#to be anything BUT an irreverent little shit??? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thecubspeaks · 9 days ago

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yall this isn't even a goddamned tav this is a tav's ex girlfriend having patriar family drama post-canon. but she has consumed my thoughts for a week so here you go.

Silifrey Sashenstar ran a tight ship. Even her funeral went as she’d arranged it. Everyone there made a point of noting, amongst the condolences, how she had never liked that Gortash, how she’d always made her bad opinion of him known. Her grandniece Majra had to admit that that really was the best way to honour the old woman’s memory: a last, mass acknowledgement that she was always right.

The second best would probably be what happened after: when the remaining family attempted to gather to strategise about the Sashenstars’ collective next moves, and everything immediately descended into farce.

“Why don’t you send the children home, Yannick?” her cousin Yannick’s mother– Destra, wife to her uncle Rewis, who would be inheriting his mother Silifrey’s seat in the Parliament of Peers– himself father to no less than six children, all of whom were also here– all perfectly easy to follow, really–

“The nanny is ill,” Yannick said plaintively over the sound of his triplets’ wailing as they clung to the skirts of his doublet. “And Amarante is ill–”

“So you’ve come to get us all ill, too?” Yannick’s youngest brother Nicander said. “Smashing work, brother. Some of the guests at that funeral had to be about a hundred years old– the human ones, I mean.”

“Eyes up, mouth shut, Nic,” Majra muttered. Nicander rolled his eyes ostentatiously, but obeyed. He was an irreverent little shit, and much more experienced than when she’d seen him last, but he was still a Fist to her rank of Blaze, and as the two Flaming Fist in the family, they couldn’t help but stick together.

“I don’t see why any of us but Yannick needs to be here for this anyway,” cousin Phery groused. “Unless there’s some kind of dispute about Grandma Silifrey’s will.”

“Oh, is there?” Yannick’s second-youngest brother Lexand asked eagerly.

“Yes,” Phery shot back, “but funny thing, you’re still not inheriting anything.”

“Children,” Aunt Destra barked. “These are matters for the whole Sashenstar family. Rewis?”

“Ah, right.” Her uncle cleared his throat. “Um, well. We all know the– the family finances aren’t what they have been. The disruptions to trade thanks to the, um, incident in Elturel– ahem–” He shot a watery sort of smile to Nicander, who once again rolled his eyes. If accompanying Duke Ravengard on the journey to Elturel, one that involved an unintended detour to Avernus, had any effect on him, it didn’t show readily. “-- as well as this whole nasty business with the Absolute has, um, well, certainly has had an impact on our business interests. All to say…”

“We shan’t be buying our way to power, so we’d best make ready to earn it.” This was Rewis’s sister Elyn, sounding deeply bored with the whole proceedings. Majra couldn’t really blame her. “Mother’s reputation was built on decades of good work, to say nothing of her– shall we call it her formidable personality? What will you be bringing to the table, brother?”

“I– I– well, really!” Rewis blustered. “I will serve as I can on the Parliament of Peers, and I will do my best to represent the family!”

“The slate’s rather been wiped clean, hasn’t it, Mother?” Phery interrupted. “Lord Gortash saw to that. All the Peers will be new blood, except lucky old Duke Ravengard.”

“At least we look clever,” Nicander said. “Grandmama never shut up about how much she hated that Gortash.”

“She looks clever,” Elyn corrected. “We are nobody, and she is dead by his hand.”

Well, that shut everyone up at least. Unfortunately, Aunt Destra hit upon her as a way to break the awkward silence.

“Majra, why hasn’t anyone offered you a seat?”

“Do I need one?” she asked, unable to hide her amusement.

“Well, just… your leg…”

“It’s been years, Aunt Destra, I’m really alright.” But her aunt kept staring beseechingly at her, and the room was still hideously tense in its silence (well, aside from the still-screaming triplets), so she sighed and sank down in the nearest chair, stretching her false leg demonstratively out in front of her. See what a good, obedient invalid she was? Gods above, but she couldn’t get back to Fort Beluarian soon enough. From behind his mother, Nicander smirked, and Majra wondered if she could get away with throwing something at him.

“Is any of this building to a point?” Lexand complained. “Or are we all just here to bemoan our fate?”

“Well, I have a– a bit of a plan, you see,” Rewis said. “Yannick, are you sure there’s nowhere else you– no, nevermind. I think there is– there is a great opportunity for us, in this moment of, of– change for Baldur’s Gate. There is a great deal that needs doing and the Sashenstars must… well, we must do our best to be the face of doing it! Be seen as one of the great lights of the city. Be that, you know.”

“I’m a patron of the arts,” Yannick offered brightly. Nicander nearly choked trying to swallow back his laughter.

“Yes, very good, Yannick,” Aunt Destra said. “And Phery, you’ve long supported the work of the High House of Wonders… given, you know, the rather shocking way Gortash treated those Gondians…”

“Who’s volunteering to get into the Guild’s pocket?” Nicander drawled. “I hear Nine-Fingers Keene’s the most reliable kingmaker in the city.”

“I’ll tell your commander you said that,” Majra muttered. NIcander held up his hands, all innocence.

“Now, now, Nicander,” Rewis said. “However, the– the last piece of the puzzle, I think– well, well, it has to be our Majra.”

Majra’s gaze snapped over to her uncle. She was, she realised suddenly and with an abrupt and deep discomfort, now sat right in the middle of the room. Everyone could look right at her. Surely Aunt Destra hadn’t…

“What do you mean by that, Uncle?” she asked calmly. “I’m bound back to Chult in a tenday.”

“Well, it’s only that… you know, Liara Portyr is all but certain to be named to her uncle’s place on the Council of Four, and… well, you have been acting commander of Fort Beluarian while she has been here in the city, so… so, well, it would be a natural progression. It certainly could be, if you were to– to, you know, remain in the city– help clean up the Fist– their behaviour has really been quite shocking as well, but you were nowhere near all that…”

“And there’s hardly any left that didn’t turn into mindflayers,” Phery added dryly. “You could be top of the heap in no time, Maj.”

Majra felt strangely dizzy. She blinked hard a few times, just in case– what, this might all just… dissipate, like a dream? Would be nice. Unfortunately, did not happen. “This sounds like a perfect job for Nicander.”

Nicander himself let out an incredulous laugh. “While I do love the idea of being a hero of the city– and it was rather dashing of me, being in Avernus and all that– I haven’t even made Gauntlet yet. They’re not going to make me Commander. Can you imagine? I’d be wretched at it, whereas you’ll be splendid.”

He inspected his nails. “Besides, I’m engaged. I shan’t have the time.”

“You’re—” She shook her head. This is what she got for never writing home.

“I… this is all speculation,” she went on, trying– and succeeding, in her humble opinion– at not sounding as frantic as she felt. “Liara’s election isn’t certain, and who’s to say she’d agree to leave the Fist anyway?”

“But where’s the harm in placing yourself to capitalise, should that all happen?” Aunt Elyn said. “Surprised though I am to admit it, my brother is quite right.”

Surprised. That was one word for it. Majra had never paid much attention to her uncle Rewin. He’d always seemed a timid shadow of his mother, the same age as her deceased parents and somehow awkward about it, as if afraid if he acted too affectionate, she might mistakenly decide he was to be her new father.

She wouldn’t be fucking underestimating him again.

They’d sprung a perfect trap, he and Destra: the funeral only hours ago, everyone still all in black. The whole family gathered. This chair in the middle of the godsdamned room.

“You can’t pretend you don’t like the idea, Maj. Cleaning up the Fist– I know their reputation here in the city has always bothered you,” Yannick said encouragingly, and it took everything Majra had not to laugh in his face. Did they really think she was any different, any better?

Gods, this was going to be miserable.

She blew out a breath.

“I’ll do my best,” she said.

Unfortunately, she thought, her best was very, very good.

#my fic #my guys #this is not the aforementioned h/c but it -is- the character that was about lol

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peachie-kittie · 2 months ago

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GROUP AU

I cannot stop thinking about TPTM. So, in honor of that, I made those old fandom like - flow charts with the colored lines. 9 images, I'll be explaining below the cut

So! Quick run down on what the lines mean:

Pink: crushing. Explains itself, romantic attraction.

Yellow: close friends. Also explains itself, they consider themselves close confidants.

Cyan: like/friends. Not super close, but they'd hang around each other outside the group in big groups or every so often one-on-one.

Gray: neutral-friendly. Probably wouldn't hang out outside the group, but there's respect there and they usually get on fine.

Purple: calibers personal MOM line lmao. Not biologically obvs but she sees these girls as smth akin to her kids/nieces.

Got it? Sick.

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Disposable Girl (Jordyn-Mae Thomas):

Notes (in order for each girl):

-It and Irreverent have a cordial relationship but aren't close. They're personalities just don't really click.

-cluster b mfs who don't wash their hair stick together!! You can't tell me disposable doesn't drag splitter to the skate park after dark where they fuck around and eat stolen gas station snacks.

-wants to be closer to fainéant but doesn't wanna bother them. They're so sleepy all the time and also a smidge intimidating with how sarcastic they can be. Faineant finds Disposable girl really funny though and relates to the feeling of being sidelined.

-Looks up to Caliber as a cool aunt kinda figure but is too shy to ever express it. Caliber worries about Disposable hurting itself while skateboarding and enjoys talking Pokémon with it.

-Do I even need to say it. The Instagram story bro. Chocobo and Diaposable are GAY.

-Similar case to Irreverent with the added bonus of being slightly intimidated. I mean, Taxidermy's cool as fuck - wearing leather and other kink gear pretty openly. But also she's pretty stoic AND 21 and it makes Disposable self aware. Taxidermy, on the other hand, has a thing with anyone under 20 - that being, he thinks of them as BABIES (/silly). Aka he doesn't want to make them feel weird at all, mixed with the canonical shyness, makes her very reserved around Diaposable.

-originally it was pretty intimidated by chemical bc she's strong and atheletic as fuck but then chemical complimented Disposables outfit ONCE and it WOULD NOT let chemical go. They ended up bonding over shit like music tastes, anime, and even exercise a bit! Turns out disposable has a talent for ddr.

-it's admiration from disposable that makes her line blue and ignorance on refractions end. Disposable doesn't approach them often so they are clueless to the fact disposable finds her very ethereal and very cool.

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Irreverent Girl (Kairi Herring):

Notes:

-Irreverent thinks Splitter is clever and brave but a little too reckless for co's tastes. One is aware of the fact, however, that Splitter thinks she looks cool and certainly doesn't mind the little debates they occasionally get into.

-Faineant and Irreverent are laid back buds who love to chill together. One is more than happy to just spend time in silence with Faineant and send each other memes. When faineant has the energy, they like to go online shopping together and discuss things like what happens post-mortem. Also, Irreverent is thankful that Faineant doesn't mind the flat affect of her tone.

-Appreciates Caliber's concern, but is fine with the casualty of their friendship. They don't have much in common anyway, but appreciates knowing another person in the group also struggles with emotional suppression the way co does.

-I said it in my headcanon post and I'll say it here; UNLIKELY DUO OF CHOCOBO AND IRREVERENT!! I love love love the idea that chocobo forced himself in irreverent's life and actually ended up bonding well with one!! It caught Irreverent off guard, too, but she realized that Chocobo's willingness to engage with many topics and do anything as long as the person he's with is genuinely happy was not only pleasant, but something co admires. It's also just funny to imagine Irreverent with her flat affect ass and Chocobo explaining how excited it's friend is, that's just co's face. Also they share accessories every so often bc Irreverent has more than just the cute bunny hood.

-Irreverent and Taxidermy are both flat affect motherfuckers. I'm not wrong. The only reason taxidermy's line isn't yellow is because Irreverent is 19. But once co turns 20, Taxidermy will probably be more willing to hang out around her.

-I don't have as many thoughts here; I see this as a slightly similar-ish situation to Splitter though. Chemical is really gentle and generally friendly, but not so affectionate that she'll just cling to people like Chocobo. And since friendship with Irreverent often requires initiation from the other party, they just never really bonded. Co has no qualms being around Chemical, though, and they've had a few fun interactions.

-Refraction's talk of metamorphosis and life after death intrigued Irreverent. She doesn't feel like many of the others would be as okay with such dark topics (save for Faineant, who deals with severe medical issue already), so she finds it nice to have someone co can talk to freely with. They don't talk much in person, however - lots of texting. They've probably gotten stoned together tbh.

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Splitter Girl (Tahira Rashid):

-Something I've read that I kinda wanna incorporate is this thing that some people with NPD experience is thinking you're closer to someone than you actually are.

-I say this bc it's her relation to faineant jdjdbsnsn splitter thinks they're besties and faineant is like "yeh she's cool but very loud n I'm gonna need her to tone it down before we consistently hang out." Splitter is trying her best to do so, she's just VERY hyperactive. They're working on it, essentially.

-Now, with Caliber, this is the closest pairing out of every single one that is at risk for conflict; and even then, it's not likely. It's because Splitter has like - issues with authority, prone to some envy, and seeing Caliber complain about things like how stressed she is from working her job and balancing all the (admittedly impressive) aspects of her life occasionally causes Splitter anger-jealousy. Caliber does their best to be patient with it and understand Splitter's side, and Splitter (while she'll never probably consider herself a friend to Caliber), is willing to see her a mentor of sorts.

-Chocobo and Splitter get along well! They know each other thru Disposable and while they don't hang out as much one-on-one, they have a very fun trio energy whenever they're around each other. Main issue is that Splitter can be a bit violent, gory, generally abrasive for Chocobo's tastes - Disposable mediates and the two are working on cooling it with the sensitive topics (Splitter) and getting a bit thicker skin to handle them (chocobo).

-SPLITTER THINKS TAXIDERMY IS METAL AS FUCK. She wishes Taxidermy was less worried about the teenager thing, but considering Splitter is the BABYEST-BABY of the group, it applies to her. However, Taxidermy has complimented her before, so she believes that once she's 20 it'll be fine and she'll TRULY get to impress this metal as fuck deer person. She also experiences mild envy towards Chemical and Irreverent for being exceptions lmao.

-Again!! Cluster b friends stick together! Not as close as she is with Disposable, but that's just because they vastly different interests so it's hard for them to find hobbies they can mutually enjoy. BUT!! They enjoy playing ddr together (despite splitters two left feet) and gush about figmas, gundhams, and garage kits together. And on days where Chemical is willing to stay in, anime binge days. Another thing is, again, Chemical is more gentle than Splitter - and her severe moods can influence Chemical's bpd poorly. They've both agreed to try and get closer as they manage their symptoms, though.

-Just not fond of Refraction, and it's mutual. Not in an antagonistic way, they're just kinda...parallel. Though Splitter will always admit it's pretty sick how openly Refraction is willing to talk about death, and Refraction will admit Splitters antics can be pretty funny.

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Fainéant Girl (Freyja Maria Mendoza):

Notes:

-You know I didn't intend to make Faineant one of the top three most social fucking girls but here we are. Idk why I just see her as getting on with everyone pretty well bc she's chill as shit and willing to do literally anything bc she likes going out (when they have energy!) But also know how to enjoy themselves inside so it's like. They ball dude.

-ANYWAY the rlly appreciate Caliber bc they care and express a lot of worry but sometimes she feels a tinge smothered. Caliber ofc does her best to avoid doing it bur Caliber is a perfectionist and sometimes not overdoing it feels like failure to help. But as a highly independent woman herself, Caliber respects Fainéant's deep need for independence.

-Similar to above with Chocobo. Chocobo is sweet and usually is good with not infantilizing Faineant, but can occasionally overdo it EMOTIONALLY. A lot of the time Faineant needs a little extra time to process their emotions bc of daily brain fog and sometimes Chocobo can go overboard in trying to help. Not to mention, Chocobo isn't really one for staying in unless it's a party, baking, or crafting - but they're still on pretty good terms!

-Taxidermy and Faineant are parallel but like. Not in the disinterest way. They're very much the type of duo to parallel play and send each other memes over discord. They also do girl talk about sex, honestly - talking about weird body shit, they're favorite sex toys (not in a flirty way!) and their gripes about it. But bc they're both quiet and Taxidermy is more reserved than Faineant, they aren't besties.

-Chemical girl!! Helps!! They met online in a forum where Faineant was asking about exercising when extremely disabled and although Chemical herself isn't she works in a gym and has helped people like her!! So she responded, they did a video call, and now Chemical is her personal trainer. The funniest part is that I imagine that happened before the hospital incident so just. I'm imagining a scene of them leaving the hospital at the same time and they run into each other and they're just pogging at each other. Then a few weeks later Faineant rolls into the first group session and just

"Why is my workout buddy at my therapy session???"

-And as for Refraction, they share similar struggles and have similar personalities; sarcastic, a little fatigued all the time, friendly, maybe a lil pessimistic on their outlooks in life. Faineant feels a huge sisterly bond with Refraction and they keep each other motivated to stay alive.

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Caliber Girl (Nora Qu):

Notes:

-MOM??

-anyway Chocobo adores Caliber!! Caliber was a little surprised at first, but ended up really appreciating Chocobo in a rich aunt-loving niece kinda way. They go out shopping together, Caliber gives her advice about red flags in people, and they honestly love gossiping (harmlessly!!) together. Caliber is the first significantly older person in Chocobo's life (other than his parents) he actually trusts again, feeling like Caliber is a mentor, aunt, and sister all in one. Also chocobo makes SURE caliber eats. Oh also before group therapy Caliber actually knew Chocobo through a coffee shop it worked at so when Caliber first saw him she thought the coffee shop was catering. No your favorite batista is just severely mentally ill sorry Caliber.

-Taxidermy is vvv shy and while she thinks Caliber looks sick ("the leather boots...where did you got those, ma'am" -taxidermy) he feels a little bit intimidated by Caliber's impressive record and social grace. Caliber is friendly nonetheless, and is trying to slowly get Taxidermy to open up.

-If chocobo is making sure Caliber is eating right then Chemical is making sure she isn't overworking herself! I hc'd they went to the same gym and I stand by it!! Before Chemical would just be on her ass for drinking water but now that she's heard her struggles with anorexia Chemical keeps a closer eye on Caliber. Also, similar aunt-niece relationship. Honestly, since I made all three close I've decided the three will go out and have shopping days. They're interests are all different but they've got alternative fashion and high energy to spare so it's chill.

-Refraction and Caliber have a similar dynamic to Rafraction and Splitter; parallel but in the way where they just don't touch. They look out for each other in therapy and occasionally talk, but nothing too close. They are fine like this.

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Chocobo Girl (Morgan Moretti):

-If Caliber wasn't required to have purple lines and I didn't need to indicate the crushes Chocobo would have 5 best friends. There are no gray lines. Everyone likes it.

-Anyway!! Just like with Irreverent it might seem unlikely but they have a nat 20 charisma stat and roll 15+ on 8/10 rolls for charisma so yeah. Taxidermy is shy and a bit aphasic BUT Chocobo is so patient and better at explaining their feelings once given a thread. They help Taxidermy open up and...being serious for a second. They did bond over sexual trauma. A lot of the girls have little bits of sexual trauma interspersed (Disposable not seeing itself as sexy, Irreverents line about being sinful, Caliber experiencing societal pressures) but these two are the most effected by sexuality related traumas.

-Anyway...moving on. Chemical girl and Chocobo both love going out. They're also both extremely gentle so they're very nice and fragile with each other. And like I said with the disposable + splitter combo: CLUSTER B BADDIES STICK TOGETHER!! They both experience rage-sadness a lot and know what the other needs to calm down; Chemical often does exercise and vents. Chocobo also vents BUT can get stuck in a thought loop so it's also helpful to have him watching Disney movies. Chocobo AGE REGERESSES and it's THERAPEUTIC for it be NICE.

-Receaction enjoys Chocobo's company! But similar to Faineant, he can be...a lot. It takes a lot of restraint on Chocobo's end not to try and force Refraction to "cheer up" - she's still getting used to not just jumping in to help. On the upside, Refraction is starting to sew more positives even with the chronic depression - and Chocobo is getting better at sitting with negative feelings :)

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Taxidermy Girl (Mayra Tikuna)

-Okay so after going through the faux-medixal records I realized Irreverent, Faineant, and Taxidermy all deal with schizospec disorders. With that said - these three hang out in silence texting each other and talking about literally anything. It's a great time.

-Anyway, Taxidermy and Chemical are decently close! Taxidermy appreciates how gentle Chemical is and they both have similar tastes in music. But, just like with Irreverent, Chemical isn't 20 yet so Taxidermy does her best not to interact much. Chemical is chill about it and is currently planning to invite Taxidermy to her 20th birthday. The other thing is that sometimes her mood swings prove to be too much for the gentle Taxidermy, and then need time away from each other.

-Quiet, reflective, and unintrusive? Great friend! Taxidermy and Refraction don't even talk much. They just really enjoy each other's vibes mutually.

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Chemical Girl (Joy Sinclair):

-Last pairing! Chemical and Rafractiom are friendly with each other, and get along well in groups. However, one-on-one, they don't have much in common. Still though, Refraction is like an anchor for Chemical, and gives good advice in regards to emotional regulation.

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Refraction Girl (Nataana Nchoko):

And that's my hcs for the au! I know it's a lot but I am genuinely so in love with this series it's unreal. Anyway.

I'll probably be back with more but I worked on this entire project in one day for at least 3 hours so. Yeah. Bye.

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bigskydreaming · 6 months ago

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#i know youre mostly a Dick guy but your tim. chefs kiss.#i dont even go here anymore and i had to rb @mollyhats

The great tragedy of Tim for me is I actually love 90s Tim and his dynamic with his YJ team and with Dick and many others. Its only post Final Crisis Tim that I don't really have much interest in, in terms of comic book canon, and I don't find anything really compelling about most depictions I see of Tim in fandom. Like I just mean, the vast majority of people don't seem to view Tim the way I do, or emphasize the same aspects of him, and Tim in and of himself isn't enough of a fave that I feel compelled to yell and expound upon my takes on him in spite of that. The way I do with Dick or even Jason when I have vastly different takes on them than other people seem to.

And I admit there definitely is an element of....annoyance, at play - like even though (as you know) I vehemently disagree with presumptions that Dick was an ass to Jason when they were younger, with that being a big part of the basis for why so many Jason stans hate him, I get that there wasn't a ton of material written about Dick and Jason when they were younger, showing a strong relationship that's to the contrary of how the fanon usually characterizes them at that time.

The difference with Tim, and how so much of his fandom seems to view Dick and their dynamic and history.....is that there's well over a decade's worth of material showing Dick constantly dropping everything to prioritize Tim when the latter needed him, no questions asked, and this STILL wasn't enough to keep fandom from characterizing Dick as this terrible, selfish, ungrateful brother who doesn't deserve Tim as of the first instant Dick DIDN'T default to prioritizing Tim above all others. And not even because he didn't want to, but because he had other people who needed him too, with conflicting needs/wants, and no one person can be all things to JUST one other person 24/7. Sometimes other people have to get to come first too. Sharing is caring, lmfao.

But yeah, the way Dick so often gets thrown under the fandom/fanfic bus in the name of propping up Tim, specifically in the form of being characterized as a shitty brother who never cared about Tim or EVER put him first, when there's like......dozens upon dozens of comics characterizing them to the contrary of that.....it grates, in a way that makes me just not want to engage all that much.

So all of that plays into why I'm generally....aloof about Tim other than posts or meta meant as course correction for stuff where fanon has completely overtaken canon and misrepresented huge elements of Dick and Tim's history, like with the Red Robin era. And why I'm not particularly driven to write about him in specific, in fic or meta. But when I do, especially when depicting him in fic or writing snippets, I don't find it hard to write him favorably, because I DO genuinely like him at a lot of points in the comics. Its just *waves hand* a lot of fandom bullshit that gets in the way.

Its not like we're not all aware that sometimes stans of characters can be their faves' own worst enemies. And I say that with full self-awareness and recognition that my own intensity or takes about Dick Grayson have most likely been as off-putting to some fans of other characters as I find them to be, lmao. Round and round and round we go.

But anyway.....my preferred takes on Tim, or default mental view of him, is as a chaotic, irreverent little shit whose sense of humor and tendencies to stir things up are not at all dissimilar to most of his siblings.....he's just more deadpan about it. Which is something many of the others play up at times too, but with them its just one of many angles from which they approach their own respective senses of humor, whereas Tim I see as someone who prides himself on never 'breaking' and keeping up appearances of stern or quiet or detached professionalism even while he's cackling about something on the inside. I see him as a big fan of plausible deniability, but not in any way actually humorless or anything like that.

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rahuratna · 7 months ago

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Hi! I have a one am musing 🥹

I was rewatching jjk season one (I still haven’t finished season two but I need to cope LOL) and now I’m able to pick up all the little details we talked about before. *heart melts*

It’s so crazy to me how in the very beginning Nanami didn’t acknowledge Yuji as a sorcerer, and by the end, he told Yuji to be the one to take over from here. It’s so bittersweet…

Tbh, the very first time I watched that episode, I was super shocked and thought Nanami was patronizing Yuji. And then I learned that wasn’t the case. He was being very matter-of-fact about it and knows Yuji has a lot of room to grow 🥹💕💕

Yuji was super eager to prove himself to Nanami, and then Nanami was like “frankly I don’t give a shit.” But in reality, he really does as he gets to learn more about Yuji, and so while I was terribly upset with s2 ep 18, his last words were the perfect conclusion.

(This is just a side note but I like it more when writers show off Nanami’s practical-minded nature more. How it may seem cold and standoffish at first but it wasn’t intended that way. I wish I got to see more of Nanami being blunt with criticism since different people could react differently to it and it’s who he is!)

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I also realized that Gojo got new glasses LMAO. Didn’t see it before, but his high school ones were circular and his newer ones are more oval. I kinda glossed over it when he shops for new glasses in the “Lost in Paradise” ending. I personally like his high school sunglasses better. What about you?

Hi! And thanks for these lovely 1 am musings. It always makes my day to see one waiting for me 🤭 I also needed to take a moment to cope before moving on with season 2 (didn't help much, but necessary).

Nanami initially struck me as very contradictory, because there he was, taking a jab at the system (in his capacity as both a salaryman and as a sorcerer), saying that "work is shit", but also bowing formally to a teenager when he introduced himself and wearing a full business suit to kill curses!

I saw his lack of acknowledgement of Yuuji as another "fuck you" to the system. Here was Yuuji, a vessel to one of the most powerful curse users to ever exist, and he was essentially treating him as just another kid. I didn't necessarily see it in a good or bad light, it just struck me as a very deliberate choice on Nanami's part.

Of course, his later actions and his background showcased these things in a completely new way. Like you said, he cares a great deal for Yuuji and the younger generation of sorcerers. The fact that his last words to Yuuji were "you take it from here" is such a fitting culmination to his character arc.

He saw his duty as a guardian and protector of the young and the weak finally coming to an end, because they were now able to protect themselves better than he could. He saw Yuuji as completely fitting of carrying his legacy forward, and so let him know that he could now pass in peace.

I, also, wish we could have seen more of Nanami's interactions with others. The way Ijichi is actually more terrified of Nanami scolding him than anything else, describing him as the 'ultimate adult' or something along those lines, will never not be funny to me. Especially since Nanami is the type of man to never raise his voice in a professional setting. His pragmatic nature would probably have given us many more moments of misunderstandings, sweetness and humour, should it have been explored in greater detail.

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As to Gojo's sunglasses, I do like the older style better! They reflected a lot of his irreverent, cheeky and offbeat personality. I suppose the oval shape is a style choice that changed as he grew older and matured, but yeah, I definitely preferred round lenses better!

#rahu answers #jjk headcanons #jjk character analysis #kento nanami #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen #yuuji itadori #satoru gojo

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unhinged-summer-fun · 4 months ago

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common grounds (oshamir) - chapter 15

Pairing: Osha Aniseya x Qimir "The Stranger" Warnings: Still fite nite

A/N: Dividers by me! I want to thank everyone who has liked, commented, reblogged, and enjoyed this fic so far! Chapter 15 marks the end of Act I, and I hope you enjoy it. It's got some things I know y'all have been waiting for...

series masterlist

chapter 15: all's fair

Mr. Wise entered the ring like the bishop of bloodshed, impeccably dressed in a spotless pale yellow suit. She looked back at the balcony as Wise gave his benedictions, but nobody was there. For some reason, it made her heart pound. The next time she saw Qimir, he’d be in the mask.

Kana followed her gaze upward. “The brawlers are moving through the crowd right now. You can’t see ‘em, but I can.”

“Yeah, how’s the weather up there, Kana.”

He nudged her playfully to get her to ease up, but she kept smiling through her nerves. “Hey, you’re not gonna see shit from down there, Osha. Want up on my shoulders?”

Her eyes went wide, but she nodded. Within a second, her vantage went from about five feet up to nine. She tried her best not to cling to Kana’s head, finding her balance and settling in just in as Wise introduced the first three fighters. The fourth broke the typical order of introductions, but Wise seemed as irreverent as he was slimy.

“We have two reigning champions in the cage tonight. If one win’s a fluke, and two are coincidence, then three’s gotta be a pattern—your three-month champion, Daybreak!”

Her jealousy from Kana’s earlier insinuations (and Medora’s, though they were unintentional) threatened to rear back again, but she made herself clap along with the others. The few times they’d crossed paths in the gym, Qimir never acknowledged Idise, but she would always bend a nod of hello towards him and Osha. What on earth had happened between them?

“…and in this corner, filling out the northern edge of the cage, in green—”

Osha cursed.

“—Sour Patch!”

He’d taken off his shirt before coming in. His entrance consisted of bouncing around the ring, radiating that same overconfidence that spelled the downfall of every other rookie before him.

“Kana, do you gamble?” Osha asked.

“Only when it’s funny.”

“Smiley’s taking him down.”

“Why do you say that?” Kana laughed.

“Because Sour Patch has been flirting at me all night.”

“Not with you?”

“Absolutely not.”

He let out a long whistle. “You know, you looked like I kicked your puppy when I told you about the rumors with him and Idise. Glad to know you’re smarter than you look. You and Q.”

“W-what?” she said, a little bewildered.

“I take it back; you’re both idiots.”

“But you’ll take the bet?”

“From what you said, Smiley’s taking him down regardless. It’s just a matter of how fast you think he’ll do it.”

Osha hummed. On one hand, Qimir wasn’t the kind of guy who liked to waste his own time. Efficiency is an underutilized talent, he told her once, under the cafe lights. On the other, he once said he’d always prioritize doing things correctly—when they concerned her. The only thing that stood in the way was what she learned about his mentality when fighting in the cage: he doesn’t think about anything, but he feels everything.

Would he choose to handle this quickly or correctly? Would he even have a choice, with his feelings and instincts at the wheel? She made her prediction in line with how she wanted things to play out. “He’s gonna play with his food. But he won’t let him win. He’ll take him out last when it’s just three left.”

Mr. Wise called Smiley into the ring to the song of bloodthirsty cheers. Qimir had no trouble seeing her from atop Kana’s shoulders—he found her in the crowd like magnets found iron.

Unfortunately, Sour Patch also found her. He spoke her as Wise vamped.

“Hey!” he called out, waving at her. “Godfather!”

From the other end of the cage, she felt the burning gaze Qimir shot between her and the idiot in green. She tried her best to ignore the heat, knowing she’d forget to breathe if she let herself look at him for too long.

You know he looks good, girl. Leave it.

Osha gave Sour Patch two sarcastic thumbs-up and tapped on Kana’s shoulder. “What’s your wager?”

“I say he knocks him on his ass in the first twenty seconds. If I’m right, you owe me ten bucks. If you’re right, I’ll let you off the hook for the second half of your shift.”

Osha laughed and reached down to shake his hand. “We’ll see, we’ll see.”

Wise went through the rules, showing the sounds of the bell, the whistle. He had the contestants put their hands on the cage, and Sour Patch looked over his shoulder to wink at Osha, blissfully unaware of the doom per square inch that had him in its sights.

Osha waved.

The cage door locked.

The bell dinged.

And Qimir descended.

Where most fighters typically took the first few seconds of their matches to size up their opponents, Qimir was made of raw, instinctual movement. She saw ten dollars flash before her eyes when he planted his feet and slugged Sour Patch so hard, he did a full two spins in place before falling flat on his back like a cartoon character.

She noted, perhaps smugly, that he hit Sour Patch in the same spot Osha had gotten Qimir that first spar. Kana laughed and squeezed her leg in victory, ten dollars richer. The crowd hissed in response to the force behind the hit, but he’d moved on already, throwing himself at Dizzykid.

The crowd to her left started going crazy, and she broke her concentration to see why: Idise had gone down, knocked out cold by the competitor in blue. “Holy shit!” Osha exclaimed, head whipping between the two focal points of the fight as they happened.

Kana cursed beneath her. “Wise fuckin’ cursed her with that three-times shit.”

Qimir didn’t disengage from his opponent, didn’t even see what happened.

Another few seconds passed, and to her delight (and dismay), Sour Patch got to his feet just before the whistle blew, signaling the fighters to grab the cage with both hands.

“I don’t care what you say; I still won my half of the bet,” Kana said quickly, looking up at her.

“Fight’s not over, Loharne,” Osha protested.

Like before, Qimir stalked up to the place closest to Osha and held on facing her. Behind him, Idise was dragged out with another contender. Her name chattered a little through the room, but Qimir didn’t look away. She was certain he’d find out once he turned around. She waved at him, and he wiggled his fingers in response before tilting his head back. Her lizard brain translated:

Baring his neck. Showing his loyalty—who he belongs to.

She probably shouldn’t have been thinking the thoughts she was while sitting on someone else’s shoulders. “Playing with your food, Smiley?” she jeered, feeding the flames.

He widened his stance a little, peering over his shoulder at Sour Patch before looking back at her, tilting his head to the side. Should I be? his body language asked.

She blew him a kiss.

The bell rang.

The match resumed.

Back into chaos.

Kana shook her leg a little. “Aren’t you the arsonist, playing with fire like that!”

“It’s a cold winter; what can I say?” she laughed in delight.

The fighter who took down Daybreak tussled with Sour Patch a little, and Osha noted with a wince that the annoying guy wasn’t all that bad of a fighter. Even stunned six ways to Sunday, he held his own. She supposed Qimir was right—the organizers wouldn’t stage a bloodbath, especially for the last fight of the night.

Qimir, on the other hand, didn’t seem fazed by Idise’s departure. He took on two at once, hips swiveling back and forth as he dodged and jabbed at his opponents. When he managed to kick one of them back a few steps, he practically climbed the other guy, sending him crashing to the mat in a devastating takedown with the crowd groaning in sympathy. Poor White-Top.

“Oh, this is a treat. Smiley hasn’t done matwork in a few months,” Kana narrated. “He’s pretty lethal just with hits and kicks, but he can wring submissions out of a goddamn rock.”

Osha craned her head to see him situated almost sideways against the other fighter in his grasp, one arm wrapped around his head. White-Top shouted as he struggled, legs kicking but going nowhere on the blood-slick mat. “Do you know what he’s doing?”

“Kesa-gatame, probably. Masqueraders don’t do a lot of groundwork except in the final few left; it’s pretty easy to stomp someone in a grapple, so they gotta get that submission fast—he tapped!” The crowd raged, and White-Top rolled out of Qimir’s grasp to curl in on himself against the fence.

Rolling with his momentum, Qimir kept low, sliding across the slick mat on his knees to trip up the other fighter. Time felt untethered, happening all at once and spread out over an eternity as Osha watched from on high. Just as Qimir was preparing to pound his current opponent into the mat, he looked over—

Sour Patch had knocked out the fighter in blue.

Three left.

The crowd surged with energy and noise, and Kana had to grip Osha’s legs to keep her from tilting off in the sudden press of bodies. He tried finding somewhere safe for them both to stand, laughing. “I can’t believe I’m about to lose and win to you.”

“I can!” Osha shrieked, throwing her fists in the air.

Qimir abandoned the fighter on the ground and rose to face Sour Patch, taunting him with a ‘come get it’ motion. He said something that made the green-masked fighter balk just for a second, and it was then that he took his chance, surging forward.

“What’d he say?” Kana said, ears a little blocked by Osha’s legs.

“He said, ‘Let’s go, Godfather.’”

Osha screamed her head off, drunk on the energy all around her. Qimir was a beast, taking the extreme offensive against Sour Patch. The fighter he’d abandoned staggered to his feet, intending to join the action—

Qimir kicked Sour Patch in the chest, sending him stumbling back three steps. It was far enough away for him to turn to the remaining opponent and point a bloody finger in his face. Above the crowd, she heard him snap, “Second place wins.”

The fighter jerked back a step and froze, but Qimir had already jumped onto Sour Patch, twisting them both to the floor with him straddling the guy’s chest. This time, he didn’t hesitate. Left, right, left, right, he swung his fists back and forth on either side of the guy’s face, batting away the weak attempts at blocking.

She watched the crowd cautiously. Was this what it was like when he’d sent that Lance guy to the hospital? Was this what Kana would call brutal?

Very quickly, Sour Patch couldn’t keep up the blocks, his arms falling limply to the mat at his sides. Once they had, the whistle blew four times for the final drag-out. It froze Qimir’s fist just a few inches from the blood-stained mask, but he shifted his momentum and rose, clinging to the fence and seeking out Osha.

“That was fucking awesome!” Kana shouted, almost jumping in place before he remembered Osha was on his shoulders. He started wading through the crowd, moving nearer to the cage door.

“What are you doing?” she protested, twisting her torso and craning her head to watch Mr. Wise announcing the winners.

“He’s not gonna wanna fight through this crowd to get to you,” Kana said. “And nobody’s gonna want to be in his way, either.”

Before the fight even starts, I think of what I want most, something waiting for me outside the cage. And then, when the fight is over, I ensure there’s nothing in my way between me and what I want.

She was set on her feet just as the crowd began to cheer, a final round of applause for all fighters. Kana lightly slugged her shoulder. “Hey! I’ll get that tenner from you next shift. Enjoy the night, Osha!” With that, he knocked her a few steps backward.

She turned to yell at him, “What the hell are you—!”

A large shoulder pressed into her middle, and Osha’s world tilted on its axis as she was hauled up into the air. “What the fuck?!” she shrieked, a moment before coming face-to-face with a very familiar spine—a very familiar scar.

Qimir walked far too quickly for her to make sense of where they were going, but the general direction was away from the crowd. He didn’t bother with the stairs, instead finding a dark corner to set her on her feet. She grunted as her shoulders knocked against a cement wall.

He towered over her, chest heaving. She couldn’t see anything but his eyes with the Smiley mask on, and even then, the hallway was so dark that she could only make out the faint glint in them. Osha’s indignation flared, and without thinking twice, she pulled off the mask to yell at him. “You’re such a damn—”

But she didn’t get to tell him what he was, because he was more focused on kissing her than hearing it.

He was sweaty and hot and reeked of blood and adrenaline. Qimir caged her in against the wall, kissing her like they both might die if he didn’t press as close to her as possible. They wasted no time, giving into their hunger with every slick slide of lips and each sweet little pain from tongues meeting teeth. They each made little noises far beyond their control, soft whimpers on her part and low growls on his.

His hands found hers, lacing their fingers together before he pinned her back against the wall. Their hands were slippery with sweat and other men’s blood, which only made her hold on tighter. He breathed harshly, still high on the thrill of victory, of the bloodsong. She swore she could hear its aria just from touching him.

There come times for each of us where primal instinct drives us—when what you want is at risk of being lost.

She could taste his ashen, wrathful jealousy in every slide of his tongue against hers. She could taste it as clearly as she could taste his blood—she dragged her attention (and her teeth) to his split lip. He hissed at the small bite but didn’t pull away. In fact, he dragged her closer, practically begging for her to do it again.

Could he taste her jealousy? Could he taste the sinful way her primal instincts had surged and burned like lightning when her (alleged) competition was dragged away from him unconscious? She bit down harder and licked into his mouth to make him taste it.

They’d both gone mad. That had to be the only explanation for their unhinged behavior. He still had blood on him, and she was ready to pull his shorts down and make things happen right here on the gym floor. More than a month and a half of yearning and desperation had led to this moment. They’d danced around (at times, with) each other in a spiral that shrank and shrank until there was no moving without touching, no touching without wanting, no wanting without breaking—no wonder the intensity was so devastating.

One of Osha’s hands broke free to grab at his hair and pull him closer. He snarled, nearly growling against her lips as his body responded in kind. He must have made her filthy by now, with all the blood and sweat rubbing off onto her every second they touched. Osha didn’t give a single fuck. All she cared about was more, more—

Qimir breathed out in a shaky sigh, giving a playful nip at her lips as payback for biting him. The hand she’d escaped roamed up her side territorially, claiming mine, mine, in each inch conquered beneath it. His hand pushed beneath the cropped edge of her shirt. Her goddamn heart nearly stopped when his fingertips brushed the lace edge of her bra, teasing just beneath the elastic before retreating, switching directions so abruptly it made her head spin.

Down, past her ribs. Down, past her waist. Inward, to touch that jeweled piercing he’d grown so fascinated with. Again—down, to her hip. Down, to her thigh—until he pulled her leg to wrap around him. That wandering, claiming hand rested itself beneath her ass before squeezing and pulling her closer to him, arching off the wall like a cat.

Like a lion.

The burning press of his need against her lower belly only cranked the heat in her blood. She just barely stood on her tip-toes because of how he held her. All that kept her from toppling over was the fact he didn’t want her to.

His hips rolled against her in an open, wanton search for relief. Flashing memories of his fight came to mind, visions of those same hips pivoting and shifting to drive more power into his hits. There was no ignoring how hard he was against her core, no explaining away the heat that amplified her own.

Her next moan was startlingly loud against his mouth, and his hand squeezed her ass again. He ground his hips down on her again, lips breaking apart to pant loudly. His forehead rested against her cheek, a smear of sweat keeping him from finding purchase.

Music starting up in the gym jolted them out of their primal reverie. He leaned back a little to rest his forehead on hers, catching his breath and letting his hips come to a stuttering halt.

His hair hung in black tendrils between them, some even sticking to parts of her face. He’d been moving with ferocity for the entirety of the ten-minute brawl. She’d seen him exert himself before, but had only witnessed him this wild twice: after their first swim session, and during their spar a few weeks later. He was riled up; his body still wanted to fight.

Or maybe there was a different primal urge driving him. One separated by a couple layers of fabric.

Osha murmured his name, the syllables slurring off her tongue—she was drunk off this feeling. Hearing her say his name brought him down to kiss her again, the chastest kiss they shared so far. She brought her other hand to his shoulder, holding him with her fingers linked around the back of his neck. The sweetness of this moment, threaded by all this tenderness, was easier to break than the previous, fueled with passion.

“Osha,” he breathed, nose brushing against the side of hers. It was the first word he spoke upon leaving the fight. “Osha…” His throat sounded scraped raw, like all that was left of him was her name.

She looked up at him with a giddy smile, one he half-returned. The fire in his blood wouldn’t let him soften more than that. When she toyed with the hair around his ears, he leaned heavily into her touch—a tamed wolf seeking out affection.

“Hello,” she whispered.

“Hello.” This close, she could feel the rumble in his chest almost firsthand, like his heart was speaking directly to hers.

“Hi,” she said, lips curling up in a helpless smile.

“Hi…” he laughed. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead more firmly against hers. When he found whatever center he’d been looking for, he nuzzled his nose against hers.

She tried her best not to pout as he let go of her ass, guiding her leg down so she could stand on her own. His hands fluttered across the rest of her body like butterflies unsure of where to land. Didn’t he know? Didn’t he know he’d claimed her as his and that he could hold her as he pleased?

He settled on cupping the sides of her face, giving him the perfect way to tilt her head forward and press a kiss against her forehead. “Hi,” he said lastly.

She let her hands drop to his hips, tugging him closer by the waistband of his shorts. He made a pleased noise, one foot still in the dangerous door that had borne them here. This far from the bustle of the crowd, the sweat on his skin had cooled enough to make him shiver. But Qimir hardly ever shivered from the cold outdoors, so it had to be for another reason—something to do with the brand-hot heat still pressing against her belly.

“You have a shift to finish,” he groaned softly. He pressed his face against hers, cheek to cheek—this gesture somehow felt more dauntingly intimate than the kisses, than the touching, than the whole grinding his erection on her.

She bit her lip, but her grin broke through anyway. “Kana gave me the rest of the night off. Won it betting on you.”

His posture changed again, returning to that sharp-eyed, prey-stalking creature he became when he fought—the kind he didn’t suppress around her. She still recognized him through the beast.

“The rest of the night?” he repeated, voice dropping to a low timbre.

“Yep.”

“Off?”

“I could go tell him you don’t—oomf!”

He pinned her to the bricks again in another kiss. His hand came to the back of her neck, dragging her up to him like he’d hand-picked her for heaven—and his mouth came damn close. “Do not put me over your shoulder again,” she mumbled against his mouth.

Qimir looked like he was considering the caveman option for half a second but changed his mind. Instead, like a gentleman, he took her hand to lead her up the winding stairs to the dressing rooms.

They zoomed past the other open doors like the hounds of hell nipped at their heels. He pressed her against the dressing room door the moment it was shut behind them, the earlier confidence returning to his hands as they explored her body. She moaned into his mouth, hunger clawing back up her throat with a vengeance—one that would only be sated if she consumed him, body and soul.

He groaned at the leg she returned around his hip, resuming their positions from downstairs. “Osha…” he whispered, grinding against her. He kissed down her neck to mouth at her shoulder.

“Bite me,” she panted. “You can bite me.”

Her hands went to his shoulders, and she moaned softly when his teeth sank into the soft spot where her neck and shoulders met. His hand had come up beneath her shirt to grip the back of her bra with enough desperation she worried the clasps would fail. The deeper he bit her, the more the room spun. The lamplight on the table made the room seem soft and ethereal, elevating the feeling into the perfect high.

His hips rolled against her as he shifted from biting to sucking—soothing what little hurts he made with kisses. When she couldn’t take it anymore, she hauled him back up by his hair, demanding his mouth on hers yet again. He groaned as she sucked on his lower lip, her teeth tugging at the cut on it once more. Through the kiss, he cursed softly, the word half-trapped behind his teeth.

“Oh, did you not want me to bite you back?” she teased, pulling back to lean her head on the door. She loved how much taller he was than her, how his body could wrap around her and blot out the rest of the world in his shadow.

Qimir smirked, idly tracing over the throbbing, wet bite he’d left on her skin. His tongue poked out at the cut, and he hummed indulgently—like he was tasting her and not the pain. “Didn’t I tell you?” he rasped, eyes bright. “You have no idea what I want with you. Biting and fighting are the least of them.”

The fight.

Playing with your food, Smiley?

She flustered a little, unsure of what to do with herself in the face of such desire. Rather than embarrass herself by trying to one-up him, she said, “Don’t you need to do your cooldown?”

“What if I’m just warming up?” he countered, running the tip of his nose against her cheek. She shivered.

“Would you like it if I helped out?” she asked. Qimir groaned and pressed his face against her shoulder, melting. He was heavy, but she was strong enough to hold him. At first, she thought he was reacting to her playing with his hair again, but after what he said, it seemed like only part of the reason.

“I’ve dreamed you saying that before,” he grumbled. “In a very different scenario.” He pressed another kiss to her shoulder and drew back before she could dissolve into a wanton puddle beneath him. “When did you get so responsible, hm?” He kissed her nose, then her lips, unable to stop.

She had no answer for him, still rendered speechless. He dreamed about her?

Qimir took one giant step back and inhaled deeply. His absence didn’t leave her cold so much as it left her breathless—he’d taken all the air with him. “I am going to shower,” he said. He was doing it again, convincing himself to take the right course of action. “Then you’ll help me do cooldown. Are you alright in here to wait?”

It was the first time she’d gotten a good look at him since he was in the cage. She had no idea where the Smiley mask had gone after she took it off him, but she didn’t want that fucked-up thing anywhere near the masterpiece of his body right now. Still fresh from the fight, every plane and contour of his body practically gleamed—whether smeared with blood or shining with sweat.

The blood concerned her, of course—now the threat had gone, the aftermath remained. She couldn’t help peering closer, reaching to thumb away the blood on his arm—good, no cuts. There were a few bruises here and there, but—

“Osha.”

His voice was tight, and every muscle in his neck and chest was tense. She was testing his resolve by continuously tempting him. It made her a little lightheaded to know she was so thoroughly desired.

“Yeah, I’ll be okay,” she whispered, about as loud as she could trust herself to speak. She tried for demure, attempting to reflect any desire to help her case.

It backfired spectacularly.

She was driven back to the wall again, their best-laid plans dashed to the side in favor of kissing. These kisses were intense, but not as harsh as the ones downstairs. She gripped his hair and kissed her way down to his jaw, leaving a bite over the place she now deemed her spot. He panted, open-mouthed, as she nipped and kissed over his throat.

When she dragged her teeth across his pulse, he shuddered, hands coming up to brace against the wall. She bit him in the same place he bit her, in the crook of his neck. He tasted like salt and adrenaline and goddamn heat lightning. A guttural moan, half-garbled around the syllable of her name, ripped free from his lips.

“If Wise comes up here while I’m like this, I might actually fucking kill him,” he gasped, bringing a hand to the back of her neck. It wasn’t to tug her back, nor to pull her closer. It just was.

“Then,” Osha panted, leaning back to look in his eyes. “How can I help?”

A near-vacant look crossed his eyes—fuck, he’s so horny he might fucking pass out, won’t he? Qimir breathed in deeply, closing his eyes and systematically disentangling himself from her. His expression was adorably devastated, like his whole world would crash down to rubble if he didn’t keep touching her.

“I am going to shower.”

“You are going to shower.”

His glare told her she was very far from helping the situation. She didn’t care.

“And then I am going to do my cooldown. And you are going to help me do that cooldown.”

“The cooldown you’re going to do after your shower.”

“Yes. Exactly. And I’m going to go shower right… now.”

Qimir… didn’t move. He looked rooted in place, but attentive—ready for instruction, she realized.

“Go, stranger.”

He went.

She didn’t dare to move until she heard the shower start. Only then did she breathe; only then did she attempt to wrangle her composure back from the edge. Osha went to put a hand to her chest, but saw the blood smeared around her wrist—whose it was, she had no idea.

She could clean herself up a little bit without going into the bathroom. But how tempting it was to open the door to innocently wash her hands, just a few feet from where he was naked and wet and—

“Osha, come on,” she hissed to herself, scrubbing the blood off her hands before she cleaned up her lipstick. Medora would have said something about the impressive staying power of a drugstore product—

A knock came at the hallway door, and it took a few seconds to recall what he said. If Wise comes up here…

His payday.

Mr. Wise didn’t seem surprised that she answered. He flicked his beady eyes above her head like Qimir would materialize in the small gap she left in the door. “You might want to come back later,” Osha said.

“He’s not the only one I have to make rounds to,” Mr. Wise said, looking a little annoyed.

“Well, what do you need?”

“I need to deliver the champion purse.”

“Okay.”

“To the champion.”

“He’s busy.”

“This is a matter of principle.”

“You can give it to me. He’s in the—”

“I need to make sure it goes to him.”

“I’m just going to put it in his bag. You don’t need to—”

“This is a very serious part of the night, young lady...”

Osha was debating the merits of socking an old man in the face when Qimir shouted from the bathroom loud enough for them both to hear. “Don’t give her shit, Wise! Just give her the money!”

Wise didn’t look too pleased to hear it, but handed the cash over with a sigh. “Maybe someday I’ll be handing this money to you, for you.”

“You think I’ll fight in the brawl?” she asked, crossing her arms. “You think I’ll win in the brawl?”

“There’s a reason I’m called Mr. Wise, Osha Aniseya,” he said. The way he spoke her name sent chills down her back. “Ah. Before I forget, you… left this downstairs.”

He handed off the Smiley mask through the door.

“Oh.” She wasn’t sure if she should thank him, and chose to stay silent through her discomfort.

She suddenly had an image for Kana’s earlier story because Wise just… smiled at her before walking off.

The mask felt just as heavy as the money, laden with a different kind of gravity than the one that held her body. When she ran a thumb over the thick knit, her skin came back red—the same stain she’d just washed it off.

Blood. That’s what gave the mask and money their uncanny weight.

No honor or glory, indeed.

Most of the people invited to the brawl were like Sour Patch. They wanted two things they’d never get: fame and fortune. The purse was handed off where nobody could see it, and the attention was waylaid by the existence of the mask.

Even though they all knew who was beneath it.

She shuddered and set the mask face-down on the chair. Osha was coming to realize she had very little choice in the matter if the crowd and fight organizers wanted to see her in the brawl. Qimir, for as ignorant as he seemed to it, inspired quite a bit of chatter among the ranks. Very, very few fighters had ever held their masks for twelve consecutive months, and he was one moon away from doing just that. If that weren’t enough, his bloody spectacle from two months ago meant most eyes were on him.

And now that he’d hauled her away like the spoils of war, she was part of the game.

Holding the money in both hands, she looked back at the bathroom door. She couldn’t imagine herself in the cage with him. Wise made her seem more like a knife dropped between opponents than an actual contender. Would Qimir grab her, use her as an advantage against the six others? Or would he see her as a distraction, a hindrance to his ability in the brawl?

She remembered the way that fight had gone earlier in the night: the armed fighter getting grappled by the unarmed one, then turning the tides to draw blood.

If you recognize when the winds shift in each moment, you can make almost anything work to your advantage.

Which brought her to Idise. She’d been dethroned tonight, which gave Osha some measure of shameful relief—past the seething jealousy she felt upon hearing the rumors of her and Qimir. Kana had said the crowd—not just the crowd; he’d said everyone wanted to see what would happen if they were dropped into the cage together.

The crowd wanted a love triangle, but Osha could only imagine a massacre.

What would victory even feel like after that? She knew the people here more and more every day. They seemed to want to get to know her, as well. How the hell did they sign up to beat the shit out of one another month by month and remain friendly?

Osha could only hope that Idise didn’t want to fight her as much as she didn’t want to fight Idise.

She stuffed the cash at the bottom of his backpack, past a bundle of clothes.

The shower turned off, and her heart kicked into gear. Osha heard him bustle around on the other side of the bathroom door for a few seconds before sighing. “Osha?” he asked.

She stepped close enough to feel the steam from under the door. “Yeah? What’s up?”

“I didn’t grab my clothes before I came in. Can you give them to me?”

Her face flared with heat. Her thoughts from earlier returned, now imagining him naked on the other side of a door she may or may not be able to break down in a fit of nymphomania. “Yeah,” she said, a little breathlessly.

Don’t be weird, Verosha. What the fuck.

She cleared her throat and knocked on the door before twisting the handle. She shoved his clothes through the two inches of space she allowed herself to open the door. She felt a little silly keeping her eyes squeezed shut, but when he laughed, she didn’t feel embarrassed. Their hands brushed at the exchange, and her eyes popped open anyway, meeting his through the gap. “I’ll be right out.”

The bastard didn’t close the door again, leaving it slightly cracked.

He’s practically inviting you in.

She quickly retreated to her seat on the other side of the room. “I’m sorry about Wise,” he said through the gap. She couldn’t stop staring at it, so she distracted herself by unrolling his yoga mat for him and—oh, she offered to help him stretch, oh no.

“Did he give you trouble?” he asked, when the silence went on for too long.

“Wh—no. He’s just an old man. Being difficult is their number-one hobby.” She chewed on what to say next. There was so much to tell him, to ask him about. Nominations. Idise. His absence from the gym. Shit, the Lance thing. Indara’s conversation had somehow gone from unignorable to back-burner. She went for the weakest conversation topic. “I think he insinuated I’d be invited to the brawl. Kana said something similar.”

“Why’d they say that?” he asked.

Her doom emerged from the bathroom in a burst of steam, still scrubbing a towel over his head to dry his hair. I thought that only happened in soap operas, what the fuck.

She couldn’t tell him why Wise and Kana (and the rest of the gym, for that matter) wanted her in the brawl. She couldn’t tell him her own goddamn name. Qimir let his towel fall to his shoulders and pressed his elbows to either side of the doorway. She thought he was using it as a come-on, all look how big and muscly and strong I am, look how wet my stupid fucking abs are, look at my huge goddamn chest, look at how low my sweatpants are and look at how easy it could be to just tug them—

“Fuck, my chest is tight,” he groaned, head falling forward.

Oh. It’s just a chest stretch. You need to exorcise your horny brain, Osha.

“I rolled your mat out for you,” she said, gesturing pathetically at the floor.

“Thank you,” he said after a twenty-count at the door. He stalked forward, coming to kneel on the mat before her. He pulled her in for a kiss: slow, deep, and thought-disintegrating. “Missed that,” he sighed against her mouth.

“It’s been like five minutes,” she laughed, playing with the towel around his shoulders.

“Even so.” He snatched her hands from the towel to kiss each knuckle, then started his neck stretches without letting go. “Wise gave you the money, right?”

“Yeah, it’s in your bag.” She settled across from him. “What do you want me to do?” she asked.

His eyes held all sorts of salacious possible answers.

“To help you stretch,” she huffed, getting flustered.

He pouted, but conceded.

“…fine.”

He talked her through what to do, starting with him on his front to stretch out his quads. She was more used to their positions being flipped, with him helping her stretch after a training session. Once she’d pushed his heel nearly all the way toward his ass, he said, “I didn’t expect to grapple tonight.”

“Kana told me it’s not common in the brawl,” she said. “Said it gets you stomped.” She clung to the conversation because clinging to his body was proving detrimental to her sanity.

“Mhm.” He breathed slowly and relaxed into the stretch, allowing her to add more weight. “What else did Kana say?”

So, so much.

“He called what you did kesa-gatame,” Osha said, hopefully not bungling the pronunciation.

He groaned loudly. “I love hearing you talk about fighting.”

“I-I have no—you’re so ridiculous,” she muttered, feeling the urge to lean down and bite him—again.

“That’s so nice,” he murmured to himself.

She was going to die.

Every time they switched sides or positions, he would praise her.

Good job, Osha.

Oh, that feels amazing.

Thank you, Osha.

That’s it; you’re doing it right.

You can push harder than that; come on—there we go.

Attagirl.

That’s my girl.

Perfect.

“It’s so easy to fuck someone up like this,” he said near the end, oblivious to her suffering.

No. Goddamn. Kidding.

“Good to know,” she quipped, raising an eyebrow.

Laid out like this, she could see the blooming contusions across his body. He’d cleaned away the blood just as she had, but the marks of his time in the ring wouldn’t just wash away.

He wears marks from you, too, her horny brain whispered. And you from him. Their matching hickeys made her want to sigh all dreamy-like.

“You’re good at this,” he complimented.

“I’ve got a good teacher,” she parried.

He hummed. “They still don’t do assist stretches in the Temple, then?”

She was surprised he brought up the Temple himself. She rolled with it, but kept things vague. “We don’t—the Temple doesn’t like when fighters touch each other. Outside of fights, that is.”

“Probably a liability thing,” he mumbled. “I wonder why.”

His scars stared at her.

Osha only felt like she could move again when he rolled onto his back for the rest of his stretches. He wriggled around as he adjusted to a more comfortable position. Luckily, his eyes were already closed, so he didn’t see whatever face she was making—but Osha couldn’t quite erase it. When he opened his eyes and saw the tension in her features, he lay a hand on her thigh. “You okay?” he murmured.

She stopped herself from nodding on reflex, settling on a half-truth. “I’m sorry I brought up the Temple.”

His expression drew tight in confusion, then softened. “You didn’t bring it up. I did. You’re fine, Osha. I’m fine, too.”

“But I know it—”

“I do not blame you or look down on you for being a member of the Temple,” he said, squeezing her thigh. “Until recently, it’s all you’ve known. And you only just found out things could be different if you wanted them to be.” His thumb rubbed side to side across her knee. “I know that’s where your fight strategy comes from, and I still wanted your thoughts on the matches, didn’t I?”

She nodded, still frowning a little. She had been worried about that, yes, and in some ways still was. Her main problem these days was that she could hardly dedicate time to worrying about one topic before another, worse thing interrupted her life.

God, she wanted to tell him. She wanted to tell him everything she’d found out from Indara and Kana. She wanted to ask him all the questions that burned down to the marrow of her bones. Who is Idise to you? What happened two months ago? Where did you disappear to? Why did you disappear, and what brought you back?

Qimir was an optical illusion—the more she looked at him, the less she seemed to see.

His thumb tapped twice on her leg, reeling her attention back in.

“The dogma we were both raised in is not infallible, no matter how much we were taught it is. Vernestra isn’t God; I am not an angel cast from her light.”

Some people feel like gods to a child. And you can worship and worship them, but their judgment will still leave scars.

Osha exhaled shakily, giving him a small smile—all she could muster. Qimir kissed her hand again and shrugged.

“It’s probably not good to continue avoiding talking about the Temple if I ever want to move past what happened. So, really, I think you’re doing me a favor.”

“Really? I would’ve thought I—”

It was like he disappeared; his eyes went black. I said, ‘This is the last round, Qimir.’

His hand tightened, expression growing serious again. “You’re not Mae.”

How had he known she was thinking that? Did he know her well enough to guess, while she knew him less and less the more she learned?

Osha closed her eyes, putting her hand on top of his. When she opened them again, she turned to look at the Smiley mask. “Do you ever think… do you think you’ll ever stop?” she whispered.

He turned his hand over beneath hers to lace their fingers together. “I hope so. I have something now that I didn’t, before.”

“What’s that?” she asked.

It didn’t escape her notice that he left his chest and neck wide open for her. Belly-up, the primal side of her said. He was making himself vulnerable for her, an open target.

“I’ve got a very good reason to leave the cage.”

How do you let go?

When the decision is called, I think of what I want most outside the cage.

How long had he gone, making up flimsy reasons to leave the fight? She may accept her place as his reason to leave the cage, but would she ever be enough to keep him from going in at all? Her heart ached.

“There was a period where I could see myself staying there and never returning. I pictured myself getting stuck in the fighter’s mindset and burning into ash. And I almost...” He trailed off, fear and shame hardening his features.

“Does that scare you?”

He squeezed her hand. “Of course it does. I worked too hard to get to a place where I wasn’t fighting to stay alive each day. I’m ashamed that this is the only outlet I trust to regulate myself right now.”

“Did therapy not work out for you?”

“Did it work out for you?” he said with a raised eyebrow.

“I never went to—oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” He let go of her hand to bring one of his knees up to his chest with a sigh. “Let’s keep going.”

With gentle words and gentler touches, he showed her how to assist with the rest of his routine. Whenever she leaned close enough, she would kiss whatever part of him she could get at. He did the same, just mouthing kisses on her at any opportunity.

She told him about the bet she made with Kana.

“…And now I owe him ten dollars, because you Looney Toonsed that guy right out of the gate.”

He laughed sharply, amusement cutting deep. He leaned over to his backpack and rifled through it until he pulled a ten from his winnings. “There,” he said, handing it to her. “On me.”

“It’s not fair for you to pay when I’m the one who lost betting on you.”

“What is it that makes you think I’m a fair person, Osha?” he asked.

She took the cash from him. “I don’t mean to insult you by implying you’re mild-mannered and polite,” she snarked. “It��s a fairness that’s… more like balance. You pay things back in kind when you perceive an imbalance. Even if there isn’t one.”

“Keep going,” he said, snatching the money back from her.

She tried reaching for it again, but he was faster, holding it out with his much longer arm. She pouted at him, still leaning over his body with her arm outstretched.

“You haven’t convinced me,” he shrugged, stealing a kiss because he could.

“I don’t think you’re fair like a judge. This isn’t judge behavior.” She gestured to the petty game of keep-away.

“I’d agree with you. So what fair am I like, Osha?”

“You’re fair like… like the law of the jungle. Fair, like when hikers ignore the signs and then get eaten by wolves. You impart a much wilder brand of justice than the kind that comes from laws.”

“Like?”

“You burn me, I burn you. That kind of thing. It doesn’t follow code or custom—if you never follow the rules, you never have to break them. But if you feel crossed, you’ll cross right back. You’re that kind of fair.”

He gave her the money.

CHAPTER 16

#unhingery #common grounds #osha x qimir #oshamir #star wars fanfiction #oshamir fanfiction #the acolyte #the acolyte fanfiction

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shadowqueenjude · 4 months ago

Text

Day 2 of @sjmvillainweek Planning

Villain: Beron Vanserra

Part 1 here

“Not that I mind new clothes,” Beron said, “but what’s with the harried tailor?”

“Your brother is getting married,” Francesca Vanserra said in a clipped tone. The Lady of Autumn…and Beron’s mother by blood. Not like she cared about that particular title. Lady Vanserra spent more time fixing up her hair than taking care of her children. Beron couldn’t recall a single memory where she’d shown him affection.

But enough self-pity. Violet was right; he had to be strong.

“You found someone willing to marry him?” Beron asked, genuine surprise laced into his voice. Each brother was more useless than the last; if it pleased him, Beron could kill them all single-handedly.

“Astonishing the lows people will sink to to become royalty,” Francesca replied sardonically. Beron snorted. Indeed, good looks and royal blood were all any of his brothers had to offer. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

“Lady Olivia Fleur Bellerose of the Spring Court. A lesser member of nobility, but an exquisitely classy faerie who can whip your brother Vulcan into shape.”

Beron seriously doubted that, but opted not to contradict Francesca. “When is the wedding?” he asked

“Oh, it’s in one week; that’s why the tailor is in such a hurry!” Francesca exclaimed before flouncing out of the room.

Wait what?

A week? This was a royal fucking wedding they were talking about; most royal weddings took years to plan to perfection. Something must have happened to prompt such a rapid marriage.

Beron didn’t bother to think about it. Ultimately it didn’t really matter what the reasoning was; it was one more shitty person out of his life. And he was also that much closer to the throne.

Although a couple of days later, when the castle was being completely redecorated and they were kicked out of the forest house, curiosity won out and Beron asked his sister.

“Vivi, do you know anything about Vulcan’s marriage?” he whispered, the two of them standing a little ways from the rest of their family.

Violet snorted. “Vulcan is an utter embarrassment to this family, even more so than the others. The other day, he got so drunk that he stripped in front of priestesses and began to harass them. After that, he stumbled back home and hit on me. He was so drunk that he flirted with his own sister. So father is sending him away. The first good decision he’s made in a while. I feel for the girl, though.”

What a ridiculous male. It was shocking, sometimes, to realize that Beron shared half of his blood with Vulcan, even more than he shared with Violet. Vanserras had a reputation to uphold, and Vulcan was absolutely trashing it with his antics. Veni vidi vici was their family motto; it had been drilled into them from birth. The only thing Vulcan was conquering was the race against wisdom.

“Me too.”

Violet and Beron shared identical shit-eating grins before quickly looking away from each other as Frederick approached them.

“The Bellerose family arrives tomorrow. Be on your best behavior, you two,” Frederick warned.

“Aren’t I always?” Violet drawled. Forever irreverent. Frederick’s eyes glowed fiery bronze for a moment before they returned to their natural black. “No. That’s why I said that.”

Violet’s face hardened as Frederick walked away from them, her fists clenched. Despite her talent as a diplomat, she had never been good at hiding her emotions around their father. But unlike Beron, she held no fear for him; only raw, visceral rage and hatred.

Beron wondered if that lack of fear would be the reason she won…or the reason she underestimated the high lord of autumn.

That night, Beron knocked on Violet’s door. “Come in,” she muttered, and Beron carefully pushed it open. Violet’s normally vibrant waves hung dully down her back. She was in an orange silk nightgown sitting on the far edge of her bed. Beron cautiously walked towards her.

“Are you ok?” he asked. Violet turned her head at that. Her purple irises bore into him as she responded sarcastically, “I’m simply peachy. Can’t you tell?”

Beron winced at his lack of tact, moving to sit on the bed. “Then perhaps what I say will make you feel better.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

Beron smirked, tilting his face ever so slightly. “Really? Because I have a plan where we can get rid of our parents once and for all.”

Slowly, Violet’s face transformed into a devious smile. “Oh? Let’s hear it then, Berry.”

#beron vanserra #sjmvillainweek

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fool-counter · 3 months ago

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Shits and Giggles: This is what Gamers Against Weed is for. Sometimes they're political, sometimes they're serious, and sometimes they make a point, but they are fundamentally in this for a laugh. Whatever they do, they do it with a sense of humor. Articles that feature GAW don't have to be funny in their own right, but you might want to make it apparent that they, at least, are getting a laugh out of it.

Extremely Online: While they usually have lives outside of the group and off the internet, members of Gamers Against Weed tend to be immersed in the web, and are digitally fluent to a fault. Don't be afraid to incorporate memes, trolling, and popular culture into the articles. Nothing is too obscure.

Contemporary: Gamers Against Weed articles should reflect events happening in the modern day — if the story you want to tell could take place before the year 2006 without losing meaning, GAW is probably not what you're looking for. A GAW story should never feel disconnected from the world around it.

Benign: Gamers Against Weed are a pacifist group. If they have reason to believe that one of their projects could get people hurt or killed, they won't do it. They generally do not tolerate bigotry, bullying, or other forms of douchebaggery. That being said, they LOVE trolling, and if someone gets mad about something trivial, that's their problem.

Don't Want Trouble: To anybody who isn't tasking themselves with keeping the anomalous secret, or who hasn't taken personal offense to something they did, Gamers Against Weed is probably not relevant. While they are certainly irreverent, they are also cautious, and will only make a joke if they think they can handle the blowback.

No Signature: Gamers Against Weed has no need to be recognized by anyone else, and while they might sign their individual names to something, rarely will they outright label anything with 'Gamers Against Weed'. Their Little Misters are an exception to this.

Notes on the Misters: When you're writing up one of the Misters Against Weed, it should be able to function as some form of satire (especially of Wondertainment's Little Misters), and should function as something a child would reasonably find useful. Some have also taken the new misters as an invitation to use GOI formats, so if that's your style, go right ahead.

fool count: 18

...did you submit an explanation for every SCP organization

#fools on demand

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danganronpasurvivoraskblog · 4 months ago

Text

Mod Talks Mini:

//Hey, so I want to just send a little bit of a message to people, because there's something I need to let everybody know in a professional and calm manner, since I've been seeing a lot of controversy and messages online from people about this sort of stuff.

//Don't worry, this isn't anything serious, but I'm saying this for the sake of everyone's safety out there. It is kind of an edgy topic, so I will keep it under the cut.

//I don't really know how I should start this conversation, but I guess I should be giving a bit of backdrop for it.

//I recently found an old article online (several years back, I'm not even sure how I found it) talking about some other internet article pricks dissing Trey Parker and Matt Stone, the creators of South Park, for those who don't know.

//As everyone no doubt knows, South Park is notorious for its irreverent humor, often crossing lines with its dark satire, inappropriate jokes, and willingness to offend...basically EVERYONE. The show touches on sensitive topics like religion, politics, race, and SO much more.

//Parker and Stone have been judged harshly for their edgy, boundary-pushing humor, with some labeling them as cynical or insensitive, but the article I read was explaining that despite the controversial content they create, Parker and Stone are known to be down-to-earth and good-natured in real life. They’ve spoken about how their intent is often to challenge norms and provoke thought rather than to offend maliciously.

//And I can confirm this, because a few years ago, I watched this video that has always stuck with me, because these guys know what it is they're talking about, and it's why their shows and all the other stuff they make together are so successful.

youtube

//This however, also got me thinking about some people that I follow on AO3, and...Yeah, I know that's a weird jump, but let me explain.

//Archive of Our Own is one of the most prolific fanfic and writing websites on the internet right now, thanks to it's simplicity, and a few other aspects, but I realized that on that website, it is also grounds for some of THE most fucked up writing I have ever seen.

//I think we've talked extensively about LadyRedHeart on this blog before; very much still one of the BIGGEST examples of this. Most of her content consists of rape, pedophilia, torture porn, incest, and about every horrible variation of NSFW content you could think of.

//What I read in her stories, because I have read some of them, is repulsive. But...I've also come to realize very quickly that RedHeart herself is not the genuinely fucked person that she seems to be in her writing.

//And then there's myself. In the past, I've been harshly criticized for writing characters like Kuripa, and even my portrayals of some of the canon characters, even though it's all supposed to be my own take on it. I remember people being really upset when they found out what happened to Hibiki, and then Himiko, and I had to deal with a lot of shit from some people back then.

//But it's fine. It all worked out in the end.

//But then there's the complete inverse of this, and this is the important part, because this is some of the stuff we need to keep our eyes out for. But this is also the more sensitive part of the post, so avoid the next 8 paragraphs if you don't like hearing about this. But here are a few examples:

//Bill Cosby is an American comedian, actor, and producer who was a major figure in entertainment, particularly in the 1960s through the 1990s. He gained widespread fame for his stand-up comedy and for starring in shows like The Cosby Show. The show was groundbreaking for its positive portrayal of an affluent African-American family and earned Cosby the title of "America's Dad."

//Cosby's legacy was severely tarnished in the 2000s and 2010s when numerous women came forward accusing him of sexual assault, drugging, and misconduct. These allegations spanned decades, with many women claiming that Cosby had drugged and assaulted them, and he was eventually convicted for it.

//Jimmy Savile was a British television and radio personality who became famous for hosting popular TV shows like Top of the Pops and Jim'll Fix It from the 1960s through the 1990s. For much of his life, Savile was seen as an eccentric celebrity and philanthropist who raised millions of pounds for charity, particularly for hospitals. He was widely respected and even knighted by Queen Elizabeth II in 1990 for his charitable work.

//However, after his death in 2011, numerous allegations of sexual abuse came to light, leading to investigations that revealed Savile had been a prolific sex offender for decades. He abused hundreds of victims, both male and female, many of whom were children or vulnerable adults. Much of the abuse occurred in institutions like hospitals, schools, and even the BBC studios where he worked.

//John Kricfalusi is a 68-year-old renowned Canadian blogger, illustrator, and former voice actor and animator. He is the brains behind several popular cartoon shows in the 1990s and early 2000s. Kricfalusi is best known for creating The Ren & Stimpy Show, which ran from August 11, 1991, to December 16, 1995.

//In 2018, Kricfalusi's reputation suffered after Robyn Byrd and Katie Rice, two former Spümcø employees, accused him of grooming and sexual harassment. The pair went on to say that they had been minors at the time.

//And then of course, there's fucking Dan Schneider, a more recent example. He's a television producer, writer, and actor best known for creating and producing several popular Nickelodeon shows aimed at teens and preteens, such as All That, Drake & Josh, Zoey 101, iCarly, Victorious, Sam & Cat, and Henry Danger. His work was highly influential in shaping children's programming in the late 1990s and 2000s.

//However, Schneider has also faced controversy, particularly regarding his conduct behind the scenes. In 2018, Nickelodeon cut ties with him after a long partnership, due to I believe now confirmed allegations of inappropriate treatment of young actors.

//The point that I am trying to make here, is that judging a person's character based solely on the content they create can be problematic for several reasons. And it's not fair to judge a person based on what they do, or what kind of content they make, or for what audience, because in some cases, that can be dangerous.

//In their work, artists and writers frequently explore a wide range of themes, concepts, and emotions that might not always align with their own ideals or worldviews. Through experimentation and investigation, art can enable creators to push limits and question social conventions.

//The context in which content is created is crucial. Factors such as cultural background, personal experiences, and the intended audience can significantly influence the content. Misunderstanding this context can lead to unfair judgments.

//Many creators view their work as separate from their personal identity. Their content may reflect characters, scenarios, or viewpoints that differ from their own. This separation is essential for creative freedom and exploration.

//And people are multifaceted. A creator may have both admirable qualities and flaws, and reducing them to their work can oversimplify their character and experiences. Preconceived notions about a creator can lead to bias, impacting how their work is received. It's essential to approach content with an open mind, allowing for a fair assessment of its merits and messages.

//Content that sparks controversy or discomfort can lead to important conversations about societal issues. Engaging with such content critically can promote understanding and awareness rather than condemnation.

//Anyway, I ranted about this for way longer than I should have. tldr; Stay safe, don't judge people.

#Youtube #mod #mod talks #serious post #important notice

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raccoonfallsharder · 4 months ago

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not an ask more paying respect lol, i did the ask abt showing rocket more terran references/ goth music and you did it amazingly thank you so much. i like how it made me think differently too! i bet rocket wouldn’t like too much horror thinking abt it now but stuff like supernatural/ creepy sound better than gore for him. i bet stuff like the toxic avenger is right up his alley lmao. i love how you included reality tv and video games and just showing rocket other genres. i loved what you did with it! i feel like rocket would like rupaul too for the drama and art. i feel like like they could make their own drive in/ outdoor theater on knowhere and can watch anything in the galaxy lmao😭. and i loved how you wrote rocket w music he is the definition of listens to everything <3. i completely loved this thank you <3

you are SO fucken kind (˃̣̣̥ᯅ˂̣̣̥) holy shit i will cry now. like, just how sugarsweet are you? thank you bby ♡♡ also i am going to just take a moment to cosign your drive-in/outdoor theatre idea! this was absolutely EXACTLY what i was imagining in the second bulletpoint on this #marvel critique post. i want a whole stupid disney+ show of this, mst3k style

also, you are so right about rocket loving drag and you should fucken say it.

that furry bastard is such a dramatic little punk in his own way. you just know he likes shiny gems and glittery shit far more than he says (i have a ton of headcanons about this but it comes down to — rocket craves lovely, luxurious things and also doesn't believe he deserves them. and also believes most people who have them don't deserve them, and thus, he has few qualms about stealing them. but also never trusts he'll be able to keep them. look, our lil guy is so conflicted.)

the first time you take him to a drag show, i hope you keep it a surprise. let him gripe and complain the whole way there until the uber driver looks like he wants to scream. look, it's not rocket's fault. he frickin told you he'd had a shitty three cycles since he'd seen you last, and now he just wants to crash on your couch with you and order in sushi and rewatch edward scissorhands (you're not sure how that last part's supposed to help — he always ends up silently crying into his fur two-thirds of the way through). he gets even grumpier when you have to wait outside in the relative cold. once you're finally seated at a small table house-left, he's still sulking and snarking, to the point that you almost wanna wring his furry neck yourself.

but then the music starts. maybe a little aretha franklin. gloria gaynor, or some classic cher. yeah, i'm guessing the show stars with cher. slow, silky, low notes pouring out over the stage. strong enough, maybe. when the first queen steps out, rocket's jaw actually drops. by the time the bright pop of disco-synth hits the song, you'd swear the mirrorball is reflecting little stars and hearts into his candied-apple eyes. he's drinking it all in: the drama, the sly and exaggerated winks that put his own oversized winking habits to shame — the gowns, the sequins, the feathers, the heels. the long lashes and sultry stagecraft, the pageantry, the snark, the fun. the music, the theatre of it all, the spotlights and the perfections and the imperfections — and the brightness, like staring into the spiritual equivalent of an anulax battery explosion.

you leave him at some point, just for a moment —making your way to the bar, bringing back the sugary tequila cocktails he's lately taken to liking so much — and he doesn't even touch it. maybe takes a sip, but forgets it's there. it's probably the first time you've seen rocket ignore an opportunity to get at least slightly buzzed (hey, he's made progress in recent years). but this time, the temptation isn't even present. he's staring at the stage, swaying and bopping to the lip-synced lyrics — completely glitterdrunk. he's fixated on the satin corsets and the braying laughter and the ribald jokes, the irreverence that somehow feels like coming home, and all the while he’s wondering what his own long claws would look like if they were painted that color.

it's not like rocket hasn't seen theatrical gender performance before. it's a common-enough phenomenon in deep space, where there are as many expressions of identity as there are stars in the sky. a lot of cultures are far more chill about crossing gender lines or leaning into extreme caricatures, for a kaleidoscope of reasons. some planets don't even have lines to cross, either because gender is a nonconstruct or because it's so extremely flux that it might as well be superfluid helium.

but there's something about this kind of performance that just hits different for rocket. he probably doesn't know enough terran history to understand what he's picking up on. sure, in the far-reaches of the galaxy, diverse gender expression may be the norm — but here on terra, there are conservatives and bioessentialists and police raids and worse. what rocket sees — folded in between the blade-sharp eyeliner and the spun-sugar wigs and the gunmetal-glint of sequins — is rebellion. it's the core blazing fire of demanding the right to be exactly who you are or who you want to be, even if only for a moment. it’s throwing fists when you have to and protecting your people when you can. it's the freedom to give an acrylic-tipped middle-finger to anyone who ever thought they had the right to reinvent you according to their idea of perfection.

it's a fuck-you to every high evolutionary out there, herbert e wyndham or otherwise.

and — maybe more importantly — it’s not just the struggle. in the face of every hostile neighbor and violent lawmaker, it’s taking back some fucking joy.

rocket can taste it.

which is probably why he doesn't want to leave, even after the show draws to a close and someone's yelling about last call. by the time you finally convince him to go out to the sidewalk and wait for your uber back home, a small number of the queens are departing as well — clustered on the sidewalk like gems snatched from taneleer tivan's jewelry box. you don't think you've ever seen this damn raccoon treat an adult-humie-stranger with anything softer than semi-polite suspicion — yourself included — but suddenly, he's turning up the charm, sidling up to the ladies to thank them for their performance.

the queens, of course, are immediately smitten. who's this handsome fucking dreamboat, and how’d he get those biceps, and does he want a selfie? rocket lets them coo over him with exaggerated, syrupy delight — not even snapping when one of them scritches his ears. he shrugs and juts his thumb at you and gives one of them your goddamn phone number, and they squish in for the aforementioned snapshot. he's got big ol' lipstick-prints in his fur already and when someone raises a paint-arched brow and comments suggestively on the many possible uses of his tail, rocket finally sinks into that familiar shit-eating smirk.

you breathe a sigh of relief when you see it. for a couple seconds there, you’d barely even recognized him.

the uber pulls up and the queens pout — how did the surly jackass who steals your pillow and eats all your lucky charms manage to dazzle them all in less than five minutes? — and when rocket gets in the vehicle, he immediately goes quiet in that way he does — suddenly pensive. thoughtful.

your phone buzzes. it's the selfie of him and the goddamn queens. you lean over and show it to him, and he nods, the corner of his mouth curving faintly. His tail flicks on the seat between you, and his ears twitch as he turns to look out the window.

thanks.

you startle when he speaks, despite the fact that you usually can't get him to shut up. but the quiet gratitude sits between you on the bench like a third passenger in the backseat of the car, studded with distant stars and the receding lights of the city.

no problem, you say slowly. i knew you'd like it — i just didn't know how much. you tilt your head. maybe trust me the next time i tell you i wanna take you somewhere.

he scoffs quietly, but the sound is only made of soft camaraderie and old habit. and then — slowly, like the words are hard to find between stoplights and midnight shadows — he adds, this was... special.

you can hear him swallow. his head is still turned to peer out his window, but you can see the ghost of his reflection in the glass: eyes red as lollipops and sour candy, sometimes turning flat-gold with the passing light. His eyelids flicker shut, then reopen.

some asshole once told me— he starts. stops. swallows again. clears his throat. some asshole once told me we all had this — this sacred fuckin' mission to — to take a cacophony of sounds and turn it into a song.

you can hear the words he's quoting, and his voice drips thick with disdain — and also maybe some uncertainty. some vulnerability. whoever it was who'd said this thing to him — it had cut deep, and put down venomous roots. but you don't respond. not yet. you've learned to wait in moments like this — to let the silence curl around you both, low and comforting as old quilts.

but this, he says finally, four blocks later. this was like... taking songs and turning them into a cacophony. but of — of good things. his brows crease in his reflection, and you an see his eyes flick back and forth, searching the darkness.

a cacophony of liberation, you suggest quietly. and of — joy, and reclamation, and — togetherness, i guess.

he lets out a breath so heavy that his shoulders drop when they're free of it. you stretch across the bench-seat, and you know he's watching your hand reach for him in the window's reflection — but he doesn't draw away from you, not even when you card your fingers through the soft fur at the base of his ears, tousling a soft cloud of pixie-dust sparkle into the air.

and of glitter, you add lightly. you hear the uber driver muffle a grunt of dismay.

but rocket just smirks out the window.

yeah, he says, and it takes a second for you to realize that even though he's agreeing with you, he's also confirming something he's been turning over in the privacy of his own head — all night, maybe. when he repeats himself under his breath, it sounds — it sounds like a soft new bandage, almost. like he’d gone to check on a wound he’d thought had turned to rot, only to learn the the scar’s looking clean and smooth and healthy, and healing up just right.

yeah. that fucker was frickin' wrong.

as per frickin' usual.

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gotg rocket

#rfh asks #rfh headcanons #rocket raccoon #rocket raccoon headcanons #gotg headcanons #guardians of the galaxy #rocket raccoon fanfiction #rocket gotg #rfh fluff #rfh fanfic #rocket raccoon fanfic #guardians of the galaxy headcanons #gotg #tooth rotting fluff #rocket raccoon fluff

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vixstarria · 5 months ago

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🩸✨Writing Interview Tag Game✨🩸

Thank you for the tag @marlowethebard and @snowfolly ^_^ This was fun.

When did you start writing?

The very first time I remember getting a kick out of writing was, I think, in 6th grade. I was writing little stories, I think with me and my friends as characters, and passing them around, and we were losing our shit laughing in class.

Then I wrote some fics for Final Fantasy 8 in my early teens. Then a whole lot of nothing. Then suddenly I was in my 30's and BG3 happened.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading more than what you write?

It's hard to say - I love, love, reading horror, but I haven't even tried writing any myself. Sci-fi as well.

And, on the flipside, I don't read [non-fanfic] erotica at all, despite all the smut I've written.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

I haven't thought of that... I haven't been compared to anyone, to my knowledge, and I certainly haven't been consciously trying to emulate anyone either, but on giving my Goodreads history a scroll, I did pause at Martha Wells (author of Murderbot Diaries, which I adore), and thought 'hah!'. I guess if I had to pick someone who might have a similar style, that may be a good example. Un-purple, irreverent, deadpan and sarcastic.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

A desktop computer in our home study. Soft, comfy computer chair big enough for me to sit cross-legged. Two large screens, one for writing, one for haphazard googling and looking up synonyms. Scrivener. A cat that's constantly trying to get my attention. A partner sitting across from me, who won't stop fkn coughing gods-fucking-damnit let me make you some nice hot fucking tea, my love, fuck!

What’s your most effective way to muster up a muse?

Maladaptive daydreaming, preferably combined with a walk or a jog. Lying down and trying to fall asleep usually also does the trick.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

Can't say, I've been writing the same series this whole time, and I don't know whether anything might count as a recurring theme if it's all part of one whole.

What is your reason for writing?

I don't know how to stop.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

Being told that someone likes my OC, that I get origin characters' voices right, and, especially, that I made someone laugh or brightened someone's day.

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

Hmm. I think I just want to be thought about, period, lol. As in, stand out and not be forgettable.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

I think I'm good at realistic-sounding dialogue.

I mean, I mumble so much of it back to myself as I write, I fkn better be.

How do you feel about your own writing?

Well, I cringe at my early fics, so I guess it's improving, which is a good thing.

When you write, are you influenced by what others enjoy or might enjoy reading, or do you write purely for yourself, or a mix of both?

My series has been for myself, although I'll occasionally sprinkle in something that I'm neither hot nor cold about, just to try to do something a little different / give myself a challenge, knowing that someone else will like it.

Tagging: @ineadhyn @spacebarbarianweird @brabblesblog @tragedybunny @grandmother-goblin

#ask game #tag game #Writing Interview Tag Game #vix musings

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incesthemes · 10 months ago

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final thoughts: supernatural season 15

holy shit. i did it. i finished supernatural. i actually finished it a couple hours ago but i'm still having trouble processing it. i've been working at this for six months (but with a one-month break back in december) and i'm finally finished. honestly i don't think i really believed i would do it because shit this show is long, and i am not predisposed to enjoy shows like this. so this is a huge mark of pride for me, that i can finally say i did indeed sit down and watch all 327 episodes of supernatural :)

anyway all that to say i hated this season with a passion lmao, hasta la vista baby ✨

honestly i think i'll end up keeping this short because frankly most of my criticisms boil down to

how did you fuck up your own lore this badly

holy plotholes batman

this is so disrespectful and irreverent toward kripke's supernatural

nothing about this writing makes any kind of sense

well, that's convenient (in the most boring way imaginable)

so it's basically just a game of spin the wheel and see what it lands on.

the season started super weak; the concept was bad from the get-go and executed only to a mediocre standard, so i couldn't help but cringe my way through it. rowena's death was really well done, but her character was never well developed, in the same way most side characters on this show are never well developed, so while i appreciate the care that went into that scene it felt rather empty. it made me regret how poorly and inconsistently written she was. and yeah most side characters get this treatment—hell, cas gets this treatment which is why i don't care about him much—but she had such a provocative death scene that it had me lamenting that she didn't get a better foundation and better development. alas, that's just what it means to be someone other than sam and dean on supernatural.

after that was... the eileen subplot. i do really like eileen despite her being a rather flat and uninteresting character the way most women are on this show (y'know, kickass independent "girl power" women without nearly any other significant personality trait), but i really didn't appreciate the substantial pivot sam took from dean-focused to eileen-focused in this season. yes, season 12-14 did go to great efforts to make sure this wasn't The Sam And Dean Show anymore, but season 15 is so dramatically incongruous from even 12-14 that it just boggled my mind. the sam/eileen stuff was a major part of that, and it just didn't feel good because it was one more nail in the coffin with regards to how little the showrunners respected the foundation of the show (y'know, "the epic love story of sam and dean"). the only real salmondean moment in the entire season was the 7-minute incest speech in the finale—like what? i couldn't even properly enjoy that because of how poorly it was set up, thanks to the four seasons of retconning their relationship and making it less important to the series overall.

anyway all that to say, they had this massive sam/eileen subplot and then nothing even came of it. sam didn't even call to check if she was alive after jack resurrected everyone? he didn't meet up with her on screen even once? like if you're going to give him this season-long romance with someone other than dean, you could at least have the balls to commit to it. i find that just. godawful writing. eileen didn't have to be sam's blurry wife or anything, but he should have had some kind of resolution, literally anything at all, if we're meant to believe she's in any way important to him. c'mon.

more incongruous moments: dean got weirdly angry in this season. like what's with episode 17 man? there is nothing about dean in that episode that feels even remotely in character. from "jack's not family" to dean pulling a gun on sam, it all felt wildly overblown, way too melodramatic and sudden, and just not anything dean would do. yeah he's an angry guy, but???? this was too much, even for him. and the whole jack argument between sam and dean made me roll my eyes hard. because how do you expect me to believe that after all of the developments up to that point, that

dean wouldn't consider jack family. first of all that's stupid, dean drops the f-bomb on literally anyone he thinks is useful to further his goals. second of all it contradicts the bond they've formed since season 13, and it no longer fits with the parallel themes set up between sam, dean, and jack. it undermines what's been established, what's been developed, and what jack means to them on a thematic level. so so so stupid. cannot stress how dumb this move was. it just felt like the writers pulling out yet another OOC moment just so they can conveniently move the plot in the direction they wanted. so annoying.

sam and cas are equals in dean's eyes. like that's just hilarious to me. the last time cas died dean got sad for a little bit and burned his body on a pyre. the last time sam died dean committed suicide. these are not equal reactions. and sam and cas have never been equal to dean because dean always chooses sam over everyone, again evidenced in the series finale. so it was just hilarious for this one episode to pretend like sam and cas could ever be equal.

of course season 15 did really push a destiel agenda in the most unexpected and bizarre way. like wow, and i thought seasons 12-14 were a totally different show. no, season 15 is so much worse than that. i have absolutely no idea why they made the choices they did with this season, but they were not good, they routinely disrespected kripke's foundations of the show, and they ignored every theme ever laid out up until then. all for... what, exactly? so dean and cas can have a weird little non-romance together for 18 episodes only for them to slip wincest back in at the end? what's up with that? no like seriously, what were they trying to do here????

i told my friend this earlier, but i do think it's funny how cas's death speech is just straight-up factually incorrect regarding dean. i'm 100% fully willing to believe that castiel was blinded with lust by dean winchester that he simply made up some guy in his head who looked like dean. and that will be my headcanon going forth because wow it's shocking and funny as hell how much he got wrong while waxing poetic about dean. "you're the most selfless man i know" when kripke spent 5 seasons pounding it into our heads how fundamentally selfish dean (and sam, obviously, but the speech is about dean) is. girl what are you saying. dick so good he rewrote dean's basic character traits to be more convenient to him. i respect it truly i do.

anyway the finale. i hated it! to absolutely no one's surprise. a few days ago i wrote out what i thought would have been the most thematically cogent endings for supernatural. i knew what actually happens, obviously (hard to miss tbh), but my resolve on this front was only strengthened by actually watching it. yes the 7 minutes of incest were very nice and compelling, but... wow. this episode has some of the worst pacing i've ever seen in my life. dean died halfway into the episode? and the rest of that was... a sequence of short scenes that are too drawn-out to be a montage??? like there was no tension, no buildup, and no setup for what they did. it felt so lazy and underdeveloped, lacking any kind of poignancy or thematic cohesion. and then i had to watch TWENTY MINUTES of half-baked scenes of dean in heaven and sam growing old. i wouldn't have hated this ending so much if they had better pacing, i'm serious. like the outrage i feel is predominantly because of how badly it was written. the concepts aren't good, but they were par for the course. but TWENTY MINUTES OF MONTAGE. A MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH WITH NO EMOTIONAL BUILDUP, WHICH ACTIVELY CONTRADICTS THE THEMES OF THE SHOW. WHAT!!!!!!! WERE THEY THINKING!!!!!!!!!!

anyway i disliked that a little bit.

so overall i pretty much hated every part of this season and there were very, very, very few redeeming features sprinkled in. it's fine though! i'm fine. it's all over now :)

a few brief thoughts on the series overall: i regret ever speaking badly of kripke's supernatural; i didn't know how good i had it until it was gone. in hindsight, a lot of the seasons i thought were dogshit were actually not the worst things ever—i just didn't realize how bad bad could get. i know now. i will carry that knowledge with me forever.

dramatics aside, i honestly did enjoy watching the show. as much as i hated so many of the writing choices, the plotholes, the retcons, the way the writers just handwaved away anything inconvenient and rewrote characters entirely just to force them into the story they way they wanted them—it was still, like, fun. the agony was enjoyable (things masochists say). i think it helps that the fandom at large generally agrees that the writing is bad; it gives a sense of community and solidarity in the misery. there's no uneasy disconnect between myself and the rest of the fanbase, and that honestly does make all the difference. it's fun to suffer together, and i don't regret watching this show one bit :)

so with that said, here's my final ranking for every season:

season 1 (thematically strong, tight writing, incredible vision, truly foundational in its establishment of overarching themes, tone, and genre)

season 2 (such an interesting plot which builds on what was established in season 1. this is where the meat of the show is, where the heart is exposed to daylight as the chest is ripped open)

season 3 (well written, though disappointing in some areas largely due to kripke dropping the special children plot thus leaving a hole. not very noticeable due to the good writing, but still there. i'll never forgive them for killing off henricksen)

season 4 (this is the first real drop in quality imo, but it's relatively insignificant. the writing feels more meandering, and the tone shifts rather drastically away from the horror of its origin. the introduction of angels destroys a lot of the religious anxiety that formed the foundation of the show, but at the same time introduces a fantastic story about fate and doom)

season 5 (same as season 4, but with the flaws a bit more glaring. castiel's unclear motivations and underdeveloped shift in perspective are a major point of contention for me; i don't think it was handled well and could have been written better to make him a stronger character from the get-go, possibly allowing him to be a better character in later seasons instead of the conflicting mess we ended up with)

season 9 (the writing is atrocious, but the vision is so good. i still don't know how they managed that. they had such a great idea and they took kripke's supernatural and expanded on it in such a satisfying way. it drove me crazy! but holy shit the actual writing is so bad)

season 8 (i feel largely the same about 8 as i do 9, but i just think the writing was overall worse. it does get brownie points for having benny in it, though)

season 10 (boring. boring and paced so, so, so badly. the sole redeeming feature was how committed it was to its vision. it has the exact opposite problem as season 6 in that it has too little content to fill out the season. but god, the vision. you'll hear me waxing poetic about the season 8-10 vision on my death bed)

season 7 (it did a lot to pave the road for seasons 8-10 which i can't ignore. it also got itself fairly settled after the mess season 6 was and didn't try to bite off more than it could chew. i didn't love it, but it had a lot of moments that were provocative and interesting, and it provided pretty good setup for season 8. the writing was not good, but i think that goes without saying)

season 6 (introduced really interesting ideas, but tried to cram so much into one season that it failed to deliver satisfying payoffs for any of its setup. soulless sam was an interesting exception and really redeemed it for me)

season 12 (12 and 13 are about equal for me because i hate the plots, i hate the intense diversion away from The Sam And Dean Show, i hate the writing, i hate the concepts, etc etc. but they both introduce supporting characters which show off new and interesting sides to sam and dean: mary in 12 and jack in 13. it allows for focus to stay on sam and dean's relationship a little longer even though they're no longer generating any organic conflict between them, so i appreciate that at least)

season 13 (i fucking HATE the apocalypse world. that is my deciding factor between seasons 12 and 13. also i hate what they did to mary here)

season 14 (honestly an inoffensive season. i still hate the writing way more than anything else pre-12, and it doesn't have the benefits of a new character introduced to provide external conflict between sam and dean, so while it was relatively inoffensive it was also boring, lacking, and really obvious how little the writers cared about maintaining sam and dean's relationship as the emotional core of the show)

season 11 (the writing all things considered wasn't the absolute worst thing i've ever seen, if i'm being fair. on the other hand, i hated everything about this season conceptually, and i hate that it vouched for christianity as the ~one true religion~ which again undermines kripke's original series. this is me being petty and i'm okay with that)

season 15 (see above. oh but i'm honestly surprised it managed to surpass my ire toward season 11. like honestly it's impressive because i hold a massive grudge toward 11 which should have been insurmountable. a feat has certainly been achieved here!)

anyway. i said this wasn't going to be long but then i just kept on writing and writing. because that's what i do. i never learn 😔 i'll end it here then. i intend to go back and rewatch seasons 1-5 now that i'm finally finished, so i'm looking forward to that. i want to see if my rose-tinted glasses that i've been looking at kripke era with are based on reality or simply a longing to return to less terrible times :P

#liveblogging: supernatural #oh my god o h my god <3 #i did indeed rank every season from 1 to 15 in here. for funsies #spn reviews #.txt #spn15

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