a really long time for him to start challenging why you still cry. it won’t occur to him that it’s such an abnormality until he’s stalking you six months in and watching you mourn another failed trial. let’s say it was with the oni. the oni mori-d you on the spot, and here you were, crying over it despite those same events happening every other trial without fail. and it only occurs to him because it’s six months and he was planning on something cheesy like, “happy six-month anniversary!” because he’s never been consistently obsessed for such a long period of time.

this is when the posessiveness starts to hit. The Oni made you cry? That large, angry piece of shit?

don’t worry babe, he’ll take care of it for you

Only he’s allowed to make you cry like that. only him and nobody else. this is when he’ll start laying claim, calling you his.

he flays the Oni and leaves his scraps scattered across his temple. takes a picture and leaves it on your bed so you know what he’s done, and calls it his anniversary gift

he’ll now start putting in the effort for you to trust him. wants you to admit you’re his, too!

who cares if he’s mori’d, hooked, tunnelled, and killed you a billion times over? fresh start, new beginnings!

will nail it through every one else’s heads that you’re his and that you’re tears are his and that blah blah blah is his

honestly, the other killers will only leave you alone so Danny will stop blabbing on and on about you 

he’s really starting to feel like your boyfriend now

that’s what the other survivors are calling him, anyway. y/n’s boyfriend. 

Danny fully embraces it and starts calling himself your boyfriend, much to your displeasure. But you do start to notice that your trials are becoming less and less frustrating to endure, and you know it’s because of him. He’s even saving you for last, now. The chasing isn’t even half-bad anymore. (And especially with Danny, he’s going to make the chasing feel kinky as fuck)

learns he really likes your laugh as much as he likes your tears. finds himself smiling when he grabs you around the waist mid-spring and hoists you off the ground.

shudders with a sick smirk when you hug him back. you’re so cute.

but he is the Ghostface. Wants you to love his alter-ego as much has you love Danny Johnson, your mostly normal, stalkerish boyfriend

forces you to hold his knife and pretend to hurt him, smirking when you cry 

makes you carve your initials into his body as you sniffle here and there, your tears stinging against the open wound 

kisses you and whispers dirty shit into your ear as you do so, because the dumbass thinks it’ll make it all better

“that’s it, baby. God, that feels so good. Push harder. Hurt me. Fuckkkk-”

“I don’t like this, Danny.”

“Who?”

“G-Ghostface.” Your bottom lip wobbles as more tears slip down your face. “I don’t like this, Ghostface.”

“Just a little longer, baby.”

Will be surprisingly gentle with you, once you admit you’re his

but don’t be fooled. you’re his forever. the second he’s jealous, or you consider leaving, remember he’s the same man who gets off on your pain and tormented you the first six months of knowing you...

[tunastime]

if you’re still doing the comfort prompts, maybe knowing each other’s tells with boat boys or ranchers? :]

knowing each others' tells (681 words) (x)

Etho isn't used to the Relation being silent. It's the kind of quiet that holds tension in the hollows of it, one he's always been afraid to step too loudly into. He's used to sound, Joel rustling and pacing, talking to the air as they weaved plans, speaking to Etho from across the deck of the ship like he could hear him from below. But as Etho climbs the ladder and swings himself onto the deck, the ship is quiet, save for the steady thud of his pulse in one ear, and the quickening beat of Joel's behind his other ear. He runs his tongue over his teeth as he makes his way down into the belly of the ship. 

Joel is pacing where he usually does, making his track across the wooden floors like he might wear a dent into it. Etho watches the tight line of his shoulders for a beat, eyes tracking the huff of his breathing as he folds his arms over his chest. It takes a moment of surveying for Etho to make his conclusions, and by the time he's stepped forward, Joel has stopped to track him with his eyes. If they knew each other any less, if Etho were any less, strangely, fond of him, it might be scary, the way Joel freezes, dark eyes tracking his movements with a precision only known by predators hunting prey. Something could be said about persistence and hunger and teeth that could bite, but Etho isn't worried about Joel. He knows trapped animals well enough. So he picks his way around the room and starts to piece the problem together. 

"It was Scar, wasn't it?" Etho asks. He's not looking at Joel—he's busy digging through a chest, looking for the other axe he'd made. Joel makes some kind of choppy noise. "You had a good trap idea for later, said it too loud around Grian, and now you're worried Scar might try it just for fun and get them killed?"

"I'm not worried about Grian," Joel says. Joel lies. His voice squeaks. Etho stifles a laugh.

"Okay," he says. Joel makes another noise, and Etho ignores him. "Why don't we make the plan before they get to?"

"I thought you said traps were a waste of time,” Joel says pointedly, dragging his tongue over his teeth. He tries to contort his face into one of disbelief before Etho can catch the fact that Joel is into his plan whole-heartedly.

Etho holds up his hands, still not looking at him.

"I think you're misinterpreting."

“No,” Joel argues. “I’m pretty sure that’s what you said.”

When Etho looks over, there’s a light in Joel’s eye that Etho takes as his hint that he’s been successful in convincing him, despite attempting an argument. A tiny spark of excitement. That slight flicker of recognition, of understanding. Seeing a little of himself in Etho. A tell.

They sit together in the bright afternoon sun, mostly quiet, partially humming and nodding and pointing. Joel follows Etho’s rough sketches with his eyes, mouth curled down. It’s not in disregard, but quiet contemplation. Etho pauses halfway, listening to the double beating of hearts in his ears, waiting for any dissent from his partner. Joel doesn’t say anything, though. He shifts closer, folding his legs. The little shimmer of recognition and pride has grown flame-bright in Joel’s eyes as excitement and anticipation takes over. He feels the phantom tug of unclaimed emotions in his chest—Joel’s, not his—as Joel nods. Their hearts thump away excitedly in Etho’s ears, now in sync.

The only other time Etho sees that flicker of something in Joel's eyes is when he follows him through that nether portal. He feels Joel's grip on his hand grow to a fierce, painful thing as he turns, breath caught in his throat as he tries to shove them both back through. The words are muddled in Etho's memory, but the guilt is clear in his eyes. Guilt, fear, and that flicker.

Maybe it wasn’t just understanding.

Etho doesn’t forget that look for a long time.

[likecastle]

Cold sheets + ronance (please! xoxo)

I was going to write something sad for this, and then I remembered that I could just write smut LOL Thank you for this, dear @crushcandles! I hope you enjoy it! Thanks to everyone who's already sent me Stranger Things femslash prompts! I've already got a few more lined up, but please keep them coming! Explicit sex behind the cut. No serious warnings, although if the thought of someone putting their whole body weight on top of you isn't for you, maybe give this a miss. Also I guess it kind of vaguely counts as temperature play?

Robin wakes to find that the other side of the bed is still empty. When she slides her hand across the sheets, they’re cold under her fingers. If she listens carefully, she can hear the clatter of Nancy’s typing from the living room. So she’s still working, then, at—Robin squints at the luminous display of Nancy’s alarm clock—two-thirteen A.M.

Robin groans into her pillows and reaches blindly for the covers, which seem to have wandered off while she was asleep. The bedroom is surprisingly cold, the air raising goosebumps on the bare backs of Robin’s thighs. She rubs one socked foot against her ankle and whines. It’s not that it would be difficult to get up and pull the sheets off of the floor, it’s just that she’s loathe to give up what little warmth is left between her body and the mattress. Still half-asleep, she can’t stand the thought of getting all the way out of bed to retrieve the sheets, only to climb back in and find they’ve lost their last vestiges of heat. She’d much rather lie here and feel sorry for herself that Nancy’s not here to warm her up—just for a minute or two.

“OK?”

Robin cranes her neck to look over her shoulder, and can just barely make out Nancy standing in the dark doorway of the bedroom. She’s wearing Robin’s stretched-out old IU sweatshirt, which is oversized even on Robin, almost comical on Nancy.

“’S cold,” Robin mumbles, her sleep-muddled complaint coming out petulant.

Robin can practically hear Nancy’s amusement at her expense, but she just hunkers down against the mattress and says, “Someone should come warm me up.”

A moment later, the mattress sinks down beside her, and then Nancy is pressed against her back, so warm she’s almost a brand on Robin’s chilled skin.

“Like this?” Nancy murmurs into Robin’s hair.

“Mm-hmm.” The weight of Nancy’s whole body is delicious, pressing her hips against the mattress.

Nancy dips her head to nuzzle Robin’s neck and says, mock-saccharine, “Did you miss me?”

Robin whines again—pathetic in a different way, this time. “Uh-huh,” she says, and squirms a little for good measure.

Nancy laughs, and then slips one hand between, Robin’s body and the sheets, past her hip, finding the seam of her with unerring precision. “Is this what you want?” she breaths against Robin’s ear, her voice husky, not teasing anymore.

“Yeah,” Robin gasps, jumping under Nancy’s touch.

Nancy doesn’t hesitate after that, working Robin’s clit roughly in the tight space beneath her body. It’s unbelievable how fast Nancy can turn her on. Robin wasn’t even thinking about sex a minute ago, and now she’s aching for it, so eager for Nancy, and, fuck, it’s good, as she rocks her hips into Nancy’s touch, their combined weight bearing her down against the quick, sweet movement of Nancy’s fingers.

“Feeling warmer now?” Nancy asks, and all Robin can do is nod, sweating where Nancy’s breasts are pressed against her back, and slick between her clenched-together thighs. Her breath comes in shuddering gasps, flaring humid across the sheets. She feels wrapped up in Nancy, held, lit from the inside.

“I’ve been thinking about you all night,” Nancy breathes as she leans down to kiss Robin’s neck. “Kept telling myself that when I got to a stopping point, I’d come in here and wake you up so I could fuck you.”

Robin sobs, her cunt hot and tense under Nancy’s touch. Every inch of her skin tingles, and she feels sure if someone were watching, they’d see sparks crackling where she’s rubbing against the sheets.

“I can’t believe how good you looked, all sprawled out on the bed like that, waiting for me,” Nancy continues. “Almost makes me want to leave and come back, just so I can admire you some more.”

Robin fucks her hips back against Nancy’s hand, desperate for even more friction. “Nancy, please.”

“Please what?”

How can Nancy’s fingers move so quickly? Robin’s head is spinning, her hips trembling. “Please, please,” she gasps. She can’t remember what she was supposed to say.

Nancy’s breath is hot against her cheek. She’s hot, she’s so hot, she’s going to die of it, she’s sure. “Did you want to come?”

With a desperate shudder, that’s exactly what Robin does, a hot, slick clench against Nancy’s fingers, hips jerking helplessly. She feels Nancy buck on top of her, almost thrown off Robin’s back by the intensity of the tremor that shakes her.

“Oh, fuck,” Robin gasps, when she can breathe again. Nancy is still touching her, lazily now, with none of the wicked intent of a moment ago, just appreciating how luxuriously wet she is. “Fuck, Nance, you’re so good to me.”

Nancy kisses her hair, breathing in deep the scent of her sweat. “Not too heavy? Want me to get off of you?”

“Not yet,” Robin says, though her eyelids already drooping. “Just a little longer.”

[moosemonstrous]

Ghost Rider Pacific Rim AU - the inherent injustice of being the youngest person in any group

The Wall is nearly ready.

Amadeus likes a good wall, especially if he gets his hands on a printer and some red string. It’s good to be able to put all information in view at once – helps him organise his thoughts, or at least present them in a way that appears organised to a random observer.

“Oh, so we’re in crazy town already?” Tony sighs. “Cho, it’s not been a week.”

The Wall is nearly ready, save for a giant empty space he’d mentally labelled as OTHER PILOT. Now, Amadeus would be the first to admit he can get excited a smidge too quickly, so when he talks Tony through his and Montesi’s findings, he needs to make sure to include absolutely everything. He starts with two near-identical sets-of-four scans of the Maximoffs’ brains.

“No, no, let him talk,” Montesi pushes him into a chair. She’s got her hair up in the messiest bun Amadeus has ever seen on her, and he’s fairly sure she hasn’t meditated once since the first MEG scan came back making zero sense. He’s a great influence on everyone around him. “I triple-checked every conclusion. If this is real…”

“These were taken still in drivesuits, straight out of the Conn-Pod,” he says, tapping the highlighted area in the centre of the sagittal view. “Increased blood flow and activity in hippocampus for up to forty-five minutes after disconnecting from the hardware.”

Next: the original MRI Carter’s team took after the techs fished Reyes out of The Charger. Then, the results of the whole set of tests they took on his first day as their, ah, research participant. Montesi had the misfortune of taking the Hippocratic oath and doesn’t like the kind of language Amadeus got used to in private labs. “Six hours,” he says, pointing at the MRI, “three days,” pointing at the day-one MEG, then: “and yesterday.” He got a little carried away time-wise and didn’t image the scan onto a more user-friendly brain model, so it’s just rows and rows of electromagnetic waves in a table, with the relevant anomalies highlighted in neon green. Tony is a smart cookie; he’ll figure it out.

Smart as he is, he doesn’t really deal in meat brains. “Kid, help me out. What am I looking at? These are all pretty much the same.”

Amadeus just about manages not to clap like a proud parent. “They pretty much are!” He stretches himself across The Wall to point out the similarities in the detected anomalies: “See that? Minimal, but present activity in the frontal cortex, and constant stimulation to the hippocampus.” (Please please please don’t find something obvious I missed this is too interesting to be just. Nothing.) “Six! Days! No aneurysm! No seizures! Not even beginning stages of neuron malfunction!”

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. “Is this another Spector?”

Amadeus is ready for that. “Nope. His history is muddled at best – we really need to get into that, by the way – but there is no prefrontal cortex dysfunction, and no damage to the anterior cingulate gyrus.” Tony sends him a truly murderous glare over his fingers. “If it was DID, or schizophrenia, or anything, we would’ve seen signs of it by now. We mapped out his brain millimetre by millimetre, alright? There isn’t another explanation, it must be–”

“Don’t say it,“ Tony warns, but Amadeus can’t help himself:

“–ghost drifting! Come on, Doc, back me up.”

Montesi clears her throat. “He’s right.” Before Amadeus can whoop in victory, she adds: “Don’t put that in writing, I have a reputation to uphold.” She straightens the lapels of her lab coat. “Reyes needs thorough monitoring. There might well be nothing on the other end of that drift.”

“Well—”

“No,” she says, already aggravated by their many, many previous discussions on the topic.

“But—”

“No,” she repeats. “Yes, something weird is going on with his brain. Yes, I think we should investigate. But we have no evidence it’s connected to that dreadful jaeger.”

“Yet!” Amadeus is distantly aware that the noise he makes resembles a dying goose. “Tony, just hear me out.”

“Give me a damn minute.”

Both Amadeus and Montesi back away from the Wall to let him inspect the scans at his leisure. Amadeus hates being evaluated in real time; what he wants is to provide supplementary information to every piece of paper Tony looks at, what he has to do is wait for him to draw his own conclusions. Even though his understanding of neurophysiology is at best intermediate, and even though it’s Amadeus who’s supposed to be the biology side of their partnership—

“Take it down a notch,” Tony tells him seriously. “You’re about to vibrate through the floor. Go grab a drink or something, I need a word with Vicky first.”

“It’s my office,” Amadeus grumbles, shoving his hands in his coat pockets.

“It’s my base,” Tony raises an eyebrow, but Amadeus knows better than to challenge him on that. “Run along, come back in fifteen. I’ll need you to walk me through the spongy bits again.”

*

Robbie thinks his spine might have turned to jelly. The wooden bench in the locker room didn’t look comfortable at first, but now he reckons he could stay on it for the rest of the shift. Or maybe the rest of his life.

It’s not the most tired he’s ever been. But it’s somewhere in the top five, for sure.

“Hey, man, that wasn’t too bad,” someone punches his shoulder. Robbie is too numb to figure out whether it was hard enough to hurt or not hard enough to register. “Have some water before you pass out.”

He accepts the plastic bottle. Briefly wishes death and suffering upon everyone who laughs when he can’t operate the screw top with his shaking hands. Finally, shoulder-puncher takes mercy on him and takes it away, then hands it back, open.

“Thanks,” he manages to mumble between sips. His bad eye is all screwy and he can still feel adrenaline pulsing in his temples like a hammer. Is he really supposed to do this every day? He doesn't know if he can find his legs before it's time to pick up Gabe.

“First day always sucks,” says the shoulder-puncher. “Brooks doesn’t normally stay on one person the whole time.”

Oh. Good. Someone else says: “I thought newbies were all air support.”

“No way, he’s too short for air support.”

“I could do air support,” Robbie frowns. He’s... not entirely sure what air support is in this context. He’s only partially convinced he’s actually forming words. Shoulder-puncher grabs the water bottle back before it slips from his fingers. “’m not. But I could.”

“Sure you could, pip-squeak,” Shoulder-puncher laughs. His accent is... familiar. Robbie tries to focus enough faculties to actually look at the guy. On his way to buff, blond, freckled like someone who hasn’t given up on a tan despite all signs indicating it isn’t meant to be. Maybe a couple of years older than Robbie. “You sound Californian.”

“East L.A.,” Robbie confirms. Shoulder-puncher points at one of his mates with a satisfied smirk and collects a bundle of Hong Kong dollars among a mix of cheering and booing.

“Grew up there before my old man got drafted,” he tells Robbie, tapping the side of his nose. “Name’s Guerro.”

The three other guys in the locker room also have names, and Robbie will be very embarrassed he can't remember them in the near future. They're training to be on the ground cover, but just as anyone else in the academy, plan to become rangers as soon as the new jaeger finally gets built.

"Brooks said--" Was that meeting classified? Robbie is too wiped out to care. "Vibranium problems. There's a delay."

"Aw, fuck that noise," probably-Kim drops down on the bench to his right. He makes an exaggerated double-take when he notices Robbie’s bad eye. "Dang, did Brooks get you in the face?"

"Accident," he shrugs.

"Make sure you see Nurse Carter, get some drops for that shit," Guerro cranes his neck to take a better look. "It's too fucking damp here, everything takes forever to heal up."

It's... nice. It's nice to have people talk to him rather than at and over him, and use a language he can mostly understand - there's some Cantonese inserts he's still getting his head around. Guerro and his friends tease him for being too-brain dead to remember the way to the barracks and express jealousy that he gets to bunk with the civilians. There's the tiny, irritating sliver wedged between his ribs that bristles at being the new kid again - always - but Robbie is truly too exhausted to pay it any mind.

Besides, comes a thought, if anyone around here is going to make ranger, it's you.

***

(Thanking @cicada-candy and @rokhal for the Spector idea. Also @wazzappp for help with the science magic bc let's be real in my hands that's the best we can hope for 😌😅)

[veinsfullofstars]

hey just wondering, how do you draw daroach? i wanna figure him out for myself but dont feel like i get down how he looks well enough. thanks for the help if you have any, if not then thanks for just answering

Thank you for the question! And, yeah, I totally get it - that rat can be a nightmare to draw sometimes, haha. I definitely struggled with him a lot at first (you can kinda tell if you compare my earlier works to my recent ones). I think it’s because so much of him is obscured by his outfit in official art? The way the brim of his hat dips over his face or how his cape likes to defy physics - all in service of a cooler silhouette, sure, but taking away a lot of readability and foundation to work from in the process. I’ll try to offer some tips that work for me (though I’m hardly an expert on this, and teaching's not exactly my strong suit, so please bear with me if things get muddled, haha).

The main piece of advice I can give is gather and study as much reference as you can. Official art, concept art, promotional stuff, sprite sheets - whatever you can find, just grab ‘em and put ‘em somewhere you can easily pull up when you’re drawing. I get most of mine from Wikirby, Spriter’s Resource, and official sites like the Kirby JP Twitter, as well as screenshots taken directly from the games (a great way to get in-motion poses and back views, I’ve found). Here’s what my ref sheet for Daroach looks like (I also have a separate one for color swatches):

Kind of a mess, yeah, but very worth it, I assure you. The more visuals you have to work off of, the easier it will be to detect consistencies in design. Which brings me to my next point: shapes!

Most Kirby characters are, at their core, just a buncha simple shapes. It can be hard to tell sometimes when they wear clothes (like with our rat buddy here), but they still have similar foundations of circles and other rounded features. A way I've found that helps with this is to try redlining (that is, take a piece of reference and trace over it for the purpose of study, learning where lines connect, how silhouettes look, how different parts overlap, what shapes are used, etc.). Here’s an example:

This is a great way to find those design consistencies I mentioned before. I did these a bit messy for a better sense of movement (and ‘cause I’m practiced enough to sketch a little quicker), but you can always start slower and cleaner if it helps you see the shapes and layers more clearly. You can even do them multiple times to familiarize yourself with the design and eventually try copying them without tracing, like doing gesture drawings or life studies.

In Daroach, I’ve found that his head isn’t a perfect circle shape, but more like a rounded diamond, with his ears connecting at or just above the “points” on the sides. His body is a bit smaller than his head, and his snout smaller still, each having sort of a teardrop-like shape. His eyes are bigger than I expected them to be, half circles tilted down slightly, often cut off by his snout and hat to create a shaper angle (meant to make him look more intimidating perhaps?). His ears are taller than his hat, though they can tilt back to look shorter. There are also a lot of arcs and triangles present in his design, especially in his cape when it sits across his form or flares out, and the brim of his hat pointing down from just past his ears to right over his snout. Also, unlike many Kirby characters, he does in fact have a neck - it's just hidden behind his collar and bell most of the time (don't ask me why I spent so long verifying this, no I don't have ulterior motives, don't look at me).

Of course, these observations aren’t set in stone. Kirby characters rarely stay perfectly on-model (see Dedede for proof of that), and Daroach is clearly no exception. I mean, just look at these official pieces (all collected from Wikirby):

Even the folks at HAL Labs are not immune to style inconsistency. And that’s not a bad thing! We love a little personal flair in this house. There’s nothing wrong with altering the design a bit to fit your own style - in fact, it’ll probably happen naturally the more you practice, especially once you’re comfortable enough to work without a guide. Here’s some studies I did recently, no tracing, just observation (with different colors used to help me figure out layering):

I’ve seen other folks take their own designs even further than this, adding more fur or sharper shapes or even realistic rat features to our favorite thief. Nothing like stretching those creative muscles once you’ve got the basics down! On that note, don’t be afraid to be inspired by unofficial sources as well. If an artist you like draws Daroach (or any character) in a way you find appealing, ask yourself what it is you like about it, study it as you study official works, and find ways to incorporate elements of that into your own art - “steal like an artist” as the saying goes.

Another thing I recommend for Daroach specifically is studying how real top hats and capes look, especially from various angles and poses in motion. I find it helps to see exactly how fabric sits on a figure or what sides show at different positions. It might seem weird to use human reference for a cartoon rat, and it might take some finagling to get proportions right, but it’s surprisingly effective. I do this with fighting and athletic poses all the time to help figure out weight distribution and line of action. Don’t be afraid to expand your art repertoire into other fields - you never know when it might come in handy!

And, of course, the key thing to hammer home here is practice, practice, practice! Do studies, do gestures, draw with and without references, build muscle memory, do sketches you show to no one, draw memes, draw angst, take your time, fill pages with messy doodles or just drop one in a corner and call it a day. The more you draw this smarmy rat, the better you’ll get. That’s the long and short of it with any skill, creative or otherwise. You gotta try in order to get good, you gotta make mistakes in order to improve, you gotta be kind to yourself in order to do what you love.

Anyway, I think that’s all I got for now. Forgive me if this got a bit rambly or incoherent - I have trouble putting my thought process in words sometimes, haha. I sincerely hope this helps, and I wish you the best of luck with your own future rat-creating endeavors!

Sketch started and finished 06/14/24.

[sunlightbender]

A Somewhat Scathing Barbie Review (from a Barbie lover)

SPOILER WARNING FOR THE BARBIE MOVIE

Okay, okay, PLEASE don’t skin me alive for saying this, but I thought the Barbie movie was mid at best. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t terrible, but I’ve been seeing people all over the internet praise it as the greatest cinematic masterpiece of our generation and it’s just... not.

As a positive opening, here’s what I liked:

Set design

Costuming

Acting

(Controversially) The narrator

The music

It’s obviously a gorgeous movie. It’s got so many references to actual Barbie sets and outfits, and as a Barbie fan it’s so much fun to see real people in replicas of Barbie clothes. It’s also super funny, and the music is really enjoyable. With so many positives, it might seem odd that this is titled as a scathing review, but for me, the most important factor in any movie is the story, and well... Barbie’s kind of sucks.

Look, I don’t want to ruin anyone’s perspective on a movie they enjoyed so I’d suggest stopping here if you really liked it. 

The storyline was so heavily lacking. My first biggest qualm: this movie isn’t feminist, it’s sexist, dressed up in feminist frills. Disclaimer: I’m a feminist, hardcore, my family teases me about it all the time. From the very opening of the movie, where they mention that the Barbies see themselves as having made a feminist impact in the world, implying that Barbie as a brand HASN’T done that... eugh. Sasha’s opinion on Barbie is very heavily hinted to be the ‘correct’ one, where Barbie hasn’t positively impacted real women. Gloria’s suggestion at the end, to make an ‘ordinary’ Barbie backs this up - the energy of “We need a realistic Barbie, not the silly, pretty, blonde bimbos of the past”, if you will. 

Let me state this: Barbie is, and has always been, a feminist. Barbie has represented strong women for ages. Barbie, in her pink and glittery glory, has had hundreds of careers, dozens of friends, is loved by all, lives life on her own terms, and has Ken as an accessory. She’s gorgeous and fun and smart and powerful and capable. She has ALWAYS been feminist, and any girl who grew up with Barbies will tell you that playing with them has only helped them imagine “what if I could be-”, in the best possible way. As a woman in STEM, I remember playing with Barbies as a kid, and knowing that I could really do anything, because Barbie could too. 

To build onto this, Gloria’s suggestion that an ‘ordinary’ Barbie be made is ridiculous - I’ve always viewed most Barbies as ‘normal’ people! Are they incredible? Of course! But they’re normal people - that’s the whole POINT of Barbie - she can be anything, she can do anything, she’s incredible because women as a whole can be anything, do anything, and are incredible. To have an ‘ordinary’ Barbie that women can relate to is to imply that ordinary women aren’t capable of being vets, engineers, lawyers, environmentalists, businesswomen, etc. It’s almost as if the movie struggles to differentiate Barbie, the brand, from Barbie, the character. Can any one person have 200+ jobs? No, of course not, but Barbie, the character, has NOT done all of those - it’s just all different fields that Barbie could be capable of - because Barbie, the brand, represents everything that women as a whole can accomplish.

Next, the Kens. Oh god, the Kens. I LOVED the start of the movie. Himbo, accessory Ken is incredible. I love him. I finally understood why straight women loved Ryan Gosling. Then he became a misogynist. Ken’s whole arc is so rushed and muddled. Ken was miserable and bitter even before things started going wrong. In the perfect Barbieland, why should Ken be bitter? It doesn’t make logical sense - before Barbieland was falling apart, you’d think the Kens would be okay with their position in the world. And if not, then is the implication that Barbieland was never perfect? That didn’t come across to me. Let’s be frank, in a perfect Barbieland, there’d either be perfect equality where nobody was upset, or everyone would be 100% okay with the inequality in the world. 

He was so obscenely sexist that the funny movie became genuinely uncomfortable to watch, and for the conclusion to be for Barbie to APOLOGIZE to him despite him stealing her house and brainwashing the country...????? And then the main issue was never even resolved - the hardcore matriarchy continues to exist - just everyone saying “I am Ken” is not going to prevent another Ken uprising, and if Barbieland is perfect, I reiterate once more, KENS DESERVE TO BE TREATED FAIRLY TOO. Also, it seems a little anti-feminist to make the Barbie movie essentially a Ken movie with Barbie crying in the back. The plot was SO Ken-heavy that it didn’t feel like a Barbie movie at all. A really feminist movie would’ve made Ken a background, barely-important character, but he runs the show.

I won’t go on and on, but it’s really uncomfortable. Including the forced almost-kiss. 

Lastly, my big qualm is that Barbie becomes a human. Come on, is humanity not over ourselves already? Why do we make everyone in movies obsessed with us? It’s not enough that aliens should want to live on earth, or that princesses should dream to be common, or that robots wish they were human, Barbie herself has to long to dress in beige and be called Barbara. It was implied that the feminist out here is that Barbie has to escape Barbieland, to become her own person, but Barbie, the idea, has already been feminist! It was important for her to be Barbie, the idea, and there’s no sense to why she should want to be human. Why can’t she stay a perfect stereotypical Barbie, another cog in the perfect, plastic Barbieland machine? What’s wrong with that?

Then, all the dropped plotlines:

Gloria and Sasha’s relationship

The CEO

Ken’s still miserable

Barbie’s impact on the women of the world

Brainwashing apparently is fixed by one cheesy speech?

I think it’s a huge case of target audience. I only realized today, three days after the early screening day when I watched it, that it was not made for Barbie fans like me, who watched every piece of Barbie media, who’ve loved the brand for years. It’s made for people who played with the dolls in the 90s, relegated it as “for kids” and were waiting for a socially acceptable excuse to watch a pink movie again.

Was it a terrible movie? No, I suppose not, but frankly, the movie was muddled, corny, bland, and everything that the movie tried to do has been done better by Barbie’s animated movies and show. If you haven’t watched them, I’d suggest starting with Big City, Big Dreams. It’s a short, easy watch about being competitive without being toxic. The Dreamhouse Adventures series also has a lot of great messages. And then, my personal favorite, the Princess and the Pauper, has an awesome message about women supporting women. Now the men in THAT movie really ARE side characters.

One final comment: Barbie doesn’t give kids eating disorders. Adults telling kids they should look like Barbie gives kids eating disorders. And if you’re blaming Barbie for that, well, please also look at Disney, which pretty exclusively has their fat characters be villains, or toxic teen movies from the early 2000s which called people at size 2s fat. Take it from a woman who’s had multiple eating disorders.

What a rant, huh? And that’s WITHOUT getting into the lack of queer rep in a movie that marketed itself as being very camp - Hari Nef aside (she was wonderful!). If you enjoyed the movie, please don’t let me ruin it. It was definitely a lot of fun, but for me, the story really broke the movie. I’ll give it a 6/10 for enjoyability, and a 4/10 for objective quality.

[mimicteruyo]

A quick project update because my insomnia's making writing very difficult but it's still on my mind.

So I'm currently trying to muddle my way through:

Multichapter project 1: a.k.a. the hell WIP. I actually haven't touched it since incorporating my notes into the project, but considering what a hot mess the rough draft is it could use a longer rest anyway. The general structure is likely already as good as it's going to get, but fixing everything else… oof. I'm bracing myself for a preliminary rewrite to precede my usual editing passes. At least I finally came up with a likely title! (tfw I already used what would've been the ideal title nearly a decade ago, but at least the current title is also appropriate & even rhymes with that title 😂).

Multichapter project 2: oh look it's structural issues all over the place. This one is the simplest one of my current projects, so hopefully I can wrangle it into shape without too much pain, but it definitely needs some more polish.

Multichapter project 3: this time the structure is fine, but I'm worried I'm not doing enough to include all the necessary information: it's kind of dense and I worry the pacing is too fast to convey what I hope to get across. If nothing else, I know the most crucial dialogue scene in the fic is hopelessly broken (it's one of those things where I had a fully formed idea for the scene and simply wrote down some markers because I was convinced I'd remember…and then I didn't.), so that certainly requires some extra attention.

Multichapter project 4: I never even finished the rough draft and now have to toss out most of it anyway (the pacing issues alone were just yikes). However, at this point I'm confident that once I write new chapter summaries and start over, I'll be able to see it to the end.

Misc. shorts: one of these has a serious structural issue I still haven't solved, but hopefully the rest will be relatively easy to edit once I've let the drafts be for a while. 🤞

Hopefully everyone's doing well! I can't wait for my sleep deprivation to ease so that I can think straight again. Fight!

[joshhhhhhhhhhhhhhh]

For the first time in probably... 5 years? Bit more? Bit less? I rewatched A Silent Voice. I wanted this to bookend the KyoAni groupwatch because it's pretty much their only standalone feature film, and I already know it's good and I like it, so it seemed like a nice spot to finish off with. And, yeah. I feel a little more complete having done this. Also feels like spring cleaning in a sense because I torrented the ITBD release and that was a clean 40GB I've finally gotten to delete lol.

But anyway. I've kind of had a bit of an arc with this movie. I watched it a long time ago, honestly think I gave it a 10 at first, and then hovered it down to a 9 at some point, and I'm pretty sure that happened when I read the manga. For a while there I thought the manga was straight up better, primarily because the manga is more. It's longer, there's more time spent on the supporting cast, there's more scenes pertaining to the main cast, there's an entire subplot about making a movie, and it continues for about a full volume's worth after the movie ends. And, you know, that's all a good thing, right? Everyone's fleshed out, there's more time with these characters, their relationships are better realised, it's all good.

But at some point, and I admittedly couldn't really tell you when, I started to prefer the movie. I haven't reread the manga whereas I've rewatched the movie several times which probably caused this, but I noticed that I'd basically forgotten everything that had happened in the manga that wasn't in the movie, and I think that's because I kinda stopped caring. Like the characters are more fleshed out, yeah, but when I'd be remembering the series I'm only really remembering Shouya and Shouko plus to a lesser extent Yuzuru. There's a movie making arc, but do I care? The best part about this story by far is Shouya and Shouko. Two wounded individuals trying and struggling to reconnect with each other but also their desire to live at all. It's a story of guilt and of redemption and of how painful it can be wanting to live despite everything. At some point I'd convinced myself Naoko Yamada and Kyoto Animation made the right call cutting a lot of stuff from the manga, because it gives the story a clearer focus on its best part. Their relationship is the thing that I care about and it's the thing the movie decided was the most important. Just cut the bullshit, the movie's better for it.

And so we get to today's arc, wherein I feel like I've realised that the movie simultaneously cuts too much and yet too little at the same time. It does focus primarily on Shouya's story of redemption and his development with Shouko, but a lot of other things are still kept, sometimes to the movie's detriment. Does the movie benefit from having Mashiba be a character? He's fleshed out in the manga but in here he just shows up, wants to be friends, and then gets yelled at. Shouya and Shouko's whole narrative would feel less muddled without him. Although at the same time he was a fleshed out character in the manga and it'd be better if that came across in this adaptation at all. Like you can cut him and it'd be better or you could have more of him and it'd be better. We're basically in a sour spot where entire parts of the movie don't really work because they should have a different level of focus - whether it's more or less. Entire swathes of this movie feel somewhat meandering because it doesn't commit to either approach. It wants to present everyone faithfully but it also cuts a lot of everyone's scenes to focus on Shouya and Shouko stuff. This leads to this whole thing where certain characters like Ueno and Kawai are really hard to get a read on because we don't spend the time we do with them in the manga. But again if we did it might just be sorta boring? Like do you see the problem I'm having. The movie's caught between a rock and a hard place. There's a perfect version of this story somewhere but it's neither the manga nor is it this anime. Cutting like half the cast is probably my preferred option but that's also a little nuclear and enough of them are important to where that probably wouldn't work. But again it doesn't really work as-is and it mostly works in the manga but it's also a little dull. There is no victory to be found.

And with those very mixed feelings aside that I don't think I communicated all too well, I have in fact lowered my score for this movie once again, and now it is down to... 8/10 lol. Yeah no I can say all that shit but I mean the movie's still an audiovisual masterpiece and has a fantastically written lead pair and tons of very strong emotional moments, like I still found myself crying several times during this rewatch. It's got by far the best depiction of bullying I've seen in anime such that the things it has to say about why bullying happens and what it does to people feel extremely potent and relatable. There are characters I don't love if everything I already said wasn't proof enough but certainly the lead pairs' family members in particular are incredibly likeable and compelling characters that are involved for lots of the strongest scenes in general. There are aspects in which the movie is a little confused and I think should've been adapted slightly differently but god damn if it isn't a gripping story all the same.

That's all from me, bye lol.

[coolerdracula]

my rambling thoughts about The Substance [inconclusive] [really long post] (spoilers; Symphony don't read etc)

sooo. hmm. I liked the blood and the gore and stuff. I like that this kind of thing is in theaters. I enjoy the color palette, and I think the opening shot was fantastic for conveying the major "weird thing" of the movie. the satirical tone came through very strongly, and there were a lot of really funny moments. trying to think of more things I liked... I did give it 4 stars on letterboxd, though I keep going between that and 3.5 . it's a fun spectacle.

I did have some gripes with the second and third acts, especially with the "fake-outs" they kept doing, but I'm also wondering if that was intentional, where they kept faking the viewer out in order to make you think that the final sequence isn't going to be real, either? but then it is, so you're like Ohhhh Fuck? idk. it did give me the feeling of "man, when is this movie going to end?" lol. and I get that it's a satire, but it was still pretty heavy handed with a lot of things. like, a lot of the flashbacks (either clips or voiceovers) that were meant to make you as a viewer go "oh, this part of the movie mirrors a prior scene!" made it feel like the movie didn't trust its audience to connect things and Get The Point. plus the scene where she sees the other substance user in the diner was very "hey! this is what you're supposed to understand about it!" irt them giving like 5 different clues that he was the 'same' guy as before. it's way too much handholding :|

in terms of themes ... it's mixed bc of how they approached her becoming "ugly." right. but more on that later. aside from the execution, and more just in terms of the concept, I think that it's saved by the last part (Elizasue confidently dolling herself up), but it's a tenuous save. bc, without that, it's "woman tries to become more beautiful in the eye of society; winds up liking herself less and is punished for this choice." and it comes very close. which ... like, yeah, it does happen to people. but using that dynamic as the focus of an exploitation film is weird to me? I could be wrong. bc it's not necessarily being endorsed by the movie, bc it's a parable, and movies are a social forum, not moral end-all-be-all's, but ... hmmmm idk. idk. it being made by a woman about her own experiences helps. ANYWAYS. the part that saves it from being entirely that dynamic -- the character arc of Elizabeth+ learning to like herself, no matter what she looks like.

I think that it's a good turnaround, conceptually. but the execution... hmm... muddled. bc, Elizasue is in a very unclear mental state, and it establishes that she's hallucinating, or imagining things, or etc. so she's not present in choosing to love herself, she's just lost in imagined grandeur where she is still "beautiful." the parts where Elizasue puts on makeup and earrings come across as more comedic than touching, which is....interesting....thought I might be misremembering, and would have to take another look at it to be sure. maybe it was serious, and people were just laughing because they didn't get that. idk. but then, the reason I believe in this arc even happening, is during the gratuitous bloodbath segment when her glued-on self-mask falls off (her finally dropping the notion that she must look a certain way?) she says "it's still me; I'm not a monster" or something to that affect. which brings it back some, since she's actively acknowledging that she's changed, but it's still her, and she is still good and lovable. idk. I'm mostly writing this in order to figure out my thoughts honestly. I did really like the final sequence where she turns into goop and oozes her way back to her star & becomes absorbed into it. it contextualizes the prior bloodbath sequence as the "moment of change" so we can then get the more straightforward "new normal" of the star scene. but I guess the moment of change was too drawn out and not serious enough to match what it transitioned into.....imo.....but I liked the blood.....hmm.... but I did like the symbolism of her becoming one with the object that represented the decline of her career. contentment & acceptance etc.

ok back to how they conveyed her becoming "ugly." I do think that ... the early stages (the first two, where it's first just her finger, then half her body) were more.. SHE thinks she looks 'ugly,' not the narrative itself. but even with that, it's still presenting her physical changes in a sensational way. so.. the viewer is supposed to be shocked and appalled. especially so once we get to the third stage where she's completely deformed. and I think that relying on that element of deformity of the human body as horror, it... feels icky......... even if what happens to her is not 1:1 with real-life conditions, it still is analogous to them. this is my core issue with the movie, in terms of critiques.

now for the plural aspect. I don't think it's much of a reach to interpret it with a plural lens, since she literally splits into two and then is continually told "you are one." so what does it say, plural-wise? I mean, it's like Fight Club, where this woman has a dissociated part of herself, which can affect change on the world (HER world) without her knowledge/consent, and is perfectly molded to fit society's standards of how her gender should be. they come into conflict when their shared life negatively impacts the protagonist, and then move into mutual destruction. this does imply some things. the core message is that functional multiplicity is not sustainable. we see this in Sue's refusal to respect Elizabeth's time/physical form, as well as Elizabeth's almost immediate resentment and hatred of Sue. if this were to be reframed as a real system situation, it would be a host that thinks they're more important than the rest of the system, and an alter that sees themself as too separate from the host to give a shit about them. this dynamic does happen IRL, but it's allllll we see in media that includes plurality, so I dislike seeing it. this wouldn't be as much of a problem to me if the narrative didn't affirm this dynamic as a universal truth, but it's mirrored in the affirmation of Elizabeth being "the matrix" that Sue cannot exist without, as well as it being the experience had by the only other substance-user in the movie (guy who hates his other self). there isn't room for implying that there's another possible outcome. there also isn't really room for questioning Elizabeth's importance as the Matrix (or the "Core self," a problematic theory irt DID), since that's established by the 'science' of the world (necessity of Sue's 'refills') as well as the film's 'word of god' (the guy on the phone). additionally, we really miss out on the premise of "you are one." how? when? when, except for the very short moment where Elizabeth regrets trying to terminate Sue bc she realizes that Sue is her source of self-worth? we barely see it even when she literally becomes "Elizasue." missed opportunity to explore that more imo.

okay I'm tired of typing lol. this is way too long bc I don't have the energy to distill the rambling into a coherent thought, but ... those are my thoughts. 👍

[istadris]

@multicolour-ink gave me permission to share this idea I had about her daemon AU (which you should absolutely check out because :

1)it’s absolutely amazing and gives me lots of feels

2)the rest of the post won’t make much sense otherwise)

*

After the Power Star broke their mental barrier, after they learned once again to enjoy the touch of each other’s souls, at some point the bros are on an adventure in another kingdom.

Or rather, they’re in Trouble.

They’re on the run from Bowser’s troops, with a hefty price on their heads (especially Mario), and while they have fought the army before, they’re currently ragged, with no power ups around, and are forced to run and hide this time.

Thankfully, the kingdom they’re hiding has races with daemons, so their companions don’t stand out too much...but if the Koopa Troop starts asking questions, their description might give them away quickly.  They manage to sneak inside an abandoned mansion (no boos around, thankfully) and find all sorts of clothes and costumes. Disguises! That’ll do the trick!

That’s when Luigi thinks of something completely crazy, but just to muddle their tracks further...what if they switched daemons for a while? Touch is not a problem with them and none of their enemies would expect them to pull such an outrageous trick. They know the other’s daemon enough to expect any reactions. And it’s only for until they can find a way home. It’s crazy, yes, but it could work!

Mario doesn’t like this idea at first, obviously; what if they get separated and their daemons feel the pull? What if someone figures out their souls don’t match their human? But he doesn’t have any better idea...and after thinking on it for a bit, he realizes that Luigi is not suggesting it on a whim : he would trust Mario with Belissia, with his very soul, despite having lived through the trauma of Bowser trying to separate Luigi from his daemon. Likewise, if there is one person in the world Mario would absolutely trust to look after his daemon, it’s his brother.

They still practice for a bit, while looking for clothes and supplies; Mario feels weirdly unbalanced without the large presence of Eliseo by his side, feeling him further than usual (not to the point of hurting, but usually, his daemon is barely a couple of steps away). And it’s even weirder for Luigi, who’s used to his daemon skittering all over his body.

They find clothes and dress up, and try to look as different as possible for once. Mario grabs the most simple and mundane clothes he can find, counting on trying to be unremarkable and plain. Luigi should probably follow his lead, but as he comes across what seems to be the suite/personal quarters of the master of the mansion...he can't help it: he's already dreamed to dress fancy, to look elegant and rich, and these clothes are so beautiful, so delicate...he compromises his more flashy appearance by using a kind of veil to hide part of his face.

As they reach a big town, they start feeling eyes on them. Whispers and open stares, some even pointing, and worst of all, Luigi seems to be the one drawing them. Or is it Eliseo ? It's rude to stare at someone's dæmon in Mario & Luigi's world, but it seems this kingdom doesn't have the same customs.

Then suddenly the mayor of the town strides towards them with several guards, and Mario is bracing himself for a fight...but no one pays him any attention and instead, the mayor goes straight to Luigi, welcoming him warmly into their town and thanking him for granting them such a high honor by his visit.

Turns out, in this kingdom, dæmons are strongly associated with status, even more than in the Bros' world. And a lion dæmon? That's the mark of royalty, assuredly. Both brothers are caught off guard but manage to play it off ; yes yes, Luigi is a prince from another kingdom, and Mario is his personal servant (with "his" ferret dæmon, no one bats an eye at his low status). Thankfully, they have learned enough from spending time with princesses and kings to be convincing.

Meanwhile Mario has to make himself into something he hates to be. Quiet. Small. Unnoticeable. Slipping out of sight as if he never existed. But Belissia by his side helps him see the power of hiding in shadows and concealing his true nature, and he realises there's a side of his brother even he never noticed.

Mario does his best to stay around, but sometimes he's supposed to act like a servant and needs to leave his side (thankfully not far enough to become uncomfortable for their dæmons).

It's a very stressing time for Luigi; he regrets suggesting that plan, he wishes he could cuddle Belissia to reassure himself when dealing with the high ranked people of the town. But Eliseo is by his side, reminding me his brother is always watching over him, pressing its large head against his flank when Luigi is afraid to fail; he manages to find an inner strenght he didn't realise he possessed, acting braver and stronger than he is. Maybe because he can comfort himself with the idea that "they're not looking at me, but another person".

I don't know exactly how it happens, but at some point the jig is up (Koopas passing by and recognizing them ? A slip in their behavior? Someone connecting the dots?), but thankfully they have managed to recover enough, and gain allies and power ups, so they manage to get away and fix some issues of the kingdom in the meantime...

...but now they can't ever go back there because rumors have gone wild about the freaky conmen who are sharing dæmons.

"I heard one of them doesn't even have a dæmon..."

"Yes, it's because the other has TWO of them, and they share one to mask as normal people"

"I heard one of them is actually a dæmon himself, that's why he's never far from the other!"

"Don't be silly, dæmons don't talk, and they have been fighting hand to hand with a lot of troops!"

"Who says normal rules apply to them ? They're from another world, maybe dæmons don't work the same here ??"

[mdhwrites]

Jumbled Thoughts: Dream Sequences, Featuring Luz’s Nightmare From The Owl House

“It was just a dream.”

...Was it though? In reality, dreams are one of the few times we get to interact with our subconscious without the active conscious getting in the way of whatever it’s trying tell us. This is often confusing and weird though because, well, our brains are commonly confusing and weird. They can’t always properly voice their anxieties so it can often be a mess of imagery and scenes that follow a general theme but the point of it is lost. It is TRYING to say something though.

And for most media, that’s also the point. Now don’t get me wrong: A LOT of dream sequences out there are bad mouthed for good reason. Their points can commonly end up being just “Look at this shocking imagery!” before snapping back to reality. At best, these sequences are actually just reinforcing a character conflict we already had at least some inkling about, like when Zuko in Avatar sees himself as Aang in the mirror. It is mirroring how he effectively is trying to decide between himself and following the path of the Avatar.

That showcases the strength and temptation of the dream sequence though. Not only do you get imagery that otherwise would be impossible but you get to say a LOT about the character experiencing the dream through that imagery. Through their reactions. The imagery might be muddled but the character comes out clearer than ever. LOTS of great dream sequences have managed this, like Superman from The Justice League Cartoon or Batman The Animated series when both explored what a perfect life to the character was and their reaction to it being shattered. We’re not here to talk about a good example though. I could honestly theoretically stop this blog here if I wanted to just talk about the strengths. Clark Kent comforting his fake son, Bruce deciding to give up on a happy lie so he can continue pursuing justice and Zuko battling his inner demons all really highlight the strengths of this trope. Shocking imagery contrasted by inner conflict, clarity and even chaos. Images you couldn’t do otherwise that help reinforce the character, much like what a good backstory will do. It gives context for who they are and what is to come, even if none of it’s real.

I think most people would agree that those are the EXCEPTIONS though and that’s why I think it’s actually more important to talk about why so many of them suck. Because most people hear ‘dream sequence’ and expect it to mean nothing. That it’s just pointless fluff or a chance to give backstory. Hell, I’m going to be talking one dream sequence of The Owl House, also abbreviated as TOH, but they have a second one that is very little more than a flashback sequence with a commentary track until its end where it hardly feels like a dream and more like meditation, which are different in narrative structure and execution. Dreams aren’t the worst way to get backstory across but... It’s also a very blunt way because usually it feels less like and more like a flashback because the writer is just getting the job done.

And this is the crucial problem with most dream sequences. They’re... kind of lazy for most writers. Because you can say “It’s not real so there are no rules”, most writers will use it as a get out of jail free card to do whatever the fuck they want, regardless of the effort needed to sell it. Because there’s a key component those good examples have that most bad dream sequences lack.

Patience. And if we’re gonna talk about a lack of patience, let’s talk about Luz’s Nightmare in the finale for The Owl House. This would be the point where I say SPOILERS but... It’s a dream sequence. And a pretty shitty one at that because the writers, not the character, have ZERO patience for this. And if you’re expecting “They got shortened” because you’re more familiar with it: No. They had a lot of other options they could have gone with. This is literally just seven minutes of wasted time for the sake of shocking imagery. I need to have some patience though. First let’s just cover what happens in those seven minutes. The characters are pulled into the sky, darkness envelops the screen, Luz shows confusion, is told to wake up by a mysterious figure wakes up in the robes of the main villain, questions if this is a dream finds everyone turned to stone except her girlfriend who now wants to kill her. Luz says the line “This isn’t a dream, it’s a nightmare,” then cuts to two other characters also experiencing what are obviously nightmares, moves back to Luz who has a moment with each of her friends trying to judge her actions harshly before trying to kill her, then all together her girlfriend misquotes a book they both like, this confirms to Luz it’s a dream, the OTHER CHARACTERS also wake up, give Luz the answer to what she needs to do to get out, and then it’s over.

For a temporal anchor, the line “This isn’t a dream, it’s a nightmare” comes RIGHT at the two minute mark of this entire sequence. Even before then, we’ve had one reference by the character that this is a dream and a voice telling her to wake up. It then spends FIVE. MORE. MINUTES pretending like it’s a real dream sequence where Luz keeps finding a friend and acting like they’re just not acting like themselves instead of, you know... The fact that she’s already figured out what’s going on, and the show has explicitly stated, to the audience THREE TIMES that this isn’t reality.

Here’s the thing: From a structural standpoint, questioning the dream IS a good idea. It happens in a lot of dream sequences because it creates an arc. First there is the uncertainty caused by things suddenly being different, then a slow possibility that this may just be real and the character may just have to live in this new status quote and then something fractures or even shatters that, especially for the audience. This is when the fight to free Superman in Justice League begins because now the trick of “IF this is a dream” is gone, it’s time to start working to fixing that. This is also when usually the dream might start breaking down and so the characters get a line like “This isn’t a dream, it’s a nightmare.” TOH literally plays this backwards. It wants the line before cutting away from Luz to the other nightmares, who only get one weak appearance each that just destroys credibility further, without understanding that the point is to NOT cut away from the dream. Not until you as the writer have given up on selling this as reality. But then it explicitly goes on to have Luz act like she hasn’t figured out what’s going on. Which brings up the next issue: Clarity. If a character starts acting inconsistently, you start to lose the strength of the sequence. How are we supposed to learn from how they react to the dream, or even the imagery their mind chose (put a pin in that for a moment) if their actions aren’t clear? It’s a problem in general but when the strength of the trope is explicitly about providing character clarity... It’s a death knell. After all, even if the audience never buys into the reality, they might buy into the emotions or the ability to learn about the character in ways they wouldn’t otherwise.

But if Luz isn’t acting clear, well, the show brings in a lot of other characters during the sequence too. If they’re clear, even blunt, doesn’t THAT say something about Luz? Absolutely! That is a great call because it allows a chance to see what the character either thinks of other characters or what they perceive they think of them. So do the words stick in this sequence? Well, this is where the framing of a dream sequence is important and this is also where we need to pull that pin back out. For Superman, he is literally being made to live out his most ideal fantasy from something that is non-judgemental and so the fantasy is entirely his. Anything we see here is presenting things that Clark himself would want. Zuko is literally having a fever dream but there’s no supernatural force so those are his thoughts. As such, all the imagery and words are theirs. They’re a reflection of their psyche. For TOH, the frame is that the big villain, through another villain, is literally doing this to fuck with her. So... Nope! It isn’t organic in anyway. That’s why the fuck up is made actually that breaks the illusion. If this was based on Luz’s mind... Her girlfriend wouldn’t have gotten the reference wrong. Because Luz wouldn’t. But it’s a fabrication so the lines and reactions aren’t made by Luz’s subconscious, they aren’t a reflection of her, but whatever the big bad asshole (or someone being controlled by the big bad asshole technically) thinks will make her give up.

It causes the whole thing to be LITERALLY pointless. Seven minutes of wasted time that don’t even really say anything about the character. What’s worse... Is that it commits the other cardinal sin of a bad dream sequence: It presents something the viewer WANTS.

The idea of her friends finally snapping and actually putting Luz to task fits in with the theme of the show of “Fantasy vs Reality.” These are the consequences of her actions. Even if it were entirely internal, it’d still be satisfying to know the little ball of sunshine who wants to be the hero truly does fear the consequences of her actions as a root part of herself. Instead... She makes a joke based on another character getting a reference wrong and is immediately ready to fight. Even the cruel words haven’t shaken her properly so that she can’t let her nerd self get annoyed at a continuity error.

Then again, why would they? She has no reason to believe any of this and her reaction first was to call it a nightmare. To state explicitly that she knows it’s a lie. It’s almost like character consistency MATTERS.

This is almost a textbook example of the sort of scene that makes audiences go “It was just a dream.” It’s not something to think about. It says nothing. It accomplishes nothing. It’s just there for shock value. To get to do whatever you want while knowing the audience is probably waiting for something to actually happen that they need to care about.

And for a writer, that shouldn’t be a dream. It should be the greatest nightmare of all.

[imagoddamnonionmason]

I was gonna DM this to you, but I thought it’d make more sense if I sent it in as an ask instead.

Bullet was ordered specifically to be on her best behavior as the meeting’s extremely important. She’s in her best dress, but is wearing a wool cardigan over it to hide the scars and the tattoos that are ‘unprofessional’. For half of the meeting, a couple of people kept making comments towards that would usually end in Bullet getting into a screaming match, but she has to bite her tongue.

Eventually, she ends up getting overstimulated and excuses herself ‘to the bathroom’, where she deadass climbs out of the window. Girl goes outside and starts beating the shit out of the dumpster at the back of the building they’re in. When her knuckles are bloody and she runs out of curse words, Ester lights a cigarette.

She doesn’t notice that Klaus was also overstimulated and also escaped the same way she did. I kinda imagine Ester had a thing for him so she’s pretty embarrassed when she finds out he’s there too.

Girl’s there, mascara running, makeup completely ruined, broken hands and red in the face.

They’d end up talking and going to a different spot nearby, maybe a rooftop or a park, and they actually talk for a while, and it ends with Ester taking her cardigan off and leaning her head against Klaus.

Lmk what you think 🤭

Ok firstly this got me kicking my feetsies and feeling so silly, I love it - soft moments for these two seem like they would be very far and few, especially for Ester due to everything she has been through and the types of missions she's had to go on and complete. I feel like throughout the meeting, Klaus would have been sparing her glances - I'm also assuming this is like a formal meeting? Maybe he's in a suit for some reason, either way, doesn't matter, dude is in a suit for a reason I'll get to later (and also because a suit makes him look phenomenal).

They're sat slightly across from each other, listening in to whatever discussion is happening, then it goes from tabletop to standing around muddling around with the crowd. Maybe it's a meeting followed by a 'get-together' or some sort of underhanded meeting with the cover of a party or something. Idk, I'm seeing shady shit happening, you get me?

ANYWAY!

It's gotten to the point in the night where everyone is getting a little louder, the noise level is complicated with different sounds and heightened volumes and he'd actually prefer to be in a warzone. He can handle the complicated soundscape of a battlefield, but humming voices make his brain vibrate in a way that hurts and he doesn't like it. He doesn't know why Graves sent him this is the worst-

Yes, he's in the bathroom, looking for a way out without people noticing and of course the only thing he can think of is escaping through the slightly open window - it was a bit of a squeeze, given his height, but he managed and then escaped down the fire escape, like the metal stairs (I have no idea where this is set, but stick with me here).

He hears commotion, hurries further down because someone sounds really upset and he's like 'oh fuck-' and when he sees that it's Ester, he stills. When she turns to see that it's him, he's like a deer caught in headlights. Stood there, tall and gangly with too much limb and not enough confidence to place them somewhere that isn't in an awkward position. So he kinda just fidgets on the spot.

But then he notices the tears, the bloodied knuckles and he's very still again. But the kind of still that is laden with concern and a slight disappointment that he hadn't noticed earlier signs that she wasn't ok. I feel like maybe they've been working together a lot more and he's come to trust her (and fancy her a lil bit). Firstly they're comrades, he should know when a fellow soldier needs aid, but also she's a friend and he's annoyed he didn't notice. He's worked so hard to start noticing social cues and yet here he has failed to.

He slowly walks up to her, silent, and extends his hand out to her, fingers curling a little to indicate he wants to see her hands. He turns them over and inspects the knuckles, tuts a little bit with an understanding that they must sting, at least, before he pulls a handkerchief from his inside pocket.

"For the blood," he would say, a little awkwardly.

Then he'd look back from where he'd escaped from, wince a little at the thought of both of them heading back in, and makes the decision that, no, they're not. I think a park would be nice, sitting on a lone bench, in the dark with possibly a singular lamppost shining down on them. When they're both settled there, he's loosened off his tie, undone the top few buttons of his shirt and is sat, a little more relaxed now it's just the two of them. I think they probably haven't really spoken just yet, just walked there in comfortable silence before he turns to her to ask, "want to talk about it?" His voice is very quiet, soft, gentle, his accent clinging thick to his words.

"Who said these things?" He'd ask, with full understanding that she can hold her own, but he doesn't want her to have to. He'll steal their kneecaps and feed them to their mothers, especially if he finds anyone making comments like that again. I imagine they would have been about the scars. He'd fistfight a god if they spoke horridly about her looks, her appearance, her in general.

I think he'd be shitting himself as he does this next bit, like that anxiety someone gets when they really like someone but is scared that they're about to fuck it up forever, but also now is the moment to be tender and plunge into the depths of possibility. He cup her cheeks, wipe away any tear stains, and it takes a lot for him to do this, but he does.

And he'd invite that closeness, for her to rest against him, and he would wrap a protective arm around her and they'd continue talking into the night. It's not awkward like he thought it would be and I'm not sure how they'd get onto the topic of partners, but I feel like it would be a slight train wreck. He just asked the question straight up a little bluntly, thinking he'd been smooth as fuck lmao.

"So you are dating someone?"

"No..."

"Right..." He'd panic a little bit, "would.... would you.. like to? maybe?"