#we use it in such cool and interesting and mundane ways now!

[famewolf]

after I finished every story mission in ESO I thought to myself 'I think I'm going to replay Skyrim and use my old game guide and do every single quest in Skyrim'. and then Baldur's Gate 3 came out

[beatingdrumspouringwine]

Advice for beginner Hellenists

This isn't necessarily a post where I include a list of Gods, epithets, resources, and offerings for said Gods, but rather, hopefully soothing the worries of those of us who are starting the journey into the religion. As someone who was once in a religion that made other religions sound like something absolutely terrifying, my journey into Hellenism was once which was also... pretty terrifying, and this fear was mostly just from my own mind.

Anyways, my list of Advice:

You can literally just start praying. If you want to get more formal, you can absolutely get more formal, but you very much don't have to. I've definitely had my first prayers to some Gods be "hello, [God or Goddess's name], I want to worship You! Please lead me in my journey. Thanks!" I can promise you, the Gods are much kinder and more understanding than any of us fully know.

You can also just start worshiping in general. I feel like I've seen on occasion people worried about the Gods not "calling" to them. This is definitely not something that needs to happen pre-worship. If you find them interesting enough to pray to, then that in and of itself is enough.

In a similar vein, I wouldn't be too concerned about the idea of "signs". I feel like there's a tendency for folks to be incredibly worried about everything when first starting out - the behavior of a candle, the sighting of an animal, a strange dream, all can suddenly seem to take on jarring significance. But I can promise you, the Gods don't constantly give out signs, and frequently, these strange occurrences can be attributed to the mundane. When something comes from the Gods, you will know, trust me!

You don't have to worry too much about the idea of cleanliness, be it spiritual or physical. Khernips are cool, and I'd definitely recommend integrating them into your practice sooner or later. Hygiene is cool too! But if I'm being honest, we in the modern day are far more physically clean, and a lot less likely to regularly encounter the type of pollution that would have been encountered in ancient Greece.

The Gods will be at varying distances over the course of your worship. Sometimes, They will feel close, joyfully, burningly so. And sometimes, They will feel far, and prayers may even feel a bit futile. Both of those are perfectly okay, and neither of those will be permanent.

And, once again in a similar vein, you will likely not find yourself having constant, close mystical experiences with the Gods (i.e., conversations, visions, etc.). These experiences are rare and far between, and I would advise that you not make them a central part of your worship. They will come when the Gods deem you're ready for them, and you definitely won't be expecting it. Focus on the little things!

My final thing (for now) is that you also shouldn't put undue pressure on yourself to be doing some sort of big offering to the Gods. If that's what you can afford, that's great! But if not, fresh water, a small wildflower that you came across and picked*, or a small bit of a meal also count as a good offering!

And with that, my (much longer than I was previously planning on) list of things for beginners to keep in mind! A lot of this list is made up of things which I picked up along the way, and a lot of it is also made from my own personal hindsight being 20/20. I hope this is helpful to someone, and that it maybe soothes some of the (incredibly common) worries which so often accompany those who are venturing into the world of Hellenic polytheism!

[spuffybot]

Hey hi! I saw your post about Buffy being your favorite show and what do you mean "you know what’s happening with certain characters based on the colors they are wearing"? That's SO cool and something I've never noticed despite being such a tv nerd, do you have examples?

Ohhhh my gosh I love this question!!! There are a few characters who come to mind (Buffy & Willow) but I’m gonna talk about Spike because I love to talk about Spike.

So Spike is a character who very much has a uniform and this uniform is linked to his identity. It’s important to note that this is an identity he crafted. Because as we know Spike started out as William, a man who was sensitive and kind and who was unappreciated by his peers. When he became a vampire he wanted to shed that weakness and he uses his hair, accent, and clothing to reinforce the idea that he is a strong, tough, and evil being.

Spikes official uniform is perfectly slicked back bleach blonde hair, a red shirt, dirty black jeans, combat boots and his signature leather duster. This is Spikes armor. It’s how he embodies Spike and leaves William behind. The red shirt is also quite critically linked to his “evil era” as I’ll call it.

Throughout the show there are key moments where Spike deviates from this uniform and it’s always linked to a crises of identity.

The first moment I want to talk about is Spike in the Hawaiian shirt. He’s just been chipped, he’s relying on the Scoobies for survival, the core tenants of his identity (predator, killer, lover of Drusilla, leader of a vampire gang) have all been stripped from him against his will. He looks ridiculous wearing Xanders clothes because we know it’s ridiculous (at this point) for him to just be one of the Scoobies.

This is not unlike Tabula Rasa (which has a deliciously layered theme of loss of identity both literal with memory loss and metaphoric with each of the characters personal lives) where we see Spike once again out of uniform completely and lacking his identity. Now like I said on the surface he has truly lost his identity he has no memory of who he is. But it’s no surprise that he draws the (incorrect) conclusion that he’s a vampire with a soul on a mission of redemption because for the past few months he’s been playacting that role. After Buffy died Spikes entire identity was usurped by the need to live up to her memory. He babysits Dawn. He patrols with the Scoobies. He lives a mundane and neutered life because he thinks it’s what she would have wanted. Except now she’s back. And she’s opening up to him in ways she never has before. And she’s kissed him. And this is simultaneously the most incredible and terrifying thing to ever happen to Spike because it’s all he wants but he knows deep down, it’s not who he is. He has no soul. He has no remorse. He is not good.

Now let’s talk about some less overt examples. Because the wardrobe team does an incredible job of making subtle shifts to Spikes uniform that communicate his emotional arc.

In Crush, we see Spike swap the red shirt for a light blue shirt (blue is going to be a theme!) and lighter pants. By doing this he communicates to Buffy that he’s different than before. He’s lighter and softer. A man she could be interested in. But of course, just like the uniform of Spike is a performance, this too is a performance and one Buffy sees through quickly.

Blue comes back again in Smashed, an episode where once again Spike’s identity comes into play. He has been play acting at being a Scooby but we know that’s not who he really is. Now, suddenly he finds that he can hurt Buffy without activating his chip. All of a sudden he gets a glimpse of his old self and it infuses him with confidence and purpose. The blue shirt in this episode is deep and rich, verging on purple. By wearing this shirt it shows us how deeply conflicted Spike is. The war between his selfish love for Buffy and his feelings of being trapped and controlled by his chip (and his feelings for her) is coming to a head. And of course, by showing his teeth he gives Buffy the push she needs to sleep with him.

Ok so now we get to talk about my FAVORITE season when it comes to Spikes loss of identity and the use of his uniform to depict that: season 7.

When we first see Spike in season 7 something very important is happening: his hair is completely disheveled and curly, with his natural brown roots showing. This is the closest we have ever seen Spikes hair resemble Williams hair and this is important because as we know, Spike now has a soul and so he is closer now to William than he has been in over 100 years.

When Spike finally leaves the basement he is in a bright blue shirt and lacking his signature leather duster. The duster becomes a key plot point in season 7 with the introduction of Robin Wood (considering it was his mother’s jacket and Spike killed her.) Now, Wood is a controversial character but I personally think having Spike have to reckon with the consequences of his past all tied up in the metaphor of identity that is his leather jacket is chefs kiss.

Speaking of the leather jacket, in episode 15, Get It Done we see Spike put the jacket back on for the first time since Seeing Red. This is a moment of reclamation of identity. Souled Spike is listless and guilt ridden. And as the potentials point out, even a demon can kick his ass. When he puts that jacket back on he takes back a piece of who he is and starts on the journey of self discovery that we will see him continue in Angel season 5. Because ultimately it’s not Spike or William but the fusion of the two that make Spike who he is. AND TO BRING IT BACK FULL CIRCLE while Spike reclaims the jacket, he does not bring back the red shirt.

One other interesting thing about season 7 is that Spike is no longer as wiry and muscular as he was in season 6. Now, James Marsters has said that this was deliberate on his part because he was tired of being naked on the show and figured if he stopped working out (he has also said that he created his season 6 body deliberately upon being told he would be naked all the time) then they would stop making him take his shirt off. And while this is obviously not a deliberate choice on the part of the show, I do think it’s interesting that Spike becomes less angular and sharp after he gets his soul. He releases some of the hardness that defined him emotionally and physically. Which ties in nicely to this overarching theme of identity crises. It also hints at a certain level of toxicity on set if one of your lead actors feels the need to take drastic measures to protect themselves but that’s a whole different essay.

I hope this answers the question and I would loooove to hear what other people think about this. I know I didn’t touch on every Spike moment but I wanted to highlight ones I feel are critical parts of his narrative.

[reds-fluff-extravaganza]

Saiki x reader

Requested on ao3!

Saiki was never the type to show off or try to impress anyone, as he just wants to be seen as an average person. However, that slightly changed when he met you, and he’s not entirely certain as to why. Since you two started dating, which had surprised both of you for different reasons, he had felt a small urge to impress you, such as clearing away dark rain clouds to avoid getting caught in the rain, making cool fire shows with his pyrokinesis, among other things. While you are impressed by these, you just want him to do whatever makes him feel comfortable around you.

So when Saiki had asked you to go out with him over the weekend, you had planned to just do something a little more mundane than anything. You had met up with him at the park by your house, and you decided to walk around for a while, you just talking about whatever came to mind while he just listened, he occasionally nodded to show that he was still paying attention, but occasionally ‘speaking up’ in your mind.

As you two walked towards your house now, which you had suggested to go back to your house and play games or something, you glanced around as if to make sure no one was around, before you looked back at Saiki.

“Hey, Saiki?” He glanced over at you, giving you a look of ‘go on’ even though he already knows what you want to ask him. He didn’t need his telepathy to figure out what you were about to say next,

“I’m curious… I know how you feel about not standing out and such, so you know you don’t have to impress me, right?”

“Yes, I am aware. Even I don’t really know what is making me feel this way. It’s only when around you that I feel like this.” He shrugged.

“Really?” He only nodded in response, “interesting… but, I know I’ve said this before but… I just want you to do whatever makes you feel comfortable around me.” You told him as you walked up to the door of your house, unlocking and opening up the door before making your way inside, Saiki following behind you.

“There’s a piece of cake in the fridge if you want it.” You told him as you set your things down. You looked over at him, and noticed he had immediately accepted your offer of cake, which made you laugh a bit.

‘It’s like you know when I’m coming over’

“Of course. We always keep something sweet in the house, if not for me, then definitely for you.” You then walked over to the couch, grabbing your controller before sitting down, Saiki sitting beside you now.

A few hours have passed as the two of you played video games, while Saiki was reading manga, though occasionally he would glance over at what you were doing, or give you advice if you needed help with certain bosses or other difficult tasks within the game.

As the two of you sat together, just spending time together doing mundane stuff like this, it only made Saiki like you and appreciate you more than he had before. He doesn’t really get to do mundane stuff like this, as someone usually needed his help, or just wanted to be around him despite just wanting to be alone.

‘Y/n.’

“Hmm?” You glanced over at him as you rest your head on his shoulder.

‘Thank you.’

“For what?”

‘Showing me that it’s okay to do mundane things together with you. It makes me feel… a little normal.’

“Oh! Well, you’re welcome.” You smiled faintly, then glanced over at the window.

“Oh shoot, it’s really that late?”

‘You’re just now noticing?’

“Well, yeah, I’ve been paying more attention to both you and my game.”

‘True. Fortunately it is the weekend, and neither of us have anything else to do, yes?’

“Yeah, you’re right. You can stay over here if you want, I wouldn’t mind.”

‘I’ll have to go grab a few things,’

“That’s fine, I’ll be here. Besides, you know my parents/guardian wouldn’t mind, they like you.”

‘I know.’

“Go get your things, and we can make some sweets or something,” Saiki nodded and the next thing you knew, he was gone. You laughed a bit, going back to your game until he came back. He set his things in your room for the time being.

The two of you then proceeded to make cookies/cake/whatever other sweet you want, making a mess in the process, but it was fun. After cleaning up, you two ended up watching tv/reading manga/playing games until you got tired and ended up going to bed.

[honey-flustered]

Too Quiet (Fluff)

YoungDad!Steve Harrington x YoungMom!Reader

Summary: You and Steve finally get a moment of peace until you’re reminded that you’re parents of two rambunctious toddlers and a puppy. Sometimes, quiet’s never a good sign.

A/N: This fluffy thought came to me because I have a toddler niece and whenever she gets quiet we know she’s never up to any good. This also goes out to the parents who just need a little break from time to time. (Note: this has also been in my drafts for so long)

Word: 1.6k+

You appreciated the mundane. Boring can be good sometimes. Like for instance, neither you or Steve had any work that needed to be done. No errands, no chores, no 8-12-16 hour shifts. It was just a simple day where the two of you got to relax.

You found yourselves so comfortable, in fact, you hadn’t recognized that you were laid on the couch with your back against his chest, scrolling on your phone until he randomly cleared his throat.

You jolt up, looking back at him. “Whoa! When’d you get here?”

He looks up from his book, reading glasses slipping to the bridge of his nose. “I sacrifice my need to get up and pee for like 2 hours just to be your body pillow. My legs are asleep.”

You roll yourself around, facing him and wrapping your arms around his neck, “I’m sorry I’ve ignored you. It’s just so nice having these moments of downtime.”

He kisses your nose. “I understand, love. I’m really glad we don’t always have to talk to enjoy each other’s company. I like the comfortable silence.”

“Me too,” You grin. “Sometimes, I don’t always want to talk. Sometimes, I just want to scroll through my phone or eat a whole pot of mac ‘n’ cheese all by myself without the necessary judgment.”

“Weird way of bringing that up…but I get it.” Steve chuckles. “And you know what—since we’re throwing things out there—I’m so over people believing that being ‘boring’ is synonymous to being ‘old’. I mean, if I prefer staying home over going to parties it doesn’t mean I’m not still King Steve.”

“Exactly! Boring is the new fun! Like vanilla sex…it isn’t so bad.”

“It’s fantastic! We don’t always need the theatrics. It’s just so extra to have freaky sex all the time. Um, waiter, I’d like vanilla sex with a side of missionary please.”

You snort at his dorkiness. “I have to admit that I don’t always care to drink when we go out. I don’t always want to be a tipsy ditz all the time. Sometimes when I’m out with my friends, they make me feel bad about ordering just wine so I just lie and say that I’m drinking vodka when it’s only water in my glass. I’m just really good at pretending I’m drunk.”

“You’re goddamn Meryl Streep and Viola Davis combined when you act drunk, baby. I could use some pointers. I don’t always want to drink either but the boys…” Steve groans. “It’s always ‘Steve, chug down this beer’ and never ‘Steve, would you like some chamomile tea.’ I don’t drink tea but I just might start if someone offers me.”

“I’d offer you since you’re taking interest. Would you like me to make you some now?”

“Maybe later,” Steve curls his arms around you tight. “I like talking about being boring with you.”

“Yeah, I could be boring with you all the time. Like if I decided to crochet some shit for the hell of it, you wouldn’t judge.”

“Course I wouldn’t. I think you’d be the best crocheter ever and that’s saying a lot because there are a lot of great ones out there. I know this because I watched a youtube tutorial of crochet making…in full. I don’t plan to make a not one piece but I watched it anyway because I had time,” Steve shrugs. “And sometimes, even when I have plenty of time, I don’t always feel like styling my hair.”

You gasp, putting a hand to your chest. “Not the hair!”

“I can be too cool for cool.” He smiles smugly.

“I wanna wear a oversized clothes.” You rush out.

“You deserve it! I’ve seen the kind of clothes you’ve had to wear. Super tight. Not that it’s a bad thing, of course. I don’t always wanna dress in the latest fashion either.”

“I hate going to the beach nowadays. I get sand in all of my crevices and I end up finding sand around the house even weeks after.”

“I hate driving too fast.”

“I like gardening.”

“I like socks with sandals.”

“I’ve been leaning into buying those portraits with the words on them that say things like “home is where the heart is” or some corny thing like that”

“Eww, you mean the ‘live, laugh, love’ crap,” He laughs. “I’m sorry but we’re not that old.”

“Oh, please, I’m sure you’ve got worse.”

Steve thinks for a moment. “I guess I’ve always wanted to ask an employee if they’re working hard or hardly working.”

“Oh, nooo!” You cringe. “That’s horrible. Do you want them to hate you?”

“Alright, so I’m that kind of old, too.” He admits defeat.

“I think mom jeans aren’t as bad as everyone makes them to be.”

“I think dad jokes are the epitome of comedy and I’ve brushed up on some.”

“Ooo, tell me one!” You beam excitedly.

“Okay. What do you call a nose with no body?”

“What?”

“Nobody knows."

You both join in laughter which soon dies down when the gears in each of your heads began to turn. The two of you stare in space, speechless and reflective of the conversation.

“Although, it is a bit quiet,” You say, breaking the silence. “Don’t you think?”

“Yeah, too quiet.”

“Not boring, though.”

“No, not boring. It’s a good boring if it is. But it’s like…something’s missing. Like we’re forgetting something important.”

“Or someone important?”

“Some…ones…” Steve says in a reflective tone, then his eyes bug out and so do yours as you come to the same realization.

The two of you exchanged looks and simultaneously yell. “Our babies?!”

The two of you jump up from the couch and heading in any direction the two believed the boys were in. You checked the pantry, he checked in the bottom cabinets. He checked the in the boys closet, you checked underneath the bed.

“How could have forgotten about them for two hours?!” Steve exclaims. “We’re terrible people! They’re literally all the reasons why we’re so old and boring now so how can we have forgotten?!”

“They’ve handled themselves just fine alone, babe.” You say trying to comfort him.

“You and I both know that when it gets quiet it’s never a good sign. They’re like Max from Max and Ruby and you know how sociopathic that bunny could be. Little Baby Blue hasn’t barked in 2 hours either. What could they have possibly done to him?” Steve says while running his hands through his hair.

The sounds of giggling from the master bedroom is enough to shake you and Steve to your core. The boys were for sure in there and possibly doing something that will cost you a lot of money to repair.

“For all we know they’ve just created armagedon in there,” You say, darting your eyes between the bedroom door and Steve. “Whatever happens, whatever we see…we must prepare ourselves. Some things may be damaged beyond repair and most likely there will be a lot of cleaning up to do…but we mustn’t take out our anger on the children. They’re children who are simply practicing their exploration and discovery skills.”

“Easy for you to say. You weren’t the one who found your game console submerged in a toilet bowl,” He clutches his chest. “You don’t know my pain.”

You groan, hearing more laughter from the boys. “What do think it is this time? Paint on the walls? The forbidden mudpie cake? Fisher Price Guillotine?”

“I don’t know. That’s the terrifying part. They always come up with the darnedest things,” Steve holds out his hand. “Hold it please, I’m not ready for this horror show.”

You swallow hard, taking his hand. Opening the masters bedroom, you see the twins with their thumbs in their mouths watching Saturday cartoons on the large bed. Little Baby Blue is wedged between the boys, relaxing as they both pet him with their free hands. Their eyes immediately dart to the two of you standing in the doorway like you’d just interrupted a nice moment.

“Mommy.” Oslo smiles and runs up to you.

“Daddy!” Bear runs into Steve’s arms.

“My boys,” You say in relief. “Mommy and Daddy are so sorry for not checking on you. We were very, very tired.”

“Das kay, mommy,” Oslo says, snuggling into your tummy. “Blue’s here with us.”

“Blue even gave us some things to eat.” Bear points to one side of the bed which was full of snacks from the pantry.

“I was wonderful where the Oreos went.” Steve says.

You pet Blue. “That’s a good boy! Maybe next time go for the healthier options in the fridge.” The dog huff and you raise your hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll cut you some slack. I know how hard it is watching two toddlers.”

“I’m going to whip us up some lunch and then we’ll go to the park for family fun day. How’s that sound, boys?” Steve says.

The boys jump up and down excitedly with Steve hyping up their mood. “Ok, but you have to go and get ready real quick. Think you two can do that like the big boys you are?”

“Yes!” They shout at once.

“Go on then after come down for the famous Harrington men’s sandwich.”

The boys run out of the room, Blur chasing after them.

You lean in to whisper to your husband, still in shock. “Everything’s neat. The boys were actually angels the entire day. Thanks to babysitter Blue.”

“I guess those two were having a relaxed day, too.” Steve quips.

Oslo enters the room, tugging your sweater. “Mommy, can you help me find my favorite sho”

“You mean the light up ones?”

Oslo nods and you take his hand, “Come on, we’ll look together.”

“Then, I’ll help Bear get dressed. We’re going to beat you guys!” Steve teases.

You all laugh enjoying the friendly competition. Although, you enjoyed the times where things get quiet. You couldn’t trade the moments of chaos and fun with your family for the world.

[inexplicifics]

Hi the fashion designer in training again, you posted my og ask and it got me thinking about it again (as if i ever stop) and I was thinking about how different monsters would be categorized and how that might change the fashion sense of things too. For example, theres humanoids, animal adjacent, insect adjacent (broadly), and plant adjacent.

Humanoids, to me, would be creatures/monsters that have little to no animal, insect, or plant otherness, such as trolls, drowners, bruxa, even sirens (even though they overlap into animal). Witchers obviously have magical uses from their kills but from a fashion/mundane perspective a lot of what these creatures provide would be equivalent to that of what a human might. Now, there is a lot of real world history that is sensitive and triggering about the use of human remains, especially in recent times of widespread slavery that has a lot of themes of cannibalism, farming practices, and lack of humanity even after death, such as leather tanning for clothes, the use of human remains in parchment (as parchment is made from animal remains and not wood or plants, that’s what differentiates it from paper), and more. This is why anything that leans more human than monster (such as a bruxa, vampire, succubus, etc) I don’t think I’ll touch with a ten foot pole unless it is to deal with their unique remains. Creatures that lean more monster such as trolls get thrown through the wringer though.

Trolls specifically have really thick skin, which in a tanning process would take… forever to turn into leather but the results would be potentially amazing. Thick strong leather would last for centuries if treated right, I have no doubt in my mind that troll leather would make fantastic saddles, boots, furniture — awful clothes but the other implications mean a lot to me because it might just make excellent armor.

Sirens, as the middleman between humanoids and animal adjacent, would be excellent to discuss scales. There is a company that currently helps with fish scale waste and uses them to make clothes that are naturally soft and have added benefits of being moisture managing (helps with retaining moisture in skin in dry environments) and also is naturally anti-odor! This is incredibly cool for the fashion world and I could see it being a real thing for the witcher world… if they had the time to do it, as I fear modern technology would need to be replaced with magic and I’m not sure mages, researcher included, would be interested in going out of their way to collect siren scales to create fabric (unless they could imbue it with magic? 🤔 A potential concept to long lasting charmed clothes) So very interesting but not as plausible in a fantasy world.

But! Reptilian scales are highly sought after in fashion designs and are not as wasteful as fish scales. The Witcher basilisk is reptilian in nature, which would make for excellent clothes, anything in fashion you can think of in scales you can bet it exists. Scales are widely loved and used even today, so basilisk skin? Oh yeah, it’s up there for fashion. Even says so in various wikis 😉.

Animal adjacent clothing will look a lot like what we have for animals now, adjusted as needed. Basilisks are large so their hides would be easy to convert to many items, whereas snake skin is small and you would need several to make a significant piece of cloth. This would make it far more valuable. Not to mention the claws, claws which are used in various forms. From clasps on just about everything, to jewelry, to decor, to piercings, I know a basilisk claw would be on a noble’s cloak or belt, I just know it.

This translates to, as mentioned before, wargs and other furred animals. The larger, the better, the more you can take, the better, the more *dangerous* to prove your worth, the better. A bear claw is nothing compared to a warg fang, and so on and so forth. I haven’t even gotten started on the length of griffin feathers and what that would do for fashion. No one understands what length in natural materials means to me except for other people who’s special interests are fashion, fantasy worlds, and survival skills. I cannot explain *length of feathers* in gowns. In cloaks. In *jewelry.* But that’s a post for a little old me who isn’t up at 1am on a school night.

Enjoy my midnight ramblings, I realize that this got out of hand and is uh… not really well connected in terms of thoughts but I hope it made sense to people who aren’t deep in the trenches like me lmao

Please imagine me sitting here with my chin on my hands, staring at you with hearts in my eyes as I listen to your interesting and informative midnight ramblings.

[dufferpuffer]

I have such a pet peeve for wizards smoking cigarettes. Such a long history of tobacco use in England - chewing, sniffing, smoking in all sorts of different formats... wizarding society aesthetic is keeping alive old things that went out of fashion for muggles.

But people shove 1880's Coffin Nails into wizard mouths. Why? Only for muggle reasons: To muggles cigarettes seem like a cheap drink, dirty and casual to scratch an itch - and thus to muggles seem aloof and self-gratifying and cool.

I'm not saying cigarettes can't work with characters... but are we saying tobacco, some mundane foreign plant, has infiltrated Wizarding society in the super modern format of a cigarette - in symbolic ways Fellytones haven't even managed...? Even with their GREATLY expanded botanical knowledge...?

I'm not saying Wizards - especially muggleborns, half-bloods or rebellious Purebloods - can't smoke cigarettes. I just think there are some more interesting options, based on their situation and reason to take up the habit. (Sorta wanna do a bigger post on this lol)

For example - Severus smoking cigs because his dad/entire neighborhood of Muggle factory workers did? Cool. How about Severus smoking a pipe because thats more common for Wizards - and he really despises appearing like a Muggle? He cant kick the tobacco habit though, even though the smell of tobacco in general is Muggle-esque? A potions store of more interesting things to put in his pipe... yet he sticks with tobacco?

A character I can imagine actually smoking honest-to-god cigarettes is Aberforth Dumbledore. He was a rambunctious youth, hanging around bars and getting into fights, right when Coffin Nails were having a boom of popularity in English Muggle society - 1880s/1890s. There's no way that little dirty rebel wasn't smoking and drinking underage (though I doubt there was an 'age' to either activity back then, I'll have to look it up though) I can see him now, in his 100's, still importing cigarettes into Hogsmeade - just for himself. The Hogs Head has a distinct smell of tobacco, despite Wizards generally having better things to smoke in their pipes.

[positivelybeastly]

From the Ashes Infinity Comics #16: Pygmalion, Part 2

Let's go. I'm eager to talk about this one, because it was good.

Ahhhh, I do love it when comic books are on the nose - and I genuinely mean that. Subtext may be for cowards, as Garth Marenghi once loudly stated, but I also feel like it's just. Too subtle, for most people. You really do just end up with a load of people who don't get the message because it wasn't loud enough, who are there because the franchise is cool and not because they internalise the messages of it, and that's how you end up with racist X-Men or Star Trek fans.

By all means, get into the franchise just because it's cool! But let's engage with the themes and the narrative and the meaning, too, yeah? Trust me, it makes it better.

Anyway, the Uncanny! The adjective applied to the X-Men most commonly since their debut in 1963, the concept of the uncanny has its roots in German philosophy, and specifically the work of Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph Schelling in 1837, but Beast and his mimic here correctly identify that it was popularised by Sigmund Freud's theories about psychotherapy and the human psyche, especially his 1919 essay literally titled "The Uncanny."

That being said, my first exposure to this word and its deeper meaning was in relation to Gothic fiction, and the use of supernatural figures like the vampire, in my English Literature class, where the following definition was perhaps a bit more apt: a. : seeming to have a supernatural character or origin : eerie, mysterious. b. : being beyond what is normal or expected : suggesting superhuman or supernatural powers. an uncanny sense of direction.

As a literary trope, the examination of the uncanny, liminality, and the creation of transgressive works exploring the human fascination with the taboo and what falls outside the bounds of 'normal', that which is considered both attractive and terrifying, is a very old human past time.

The X-Men, as mutants, were always meant to have this quality, though how much a writer wishes to touch on it will always vary. Compare and contrast Hickman's use of the uncanny to make Krakoa seem alien, disturbing, and strange, versus how very mundane a lot of especially late 00s X-Men was, with Utopia's focus on very War on Terror politics, and you can see just how different a vibe you get when you have a writer genuinely interested in exploring what makes mutants actually uncanny. Morrison vs. Whedon is another very good example of this dichotomy, imo. Morrison's X-Men are uncanny, and Whedon's are not. Both are good, but they have a very different feel as a result.

Anyway, enough waffling on about literary analysis!

Taking Ben Percy and Jed MacKay's lead, this version of Beast is very much more in line with his 90s or 00s self than the Defenders version he's meant to be closer to - 1985 Beast did not talk like this. That being said, Beast's use of affectation, facade, and code-switching to fit in means that it isn't really a breaking of canon, it just indicates that Hank feels that his goofball persona would be very ill-fitting for this stage of his life, and given the stresses he's under, I can't say he's necessarily wrong.

Browerian mimicry, otherwise known as automimicry, is a form of animal mimicry in which an animal will commonly imitate itself in such a way that it confuses and deflects attacks, i.e. a fish manifesting eye spots away from its actual eyes so as to misdirect a predator. But, as Hank points out, the form of mimicry on display here is somewhat more complex and involved . . .

And now we come to the first hint about what the actual conflict is going to be here - just how much of this mimic's thought processes are its own, and how much are Hank's? After all, while Hank has, historically born up under immense pressure, stress, and racial hatred before, that hasn't always been the case.

In Uncanny X-Men #8, he was one of the first mutants to experience racial hatred and a near lynching for the use of his powers in an altruistic manner, an experience which led him to nearly leave the X-Men. While he grew out of this misanthropy, it's interesting to see this trait potentially return in light of his inner conflict over his inner goodness and morality - it makes sense that Hank would question if he's only a good person when he's treated well, given his lack of faith in his intrinsic goodness and growing belief that he cannot be trusted.

So, we have to ask if this sentiment is the mimic, Hank, or both, especially given how sharp Beast is in this issue, and in MacKay's X-Men #4. Even an older, allegedly more morally degraded Beast, was more polite to similarly ignorant masses in Rosenberg's Uncanny X-Men, and yet, in this issue, Hank refers to them very unflatteringly, to say nothing of his somewhat brusque manner during his fight with the Upstarts . . .

"We're." "We."

Interesting.

I think this issue might well have given Psylocke more dialogue than all of Jed MacKay's X-Men run thus far. That being said, I'm not massively worried about her prominence and treatment, given that what she's gotten has been eminently capable, and she does have a solo series coming out soon, so it's not as though she's being particularly hard done by, I think.

Blankslate. I actually rather like that. It has a very pleasing simplicity to it, and it's both apt and unique, which is hard, given the number of existing shapeshifters that the Marvel Universe plays host to.

I do like that the instant Psylocke saw that Scott was considering field deployment of a vulnerable young moment, she locked that shit down, ASAP. We aren't having a repeat of Utopia's X-Force here, Scoot. Again, pulling at the relative lack of play Kwannon's gotten in MacKay's X-Men thus far, it's nice to see her so assertive and able to speak up against what she perceives as Scott's utilitarian tendencies.

Also, Hank continues to be incapable of sitting on a chair properly.

I really have to question what the fuck Scott thought was going to happen. Were you even listening to what Hank and Kwannon were saying, Scooter?

Hank really isn't used to having an outer monologue. It throws him, to hear the nasty things he thinks about himself spoken aloud, finished, and not left unanswered and unquestioned in his own mind.

It's also very interesting to see this fear explicitly acknowledged in even this version of Hank, given that this worry about rejection, and the ensuing bluster and humiliation, led to his violent reaction to the garbage intervention in Uncanny X-Men #600. He decided to leave rather than be made to leave, deciding that the X-Men had already elected to make him leave the team (not an unreasonable conclusion, given how determinedly shitty they treated him up until that point, and after it), and in so doing, made his worries manifest.

I've also talked before about the significance of moments where Hank doesn't talk. As a persistent prattler, it's worth noting his silences.

A Markov chain is, essentially, a statistical model of real-world processes, that often describes a sequence of possible events in which the probability of each event depends only on the state attained in the previous event, i.e. the prediction of a specific outcome after a number of specific events. Hence, a probability chain.

Here, Hank appears to have inputted data relating to his own life experiences, and the data available to him about the life experiences of his previous self, as well as, likely, his alternate reality counterparts, in an effort to discern his likelihood of turning out the same way.

While this version of Hank has substantially reduced life experiences compared to his older self, he still appears to be well versed in statistical modelling and probability mathematics. If he is behind his Prime self, it's likely only going to be for so long, given that this level of mathematics and modelling was well beyond his 1985 self, who was notoriously rusty at even his own chosen field of biophysics and genetic manipulation in New Defenders, having neglected his scientific studies in favour of, well, fun.

Prions are misfolded proteins that induce a similar misfolded state in normal variants of the same protein, leading to cellular death. Your most likely common experience of the word may be related to prion neurodegenerative diseases affecting humans and animals, such as Creutzfeldt–Jakob's disease, kuru, and mad cow disease.

While this is very impressive science, I think it skirts around the fact that Hank is essentially working on a gun that can kill him and reset him back to a more 'pleasing' version of the same person if someone he deems worthy of entrusting the gun to decides he needs resetting. This is horrific and exactly the kind of self-hating science that Hank would only ever conscience being used on him and only him, because he's like that.

This is the kind of thing that Simon Williams or Abigail Brand would beat his ass for doing, and then destroy, because no, Hank, do NOT keep the 'mind wipe me when you don't like me' serum around, it's horrible that you think so unkindly of yourself, you idiot!

I like Hank's weird little science lamp. The man can't just have a simple lava lamp like the rest of us, can he?

Oy vey.

To be continued . . . in another post, because I ran out of images right at the end, again.

[teine-mallaichte]

A 2am peice to add to my Campfire Snippets Series 😅 using the prompt "first kiss" from a bingo card.

Basically a bit of slightly angsty kind of pre-fenders for @dadrunkwriting

The camp was quieter than usual, as if the world outside their small circle of light had been muffled by the hush of winter’s approach. The others had long since retired to their tents, leaving Anders and Fenris alone by the dying embers of the fire.

The forest around them was dark, the air crisp, and the night sky seemed somehow closer - an expanse of glittering points stretching endlessly above.

Anders was gazing upward, his eyes reflecting the starlight, his posture relaxed as he sat on a fallen log. He looked almost mesmerised. Fenris did his best to appear uninterested, idly watching the edge of the camp. But from time to time, his gaze would slip toward Anders, lingering on the soft shape of the mage’s profile before darting away again. It was maddening, how aware he was of Anders, how the silence pressed down on him - like it wanted him to admit something he wasn’t ready to name.

“They look brighter tonight,” Fenris said at last, the words sliding out before he’d fully decided to speak.

At the sound of Fenris’ voice, Anders turned. There was a faint smile at the corners of his mouth, lit gently by the fire’s glow. “They do,” he agreed softly. “It’s the cold air,” he explained, looking upward again. “It makes the stars look sharper… as if they’re closer.”

Fenris followed Anders’ gaze. He’d never thought much about the sky before Anders had started talking about it. But the mage had this irritating ability to make the most mundane thing seem interesting recently.

Turning his gaze away, he tried to feign disinterest, his mind was hardly on the stars anyway. “I suppose the cold is good for something,” he muttered. He hated the cold—the dampness of it, the way it seeped into his bones and made every inch of his body ache with a low, constant discomfort. The winters in Tevinter had been cold, but they were dry. Frost and ice, not this rain and... Wet.

And yet, he didn’t move away from the fire, didn’t retreat into his tent like he likely should. He stayed, sitting a little too close to Anders, watching the mage with an intensity that he couldn’t deny. This fixation was becoming problematic... Distracting.

The tension between them had been building for months now. Subtle touches that lingered too long. Glances that spoke volumes without saying a word. What had once being arguments and biting sarcasm had evolved into an almost playful banter that had started innocently, but had taken on an edge of something more in recent weeks. Both of them had been dancing around it - neither willing to take the final step. Varric and Isabela had even started placing bets, they were not even being subtle about it.

He shifted uncomfortably, his chest tightening as the silence stretched on. Usually he welcomed the quiet, but not tonight. Tonight his thoughts felt tangled, spiraling around Anders without distraction.

"Did I ever tell you the legend of the Dravo constellation?" Anders says suddenly, gesturing towards a cluster of stars.

Fenris frowned as he squinted at the sky, no matter how many times the mage insisted there were pictures and shapes up there he could not see them. "You stated that a hero tricked the dragon. You did not provide... Details."

Anders chuckled, the sound warm against the cool night. "Right. Details. Well the story first that the hero defeated the dragon with biting but a lute."

"A lute?" Fenris echoed skeptically.

Anders grinned, leaning forward slightly as he relished in Fenris’ disbelief. “Yes, a lute. I know, it sounds ridiculous.”

"It is ridiculous mage," Fenris looked at the patch of sky again, *still no pictures*. "We have fought a dragon. Noone could defeat such a beast with a feable instrument."

Anders laughed softly, clearly amused by Fenris' skepticism. "Well, not just any lute. It was enchanted, of course."

Fenris rolled his eyes, "of course."

Anders leaned back slightly, eyes glinting with mischief. “ A bit of enchanted music, and poof, dragon vanquished. What could possibly go wrong?”

Fenris couldn't help but smirk at the absurdity of it.

"Maybe it was the song that made the dragon see the error of its ways," Anders teased, leaning in just a little too much, his breath warm against Fenris' ear. "You know, make it question its life choices."

"Indeed," Fenris muttered dryly, his heart racing slightly, "I am certain that dragons have existential crises regularly."

Anders’ laughter softened, and for a moment, there was nothing but the crackle of the fire and the distant rustle of trees in the night breeze. The silence that followed wasn’t heavy or awkward, but it was charged in a way that made Fenris shift his position slightly, as if the air had thickened around them.

Anders was too close. It would be almost effortless to make any touch seen accidental. He tore his eyes away. He was being ridiculous. This strange obsession, the urge, it needed to go.

He hated it.

Hated how every glance made his skin prickle. How every laugh from Anders made his chest tighten. How every subtle, lingering touch made his breath catch. It was maddening. It was dangerous. And yet...

He couldn’t look away.

Anders shifted slightly, the firelight catching his eyes, making them shimmer as he spoke. Fenris want hearing him anymore though, he'd hardly even registered that the mage was still talking.

And then it happened.

Before Fenris could stop himself, before his mind could reason his way out of it, he was leaning in. It was fast, impulsive, and utterly beyond his control. His lips brushed against Anders’ with a raw intensity that stole the air from his lungs. The seemed to show, the world suddenly unbearably still. His heart thundered in his chest, his pulse erratic as he pulled away almost immediately. He could feel the heat rising in his face, a rush of embarrassment mingling with something far more dangerous.

Anders, equally startled, sat still for a heartbeat longer before his hand instinctively reached up to touch his lips. He blinked at Fenris, wide-eyed, as if trying to process what had just happened. The words, the apology, the explanations were all hovering just on the edge of his tongue, but neither of them spoke.

Fenris opened his mouth to say something -;nything - but found no words. He couldn’t bring himself to make any of it real, not yet. Not with the storm of emotions whirling inside him, not with the flood of confusion, desire, and dread that tangled in his mind.

Instead, he stood abruptly. He had to move, had to escape the intensity of the moment before it swallowed him whole.

"Fenris..." Anders’ voice was soft, but the way it caught on his name made the elf pause. He could feel Anders’ gaze on him, the mage’s steady presence anchoring him even from a distance.

"I... Apologise. It was a mistake," Fenris stiffened, not turning to look, "I... Should leave."

He couldn’t do this. He wasn’t sure what this even was - whether it was something he had wanted, or something born from some twisted mix of guilt, loneliness, or just a need to escape the ever-tightening cage of his own mind.

Either way, it didn’t matter.

He couldn’t let it happen again.

He took a step away from the fire, and then another, his movements stiff and before he had fully processed the action the campfire was nothing but a distant glow.

Anders perspective here

[kaidoslastbraincell]

Dabi would burn the whole world to the ground if it meant you got to live; for a world without you is not worth living in at all. (it's a long one sorry not sorry)

readers quirk: healer's breath - you can take the injuries and pain of others for yourself and your body converts it into carbon dioxide to exhale - the more severe the problem, the longer it takes to expelled and that pain is yours until it's all gone..

pairings: dabi x fem!reader

genre: slight angst, fluff (nevermind all angst with a little fluff)

warnings: mild drug use (weed), character death (reader - I'M SO SORRY)

recommended song: gasoline by halsey

_________________________________

You were a normal person. Sure you had a quirk but you weren't a hero or a villain. And Dabi loved the normalcy he could experience whenever he was with you. He wanted to keep it that way...to protect you from the hell that came with being on either side of that coin. To protect the nights spent dancing to soft music in the kitchen of your tiny apartment while dinner cooked. The early mornings spent watching you rush around as your get ready for your shifts at the hospital. For someone so seemingly ordinary...to him...to him you were magnificent in every way.

But he should have known this peace wouldn't last for long. Shigaraki had found out about you and looked into your quirk and now he was interested. There wasn't a healer in the League yet but he wanted there to be. As much as Dabi played by his own rules and wanted to keep the two of you apart, he didn't want to get you killed.

That's how you ended up where you are today. You hadn't wanted to join the League...but with Shigaraki threatening both you and the man you love, you felt you had little choice. Dabi hated every second you were around the rest of the villains. Toga's tendency to crave the blood of people she took a liking to was unnerving. The others were tolerant of you but it was clear they weren't happy you were there any more than the two of you. Kurogiri, Compress and Spinner were a little more welcoming but wary of bringing a civilian into the group. You weren't desensitised to all the violence and it was evidently taking its toll on you. Dabi kept you away as often as he could, taking you back to your apartment and trying to maintain the mundane peace you felt in each other's presence. But he could see the spark slowly leaving your eyes with every mission that spread your quirk too thin. You could take away people's injuries and pain, your body converting them into carbon dioxide for you to exhale. But the more severe the issue, the longer it took for you to expel...and until it was all gone, that pain was yours to bear.

That night, you writhed in agony beside Dabi in the bed you often shared. Magne had received broken ribs during the attack at the training camp, and during a brief confrontation with the green-haired boy, you'd taken some of his pain too (not that the others needed to know that). It had your temperature rising and tears streaming down your face. Dabi felt hopeless, there was nothing he could do but hold you and soothe the ache in your soul with comforting words and gentle touches.

"I could kill him..." he muttered angrily, "I could kill him and we'd be free. We all would."

Your grip on the front of his shirt tightened.

"It's not worth the risk." Your voice came out a strained wheeze.

Later that night, when Dabi had long since fallen asleep, you pried yourself from his arms and curled up in a blanket on your small balcony. A blunt hung loosely from your lips as you played around with your lighter, the cool evening air aiding your high temperature. Taking a drag, you held your breath for a few seconds before sighing the smoke through your nose, some of the pain washing away in the process. You had a long day ahead of you tomorrow. There was no need for you to be there really...but Shigaraki had requested your presence nonetheless. Perhaps as backup? Or maybe just to make the League seem untouchable. What did that crusty bitch have planned?

Morning came; you and Dabi were on your way to the hide-out, your feet dragging with the exhaustion of shouldering so much pain. Your lover's arm settled firmly around your waist, supporting your weight.

"If we're lucky, this won't take long," Dabi muttered from your side.

When you made it to the bar, Bakugo was secured to a chair in the middle of the room, Shigaraki in front of him and the rest of the league behind. You quickly scanned the blonde and upon finding him injury-free, you breathed a sigh of relief.

"How are you feeling, y/n?" Kurogiri asked softly when he saw you.

"I'm fine. It'll pass."

The student's eyes immediately shifted to you, a look of confusion crossing his features. He frowned and you offered a strained smile (one that you hoped would be reassuring).

Shigaraki went on one of his monologues and you tuned out the entire thing, trying to breathe through the pain still plaguing your body. There was some shouting from the boy's part, followed by more talking.

"If we want him to join us, we need to treat him as an equal," the crusty boy grinned.

Dabi expressed his reluctance, then Twice, and eventually, everyone was refusing to be the one to release the chains. With a groan, you stepped out of Dabi's hold and to Shigaraki's side.

"I'll do it. He's just a kid."

As you moved closer to him, he watched you carefully. He didn't sense any kind of threat when you were near.

"Who are you?" he mumbled.

"No one important," you whispered back.

Your desire to remain anonymous was quickly disregarded by the League's leader.

"Allow me to introduce our team's healer," he smirked, "y/n l/n!"

"Healer? Those quirks are extremely rare..." Bakugo growled.

"Would you like a demonstration? I'm sure she'd be more than happy to put your doubts to rest," a maniacal laugh echoed through the room.

Dabi stepped forward, a hand roughly landing on Shigaraki's shoulder. "You know how much strain she's already under after yesterday," he hissed.

The crusty man side-eyed him, bushing his hand off.

"She'll be fine. Spinner, bring me a knife."

Within seconds, a small knife was in Shigaraki's hands, and he was approaching you and Bakugo. He grabbed the boy's arm, keeping one finger away from the skin, and pulled it towards himself.

"Tomura," your voice was low with warning.

"Shut up and do your job."

The knife was dragged along his limb, deep enough to draw a decent amount of blood, and the blonde hissed in pain, trying to pull his arm out of the bruising hold.

"Hold still, wouldn't wanna nic a vein now would we...go ahead y/n."

With a sigh (you'd been doing that a lot lately), your hand replaced Shigaraki's, much more gently than the former had been. With each inhale, Bakugo found his pain lessening, but he saw the way your brow furrowed and tears gathered in the corners of your eyes.

"It's okay," you murmured, "this pain is my burden now."

"Wh-what!?" his eyes widened and from his peripheral, he saw the fire quirk user look away, his eyes sad.

You backed away once the wound had fully healed, your hands shaking vigorously. You turned to Shigaraki, an icy glare taking over your features.

"Happy?"

He clapped his hands, eyes wide. "Extremely. Great job as always!"

Before anyone else could speak, there was a loud knock on the door. Everyone glanced around awkwardly. Dabi stepped closer to you, reaching and gently pulling you behind him. And in seconds, the door was busted open with heroes flooding in. Your boyfriend pushed you back and you stumbled into the arms of none other than the man you loathed the most. All Might had taken hold of Bakugo, pushing him closer to the door, but his eyes met yours frantically. Once the chaos began, you heard his voice, slightly panicked.

"Wait! The girl! You need to save the girl!"

A shiver ran down your spine when you felt cold, dry hands wrapped around your wrist and throat.

(comment for part 2 hehe)

[chippedshake]

Ponyboy's narration

I think everyone in the fandom is well aware of the fact that Ponyboy is an incredibly unreliable narrator, but what I thought I would do is look at it a bit more in depth, seeing what particular methods Ponyboy uses to twist the reader's perspective. I was also originally going to say why I thought he was such an unreliable narrator, but then this snowballed into something much longer than I originally planned for so I'm making it another post

For simplicity's sake, we'll assume he's reliable when it comes to actual facts, because if we didn't, well that's a whole other can of worms I don't particularly feel like opening because analytically it's not very interesting (at least for me). So let's assume that it's only when it comes to people's personalities and thoughts that he diverges a bit.

Now, I started out with a very clear idea of how Ponyboy influenced the reader's ideas. There were two main ways: stating his opinion as fact, and placing information in convenient places that made the reader subconsciously change their opinion.

Then I started analysing and... well, things weren't quite as clear-cut.

A bit of background: I was going to use the Outsiders for a school project but then I wasn't allowed to, so all the analysis I've done is going to end up on here. The format, though, that's going to change, so rather than a clean, edited version that guides you through a clear version of my thoughts, here's my stream of consciousness.

Read it if you feel like it, don't if you don't.

Johnny Cade was last and least. If you can picture a little dark puppy that has been kicked too many times and is lost in a crowd of strangers, you'll have Johnny.

[Dally] liked to show that he didn't care whether there was a law or not. He went around trying to break laws.

Me and Darry just didn't dig each other. I never could please him. He would have hollered at me for carrying a blade if I had carried one.

These aren't facts, they're Ponyboy's perception of the world and, mainly, his friends. If you ask someone else what Johnny's like or why Dally breaks laws or what the problem between Pony and Darry is, they'll have different answers.

But Ponyboy presents them as an absolute truth. He doesn't say "I thought Dally just liked breaking laws" or "Johnny seemed like a dark puppy to me", he says these as if it's common knowledge, mainly because (I think) to him it is.

So these would be clear-cut examples of stating his entirely subjective opinion as a fact.

The problems started when I tried to analyse the following quote:

He stopped instantly. "I'm sorry." 

He wasn't really. Darry isn't ever sorry for anything he does. It seems funny to me that he should look just exactly like my father and act exactly the opposite from him. My father was only forty when he died and he looked twenty-five and a lot of people thought Darry and Dad were brothers instead of father and son. But they only looked alike — my father was never rough with anyone without meaning to be. 

Darry is six-feet-two, and broad-shouldered and muscular. He has dark-brown hair that kicks out in front and a slight cowlick in the back — just like Dad's — but Darry's eyes are his own. He's got eyes that are like two pieces of pale blue-green ice. They've got a determined set to them, like the rest of him. He looks older than twenty — tough, cool, and smart. He would be real handsome if his eyes weren't so cold. He doesn't understand anything that is not plain hard fact. But he uses his head. 

This is actually the quote that inspired me to say that he places things in convenient places so you agree with him. Because here, he dedicates two paragraphs to describing how Darry is rough and tough and cool and cold, right after Darry does something that, without Ponyboy's commentary, would be innocent and caring and a fairly mundane action: accidentally shaking someone too hard when you want them to come back to consciousness.

But there's not just that. There are about four explicit comparisons to Ponyboy's dad throughout his description, and the entire description is a constant comparison between Mr Curtis and Darry. This is practically the first we hear of Darry, mind you, and first impressions matter.

So, not only is Ponyboy demonising a perfectly normal action, but he's setting up these impossible expectations for Darry, not just as himself but also for the reader, because whether you like it or not, having the first description you read of a character be a comparison to someone else is going to affect the way you view them. Ponyboy views Darry as his guardian, not his brother, and he transmits that to the reader, changing the way we perceive him.

Remove the inner monologue, and this first scene is an interaction I could perfectly well see myself having with my little brother if I ever found him knocked out, much less beat up.

There's also the constant subjectivity and Ponyboy's opinions being stated as facts: "Darry isn't ever sorry for anything", "He would be real handsome if his eyes weren't so cold", "He's got eyes that are like two pieces of pale blue-green ice", etc.

(There's also the whole eyes thing that I absolutely adore and will go into with more depth at some point in my life)

"I didn't tell y'all something," Dally said, finishing his third hamburger. "The Socs and us are having all-out warfare all over the city. [...] We got hold of the president of one of their social clubs and had a war council. Yeah" — Dally sighed, and I knew he was remembering New York — "just like the good old days."

Without the internal monologue, the last sentence can be interpreted mostly one of two ways: sarcastic or genuine, and that vastly changes the way his character can be perceived. Does he enjoy wide-spread violence, does he find it to be an inconvenience, does he hate feeling unsafe in the streets? We don't know, not without the "I knew he was remembering New York".

Except who, exactly, is telling us they knew Dally was remembering New York?

Ponyboy, who thought Darry hated him because he was so worried about him being out late. Ponyboy, who thought Dally didn't love anyone in the world and only came to terms with the fact that he cared about Johnny when he died out of desperation at Johnny's own death. Ponyboy, who is writing this essay several weeks after everything happened.

I can't recount a conversation I had this morning word-for-word, much less one that happened weeks ago. Can we really trust the way Ponyboy remembers Dally intoning a fairly forgettable sentence weeks before he wrote it down, especially considering the entire plot hinges on him not understanding subtext?

I think not.

(I know I said that we would trust Ponyboy on factual stuff but we can't, not really, and tone is really toeing the line between objective and subjective)

I noticed this once, but I'm sure it's happened other times throughout the book, Ponyboy inserting his opinions at convenient times, telling us what a character is thinking went we can't know that he's right with any sort certainty.

Quick note: I just want to clarify something, which is that I am in no way trying to say that I dislike Ponyboy as a narrator. I absolutely love unreliable narrators and think that they're incredibly interesting and fun to analyse, as well as providing sort of ambiguity that really helps have each person make the story their own. I love them.

I do, however, also know that they are... well, unreliable. And part of what makes them so interesting is how you can spend hours and hours trying to dissect how much of what you just read was a lie (beyond the aspect of fiction and whatnot).

So yeah. Just thought that might need some clearing up considering the tone I used above.

[asordinaryppl]

A3! Practice Conversations - Yearn for the Angel.: Tsumugi Tsukioka

Part 1

Tsumugi: While the Michael in the sequel is definitely Michael, I think at the beginning of the story, he’s a little different from how he was during the debut performance.

Tsumugi: I would like to focus more on the way I act so that the audience can experience an otherworldly feeling.

Tsumugi: I will also keep in mind the fact that he’s a med student as I prepare for the role.

Tsumugi: Spring, Summer and Autumn all put on amazing performances, and then passed the baton to us.

Tsumugi: As we hold that baton close to our hearts, we will definitely put on a show befitting of the Winter Troupe and make it to the finals.

Part 2

Tsumugi: Michael and Derrick talk about how they used to play chess together, so I decided to play chess with Guy-san as well.

Tsumugi: As we sat across each other above the chessboard, we talked about our role building and practice, various mundane things, and laughed over silly jokes.

Tsumugi: Spending time with Guy-san like this calms me down.

Tsumugi: I’m sure Michael felt the same way when he played chess with Derrick.

Tsumugi: Guy-san has a calm manner of speech, and playing with him is fun. I’d love to spend time with him again like this, even if it’s not for role building.

Part 3

Tsumugi: Oh, Director. I was looking at photos from my uni days.

Tsumugi: I’ve been looking back to all sorts of things from that time lately in order to prepare for my role.

Tsumugi: I was a psychology major, the classes were interesting, and I enjoyed everything I learned, but…

Tsumugi: Even more than that, I was focused on theater, and my friends and I would act for days on end.

Tsumugi: And I’ve also been imagining what it’d be like if we had attended the same university…

Tsumugi: We’d attend lectures together, help each other with studying, talk about acting in the cafeteria…

Tsumugi: Now that I think about it like this, I really wish we could’ve spent our university days together.

Tsumugi: … That being said, Director, would you like to try an etude set in a university with me next time?

Tsumugi: I’d really appreciate your help with my role building.

Chat: Juza Hyodo 

Juza: The Winter Troupe’s sequel performance is comin’ up, isn’t it? How’s practice going?

Tsumugi: We’re discussing all sorts of things during practice. We talked about our hand gestures during conversations today.

Juza: Even small gestures like that are important to convey feelings in Winter Troupe’s plays.

Juza: When I watched your delicate acting during your debut performance, I thought you’ve got somethin’ amazing that I’ll never attain.

Tsumugi: Thanks. But I’m also always amazed by your powerful and cool action moves.

Tsumugi: I got really emotional when I saw how much you had polished your action and acting in the sequel performance.

Juza: Thanks.

Tsumugi: Everyone in the Winter Troupe is also getting better. I get really into it whenever we practice.

Tsumugi: And I think I too can now act in ways I wasn’t able to back during the debut performance.

Tsumugi: It’d be nice if everyone’s improvements could complement each other so we can put on an even better play.

Juza: If anyone can do it, it’s you guys. I’ll be lookin’ forward to it, too.

[theharbingerofdoomtime]

Irep peeked around a corner, his cat-like eyes scanning the kitchen. He knew Peri was there somewhere because he could hear pots and pans clinking and vegetables being chopped. Dale was out and the pair were disguised as babysitters, so he didn't have to worry about being spotted and having to hide (thankfully, he would much rather NOT have to fumble to hide himself.)

Sure enough, he finally spotted the fairy. He was making some sort of stew, with carrots, potatoes, and a roast slow-cooking in a Dutch oven on the stove.

“You know you could've done all this with magic, right?” Irep huffed, leaning against the doorway with a smug grin. He was trying to be calm, cool, and collected, though it may have come off as a bit.. abrasive.

“Some of us enjoy the serenity of a mundane task,” Peri answered dryly without looking up, dropping more potatoes in the pot to boil. “Plus, I want to make my godkid a nice dinner and my magic needs a rest. I'm still healing after nearly dying.”

Ouch. Bats clenched his teeth and swallowed a harsh comment that bubbled in his throat. Not the time. Not the time!

“Look, I think we should talk—”

“Not interested.” Peri turned his nose up, scowling to himself. His shoulders were stiff and his muscles were tense.

“It's been a month. We've been holding off talking for a month. You're so STUBBORN, you know that?”

“And I'll keep holding off for forever if I have to. What, are you trying to rub it in my face again? We get it. You WON. You nearly destroyed fairy world and after all THAT, you STILL find a way to crawl right back and make me—”

“Make you what, Peri?” the anti fairy folded his arms, arching a brow.

“... Miserable.”

There was a long silence between the two. The air hung still, cold and uncomfortable. Irep found himself slipping out of the confident pose he had against the wall, tugging his magic collar.

When he broke the silence, he was oddly quiet, uncharacteristically so, “I know you don't trust me, but I want to be here for the kid too. I want to make it up to him- somehow. I'll stay out of your hair as long as you let me help, even if it's just a little bit.”

“I don't want your help. I didn't want you here.”

“I kind of don't have a choice. This is a—”

“Court decision, I KNOW. Feels more like they're punishing us both.” Peri leaned forward and mindlessly stirred at the stew, tapping his nails across the counter.

“Prove to me you can be trusted and maybe I'll think about letting you… ugh. Help.”

Small of a chance as it was, Irep felt his tail betray him, wagging slightly at his heels.

“Oh, you WON'T be disappointed! I'll be the biggest, bestest help you've ever SEEN. And you don't have to worry about me bothering you! I couldn't BEAR to hang around a bore like you longer than I have to!”

“Mhh,” Peri rolled his eyes. “Don't get your hopes up. Now if you'll excuse me, I have dinner to finish. Your presence might make it burn.”

“You've got it!” Irep flashed a pair of finger guns and slithered on out, leaning against the wall outside of the kitchen to finally let Peri’s words settle.

He wasn't trusted.. not one bit. But he could work with this. He'd find a way to get this collar off, he'd make it up to Dev, and all of the council would PAY. He could see it now! And even if Peri didn't forgive him for a thousand, million years….

It didn't matter. He didn't need him to. He had a plan, and this time nothing would stand in his way.

[bathomet-writes]

Could- 👉👈 could I perhaps ask for a rise Mikey x reader short, where like: it starts with a flashback of the boys as kids, going outside for the first time and while exploring, Mikey spots this little girl on the playground and just thinks she's the prettiest creature he's ever seen, so he goes to give her a flower, completely forgetting he's a mutant and like, readers scared at first but then sees the flower and is suddenly flattered

And then flashback ends: Mikey is now left hopelessly in love with reader, who the boys have now been friends with for a long time and reader is like well dam aware of mikeys crush, but decides to act like she doesn't know to see how long it'll take Mikey, but after a failed attempt of impressing reader by almost getting hurt, reader is just like 'fuck it' and makes the first move

If u don't wanna do it then just pretend u don't see this, and if ur interested, feel free to make any changes you'd like. Also pls do not feel rushed and have a good day.

candy hearts and paper flowers

relationship: Mikey x F!reader

warnings: romantic, fluff, humor, minor hurt/comfort, kissing, sfw

word count: 5,289

author's note: omg..my first request!! this was so fun, i've never written for mikey before. i hope you like it!!

Mikey peeks his head out, lifting the manhole cover up a couple of inches to get a look around. The sliver of light that flooded out from the outside was mesmerizing. He blinks, adjusting to the brightness. 

“Woah…!” He lifts the lid even higher. 

“What do you see?” Donnie whispers. “Is it a horse? I read that there are horses out there sometimes.”

“You read that there are horses in New York? Please,” Leo sighs. 

Raph climbed up the ladder behind the other three, urging them to keep moving. “Quit holdin’ up the line!”

Leo and Donnie crash into one another, knocking their noggins awkwardly. “OW!”

Heaving the manhole cover to the side, Mikey jumps through the air. He tucks his body in to do a quick backflip, crying out a high-pitched “Hoo-wah!”

Mikey stood in hushed amazement, taking in the view of the street they popped out of. He’d only seen places like this on T.V. or in comic books, or while sneaking secret looks through sewer drains. But to stand on the pavement, feeling the dirt and grit beneath his toes, it was something else. He simply couldn’t contain his excitement any longer. 

“This is amazing! Hello dumpster! Hello alley cat! Hello mysterious rainbow-colored puddle!” He hopped and skipped with glee, greeting every object his eyes fell on. 

Eventually, Donnie, Leo, and Raph made their way out of the sewer to join him. They too were taken with the mundane sights around them, amazed at the fact that they were finally above ground. Donnie had already pulled out a crumpled up notepad to scratch down notes. Little observations of the people and buildings he saw. Leo was equally enraptured, following Donnie around as he pointed out various things on the ground. 

“Woah, a used cigarette. Cool!”

“Don’t eat it,” Raph warns. 

The red-clad turtle was trying his best to stay vigilant of his brothers, making sure none of them wandered too far off or ingested something they shouldn’t. He couldn't help but be star-struck as well, however. The ambient sounds of cars passing by and humans talking amongst themselves filled his ears. Raph claps his hands together, getting the others’ attention. 

“Okay, boys. Splinter said we could come up and explore for exactly thirty minutes. Not thirty-one minutes, thirty minutes.” Raph gathered up everyone in a tight huddle, laying down the ground rules. “If any of you mess this up for us–”

“All we have to do is keep a low profile and not die, right?” Leo scoffs.

Mikey nods enthusiastically, siding with Leo. “Easy as pie!”

“I concur. Let us all go our separate ways and reconvene here in a half-hour. Commence the synchronizing of watches.” Donnie readjusts his glasses on the ridge of his nose before hitting a button on his wrist. 

That was all Mikey needed to hear before bounding away, giggling to himself. “Cowabunga!”

Raph was soon left standing by himself as the others followed suit, going off in separate directions. Sputtering, he calls out to them. “W-Wait up! Don’t leave me alone!”

Quickly, he chooses to run after Leo across the street. 

Mikey made a beeline through a nearby alleyway to explore its contents. The smell was strangely worse up here than it was down in the sewers. The pungent scent of garbage made his nose scrunch up in disgust. 

“Nasty. Humans just leave their trash lying out like this?”

Once he gets one last look at the graffiti markings on the brick wall, he flattens himself to the corner of the building to check out the perimeter. There were a couple people walking around, talking on phones and looking somewhat distracted. Taking a chance, Mikey steps out onto the sidewalk, suddenly very nervous. 

The locals didn’t seem too interested in a pre-teenage mutant ninja turtle, not so much as sparing him a passing glance. Mikey twiddles his fingers together, almost waiting for someone to scream out in horror. 

“Huh…” he blinks. “I guess New Yorkers really have seen everything.”

He scans around for a moment, casually people-watching. There were so many humans, and they all looked so different! 

Suddenly, his eyes catch a glimpse of a playground just a couple of yards away. His eyes go wide, sparkling. 

“Omigosh!” Without thinking, he sprints over.

The playground was sizable, seemingly a part of a larger park in the neighborhood. Mikey marveled at the monkey bars, jungle gym, and various slides. He does one more double-take, making sure there was no one else around, before launching himself into the air. 

“Aw, yeah! All mine, baby.”

For the next fifteen minutes or so, Mikey sampled all the playground had to offer. This kind of place was the perfect outlet for all his manic energy. He swung off of every monkey bar, climbed through all the plastic tunnels, and dug through the sandbox for any potential treasures that were hidden away. 

As he buried himself within a sand castle he constructed, Mikey patted himself into a cocoon. “There, perfect.”

“What are you doing?” A tiny voice calls out.

“Hm?”

Mikey turned his head toward the swingset to his left. Somehow, he failed to notice a human girl sitting right beside him. She sat clutching the chains of the swing, letting her foot move herself slightly back and forth. 

“I said, what are you doing? You’re gonna get sand everywhere.”

Mikey laid there, looking up to the sky in deep thought. Only his head was visible, while the rest of his body was buried in the sand. That must be the reason why she wasn’t terrified by the sight of his unusual green skin. 

“I like being buried.” He chirps. 

The girl continued to stare, pushing herself lazily on the swing. “Whatever.”

Mikey turns back and gives her a pleasant smile. He was thankful for the company, even if it was a slightly annoyed human. As he opened his eyes to fully look at her, he felt a sudden tightness in his chest. And it wasn’t just from being trapped in a sand prison. 

Mikey didn’t know how to describe it. He could look at a painting and call it beautiful, or look at the moon up above and say it was enchanting. But the person sitting next to him, looking at him with slight indignation, left him gobsmacked.

She tried to look away and continue to enjoy her swing in peace, but she felt Mikey’s eyes bore into her. 

“Do you want me to leave or something?” She sighs.

“What’s your name?”

She turns back to him, a small frown gracing her charming features. The way her scowl curled to the side was adorable. Every minute detail of her face was drawing Mikey in. 

“What’s your name?”

Suddenly, Mikey sits up and lets the sand fall from his person. “Michael. Angelo. Michaelangelo!”

Her annoyed expression falls away as she takes notice of his shell. The green skin, the bald head, suddenly it clicked. 

“You’re a…?”

Mikey scrambles up, putting his hands out in a placating gesture. “I-I know, it’s weird! Is it the mask? It’s the mask, isn’t it?”

He reaches up to untie it and pull it off of his head. Holding it out before him, Mikey waves it around in her face. “See!”

Scoffing, she bats his hand away. “I mean you’re a turtle!”

Mikey secures his mask back on before giving her another winning smile. He shoots his hand out for a shake. 

“Yup! And you are…?”

“I’m leaving.” She slaps his hand away again, rejecting his friendly gesture. 

Mikey watches as she moves to sit up, heart-broken. His lips tremble slightly as he rubs at his hand. Maybe he was being too presumptuous, but he didn’t really expect to get such a cold welcome his first day up on the surface. 

His eyes search around, desperate to find a reason to make her stay. “Wait! I can push you on the swing? If you want…?”

She stops, looking back at Mikey. After a couple seconds of contemplation, she sits back down.

“I guess that’s fine.”

Instantly, Mikey’s mood does a 180. “Yes!”

Stepping behind her, Mikey places his hands on the chains. He begins to step backward and lift the girl into the air. She gulps, her hands gripping tighter.

“This is kinda high.”

“That’s the best part! Here. We. Go!”

Then, Mikey reels back and lets the swing go. He doesn’t take into account the fact his strength was a little more intense than most, accidentally sending the girl flying.

Screaming, she does a full rotation. Mikey stares on in horror as she does another spin. And another. Eventually, she becomes tied to the top rung of the swing set, bound tightly by the chains. 

“That, uh…might be a little too high?” He chuckles.

“GET ME DOWN FROM HERE!” She wails, wiggling against her restraints. “How did you even do that?!”

Mikey quickly jumps up into the air and lands on the bar. He gives her an apologetic look, feeling like he was in real trouble. 

“Sorry! I’m so, so sorry! Let me just—“

She blinks at him, watching as he untangles her from the swing. “You’re…really strong!”

She grins in spite of herself. Her limbs finally go slack and she’s pulled up into Mikey’s grasp. He holds her for a second before gently setting her back on the ground. 

“I’m really sorry again. I kinda can’t control my own strength yet.”

Mikey hangs his head as he lands on the wood chip surface of the playground. 

She kicks her feet, feeling a little awkward for making such a fuss about it. He looked so genuine, tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

“It’s fine…That was actually kind of fun.”

Mikey looks up, hopeful. “It was?”

She nods, holding out her hand. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

Mikey beams, his eyes shining like stars. He wasn’t sure what it was about this girl that was making him so upbeat. Well, more upbeat than he usually was. He launches forward and brings her into a tight hug, shaking her back and forth. 

“Y/N! You’re my first new human friend! The first of many!”

She groans, trying to escape his enthusiastic hold. “Okay, that’s enough!” 

Chucking, he releases her. “Right. Sorry, too much.”

Mikey rubs the back of his head, smiling goofily at her. She flits her eyes down to his mouth, noticing his missing tooth. Without thinking, she covers her mouth. 

“Your teeth.”

Mikey, feeling suddenly very bashful, closes his mouth. “Yeah, I know. My dad says the tooth gap will go away eventually, but…”

The girl blinks, moving her hand away. She didn’t mean to make him embarrassed at all. To Mikey’s shock, she breaks out in quiet laughter. 

“H-Hey!” He shouts, waving his hands around. “That’s not very nice!”

She laughs even harder, moving her hands away from her mouth. Then, Mikey sees it. She was missing her top right canine. 

Blushing, she points up to her teeth. “You’re just like me! I lost this tooth last week. That’s so funny!”

Mikey’s eyes go wide, watching her continue to heartily laugh. Slowly, his lips curl into a smile. He chuckles along with her, his voice steadily growing in volume. 

As the two of them wind down, Mikey’s smile falls away. He never really interacted with a real human before, was this how he was supposed to feel? His stomach was full of butterflies, hands opening and closing out of sheer restlessness. 

“Can I give you something?”

Walking back to lean against the swing, she nods. “Depends.”

Mikey sweats, realizing he didn’t really have anything to give her. He pats his chest, searching for a gift. “I— I’m gonna give you…”

Looking down, a couple of dandelions sprouting out of the corner of the sandbox catches his eye. Mikey quickly picks them from the ground and presents them to her. He accidentally tore them out by the roots, stringy grass and dirt dangling from the flowers. 

“Flowers! You’re supposed to give cute girls flowers!”

“You…think I’m cute?”

Before he can respond, Mikey notices a large clock face against the side of a neighboring building. It had already been a half-hour! Panicking, he shoves them into her hands before running away.

“GOODBYE!” He screeches.

Mikey peels out, sprinting back toward the direction of the manhole cover he emerged from. He stumbles and trips on the wood chips, accidentally getting some in his mouth. 

“Blecch—!”

He scrambles up to continue his ungrateful exit, leaving the girl behind. She sits dumbfounded, staring at the bouquet of dandelions. A small blush colors her cheeks. 

—

You smile to yourself, remembering the day you and Mikey first met. 

You look over to him as the two of you stroll through the same park. A good number of years later, things were relatively unchanged. The playground had a couple of updates, some new equipment. Tonight’s destination, however, was the botanical gardens. Mikey insisted that you accompany him tonight, eager to show you the exhibits.

“And, why couldn’t this have waited until tomorrow again?” You ask.

“Because,” he skips ahead, giving you his signature gap-toothed smile. “There’s no one around at night!”

You fold your hands behind your back, winking at him. “So we’re breaking in.”

“No. We’re sneaking in.” He corrects.

Chuckling, you playfully shove him aside. “You just want an excuse to hang out with me alone, don’t you?”

You close your eyes, confidently walking forward. You hear Mikey sputter and cough, having seemingly been found out. He tries his best to cover up his bashfulness with a cool facade. 

“W-What’s so wrong with some good-natured plant watching between friends? You need a little more culture in your life, and who better to provide it than me.”

Mikey places his thumb and forefinger on his chin, his eyes glinting under the dull moonlight. 

“Uh-huh. Sure,” you scoff. 

You didn’t consider yourself a particularly perceptive person. Especially when it came to matters of deciphering people’s intentions. But, Michael was unfortunately kind of an open book. He wore his heart on his sleeve, the poor guy. 

Even a fool could see that he was head over heels for you. You’re not too sure if Mikey had always had a crush on you, but lately he had made quite an effort to shower you with attention. His texts were more frequent, sending you random online quizzes and songs that you just had to see. Mikey was always pretty touchy-feely with his family and friends, giving out plenty of hugs. He was a very physically intimate turtle, sometimes to your detriment. 

“We’re here!”

His voice rips you from your thoughts and you glance up. 

Before you stood a grand building, composed almost entirely of glass windows. The yard surrounding the gardens were almost a little more impressive, countless hedges and water features decorating the area. 

Mikey slides up next to you, waggling his eyebrows. “Right?”

“Okay, this is pretty cool.” You smirk.

“I know. Allow me to razz my tazz…”

You watch as he backflips into the air and sticks to the exterior of the glass building. How did he do that, you wonder? Mikey feels around the glass panel, looking for the loose edge to wiggle himself into. He finally finds it, knocking his elbow against the window. 

Suddenly, he slides in, letting out a surprised squawk. “WOAH—!”

You cringe hearing him fall through a number of limbs, leaves shaking and vines ripping from the impact. The jungle of foliage inside was dense, so you can’t really see where Mikey lands. You run up to the service door, waiting for him to give you some sort of signal.

“Oh, Michael? Are you dead?” You cup your hands together, calling out to him in a sing-song voice. 

Pressing your face against the door, you strain your ears to listen closely. Silence. You click your tongue in annoyance.

“I’m gonna call Raph.” You slowly reach for your pocket.

Mikey slams his head against the other side of the door, his pleading face squished against the glass. “NO, DON’T!”

“AAAH—! Don’t jumpscare me like that!” You shriek. 

Mikey quickly throws open the door before pulling you in by your shirt collar. Stumbling in, you nearly fall over. You huff indignantly while he lifts you back up on your feet. For such a little guy, he sure was strong. 

“Falling for me already, eh?” He jokes. 

You flick his nose. “In your dreams.”

He awkwardly snickers at you, feeling a little shy about his casual flirtation. Mikey didn’t know if he was coming off as cute or just creepy, unable to gauge your reaction. You were always a little more cool and collected than him, your quick wit and charm rivaling even Leo’s. It was humbling, even a little attractive. He follows you from behind like a love-sick puppy, desperate to impress you. 

The two of you eventually walk into the center of the botanical garden and stand in awe of the plant life. Part of you wishes that Donnie was here to inform you both on each and every plant name, he was full of fun facts like that. But, you were happy just to have Mikey here to yourself. It was a good opportunity to test out a theory you had brewing in the back of your brain. 

“So, what first?” You smile, turning to Mikey. “Lead the way.”

He gives you an even bigger smile, eager to have you on the hook. “Oh! There’s that one stink plant!”

He directs you to the right, walking ahead of you before stopping dead in his tracks. You peek your head over his shoulder, looking around curiously.

“What?”

“I, uh— I forgot we kinda made it into a mutant with a security guard.” He chuckles.

You stare at his face, looking all at once bashful and spacey. Smirking, you edge your head closer to his. You were usually pretty touch-averse, but maybe you could try being more physically intimate with him. Just to see what would happen.

“Maybe that’s for the best. I know you have a very sensitive nose,” you whisper. 

Mikey covertly gulps, caught off guard by your sudden closeness and your low voice in his ear. “Let’s go look at the babbling brook! I think I can hear it…babbling!”

Spinning around, he grabs your hand and drags you along behind him. 

You bite at your lower lip, entertained by his flustered behavior. You hated to admit it, but teasing Mikey was just too much fun. You hold his hand tighter.

“Aww, it’s like a tiny waterfall!” You gush, walking up to stand beside Mikey. “I wonder if there are any fish in here?”

Mikey shakily lets go of you, placing his hands on his hips. “There actually are. Lemme show you!”

You furrow your brows, watching Mikey step into the tiny river. The water led to a larger pond, lilly pads and other aquatic plants scattered about the surface.

“That’s probably a bad idea,” you warn. You follow him along the bank, careful not to step on any of the flowers.

“Relax. I’m a turtle, water is my natural habitat.”

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t Ornate box turtles drown really easily?”

He tosses his head at you, continuing to march forward. “That’s a myth.”

You fold your arms over your chest, meeting his cocky gaze with your unimpressed scowl. 

“Let’s see…I think I saw a fish somewhere around here.” Mikey leans down, moving aside a lily pad to investigate. “Ah-hah! Told ya.”

He shoots back up, holding out an orange-spotted koi fish. It thrashed wildly in his grasp, flapping its tail against his hand. 

Sighing, you walk closer to the edge of the pond. “You’re gonna regret that.”

“I’m putting it right back, okay? Chill—“

Suddenly, a whole army of koi fish swarm around Mikey’s feet in the water. They apparently did not take too kindly to his rude intrusion. You wordlessly watch on as Mikey got practically attacked by a dozen or so fish, their tails repeatedly slapping against his body.

“Woah, hey! Stop that! I’m not your enemy! AAA—!” Mikey tries to run out, lifting his legs high and shaking off a fish that had clamped its jaw onto his foot. 

Your hands grip onto your arms in an attempt to stop yourself from laughing. But, as soon as you see Mikey fall into the water, you break. Cackling, you grab at your sides as Mikey pitifully splashed around in the pond. 

“This is amazing!” You tease. “I’m sending this in the group chat.”

“Help me! I lied, I’m drowning!” Mikey screams, waving his limbs about. 

You hold your phone out and start recording a video, chuckling. “The water’s barely a foot deep.”

The last koi fish gives Mikey a harsh slap across the face, leaving him behind to lie in the water. He looked utterly shocked and defeated. 

Once you’ve gotten all the evidence you need, you stow your phone away and kick off your shoes and socks. You were cruel, but you weren’t that cruel. 

“Okay, I think you’ve had enough.” You roll up the cuffs of your pants and gingerly step into the pond, holding out your hand to Mikey.

Blinking up at you, he scowls. “I could have died back there.”

You purse your lips, resolving to just reach down and pull Mikey up by the edge of his plastron. “Serves you right for disrespecting the pond.”

As you lifted him out of the water, his body was stiff as a board. His face was still screwed into an exaggerated frown. You can’t help but chuckle again at him, wiping off some pond scum that had gotten stuck to his shell. 

“What?” He pouts.

“You’re so cute when you look like that.” You pull Mikey out of the pond, peeking back at his offended expression.

“That’s totally not demeaning.”

Once you both get back onto the path, you give him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, okay? You just have a naturally cute face.”

Your hands drift up to land on Mikey’s face, gently squishing his cheeks. His eyes were still angry, but you could tell from his blush and his wavering frown that you were really testing his resolve. You knew he wasn’t really mad, just embarrassed. It only made him even more cute. 

Mikey stared at you, using almost all of his willpower not to melt into your touch. You had never been so brazen, so comfortable with casually touching him like this. The cheeky way you were looking at him only made him more flustered. Clearing his throat, he dips out of your hold. 

“The succulents are over here.”

Huffing, he marches away. You can only smirk to yourself as you follow behind. Maybe you were teasing him a little too much. You didn’t really care, though. With a pep in your step, you catch up to meet him at the desert flora section. 

You saw a collection of cacti, some towering over your heads, others small and rotund. Mikey shakes off his growing nerves to present them to you. 

“Behold, the pokey plants. As you can see, they are covered in pokey bits.”

Nodding, you sit your chin upon your fist. “Ah, yes. Very pokey indeed.”

The two of you nod to one another in mock-seriousness. You watch as Mikey begins to smile again, and you feel a little relieved. While you quite enjoyed seeing him playfully mad, you can’t deny that you miss seeing him happy. 

Mikey quirks his head to the side, an idea knocking around in his head. “I wonder…”

You cock your head as well. “Wonder what?”

“Dare me to touch it?” He lifts a hand up toward a particularly sharp-looking cactus. 

You shift your eyes from the plant and back to him, cautiously interested. “I won’t stop you.”

“I’m gonna do it,” he warns. 

“Fine. See what happens.” You toss your hand over your shoulder, walking away. This was bound to end well. 

Before you know it, you hear a loud crunching sound behind you. You twist around to find Mikey crumpled over the cactus’s broken trunk, absolutely covered in thorns. His eyes were as wide as saucers, almost in disbelief of his own actions. 

“Michael!” You gasp. “I swear to god.”

Shuddering, he crawls out of the exhibit, moving through the pebbles that laid about. “Pain…I’m in pain.”

You turn your back to him, exasperated with his antics. “I’m not helping you.”

“Don’t need it. I’m perfectly capable of helping myself.” He stands, legs wobbling. He tries to grab at a large spine poking out of his forearm. 

“Ow.” One thorn. 

“Ow.” Another. 

You grumble, listening to Mikey remove the spines one by one. This was just sad. You slowly turn around, watching as he stands there plucking at his arm. Sighing, you decide to be a little more merciful. 

“You’re lucky you have that shell.” 

You find a nearby bench and plant yourself on it. You pat your hand to the seat next to you, beckoning him to sit down. “Come here.”

Mikey quickly pads over to sit in front of you, swinging his legs around the bench. You follow suit and do a once-over. Thankfully, his legs were mostly unharmed, but his upper body and face were covered in barbs. 

“What did we learn?” You sigh, carefully removing all of the larger spines. 

Mikey tries holding back each cry of pain as you pluck them out, his eyes squeezing shut. “I wasn’t trying to throw myself into a cactus, you know. I just tripped.”

“That’s why are you covered in pokey bits?”

“I– Ouch!” He seethes, recoiling away from you. “I was trying to be cool, okay. Aren’t you impressed?”

Chuckling dryly, you move on to the smaller, more difficult barbs. You knew he was just trying to show off, even if it was kind of pathetic. Internally, you frown. No, he wasn’t pathetic. You somehow felt bad for even thinking that. It wasn’t like he was putting on airs, or being fake. He was actually pretty genuine. 

“Not impressed. Just slightly concerned.”

Mikey sniffs, feeling a little disheartened with your reply. “Sorry.”

You flit your eyes up for a moment. “Why do you think you have to impress me? I already think you’re cool.”

He turns his head away slightly. “I don’t know? I just want to.”

Mikey was usually pretty good about verbalizing his emotional desires. But for some reason, he felt so confused. 

After you pick out the last barb from his cheek, you toss them all away into the bushes. “There, all done.”

You were about to stand back up before you felt Mikey grab at your upper arm. You freeze, looking down at him. 

“I just– Sometimes I feel like I need to show off. Show you that I’m cool and strong, I guess? I’m not super buff like Raph, or smooth like Leo. And I’m definitely not smart like Donnie.”

You move to sit back down, staring at him. You don’t know how to react to his sudden confession, simply opting to remain silent. 

Mikey lifts his head to look you in the eye, a sad smile tugging at his lips. “I just want to make you feel safe.”

You frown. “You think I don’t feel safe?”

Shaking his head, Mikey bails on his own admission. “No, I don’t know. Nevermind.”

In an instant, you get an idea. You rummage around in your bag to pull out your old, worn sketchbook that you carried around everywhere. You leaf through the pages to land in the middle. “You recognize this?”

Mikey blinks away a tear that threatened to accumulate in his eye before looking over. “Your sketchbook?”

“No, this.” You reach in and pull out a couple of pressed flowers. They were shriveled and brown with age, but they were very clearly dandelions. 

Mikey’s sad frown melts away as he leans forward. “Those are…”

“The flowers you gave me. When I first met you, I was actually kind of freaked out. I just remember thinking, ‘Why was this weird turtle harassing me?’” You allow yourself to smile, recalling the memory. 

You hear Mikey chuckle quietly, his eyes softening. 

“But, you were obviously just a huge dork. Sweet, but still a dork. I took those weeds you gave me and put them in here.”

You carefully place them back into your sketchbook, closing it. “I carried them with me all the time, so I wouldn’t feel so alone, y’know? If I ever felt scared, I would just clutch onto this and pretend you were there.”

Mikey sat up straighter, letting your soft words wrap him up into a warm blanket. He felt so safe, so secure in your presence. 

“Thankfully, I didn’t have to do it too often. Because you were always there, somehow.”

Finally, you put your sketchbook back into your bag and look up. You give Mikey a lopsided smile, watching him look at you with quiet amazement. Reaching up, you place your hand upon his flushed cheek, bathing in his warmth. 

Mikey was speechless. Words couldn’t begin to describe what he was feeling right now. He unintentionally allows his head to nuzzle up against your hand, practically sighing. 

“You okay?”

“My skin kind of hurts.” His voice was oddly low, laced with a shy sweetness. 

Leaning forward, you debate with yourself whether or not you want to tease him even more. He looked so vulnerable right now, you wouldn’t dare ruin a rare moment like this. Humming, you indulge yourself and decide to place a soft kiss upon his cheek. You didn’t want to scare him off. 

Mikey’s skin tingles with excitement, electric sparks surging through his body. “Hahh…”

“Am I hurting you,” you whisper. You weren’t sure if he was hissing out in pleasure or in pain. 

He immediately responds. “No, you feel really nice.”

Angling your head lower, you slot your lips gently against his. The kiss is chaste and short, but you feel your heartbeat thrum in your ears. The low light of the night sky illuminated the two of you, making Mikey’s skin practically glow. Moving an inch or two away, you admire his features. 

Mikey sighs, his eyes fluttering open. You meet his soft gaze with your own. After a charged couple of seconds, the two of you break out into laughter. His head falls onto the bend of your shoulder, his breath heavy. 

“I can’t believe you did that.” He exhales shakily. 

“Pull out nearly a hundred cactus spines from your body? Yeah, I can’t believe it either.” You chuckle. 

In a bold move, Mikey smiles against your neck before placing a kiss on your hot skin. You shudder, feeling his teeth brush up against your pulse. 

“Woah-hoh-hoh! Ouch!” You tear yourself away, flapping your hands at his face. “Your teeth are sharper than I thought.”

Mikey gives you a cheeky smile, his tooth-gap on full display. “Sorry, I’m kinda pokey.”

He feels his heart swell in his chest, his limbs going limp and gooey. He wondered if he could even stand up. Seemingly reading his mind, you reach over and hook your arms underneath him. In an impressive move, you heave Mikey up and carry him bridal-style. 

“H-Hey! What are you doing?” He cries out, blushing furiously.

“Carrying you back. Because I can,” you smirk. 

Out of sheer embarrassment, Mikey covers his face. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Neither did I!”

And with that, you make your way back to the exit, giggling with Mikey as you bask in your newfound closeness. You hope that he felt safe with you, safe enough to let you into his heart just a little bit more. 

[highly-nonexistent]

There is something very weird about the relatively short nature of the culture surrounding website creation. As in, like, internet-user-created websites have been around for like 30-31 years at this point, and the culture surrounding them has changed so very much.

People used to create websites left and right for their own needs, their little shops and their little blogs about what they liked. Some websites of course housing horrible content since their dawn, and some being as mundane but as unique as the person behind its code. I have seen older sites, archived, that promoted creating your own site, and that was interesting to see. That culture of creating your own website and of sharing that knowledge on a still-growing facet of communication.

And then at some point social media appeared, and that was interesting, because now everyone was able to quickly present themselves without the need of a website, but that didn't mean people stopped making websites. I mean, hell, Geocities died in 2009, so a lot of people were creating their own websites for free before that time, no need to pay for domain names or hosting. And even without Geocities, there were other website hosting things that yes, while not as customizable, were still a resource for people to work with them. There's still a website floating around that I made when I was a kid using one of these services. Cool stuff.

All this to say that I do feel a weird sense of dread looking back and cross-referencing with the present and seeing things like "website creator powered by AI" and shit like that, because just ?? How did it go plummeting so quickly. There is a weird feeling of having lost a developing culture to corporations making quick access to posting things that, as corporations' nature dictates, are used to sell data or to train models or what have you. Similarly, we get pretty same-y looking pages because of the need to be slick or whatever with designs that just leaves everything looking the same. ALSO, the loss of spaces for kids, or just the gradual lowering of them in favor of cocomelons and whatever else the devil's machine has spawned is like watching an apple decay before having ripened. I do feel like there is this phenomenon in which how to make a site has been lost in the notion of "making a website falls into the realm of evil and scary coding and I could never be a programmer, plus who would look at it, plus we have tools to make them," etc etc etc. Here is a little secret: website creation is not exactly hard to pick up at all. You might say it's very similar to using a rich text editor like Word or a notes app or whatever you use. Similarly, have you used markdown for things like messages or D iscord messages, you know, with the asterisks for bold text and the likes? Markdown is based on html's structures. And truly, you do not have to even learn to code using Javascript if you don't want to, you can just go full html + css and structure your things as you go, adding your little images and your updates. Because guess what !! Html and css are not programming languages, they're a markup language and a stylesheet language respectively, which is a fancy way to say "you make the structure of your page with the first one and make it pretty with the second one". This includes cool stuff like tables, lists, grids, colors, transitions, etc. All of that without any programming. (That being said, if you are interested in programming, Javascript isn't too bad to pick up. The language itself *is* kind of evil, but using it in conjunction with html is not too difficult). I do have to say though, I am glad that there is a push to making your own websites and things, especially with Neocities sprawling a huge community of avid website creators, as well as the huge amount of tutorials and stuff making the push forward with making sites and online spaces and experiences more widely available. Hopefully this becomes a trend that keeps going up, considering the state of seemingly every single social media that has existed since the 2000s- 2010s.

[ananke-xiii]

Castiel: vessel, body, woman, (best) friend.

This title comes from a previous post of mine where I talked about Yockey’s episodes in s12 and how they all deal with the theme of interconnection between motherhood/fatherhood and human vessels vs demons, angels and other humans. Ultimately, the post was about Kelly Kline, the final “doll”, the real one, true vessel used to pour angelic grace in, give birth to a Nephilim and be discarded once her “job” is done.

However, since I’ve been thinking about the mothers of gods and monsters and how they all, in some way or another, end up being associated with Castiel, I’ve found an interesting discovery about “Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets” (the linked post about mothers and this one seem to be disconnected now but it will all make sense with later posts, I promise).

I’ll quote myself from my initial post in order to explain my theory:

Cas: Benjamin is always very careful. Long ago, he found a powerfully devout vessel in Madrid, and her faith, it… she gave him everything – her trust and her body. Dean: Wait. So Benjamin’s a woman. Cas: Benjamin is an angel. His vessel is a woman. But it – it’s – it’s more than that. She’s not just his vessel. Sam: She’s… She’s his friend. Cas: Yeah. Benjamin would never put her in unnecessary danger. So Lily killed Benjamin, the angel AND the “powerfully devout from Madrid” who’s first described as a vessel, a body, then as a woman, then again as “more than that/not just a vessel” and ultimately as a friend (with a romantic undertone to the word). So we GOTTA ask: when is a human being just a body? And when a vessel? Are there “vessels” and “not just [some angel’s]vessel”?

I’ve always interpreted this dialogue as an interesting lesson on “Angels and Gender Politics”, and it is, but maybe there’s something less intellectual and more mundane about it. Maybe it's just the same-old SPN parallels technique. But more fun.

“Vessel, body, woman, friend” is how the powerfully devout woman in Madrid is described. But in this episode, “vessel, body, woman, friend” is also Castiel. Castiel is the powerfully devout woman in Madrid and Dean’s… her Benjamin. There’s a complete reversal of roles here where Cas is paralleld to a human and Dean’s his angel which I find very interesting.

The comparison between Dean and Benjamin starts even before the Castiel-woman-in-Madrid one:

CAS: It was, um... Look, Benjamin wouldn't call for help lightly. And he wouldn't put himself in harm's way if he could help it. DEAN: Wow, this Benjamin seems like he's pretty cool, you know. Like he wouldn't make any half-cocked, knee-jerk choices. CAS: Yeah, you know what I like about him? Is that he's sarcastic, but he's thoughtful and appreciative, too. DEAN: Now what is that supposed to mean?

What Dean is saying here is that Benjamin is not Cas because Benjamin sounds like a cool type who wouldn’t make reckless decisions (while Cas is not this type of person). But what Cas is saying is that Benjamin’s like Dean because they’re both sarcastic but Benjamin is better than Dean because he’s also thoughtful and appreciative (while Dean’s not).

Let’s see if I’m right about this.

Vessel.

The moment Cas meets Ishim and Mirabel he just has to open his mouth and say it: “Kept your vessels all this time. I'm impressed”. Ishim and Mirabel say that they were not careless with their vessels like Cas was. Which, of course, means that they’ve known Cas in is “old him”, his old vessel.

Body.

Whether they like it or not (and Ishim doesn’t like it because he thinks humans are apes, monkeys and primates which, to be fair with Ishim, is not technically not true however he does throw shade at us) angels on earth are incarnated beings, meaning that to live on Earth they need to take… a body. Specifically, a human body (no cat angels for us). Human bodies, however, are, from an angel’s pov, weak. Ishim might have been careful with his vessel but this doesn’t mean he can’t get hurt. Lily doesn’t manage to kill him in the alley but she hurts him a great deal because his wound is deep and healing it will be painful. Bodies suck, huh? But maybe also… not so much after all.

Woman.

The big reveal of this episode is that Cas’ old vessel was a woman. We don’t know anything else but the fact that she was a woman. We don’t even know if Sam and Dean know about it because we see the backstory through a flashback while obviously they don’t. They must have wondered because they know for sure that Castiel took Jimmy Novak as his vessel after resurrecting Dean. Whatever the case may be, though, what we know is that that was the first time Castiel possessed a person to visit Earth.

Friend.

Friendship is one of the episode’s themes. It’s not the central one but they do bring up friendship a lot. Benjamin and the devout woman were "friends". Benjamin and Castiel were friends. The angels in Ishim’s garrison were friends. Sam and Dean are friends with Castiel. Dean and Castiel are best friends. Since Benjamin and the devout woman were established as “friends”, meaning that they were a little more than that, then where does it leave us? Well, frankly the usual: Cas and Dean are more than friends. Woah, what a surprise, I absolutely did not see that one coming.

The scene that confirms that my theory is correct is when Ishim dares Dean to finalize the sigil and blast every angel in the room. You see, “Benjamin would never put her in unnecessary danger”. Neither does Dean with Cas.

The scene also pretty much sums up the whole episode as far as the theme of “vessel, body, woman, friend” is concerned. Cas has healed Ishim who’s now fully recovered and brimming health from every pore. Cas, on the other hand? Not so much.

ISHIM: I used to envy you, Castiel. You believe that? ISHIM: You survived Hell. You were chosen by God. But now look at you. You're just sad and pathetically weak. ISHIM: So now... I'm gonna help you. I'm gonna cure you of your human weakness same way I cured my own– ISHIM: – by cutting it out. DEAN: Don't move. ISHIM: Do it. You blast me away, you'll blast away every angel in the room. I'll survive. Castiel, on the other hand, he's hurt. He might live or he might just end up a bloody smear on the wall. Roll the dice.

Castiel’s “bodiness” is exposed in this scene, but there is a… ahem… “positive” side? Unlike the poor guy that Ishim is wearing as his meatsuit (ugh), Cas doesn’t have to worry about his vessel’s safety but his own. He is his own vessel now (well, he kinda still stole the looks from Jimmy Novak, nevertheless his vessel has become his body. An angel with his own body, crazy, I know. Maybe this is really why Ishim is jealous of him). Which, to be honest, is still concerning because Cas is reckless as fuck. Thank God Dean is not.

Dean doesn’t roll the dice, he doesn’t endanger his powerfully devout friend, he doesn’t bet on the odds of having to scoop up Cas’ remains from the wall.

So cool, right? Do you think that Cas has learnt the value of life, the value of his own life and will be less reckless with it? Of course not!

By the end of the episode Cas still says (re Billie’s murder)that he doesn’t regret his actions even if they cost him his life. He also says, after all he’s been through with Lily Sunder, that he doesn’t know if he’s capable of killing an innocent baby or not.

SAM: But, Cas, at the end of the day, it's a mom and her kid. I mean, do you – do you think you'll be able to... CAS: There was a time when I wouldn't have hesitated. But now, I don't know.

I don’t know if the show ever answers this question. He does bring Kelly to the “sandbox” but then Dagon shows up and then Joshua gets killed and then Kelly takes his hand and then Jack shows him “the future”… And then, and then, and then. Stuff happened, life happened, you know? I mean, it’s complicated but this is what makes it more interesting!