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#I actually really like this trope
kiwisandpearls · 8 months
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If I had a nickel for every piece of media i like or had liked that has a cute looking character that wields a giant hammer i’d have three nickels. Which isn’t a lot but it’s weird it’s happened thrice now.
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ladyjune · 3 months
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Listen, maybe it is the period piece/period accurate lover in me, but Colin saying he misses Penelope is making me feral actually. Like in a time when men and women weren’t allowed to speak unless in a formal setting or chaperoned; He is writing a woman not related to him, missing her, and he is like you know what I am not going to wonder why that is at all
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shima-draws · 3 months
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Ghost Cora AU where he’s actually been following Law around ever since he died but nobody has been able to see him, so all he’s able to do is watch Law get hurt and suffer in silence. UNTIL, miraculously, the battle of Dressrosa ends, and for some strange reason—through some supernatural bullshit or maybe just fate—one person is finally able to see him.
Law is sitting on the deck of the Yonta Maria watching everyone party when Luffy comes trotting over to him. And Luffy plops down beside him and says, “I’ve been meaning to ask, Torao, but who’s that really tall blonde guy with the funny makeup that’s been following you around?”
And Law’s just like
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theminecraftbee · 7 months
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There are several things Martyn realizes, all at once, when he opens his eyes:
He is dreaming.
It's one of those in-between dreams, the ones that aren't quite dreams.
He is sitting at a green felted table. It is sitting on a stage. The lighting is dim, and no one is watching, but out of the corner of his eye he can see the stagehands dressed in black, waiting.
He is not the only one sitting at the table. There is a Watcher, draped in purple. There is a Listener, draped in yellow. There is someone he recognizes in a red sweater. There is someone he thinks he should recognize, but can't quite, shuffling a deck of cards.
"Right. What's all this, then," he mutters.
We are playing blackjack, the Listener says.
We are deciding the rules, the Watcher says.
"It's not like we have anything better to do. Honestly, I'm glad you're here. Do you know how boring these guys are?" Grian says, and Martyn decides to quietly file Grian away as a dream-Grian, as opposed to real-life-Grian, so he doesn't go insane and/or stab him when he wakes up. He waits for the almost-familiar dealer to say something. He does not. After another few moments of awkward nonsense dream-silence, Martyn sighs and leans forward on the table.
"Sure, this might as well be happening," Martyn says. "Deal me in. How's the betting work, again?"
"You put your bet on the table. If you beat the dealer, you get to add it to the game," Grian explains. "If you don't beat the dealer, it takes it."
"Yeah, but like, that's abstract, isn't it? What does that mean, exactly, me losing what I bet if I don't beat the dealer," Martyn says.
Grian shrugs. "Don't ask me. To be honest, I'm hardly the storyteller you are."
"Me? Why are you acting like I have any control over these things when you're--"
Are you ready to play?
Martyn shuts up, looks at the Listener, and sighs. "Yeah, sure, I'm ready to play. Why not."
The dealer looks to its left. Grian sighs. "Why are you making me bet first. Again. We should rotate where we're sitting--fine, fine, I know it's an advantage because I'm the worst at this. Uh. Hm. No trading or giving away lives again. Not even as time or something. It makes the dynamics all weird, and I think we could use a nice straightforward death game next time."
(Martyn wants to roll his eyes. Nice and straightforward. Sure.)
The Watcher goes next. I would like there to be deep and wonderful bonds between the players. I would like those bonds to seem unbreakable.
"Coming from you, that's ominous," Martyn says.
Can I not just miss the alliances of the early days? the Watcher says.
"Never left the desert," Grian says, rolls his eyes, and looks at Martyn in commiseration. Martyn just stares back. So sue him, he's a bit more worried about this whole concept than an eye roll and a pithy phrase. Things Watchers want are rarely good.
When the bonds are enforced, they're less interesting, complains the Listener.
Martyn looks over sharply. Hey, wait, he thought--
I didn't say they had to be enforced by rule. I said they had to be deep. Encouraged, as opposed to discouraged.
Just saying. You'll never recapture Third Life.
Martyn swallows. His throat is dry. Weren't the Listeners supposed to be the good guys, here?
Besides, what I want is for each death to be meaningful again. They've felt too meaningless, lately, the Listener continues.
Martyn thinks the dealer raises an eyebrow, but it strikes him he's not exactly sure. Grian snorts. "Meaningful deaths. That's rich for you to say. I mean, I guess they're meaningful sometimes? I don't know, Martyn's the one who understands dramatic sacrifices, I just like killing things."
"Why do you keep on looking at me when you say those things," Martyn says.
"Look, you wouldn't be here if you weren't helping write," Grian says.
"What?" Martyn says.
We're here to play our cards for the story, the Watcher says. Aren't you also one of the authors?
"Me? What? No, I'm--what are you talking about," Martyn says.
Oh, well. I also hope your meaningful deaths make it in, the Watcher says the Listener.
Thanks, even if I disagree on the bonds, the Listener says.
"They hardly ever talk about real, concrete rules they want," complains Grian. "It's easier to understand the consequence if they bring up actual rules. Like boogeyman or no boogeyman."
"We're all just betting on cards!" Martyn says, throwing his hands up. "You're giving me a headache!"
It's your bet.
"Fine!" Martyn says. "Fine! You know what? Screw all of you. I hope this is the last one. I hope we never have to go back to that stupid death game. I hope it's miserable to watch or to listen to or to play and everyone just gives up. How's that for a bet?"
You're no fun.
Is that what you really want?
"Suit yourself," Grian says. "Honestly, if I still had that to bet, I guess I probably would."
"What do you mean, if you still had that to bet?"
"Well, I mean, that's not how blackjack works, is it? I don't just get back my in when I play it."
The dealer nods, and then silently, with a long bony hand, deals the cards.
Grian is dealt the four of diamonds. The Watcher is dealt the nine of spades. The Listener is dealt the five of clubs. Martyn is dealt a jack of spades. The dealer deals itself a seven of hearts. The dealer deals Grian a six of clubs--
"Hey, isn't that supposed to be face-down?" Martyn asks.
"Not here," Grian explains. "They're all face up so we can't touch the cards. So we don't have to. So we can't cheat."
"Who said anything about cheating?" Martyn says.
"Please," Grian says.
The dealer makes a hand motion. Martyn, grumpily, falls silent. He supposes they're playing by casino rules, then. He hasn't been in a casino since--he wouldn't know. Hard to remember anything that isn't this, isn't it? Isn't killing and dying and things out of his control and things very much in his control and, apparently, bizarre dream sequences designed to make him want to strangle Grian.
Anyway. Grian is dealt a six of clubs, giving him ten. The Watcher is given an eight of spades, giving it seventeen. The Listener is dealt a king of hearts, giving it fifteen. Martyn is given a six of clubs, giving him sixteen. The dealer deals its own second card face-down. Martyn stops to try to speak, and then shuts his mouth. Right. Dealer's advantage.
He stares at the numbers.
Grian sighs. "Well, I've got to double down, don't I? Fine. I want the whole 'red lives can kill' thing to be enforced somehow. I don't care how. There's my double down."
The dealer nods.
"Why would you want that," Martyn says blankly.
If we all win, that will be interesting with the bonds, the Watcher says mildly.
Grian shrugs. "I mean, we've enforced red names not befriending green names, but not the murder thing before. Figure we should switch up the game, right?"
"Why?" Martyn says again.
Well, it wouldn't do for it to be boring.
"No, not that. Just... isn't it easier to handle when the rules are laid out properly?"
Martyn throws his hands up, but stops arguing. The dealer gives Grian a face-down card. The dealer moves to the next party at the table.
The Watcher looks over at the dealer and makes a cutting-off motion. I stand.
The dealer moves on. Hit me, the Listener says, and is dealt the queen of diamonds. The Listener gestures to Martyn. It seems I bust. Pity. I suppose there will be no guarantee of meaning, then. Not what I'd prefer.
The dealer looks at Martyn. Martyn looks at the other hands. Martyn pauses.
"Wait, this is like, casino blackjack, yeah? I'm only playing against you, not the whole table?"
"Why would you be playing against us?" Grian says. "Writing's a collaborative process."
Martyn looks entreatingly at the Listener, but the Listener is a little too caught up in the bad hand it has been dealt. Martyn looks entreatingly at the Watcher, but the Watcher just looks somehow confused.
"I was under the impression that, I don't know, you all were adversarial."
Why? All we want is the same thing as you: the story to be told a certain way.
Martyn's not sure if he's furious or just numb.
"Fine. Got a sixteen, don't I? Hit me."
Two of spades.
He's furious. He wants to win against the dealer. He wants to win against everyone. He wants his idea to make it through. He has an eighteen, though. There are only two numbers in the deck that will not bust him, and he's no fool. Hitting on sixteen is a risk enough; if he wants his stupid bet of everything finally ending to make it through, he's got to hold here.
"I hold," he says through gritted teeth.
The dealer silently deals itself another card. A three of hearts. Distantly, Martyn's ears rush. He could have taken that. He could have taken the hit. He could have won. He could have had blackjack, and he doesn't know what the extra payout for blackjack even means in a game like this one, but he could have had it, and he held back, he didn't take the risk, he didn't--
The dealer flips up its cards. Seven, eight, three. Eighteen.
Martyn's heart pounds. A stand-off.
Grian flips up his own card and groans. It's a five of diamonds. "There goes that bet," he mutters.
The dealer makes a sweeping motion around the table. The Watcher smiles, a terrible, terrible thing. Martyn, all at once, realizes that he can't ask again. He can't say 'this is guaranteed to be the last one' again. He backs out of his chair. To the sides, he sees the stagehands change the lighting. A spotlight, on him and the dealer--
"That isn't fair," he says. "It's a tie. I should get my bet back, right? It's a tie!"
THAT IS WHERE WE DIFFER FROM THE HOUSES IN VEGAS, the dealer says, and Martyn's heart stops.
(The voice is familiar. Familiar, but he cannot place it.)
YOU SEE, IN THIS GAME, THERE IS ALWAYS ONE THING THAT HAS AN ADVANTAGE. ONE THING THE STORY IS ALWAYS PLAYING AGAINST. ONE THING, THAT INEVITABLY, AFTER LONG ENOUGH PLAYING, WILL WIN.
There, the dealer looks Martyn in the eyes, and Martyn, all at once, knows exactly what the dealer must be.
AND THAT IS ME.
Martyn stares Death in the eyes.
Then, in a cold sweat, Martyn wakes up.
He does not sleep again for a long time.
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blackkatdraws2 · 2 months
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The Main Character.
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[Blank Scripts AU]
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direquail · 1 month
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One of the many things I find funny and irritating is the slant of a lot of interpretations of Alecto's name (that it's about feminine rage)--on this here wlw internet in the year of our lord 2024, it's easily made to figure as rage against God, or rage against patriarchy, or religious oppression, and therefore an allusion to the idea that she's going to get her vengeance on John for betraying and oppressing her somehow, but like
John is the one who named her Alecto. He's the one who named her that. So, naming her "Alecto" is alluding to the embodiment of John's rage--their rage, since they are joined inseparably (John even explicitly says that when he first perceives her: "You wouldn't stop screaming. You were so scared. You were so goddamn mad").
He says of Alecto to Harrow, "In a very real way, you are [Alecto's] children". At a very surface level, Alecto is (depending on the text or tradition), one of the Furies--famously, in several surviving Greek tragedies, who punish Orestes for the crime of killing his mother. In fact, in Aeschylus' Oresteia, they declare that they are specifically bound to avenge matricide.
So the name "Alecto" alludes to the nature of John's mission and how he sees it.
It also implies that his divine rage, the rage that gives him power, the power that makes him divine, that he either represents or wants to represent, is feminine rage. He was chosen by Earth (which, Furies are sometimes the daughters of Gaia); he is her champion, however he's managed to fuck that up. Once the truth of that comes out, it becomes clear that all of his power comes from her.
And that's why you get statements from Tamsyn Muir like:
“[T]he God of the Locked Tomb IS a man; he IS the Father and the Teacher; it’s an inherently masc role played by someone who has an uneasy relationship himself to playing a Biblical patriarch. John falls back on hierarchies and roles because they’re familiar even when he’s struggling not to. Even he identifies himself as the God who became man and the man who became God. But the divine in the Locked Tomb is essentially feminine on multiple axes – I think Nona will illuminate that a little bit more."
So yes, he plays the role of Emperor and God and Teacher, with all of the things that implies. And I don't think it should be discounted. But he also is (and partly sees himself as) the chosen champion of a goddess, or what is for all intents & purposes for a human like him a goddess. He is her avenger, and while she sleeps, her avatar.
And I don't think we're meant to read him purely as a parasite who's taking advantage of her to gain power for himself, either. Or an oppressive, Kronos-like figure. Especially if you consider Palamedes' theory of the Grand Lysis, even if he was purely motivated by desire for power before (which I really doubt), there are parts of each in the other, now. What was clear and separate before is uncertain and interpenetrated. Is his rage his own, or hers? Is his mission of revenge his, or hers? If he wants power, is that his own selfishness, or her desire to survive?
And does it matter?
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heynhay · 10 months
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*fnaf kids cheering noise*
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winternaut · 2 months
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I miss you filler episodes i miss you 20 episode seasons i miss you monster of the week format i miss you character development i miss you self contained episodes i miss you tv that isn't a long chopped up movie
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lesbian-sunshim · 1 month
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support me on patreon or leave a tip
rare pairs for your consideration - starlight x discord
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prince-peachie · 8 months
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The way it’s just fandom culture to fixate and ship two characters who show up for two seconds in a book
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“Close your eyes, I’ve got a present for you!” Caretaker whispered, smiling. It was Whumpee’s birthday and they wanted to get them something special. Something they wouldn’t forget.
“Okay!” Whumpee giggled. They’d really come out of their shell after the months away from whumper. “Shall I turn around too? I might sneak a look otherwise!”
Caretaker took Whumpee’s shoulders and turned them to the wall. “Wait here.”
The next thing Whumpee knew, hands we grabbing at them, wrenching their weakened arms behind their back and wrestling them to the floor. They were just about to call out for Caretaker when they heard their voice. “Hey, I’m sorry about this, especially on your birthday but Whumper was offering a lot for your return.”
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selfrinsert · 3 months
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random AU that I can’t stop thinking about for some reason: you move into a house/apartment that’s haunted by your f/o (who is a ghost)
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caligvlasaqvarivm · 1 month
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I know you dont care about pesterquest but i wanna know, did you think they wrote eridan well or bad?
bad
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featherymainffins · 24 days
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Me when the narrator is an external entity with its own motivations and agendas and the script it makes you follow is not the one you are confined to but be well aware that all folly has its limits and all relationships might sour
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rintoki · 10 months
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luocha's voice is so calming...
imagine fucking him sensually, slowly, lovingly. and his moans are even prettier🥰🥰🫶🏻🫶🏻 filling my heart w serenity and love
MEEEEMDMRNFNDD UR SOO RIGHTTTT HES SO SMFNRKGNDKNFK
he’d look so pretty in white lingerie <3333 and his long hair ngngmgnfngnfjrbf gGGrRRRAAA i wanna comb his hair and kiss his shoulders, watch how easily his skin flushes because of how fair he is. his shaky breaths as you explore his body, slowly undoing the ties and ribbons of the white lace piece, unravelling before your eyes.
but you don’t take off everything, because the white lingerie just looks so gorgeous on him. no, instead it hangs rather messily on him; one strap falling off his shoulder, the panties pushed lazily to one side, the ribbon that was tied over his chest undone as it is now exposed to your hungry touches.
he shouldn’t be here actually, he’s a travelling merchant. but something about you draws him in, somehow he always finds himself coming back to you. maybe it’s the way you kiss his body, or the way you hold him so firmly and yet still gentle, how you always seem to know where to touch him that has him trembling.
“did you find this piece while on your travels?” you toyed with the silky garment, brushing your fingers over the translucent fabric on his hips. “it looks gorgeous on you.”
luocha sucks in a shaky breath, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “i… thought you’d appreciate it,” his voice was soft, eyes following your hands. you were going excruciatingly slow today, perhaps you were appreciating the lingerie a little too much.
the little white panties barely covered anything, already soaked with precum as evidence of how long you’ve been at it. it didn’t take much to push the string that made up the back half of the panties to the side, your fingers massaging the puckered skin of his hole. luocha bit down on his bottom lip, anticipating the feeling of your fingers pushing in and filling him up; oh how he’s missed the feeling.
you watched as the rise and fall of his chest quickens with the anticipation, his hips twitching and pushing against your hand.
“plea—please…” he whispers, and you oblige him. pushing a lubed finger in first, before pulling out and pushing in two. you listen to his quiet whine, his abdomen quivering as he tries to relax and accommodate the stretch. curling your fingers, you search for a spot along his spongy walls, stroking the way you know he likes it.
luocha grips at the sheets, the muscles in his belly flexing when your fingers brush over a particularly sensitive spot and he finds he cannot control the way his legs twitch, nor the high pitched whimpers that escape his mouth.
it didn’t help that your other hand has found it’s way to his cock, gently palming it through the fabric of the panties and his hips bucks pathetically, unsure if it wants to thrust into your palm or push down on your fingers. you smile at his predicament, kissing down his inner thighs and biting a dark mark into his milky skin. it pleased you greatly to see the blonde man in such a state, normally so put together and elegant now with his hair a mess and sticking to his sweaty skin that was flushed a crimson red.
it didn’t take long for luocha to release into the panties, soiling it further as he gasps for breath, body tensing and trembling helplessly beneath your touch. he stares at the ceiling, your warm touch already leaving his body and leaving him cold in the bed. as a travelling merchant he should be glad that you kept your business short, but he can’t help how he wishes you would stay just a while longer.
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iapislazuli · 5 months
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I think it’s funny everyone still characterizes nightheart like he was in book 1 babes this is book 4 hes just some guy now
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