#this whole situation is so messed up.
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gogethelp123 · 1 year ago
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Genuinely curious what logic people have to claim that what mclaren did to Daniel is worse than what has just happened to nyck. Let me lay these events out for you.
Daniel got a contract buyout, that couldn’t have happened unless he agreed to it. He got a say in his departure and a rumoured 18 million. He’d done two years in that car and all but one race was shockingly mediocre for a driver of his experience level. They signed oscar before the summer break, they could’ve replaced him mid season. They didn’t. Daniel got to announce his own departure, f1 made posts about it, people were sad and outraged to see him go. Mclaren waited weeks to announce Oscar as his replacement despite already signing him. Daniel got his time before he was replaced by a younger, more exciting talent who would cost far less and get potentially better results.
Let’s look at Nyck. He’s done a grand total of 11 races, 10 in the alphatauri that his teammate has only hauled into the points twice. We get no actual announcement that he is leaving, only one that he is replaced by a much older driver before even the summer break. No one acknowledges his departure, they’re too excited for daniel to come in. Reports say neither Nyck or his family knew of the announcement, he was totally blindsided. And I’m sorry to say this, but if Daniel was any other driver with his results from the past two years no team would take a second look at him.
I’m not here to tell you all to forget about daniel and mclaren and that it was all fine, it was handled poorly and they should have put an exit clause in the contract for that exact scenario. However, don’t claim red bull have treated nyck better. Red bull demoted drivers from the top team yes, they don’t usually drop alpha drivers mid season. They’ve screwed nyck over and no one will even give him the basic respect of a ‘nyck de vries to leave alpha tauri’ post.
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aethersea · 2 months ago
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I do think Blazing Saddles handled its one depiction of native americans very poorly, and the full extent of its representation of chinese workers on the railroad is they were literally just there. not even one single speaking line. unclear if this is worse or better than the redface.
it's fucking phenomenal at lampooning antiblack racism though. extremely blatant, extremely funny satire, which is constantly and loudly saying "racism is the philosophy of the terminally stupid at best and morally depraved at worst, and we should all be pointing and laughing at them 24/7"
plus the main character is a heroic black man who has to navigate a whole lot of bullshit but is constantly smirking at the extraordinarily stupid racists and inviting the audience into the joke. the one heroic white character is a guy who was suicidally depressed until he met the protagonist and they just instantly became buds, and he's firmly in a supporting role the whole time and happy to be there. the protagonist saves the day with the help of his black friends from the railroad, and uses the position of power he was given to uplift not only those friends, but all the railroad workers of other minorities too, in an explicit show of solidarity.
anyone saying "Blazing Saddles is racist" had better be talking about its treatment of non-black minorities. it had better not be such superficial takes as "oh but they say the n-word all the time" or "they have nazis and the kkk in there!" because goddamn if that's the full extent of your critique I very seriously suggest you read up on media analysis. there is too much going over your head, you need to learn to recognize satire.
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turtleblogatlast · 6 months ago
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Small but significant character moments that I actually really adore are from both the times we see the boys as tots. There is a reoccurrence that happens in both of them that I find so incredibly interesting.
For the turtle tot short, Splinter leaves the boys with weapons. In the short, Raph is the one who suggests they do “what Lou Jitsu would do” and Leo is the one who takes point when Splinter comes back to reprimand them. Leo, in taking point, is the one to defend them and get Splinter off their tails.
And then, in the flashback regarding the Kuroi Yōroi helmet, Raph is the one who grabs and throws “Skully” as a way to replace their missing ball which breaks it into pieces, but Leo is the one who speaks for the group and rushes into action to fix the teapot.
I love this for multiple reasons, but the biggest are how it shows that Raph has always been inclined toward the bold and fun and making the plans to include his brothers in what he loves and believes they’d love, whereas Leo has always been inclined to be the “Face” of the group and shoulder the attention even if it’s potentially negative all while coming up with on the spot attempts to fix the situation.
#rottmnt#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#rottmnt raph#rottmnt leo#rise Raph#rise leo#I really do love this bit of character writing a ton#again it’s so small but like this is consistent!#little Raph just wanted to have fun with his bros 😭#Leo immediately coming in with the save both times (and more - remember Bug Busters?)#I really love too how none of them pointed fingers like#it was Understood that Leo would speak for them#listen there’s a reason Leo is the Face Man and it’s NOT just because he’s got a pretty face#he can talk both himself and his fam out of situations and I wish we saw it even more because it’s amazing to witness#circling back to Raph his bold nature is something I ADORE about him but I don’t see it brought up a lot which makes me so sad#like this boy is a RAPHAEL he is bold!!#and it’s cute too how the other bros immediately go along with it too#imo the Raph in these tot flashback is the same Raph that glues them all together as a bonding exercise#side note but damn…Leo saves them from punishment in the tot short and immediately gets jumped 😔#but yeah man I think a Lot about the little dynamics between the bros and how those dynamics could have first came into being#Leo being the face of the team and having been it since childhood-#-makes all the moments of immediately choosing to sacrifice himself when HE royally messes up all the more notable#if it’s one bro or the whole group individually he’s more chill about it but often still lets himself be the talker to get them out of it#he will do his damndest to get his brothers and himself out of trouble but once they’re in it he’s in the front with a smile#his own safety be damned#Raph is actually the same in that respect - he’ll jump into danger fists first but all bets are off when a brother is in danger#and like how Leo’s been the face - as the eldest Raph has been the de facto leader of sorts#he’s the one who is shown to make up their games! and I think that’s very cute#anyway their clashing in the movie is so interesting for a lot of reasons but one of them is that it shows how-#-even a longstanding dynamic like Raph and Leo’s that’s WORKED for so long is still susceptible to flaws…and to time
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little-pondhead · 2 years ago
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Bruce was being watched. Again.
He didn’t know where it was coming from, and that was a problem at the moment. He was hosting another gala, intent on putting on the “Bruice Wayne” mask for the public. None of his children were attending, unfortunately, but everything was going okay so far.
Then he kept feeling a cool breeze on the back of his neck. His hairs stood on end, and he shivered randomly. Someone mentioned that he looked cold. But Bruce wasn’t cold. He was Batman! Batman is never bothered by something stupid like the temperature. It just felt like there were multiple pairs of eyes staring at him from all directions.
Bruce tried to catch whoever it was, but when he looked, there was no one there. He even made extra laps around the room, easily slipping between socialites and chatting his way through the crowd. He scanned the tables, checked the stairs, peeked outside, and even snuck at glance at the chandeliers for fuck’s sake! There was nothing. No cameras, no lingering eyes, nothing.
Bruce could feel his heartbeat quicken. There was something in the room. Something dangerous.
Eventually, the source of his anxiety came to him. The gala was small, being in the middle of the off-season for social events. It was a relatively quiet gathering. Still, Bruce flinched when someone tapped his shoulder from behind when he was making another waltz around the room. He turned, and was faced with a boy no older than 16, but no younger than 14. It was hard to tell his age. He wore an ill-fitted navy suit and scuffed dress shoes. His tie was no where to be seen, and the boy had a platter of finger foods balanced in one hand. He hadn’t heard anyone approach at all.
What made Bruce freeze, however, was the fact that the boy looked exactly like the portraits of the young Thomas Wayne that were hanging innocently in the Wayne family home. His crystal blue eyes seemed to glow in the overhead lights as they bore into Bruce. It felt like the boy could see his soul. The air was more chilled than it had been all night, and everything in Bruce’s mind was screaming DANGER!
“Y’know…” Bruce’s breath caught in his throat as the boy spoke. His midwestern accent was heavy, and the boy took a slow moment to polish off a baked feta bite before continuing. “You look like the kinda guy to have a secret basement. The bloody kind. Nice party, though!” With that, the boy disappeared back into the crowd, taking the cold air with him.
Bruce never got out a word.
———
Danny sees all the wandering souls and shades attached to Bruce Wayne, and comes to the obvious conclusion that the billionaire is a serial killer.
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hcdragonwrites · 1 year ago
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Tangled Love
(A @semisolidmind Drabble)
Ok! I ran this by Semi before I posted just because I know absolutely nothing about LMK (except the animation can be so pretty!) just so I could get their characters down. I hope you all like it !
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She just wanted to escape- both from this place and from her own mind tonight.
The ghosts of memories were walking and she had no distractions to chase them away.
Peaches walked the cool cavern halls of Water- Curtain Cave, her feet echoing in the depths. The sandals she wore and the ornamental clothing she had been thrown into made her scalp prickle and her skin itch. It was too much- but the attendants wouldn’t hear a thing about it.
She had to look the part of Queen.
Peaches, in the absence of the Lord of the mountain and his right hand and sword, was the remaining voice of authority.
To a point.
Finishing with courtly duties and listening in on behalf of her husbands wasn't a huge chore. The two of them rarely left at the same time however. If one was called away the other would remain. Or Peaches herself would be brought along.
This time however she hadn’t been.
It was the first time in ten years.
She had just this night- just this moment of reprieve and she would make the most of it. Or so she thought. Instead, she was fighting something that reared its head and struck her nerves like a asp.
However she wasn’t alone quite yet. As she rounded the corner and came to golden lacquered doors of her bedchamber - their bedchamber- she paused.
“Will that be all my queen?” One of the attending retinue of her guard asked. It was a guard her husbands insisted upon whenever both were away from home- a set of seven of the most battle scarred simians Peaches had ever seen.
They were tasked and sworn with following her everywhere - to the dining hall, to the throne room. If she wished to go and sit among the apple trees and listen to the wind play over the mountain grasses her guard would double in size. Peaches tried to not cause the denizens of Flower fruit mountain any more problems or stressors by going outside when both the King and his Brother in arms were away on a war path.
Her husbands.
It’s what they titled themselves now, after a decade of the terrible start they had on their relationship with her. When she had met the two, they had been just tiny monkeys. A sly looking ginger and gold monkey who had loved to cling to her arms and a dark black furred monkey that brought her fruits and almonds from the wild.
My sweet boys.
They had been her monkeys back then- the little prankster angels she had thought were just simple beasts, trying to survive out in the world.
She had been wrong.
The decision to upend her life, she guessed, had been floated around for months between the two disguised demons as they ate her fruit and enjoyed her touches. It was a mutual one that both had decided was the best option for her.
She took a steadying breath, coming back to the present. Peaches wanted a chance to be alone. Something so rare she craved it like a man in a desert craved water.
“Yes, general. I think I’ll retire early for the day.” She smiled at the monkey who dipped his body into a bow. The gleam of his armor set the flickers of a memory brewing. Fire in the trees, the smell of iron on the wind and a figure among the debris. She shook her head to dislodge it. The rest of them weren’t awful to her. Her husbands weren’t awful to her. They had just ….
Taken away her decisions.
“Very well Queen.” Peaches flinched, unable to quite stomach the title and what that truly meant. If I am queen then why am I without choices? “If you need us call us.”
She turned the handle in the door and slipped in side with as much grace as she could muster.
Peaches closed the ornamental doors to the bedroom, resting her head against the door. Steady. Deep breaths. In through her nose out through her mouth.
The illusion of a paradise that Wukong had built and Macaque helped facilitate always lost its color and believability when they were away. They couldn’t feed her the sugared lies and candied perceptions to tamp back the memories of that night.
It had been just another night on the small farm - a June night of heat and singing cicadas- of windows wide open and Peaches trying to escape that heat. There wasn’t much she could do to escape it. The moisture clung to her and made her bedding stick and clog her nose. So on these nights she stayed up, usually with a candle or the moon to illuminate her night, and read.
The knock on the door was not something typical.
The memory was rising and she couldn’t hold it back. I have to ride it out. Survive it.
Like she had survived that night. Getting visitors in the dead of the night had been unconventional- and she remembered the feeling of being perturbed. Don’t answer it, she told the memory. But this was the past and ghosts of the past didn’t change their course.
She had closed her book, had stepped down the hall to the door and had opened it.
I should have called through- told him to stay away! I should have never left my bed or my book.
It was a drunk man. A fellow farm hand called in for one of the families to help bring in a harvest that had proved too bountiful for the immediate family to handle. Peaches could see the man before her eyes, smell the reek of him.
A drunk.
“Well ain’t it the village spinster! Whaaa da pretty thing you are!” He was a cloud of bitter rice wine, of too much sake on his breath. The intensity of it had a physical effect on her memory and in the present, Peaches wrinkled her nose.
“You should go home Sir.” She had told him- tried to close the door.
His foot moved faster and his hands had caught the door.
A wild set of emotions swept through her. She had to sit her body down, thankful she had been able to get away from the other monkeys before the memory seized her like a vice. They would have been in a panic over her and she couldn’t let their little hearts worry so. There was nothing they could do to stop the remembering.
It was his fault this all happened. It was His. He didn’t have to be drunk and show up at my home- he didn’t have to shove his way into my house and try and grab me.
But he was just a single man. Did his actions warrant the destruction that happened next ?
“Get out!” Her memory self cried. The wooden table she danced behind as the drunk stumbled and moved towards her, was her only shield.
“The Boys Said you prefer the company of wild animals …” his speech was hard to hear. The wine had made him bold, stupid, and aroused it seemed. “I thought I would give you mtaste of what a real man was, since the villagers are al’ ‘fraid of your Witchery with monkeys.”
She had run- she had thrown her things at him. It was probably the commotion of her breaking a pitcher over his head that had alerted her monkeys. The loud clatter of the pottery across the floor had sounded so sharp and final. It had only made the man more determined.
The drunk when he did get his hands on her was furious. He swung a fist and sent stars into her eyes. Peaches had clung like a wildcat to her conscious, kicking out with legs and swinging with fists. Her nose was full of the sour smell of him- had felt his hands and fought them. A kick to his groin had sent him wheezing. Another fist to her head had Peaches crying. She had stared that drunk in his mean little eyes as he whispered the terrible things he wanted to do to her.
She had been staring in those eyes when he died.
He never got to touch more than her arms that night.
Peaches heard something step through the door that had been left open to the night. She had heard the creak of her house as something walked within it. And the sound of something- like a water skin being popped and a splash of warm liquid against her belly had shocked her.
The Drunks eyes went wide with confusion, rolling horselike in his head. His bruising grip on her wrist had let go. In the present, She rubbed those wrists, the phantom pains hard.
“..mah… belly.” The drunk had mumbled then belched a bucket of blood onto the floor. Peaches could see something protruding from his middle- something long and thin like a stick. Or a staff.
Clawed hands pulled the head back and twisted with a fury. The sound of bones breaking was loud, as if a fire was consuming dry wood. The drunk crumbled in those hands like a puppet cut free of its strings.
A new stranger stood in her home, his frame large and broad and most assuredly not human. He tossed the body like someone would toss a rag across the floor. The glowing eyes in the sudden dark were all she could see. Her mind, even in its heightened adrenaline drenched state, recognized the face pattern, saw a familiarity in the fur. There was, in fact, still a little flower tucked against this demonic creatures ear. The same flower she had interwoven in her forest friend's fur that afternoon.
“Your… your my…”
Nerves and the come down from the adrenaline high we’re making speech hard. The monkey demon before her, who’s eyes seemed to spit fire, softened. Just a bit.
“You are my Peaches.” Wukong said, touching her hair, her face, her hands. Taking stock. Then he had taken those limp hands and threaded them through his fur, trying to get them to grip. It would help his own rage and calm her fear. It was thick in the air, ruining the natural sweet smell she had. That and the slab of flesh on the floors own fetid death scent.
Wukong was not the best at this - this comfort thing. But he would rise to the occasion. He would try for her.
Fury and rage made his tail lash and the fur along his neck to stand on end.
At first she had just been a simple human that would leave little offerings to him and his brother in arms. An oddity here in the shadow of his mountain. Most humans around here feared the monkeys and kept away from all of them, having a legend that if one was harmed a great calamity would befall them.
Wukong didn’t mind being that calamity. These were his people, his subjects. So hearing the chatter from some of his kind that a women had begun to leave out gifts had of course spiked the Kings curiosity. The humans beneath Flower Fruit Mountain were his lesser subjects. So he had come down from the mountain, disguising himself as a smaller and more approachable sized monkey, to see the fuss his subjects had started gossiping about at groomings. Only to see his brother, Macaque, already being petted and tended and kissed on each of his six ears.
Of course first impressions had been terrible and Wukong, used to getting the first pick of everything, had come screeching into the clearing and demanding his own pets. It had set off a very small and very mock little battle between the two brothers in arms. One that had Peaches separating them and scolding them as she patched up the little scratches they had taken from eachother. They could have each resisted her pull but both decided that play acting a fight, even if it had started as a bit of one, was the best way to get attention divided between the both of them.
Wukong hadn’t expected to become infatuated. Her name didn’t matter to him- he had rebranded her almost the instant she came to him and offered a smile and held out a handful of sugar and dates. Peaches. After the Kings own favorite fruit, the sweetest thing the mountain produced.
His Peaches.
Of course also Macaques. He shared everything with his brother, the dark furred and six eared demon who had faced battles and won wars besides Wukong. While Wukong had been more leery, Peaches won him over faster than Flower Wine loosened his rigid posture. They had both fallen for this mortal women. And, in the traditional way she belonged to them. She just didn’t know it yet. They had touched and groomed and cuddled and tangled limbs and tails. They were practically married without the marriage bit.
Wukong rubbed small circles into Peaches back, trying to keep himself from bearing his teeth in rage.
I should have taken her home the moment she kissed me.
They had been kisses of the kind one gives to a friend or pet. It had left the warlord craving more burning with more.
Of wanting to feel her give him more than just a chaste kiss on the side of his face.
She wouldn’t have been hurt if he had just taken her home.
Wukong and Macaque had taken to one or both spending the night in Peaches trees, to keep an eye on her. Wukongs obsession had grown into a fascination and warm buttery love. A love that was becoming a wild inferno as he fought to stay still and not leap upon the corpse he had made and turn it into nothing but bits of flesh and gore the crows could carry away.
His Peaches fingers finally grasped his fur and shook. It brought Wukong back from his montage of rage to the present. If only Mac was here — but he wasn’t. He was back at home on Flower Fruit mountain , giving his brother the night to enjoy and keep lookout at Peaches den.
“That’s my girl.” The demon tried to soothe. He really wished he could set Peaches down and finish off what he had started. This place had been bad. This village terrible. He hated every thing and one here that had dared to let a drunken fool up to his Peaches doorstep and allowed this to happen. In reality Wukong was mad it had been Mac’s own sense of importance on taking it slow and letting a little thing like a life outside of Flower Fruit Mountain stop him from from revealing who he was and taking her home.
I am done trying to woo her over slowly. They could have lost her this night if Wukong hadn’t been in earshot, hadn’t heard the crash of something breaking. His clawed hands wrapped around her back and beneath her legs. Before he could realize it, Wukong had her up and in his arms, already stepping on and across the corpse and out into the June air. Mine.
“Let’s get you home, lovely.” Wukongs voice was thick with emotion. Relief to finally, finally, finally have an excuse to take his wife home, to see her sleep in a real bed and eat real food made his heart swell. No more pretending. No more longing. It was happening now. Simmering beneath that emotion was the sweet bubble, the red misting rage, of violence. Once he got her home, got her safe, got her tangled within some of his and Macaques blankets to where the sour smell of fear would be lost within the scent of them- he could come back. He would come back.
He would destroy the village for being the obstacle it was in his conquest for this mortal girls heart. It was in itself, a relief to know he was justified in its destruction.
Look what this place did to bruise my sweet fruit.
Peaches was shaking. Clinging to him. I would have her cling to me always. He pressed his nose into her neck, breathing in as he walked off. She smelled so good. He rubbed his face to hers, affectionately smothering her fear scent. Wukong felt a smile curl his face. Finally. We can go home and put the charade to bed. Finally you are mine.
Peaches' memory of that night was mostly of clinging to Wukong as they flew through the air, of his voice a rumble of soft words and comforts. He was holding her close, pressing her in. Smothering her in a sense. But she needed it. She clung to it in a way to stop herself from being sick from fright. It was strange but familiar to hold this fur, to cling. Then she briefly remembered another voice, another set of hands. When she looked up and saw that her sweet dark monkey was also here, had also been a demon in disguise, something broke in her. Maybe hysteria. Maybe disbelief. Or maybe she knew, somewhere in her mind, that no matter what she said now wouldn’t save the people- the innocents- in her village.
Peaches had been transferred into the dark arms and THATS where she finally began to cry. The shock was fading and leaving behind ragged holes of emotion.
“Safe, you're safe now.” She was reassured. Hands had lifted her chin, her sweet little monkey- now a demonic one- was gently beginning to sponge away the blood from the cuts on her face. Her cheek swelled, her eye with it.
“Please don’t kill them.” She begged. “He already took care of the one who hurt me don’t kill my village.”
“Hush love…”
“Please!”
Silence. Something cold pressed to her face- a bit of snow from far up the mountain wrapped in cloth. Macaques ears twitched like flower petals in the night air.
“It’s already done. The village is already gone.”
The memory rode itself out in the present and faded slowly.
Guilt washed over her and she cried all for a new reason. She had been the catalyst for Sun Wukongs fury. She had been the decider to his want of destruction. Peaches may not have killed them, may have had a decade to realize that what had happened wasn’t her fault, but Wukong had done it in her name. He had erased that village and all its people like a cartographer reshapes a map. To all the rest of the world, their had never been a village in the shadow of Flower fruit mountain. Not a foundation, not a brick, not even a spare hair, was left of humanity there. Instead it had been cleared as if a fire had swept through. Peaches had seen it on one occasion when Wukong had been persuaded to show her. She had needed closure. Needed the peace.
Once she had healed she had been told her village was gone. She had been given a sweet lie- that Wukong had gone back and the villagers related to the drunk had been ransacking her house to see where she kept the money or any spare wine.
When Wukong had shown up demanding they answer to the crime committed in her home, they had attacked. Wukong had enacted a king's justice as was his right. He had told the remaining villagers to leave- to never set foot upon his domain again for the lawlessness that had been enacted upon their neighbor.
It had taken two years for her to be able to relax whenever he came in smelling of fire and iron. It had taken a few years more for her to remember what Macaque had said when he had pressed snow to her face.
They were the same little monkeys they had been before. But now they had less innocence when they pressed into her face for kisses, when they asked to tangle and cuddle limbs. They insisted she stay in the bedchamber and not move to her own separate room.
It had taken getting used to movement beside her as a hand tugged her hair, or a tale twined her waist. Or a leg curled with hers or hands holding her face. Sometimes in the dark Mac would press his head to her back, using her as a pillow. Wukong would yank her in when he thought her too sleepy to remember and whisper all the things he loved about her.
It would have been sweet. It was touching in a way. If not for the way they revealed themselves. If not for that memory and what she knew now had come after.
It had not taken too long after that for her to start realizing that, though Wukong had saved her, neither of them had any regret of what happened. Neither of them was going to let her go.
When she asked about it or started talking of missing her home- the simple living, the ability to really on herself and choose for herself- Wukong would laugh and launch into one of his tales. He would brush her hair with his claws, run his face against hers and try and deflect her attention to new things.
Macaque, if Wukong was absent, would let her talk. Usually it happened when he asked her to brush his fur or he in turn asked to brush her hair. Peaches thought, just a bit, that the reason Mac was better at listening was for all the ears he had. Each time however, when she got to the part about how this had been her fault, he would stop mid way through a braid or pin and pull her in. Macaque would kiss the tears from her eyes, would press himself close to her chest.
“It was Never your fault Peaches.”
“I remember. I remember he went back- you said he—“
“Hush love you’ll grow hysterical. What Wukong did was justified- he defended you.”
“He killed.”
“I have killed.” He kissed her temple, gentle in his reprimands. He wouldn’t try and brush her words beneath a rug like Wukong. Instead he gave her a smile as wide as the crescent moon. “Let’s finish your hair and get you dressed. We can go see the baby’s, I know how you love the baby’s.” Baby monkeys were her weakness. They had been what led to her loving Mac before she had known he was a demonic warlord.
Peaches rubbed at her eyes and stood, the sorrow in her heart heavy still but the tears at least had stopped. Now she was just tired. Tired and cold and wanting to escape the feeling of it all. So she shed her courtly attire. All the clips and jewels and baubles and bits felt heavy. She placed them within the box at her armoire, then loosened her hair from its bindings. Jade pins, pearl necklaces, golden bracelets with bells of silver (Wukong loved this the best of all) all glimmered back in the firelight.
A pretty price.
She snapped the box closed.
On nights like this, she wanted to wear nothing but her smock, her simple clothing, and bury herself as far as she could go into the bed she shared with her husbands.
It was more of a pit set into the ground, circular in nature. Silken pillows, red sheets and a hoard of anything plush and furred had been thrown into the pit. It was also a snug place to bury herself within and one of the few things she didn’t feel resentment too right away. When the outside felt too bright and she couldn’t go about the mountain to her usual quiet places, she would retire here. To burrow, to bury, to hide.
Peach fell back into the pit of blankets and pillows and pulled herself beneath a fur of some striped monster Macaque had skinned and gifted to her. Tonight the bitter truth was hard to swallow and did circles in her head.
You did this. You caused this. You killed them. This is your fault.
She closed her eyes and hoped … hoped for what might be the worst thing yet. Her husband's return.
A time later she stirred. Something was in her room- was walking to the bed. Peaches felt a flutter of fear before hands reached into her hiding place and simply slid her out.
“Hello darling.” The silken voice belonged to none other than Macaque. His clawed hands entwined around her waist, his teeth nipping at her ear. “You are up late.”
“Does that mean it will be a late morning?” Wukongs voice came from the other side of the room. Peaches could see the ginger monkey removing armor from his shoulders and stretching. As the darker brother kept making a snack of her shoulder, Peaches noticed that the shine of Wukongs paldrom was dimmed. Something black coated the golden imprint of sunbursts across its armored surface. “I love late mornings! Means more time together.”
Blood?
“Peaches?” She turned her head, trying to see Mac. He had left off nipping her skin. A hand came away from her wrist and tipped her chin, forcing her to stare directly into his violet eyes. “What has upset you?”
Everything. Myself. Wukong. You. It was that simple question that set her sorrow to flowing again. She was confused, upset, and she wanted comfort. The only ones who could give her comfort were the very ones who caused her distress.
A vicious cycle.
The pillows behind her sagged. Wukongs hands were more aggressive in their touches, turning her about to stare into her face. He noted the tears, the bruising beneath her eyes. His lip curled in anger.
“Has someone upset you?” Wukong asked. He seemed ready to stand again, to grab his armor and step out into the night. “I will drag them here to give an apology. You name them and I will fetch them.”
Peaches shook her head.
“Just ….” You killing the villagers, Macaque telling me plainly that it was for the best, and my own head making me relive that night of events. Over and over and over.
“…. Myself.”
His face softened as he chirped a reassurance, pressing his nose to hers. Macaque peppered her in gentle and butterfly soft kisses to the back of her neck. The three fell back into the nest, limbs entwined and hands holding. Macaque had Peaches face buried in his chest as she sobbed silently. He cooed. He whispered how everything would be right as rain in the morning. His hands ran through her hair and messaged her scalp. Wukong held his Peaches, pressing her back to his chest in a solid wall against the world outside. He lavished her in praises and compliments, sometimes getting carried away and talking about himself until his brother would remind him with a flick to his forehead that it was their Peaches he should be reassuring.
And through it all, through this twisted and tangled weave of limbs and fur and warmth and sorrow, Peaches felt love. It grew in this dark place still, wanting to thrive. But how could it?
Still she fell asleep, lashes sparkled with tears and her heart lighter. One could only be sad so long in the wake of such waves of attention. Wukongs and Macaques love was the only solution to this ailment they had inflicted upon her, and she, the addict, swallowing the medicine that would give her release.
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mollysunder · 2 months ago
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The one thing I don't understand about the theory where Piltover and Zaun are teaming up to fight Noxus in the end, is why are Vi and Ekko flying towards Jinx's supposed airship if they're on the same team? Why does Vi NEED to confront Jinx in the middle of a warzone?
We see Ekko in garb that looks like he's on Jinx's side, but we mostly see him with the Firelights in those scenes, and they not decorated in Jinx's colors. Even minor background characters that are on Jinx/Sevika's side have a pink X on the right side of their chest. The Firelights are completely free of any graffiti or markers that would identify them with Jinx, and Vi is in an enforcer uniform. We don't see any other Zaunites in the crowd, but for some reason Vi and Ekko are centering their concentration on Jinx.
I think what's happening is that Ambessa's forces are fighting against Piltover's enforcers, but Jinx isn't helping, she's taking advantage of the chaos. Jinx is probably in Piltover to do something big that Piltover can't defend against since they're preoccupied with Noxus. Jinx will probably think the fight between Noxus and Piltover is the best opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. Vi and Ekko will probably object, they'll say her plan goes too far, and it'll get people killed. The whole scenario will probably be a more extreme mirror to whatever the Silco flashback will reveal about what went down on the Day of Ash and why Vander tried to kill Silco, except this time with magic.
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quietwingsinthesky · 1 year ago
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Dean is such a paradox for me because on the one hand, I have been actively triggered by him in the show, there are moments where, intentionally or not, the writers managed to create a portrayal of manipulation and abuse and control issues that it sets off actual alarms for me. And on the other hand, I would not have him any other way. There is something — not comforting, that’s too soft a word — about knowing where Dean’s actions stem from, having seen and learned all that we do about his childhood neglect and parentification and the trauma he goes through repeatedly in the show, and that he doesn’t come out clean. He comes out a goddamn mess who ends up hurting the people around him in reaction to his own pain!
There’s a reality there that’s. Almost nice, actually. Distressing to watch, but it is a fucking mess, it’s a good mess! He’s got zero healthy coping skills and a healthy relationship with say, his brother, is terrifying because it leaves him open to abandonment!
I’m not sure I’m wording this correctly. There is a way to be a good abuse victim. Take the pain, martyr yourself on it, and then, even if you have no support or idea how to, then you have to become a Good Person who never hurts anyone the way you have been learning to your entire life. Simply toss everything that shaped you out the door and emerge a saint with a tragic backstory. And Dean is not that. And that’s so fucking good. Everything that he has gone through continues to effect the way he treats the people around him, and he can’t fight the behaviors he might recognize as harmful because he also sees them as protecting him (or protecting Sam by keeping Sam with him.)
And sometimes, idk. It feels good to see a guy who didn’t heal the “right way.” Who mostly didn’t heal at all, just keeps the wound open because it’s easier that way.
#there’s a whole other bit to this about how like. it’s hard for fandom to hold the idea that someone can be both a victim and abusive#at the same time. that the ways someone has been hurt don’t always shape them into kindness and wide-eyed sympathy. occasionally it just#makes them hard to live with. and I think most obviously is the thing that a lot of what Dean does is an expression of love. of protection.#he’s very much his father’s son in that way. that’s why Sam. the guy he’s been Told to protect his whole life. is also the person he ends up#hurting the most. it’s tragedy. it’s realistic. it’s a good fucking mess.#and that’s why I don’t get interpretations of dean that are determined to shave off the ugly parts of his character. to me those are the#parts that make him a character worth revisiting. he’s so full of love. and he uses it to hurt people. he means to sometimes. a lot of the#time he doesn’t but hurts them anyway. he has been shaped by violence his whole life. and it’s just. I get why someone might take this#part of him away. to make him easier to love. because I get that he’s stressful to watch also like I get that. but he is.#he is compelling. in his anger and his controlling behavior and his strangling love. he is compelling in all the ways he has become this.#Dean’s degradation into these behaviors can be both a failure of a show that ran to long but also the believable trajectory of a man who#can’t heal. and I love him for that. I love him for emerging from pain as a angry sharp thing. I love that it brings the glimpses of him#being gentler and recognizing his actions as bad into stark relief. I love that this recognition often only lasts until he is hurt again and#then he backpedals into the safety of behaviors he knows will allow him to control a situation through force or manipulation.#it’s good fucking mess. you know? dean winchester everybody.#maybe I should have put all that in the main post. oh well. too late now.#spn#dean winchester#tw abuse
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smolstarthief · 7 months ago
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I swear to god the more I think about how Sumi's toxic/negative thoughts and behavior along with the filter's red flags were not only fully ignored but even outright ENABLED and sometimes mocked by the people around her the more horrified I feel guys. Again, fuck Shujin Academy. Not only that but her whole experience at Shujin just felt so... Isolating. It doesn't excuse it and she needed to grow out of it but it's definitely little to no wonder she primarily clung onto and became dependent on Maruki and Joker for a while.
Like her peers, Shujin faculty, hell even well intentioned ones like Maruki and even her father just kept enabling and putting on temporary bandaids thinking that what's currently happening to her and their ideas to help her were gonna benefit her in the long run when they just... Unwittingly make it worse. It's primarily when Joker steps in to tell her to STOP with the delusions and unhealthy behavior that she finally starts to show actual improvement and snap out of it. Same with her coach who had been trying to tell her to stop from the beginning.
Like don't get me wrong, Maruki and her father aren't horrible and DO care about her compared to Shujin but they kinda still unwittingly contributed to her problems by allowing her to live a lie as Kasumi. But on the other end of the spectrum, there's the added nuance that she did feel like the filter did help her (she was suicidal for Pete's sake) but also felt that she didn't need it anymore because it's ultimately not healthy and just a bandaid solution.
That and she acknowledged and admitted her own faults in the situation saying that she wasn't any better. Actually the more I think about it, the more I realize that one of the mental hangups she's dealing with is being so caught up in her own problems that she doesn't see the bigger picture of things (Kasumi not being this perfect person, Maruki's suffering despite his kindness and smiles, etc.). She even mentions it in a safe room dialogue and can even be shown in the flashback of Kasumi's death. It just kinda adds more to her selfishness even when her feelings are understandable and Kasumi's behavior and methods of helping can definitely come off as condescending to anyone. It just reached MASSIVELY unhealthy levels along with people around her enabling the toxic behaviors (Maruki included).
I guess a tl;dr is that she IS an interesting critique on Japan's fucked up mental health system and stigmas along with Maruki and I feel like people should talk about this more because it's so interesting to dissect.
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tswwwit · 6 months ago
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was bill mad at the cultists BEFORE he knew about the whole “we cut out your husband’s tongue for being ‘blasphemous’” thing? id imagine he’s the type to be mad at anyone (but him, if current dipper is into that) messing up his stuff. and was there a point where he clocked just how traumatized cult!dipper was?
Bill's initial impression was that they were a bunch of goddamn jackasses, but he wasn't mad at them yet! Sure, they scratched up his husband pretty deeply, and that's more than worthy of some retaliation. But it did summon him right to the guy! Punishment could be put off; he was pretty high on getting to see his human again! And, hey, what's the point in obliterating a perfectly good cult? Someone would pay eventually, but there wasn't a good reason to exterminate 'em. Once he brought Dipper home, and noticed how he behaved, though - That's when he started getting really irritated.
Too scrawny, for one. Too scared, for another. Bill's no stranger to inflicting horrible mental damage and the signs were all there! It'd be one thing to have a worshipful, devout husband bowing and scraping and flattering his ego. It was another entirely to see him shiver in terror while avoiding Bill as much as possible. Displaying no curiosity, no stubborn tendencies. No real kick to the guy, while also failing to eat well or drink well or thrive, even outside of that environment. And always, infuriatingly, remaining completely silent.
Something went down back at that ramshackle patched-together pile of crap they called a cult, and it was not to Bill's liking. And once the tongue thing came to light? That was the last fucking straw.
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spotaus · 11 days ago
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New Age AU (Error's Wacky Wild Plan)
Hi guys. So. Crazy Story. The crisis that stopped me from working on my banner art actually catapulted me into writing this drabble finally! (Also the wonderful @ancha-aus was also a life-saver and helped me hammer out a few plot points for this installment <3)
Currently my only context for this drabble is that Error is tiny, and ran away from home because Geno moved to Reaper's kingdom to make money to send back home, and Fresh spent too long away on his trip. Error was expelled from his magic academy and came home to an empty house, so he left! Now he's been on the road for about a month? Nightmare has been ruling for about 6-ish years now, almost 7.
(Hello @mutzelputz and @papiliovolens hi guys!!!)
     The town was bustling. 
   Error had been through a lot of towns since he’d left. Big ones, small ones, ones he was convinced weren’t even towns at all, just a few barns in a general closeness to one another who decided they needed to call themselves something besides the outskirts. Those people had been particularly hostile to his passing through.
   And, lately, they’d been really weird. People staring at him when he’d walk on the streets, or pass by shops. When they saw he had money from a different kingdom (he didn’t even realize he’d left his own, but he figured it meant he was on the right path) they’d squeeze their faces like they bit a lemon and hastily take his coin. Like it was cursed, or something. They were lucky it wasn’t cursed, honestly. He could probably figure out how to do that.
    This town, though, was filled so full with people that he imagined they couldn’t look at him weird if they wanted to. 
   People were riding horses, chatting in the streets, all sorts of stalls and merchants were peddling goods, and he was almost positive he could hear music lifting down the street over the general drone. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d run into a place so busy. He’d always been told to stick to the side, out of the way, out of danger. 
   He didn’t have to listen to that anymore. Though, he did skirt the crowds. The mass of people seemed all too willing to bump shoulders or elbows with each other in the early morning sun, and the last thing he wanted was to have his magic act up in a crowd. He’d done well so far. 
   Every booth, every merchant, every passerby seemed jubilant, ebbing and flowing. It was like some sort of party. 
   That was, until, Error spotted it.
   A big building, something that Error recognized only vaguely. 
   It was an amphitheatre. 
   Geno had taken him to see one once. Or, at least, the ruin of one. It hadn’t been too far from their home, and it was pretty abandoned and lonely. Plants had crawled up its walls, stones had fallen off in chunks, animals seemed to have deemed its high windows a perfect spot to build nests. It had been breathtaking, and ancient. 
   This one? Seemed perfectly in-use. 
   The walls were all in-tact, stones, an easy to look at grey, smooth and covered in little intricate carvings. Spells, he had to imagine, in some language he didn’t know. Curtains hung over the huge arched entrances, and heavy gates seemed to be lifted, the spikes at the base loomed over the heads of every passerby. 
   He couldn’t help but marvel. Was this a restoration, or maybe it was new. Some sort of imitation. Regardless, he found that his feet carried him to one of the entrances, which stood largely empty aside from some folks who looked strikingly like guards.
   Two of them stood, long spears in-hand. They both stood stock still as Error approached, and didn’t move a muscle as he passed them. They were strange, definitely different. Not at all the town guard he was familiar with. 
   The inside of the theatre was even more impressive. Rows and rows of stands seemed to line up either side. Huge tapestry hung from the high arches past those seats, and down the runways of the bleachers, all a bright teal and dark navy blue. They seemed fancy, and much newer than the curtains which had hung in the entrance. 
   Beyond the walkway where he stood, was a set of stairs which led down a level or so, before it leveled out into an open space. Sandy, and very flat. It seemed like there were people there, too. A much smaller crowd, but still a crowd nonetheless. 
   Error was almost amazed he’d not been stopped by someone yet. Whatever was going on seemed important, and so far in his experience, people did not like him sticking his nose into important business. 
   With that in mind, he decided he’d stick to the entryway for now. He leaned his bag up against the wall and watched from a position where the sun still shadowed his form. He was often grateful for his miscolored bones. It made hiding in the dark a whole lot easier. 
   It took a bit for him to really process what he was watching in the morning light. 
   There were four people sat on a sort of raised box toward the front of a stage. A huge stage, raised up off the sand with wood slats. They had a long-table before them, and quills and ink jars in-hand. Well, three were sitting. One was standing. But the point is, they were all watching the stage very attentively. 
   On-stage there was… basically nothing. Only a simple backdrop Error had to imagine was there at all times, because it looked like it was coated in sand, even from the distance where he stood.
   A person would enter the stage, the people sat on the box would speak to them, and then there was a flare of magic. Another. Another. And then they were dismissed. 
   It wasn’t until he really bothered to think about what magic was being cast that he realized those were extremely simple spells being used. Levitate, Create Water, Mimicry. Or Flame, Gust, Light. All just three easy spells, and then they were off-stage. That was taught magic. It gave him memories of his entrance exam to his school. He’d been way overqualified to get in, Geno taught him after all…
   But, no, this didn’t feel the same. There were plenty of people who seemed to stumble at spells they didn’t recognize, or who couldn’t muster a simple breeze. Then others who were very old and obviously skilled. Obviously they found the three spells to be child’s play. Like Error would. This was no entrance exam, so what-
   “Hey, pipsqueak, what are you doing there in the dark?” A voice startled him, and it took all of his willpower to avoid jumping away from its origin. 
   Error twisted rapidly, just in time to avoid the thrust of an elbow in his direction. 
   There was a monster there. Three, actually. Two lizards, both bright green and tropical, and one who looked more like a dragon. The green one closer to him must have spoken, because he laughed at Error’s flinch. 
   “Why are you bothering me?” Error shot back haughtily. 
   The lizard seemed to grin at the response.  
   “Oh, so we’ve got a feisty little small fry here? Thinks he’s scoping out the competition?” The dragonish one hissed, voice deep. 
   The other green one tittered a giggle, “So cute! I can’t believe the King really decided to let just anyone try out for Royal Mage.” 
   Oh…
   The lizard before him seemed to take this silence as a weakness, and reached out quicker than Error could react. A flick to the middle of his forehead. 
   Error winced and pulled away, back and into the arena. He grit his teeth and clutched his skull, where at the same moment the lizard jumped back and shook their hand in the air a bit. His magic had reacted poorly again, and while it was better than it used to be, it still stung like 5 wasps touching down and stinging the same point all at once. 
   “Little freak.” Was all the monster hissed, before he fled. His two friends moving on behind him in confusion. Approaching the line to the stage. 
   Error stood there in the sun for a moment, rubbing at his forehead until the pain was more of a numb static. 
   If anything, he appreciated the little run-in with those wanna-bes. Now he knew exactly what this was, and why it had felt so familiar to him. 
   The Mage Trials. 
   Geno had to go through them, and he’s been very thorough about his every single detail while doing it. Even though he was the best mage Error had ever known, he’d still stressed and wrote page after page of plans and spells and had placed them into a folder that felt thicker than an encyclopedia. Geno had always been the only one of them who bothered studying. Fresh couldn’t go to school anymore, and Error… Well, Error didn’t need to. 
   Thinking about it, Geno had been very quiet about it, but Error had looked into his folder a few times. Just out of curiosity. It’d been split into three rounds, something Geno had said was standardized. The first was a test of someone’s basic magic skills, the second were more complex spells which the mage has practice in, and the third, the one that had given Geno the most grief, was the personal spell round. In the last one, there were no restrictions to what someone could do, so long as they had done the work themselves, and that it mostly used magic. 
   If he was right, and he usually was, then this was the first round. Eliminating those with nothing but a hope and a prayer in their pocket before they got embarrassed before the one looking for the Mage in the first place. In this case, whoever this kingdom’s king even was. 
   In just a few moments, Error had decided. 
   This was how he’d prove himself. 
   The line was already starting to get longer, and he didn’t want to be here until nightfall in a queue. He dusted off his scarf, his shoes, his bag, and set off into the bright sun to secure his place in this contest. No prep. No warning. Just with his raw skill and what he’d learned so far. Nothing could possibly go wrong. 
.
   Finally. 
   Error felt like it had been hours in the warm sun before he was finally up next. 
   He’d been watching, of course. Watching as the people before him were passed or failed. It was just as he’d expected, and he couldn’t help but be a bit giddy as the two green lizard who’d bothered him earlier both failed. Though their dragonish friend had passed, it was still enough of a victory for him.
   Along with that, he noticed that the three people sat were all in robes of nobles. Something the wealthy and lofty would think to wear in a blazing hot arena all day. The one standing, though, was wearing all black. A hood was over his head, but Error thought he might be some sort of cat-monster. Very stone faced, very still. The only time Error had seen him move was seemingly to veto whatever choice the other three were making. He thought it was interesting. 
   That didn’t matter, though. 
   Based on what he’d seen, these people wouldn’t have any qualms with his magic. He was much better than half the people who’d already been passed, and knew he could keep him calm up on the stage. It’d be just like his entrance exam. 
   He watched as the monster who’d gone before him, a skeleton who was twice his height and twice as animal-ish, bowed gratefully to the people on the boxes, the evaluators, and exited. She’d passed fairly easily, Error thought. Though, her focus seemed elsewhere based on how shaky the hold on her last flame had been. 
   “Next!” 
   The call was shrill, and Error had heard it over a hundred times already today, but this time it bounced in his ears as he lifted himself up the steps and strode onstage. 
   If he’d thought about it, he would’ve tried to find a place to stache his bag, but it was too late for that, and frankly he didn’t trust it not to get stolen once it was out of his sight. Not with how busy the city seemed. 
   When he was stood in the center of the stage, he looked out across the way to the evaluators. They seemed closer up here than they did when he was on the ground. Interesting. 
   “First spell,” The person on the far left called, though Error could tell now that it was a voice projection spell. So they didn’t strain their vocal chords, “ Levitate.”
   That was simple. One of the first spells he’d been taught as a kid. 
   His eyes skimmed briefly, there had been a few props on stage that he only noticed once he was closer that were meant to be used with this sort of spell, but Error wasn’t for that. Instead, he muttered the words under his breath, outstretched a hand, and felt his magic reach out around him. Beyond the stage. 
   There… There was a barrier of some sorts, pushing back against his magic, between himself and the evaluators. He furrowed his brow and urged his magic forward. He didn’t have to break through it. He just. Had to- His magic felt like it was looping and wriggling like a worm through the dirt, but when it broke through on the other end, it felt so much more clear. He could feel a potent magic there, something raw and wet, like the air before a storm. 
   That didn’t matter, though. None of it did, because he was on a mission. His magic finally found its target, the stacks of ink bottles which the middle evaluator had just before their parchment. The magic latched on, and Error finally allowed himself a grin as he tugged his hand upwards. They floated calmly into the air, three of them, and did a quick spinning motion, before settling back down just where he’d found them.
   He didn’t catch the looks on the threes faces, but he had to imagine they were priceless. He was more focused on letting the spell dissipate and preparing for the next. 
   It took a moment, before, “Second Spell,” They said, “Create Water.” 
   Another easy one. 
   Error held his hand out again, though this time his palm faced the sky rather than the ground. At the mutter of his words, he could feel the water manifesting. Tiny droplets leaking from his fingers and into the air above his open palm, where he let it gather into a nice, easy sphere. 
   It hovered, and for this one he could see the nods from the three evaluators. The fourth, the cat monster, didn’t move an inch. A good sign. 
   Error, after a breath, moved the orb of water and simply set it on the stage floor. If he had to release it, he didn’t exactly want to get his clothes wet. That orb tended to shoot outwards when he released it, and the water would go everywhere. 
   “Third spell,” They must’ve been contented with his simply setting down the water, for they continued, “Flame.”
   Ah, one of his favorites. He was never very good at it, of course, but it was certainly very fun. If nothing else it’d be a taste of his raw power.
   He rolled up his hanging sleeves, quickly using strands of string to wrap them in place, before he picked back up the water orb in one hand. With the other, he faced his palm toward the side of it, and spoke the words for the flame spell. 
   The heat gathered in his wrist, and all at once shot out of his palm, like a cannon blast. The heat was intense, and Error laughed quietly to himself in pure elation as the fire did exactly what he was hoping. All at once, his glasses fogged, and a burst of steam blew past his face, off to the exiting side of the stage. He’d evaporated his orb, no longer needing to risk someone seeing him fumble with it and soak himself. 
   He let the fire die after a few second, and quickly grabbed the hem of his scarf to wipe down his glasses from the fog left behind on their surface. 
   The moment the red rims were back on the bridge of his nose, the voice spoke up again. 
   “Name?”
   Error cleared his throat, before calling back his name in response. Just the first one, the last one didn’t matter anymore. 
   There was another few breaths of quiet, before, 
   “Age?”
   Error hadn’t heard them ask anyone else for their age, but he figured they’d noticed. How strong and talented he was at such a young age. 
  He puffed up his chest when he announced, “Twelve!” to the arena. 
   There were a few muffled murmurs from the line, but Error was too busy grinning across the way at the evaluators as they seemed to talk amongst themselves. 
   He was ready to hear the word that would mark him to continue. The next part was tomorrow, after this round was concluded and the king arrived. He’d heard about it in the line while he was waiting. 
   One of the evaluators lifted their gaze back to him. Opened their mouth.
   “Disqualified.”
   That.
   Huh?
   Error must’ve visibly glitched at the response, because one of the evaluators seemed to flinch. Ever so slightly. 
   “How come?!” Error called back, reservations immediately fleeing his mind.
   How could they disqualify him? He hadn’t heard them do that to literally anyone else so far today. 
   The evaluator on the far right spoke up, “Too young. Now please move off the-”
   Error might’ve let his mouth speak before his mind, if he hadn’t seen the way the mysterious cat monster seemed to slink forward. A simple tap to the evaluator’s side and they stopped mid-sentence, attention drawing to the person. 
   He waited with balled fists. Hoping, against it all, that this person was using his mighty veto powers to get him his passing review. 
   “The Knight wishes to speak to you further.” They said, when the person, the Knight, took a step back. “Exit the stage.” 
   Mm. 
   This was his chance. This was his moment. He was being allowed to move on, he was sure of it. It had to be. 
   He practically scrambled off the stage and down the steps, and found that the Knight had closed the distance very quickly. He gestured silently for Error to follow him off to the side of the arena, seemingly outside of the voice spell’s range, as the noise of magic and calling for the next viewer seemed all muffled and contained. 
   Something Error noticed about the guy, now that he was right beside him walking along, was also that he wasn’t a cat monster. No, he had some sort of mask shaped like a cat. Black spots painted on black fur, with piercing white eyelights hidden in the darkness cast by his black hood. A cloth mask covered the lower half of his face, so Error would’ve had no idea what kind of monster he was, if he hadn’t left his hands uncovered. They were grey and grimy, but they were most certainly bones. 
   The other thing he noticed, was the magic. That damp, airy magic was no-doubt from this guy. It practically enveloped the both of them until they were stood in the shade of the wall separating bleachers from arena floor. 
   “You said you’re twelve?” He finally asked, shifting on his feet to look at Error. 
   The last thing he noticed, which only happened once he was able to look past the aura, was that. Well. He was a bit taller than this guy. Not by much, but there was certainly something stark about having to look a bit downwards to meet his eyelights. 
   “Yes, I am.” He claimed proudly, still convinced this was to be his ride to the top.
   The knight seemed to skim him with his eyes. Surely taking in Error’s clothes, his bag, his glasses, the weird bones. Though, it didn’t feel pervasive. 
   “Impressively strong for a kid,” He praised loosely, “And probably talented in spells if the nerds were any indication.” 
   His voice was quiet and raspy, but Error had no problem listening to it. This strong and very cool guy who was called a ‘knight’ was praising him. This was much better than getting yelled at by his professors. Much. 
   “Does that mean I passed?” He asked impatiently. 
   He needed this. He needed this. 
   The guy’s eyelights lingered on his face a bit, and it was then that Error finally noticed how virtually unreadable this guy was. Impossibly quiet, posture unmoving, all facial features shrouded in shadow and covered by masks?
   “I’m not sure what kingdom you’re from, but you’ve got to understand that the folks up there didn’t say no because you’re bad. They said no because the king made a new decree. “No soul under the age of 16 shall be put to work under the crown.” They’ve gotta take it seriously, just like everyone else has to follow the new rules about their own shops and businesses.” He said evenly, eyelights never leaving Error’s face. “You’re a couple years too early is all.” 
   It felt like he’d been shoved into a ditch, and he could already feel his right hand starting to tremble with the beginnings of a glitch. He was furious! How could they possibly say no to him because of some stupid rule about his age? 
   “No!” He exclaimed, trying to bite back the distortion on his voice, “I’m not going to just walk away. If I could just move on to the next round, they’d see I’m different! I’m not some weak little baby!” 
   He clenched his fists, driving his jittering one forcefully into his pocket. 
   The knight didn’t even flinch at his declaration. 
   “They’ve already seen that.” He said easily. “Listen to me. Error, right?” 
   Error hesitantly nodded. 
   “Error, ‘m sure that if my Lord saw you in action, he too would agree that you are very strong and resourceful.” The knight said, and Error hated that it sounded earnest. “But, he set that law into place for very good reason. If by any means those folks back there were to let you through, to pass you, and you made it before the king next round? They’d have committed treason, and I’d have their souls on the end of my bone in three seconds flat.” 
   His voice was hard and serious, and Error held strong as a loud crack echoed out beside the knight. A bone raised from the ground, sharp and jagged on the end, absolutely radiating magic. 
   “Do you really want their blood on your conscience, just so that you get sent away by the King anyways?” The knight offered. 
   Error hunched his shoulders a bit, and he felt his static worsen as he let his eyes linger on the bone. Yes. He muttered inside his head. He wanted to scream it at the man before him. Tell him that this was his one golden chance to prove himself. 
   But to who? He would ask, and Error wouldn’t be able to say it. It’d be a wasted sentiment and wasted time and wasted lives just for his temper tantrum. 
   “...No.” He bit out meekly. 
   He stood there, feeling a familiar shame creep up his spine. The knight made no move to leave, though he did let his bone disappear. The ground looked untouched from where it had split out of. Just more sand. Sand that was getting into Error’s bones. That he’d have to clean out later. Swinging in his hammock, lonely and moping. 
   “Heh,” The chuckle was almost inaudible, and Error was almost ready to let his distress turn back into rage, but, “Better kid than I was.” The Knight mused into the open air.
   He seemed to shift his stance again, and Error took a half step back. 
   “You’ve got your life ahead of you, kid. Don’t let this keep you down. Take the road less traveled by or whatever.” He said then, waving a hand loosely before him. 
   Error stared at him, trying to even his breath, before he had an idea. 
   “The other two rounds will be here, right?” He asked, voice still harshly stuttering and screeching. The Knight seemed unbothered.
   “Yeah. Planning on sticking around to watch?” The knight questioned, though it felt more like a warning. 
   Error nodded in agreement without hesitation. “If these geezers can get the job, I need to see what kind of tricks they have up their sleeves.” He agreed. 
   That earned another little chuckle, before the knight looked back to the stage. 
   Up in the center was a new mage, a human who seemed to be making a pretty wild wind that was whipping the sand around, bothering the people in line behind him. Error heard the knight make a scoffing noise, before turning back towards the stage.
   “Go hang around somewhere else for a while, why don’t you? I have to go make sure those nerds don’t pass that guy.” 
   Error didn’t even get to say a farewell before the Knight was off. 
   It seemed like every stride he teleported a bit further, building speed until he stopped cleanly up on the pedestal. Just in time for the sandstorm to die down. 
   Error didn’t want to walk away from this, he didn’t, but staying would only waste his time. It only took a few more seconds, to watch the knight nudge the evaluator and hear the muffled call of ‘fail’ ring out across the arena before he was turning tail and moving out of the sandy paradise, back into the bustle of the living city. 
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   It was impossible to miss it. The sounds of celebration as the monarch entered the town. 
   Error could see the royal carriage from his perch, an old temple tower that had at some point lost its bell. It seemed untouched, birds nests and cobwebs, so he’d set up a hammock and a little makeshift shelter inside using his strings just before night fell. 
   He’d snatched some food from the town as dusk was setting in, and he’d been comfortably whittling away the dark hours, working hard on his plan. 
   With the King officially in town, that meant the second round would be starting up shortly, taking the numbers of who would be in the third round down by hundreds. He hoped the king was stingy about it. He hoped that dragonish monster would stumble on his spell and turn someone into a frog. 
   The thought humored him, and he cackled quietly to himself from his makeshift room. 
   The sun was high again, and he was only a part of the way through. His spells required a lot of his magic to be woven into them, and while it was much much faster than what he’d heard was the usual, it was still difficult to make. 
   Weaving the blue strings from his sockets, to his fingers, around his fingertips, and into the shapes he needed. It was monotonous, and boring by all accounts, but with every strand there was a new flow of power. A new pump of adrenaline into Error’s soul as he recognized his creation becoming more potent. Intent, intent, intent, every loop and knot was filled to the brim with it. His frustration sat at the core. Much more volatile and destructive than his usual intent, but it would serve him well if he wanted this plan to go well. Around it was his determination. The strings woven in with a sense of stubbornness which refused to let go, like a snake swallowing its prey whole. This would compress the first layer into a proper state. Let it coil and coil and coil until it burst. It’d be big, and loud, and send out that message he so desperately needed to be heard by the king. 
   Skipping the second round would probably hurt him in the long run, but… That knight had said he’d have to kill those people if he showed his face in round two. So, he’d just appear in round three instead, and make up for missing the second one. A final act, of sorts. 
   He’d have to be at this all day to make the time crunch. The orb was hardly as big as his palm, not nearly big enough. Though, he had wasted time making the shelter and finding food. He’d just have to skip a couple meals to make up for it. He didn’t really need to eat that much anyways, he’d known that for years. He just tried to make an effort when he smelled something tasty. 
   He knew he could manage. 
   It was late in the night when Error finally started on the outer layers. Those which would be filled with his patience, so that the potent insides would not be sensed as he moved with it among the many magic users. 
   The town had begun to line the streets with torches and party as the stars arrived. No doubt celebrating those who would be at the third and final round tomorrow. The ones who would be competing to become the new Royal Mage. 
   To Error? Every single moment down there was dedicated to him. They just didn’t know it yet. 
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   The morning came, and Error only had a few more layers. 
   By the time the sun was almost in the center of the sky above, he had finished it, and carefully tucked it into his backpack. He unraveled the strings and carefully wrapped them, shaping them, changing them into a thin net with long ends. This was shoved into his jacket sleeve, the ends clutched tight in his hand. 
   It took him hardly any time at all to get to the arena, and he was early. 
   Good.
   He settled himself up in the stands, as close to the stage as he could get. Many people seemed to be staying outside the arena, sticking to the streets, but there was still enough of a crowd in the bleachers that Error had to be careful as he worked his way along the edges. He needed to be closer. Closer…
   There. 
   He stood at the railing behind the stage. 
   From here, he could see the line to the left, and he could see the people who had finished lingering on the other side. None of them spoke to each other, only standing about, icily, waiting for the rest to finish so they’d know which of them was chosen, and who was not. Error had to imagine that these folks were just as lame and boring as the seniors from his old academy. No fun at all. 
   He waited, so, so patiently, for the next few people. The last few. 
   Though he couldn’t see the spells themselves, he could certainly feel the pressure coming off of them. The control that they’d need to balance it. How much it might’ve drained their energy to do it just once. He was attuned to that sort of thing, he had to be. 
   His assessment was that all of these last few folks weren’t bad, but they were no match for Error’s raw talent. 
   Each spell cast seemed to tick away at Error’s patience, until it finally happened. The last mage went on-stage. It seemed there had been 15 of them. 
   He’d have to make 16, then. 
   It felt like a blur as he jumped the rails and let his strings carry him across the open space, much to the shock of the few who had been watching the competitors from around him. The blue lines snatched at the wooden supports of the stage, and he swung right over top, landing a bit messily in the center of the stage.
   He didn’t have time to look at everything. All he knew was the crowd was much larger than last time, that there was a shout of ‘Hey!’’ from somewhere to his left, and that the box across from the stage now held only three people. Monsters. One Error recognized, the knight in shadows who’d spoken to him. The other two he didn’t know, but he had to assume the one in the middle, tall and imposing, and dark, with an eyelight the same colors as the tapestries, was the King he was looking to impress. That was all he needed to know. 
   “M’lord, my name is Error!” He called out across the sand, and in one motion he shrugged the bag off his shoulders and used his strings to tug the orb out of its canvas body. “I want to prove that I’m more capable than any of the adults who just went before me! I could be your mage!” He would be the mage. 
   The orb sat cradled in Error’s hand for only the briefest moment, before it was inside the little net he’d made. He swung it in circles. Again. Again. Again. 
   He had to be fast. He had to do this quick.
   Error spent one last moment, extending his reach through his strings, muttering words and igniting an intangible spark. 
   For a brief moment, he watched as the King seemed to ease forward. A hand now raised, seemingly calling off his knights, who had been almost in motion. 
   He released the orb directly upwards, momentum carrying it up. 
   Up.
   Up.
   Into the blue sky. Practically into the sun. 
   Error watched it rise above him. 
   Only. 
   “Shit.” 
   His calculations must’ve been off. He must’ve added a layer too many, or maybe he released it a swing too soon. But he could tell that it wouldn’t clear the top of the arena. 
   Maybe if he had a few more seconds he could’ve used strings to boost it. He could’ve sent a magic gust to lift it further. 
   Not the case.
   He watched as the orb detonated, just like it was supposed to. 
   The wave moved horizontally through the air, and swept across the air above the arena so quickly that it sucked the sand from the top layer and threw it against the tall walls. Error’s footing slipped, and he stumbled to his knees on the stage as the wind whipped and tugged the heavy curtains into the air current as well. 
   It was an almost invisible force, Error had to imagine anyone without a solid grasp of magic would entirely miss it as it spread out. 
  He winced as it finally reached the edges of the arena, where he had just barely managed to fall short of clearing. 
   As the magic passed over the stone and mortar, he saw as it fell. Not in chunks, but crumbled like dust into fine particles. The upper half of every arch at the top of the grand amphitheatre, turned pitch black, then wasted away. 
   He hadn’t meant for it to come in contact with anything. It wasn’t supposed to do anything but harmlessly wave over everyone’s heads. As a show of his strength. That was all.
   Error could only think back to when this had happened before. When he’d accidentally exploded Geno’s favorite mug while metering the strength of his strings. When he’d broken the wheel of a carriage passing through the woods with a wayward slingshot blast. When he’d broken all ten of the large windows in the lecture hall of the academy when he failed to complete a spell the way it was written. When he’d done it too well.
   As he rose to his feet, he half expected the nagging voice of his older brother to be there, chastising him for not being more careful, before taking him home and making him dinner. 
   It wasn’t that, though. 
   He watched out across the sand. The king had his head tilted only slightly, looking up at Error’s lofty mistake. At the clean cut where stone now met unbothered air. His knight, the one in all black, was leaned ever so slightly towards him. They must’ve been speaking. Or, at least, the knight was. 
   About Error, he had no doubt. 
   He stayed in place, watching, swaying a bit with the residual force of his own spell lingering in his fingertips. Every instinct which told him to run and to hide were smothered and stamped out by the ligering fact that he had nowhere to go. Without his brothers, there was no one to help him. He knew it. 
   Even in front of this crowd. These mages. This King and his knights. He couldn’t bring himself to move offstage. Some part of him, deep down, childishly wanted the King to announce that he was impressed. To parade him offstage and let him experience what Geno had. Let him know why Geno left. 
   The King’s single eyelight swam back over to look at Error in the silence. 
   Error felt like the world had stopped. 
   It hadn’t.
   There was a clattering of armor and rustling of fabric, suddenly loud in his ears, and he had no time to react as everything came rushing in all at once. 
   Hands. Heavy, gloved hands. Two sets, two hands each wrapped one of his upper arms, and immediately lifted him off the ground. Into the air. 
   Pain flooded into his bones from his soul, like twin lightning strikes, trying to singe the bone and the magic in its core. The pressure wasn’t much, his mind knew that, but his body usually didn’t listen to him. He tried desperately to hold it in. The rampant part of his magic that had been hurting him since he could remember. That made it hard to touch anyone. To shake hands. To hug his brothers. 
   “Let go!” He pleaded, though he wasn’t sure if his voice made any sense. Fresh always told him they couldn’t tell what he was saying when his voice got too bad.
   More pain. He kicked his legs at the open air, and tried to muster control over his strings, just for a moment, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t focus. 
   And all at once it stopped. 
   Error’s feet were on the ground again, though that promptly became his knees again as he swayed and wavered in the sudden aftermath of his active magic dying down. Receding back into his soul. Because it didn’t need to ‘protect’ him anymore.
   He spotted then, as his vision returned to something aside from the gloves or the sky, that the King was no longer in his throne. In fact, there was a heavy, encompassing, magical weight behind him now. Somewhere very, very close-by.
   He took a deep breath, grounding himself. 
   “We are taking a recess.” Announced a booming voice. Very nearby. It was deep, and felt almost the same as the projection spell from two days prior. Then, more quietly, “You will leave the boy to me. Go ensure no one was injured, then manage the crowd. I’ll make my choice tomorrow at sunrise.” 
   The second bit felt quieter, an edge to the tone that Error didn’t quite like. Considering he must be the boy in question. 
   It was a moment, a few muddled ‘Yes, my king’ s, before Error found a pair of boots stepping before him. His head swam as he looked upwards. 
   The King, he figured that had to be him, was dark. Very dark. Like a living, dripping, shadow. Magic seemed to be all he was made of, an aura radiating from him. Dripping off his back into long slimy worms, twitching as they sat near the ground. He wore a fancy cape, too. One with huge gold clasps on his shoulders, one was shaped like the moon. 
   Error looked to his face last. In hindsight, something that could’ve been very, very bad. He was met with a dripping face. Skeletal. The place where his right socket should’ve sat was covered in that dark substance. The other hollow, with that bright cyan orb staring right back at him. 
   “Can you stand?” His voice came easily, and Error braced himself. 
   Could he?
   He had to, he didn’t want to be touched again. 
   Error took another breath, and managed to rise silently to his feet. 
   “Good,” the King said once he was standing, “Follow me.”
   It was an order he didn’t dare refuse. 
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   Error found himself in an odd position. 
   He’d been given time to sit and recover from his magic’s outlash, and now he was sat in a room beneath the bleachers of the arena alongside the King and that knight he’d met before. The other one was guarding the door, he thought. 
   It’d been silent for a while, and it was almost expected when the silence was finally broken. 
   “You said your name is Error, correct?” The King asked, and Error gave a nod of yes. He forced himself to meet the King’s gaze.
   “Dust says that you’re only 12, and our people disqualified you in the first round. Is that right?” 
   Error nodded again. 
   “And Dust even explained to you why you were disqualified?” 
   Another nod. It seemed he’d at least made an impression on the knight. Dust. 
   The King tilted his head ever so slightly to the side, eyelight holding Error’s tightly. 
   “Then, I’ll ask, what brought you to think this was a good choice? To try and become Royal Mage above any cost it might bring?” The king asked, and Error was surprised to find it was a shockingly gentle tone. “Your home, your family, your life. You are so young, why put it all on the line like this?” 
   Oh. 
   It was almost funny. Was this whole thing because the king was some sort of charitycase? So disillusioned by his perfect life that he couldn’t even think of the hardships any random kid could go through? He almost grinned at that, barely keeping his mouth from twitching in a mix of frustration and humor.
   “I wanted to prove myself,” He muttered, “And besides, becoming the Royal Mage would be great.” 
   He waited, waited for the King to inhale, to say something, before, 
   “I’m an orphan.” He spat, finally. “Family abandoned me, house is left behind, expelled from school. I don’t want to keep wandering.” 
   It was basically the truth. This was his big break. His one last chance before he became a hated little vagabond. Maybe even a criminal. Maybe he’d have to go on the run for the rest of his life, live as a nomad. Join a caravan. Those people got stopped a lot though, kingdoms didn’t like them. He’d probably explode some city’s bakery by mistake and get put in jail for-
   “Wait!” Error suddenly exclaimed, breaking free of his thoughts, “Am I in trouble? Am I going to jail??” He asked then. 
   His worries slammed to a grinding halt and he stared wide-eyed at the two before him. Geno had always told him not to go making his big stuff near town, because if the guard caught him he wouldn’t be able to bail him out. He’d end up in jail. Of course, it’d never happened back then because he was always fast enough. Always smart enough to get out of dodge when he broke something or made poor decisions. Here? Here he hadn’t run when he had the chance. 
   The King stared at him, his one eyelight nearly mirroring Error’s in surprise at the question. 
   “I mean,” he started, “You’re young. If I wont let you work for me, I wouldn’t dare put you in prison either.” The King stated, “Though, you did do quite a bit of damage to the theatre.” 
   Error watched him break eye contact finally and look over his shoulder to the Knight stood there. He’d been silently watching Error too. 
   When he had no insight, The king seemed to heave a sigh, and the shadowy extra limbs which draped around him twitched. 
   “You’re sure you have no family? No home?” the King asked him again, and Error nodded.
   The king muttered something under his breath, and shot the Knight another look. The knight shrugged. 
   “I… Will not employ you. Though, I do see talent in you, Error.” the King said carefully, a bit slower in his words than he had been up until now. Almost… unsure. “I will, however, extend to you the title so that you may conduct…” He waved a hand before himself, as though searching for a word, “ You may conduct independent research. If you accept, of course.”
   “You would be free to resend your acceptance at any moment, no strings attached, and may take any work you complete along with you, and any pay you receive would be given to you after your 16th birthday, if you stay that long.” He added, “I’ll have to rewrite the contract, but-”
   “I accept!” 
   Error couldn’t help himself. He was so excited he could puke. The last thing he’d expected was to pull this off. This shitshow of a scheme actually got him the job? He could scream. He could jump up and down for joy. He didn’t, he sat eagerly and tense in his seat instead, but he could’ve. 
   The King seemed to hesitate, for a few breaths, before relaxing. He stood, and offered a hand out slowly to Error. 
   Error stood too, grinning. He could manage this one. He could do it. 
   It was brief, but he grasped the King’s hand and shook it firmly.
   “Dust, will you help Error locate his belongings, and escort him to wherever he is staying tonight? I’ll send Cross to swap with you a bit later. We’ll reconvene in the morning just before sunrise.” 
#new age au#Gods these guys are so so silly to me#I wanted this to be Error's perspective mostly but also. I love the others dearly#I need y'all to know that Dust and Nightmare 100% talked about Error's situation after Night offered the deal and they agreed it was#probably the best call for Error's sake if nothing else. But like. What poor timing for such a strong orphan to come out of nowhere#and immediately mess up Night's new rule lmao.#Also idk if I lost steam into the 2nd half so I apologize if that's not as tasty but like... I had a lot going on and I knew if I stopped#it would never get finished ever haha-#Let's see what other thoughts i had...#Definitely need to write Error first arriving and feeling the whimsy of meeting Geno and getting to rant to Nightmare about his newest craz#idea and getting his own courtyard to try things out and all that jazz#And also experiencing Ccino panic at the sight of a young child because ??? Night ur better than that what happened??? And subconsciously#pick up on the brotherly energy they have towards eachother.#And to let Error set boundaries about his tower#who can come in and who can't and how to call for him (use strings outside like a door-knocker basically) and just! Watch him adjust and#thrive!!!!#anyways yeah. Dust definitely becomes the one Error speaks to the most often besides Nightmare. And Nightmare is busy so he mainly just#checks in on him to listen to his new ideas and make sure he's still alive#so there's not a whole lot of interaction aside from Night being a positive and encouraging force to Error's magic practice (maybe they#train on occassion too?)#And then. Y'know. Nightmare shrinks and is just a lil goofy nerd and loves listening to Error and thinks he's super duper cool.#(OH! And Error turns 13 like. a few days into his emplyment#so he's 14 when Night becomes 13 again-)#okay good night everyone!!
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naarlar · 4 months ago
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Okay so I’ve seen a lot of people being like “oh Eurylochus is not a hypocrite bc he didn’t intentionally sacrifice the crew with Circe like Odysseus did with Scylla”
And while yes it is not the same, uh…….. here’s the problem from my perspective and why I still totally think he’s a hypocrite.
He was the one who had those men under his command. Odysseus gave him a mission and for that mission, Eurylochus was in charge of those guys. Then he LOSES (yes it is his fault, he was responsible for those men) the men to Circe and then runs back to Odysseus and immediately is trying to leave. He in a way is actively choosing to ABANDON those men without even TRYING to attempt a plan to save them. Like he doesn’t even think about it.
Yes Odysseus and the Scylla situation are messed up and it is not the same as Eurylochus and the Circe situation, but sorry guys this man is absolutely still a hypocrite. For his own self preservation he was about to abandon a bunch of men HE LOST to a supposed evil. The only difference is that Ody did it deliberately while Eurylochus’ incompetence caused it.
And here’s the thing, we can argue that Odysseus bc of the Scylla situation is more of a monster than Eury. I’m not even saying the mutiny is not justified. IT ABSOLUTELY WAS. The crew absolutely should have mutinied and Eury was right to challenge Ody.
However, these characters are complex and like yeah, Ody is a monster and a conniving schemer, but he is ultimately just a man trying to get home. And Eury is a fool and a hypocrite that would abandon his men for his mistakes but he is also just a tired man who is starving and suffering.
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saelrum · 2 years ago
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Don't deal with the Devil
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loopdile · 3 months ago
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transcription under the cut!
The worst ship chart ever.
Ship name: Loopdile
[insert very tiny math] Ages: 43 and 31? Age difference: 8?
Portrait of Odile with an eyebrow raised saying "I'm not telling." Name: Odile. Gender: trans woman (maybe nb but idrc rn). Sexuality: Aro lesbian.
Portrait of Loop with a finger raised saying "I'm not telling~" Name: Loop. Gender: Nonbinary (??? what is identity). Sexuality: Ace bi
General sliders. "Relationship starts quickly vs the slowest burn you can possibly imagine" is marked fairly close to slowly and trails off towards slow burn. "They'll be together forever vs They'll break up after 2 months tops" has two marks, one at 2 months and one really close to forever. "Cute couple vs dear god they're ugly" is marked a quarter slider away from cute. "Reasonably healthy and normal relationship vs They're dying and getting killed and hurt man" has a wide mark all the way from the halfway point to a quarter away from healthy. "Extremely popular ship vs literally no one ships this but me" is marked fairly close to no one.
Specific sliders. "Giddy and happy to be in love vs they just killed themselves 40 times in their head at the idea of being in love" has loop at died and odile fairly close to died. "The madoka vs the homura" has loop at homura and odile a third of the slider away. "Telling anyone who will listen about their partner vs rarely brings up that they're in a relationship" has loop a quarter away from telling anyone and odile fairly close to rarely. "eats and/or encourages a healthy diet vs eats dry instant noodles only" has loop at noodles and odile a third away from healthy. "crazy ass vs truck freak" has loop at crazy ass and odile fairly close to truck freak.
Tell me why your ship is interesting... go!
What draws them together? Odile is the only motherfucker that can handle them; Loop is weird and intriguing.
What stands in the way? Poor communication skills; Loop is clingy but Odile often needs space; Loop lashes out and self-isolates.
What are their good traits? They're both hilarious and dedicated to the bit; they're both devoted to their loved ones.
What makes them hopeless at romance? Odile is aro-spec and uninterested in romance; Loop both hates/fears and craves romance; Luckily they can just be something stranger!
Describe them with one trope: found family, deadpan x emotional, secret third thing, I'll protect you from yourself.
#suicide mention#these are today's headcanons... tomorrow? who knows.....#so. the weird sliders.#siffrin had a low grade crush on odile which. obviously didn't instantly come to fruition but it's not exactly a slow burn situation eithe?#and then during sasasap and isat loop's emotions about everything ever were. not doing great#they come out of canon a total mess#and odile's like ...i could fix them. NO WAIT IM NOT DOING THAT.#so again the thought is there and. a little more slowburn y this time. but only for a specific part of the dynamic#and then there's kinda a slow build of loop's new dynamics w everyone in the group?#and the thing with odile escalates into being a Thing#but again it's hard to call it slow burn bc there's no like. line to tip over into dating.#but it's not *instant* either#it's a snowball gaining speed downhill#ok next weird slider#oh yeah#they 'break up' fairly often as one of loop's 'this is 100% a joke and not my real feelings at all' bits#even though they're not dating and they don't actually want to break off whatever shit they do have going on#it's a way to express a need for change#BUT the whole family is in it for the long haul#and loop and odile's dynamic may shift over time but again. there's no 'breaking up' line#so they won't necessarily be [together?] forever but they will be together forever#and then it's. not an *unhealthy* relationship but it's not normal either lol#with a whole range of behaviors between 'genuinely helpful to each other' and 'lmao what the fuck guys'#ok those r the weird ones! the rest are obvious right. like ofc odile is closer to truck freak 🙄 but not entirely
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lunar-years · 1 year ago
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omg your last tag made me realize higgins is like the cassandra of tl. saying jane wasn't good for beard! suggesting it might be time to let ted go! he was the only one who voted to bring jamie back! him calling out rebecca in s1! if everyone would just listen to higgins, everyones life would have been so much better
Higgins is so underrated I love that man with my whole soul. and add to the list his advice to Keeley that made her feel confident enough to leave Richmond <3 he's always speaking facts!!
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arklay · 1 year ago
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RESIDENT EVIL → THE WESKER FAMILY
To the public, little is known of the families behind some of the world’s most renowned bioterrorists, but the question remains: did they play a role in causing their children to walk down the path that they did? Or are these individuals simply ambitious criminals with delusions of grandeur?
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For Diana Wesker (née Afanasyeva), her introduction into the bioweapons black market trade was upon discovering her employers were using her research into limb regeneration with salamanders to further their experiments in creating enhanced soldiers, instead of developing human therapies with which she was recruited for. Although the prospect of using biological weapons in the military did not appeal to her, the concept remained fascinating for her own selfish endeavours. Born on the 27th of October, 1963 in Sydney, Australia to Russian immigrant parents, Diana had harsh expectations placed upon her at a young age, ones that no matter how hard she tried she could never live up to. Her mother, Tatyana, was an unfeeling woman, absent for long stretches of time with little regard to how it affected her daughters, much more concerned with her craft as an accomplished opera singer. Viktor was no better. A strict man whose role as father and ballet master blurred, he pushed his girls to one day follow in his footsteps. Whilst Sofia enjoyed ballet, and went on to become a professional ballet dancer, Diana’s heart was set on going into the field of biology. She wished to make a name for herself, separate from her family – to which she succeeded.
Diana was married to former U.S. Marine, Dave Monroe, for only a year until he was declared dead in 1992 after succumbing to injuries sustained in a horrific car accident. Foul play was ruled out while Diana played the role of the grief-stricken widow, but in reality, she had snapped after years of mistreatment at her husband’s hands, and opted for something she could pass off as an accident to be free of him. For years she believed he was dead – and he was, legally – but that proved to not be the case when he found his way back into her life again in 1999. Unbeknownst to her, she had been lied to by the police and coroner, who were paid off by her employers when they took Dave’s body for themselves and used him as one of their first test subjects in developing supersoldiers. Before he could ever hurt her again, Diana’s second husband, Albert Wesker, tracked the man down, captured him and tortured him, before allowing Diana to get her violent and bloody revenge.
The origins of Albert Wesker’s involvement in bioterrorism, alongside his twin sister, Alex, are much different than that of Diana’s. The two hail from London, Canada, but unfortunately, they hold no memories of their lives there, nor what happened to their biological parents when they were eight years old. Agents of Oswell E. Spencer, an aristocratic billionaire and eugenicist, took the twins from their home and executed their parents as per Spencer’s orders. Albert and Alex were then placed in a home funded by the Spencer Foundation where they were given new names and a privileged upbringing. They had access to the best education possible, free to pursue whichever field they decided, but it was by no accident they both went into virology and bioengineering; at home, their adoptive parents – agents whom they believed to be their real parents – instilled them with the beliefs of Oswell E. Spencer, harbouring disdain for war and pestilence, and believing humans to be an evolutionary dead-end in need of a rebirth. They were only two of the hundreds of children “adopted” as part of what is known as Project W, a plan intended to develop an advanced race of human beings. The most promising candidates were headhunted by Umbrella Pharmaceuticals, the twins amongst them, where they went on to create bioweapons for the company founded by none other than the man who had handpicked them for his plan. The final stage of this was to infect the thirteen Spencer saw fit, however, only two survived; Albert received the intended effects, now possessing superhuman abilities, however, Alex was only offered more time to live due to her terminal degenerative illness.
In the summer of 1995, Diana was working undercover within Umbrella to gather development data on their projects for her company. Here, she had a chance encounter with Albert, an intelligence officer at the time, which permanently altered the course of her life. The two were never seen far from one another’s side, marrying in 1998, and they went on to become notorious in the bioweapons industry. The development of the Uroboros virus was where things took a turn for the worst. Although Diana’s infection was successful and she bore abilities that rivalled her husband’s, the plan itself did not succeed as they had hoped, and almost cost Albert his life at the hands of his former subordinates.
Now, they work within the shadows, with Diana declared missing and Albert believed to be dead. Their legacy, however, lives on with the mark they left on the world. As visionaries in their field, they influenced bioterror attacks carried out by countless individuals and organisations. In turn, they also inspired others to fight against such atrocities. One such person happens to be Albert’s son from a former relationship, Jake Müller, whose existence he was unaware of.
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#mine.#oc: diana#pair: ewskers#click for better quality cause it's large & tumblr ate it ♡#hii so happy birthday diana !! queen is 60 today :]#um. there's no template cause i made this from scratch...i couldn't find any i was vibing with so i was like you know what lmaoo#i'm sorry for the essay...it was meant to be just a short rundown of the family but well...that happened. typical leah fashion...#oh and guys. did you know that there's a limit to the amount you can put in one blockquote? that's why the rest is just left like that caus#i didn't like how it looked with a blockquote each paragraph...cause the spaces between were unever. you understand 😔#with the tree i was also going to include weskids adoptive parents but i couldn't figure out how to arrange it all & make it look nice !!#cause i also wanted to have spencer in there as well cause he's a big reason why the weskids are the way they are...was maybe gonna include#sherry as well. like connected to jake (hehe) and then do her parents too but that would've made things so wide & it's already big enough#yes. i hc that albert & alex are biological twins. just for clarification there :] i don't think i added anything else that isn't canon or#implied with canon. cause the weskids were put in homes (or at least whatever ''controlled environments'' means) where they were monitored#by umbrella but were unaware of it. so yeah. i don't think i really changed much there !!#honestly i could've kept rambling cause there's alex's whole situation. there's my lore with jake's mum. there's way more with the ewskers#but it's already so long & i can't be concise so there's that lmaoo oh also diana's grandma. so much stuff#also meant to say the weskids birthday in that ramble. it's january 15 1960 :] they are capricorn sun leo moons but alex was born earlier s#their rising signs are albert is a scorpio rising & alex is a libra rising !!#had to redo the image cause typo on diana's birth year for some reason lmao so if that messed up the formatting i will sob
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b-blushes · 3 months ago
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thursday quest - no physical therapy today - make and eat lunch sooooo early but i can do it!!!!! - get ready for wedding - attend wedding! yay! (: - decompress well when i get home <3
#its thursday quest#god i'm so anxious about it autism style. so many uncertainties that i simply cannot account for alone. but i'm being sooo 'brave' about it#(keeping it to myself. except for posting about it)#taxi company hasn't texted me the drivers' details yet and i emailed them to be like ummmm your policy is to pay before the day#would you like to email me the payment details so i can do that? and they were like 'we'll send the driver details soon' ummmm#there isn't much soon left!!!!!!! it's happening tomorrow!!!!!!!!!!!!!#they're probably just not Organised™ in the way i prefer to be. which is objectively fine it's just challenging for me personally.#i do not think it's Bad but!!!!! i've never taken a taxi before <- guy who Is Scared Of Taxis Specifically but has to face#their fears because they're disabled and have no other choice.#worst case i am down the money and no-one arrives to take me home i guess :P but it'll be afternoon AND my family are there so#in theory i could just get a lift home even though that would mess up other people's plans sooooo bad. UNLESS they have already drunk uhhhh#in which case i guess i'd just ask for help calling a taxi to the place. plany of people who can do such things easily (unlike me)#it'll be fine!!! i can ask my siblings if need be bc they are so niceys and will not get mad at me for being autistic o7#My other worry is being too hot and being in a rush getting ready bc i have to eat a proper meal due to the symptoms syndromes#and we are leaving when my lunch usually is so that's a whole thing. which ALSO doesn't matter and I can do! it's just hard!#where is that post that's like 'managed mental illness can look like absence of mental illness 😅'. NOT saying being autistic is mental#illness i am saying that the specific extreme anxiety i have is for me linked to autistic issues with 'the unknown' and boy. does this#social situation also have a lot of unknown.#BUT I CAN DO IT! and dare i say even have a nice time!!!!! it's just i get so so scared beforehand but i will not express it in a way that#impacts or inconveniences anyone else!!! i can handle it by myself at my house and it'll be fine
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