#He's the point of conflict | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

red-dead-sakharine · 4 months

Text

Tickles - Part 5

Raphael x Tav, RaphaelPOV, soft!raphael, gn!tav, fluff, hurt/comfort, body worship, relatable fumbling, conflicted!cambion, trans affirming*

mood music

*I found worshiping in vague terms somewhat unsatisfying, so I wrote three versions for the chest part: Female, Male, Transmasc. Pick your preferred color for that part, then proceed to the normal text :)

Enjoy!

They lay there for a while. His mouse on top of him, stroking his hair, holding his hand, smiling at him. He smiled back. If time would freeze in this moment, he would not mind. He felt good and happy, being blanketed by his mouse's warm body on top of him. They occasionally lifted their head to kiss his nose - kiss his lips - as if there was a supernatural pull they couldn't resist. He loved it. He loved to see his mouse so happy. Happy with him. He wanted more. More touching. More happiness.

He began to lift his body, and his mouse slid off him, looking at him searchingly. He sought the base of their shirt, slid his hands underneath and paused. Looked at them. Asking permission with his eyes, like they had done. They beamed at him. He pulled their shirt off, dropped it gently off the bed, then looked at them. Beamed back at them. His mouse, so vulnerable with him without fright. Only adoration. He explored their body, moved his hands over their torso, up their sides. He remembered how Tav kissed him, so he did the same. He wasn't sure how much pressure to apply. Worried his kisses were too wet. He looked at their face, and they smiled. But he didn't see the look in their eyes that he figured he himself must've had. He carried on, determined to reciprocate what they had done. He licked around their bellybutton. There was no change in response. He frowned. He was doing it wrong. Tav's licks sent his mind into the fugue plane. He didn't seem to be doing the same to them. He resorted to kissing again. He knew how to kiss - he hoped. His hands roamed clumsily over their body, down their thighs. Whenever he looked up they were smiling with their eyes closed, but nothing more. Some sort of magical component to all this was still hidden from him. He felt a little frustrated and disappointed. He wanted to make them feel like they did him!

He moved up and bent down to trail kisses across their collarbone. Down each breast. He gently cupped them with his hands, massaging them. A quiet moan. His face lit up with delight. He caused that! He felt proud. He payed taxes to their nipples. Gently sucked them, licked them, kissed them, just like they had done. They writhed under his touch, leaning back, eyes closed, mouth open. They enjoyed it. He felt accomplished! He gave the breasts more attention. Licked a nipple. They shuddered. He felt like a king.

He moved to the chest, remembering Tav's ministrations. He ran his nose through their chest hair, then looked up to check. Their smile was bigger. He looked back down, assaulted their nipples with gentle kindness. Kissed them, sucked them. A moan. His face lit up with delight. He caused that! He felt proud. He went back to it, trailed kissed from one nipple to the other, like they had done. Ran a gentle hand through the fluff in between. Licked the other nipple. They shuddered. He felt like a king.

He moved up and trailed kisses along their collarbone. His hands roaming their chest. Finding the scars. Tav stilled. He ran his fingers along the marked skin. Followed it with kisses. They relaxed, sighed. He smiled. His hands kept caressing their chest, while he payed taxes to their nipples. Kissing them. Sucking them. They moaned. His face lit up with delight. He caused that! He felt proud. More kisses, from one side to the other. He gave the other nipple a lick. They shuddered. He felt like a king.

He remembered the other things they'd done, and gently nudged them. Imitating them, he put his face close to their ear and whispered, "Turn around." They complied. He grinned. He ran his hands down their back. He felt clumsy. He didn't know where to go, what exactly to do, but he did his best. He liked the feel of their skin, so he focused on that. Made it as much his pleasure as theirs. Was this the secret? Did he finally figure it out? He enjoyed running his hands over their sides, so he did. He followed their spine with kisses like Tav had done. Kissed their shoulder blades. Kissed their neck. He remembered the other things and moved up, kissing their temple. A bright smile grew on their face. He felt accomplished. He kissed the base of their skull. Something primal in him wanted to devour the mouse. He restrained himself to not bite them. This was not the time for biting. He remembered their sucking though, so he did that. Sucked the soft flesh between their shoulders. They gasped. He felt proud.

He moved down, tugged at their pants. An unspoken question. They lifted their body slightly. An answer. He pulled the pants down. Looked at their backside. He smiled. It was like a delicious cake. He kissed it. They shivered. He was beginning to get the hang of it. He gently cupped their cheeks with his hands. He felt too small. He wanted to grab it all. He ditched the human guise. Tav lifted their head, glanced back, smiled, laid back down. He beamed in adoration at the back of their head. They accepted him no matter his form. He's never felt this comfortable before. He went back to thanking them. Cupping their butt cheeks with both hands. Yes. Better. He was large enough now to take in most of the soft flesh. He bent down to kiss the base of their spine. They sighed. He preened. They couldn't see his wings unfold, as he bent down to trail kisses up their spine again. Holding onto their butt with his big hands. Squeezing it. An amused sound came from the mouse. He looked up. They were smiling, eyes closed. He was confused, but decided this was good. He continued. Ran his hands up their back. More kisses. He tried a lick. They snickered. He frowned. Not the reaction he wanted. He was still doing something wrong! Frustration.

He gently turned them around again like a big spit roast. They looked at him. Beamed at him. Okay, good. He beamed back. His tail wrapped around their ankle. They looked excited. Oh? Okay. He caressed their belly with his hands, and slowly dragged his tail up their leg. They shivered under him. Excited. He grinned at them. Proud. Mischievous. His little mortal enjoyed his truest self - it filled him with joy and a warm comfortable fuzzy feeling.

He ran his claws gently up their sides. They flinched, coiling up like a spring and giggled. He looked at them with wrinkled brow. Question-marks in his eyes. They relaxed again and smiled, "That tickled." they explained. "Oh?" his mind went dark places, "Did it now?" He did it again. They snickered again, their elbows shot down to their sides, trying to protect the vulnerable zone. "Oh no..." he grabbed their arms - firm enough but gently, moved them out of the way effortlessly. Pinned them to the bed with his wings. "I figure you still owe me..." he growled playfully.

"Oh, no! Please no!"

This was no time for mercy. He started assaulting their sides with pokes and teasing strokes. They laughed and writhed under him. He grinned darkly, tickled more. They kept wriggling, giggling and laughing. "Stahp! Stahahahahap!" pleads for mercy in between laughs. He had none. He continued. They had tortured him with this for an agonizingly long time, so he felt justified in doing the same. He kept poking them. His wings held them. They tried to throw him off. His tail wrapped around their legs, holding their ankles together. They could do nothing but suffer. More tickles. More laughter. "Please, please stop! Have-" more violent laughter, "-have mercy! I... I can't breathe!" He slowed down. Gave them a moment of reprieve. They caught their breath, still wriggling in his unrelenting grasp, "I ... I figure I deserved that." they admitted, still an involuntary grin on their face. Good. He gave their side one last poke, listened to the wheezing snicker, then bent down to kiss them on the lips, relaxed his tail, lifted his wings. Their hands found his horns. Held him prisoner in the kiss. He allowed it. When they eventually let go and he broke the kiss, he looked at them with an impish grin, "I do love it when you beg."

There was a pause. Their smile faded a bit, and they searched his face.

He meant it playfully. He didn't want his mouse to beg outside of this setting. He loved how headstrong they were. Their unbreakable spirit was what had drawn him to them in the first place. He had scared them again, he realized. He frowned, "I meant to tease." he explained, and their expression relaxed a little. "Would you be this concerned about that statement, were I just a human?" he couldn't shush himself before the question had escaped him. His nature loomed over him like a giant vulture, ready to peck the happiness away, and drag him back into the bog of minauros to drown him. He looked away, scrunching up his face. He thought they accepted him, but he was still just a devil to them. A danger. A looming threat, underneath it all.

A hand found his cheek, turning his face back to the mouse beneath him. "Yes," they said and he looked at them with confusion and surprise. "We've not exactly plotted out any boundaries. I'd be cautious with anyone at this stage." they explained, with no deceit or judgement in their voice. His face must've been a mix of emotions, for they cupped it in their hands and looked at him with affection. "No pain or injury ...unless agreed upon beforehand. Does that work for you?" they looked at him, unafraid. Just asking.

His ears were ringing. He took one of Tav's wrists, gently plucked their hand off his face and placed a kiss on their palm, then nodded slightly, "I would never harm you." he stated. His words felt clumsy, but they came from his heart. His brain wasn't doing much right now, besides sabotaging his mind with foolish thoughts.

They looked at him and smiled. He looked back, glad he was wrong, but the doubt still gnawing at the back of his mind. Tav looked at him searchingly for a while. Then suddenly there was a spark in their eyes, as if someone had lit a torch. They pulled him into a hug and whispered in his ear, "I trust you." A pause. Then, "You're perfect just the way your are, and I wouldn't have you any other way."

He wrapped his arms around Tav and pulled them up into a sitting position to hug them closer. He used it to hide his face, as he felt his eyes fill with unbidden tears. He had never realized - or admitted to himself - how much he had longed for someone - anyone - to say those words. To accept him the way he was. Half a devil, half a man. Not enough for one world, too much for the other. Disliked and feared for his nature in both. But his mouse... his little mouse... it saw him. It liked him. And it didn't judge.

He could feel his silent tears roll down his face and hoped they wouldn't land on Tav's naked shoulders, but he knew they did. A hand moved up to stroke his hair gently and calming. The other held him tighter. He hoped they wouldn't say anything. He had never been this vulnerable and he didn't trust himself not to lash out in defense. But his mouse was smart. Emotionally a lot smarter than himself. They didn't say anything. They just held him and loved him and supported him, while his protection was flayed away and his deepest insecurity and longing laid bare.

After some time, they did speak; and for a moment he worried they might say the wrong thing. Stab him, while his defense was broken. But they didn't. They whispered in his ear, their tone utterly serious: "And if anyone says otherwise, I'll rip out their eyeballs and make 'em eat them." He chortled and held them tighter. He loved them.

In this moment, his mouse was everything to him. He needed them. He would keep them safe and guard them, like a dragon does its hoard.

He pictured his mouse sitting on a pile of violently dismembered corpses of every devil who had ever mocked him, and he smiled in dark delight. This was a fantasy he could get behind.

He found his joy again - pulled out of the abyss by a heroic little mouse. His tears ebbed away and made way for a mischievous smile. "I could give you a list." he joked. Tav chuckled.

They both held each other tight.

Expelled the shadows with their light.

👉 Part 6

187 notes · View notes

sapphorror · 4 months

Text

Zim, Dib, Gaz, and Tak are actually all horribly vindictive spiteful people to more or less equal degrees, but the interesting thing is that Zim and Gaz both exact vengeance in very specific, premeditated ways, which are often wildly out of proportion but once they feel like they've evened the score they will pretty much immediately forget about whatever pissed them off in the first place—whereas Dib and Tak are both ostensibly above being ruled by petty grudges, but very obviously boiling over with a constant resentment that sends them pouncing like rabid dogs at even the slightest opportunity or excuse to make the object of their ire suffer (and if they're both working towards their own self-serving end game that just HAPPENS to involve every terrible thing imaginable befalling their enemies, well... that'll just be a happy by-product of their personal success).

I don't I have any point to make here, I just like it when these freaks are all an overwhelming danger to society (and each other)

#invader zim #zim #dib #gaz #tak #meta #my meta #natterings #iz posting #the universe was never supposed to accommodate this many lunatics gathering in one place #let alone coming into direct conflict with each other #anyway i think tak is probably the scariest of the four not just due to her competence #but because she shares dibs deeply insidious insatiable anger AND whatever irken brainworm it is that makes zim so creatively awful #also i made this joke on twitter once already but dib must be so desensitized to the OTT retribution at this point #got it from gaz his whole life and then when zim showed up it NEVER occurs to him #that if he maybe stopped throwing things at zim for no reason then zim might stop wildly overreacting #its just a given to him that sometimes your life gets ruined over stupid bullshit #you cant let that hold you back

165 notes · View notes

knights-unwelcommentary · 1 year

Text

I like to think that Terezi strives to act bizarrely/off putting because 1) purposefully being a weirdo is inherently funny in an ironic way and allows her to mock others through playing along with their weirdness, 2) she knows that the core tenet of being cool is not caring what others think so she acts the part as much as she can, and 3) it gives her plausible deniability for the times she might do something weird unintentionally because she's actually very self-conscious even if she rarely lets it show

#homestuck #terezi pyrope #it's why karkat comforting her during openbound is so bittersweet #he totally missed the point of her conflicted feelings about her dancestor and insulted her for not being genuine indirectly

545 notes · View notes

guardian-of-da-gay · 10 months

Text

Movie Knuckles having flat teeth makes me so conflicted because on the one hand I can just ignore it and draw him with shark chompers but I could also choose violence (angst) and say he used to have sharp teeth but was captured by an enemy and wouldn’t stop biting people so they filed them down, do you see my dilemma?

#the dilemma is I love angst so much #also at no point in this internal conflict does him having flat teeth get to stay #he's got shark teeth and that's that #knuckles the echidna #knuckles #knuckles headcanons #sonic headcanons #sonic the movie 2

349 notes · View notes

saucywendeee · 1 year

Text

👻🧼 - Fantasy AU - True love’s kiss

486 notes · View notes

autisticlancemcclain · 7 months

Text

prev chapter

“Just – don’t do it, Lance. I don’t want you to end up in the west wing, or things are going to get bad in here.”

If Lance is being entirely honest, he has no desire to deviate from Hunk’s directions. At least he didn’t. If Hunk hadn’t said anything, it probably wouldn’t have even occurred to Lance to go to the west wing anyway. This is the second time he has been warned away from the west wing, now. If Lance was curious before, he’s burning with it now.

But Hunk is his friend, and he’s doing him a favour, so he bites his tongue and nods his head and walks down the way Hunk instructed him too. It helps that he’s ravenous, and is more focused on food than anything.

But he won’t lie and say that he doesn’t have to force himself away from dark hallways and beckoning shadows.

———

“Oh, Lance, hello!” Colleen greets him enthusiastically when he walks in the door. Lance wiggles his fingers at her in a small wave. “I’m glad you came out, dear. I was worried.”

“Got hungry.”

“Of course, of course. Sal, heat up the food, will you?”

The giant wood burning stove in the corner of the kitchen chugs to life, vent forming an enthusiastic grin. The sound of frying meat and salted potatoes fill the air, making Lance’s mouth water.

The kitchen is quiet at this time of night; warm. It makes him think of his Abuela, on the many nights when neither of them could sleep, guiding his hands as he kneaded dough, sliced meat, prepared vegetables. Things he can do easily, now, without thinking, in a way he has never been able to do with a plow or bailer. Things that form callouses on the tips of his fingers rather than the pad of his palm.

He shakes his head, shoving the thoughts in the back of his mind. It doesn’t matter, now. The food is warm and smells heavenly, and more importantly, there’s no screaming fiancé to reckon with.

He scarfs back the food so quickly his stomach aches, forgetting to be self conscious. Colleen’s laughter is only teasing, after all, and there is no one else to see it. He smiles sheepishly at her and wishes her goodnight as he finishes his third plate, watching her hop off to a cabinet.

Slowly the lights in the kitchen fade as candles burn low and the embers of the oven start to die out, shadows shifting on the cluttered walls and full shelves. Lance picks up one of the newer candles before the kitchen goes completely dark, placing it gently in a (non-animated, thankfully) teacup to guide him down the corridors. He remembers Hunk’s instructions, pausing for a moment to flip them in his head so he won’t get lost in the wide, dark hallways – left, left, right; now left, right, right. Stick to the path.

He walks out of the kitchen, closing the heavy door gently so as to not wake anyone. He takes his time, not quite comfortable in the dark but not quite afraid, either; his shoes, worn and thin, provide a light enough cover that he can almost feel the smooth marble floors on the soles of his feet, and his free hand traces along the wall as he walks, feeling the rough bricks and occasional soft tapestries. He keeps his candle close to his face, both to help him see and to try and soak up some of the tiny flame’s warmth. His cloak is back in the servant’s quarters – his room – and the castle is warmer than outside but barely.

His fingers brush over a soft tapestry, threads so thin and tightly woven he can barely feel the difference between them, and then brick again, and then air. He pauses, holding his candle a little further from his eyes and squinting to make out what’s in front of him.

Difficult to see in the low candlelight, a massive stained glass window towers in front of him. The colours are too dark to make out, but when he places the candle at the base of the window and steps back, he can see the vague shapes of a young man, tall and regal and dark-haired, holding a sword and standing in front of a castle. Below him are panels of farmland and forest, and beside him are orchards, vills, estates. Above him, to the right, is a shining sun. To the left, a crescent moon.

Left, right, right. Don’t veer off the path.

Lance bites his lip, and follows the path of the moon.

The corridor, somehow, seems colder. As if the bricks are further away from the sun, no longer leaching the warmth collected as it was shining. The darkness seems blacker, too; heavier almost, and soon his candle burns down to the base, extinguishing, leaving him to stumble forward completely blind. He reaches out to steady himself, to trace the wall to stay on track, and has to choke back a scream when he feels a face instead of a wall, sharp teeth digging into the flesh of his palm, snarling and furious. It takes him several minutes to calm his racing heart, work up the courage to reach forward, again, touch the face, map curve of the stone jaw, curling horns, and twisted, scowling mouth. A gargoyle, although Lance has never heard of one inside before.

“Rich people are so goddamn weird,” he mutters to himself.

Shaken but determined, he moves forward.

As he creeps forward, more and more carvings dot the walls, each one angrier and angrier. At one point he has to pull his hand away, continuing forward on his legs alone, because he fears cutting himself on teeth that only appear to get sharper, brick that only seems to get rougher. He keeps his arms extended, moving forward slowly, cautious of what might be in front of him, too scared to stumble.

Eventually, his knuckles hit a door, the sound of the slight impact bouncing off the walls and echoing down the hallway. He flattens his hands against the grainy wood, mapping out the knots, the iron studs and hinges. He’s surprised to feel the lock pulled free. He wraps his fingers around the door handles and tugs, pulling the door open with a groan.

Moonlight spills into the hallway. It’s silvery and faint, but it’s enough that Lance can see the outline of his hands, even vaguely in front of him. He pushes the door open further, wincing at the slight creak, just wide enough for him to slip in.

The room is…huge. And destroyed.

Inside, it’s even easier for the moonlight to lift some of the oppressive shadow. It’s not bright by any means, but the window that makes up the back wall is massive and clear, and the doors are wide open, letting the full moon spill into the crowded, dusty room. Lance steps cautiously forward, hands still extended, looking around with wide eyes.

Broken furniture litters the floor, leaving splinters and shards of metal everywhere, casting long shadows on the wall. Lance is careful to step around it, but in his attempt to steer clear he very nearly walks into one of the many torn drapes and tapestries hanging from the walls and ceiling. He ducks at the last second, avoiding a facefull of it, but he still nudges it with his shoulder, causing a cloud of dust to fall to the floor, powdering his face and hair.

“Aw, that’s fucking disgusting,” he says, swiping it off his face and resisting the urge to throw up. He shakes out his hair, hyperconscious of how little it actually does, hoping that there is some kind of well he can find on the grounds in the morning to bathe. Or, God, maybe even a real bath! With hot water! It’s a castle, after all. There should be.

He looks again at the state of the room, with the shattered glass all over the wall and holes punched into the plaster walls. Paint is peeled or scratched off in many areas, especially where decorative fabric has been torn, or where coat racks or lampposts have fallen, scratching the walls on their way down. On second thought, hot water baths seem too nice for this shithole.

A glint catches his eye, and he lifts his head just to find himself face to face with his own fragmented reflection, startled expression mirrored back to him, brown eyes wide and eyebrows creased. Half the glass is missing, and the rest of it is spiderwebbed, in shards. The ornate carvings of the mirror’s frame have been half-crushed, like the whole giant, floor-length thing was picked up and smashed on the floor.

Sufficiently spooked, with his abuela’s warnings of bad luck ringing in his ears, he starts to turn away, unsure if he can be cursed if he didn’t break the damn thing but unwilling to take his chances. He's in a rough enough situation. He can’t really afford to make it worse. But as he moves forward, he catches sight of another face reflected out of the corner of his eye, and whips around to face it, hand curled protectively over his heart.

“Oh,” he breathes, air knocked out of him, transfixed on the portrait across from him.

It’s painting, or at least, it was. Like everything else in the room it’s been destroyed, half the man’s face shredded cleanly away. Left only is the shining thickness of his dark hair, the length of his pale neck, and the perplexing, swirling indigo of his eyes. He looks hauntingly familiar, in the way a name on a tombstone brings on a shudder of vague recollection, a chill down one’s spine.

Wary and curious, Lance slowly reaches forward, pinching the corner of the ripped flap of canvas with his thumb and pointer finger, cognizant of the accumulated grime, and hesitant for a reason he doesn’t understand. Slowly he begins to flip the canvas up, running his pinkies along the rejoining seams, too dark to make out the rest of the painting quite yet but noting the strong chin, sharp jawline, regal set of the shoulders –

A red light pulses, suddenly, nearly blinding the room, and Lance’s eyes squeeze shut on reflex, hands dropping to his sides. He turns slowly once it has faded, heart pounding, and sees to his great shock a flower, encased in glass, floating atop a small table, glowing as brightly as a ruby.

As if in a trance, he walks towards it, tripping over a table but quickly righting himself, eyes glued to the flower; noting the way it seems to rotate, almost too slowly to track, and sparkle like freshly fallen snow in early sunlight. He stops when he gets close, admiring it in almost a single-minded focus; the deep, dark green of the stem, the sharp thorns in great number along it, and the softly glowing pinkish-red of the three triangular petals. Lance has seen nothing like it before, not in his sister’s garden, not sold in the town square, not even wild. The flower is enchanting, and Lance is reaching out before he can stop himself, pressing careful hands to the glass and lifting it quickly, setting it on the floor and standing again as fast as he can manage, unwilling to take his eyes off the flower for even a second.

He’s nervous, now, as the flower lays without barrier, brighter and softer alike in the cool air and silver moonlight. His reach to touch it is slow, almost as if he must caress the air around it first, single finger poised to rest gently on the widest petal.

A shadow suddenly dwarfs him. He rips back his hand at light speed, but it’s too late, and Prince Keith snarls at him, teeth bared and mouth twisted and far more horrifying than any gargoyle.

He says nothing for a moment. Condensation huffs out of him in a cloud in the cold night, enveloping his head like a halo of smoke. In the next second he’s leaping forward and Lance doesn’t have time to move, doesn’t even have time to pray, can only let out a strangle shout and sharp inhale.

But Keith does not claw him to death, or sink his teeth into Lance’s heart. He only slams the glass case back over the flower, wrapping himself around it almost protectively, mouth still twisted and eyes still angry and cold.

“Why did you come here,” he hisses, stalking towards him, matching every step Lance takes backward. His claws scratch on the floor with every step.

Lance says nothing.

“What about this place seemed inviting to you?” Keith’s voice is low, carefully controlled. With every word Lance’s heart lurches, and with every step his lungs get tighter and tighter. “What about the darkness and closed door made you feel you had the right to enter?”

There’s no overt animosity to his tone, no animation. His voice is flat; deadly. This is not some kind of banter; there is no upper hand for Lance to gain. This conversation doesn’t need him at all.

This is a cornering. A final toying with a trapped animal.

“It’s only a flower,” Lance manages, and the words are barely out of his mouth before Keith roars, a hundred times louder than before, shaking the very ground with the force of it. There is nothing human or humane about it.

“Do you realise what you could have done?!” he shouts, so mounstrous it reverberates in Lance’s bones. He slashes wildly, splitting an already broken chair in two, flinging the halves at the wall.

Lance presses himself against the wall, as far away from him as he can manage, breath coming in short pants. “I didn’t mean –”

“Get out!” Keith booms, and Lance doesn’t waste a second.

He turns around, and he flees.

— — —

next chapter

151 notes · View notes

nightswatchdisbandmentera · 2 months

Text

Jon’s immediate reaction to R+L=J is basically him spending all his years insecure about his bastard status and carrying the weight of being the one stain on Ned Stark’s honor, only to hear that he wasn’t Ned’s source of shame at all and going “you know what, as long as I get to be yours, I’d rather be your bastard”

#jon’s feelings re ned are sooooo complicated #the rlj reveal will bring a whole lot of anger and incredulity but I’d imagine the nagging feeling will just be #but but I wanna be your son!! even if I’m not legitimate at least let me be your son!!#depends on when he learns about rlj but I think if he learns about it before he gets to winterfell and learns about robb’s will #he might choose to push for his claim as robb’s heir as a last ditch attempt to hold on to the one thing #that recognizes him as ned’s #and that would be the heart in conflict with itself - trying to get winterfell even though he knows it’s not really his #he won’t go through with it though #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #jon snow #also extra points for angst added if jon is “legitimate”

72 notes · View notes

honestlyvan · 2 months

Text

I do kind of wonder if the implicit assumption that Door is mad at Alan for involving Saga should be re-examined a little bit.

The game is very careful to not frame any of Saga's relationships as paternalistic. Like, repeatedly, with emphasis, especially among the relationships with people who are close to her and have reasons to act protective over her. Having Door primarily be motivated by a sense of righteousness over someone messing with his protectorate goes against theme with her, and would single him out as the only male character whose help Saga does need.

Furthermore, we know Freya didn't seem to think that highly of Door, never telling Saga anything about him and being firm in not wanting to discuss the topic. Her considering Door a potential danger to Saga just like her powers and choosing to hide the truth to protect her wouldn't make sense if she, too, could use her seer powers to confirm that Door did have Saga's best interest at heart, and with Door existing outside of time, I don't think there's adequate signalling that this would be something he would have had a change of heart about.

Furthermore, while Door is very likeable and definitely not a villain or even an antagonist... he is very trickster-like, and seems very cavalier with how he chooses to interfere and when. From his interactions with the Old Gods, spending fourty years on kill-on-sight terms with them only to happily fanboy over having them on his show and collaborate with them to mess with Alan, to the way he almost deigned to let Alan create a hint for Saga about how to use her powers rather than letting Saga and Tim just work it out amongst themselves, he's playing the long game in every situation and seems to enjoy making the story take twists and turns because of his involvement.

So Door is in a weird superposition of meddlesome/hands-off largely because I almost got a sense that with Saga, he's keeping his distance on purpose. Keeping himself concealed and out of the conversation, despite much of her story being discovering her origins and discovering her own supernatural influence. Outside of letting Alan create a single manuscript page about him, he doesn't even hint at his own existence while Saga is in the Dark Place, theoretically right there for him to reach out to.

And if Door does ultimately think that surely any daughter of his can handle herself, there is one another innocent that has been involved in this all by Wake I could see him getting worked up over instead.

#Warlin Door #Saga Anderson #Also ange (bryndeavour) pointed out that a lot of the parent-child relationships are characterised by these #misgivings and omissions #while the grandparent-child relationships seem to be far more about reconciliation #and Night Springs *is* Logan's favourite TV show #I also think about something David Harewood said in an interview #about how Door's various faces #about how he played all of them very straight -- that Door kind of *is* that kind of wacky sneaky guy who can still be scary as shit #and I feel like how generally Loki-coded he is that would fit with this #There's also something very gratifying about *Warlin Door* being like “oh Saga? lmfao my girl can handle herself she doesn't need my help”#maybe with a side order of “I haven't been a great dad”#not only does it fit in with the themes around Saga's agency #but Door is also like the *most* the “absent and conflicting relationships with the father” that the Alan Wake files mentioned #a theme that is apparently central to Alan's writing but... not really anywhere in the stories about him #AW2 spoilers #Alan Wake (Remedy)

73 notes · View notes

fujii-draws · 19 days

Text

OKAY! Chatot rant in tags below! Read at your own discretion.

#okay starting from the beginning of where ppl usually dislike him. apple woods chapter.#he doesn’t give hero/partner the CHANCE to explain themselves despite them being relatively good recruits up until that point.#and that legit might be my only gripe with that chapter bc!!! stories need conflict! I LIKE the conflict in apple woods!!!#hero and partner being punished so something they didn’t do!#the misunderstanding! how team skull (Skuntank) actually outplays the main duo with a clever yet rotten trick. I LOVE that it segways into-#one of the more sweeter scenes of guild members looking out for eachother. I LIKE APPLE WOODS CONFLICT.#but chatot just. not giving them a chance. is so dumb.#I’d personally fix this by having a lil montage of hero/partner fucking up on jobs. A LOT. and chatot giving them a pass every time.#and let the perfect apple incident BE the one where he puts his foot down and doesn’t listen to them. bc he’d given them loads of chances.#and doesn’t want to hear any excuse.#but yeah. I legit dont mind him during that chapter except for that really stupid and frustrating moment.#NOW. CHAPTER 17.#UGGGGHHH WHERE DO I BEGIN #Him not believing hero and Partner about Grovyle and the future being in ruin? FINE. ACTUALLY GOOD. BC CHATOT WOULD BE SKEPTIC.#IT FITS HIS CHARACTER!!#BUT WHAT DOES SUCK. IS HIM GOING ‘Dusknoir isn’t the bad guy. he didn’t do anything wrong’#WHEN HE LITERALLY KIDNAPPED HERO AND PARTNER RIGHT I N F R O N T OF HIM.#(NO LITERALLY. HIS CHARACTER IS IN THE FRONT ROW WHEN IT HAPPENED.)#and him. having the GALL to tell hero and partner they must’ve been ‘seeing things’ and downplaying the HELL they went through.#despite them being missing for hours/days. his own guild recruits. and his angry sprite showing up.#like. I think that’s when I genuinely despised him.#that and him going ‘OH I BELIEVED YOU THE WHOLE TIME HEEHOO :)’ shit was so fucking annoying.#just playing it off as a joke the second the guild started to believe hero and partner.#IMAGINE IF HE W A S ACTUALLY TESTING THE GUILD’S TRUST. SHOWCASING HIM AS THE MORE RESPONSIBLE AND RESPECTFUL RIGHT HAND OF THE GUILD.#and yes. Brine cave he saves hero and partner. but at that point I just didn’t care anymore.#he fucked those two over so much. that I didn’t care what ‘valiant’ sacrifice he had.#and he grills Team Skull for what they did OFF SCREEN. they couldn’t even give us THAT.#<<< THAT or him outright saying sorry would’ve been nice. IKIK his ‘actions’ or whatever but.#eughh again this is all imo. I’m not trying to make people hate him or change their mind.#I’ll get into positives in the second post cause I’m running out of tags

79 notes · View notes

yunmeng-jiang · 3 months

Text

that man does NOT think of wei wuxian as his gege

#jiang cheng #wwx #twin prides #i have a whole post about how they both think of themselves as having an older-sibling role #but even if that wasn't true jc still always calls him by his full name and the one time wwx tried to call him shidi jc yelled at him #their relationship is not that simple! it's a huge thing that wwx occupies a weird in-between role in their family!#he's definitely not a servant but also definitely not a full member of their family and that's super important to the story!#even if jc WANTED to think of him as his older brother he would need to get past seven layers of trauma to even realize he wanted that #and then he would have to admit it to himself and then work up the courage to admit it to someone else #and even then he probably still wouldn't say it to wwx's face #sure yanli calls wwx her didi but things are much simpler from her point of view #plus she's one of those people - like lxc - that can hold an opinion deep inside herself and be at peace with it even if it conflicts +#+ with what the world says and what she's been brought up to believe #jc is not like that. he internalizes way more from the outside world and if he feels conflicted he just kind of implodes #he's spent his whole life being told that wwx is not his equal and is someone to compete against #and also secretly believing that wwx is eventually going to abandon him because he doesn't think anyone truly cares for him #plus wwx treats him like a bff who is also a liege lord rather than a beloved younger brother #he would Not form a secure attachment to wwx lmao #it also really annoys me that when people write/conceptualize him as someone who thinks of wwx as his real gege +#+ they tend to completely erase jyl and minimize her importance to jc. he HAS an older sibling who he trusts unconditionally and confides +#+ in and takes comfort from! that person already exists! and they ignore her in favor of the protagonist #it also really bugs me when they have him mourning wwx those whole 13-16 years but don't put in a single word about yanli #this kind of turned into a rant about jyl... i have a lot of feelings about her especially since i'm the oldest sibling in my family #anyway. that man does not think of wwx as his gege #haterade #(kind of)

120 notes · View notes

total-drama-brainrot · 1 month

Note

TD World Tour AU, where Noah doesn't tell Owen that Alejandro is an eel in London... In Area 51, Noah is accidentally splashed with an alien truth potion (which wears off after a few days) and he talks to Owen... Owen asks Noah what he truly thinks about Alejandro, and Truth-Potion Affected Noah says this: "I have mixed feelings for Alejandro. He's a brilliant, interesting guy and I like him, but I don't trust him. He's like a slippery eel dipped in grease, swimming in motor oil. Basically, Heather with social skills. Wait a minute, why am I telling you this?!"... What if Alejandro secretly heard Noah call him all those conflicting things + Alejandro also learns that Noah is affected with an alien truth potion? 👽

Alright, you got me. I'm an absolute sucker for truth potion plots, especially when the character(s) effected by them are usually either pathological liars or incredibly secretive- of which Noah absolutely falls into the second category, given he shares so little personal information.

I'll gloss over why Noah declined to shit-talk Alejandro in London (though there's so many ways this change in behaviour could be justified) since the focal point of this hypothetical centred around their time in Nevada, so let's start from the beginning of the Area 51 challenge.

Area 51:

Before we start, it'll have to be established that no one was eliminated in London. Let's say that the majority vote went towards Duncan (team CIRRRRH voted him out immediately because they found his re-admission to the competition unfair, I guess. I imagine he'd also vote himself, if not as a plan to escape the competition he'd been actively skiving from, then just as an act of spite) but Chris instead claimed it was a rewards challenge- much like he does in Greece- because he doesn't want to let Duncan slip away again so soon.

I see no reason to alter the first part of the challenge- the sneaking into Area 51 portion- since team CIRRRRH's course of entry is fairly straightforward. Noah's presence doesn't make much of a difference to how it would play out; the majority of them throw their rocks and run, Owen gets lasered over the fence and Owen-napped, ect ect.

When both teams have managed to make their way into the Black Box Warehouse, Noah immediately suggests they should prioritise rescuing Owen. Tyler's quick to agree, since he's a firm believer in the "no man left behind" mentality (and he probably makes a not-so-subtle jab towards Noah for his chance of tune compared to London, where both he and Owen did leave Tyler behind) leaving Duncan and Alejandro to split from the group- Duncan in search of Gwen, and Alejandro just takes the opportunity to finally be free from his 'incompetent teammates' and prioritises finding an artifact.

Noah and Tyler come across the contraption Owen's trapped in, Tyler punches it in a futile effort to break it open, and the face hugger cube drops into Noah's hands. This is where the point of divergence comes into play; Tyler has his E.T. moment with one of the face huggers, but Noah- who's a tad bit more observant than Alejandro, and used to dodging surprise attacks from his various older siblings (and Izzy)- anticipates his own face hugger attack and promptly starts a game of cat-and-mouse with a taser alien hot on his heels.

The commotion of which attracts the rest of his team. Alejandro and Duncan arrive on the scene to see Tyler being electrocuted by an alien and Noah running in circles evading another.

Duncan attempts to rip the face hugger from Tyler's face, finding success at the cost of sending Tyler trampling into Owen's captive contraption (essentially taking Alejandro's canonical place in this scene) and inadvertently freeing Owen.

Meanwhile, Alejandro swipes up the nearest box he can find and snags the alien chasing Noah, who's still very loudly panicking as he flees, and succeeds! The alien is swiftly captured into the box, netting team CIRRRRH their artifact, and Noah promptly goes careening into the nearest tower of junk in his face hugger-fuelled hysteria. This causes another box to topple from the peak of the tower, landing directly on Noah's head and spilling its contents onto the bookworm- glass vials filled with a mysterious, luminescent cobalt blue liquid shatter into pieces drenching Noah in whatever they contained. (i.e. truth potion.)

Owen has his false-amnesia moment, characterised by his Joker makeover, and Alejandro enacts his revenge post-hypnotic suggestion after being addressed as "Al" one too many times.

Noah, understandably, swiftly objects to Owen's treatment and demands that Alejandro snap him out of it. Alejandro concedes, and Owen's brought back to himself. At least, for a moment, before the fatigue of having his mind messed with sends Owen into near-catatonia (the same as canon), meaning he has to be ferried through the Warehouse and back to the Jet by Alejandro and Duncan.

Things carry on canonically from there; Noah's just sort of there for the most part, though there'd be a minor hint to his newfound proclivity for honesty. Something along the lines of him giving an uncharacteristically honest answer to Owen as to who he's voting- Tyler, of course, since he was the one who ultimately threw the challenge for them... and also because Tyler still holds some resentment towards Noah for what happened in London, and Noah feels guilty about it every time he looks at the jock. Wait, why did he say that?

Sometime between this and the elimination scene, Noah wipes the truth-goop off of himself, but not before the effects have already started.

Tyler's voted out, yada yada yada.

The Jet:

Thus begins the start of "Picnic at Hanging Dork". Team CIRRRRH, consisting of just Alejandro, Duncan, Owen and Noah, are slumming it up in the Economy Cabin. Alejandro tries to rally his team by asking how to break apart Courtney and Heather's tentative co-operation. Owen suggests having Alejandro seduce Heather, since it worked for both Bridgette and Leshawna. Duncan makes his "Babe Olympics" comment. Noah pipes up that playing with someone's feelings is pretty scummy, even for someone competing for a million dollars.

Alejandro takes Noah's reluctance towards his methodology poorly; he hadn't spoken up before, when Alejandro had utilized the same strategy against other girls- and even Owen noticed that, so surely Noah did too- so why was he to outwardly against him using the same tricks? Duncan agrees, and offers ''his'' idea of having Alejandro flirt with Courtney to throw both her and Heather off their games (since Heather has an obvious crush on Alejandro), and things follow canon.

Then, the scene between Alejandro and Courtney happens. Noah scoffs at the display from the side lines, prompting Owen to ask him why he's so against Alejandro's plan.

"I mean, you never said anything before, when he flirted with Bridgette and Leshawna." Owen comments, light-hearted in nature but with an underlying questioning tone.

Noah's eyes flicker with a cobalt glow, easily mistaken for a trick of the light, and he speaks without even thinking.

"Yeah, because I was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. Bridgette was happenstance, and Leshawna's whole deal could've been a coincidence, or some massive misunderstanding. But this?" Noah extends an accusing hand out towards a smug looking Alejandro, then pans it over to a flattered Courtney, "He's outright toying with Courtney's feelings after she was cheated on in front of an international audience. It's scummy."

Owen nods in understanding, momentary contemplation evident in the pouted curve of his lips, and he chimes in.

"Does that mean you don't like Al?"

"I never said that."

"Well, how do you feel about him, then?"

Again, a flash of blue light against the hickory backdrop of Noah's eyes, and he responds thoughtlessly.

"I guess I have mixed feelings about him. On the one hand, he's slippery, like an eel dipped in grease, swimming in motor oil. He's like if you took all of the worst aspects of Heather, wrapped them up in a pretty package, and gave them social skills..." He holds his hands out before him in a scale-like manner, with the left tipped downwards and tie right raised by his chin. Then, the two hands swap positions.

"And on the other hand, he's brilliant. I've never met anyone as talented as Alejandro; he's smart, he's athletic, he's funny. It's almost unfair just how perfect everything about him is- even his face is perfect. It's ridiculous! Infuriating, even. It's so hard to dislike him, even when I know he's bad news, but that doesn't mean I trust him."

Owen stands slack jawed beside his best friend, both impressed and stunned at the raw honesty of Noah's tirade. Noah, now a little more aware of himself, realises that he's said more than he intended to- more than he thinks he's ever spoken in one go throughout the entirety of Total Drama. He's not usually one for speeches, after all, let alone honest ones.

He's always been the type to play his cards close to his chest, so why...?

"I, uh, didn't mean to go off like that."

And he also didn't mean to admit it, either. What was going on?

The look Owen gives him is, in a word, vivid. The blonde has a shit-eating grin stretching across his face, a sort of elated smugness practically glowing from his features.

"Sounds like someone has a cruuuush!~"

What? No? No! Not at all, where would Owen even get that idea?!

Noah splutters to correct Owen's assumption (to disastrous results, because he does sort-of has a crush on Alejandro, so the truth potion doesn't allow him to outright deny it), and in his preoccupied state he misses how a calculating pair of sage green eyes never seems to stray from him.

Alejandro has a lot to think about in regards to a certain cynic, it seems.

#I'd like to apologise for taking this idea and running with it.#Cutting myself off here before I breach 2k+ words or else I'll be here all day.#Sort of entered actual Writing Mode at the end there instead of Outline Mode but this idea is. So Full Of Potential I couldn't help myself.#But from here it'd basically be Alejandro using his newfound knowledge of Noah's crush on him to his advantage.#Whilst Noah's doing his best (and failing) to deny that he has any feelings for Alejandro.#Eventually leading to the two of them having a Bonding Moment where Alejandro gets Noah to divulge some personal information.#And in turn- or an effort to garner some trust (to be abused later)- Alejandro also lets himself be vulnerable towards Noah.#Something something Alejandro tries to use Noah as a pawn but ends up catching feelings of his own.#Then of course the potion wears off and Noah goes back to being just as prickly and standoffish as he was before.#A point of conflict maybe? Imagine bearing your soul out to someone only for them to close themself off to you not even days afterwards.#...Also imagine being practically forced to divulge information about yourself to someone you don't trust because of a truth potion.#Oh yeah. That's some good angst material right there.#Especially is you have Alejandro be- if not fully aware- than at least suspect that Noah's not being agreeable on his own terms.#Anon why have you given me The Thoughts?? I can't keep brainstorming AUs when I already have fics to work on!!#ophe's ranting in the tags again #total drama #td noah #td alejandro #team chris is really really really really hot #alenoah #-ish #silly ideas #other's ideas #long post #replies #kinda drafty in here (posts from the drafts)

59 notes · View notes