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diejager · 9 months

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Bittersweet Devotion pt.2

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Cw: angst, heartbreak, mention of cheating, mention of death, no happy ending, apology, tell me if I missed any. wc: 9.3k

Your universe, Earth-XXX, was a parallel one to Earth-616 in some sense. You had a Peter Parker, a Gwen Stacy and a Mary Jane Watson, it had everything down to the death of Ben Parker and the devastation it brought to your friend. It was the same year as Spider-Man 616’s world, it had the same political standing and same history. Your world, like many others, was a near carbon copy of 616, down to the smallest things; but like others in the spiderverse, you had differences. Some were minor changes in the course of its canon story, others were major changes in the characters and the era.

You - like Miguel, Miles, Jess, Hobart (he liked going by Hobie), Patrick and Patriv - were one of those major deviations in the original canon. You didn’t exist - or so you thought - in Peter B. or Peter’s universe even though you lived in the same year. The reason might be that in the reality, the sum of all potential universes that paralleled each other, created the multiverse - the Spiderverse.

The concept of it seemed strangely unlimited, the infinite possibilities to a different ending or a different start for its world. The multiverse was, in some sense, as old as time, a culmination of everything made imaginable by man. Found in ancient texts - the Puranas, ancient Hindu mythology - that expressed the infinite number of universes with their gods and principles. Whereas Persian literature - tales - touched the idea of learning about alternate universes that were similar, yet distinctly different from theirs.

Misconstrued by many, the strangeness of it was deemed a danger, the unknown possibilities were feared by people of older age, but venerated in the past as it was in the present for the unfathomable possibilities. It exists in fiction, where they borrowed the idea of many worlds within a reality from myths, legends and religion. Heaven, Hell, Olympus and Valhalla were all reflections of a familiar world, a material realm for the blessed, the sinful, the gods, and the worthy. The similarities sometimes frightened you, how close the people were to knowing of the reality you all lived in. The tangibility of crossing worlds and bringing about chaos to every string, every realm, every material form of the multiverse.

They, after all, were real, Hell as much as Heaven in your universe. Gods from every religion, either monotheistic or polytheistic, some you’d personally seen are Thor and Loki, brother and sons of Odin the Allfather, and the God of Thunder and Mischief respectively. Another was a big crocodile lady, Ammit, from what you’d heard from the all-knowing Dr. Strange. From God to Norse and Egyptian gods, from angels and demons, and from humans to mutants, your plane of existence was as wide as it could go without drifting off the edge and causing a mass domino effect within the multiverse.

You were curious, naturally so for a scientist, exploring the worlds that felt familiar to you but you hadn’t truly grasped - different, yet similar. You hadn’t given a second thought to exploring yours. After all, why explore yours when your horizon was as broad as you imagined it, unperturbed by any limits when it came to the multiverse? The eternal and unlimited growing number of realms in your expanding reality.

Perhaps that was the reason why you hadn’t known your universe had its own Miguel O’Hara. You rarely came back for anything, you had everything you’ve ever wanted in Nueva York, Earth-928. You have friends who could truly understand you, people who stood beside you when you fought, youngsters who looked up to you for mentoring and a dream- or it was a dream. Dreams, not dissimilar to wishes, were hopeful, naive in a way, they came and went. Some dreams would come true, while others fell, like the fallen stars that crossed the night sky.

Yours simply happened to be a fallen one, one not meant to happen and become greater. You let it go after he dropped you, after he turned his back and let his mouth run unperturbed. He brought her up, someone he swore he would remember but left in the past. A new chance to become something, to become whole again, and Miguel took it. He wanted to start anew, fresh with someone he never met, you wanted the same; you both had what you wished for, until he put his foot down, cutting the thin web that connected both your lives.

It broke your heart. Months of patience and anxiously stepping around each other, nervous about breaking the trust freshly built between you both, lost in a few weeks. You were brittle, heart fractured and threatening to fall further apart if someone was any crueller to you. The smallest glare, the tiniest scoff or the weakest remark would send you reeling into the abyss of heartbreak and the throes of anguish. Yet somehow, you found yourself being led away by a copy of the Miguel you loved.

He mumbled apologies as he held you tightly, his arm over your shoulder as he cradled you under his umbrella, hastily urging you to follow his guidance. If it were any other person, you would’ve been wary, cautious of any strangers that touched you so closely and chaperoned you so quickly; but this was Miguel, a man you trusted and that you still trusted wherever he came from. Earth-XXX’s Miguel O’Hara was still similar to the one you knew, someone you could trust. You did.

He led you to his flat, someplace near Alchemax’s building in Manhattan, a safe neighbourhood for the richer citizens of Manhattan. A cozy place of neutral tones and muted colours, yet warm as he welcomed you - a stranger as of yet - into his home. He had machinery strewn around, reports stacked on his coffee table and smaller things he had been tinkering about decorating his home. As a geneticist, he liked to play with machinery, having drawn his designs and models, built his creations from scratch and worked from the base programming to make something better. At least Miguel from Earth-928 did, and it seemed this one did as well.

You stood in his shower, where he left you in a frenzy to bring you dry clothes, drying out your hair with the towel he motioned you to use. You doubted that he had anything your size, his broad shoulders and his towering height, nothing he had in his draws - and the boxes he stowed away in his closet - would fit you. They would drag down your ankle and sit low on your collar. Granted, you were soaked down to your socks and had no temporary clothes to cover yourself with during your stay.

You had stripped from your soaked clothes and patted down your wet skin, shivering from the cold that clung to your bones even after Miguel had increased the heater in the small confines of the bathroom. It was small but big enough to move around and stretch your arms comfortably. You hadn’t felt the cold until he brought you to his bathroom, the numbness of the past months weighing heavily on your shoulders and the bleeding of your heart made everything seem so meaningless. The colours draining from the world around you, a once bright New York turned grey, the monochrome tones of black and white mixing and interlacing to form even more boring shades.

The vibrancy and life you once saw around you dulled and died suddenly, like the winters brought by Demeter’s devastation and sadness when her daughter was taken from her, stolen from the berth of flowers she liked frolicking about. How Demeter doomed the world to see her pain, to feel how she felt in the moments her daughter had to return to her husband than stay with Demeter. You felt laden by your faults and his actions. Doubtful of your relationship, of what led you both to such an ending. Had you been clearer or more forthcoming about your emotions, or had you confronted him for his behaviour, would you still be in his arms?

Were you at fault for missing something you had relied on as comfort and safety? Could you be blamed for his reaction to your meddling in his affairs in the Society? Could you blame him for dropping those words on you? After all, being reminded or compared to a past lover was anything but gentle, the gut-wrenching envy and betrayal you felt flash through you was nearly drowning. It made you feel lacking, to be reminded of his old flame, the one he was about to marry and the person he seemed to love before all. Could you even compare to what she was; what she did? (Dina had cheated on him, you knew that, but he was truly happy in their moments of pleasure and domesticity. They were a family until she died.)

You were drowning in your self-made sorrow when his voice called you, grounding you to the room. Standing before a door, naked and shivering, arms wrapping the damp towel around your shoulders. He called again, cracking the door open to pass you the - his - clothes he thought would fit you. He coughed as you took your temporary wear, your cool fingers brushing his warm ones. It was a sudden and jerking contact, you pulled back jerkingly, a shamble of an apology and a thank you flew from your tongue. His chuckle was a reassurance in the complete quietness of the flat, his low voice reminding you of better times.

The sweater hung loosely around you, dipping down your collar to expose your shoulder. It was warm, the cotton used to make it still soft after being stored away and the soothing scent of spice and pine deeply integrated into the fibres. The pants were stretched around your hips, the tight fabric thin and flexible under stress, hidden under the long shirt. The legs, however, swayed loosely around your limbs, too big for your calves, but tight enough to hug your thighs. He had certainly made sure to bring you clothes that would fit your frame. You hadn’t attempted to smell his pants, you thought it would’ve been too intrusive and disgusting to do so if only to smell a remnant of Miguel on his as you did on the sweater.

Miguel was waiting for you in the kitchen, his back turned to you as you ambled towards him. His shoulders loose and back relaxed in the presence of a stranger made you appreciate how good-natured he was in most universes you’d been to. He turned his head, gesturing you to sit on the chair facing him on the island as he returned to something he was making while you changed.

“I hope you don’t mind hot chocolate,” he started, voice light and hopeful as he turned to you, cup in each hand as he moved to stare at you. “I’m not one for tea.” He slid the warm mug into your hand, eyes watching your expression as he slowly sipped on the hot beverage.

His eyes squinted slightly when your lips curled upwards, a smile hidden by the steaming mug. You cupped the mug, feeling the warmth of the freshly brewed drink, the steam rising in soft curls and melting in the cooler atmosphere. Tentatively, you brought the rim to your lips, slowly tilting the cup. The powerful taste of chocolate hit you strongly, the sweet and dark liquid melting the tension in your muscles until you could curl over the table with an appreciative sigh.

“Thank you…” you knew his name, wanting to call him, but his reaction would be unwanted, the shock, fear and suspicion that would fill his beautiful, brown eyes. So you slurred your words, dragging out your voice until he could tell you his name himself.

“Miguel. Miguel O’Hara, ” he nodded, cocking his head upwards, pointing at you with his chin. “What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you Hey every time I want to call you.” His lips broke into a cheeky smile, teasing you when he saw that you’d comfortably melted into the drink and his island chair. He wanted to ease the tense atmosphere from before into something much calmer, to help the accumulated tension in your shoulders to fall like the rain that clouded the streets of New York.

You let out a hoarse chuckle, your throat still fresh from crying, and told him your name, trying to stabilise your shaking tone. His cheeky smirk tugged at your heartstrings, you hadn’t seen Miguel laugh or smile this freely in months. You missed it. The casual banter you shared and the on-and-off insults you’d hurl at one another, all good-natured insults meant to rile him.

“Thank you, Miguel,” you nearly choked when you uttered his name, the wound still so fresh and bleeding it slip from your tongue easily. It brought up so many memories, both painful and joyful. Your eyes glazed over, tears threatening to fall once again, to paint your cheeks with agony that you - him, or perhaps both of you - had brought on yourself. “Thank you…”

Miguel hummed sympathetically, eyes staring down at his drink, deep in thought. Perhaps he was thinking of a way to invite you to share your problems, to tell him why you broke down on the street in stormy weather. Or maybe he was thinking of the fastest way to kick you out, to get rid of the mess you became. The silence, however, was reassuring, calming the nerves that followed the eerie calmness of Miguel’s den or the loud, hectic atmosphere of the Society. His warm, worrying gaze grounded you, the softness behind his concerned stare was heartwarmingly nostalgic.

“Difficult breakup?” His words seemed hesitant, unsure of his conclusion to the cause of your appearance. Unknowingly, he had struck gold, pinning down the right problem in your life with a few observations. Of course, he was observant and aware of his surroundings, why else was he so willing to bring you into his home?

“How’d ya know?”

His sigh was telling, the deep, concerned and tired breath was only used when he knew that you wouldn’t tell him what ailed you, like the groan of a disappointed, yet worried father.

“Because I know how it feels,” he says slowly, pensive over his words, picking them carefully to not damage you further than your ex had. He knew the pain of a harsh breakup, the pain and sorrow that followed, like a dark cloud that hovered over you whenever you were awake.

“Why?” You croaked.

“Why?” he parroted, frowning at your question.

“Why did you invite me in? I’m a- a stranger to you, you don’t even know me. What if I’d been acting to mug you or potentially kill and steal from you? What’d you do then, Miguel?”

“I know the risks, but you didn’t, didn’t you? And wouldn’t, you don’t look like the person to harm another.”

You scoffed at his words. Didn’t and wouldn’t didn’t mean you would not do it later after gaining his trust, to stab him in the back after he helped you and nursed you. The simple, naïve idea that you didn’t look like a violent person was mind-blowing, it was stupid. How could he know if you didn’t mean harm later on? Like how Miguel never meant to harm you - he loved you - and yet in the end, he had.

“That’s naïve,” you muttered, eyes closed as you drank the cooling beverage, the sugary drink trickling down your throat.

“I’m confident in my ability to read people.”

He did seem confident in his ability, the straight back and the strong gaze in his eyes showed; and, maybe because you knew from experience that Miguel was observant and careful, he hadn’t gotten where he was by simply trusting people and following the herd. He tested and made mistakes, he learned from them each time and found a way to use it to his advantage. The Miguel you saw in every universe was similar in some ways, their good nature, their cunningness, their bravery and their intelligence. All aspects known to characterize Miguel O’Hara in all universes he existed in.

You conceded to his will, head bowed and shoulders slack. You breathed shallowly, swallowing the lump in your throat:

“Yeah, what gave it away?”

You thought it would be the last of him you’d see in your life, you wished it wouldn’t, that you’d see him over and over, to feel what the Miguel from your universe had to give, but you knew it was wishful thinking, a wish thrown to the stars. Logically, he had no reason to call or text you after exchanging numbers days prior. He promised to call you, and he made you promise to call him if anything ever resurfaced, be it pain, anger, heartbreak or hate. You, instinctively, believed his word.

You hated yourself for falling so easily to another Miguel, how you bent to his words and the sweet promises he uttered that night. There was no sign that he would keep his word, that he would see you again after your breakdown, except for his words and your belief in him. Then it wasn’t misplaced, all the trust and belief you had, since he called you, asking to meet up at a cafe. Miguel had set up a place and time for you when you replied with a croak, still feeling down. He had whispered reassuring words to you, urging you to meet him - he explicitly told you he’d feel offended to be stood up - and spend some time outside. The air was fresh and cool for an autumnal month, it wasn’t too cold that you were forced to wear a thick jacket, but it wasn’t warm enough for you to go out in a simple shirt.

You were hesitant to take him up on his offer, knowing how easily you could rebound. You’d crash into Miguel’s open arms, searching for the love and affection he fed you like a lovesick puppy, but, then again, Earth-XXX’s Miguel was similar, yet different from his variant. It would be a lie if you told yourself you didn’t miss him, the soft smiles, the gentle touches and the affectionate words. You had spent so much time as his right-hand Spider that it felt odd not seeing him the following morning. It was a routine you’d formed: waking up in his bed, kissing him good morning, getting to work together and eating together. Everything you’d done in the past years was with Miguel from Earth-928 the routine, the rigidity, it was grounding, it was the only semblance of normalcy in the world you lived in.

Now, you had to face the possibility that you were too broken to see another Miguel, to hold a casual conversation and form coherent and normal sentences. The purposefully slow steps you took to the cafe picked after having a moment outside the glass front were telling in itself. You swallowed the little amount of saliva in your throat to soothe its dryness and walked through the doors of the quaint establishment. It was painted in calm, brown tones, rustic in design with a warmth that rivalled the comfort of your bed. It lifted a bit of the tension you had, shoulders slumping slightly as your eyes searched for a familiar mop of brown hair.

Laying against the brown sofa, he stared out of the wide window from his booth. The warm, morning lights caressed his cheeks, lighting up the sharp edges of his jaw and nose. He was sculpted in perfection, like the youthful beauty of Adonis, crafted with the meticulous and attention-catching hands of an artist that created what was thought to be a god’s beauty. You could spend your days watching him, catching every little detail of Miguel’s face under the changing lighting, but you were standing near the entrance and he was waiting for you. His words echoed in your mind: “Don’t forget about next week, I miss seeing you.”

His eyes flickered to you, blinking as he turned to you, flashing a smile. You returned the sentiment, a shaky smile lifting the corners of your lips. You sat across from him, eyes wandering the cafe to stare at anything but him, lest you wouldn’t be able to stop the rush of emotions that would light your face in a flush. He uttered your name, greeting you in a friendly manner. You nodded back, muttering his name, pushing down the wince whenever you said it.

“Chocolate.”

The still-warm cup stared at you, light steam wafting over the reflective liquid. It was full, unlike Miguel’s cup, and drank down to the middle of the container.

“Thank you.”

He probably wouldn’t let you repay him for the hot chocolate he bought you, the smile he gave you told you as much when your eyes flickered between his and your cup. The hot chocolate was a reminder of your night in his flat, where he lent you his shoulder to cry and his ears to listen. Embarrassment seemed to flash whenever you recalled the memory, how vulnerable you were to him, your walls broken down and your heart open. Though, Miguel didn’t seem to mind your fragility, giving you as much time as you needed.

“How are you? I wanted to give you a few days to think before meeting again, I thought you might’ve needed the time alone.”

You nodded lamely, fingers curling around the warm porcelain, back slumped into the booth to hide from his knowing eyes. He was right, you had needed the time alone to clean yourself up, scour through your memories and tend to whatever mess you made of yourself. You were thankful. The last few days had brought revelations, how - both of - you had ignored the signs of a rupture in the relationship and continued to push on, like crossing a crumbling bridge.

“‘M doing better. How- and how are you?”

He smiled at your attempt, you were trying on your own after a few - forced - encouraging words from Miguel. Maybe you’d learn to live with the pain, coexisting with the numbness that filled you until it dulled to a point where it would be barely acknowledged by you or anyone in your vicinity - where it wasn’t painted on your face with bright colours. Or the pursuit to forget it, pushing it into the farthest corner of your mind and heart, painting over the crack with glue. As long as you wouldn’t drown in your sorrows, ending up playing with dangerous substances to stay afloat while your mind sunk deeper into addiction and denial.

He wouldn’t let you get that far, Miguel understood you and he lived through it as you did. Although his was a more violent breakup - she had cheated on him, his explosive reaction was natural - than yours, he hadn’t relied on anything but self-meditation and a lot of thinking. Like a friend - you were one by his standards, he’d invited you to his flat, you’d seen his organized chaos and ranted about your life while he comforted you with his shoulder and a cup of hot chocolate - he would stay by your side, hoping his support would be enough to help you.

“Great so far.”

His grin - somehow - grew even larger, enthusiasm gleaming in his eyes.

Oftentimes, Miguel would be the one to call you, your phone ringing in the afternoon of the day prior with his soothing voice on the other end of the line. He spoke easily, finding the time to invite you out for the simplest reason, to talk, to make a drink, to have fun, and - your favourite by far - to see you. His initiative had you trying to double your efforts to heal, reaching outside of your boundaries and texting Miguel whenever you had a moment to yourself. You felt guilty that he was always the one to plan these outings, so you promised yourself that you’d become a better friend than you currently were. You even remembered his teasing tone when you called him for the first time:

”Aye, finally. I thought you’d never call me, chica. I felt neglected, thought you had forgotten about me for a second there.”

It started with the first coffee date, bickering about who would pay, pushing your card before the other while still seated at your table, frowning stubbornly and throwing promises about letting the other pay next time. Either way, Miguel rarely let you pay, coming atop as the winner of your little fight with his strength and height (you couldn’t exactly put all your force into your push, it could break bone and bruise the skin.).

Then it would be random meetings on the streets that would lead you to a random bench at the park, basking in the other’s presence, retelling your day and him nitpicking anything he could with a ridiculously criticising frown. He was playing, you knew he was. You did the same after you’d gotten more comfortable talking to him, it became easier to see him as a different - as his own - person. A few hits on the shoulder left and right, but it was mostly laughter at ridiculous expressions made to emphasize your disdain for a certain event.

The months that followed were a blur to you. Rather than going to a cafe or the park, you went to restaurants and crashed at one of your flats, yours if he wanted to play games and lounge about with food and drinks, and his if you wanted to watch movies (he had the best television you’d ever seen, such high definition and speed.) and tinker away at his inventions and theories. He was certainly happy that his new friend was another scholar in the field of genes and engineering (you were mostly into engineering than genes, but you knew a few things that you’d found interesting.). You could both gush - scientifically - about the possibility of gene splicing and lab-generated mutations in humans, like the mutant superheroes.

You’d taken some liberties and went drinking, meeting at the same bar biweekly to relax after a few hard days at work. It served to loosen your nerves until either of you felt comfortable to chat up a storm about the most random subject. It’d been about the odd dent on the rim of his glass; then it’d be about how the sky was grey this week, there weren’t any warm, yellow rays blaring down on you when you went out; or it’d be about the distasteful cut of a man’s moustache. Drinking loosened your tongues, some words were said and some sentiments were shared, but none were truly taken seriously knowing you were tipsy - nearing drunk - those nights.

Every time you saw Miguel, you felt like you were rediscovering a part of yourself as well as him, the thing that made him so distinct and loveable. Miguel was expressive and honest, he slowly and gently let you down from whatever high you were, the pillar you needed to stand again after falling. He was so much different. It used to pain you how much they looked alike, but character-wise, they were like the two sides of a coin. It made you appreciate the delicate intricacies that made the multiverse.

You won’t - can’t - deny that you’ve grown fond of this Miguel as you did with the other one, but you couldn’t let yourself love him. He didn’t deserve someone broken and hashed into many lives: the masks you wore, the things you did, the secrets you hid, and the things you could do. He didn’t deserve someone who could bring him to his death; dying simply because he was connected to Spider-Woman; beaten simply because he knew Spider-Woman; kidnapped simply because they deemed him useful as leverage. All things that could go wrong haunt you. Miguel was human, he wasn’t a Spider, he wasn’t a superhero, and he wasn’t a vigilante. He was Miguel O’Hara, the geneticist working at Alchemax, with a brilliant mind and a kind heart.

You cherished every part of him. That’s why you can’t let your heart lead, dedicate how you’d react to Miguel after the months you spent together. He was so close, yet so far; he was touchable, you could hold him, kiss him and hug him, but he was unattainable, you couldn’t tell him how much you loved him. You watched him with hidden love, showing your affection as platonic, a friend watching another. You had hardened yourself to your heart’s cries, for loving Miguel was a dangerous game-

“I- what?” you gawked at Miguel, wide eyes and mouth agape. You were shocked at the words that left his mouth, his soft, wet lips moving as he repeated the words.

“I love you.”

His cheeks were flushed, burning a soft red, it trailed to his ears and nape. His open collar - his jacket hung on the back of his chair and his shirt clung below his collar, a skin-tight shirt that hugged his sculpted chest sinfully, it hid little to the seeing eyes of the crowd and your drunk self. His sudden words had all but sobered you, shaking you into clear lucidity of his confession.

“You… love me?”

He blinked dumbly at you for a second, as if taking the time to absorb what he told you and what you repeated. Miguel was tipsy, not drunk. He smiled and nodded, a bashfully affectionate grin on his beautiful lips.

“Yes, is it so hard to believe, chica?”

He often called you chica, you thought it was a friendly term of endearment between friends (truthfully and regretfully, you knew little of Spanish, even with being in a committed relationship with an Irish-Mexican.). You just realised it was his pet name for you. All this time, he had given you his heart, and yet, you had denied him of yours. He was more playful and less burdened by life, it made him more teasing and smiling. The term chica somewhat made sense, a cuter and more playful way of calling someone you loved than the deep-meaning ones like mi cielo and mi vida, a play of words like a small secret between you. This secret hid behind names given between friends, a well-kept one, close to his chest but gifted to you.

It might’ve once been - started - as friends, but it grew and festered in his heart until he found the time to express himself, to tell you how he truly felt for you - how he grew to care for you. He deemed this moment fine, bordering tipsy and nearing drunk, he’d be open, brutally honest but still aware of the words that left him. He wasn’t a lightweight anyway.

You wanted to tell him you also loved him, but you couldn’t do it, mouth slightly open and eyes glazed with heartbreak, you simply stared at him in hesitancy. You opened your mouth once to reply and closed it, open and close, again and again until all you could do was stare at him. How were you supposed to answer him after the bomb he dropped?

”Yes! I love you too!”

”Oh, Miguel, I love you too.”

”I- I love you as well.”

There were so many ways to express your feelings to the man who confessed, but none seemed to convey the true emotions that lay in your heart. You wanted to tell him you learned to love again thanks to him, that the time spent with him had made you open your eyes to the beauty that you were blinded by the pain and you slowly grew to care for - love - him as much as you did with Spider-Man 2099. He had the same smile, the same mind, the same heart, but he was more innocent, less burdened by disaster and happier.

So you simply nodded. It made his smirk grow.

“Aye- would it be better if I called you ‘mi tesoro’ instead? It’s more straightforward, no?”

Even now, his words were light and playful, his tone affectionate as he leaned closer to you. You could see the mischievous glint in his warm, chocolate eyes (you thought that was why he liked serving you hot chocolate, it reminded you of his eyes.) and the curve of his lips as they moved to form words. You were transfixed by his beauty, mesmerised by the comforting hues and the sharpness of his cheeks, missing how close he was to you.

“Or maybe-”

Softness caressed your lips, a plush, warm feeling that made you flush. He was kissing you, those pretty lips on yours. Your breath stuttered and you froze, but it didn’t stop Miguel’s initiative, a hand cradled your nape, holding you in place as he pushed himself closer to you. He moved against you, tongue slipping from his mouth and tentatively laving over your bottom lip, asking for something.

He was so warm, so caring. You could just close your eyes and follow his lead - you did. He pushed harder, yet the kiss stayed soft and passionate, he lightly nipped your lip and soothed the stinging with his warm tongue, beckoning you to open your mouth for him. Your lips parted, opening up for Miguel to dive in, muscle meeting yours halfway and curling over yours. He still cradled your head, fingers running through your loose hair and tilting your head backwards, giving him more space to show you how much he loved you. Your arms, somehow, found themselves wrapped around his neck, pulling him as close to you as he was pushing himself against you.

His kiss was loving, his hold was careful and his touch heartwarming. You almost regretted having to pull away, but you had to breathe, your lungs starving for air after having been devoured by Miguel’s adoring kiss. The moment you opened your eyes (you didn’t know you had closed them while you kissed), his smile greeted you, a lovesick one bubbling with unending joy. You almost choked from how it fit so well on him.

“That’s- that’s one way…” you spoke between breaths, chest swelling with every erratic pant, matching his similarly worn-out breathing.

That was all he needed from you. Your kiss was enough for him to know you loved him the same, a patient and gentle love he was willing to give you. Your heart pulsed strongly, lips curving and eyes squinting, you pushed yourself closer to his heat, his all-encompassing warmth that wrapped around you when you wanted to feel safe and loved. Your world couldn’t be any brighter, like the vibrant colours of blooming flowers when Persephone was given to her mother, where the snow melted and colours washed over the lands once more, painting the blank white and dead grey in joyous tones. It glowed brightly and warmed you like the summers that followed the melting ice, the clear, blue skies of Olympus and as freeing as the soaring hawks and skipping elks.

Letting go was far harder than loving. To let the person who you let in leave felt emptying, it left a gaping hole in his heart. Where it was once calm, struck a raging storm of rejection and regret, crashing waves the size of Poseidon’s rage and violent storms the strength of Zeus’ retribution. It hurt watching you walk beside a variant of himself, a happier and lighter version of him without his mutations or duty. You were the Spider-Woman of your universe so there wouldn’t be a second one unless there was a catastrophic canon divergence.

He hadn’t followed you at first, respecting your wishes of being left alone. He had to give you that much, at least, after those months spent beside his ignorant ass. He hadn’t seen it until it was too late, lost under the weight of his duty and fears that he’d forgotten he had people who cared, who felt, who loved. It was too late, it was always too late with him. If he couldn’t fix his first mistake, who’s to say he could fix this? He couldn’t save his first daughter or his second’s universe because it was falling apart. He couldn’t save anyone because he hadn’t realised his mistake in interfering in canon events, and he lost you because he couldn’t stop his vitriol, his violent temperament that had pushed you away. He always took things for granted until they were lost to him.

Was it two or three weeks before he decided to check up on you? He didn’t know anymore, the weeks blurred until he finally amassed the courage to go against everyone’s words. Through the flat hologram of his orange screen, he watched you lament on your own, body curled into itself and shoulders shaking. Your sobs were heart-wrenching to watch while he had no means of contacting you; you would’ve reacted more strongly and aggressively if he’d contacted you after leaving.

So he watched.

You stared vacantly from your window and left only for the bare necessities or to act as Spider-Woman. Crime never slept so you couldn’t stop even in your time of need. You swung from building to building so gracefully that Miguel was hypnotised by your grace. He watched these moments as a reminder of the missions he took by your side, webbing and catching anomalies all across the multiverse with fearsome speed and accuracy. You both had made a fearsome team, but that time was over, it was a memory long forgotten.

So he watched.

Your flat was cold and empty, the space filled with spectres of memories, the cool rooms vacant of life that used to fill them with warmth and happiness. It was saddening from his perspective - the observer, the watcher and the reader of your story - of your time spent alone. He wanted to tell you that you weren’t alone, that he was watching you from afar, a silent protector that would only act if you were in imminent danger - as long as it wasn’t part of the canon.

So he watched-

Besides you was Miguel - not him, another one - and he looked much too comfortable by your side for his liking. His variant seemed much too close for a friend, moving from sitting before you to beside you, arm slung over your shoulders and leaning back and, sometimes, towards you at a breath’s distance. He turned green with envy, a vicious monster brewing inside his body with the threat of bursting out, clawing at his chest. The other was too close to you for his liking.

He watched as his variant bought you drinks - always, however long and loud you’d complained and fought, he never let you pay in the end - and paid for your dates. He abhorred it. How happy you looked with the other him. How calm and satisfied your smile was. How close his variant was to you. He wished he was at the other’s place, taking his rightful place beside you. He would kiss you, smother you in love and give you whatever you wanted, whether it be a hug, a kiss or his time, he would’ve given them to you. He wouldn’t dance around the edge of your affection and his love like he was doing, like a man unsure of his feelings and anxious to act on it.

He thought the other Miguel was a coward - though he knew he wasn’t. He wanted to blame his variant and find fault for anything he did, but they were still the same person. He was Miguel O’Hara as much as he was. He wanted, but couldn’t, especially after seeing how both loved you the same, having a similar type. They were so much alike that he could’ve replaced his variant, yet so vastly different in other manners that he would’ve stood out. His history, his trauma, his curse, the other had none of them. He was normal while he was Spider-Man, a stronger, more brutal version of Spider-Man.

Granted, he loved you with every fibre of his being, but he had never showered you with as much love and affection as the other, having his character muddled through long hours of work and long-lasting tragedy. You were another of his tragedies, where he found love again and lost it by his own making. He would have left too if the Society didn’t depend on him, leaning towards him for support and help in protecting the multiverse. It was something he couldn’t sacrifice for his whims.

So he kept watching and let his heart crack and envy fester.

He watched you grow even closer to him, shoulders and hands occasionally touching, making you jump and blush. He watched you move from simple coffee dates to full-blown restaurants and bar dates, drinking and eating at your leisure - something he could’ve never provided you. He watched you wobble around when you were drunk, your arm over his shoulder and his around your waist, supporting your drunk weight. He watched you kiss, the other pressing your bodies together and you reciprocating the loving embrace you had once given to him.

He felt like crying. He was crying, silent tears rolling down his sharp cheeks in slow, thundering waves of his heartbreak. He clung to the desk, claws unintentionally popping out and bending the metal under his fist. The sound ripped through the silent room like the image that ripped through his heart. He was alone in his grief, shoulders slumping and arms shaking with the intensity of his emotions. He had locked the door, barricading it with a busy, do not disturb sign, warning the others that he was occupied and wouldn’t be reached unless there was an emergency.

“Miguel…”

He’d forgotten Lyla was here - she was everywhere and nowhere at the same time, with your help he had given Lyla an upgrade in her system that gave her access to every Spider that had the watch. She had access to every file in the database and his secrets. Lyla was loyal to him as much as she was to you, respecting your words with a promise of her own to leave you alone. That, however, didn’t mean that she wasn’t privy to his pains, watching him while his eyes were stuck to your universe’s screen, giving him some comforting words that were meant to lift his spirit. It never worked but the intention was there.

He couldn’t look at her, still facing the hologram of you kissing. He felt the surge of too many emotions to be able to think clearly, his self-control tethering on a thin line of fragile web. If he turned, he would explode on Lyla, giving her the brunt of his suffering even though she didn’t deserve it, she felt and laughed as much as any other human. He remembered programming in emotion with you, laughing about how much she would be as teasing and annoying as you. Lyla was another gift to him by you, so it would hurt him more.

“Miguel-”

“Don’t- Do not say another word.”

For a man in tears and pain, his voice was curt and stoic, playing the leading figure he’d taken for so long. It betrayed his shaky figure, fingers crushing the metal loudly and shoulders jerking with ever-wrenching choked sob. His world was crumbling around him, rippling and cracking from the seams and folding into itself. The control of his state was failing miserably as he kept staring at your mirthful smile after the kiss. It tore him apart knowing he pushed you further away and into the arms of another. It hurt him deeply.

Through everything, he heard Lyla whisper a small sorry before she popped out of existence, her small holographic body vanishing along with her orange light. Gone was her familiar light, gone was the nostalgic memory of programming her, and along her, was the support of another person. He was truly alone in this moment, to fall on his knees and let himself drown under the weight of everything.

If your love was a tangible thing, he would’ve cradled it between his warm palms, holding it tightly to his chest to feel the soothing effects you had on him. Like a balm to burns, you cooled the searing pains that the world inflicted upon him, the warm blanket that covered him when he needed rest and the pillar that held him when he fell. He’d lost something he couldn’t gain a second time, clutching his head in his misery, drowning and howling.

It felt surreal until it wasn’t until it all sunk in. He truly couldn’t grasp the utter loss and betrayal he felt. The realisation that he truly lost you to none other than himself. The irony of it all slashed deeper, how he drove you closer to another him by his own doing, making you love a Miguel with more gentleness, more kindness and time than him, Miguel O’Hara, the Spider-Man from Nueva York, Earth-928. Everything he had was lost in time, his spiralling thoughts of loss and misery clouded his vision, bringing tears forward in bigger waves.

Was he doomed to lose everything he cared about? Was he bound to love and lose? Why couldn’t he have a happy ending like everyone else? Was it because he was different? Perhaps it was, there were other O’Hara Spider-Man, but none were mutated like him, a product of self-infliction and sabotage - none had their DNA spliced and mixed with a spider’s. He was simply too different from the others, they were lean but still had a strong musculature, muscles tightened to create more strength and defence; none were big and broad as he was, with rough edges and mean streaks. They were nice and happy, faced losses of their own, but always came out on top (there were some minor - sometimes major - variants of Spider-Man here and there, but they all had some similarities in their stories of becoming.). He saw the devastation and grasped onto the thinnest silver lining he could find, holding onto it to stay afloat while others thrived where they were.

Maybe it was truly because of him. He was realistic - near cynic - he couldn’t see things optimistically, life had made him that way. The silver lining he saw in things was small, nearly extinguished by his near-pessimistic way of life. Did that have an impact as well? It most likely did, at least partly. Fate had given him a bad hand in things, he couldn’t be completely blamed for how things turned - or so he thought, hoped. A man wasn’t only the result of what he’d done, but also of what he was given. When push comes to shove, Miguel acted in a way he thought meant well for him and the others even if it didn’t seem like the right decision at first. He rarely doubted his actions while he did them, only after, could he let himself face the consequences of what he’d done. Miguel simply didn’t have the pleasure of waiting. He needed to act when it was called.

If he had waited, if he had been patient and sought out others for support, if he had spent time thinking before acting, would he still have his little girl beside him? Would he still have you in his arms? If he had shown you more affection, would you have still loved him?

Did you still love him?

Miguel didn’t know what he was doing. Standing before your apartment door in civilian clothing and a bouquet of twelve, beautiful white tulips - the meaning not lost to him. It was an attempt at apologizing for his mistakes, a desperate one led by heartache. He brushed his hair back, trying to look as kept as he could in his situation: dark bags and sickly skin, tense muscles and sore back. This was a daring move from him, it would end up catastrophic if the Miguel from your universe saw him at your front door; but he checked, making sure his variant was elsewhere before opening a portal to your place.

He hadn’t moved in a while, listening to you move around your flat, the sound of your soft steps shuffling from behind the door, a wall between you and him, reminding him that he wouldn’t be able to cross it unless you welcomed him. He held the bouquet in one hand and knocked with the other, his knuckles hitting the wood softly and hesitantly. There was a pause between every knock, drawn by his nerves and the anxiety that gripped him.

You moved and closed in on the sound at the door. He saw your shadow dance under the small gap on the floor and pause. You knew. You knew it was him even without peeking through the peephole, your spider-sense aiding you in recognizing the unknown. Although your hand rested reluctantly at the knob - perhaps still too raw from your break as he was - you opened the door for him, figure small and apprehensive.

“Miguel,” you muttered his name, greeting him with a slow nod. You stepped back and opened the door wider for him, he took it as a good sign that you let him in rather than shut the door in his face.

He nodded back, saying your name. He took a step forward, foot breaking the barrier to your flat. The second one ensured he was fully invited, both feet strongly rooted on your side of the door. He wanted to make himself smaller, to appease you, but he knew you wouldn’t have liked that. He squirmed under your stare, a mix of curiosity and concern.

He nearly sighed audibly when you gestured at him to sit and he moved to the sofa he remembered sleeping on with you, cuddling under a warm blanket while you watched a movie. He knew your home by heart like you knew his, the memory washed over him with melancholy. You sat on the armchair to his left, your back to the kitchen. He swallowed thickly and handed you the bouquet, freshly cut tulips glistening with pearly drops under your lights.

Your shoulders shook as you leaned in to take the bouquet, jolting back when your fingers grazed him. Feeling your skin felt invigorating, it breathed back life into him, even slightly. You thanked him with a slow nod, seemingly unsure of what to make of it. Was it a gift? Was it an apology? Was it a farewell sign? He figured your mind was running in circles trying to understand the meaning of the pretty bouquet he handed you. You were always an overthinker, but your mind worked brutally well. That’s something he always appreciated about you.

“I-” Miguel started, seemingly stopped by something that he couldn’t get out of his throat. Maybe a ball of dread or needles of anxiety, but it held him from giving you the words he spent nights thinking over, to give you the message he built from the deepest crevice of his heart. “I’m sorry, (Name).”

You stared at him, understanding that he needed a moment of silence to truly convey his feelings. You hadn’t uttered a word since he first started, expression neutral, not betraying whatever brewing storm you locked inside of you. He was grateful, truly.

“I know- I know it doesn’t mean much now, but I’m really, really sorry, mi vida.”

He sensed you tense, the muscles of your back contracting and rippling under your shirt. Every unseen fibre moving was bare to him, he could see and feel better than most, if not, everyone else.

“I acted out of anger and lack of sleep, but that doesn’t mean you deserved that- never. I just, my mutation makes me more animalistic, more… aggressive than the other, and I hurt you. You didn’t deserve any of that and I can’t always blame it on my mutations. I should’ve been able to control myself. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you in those ways.”

He lowered his gaze to his hands, the calloused pads of his fingers rubbing his palm, trying to coax himself into relaxation. Although your breathing softened, a calm breeze in an atmosphere thick with tension, he didn’t dare look up and see the face you were making.

“I was a bad boyfriend and a horrible friend. I’m- I’m not asking you to forgive me, I don’t want you to forgive me, but- I just needed to tell you how much I regret hurting you. I want to apologise, I don’t know what else to do, I don’t know how to fix this.” He breathed deeply, collecting every ounce of confidence and honesty to brave your reaction. “I’m sorry, mi cielo.”

He shuddered, body rippling with his pained breath. He hadn’t realised how painful it would be to face you with his fears and confession, with the threat of abandonment and rejection fresh in his mind. He was a man of pride and strength, rarely facing anything with trepidation and hesitance.

“I’m really sorry, mi cielo. I’m so, so sorry.”

He sat in silence, letting it hang over him like the blade of a guillotine, silent and brunt. Perceiving the flash of the sharp blade before it fell on his neck, sentencing him to a quick downfall with a long, lasting agony that would sting his neck as long as it would hurt his heart. The French used it for executions, the thing that spelled people’s end. At its height, it was used as an apparatus to behead traitors or people who were deemed dangerous to the people of the new republic. Down the blame went and off the head popped, like it would happen to Miguel if he wasn’t prepared for it. He truly didn’t know whether he had prepared for his rejection, for the death of his heart, to watch the flickering sparks of his flame wither out.

“I’m sorry too, Miguel-”

The rope strained, knots twisting and rippling in the tightness of the pull. It shook, whipping in the air as it straightened completely, held closely by the hand of the executioner. The wind blew but it was sturdy, withstanding the violent gales that slammed against the body of it.

“-it means a lot that you came here to apologise- ”

The crowd was filled with silence, the emptiness of the area a mock of a ghost town. Abandoned to be sentenced to death without anyone to witness. They deemed him not fit for their acknowledgment before his death, before the sparks of his life extinguished. His fate wasn’t worth their time, unlike the poorest criminals who stole for money, unlike the richest pigs who fed from the poor with their silver spoons and golden crowns, unlike the cruellest killers who gutted and left men, women and children to bleed out, and unlike the guiltless innocents cursed for something they hadn’t committed.

“-but, I can’t.”

The rope was let loose, its tail flying and whipping in the air as the blade descended with its weight. The wood chafed against its support beams, yet it flew gracefully and rapidly, singing the doom of its prisoner. The blade gleamed under the moon’s bright light, the silver whispers of peace and sleep deaf to his ears.

“I can’t love you anymore.”

It cracked down on him, his life flashing before him as it cut into him. Severing his control over his body, putting out the dying embers of hope. He clung to desperation in his last moments, wishing to relive the moments of happiness, bright oblivion and cherished love.

He wished that he could’ve seen your shadowed figure hidden in the darkness, tears lining your cheeks as you watched him take his last breath. The only person who came to see him leave, the one who he would’ve burned the world for. In the end, after everything he’d done, you still gave him a small moment of your time to witness his fall, you deemed him worthy of such an act. You offered him your kindness.

My extensive tag list of extremely patient people pt1.:

@iseizeyourmom @raynerainyday @etherealton @sciencethot @coffee-obsessed-freak @thesecretwriter @beepboopcowboy@bontensh0e @aikoiya @allysunny @fandoms-run-my-life @brittney69 @aranachan @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @konniebon @starlightaura @redwolfxx @aniya7 @alicefallsintotherabbithole @bvbdudette @wwwelilovesyou @wwwellacom @akiras-key @bobafettbutifhewasgay @opiplover @rinieloliver @uniquecroissant @yas-v @xrusitax @blkmystery @darherwings @ariparri @notivie @vr00m-vr00m @battinsonwhore05 @irishbl0ss0mz @mivanda @saint-chlorine @livelaughluvmen @battinsonwhore05 @notivie @lililouvre @giasjourneyblog @ykyouluvme @skullywullypully

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1eoness · 11 months

Text

CHANGE.

cw: re4remake leon... just a lil more rude than usual. covers very sensitive topics: theft and surrogate prostitution (not mentioned), SUPERRR NOT CANON.

nsfw cw: DUBCON i think? (always practice safe and consensual sex) (slight-enemy smut idfk) dom!re4remake leon kennedy x sub! fem/afab-reader. size kink, creampie?? spit kink?? squirting?? mild degradation, pet names, feminine terms... straight up porn tbh i dont even know BRUHH WTFI DONT EVEN KNOW THE THINGS I WRITE

[to clarify, i am a minor (17). anyone <17 and anyone >17 uncomfortable with interacting pls dni]

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ ♡ ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ ♡ ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

synopsis :

your job is simple. as long as you exploit and delude the men at the top of the social pyramid, ada sponsored you with her safety and training. though, your naivete made it easy for ada to convince you that you weren't just some dirty pawn stationed in a particular estate—which happens to be leon's next mission area.

when he encounters you to perform your arrest, leon prays to any god up there that he has the patience not to mess you over for turning into the person you've become today.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ ♡ ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ ♡ ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿

"— just listen to me, damn it!" leon scolded as he tugged onto the metal that strung your cuffed wrists together, cutting your retorts off with your abrupt grit of pain. your insistence of denying his chances without hearing him out made you more irritable than you already were. "you have no idea what you're carrying. you're gonna start a fucking epidemic if you take that anywhere near ada, you understand?"

it was understandable. you were carrying a formula. some unethical, potent 'opium' derived from a variant of the t-virus. freshly baked by some ex-umbrella geeks, it was marketed to be an effective drug, planned to be distributed to some sort of paramilitary in spain to modify their strength to inexplicable heights (which was proved to be false, yet some arrogant virologists insisted it had potential, so unethical 'scientists' wanted to get their hands on improving it). that's all you know about it, anyway.

leon's true nature behind his words rooted from the fact that he was fucking worried for you and it's not only because of the position that ada put you in right now. that enigmatic woman, treating you like some guinea pig and you couldn't even see it. it surprised leon that you were even alive.

leon knew you way before ada discovered you in that dark junction, before you dropped out of police academy without a word and went back to your old ways of 'getting through life'.

leon was your role model. he was the first one to make friends with you while you stood 'incompetent' in that academy.

but people dug their eyes in you because of your history. all it takes is a few facebook searches and some names for the other fellow cadets to define you using your past. and when the awareness rose to leon, he was the first one to defend you.

the eidetic memory of you; you were sat on a hall bench with his jacket hung loosely over your dropping shoulders, gripping an unopened water bottle that turned lukewarm. your fingers felt numb from the tremors of anxiety, and the broodingly saddened look in your eyes.

he was knelt in front of his dear friend, trying to reassure you that people can change, and you were already making those efforts. his thumbs held your palms when with a serious tone, encouraged you into promising him that you will never change; because you are a sweet girl and you never deserved to be shamed for something you thought was your survival. within this promise, he also promised you that as long as you kept your self-faith you will never go back to what you hated being. you should've seen how genuine his smile look when you chuckled sheepishly, the flush on your cheeks earning a double reasoning.

and now, it pained him more to realize that he regrets not making another promise, one he held back from saying that night. don't leave him.

a very selfish, unwarranted yet passionate part of him believes that you'd been so cruel to him, abandoning him like that. and now you want to leave again?

now you're being reprimanded by the cop who you looked at like he was a hero.

where was the bright cadet in those eyes, the one that looked up to him?

and it was just great of you to articulate further on how much he underestimated your stubbornness."i'm slowing you down. if it's not me (who will escort the sample), it's gonna be ada. you thought she was a one-man job? that you can somehow negotiate with her because you guys fucked once? my god, have you ever changed?-" out of being so naive? but the words don't follow because he knows you were going to say it.

leon's hand slid from your back to grip harshly at the back collar of your shirt, lifting your chest up from the table abruptly. he locked eyes with you, hidden tension bubbling the air like odorless toxins. he scoffs, and his low voice turned deliberate as he tried to spell the irony out for you. "ada. doesn't. work with people. she uses them, and you're not some 'special exception'."

and it's true, he knows it all too well..

"she uses... people like you." you were quick to correct him indignantly with a struggling breath. leon knew nothing about you and ada. ada was like a big sister to you. she taught you what you couldn't learn at police academy. she understood where you came from, and she knows the lowest moments in your life. but leon knew all of that too, didn't he?

"you know why?"

he scoffs. "enlighten me." and there was a subtle increase of tightness in his grip, eyes narrowing down at your bent-over body in anticipation.

"'cause you're a fuck up, kennedy."

upon hearing your quips, he thought maybe he should add a small noise of pain to it, because he flushed you further against the surface with a force that hinted irritation. he had enough of this pointless hissing. "listen, y'little bitch..." he gruffed with the mere frustration surging his voice. he's probably never addressed a woman like that, but oh, how people can shift within the span of their emotion. "you have the sample, now tell me where it is. and if you have it, then you know what to do."

leon wasn't confident that you had the item on you, knowing ada was most likely using you as a decoy. he didn't want to hurt you. even if you've looked like you've changed; to him, you haven't..

of course you were holding the "formula", leon was just dumb enough to think you actually had it on you. your eyes fluttered before you laughed emptily in heavy breaths, peeking over your shoulder whilst he did not let up on you. your torso was starting to fucking hurt. but so was your pride. "then come get it, rookie." you baited.

you ignited an internal burn he didn't even know he had. one that reached the peak of its abrasion.

"..fuck you." he growled inaudibly before you yelped, feet off the ground. and fuck ada, too.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ ♡ ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ ♡ ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿

if you were gonna keep acting like a brat, he was going to fuck you like one.

his hand came behind your head, locking your hair in a tight grip while you felt his tongue glide against yours in a messy kiss. an overwhelming amount of affectionate frustration surged as he propped you up firmer on that desk. he ate your whines as he tired your damp mouth out, the rising feeling of grudge-rooted sexual frustration pining somewhere inside him hotly.

"why do you hate me so much, mmm?" he gasped quietly for a breath, his hand letting go of your hair and holding both sides of your hips, hastily pulling your pants up mid-thigh. he needed to be inside you, he just needed it so bad..

"cause you're .. hhah.. y-you've become too cocky f'your own good, kennedy-" leon scoffs at the sight of you drooled up with the trails of mixed saliva. you're sure that's not you? you could've fooled him, you were fucking sopping—trails of your essence sticking to your underwear. it made him moan low in desperation. he wanted to lick it all up. "is that right.." he muttered with utter lack of amusement as his cold thumb glided over your fluids absentmindedly, spreading one fold apart slightly to get a better look. his eyes soften, breath hitching knowing it's gonna feel so good inside you.

"d-definitely too cocky!-" you insisted with a contrast whine that emitted from your sweet voice, expecting him to start off with letting you adjust to his tip first. but you're hopeless for thinking leon would ever go soft on you just because you only remember the "naive" version of him years ago. people change, right?

you were suddenly squirming when you felt him fill and thrust into you thickly, humbling your little cunny as it pulsated. dumb little bunny, leon thinks to himself, watching you start to fluster and retort weakly beneath him with your ankles on his shoulders.

his hand comes up to your head, smacking your cheek swiftly. "shut up. shut the fuck up." he growls, eyes narrowing mildly, holding your cheeks with one hand as he pried your little mouth open. his thoughts were so guiltily dirty, wondering how cute your throat would look filled with his cock. he'll have to try another time, though, wouldn't he? for now his ring and middle finger deliberately slide into your tongue, savoring the minor 'hhnnn' that lolled out of your sticky tongue as your eyes peered up at him glassily.

the words 'fuck me' were written all over your eyes when his gaze locks down to yours. and could he resist such a pretty baby?- why were you so pretty?

it's a shame that you made so much effort to treat him indifferently, calling him by his last name and all...

your vision felt cloudy given that you were full of leon. but you catch glimpse of the way he smirks at himself before he leans down much closer to your face, folding your legs over and not giving a fuck if it hurts. the simple shift in angle had you crying out as his tip grazed over the right spots.

he spits a string of saliva down into your forced-open mouth, hoping it would furtherly aid in getting you to shut up over something so trivial. "so fucking dirty..." his fingers gently traced your bottom lip while he whispers with mock-disgust, yet it's laced with affection- a twisted pair of feelings that has him needing you at incalculable rates.

his hands come down to the exposed flesh of your hips, fingers dipping into your skin as he holds you still on his girth. it felt even better when you could feel his bulging size rub up inside you hastily— the way he was fucking you fervently and not letting you get away. you're never fucking leaving his sight, or his mind.

"h-how's this for.. uhh-..nngh.. being cocky? huh?" he groaned roughly after stammering with the embers of his frustration. leon's frustrated that he can't speak without stammering, so he takes it out on you with punishing thrusts that have you sobbing louder, mending his ego by ruining yours. he's stripping your pride away with each push into your sweet spots.

you gave in, vulnerable as you started to blabber from the way you were getting your breath knocked up. "hnggghh.... ahh!-.. l-leon!~ n-not there!-"

"there it is.." he mutters to himself sweetly mid-fucking-you-full. you're finally talking to him properly, how cute.. "more, baby?" he taunts with a struggling moan but he doesn't let you react; the only reaction he wants is you reducing beneath him, proving it by his fingers bruising your skin as he rammed into you in a desperate pace. "ngghh uhh.. fuck-" he whines loudly, your hole squelching uncontrollably as he fucks the juices out of you with every sweet drag of his sensitive shaft.

you turn him so soft he hates you for it.. he has such a soft spot for you, doesn't he?

"fuuck, this pussy's.. so good.." his eyes were half-lidded, moaning adorably before whining about the fact that he's about to spill a load inside you. "f-fuck, 'so good, please- mnnnnghh- aahh!~" his voice wavered, still driving his cock into you as he breaks through his limits and makes himself whimper gently, tears softening his eyes.

oh but his poor baby, creaming around his shaft so quickly and relentlessly, only to continue being rutted into like a little toy ♡. he coats your sweet little hole with his cum, flooding and painting it all over as his tip poured deep inside of you with a thick, milky warmth that pooled on the varnished wood.

you weren't even speaking anymore, your words melting on your tongue. he doesn't understand a damn thing you're saying but he doesn't need you to speak, he just needs you to feel good.

"fuck... uhhhnn!~.. fuck me, please, baby.." he blathers before he found himself whining at the way your cunt pulsates, eyes teasing at you subtly while he holds your cheeks together in his domineering hand. he doesn't even pull out much, just shoving and grinding his girth into your creamed-up cunny and making you endure the crushing pleasure. his hands scramble to push against the back of your thighs, folding them to let him fully fill up into your already deflowered, milky vulva.

"n-no, g'nna- leon!" your mind goes into total shudder as your back arched, having him hold your hips in place as you started to gush all over his stuffy girth.

"ohh, mhmm.. that's it, sweet girl.." leon knows you feel good, seeing you cry flusteredly while he still thrusted in you to lengthen the feeling of you cumming. he tore at your pride, pulling out the vulnerable version of yourself he hasn't seen in a long time. especially when you reach up for him like you wanted a hug. that did it for him.

he leans down to pick you up, your legs dangle tiredly around his waist. he's sorry to whoever's bed it was that he laid you down on. he whimpered softly into the fabric of your shoulder while trying to regain his stability. you could faintly feel him pepper tame, short kisses on it mindlessly.

he nuzzles into your skin. "you wanna be a good girl f'me?" he murmurs into your neck breathily.

"mhmm.."

"then get on your knees." leon lets go from holding you—letting you scramble onto all fours.

he stuffs himself back inside your sensitive hole like he's aching for it, making you wail with struggle. with your legs aimlessly sprawled on either side of him, he makes sure you don't stray from him by holding your hips again. the flesh spilling between his fingers as he pulls you closer like he's scared you'll run away. his hips move irrationally, wanting to make sure he's hitting it good, all the right spots again, just for his baby. he's so sensitive it starts to throb, masochistic urges as he overstimulates himself ceaselessly.

"hhhngh... you can't just.. come around- and then leave- like it's nothing!-" leon babbled whiningly between his forceful thrusts, his pace increasing with incessant speed. you could feel his fingers nimbly moving through your scalp, leon's hand holding the back of your head down onto the fluff surface where your cute little cries of pleasure went in vain.

you couldn't take it but leon made you, his constant rutting inside you even after cumming doesn't pause. he's suffocating this way but he doesn't even care. he's so loud behind you, fucking into your messy cunt like it hurts real good.

his attention is divulged slightly when he sees a little glow on the pocket of your shirt. how didn't he spot that? his hand snakes over your breast, fingertips swiftly snagging the high-tech vial and shoving it somewhere in his remaining clothing.

you yelped. ada was going to kill you. "h-hey!-" he notices you trying to look behind you but his hand is quicker, turning your head forwards with a gentle grip of his hand. he muffled your face into the sheets with the force of his hand holding your head, and he snaps his hips faster just to have you all adorable and crying for him again. "y'c-can't take tha-" oh, but what were you going to do about it?

he starts deliberately making up mistranslations of what you wanted to say. "mm, what's that, sweet girl? you want more?... oh, i know, baby, oh shh.. i got'chu, you're so good, huh? uhhuh.." he encouraged amidst fucking you back into a state of distraction, a hazy smile to himself while he considers his mission accomplished.

#straight filth.#leon filth.#leon kennedy x reader smut #leon kennedy smut #IM SORRY IKTHIS IS INACCURATEBUT IM TRYING #leon kennedy x reader

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fomee-c · 1 year

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Adventure Time has the best redemption arcs

I love deep-diving into my favourite shows, which makes me lucky that Adventure Time has been analyzed to death.

It's awesome because it feels like the show itself is growing up along with Finn. The older seasons are a lot more episodic and focused on the surreality of Ooo. Meanwhile, the later seasons really embrace the show's complicated lore and the idea that morality isn't black and white. The progression of maturity in this one show is INSANE. As the show becomes more mature, so does main character Finn, physically and emotionally.

Nowhere are the show's themes and Finn's personal growth better demonstrated through the show's use of redemption arcs. As the show progresses, classical villain-hero archetypes are subverted to show that Finn is learning that people aren't exclusively good or bad. As the show and Finna age, being a hero or doing the right thing evolves from the basic idea of "fighting evil" to being empathetic and seeking peace.

Heavy spoilers for the main series after the cut.

Some context

I just wanna mention some facts about the show's history.

If you watch the first AT episode followed by the last episode, you're gonna feel disoriented. They're clearly the same show, but it feels like they have very different goals. Early AT is more lighthearted and less serious. The episodes have morals, but they're pretty simple. The randomness of Ooo is played more for comedy than for lore purposes.

Around season 5, the show started taking on a different direction. It's still funny and weird, but the characters are more fleshed out and the messages the show is trying to convey require a lot of digestion. For example, Princess Bubblegum is always smart, but the way she's depicted in episodes like"Enchiridion" vs "Burning Low." Although I consider this a massive improvement, it's unclear how much was pre-planned. Was PB always destined to become a control-obsessed, unethical ruler-scientist? Or was her initial characterization just Finn's crush?

Yes.

Episodes as early as season 1 ep 24 ("What have you done?") show PB acting more like a tyrant than a princess and have the Ice King depicted in a less antagonistic matter. The reason for the tonal shift in the later season is that as Finn grows up, his experiences change the way he perceives reality.

Ooo through Finn's eyes

Adventure Time is about Finn the human and Jake the dog, but really it's mostly about Finn.

The other characters get character arcs and have plot-relevant conflicts, but the show's main focus is dedicated to Finn's coming-of-age story. Finn is Ooo's hero: he's social, caring, and brave, and he's motivated by a strong sense of justice and a desire for adventure. All he wants is to try new things and help others at any cost.

However, he's only 12, at least at the beginning. His idea of being a hero is rooted in black/white morality. If you do bad things, then you're bad. Stopping bad people makes you good. And as a 12-year-old, he believes the only way to stop bad people is through violence.

The show is immature in this respect, too. For the first few seasons, there are two main antagonists. There's the recurring Ice King and his plots to force princesses to marry him, playing off the "save the princess" trope (more on him later). And then there's the Lich, who's a genuinely powerful cosmic entity that seeks to destroy life in all its forms. Naturally, Finn fights them both off through righteous punching.

The show presents this basic understanding of evil, that evil is as evil does. In the beginning, there's almost no nuance to these characters. And this is true with good characters, too.

Billy is a huge catalyst for Finn's character development, but you can see the show's limited understanding of heroism in his debut episode. Billy is Finn's predecessor in a way, being the number one fighter against evil. In "His Hero," Billy realized the fighting evil through violence didn't treat the root problem, opting instead for community activism. However, the show makes this look like a bad thing, with the moral of the episode being that violence can solve problems. Ironically, Finn's character development mirrors Billy, as he realizes over time that he fighting evil might mean hurting people he cares about. Case in point: Simon Petrikov, the Ice King.

The power of redemption arcs

Redemption arcs are controversial because they're ideal but they feel forced if they go unearned. In Adventure Time, redemption arcs serve a two-fold purpose: to convey the message that "evil" people can be understood and rehabilitated and to show Finn's developing maturity as he realizes this.

Ice King

The first character to get a real redemption arc is the Ice King. Initially, he's portrayed as Jake and Finn's natural nemesis, especially when he targets Princess Bubblegum. However, as the show goes on, it becomes clear that the Ice King isn't really malicious; he's just lonely and he doesn't know how to socialize in an appropriate way. Over time, he becomes a sympathetic villain. However, this changes with the Christmas specials "Holly Jolly Secrets, parts 1 and 2." In this episode, Finn and Jake discover the Ice King used to be a man named Simon, whose personality and sanity were corrupted by magic. Simon's backstory is further developed in "I Remember You" and "Simon and Marcy." From this point on, Finn starts referring to the Ice King as Simon, acknowledging Simon's true self and stops treating him less harshly. This leads to a really heartwarming moment in "Don't Look," where Finn's perception literally warps reality, causing the IK to revert to Simon (in appearance but not in personality).

Consequently, the Ice King becomes less antagonistic in general and we even get IK-centric episodes where he takes on a heroic role. For all intents and purposes, post-season 3 Ice King is Finn's friend. The show went from using a cliché villain-type to dedicating a significant amount of time and plot to Ice King's eventual return as Simon. From this, Finn learns that treating people with kindness is imperative to stopping evil. Not only did finding out that IK's personal life was tragic but by treating him as a friend he diminished IK's evil inclinations.

Magic Man

Magic Man is one of the more disturbing characters on the show. He always shows up to do something gross or psychologically messed up. Unlike the Ice King, who was shown to be evil because he wanted companionship, Magic Man wants people to suffer out of pure contempt for the world. His "pranks" include simple stuff like turning Finn into a foot, to more deranged acts like forcing Jake to escape a dream world where doing so would mean destroying all his new friends.

What's interesting about Magic Man's redemption arc is that Finn and Jake have little to do with it. Magic Man redeems himself practically by accident.

We gradually learn that Magic Man's wife was destroyed by GOLB, a powerful entity that can erase things from all realities. So Magic Man's cruelty is best described as frustration or vengeance to an extent. He is constantly suffering, which he tries to mitigate by deriving pleasure from others' suffering.

However, he eventually loses his magic powers (and with it, his anger and sadness) in"You Forgot Your Floaties", grounding him back in reality. From then on, his journey is one of atonement. He tries to reconcile with his family and seeks forgiveness from the people he has tortured.

This arc says more about the show's maturity than it does about Finn's. Although Finn shows no hatred towards a magic-less Normal Man, he seems pretty indifferent. The show, on the other hand, takes the time to make him a tragic figure and offers him a chance at redemption. It wants the audience to know that experiencing loss is not an excuse for being a jerk, but it can explain someone's actions.

King Man's (his title after rejoining the Martian community) redemption arc also demonstrates AT's advancing writing skills. Instead of giving King Man a clear-cut redemption arc, the show depicts him as genuinely sorry without changing his personality. King Man is still obsessed with Margles and is harsh with Martian prisoners, but he's no longer angry with the world. He hasn't moved, as is difficult to do with grief, but he wants to contribute to society instead of rage against it.

Betty Grof

Betty marks a milestone in the show and Finn's personal growth. She is the first antagonist who is shown to be sympathetic from the start. It helps that we know Betty before she goes crazy with magic, but despite that, Finn nor the show ever thinks of Betty as an "evil" character. She's misguided and unethical but well-intentioned.

Betty's whole deal is that she wants to be with Simon, which requires curing him of the Ice King Crown's effects. However, after she absorbs Magic Man's madness and sadness, she starts undertaking strategies that cause Ice King more stress than good.

She becomes a true antagonist in the Elemental mini-series when she prioritizes Simon's recovery over the lives of Ooo's inhabitants, despite the Ice King begging her to save his friends. Even after she betrays Finn, he doesn't seem to see her as a villain specifically. The real source of conflict in the Elemental series was more so the unchecked emotions of Finn's friends; Betty was just an obstacle.

Betty's redemption arc is completed in the show's finale. Betty summons GOLB, risking the entire universe's destruction to save Simon. Except her goal is not only to save Simon but to save their relationship. In an act of self-sacrifice, Betty manages to banish/merge with GOLB to save Ooo, despite knowing she could never be with Simon.

However, it's not as clear as I make it out to seem. While Betty does sacrifice her relationship with Simon, she still manages to save him, begging the question: if Betty couldn't save Simon, would she have made that decision? (I'm inclined to think no, but let me know what you think!)

Even if the "redemption" part of her arc feels rushed, it's Betty's journey that highlights the show's maturity. Just because she does bad things doesn't mean she's a bad person. Finn gets this; he doesn't blame Betty for almost destroying the world. He's more focused on aligning with her desire to save Simon and the rest of Ooo.

Through Betty, Adventure Time explains that it's impossible to judge people as good or evil. To do the right thing doesn't mean to help people who you think are "good" or oppose people you think are "evil" but to find common ground and a common goal.

Uncle Gumbald

He's basically the last antagonist of the show. I don't think there's a lot to say about him that hasn't already been said, so this section will be short.

He's a lot like PB in that he's a visionary. Their conflict stems from their competing ideas and the fact that they both want to subjugate each other.

They almost reach an understanding in the finale when they experience each other's lives, with PB realizing that Gumbald deserved to be treated as an equal. However, he isn't redeemed because he attempts to subjugate PB anyways by faking a truce. I feel like this was supposed to highlight PB's character growth as early PB definitely wouldn't have been willing to share authority.

Fern

I would say this is probably the most important redemption arc for Finn's character. It's weird to say that because Fern is introduced so late into the show and his arc is completed when he dies in the last minutes of the finale. Furthermore, he's a strange character to begin with. He's a grass clone of Finn made from two magic swords, and he's hardly antagonistic toward Finn except in the last two seasons.

But let's look at what we're dealing with here.

Fern's internal conflict is an identity crisis. At one point in the series, Finn comes into contact with a past self (merging timelines situation, dw about it), turning one of his selves into a sword. It's intentionally ambiguous at first, but it's eventually revealed that there is a miniature Finn inside the sword who is cognisant of the world around him. Because of Real Finn's carelessness, Sword Finn ends up getting busted, and eventually infected with a grass parasite, creating Fern.

Up until now, Finn has been acing his new pacifist approach to conflict resolution. He now prioritizes understanding someone's actions and reasoning with them, saving fighting as a last resort.

Fern represents Finn's greatest empathy challenge: trying to understand someone he thinks he already understands. To do this, Finn has to accept that his preconceived notions of Fern are wrong and take the time to get to know the real Fern. He thinks that because they share some sort of biology and memories, they are the same people. He fails to acknowledge the different life experiences that have forged him and Fern into distinct people.

When Fern heel-turns into an antagonist, it's not a surprise. We have seen repeatedly the jealousy that he feels outcasted by the real Finn. We also know he's frustrated with the dissonance between his past "life" and his current circumstances. Like Betty, Finn doesn't see Fern as a villain. However, he doesn't try to understand where Fern is coming from. He assumes that because they are similar, Fern will be willing to talk things out. In other words, Finn wants to reconcile with Fern but doesn't get how devastating Fern's identity crisis is.

In the finale's dream-dimension fight sequence, we see Finn finally hear out Fern's concerns and the two explore Fern's past together.

Fern does die because of plot reasons, but not before re-establishing his and Finn's friendship. I don't really like it when stories sacrifice one character for another's development, but it makes sense given Finn's narrative is about realizing that doing the right thing isn't always a feel-good experience. Finn wants the people he cares about to be safe, and he knows that Fern is in danger by siding with malicious characters like Gumbald. Fern also decides to align with people who care about him rather than someone who wants to use him. If Fern's villain arc is caused by feelings of inadequacies, then it's resolved through self-acceptance. Redeeming Fern requires Finn to truly understand Fern, but this means Finn loses someone who gets him.

I think it's implied Fern could never be at peace alive, since the grass demon was keeping him alive while corrupting his heart. It's a unique take on a heroic sacrifice: setting Fern free means letting Fern go.

Misc. thoughts

Not all redemption arcs are equal. I wanted to touch on a few mini-redemption arcs that either didn't fit the post or had a lesser impact on the story. These aren't relevant to the text, so feel free to skip to the conclusion.

Irredeemable villains

Some AT antagonists never get redemption arcs. These are usually one-off villains who don't get much characterization apart from just being evil. I don't think that AT wants to imply these people are beyond help (see Magic Man for proof), but maybe becoming a good person means that someone has to understand you first, which is harder to do in some cases. Examples include:

Ricardio the heart man

Thief Princess

Wyatt

Redemption arcs?

Originally, I wanted to write a section on Princess Bubblegum and how she gradually releases her iron grip on her kingdom. However, I decided against it because Finn never really sees her as a bad person. However, understanding that she's not perfect is definitely part of her arc. If I were to write about PB, it'd have to be a separate article, probably incorporating how Marceline plays into her character development and how her relationship with evolves over time.

Another character I omitted from this analysis was Lemongrab. I wouldn't describe his arc as a redemption arc because I feel it was more focused on self-discovery than making up for his past actions.

Finally, I thought about writing about the Lich's transformation into Sweet Pea, but I almost don't count it since they are essentially two different characters. A redemption arc to me means that a character undergoes a change of heart. I feel like Sweet Pea is more like the Lich reborn, and while you can argue that the events in "Whispers" are the good Lich fighting against his dormant persona, I feel like it's clear that Sweet Pea and the Lich are not one and the same. Either way, Sweet Pea being the Lich's redemption is to muddy to discuss in this context.

Becoming good

One thing I like about Adventure Time is that no one tries to make the bad guys turn good. Redemption arcs are mostly self-initiated. With characters like Ice King, Finn doesn't try to turn him into a hero, he just stops treating Simon like a villain. Unlike in other media, heroes and villains are not real roles in AT. They are more like social constructs that are easily altered once you start to empathize with supposed villains.

But while "villains" is a flexible term in AT, evil-doing is not. AT puts forward the standard that people should seek forgiveness and atone for the ways they've caused harm. It's a pretty grown-up idea that we should own up to our actions but also forgive people who want to be forgiven.

Conclusion

In Adventure Time, Finn wants to be a hero, but in trying to do so, he needs to answer this question: "What makes a hero?" Originally, the show asserts that a hero is someone who beats up bad guys and obeys people in authority. But as Finn and the audience get older, the show's ideas evolve, too. Through the use of its extensive rogue gallery, Adventure Time affirms that "bad people" are usually just normal people with personal issues. Heroism becomes less associated with righteous violence and more geared towards empathy and reconciliation. Eventually, Finn and the show give up on the hero-villain dichotomy, acknowledging that these categorizations prevent people from helping those who need it most.

Note: this is the first analysis I've posted on Tumblr and I'm planning on writing more with the goal of getting better at writing and media literacy. Additionally, I really love this franchise and I'm always down to discuss it further. Please let me know what you all think?

#adventure time #adventure time analysis #tv analysis #cartoon network #finn mertens #finn and jake #princess bubblegum #ice king #magic man #betty grof #fern #uncle gumbald #golb #the lich

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villiedoom · 1 year

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About worldbuilding

My style of worldbuilding is observation, feeling and perception, allowing the world to grow on its own, favoring ideas that resonate with me personally over those that are logical and realistic. It is important for me to see, feel and then - to understand what my world and characters wants to say and show me, and not to be their designer.

Because of this, I care little about the biology of the creatures, what they eat and why they look so strange. I don't know much about them, but I allow them to be mysterious, although I am always glad to finally see and understand some details of their life and nature.

«One of my favorite ideas/scenes is about wandering in the snowy mountains. It’s like a journey through the afterlife, lonely and very personal. Climbing the mountain, where the only obstacle on the way is the mountains themselves - snow-covered and cold, with blinding blizzards, and threatening steep slopes. One wrong step - and you will fall down and die. Or freeze to death»

This is purely emotional and feeling, there is no question of whether this is real for the character or not, and why this lonely Vaeraf went to the mountains if it is so cold and dangerous. These mountains are a symbol and a metaphor for his life, feelings, difficulties he faces, and his way to the top of the mountain - to the goal, to the sky, to realize something, to overcome difficulties.

Simply put, the emotion and feelings that I experienced from my stories or when I met, for example, a Vaeraf person in my imagination or dream, are more important for me. In my art, I want to share these feelings, and not to build and describe their biology in detail. I also don't try to give all the characters I meet detailed biographies or stories. I only know these characters who are my close friends, just like it works with people in real life. What makes my characters so dear to me is my personal relationship with them, and I love them as persons that live in my mind.

Sometimes I worry that my way of creating and showing my world is wrong or stupid, because I noticed that the vast majority of people interested in worlds and creatures are more designers and "scientists" than people for whom personal impressions and feelings are way more important. But I no longer want to try to change myself, my art and my world into something that is not close and not interesting to me personally.

I remember such an idea that there are two types of artists - architects and gardeners. Architects build their world and stories according to the rules, trying to do everything well and right, they intentionally plan, build and control every detail. Whereas gardeners let their world grow on its own, but take care of it and choose which grown ideas they keep and which they uproot. In that case, I'm a total gardener who also tends to let things just grow and die on their own, even if it turns into overgrown chaos. It is important for me to feel, experience and analyze this chaos as it is, but at the same time - to love and take care of those parts of my world that are important and dear to me.

Only this way feels natural to me and keeps me in touch with my world and art, and I sincerely love this way of working with the world, even if it is hard and sometimes inconvenient to explain things to strangers. But my art, characters and my world are inherently connected to my feelings, experience and mental state, and I do not want to destroy this connection for the sake of some "true" worldbuilding just because my way is different.

~~~

Update: (I decided to add and supplement these my comments in the post)

I also want to add that it doesn't mean that I don't try to analyze and explain things from my world. It's just that my focus is different, it is important for me to feel and understand Vaerafes as persons, so I focus on their perception, feelings, morality, philosophy and psychology, trying to understand how they see, think and feel, while their nature is part of their personality. But I rarely share it because it's usually too personal - for both me and my characters.

It may be their understanding of the world, their morals and values, their relationship with each other, and also - my own relationship with them. While their world as a whole is just the world they live in, I don't study or detail it as seriously and in depth as my characters' stories, which are quite personal and can be quite metaphorical. Besides, I have some different worlds/alternative universes with different stories and ideas. Some of them don't even have the idea of being at least a bit realistic/scientific.

It's not about worldbuilding only, but also about my personal interests. Things related to philosophy(?) and psychology, as well as symbolism, self-exploration and self-expression in art, are more interesting to me than the scientific side of nature and wild animals. I like science, and sometimes it's interesting to think about my beings from that perspective, but that's just not my focus and I still perceive it from a more philosophical point of view.

I would say that the truly "scientific" side of my world is the very fact of having a world and living characters in the head of me, a living animal being of the human species. Therefore, knowing me and my interests, I would rather dig into the learning more about these weird natural processes of my mind, to know what it is and how it works, than into what these fictional creatures eat and how their digestion works, heh.

This is just my personal perception, understanding of things and interests.

~~~~~

Thank you for reading ~

#worldbuilding #fantasy #fantasy world #my world #art #drawings #fictional world #text post #thoughts #original characters

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radfemfox5 · 8 months

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What do u think about the arguments of the brains on transgender people? I have seen that the standard response is "brain sex is not a thing". But I have seen that there is a great discussion between scientists about this and there are proofs that brains between men and women are different in some little ways. I also see this through autism lens, because I'm autistic and females are underdiagnosed and there is a discussion about it too: socialization or brain differences that make more easy the masking and faking neurotypical behaviour.

But of course, even if the brain argument is correct, I don't see how transition is the logical next step to take then. Like, is ur brain, u can take therapy and be gender nonconforming if that's the case anyway. Brain can be trained due to neuroplasticity and kids with gender dysphoria can be treated in a way to become more comfortable in their bodies.

Sorry for my poor english, I'm chilean.

Hi, thank you for your question. Don't worry, English isn't my first language either.

So, this is hard to answer. The short answer is that no, brain sex isn't real. If brain sex is not real, then trans-identified males cannot be born with a "female brain." I feel like this has been retired as an argument for transgenderism, as it's not only a nebulous concept but also goes against the concept that you can identify as anything you want (ie: no biological component to gender).

The long answer is that it's complicated. We don't know enough about the brain to fully understand which part does what, let alone what minute differences there may or may not be between the functioning of a male and a female brain. It's been proven that men and women use different parts of the brain to process the same information, so while there are no structural differences, there could be functional differences that we simply don't know about yet.

@woman-for-women has an excellent post about brain sex here (archive), and I'll use the sources she links as references for my next points. Go check out her posts, seriously, she's incredibly thorough and condenses difficult subjects into easy-to-digest infographics.

I'll first go over brain sex, why it's not real / not proven, and consequently why a male having a "female brain" is impossible. This turned out to be very long, so more under the cut.

In my opinion: the myth that males and females behave differently because of innate differences in brain structure comes from 2 things:

Logic / Common sense. If you present a man with a stressful situation, he will not react the same way a woman would. In our everyday lives, it's easy to assume that men and women are simply wired differently, since we have unique behaviours and thought patterns. Contrary to popular belief, most of this doesn't stem from innate biological differences, but rather from gendered socialization. It's hard for us to gauge what portion of our gendered differences is nature (innate) and which portion is nurture (socialization).

Anecdotal evidence and misconceptions about brain function. In the 18th century, it was discovered that a woman's brain weighs on average 5 oz lighter than a man's. This would lead the general public to assume that, since a woman's brain is smaller, this has an impact on her overall intelligence, which is not true.

Assumptions are often made in the general public and even in neuroscience when it comes to which part of the brain does what based on preexisting notions of what a man is and what a woman is. The study I just showed, for instance, was misconstrued in order to strengthen sex-based stereotypes.

What a surprise, my personal interpretation of my results just coincidentally happened to match gendered stereotypes that I was taught. How bizarre.

In all seriousness, this study and its methods have been ripped to shreds by people much smarter than I.

"As Gina Rippon, author of The Gendered Brain and outspoken critic of neurosexism shows, the hunt for proof of women’s inferiority has more recently elided into the hunt for proof of male–female ‘complementarity’. So, this line goes, women are not really less intelligent than men, just ‘different’ in a way that happens to coincide with biblical teachings and the status quo of gender roles. Thus, women’s brains are said to be wired for empathy and intuition, whereas male brains are supposed to be optimized for reason and action."

In reality, according to more recent studies with bigger sample sizes, men and women don't have significant differences in brain structure to conclusively say that brains are sexually dimorphic.

If you're a more visual person, here are the graphs from the first study, showing overall brain matter volumes and volumes for specific brain structures. The second study's visualizations are less easy to understand, as they're brain scans and brain tissue images.

These graphs are called bell curves, and they're used to demonstrate a distribution. Basically, the peak of the "bell" shape means that this is the most common value for a certain demographic, while the extremities are outliers or rarer values.

As you can see, "considerable distributional overlap" means that these bell curves are nearly identical in most brain structures. However, white matter, grey matter and total brain volume are different in men and women, with women in this study typically having lower numbers. This doesn't affect overall intelligence, as we saw earlier, or affect the overall proportional volumes of different brain structures. This is just a result of women having smaller skulls on average.

So, if there is so much overlap between the sexes, then why can't a male have a female brain? The graphs do have overlapping sections, don't they?

The thing is, brain structure is nearly identical in both sexes. Therefore, there is no typically "female" or "male" brain, but rather "unique mosaics of features" which aren't uniquely male or female.

A good analogy that woman-for-women gives is this: if a man's height is closer to an average woman's height, does that mean this man is now a woman? No, he is a short male. Being in the overlap of this graph doesn't mean that you aren't a part of your own bell curve.

This is a complex topic that was very interesting to look into. If you have more questions about this, feel free to send another ask or look into the sources:

Sex beyond the genitalia: The human brain mosaic (archive)

The human hippocampus is not sexually-dimorphic: Meta-analysis of structural MRI volumes (archive)

Sex Differences in the Adult Human Brain: Evidence from 5216 UK Biobank Participants (archive)

Delusions of gender: How our minds, society, and neurosexism create difference. (archive)

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king-mera · 2 years

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I've seen some really good analysis on Nope but one thing I haven't seen yet is commentary on Jean Jacket's design. As somebody who loves movie monsters and the symbolism in Peele's work, I wanted to give my thoughts:

Jean Jacket initially looks like a stereotypical UFO, a grey flying saucer with a hole in the bottom. However, when seen closely from below, the texture and shape resembles an iris and pupil. OJ figures this out and knows not to look at it directly or it will feel threatened and attack, much like Earth animals. Jupe believes Jean Jacket is a ship harboring alien visitors he calls "viewers".

Additionally, the layers further inside the hole form a square shape that looks more like the aperture of an old fashioned camera. A camera can also be called a "viewer".

Not related to Jean Jacket directly, but Jupe's hat happens to be shaped like it. As if the creature has already taken his mind.

Unlike the traditional conspiracy theories about UFOs, Jean Jacket is not a ship being piloted by space-faring scientists. It has no interest in studying or understanding what it sucks up. Instead, it devours them (in a horrifically painful sounding way, I might add) then spits them out.

Not only that, but am I the only one who noticed the way it sucks people into the sky looks like how the credits sequence at the end of a movie scrolls up? All the cast and crew of Jupe's show get eaten up much like the cast and crew of movies often get exploited and forgotten. (The credits of Nope have a rusty orange background that gradually fade to a deeper shade of red. Possibly representing the blood of all the characters Jean Jacket ate. I admit I couldn't sit through all the credits so I could be wrong on this or missing something.)

Also the regular audience attending the show gets eaten too... Nobody is safe.

When Jean Jacket unfurls and reveals it's true form, it looks like a cluster of billowing screens and film strips.

It has yet another eye/mouth that made of green flaps that open and close. I'm guessing the opening and closing movement could be like a camera shutter and the green colour could be a reference to green screens.

With all this together, Jean Jacket seems to represent the film industry as a whole, and the predatory nature of Hollywood exploiting people. One thing is missing, though. Where's the projector? Jean Jacket emits no light or glow. It never beams people up in a ray of light like one would expect a UFO. In fact, it darkens the environment by shutting off electricity and causing lights to stop working. It doesn't exist to create or share, it only consumes. That's it! I could be reaching on a lot of these, but I had to write them down. I thought the creature design was superb in how it played with audience expectations. Another thing I want to say is I'm glad they didn't give it pointy teeth, or any teeth at all. It's method of killing prey via suffocation is MUCH scarier.

#nope #spoilers #nope spoilers #nope movie #jordan peele #dex don't look #watching this was especially meta since my local theater is UFO themed #it has a big ship on the roof lol

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ckret2 · 1 year

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Wait what's up with Dr. Horrible?? (I never watched it I just know of the song Brand New Day and that's it)

Okay so short plot summary: the main character is a mad scientist/aspiring supervillain who's presented as an earnest, nerdy, likable guy. We're intended to find him sympathetic; his villainous goals are comically cliché and he has some moral standards he sticks to, like we mainly see him commit property crimes but he refuses to kill people.

He has a crush on a very nice idealistic girl who wants to feed the homeless.

His nemesis is a smug handsome dudebro superhero whose collateral damage from his fights is arguably worse than what the villain himself would have done. The superhero ends up dating the idealistic girl after saving her from a near-death experience he himself caused by breaking the villain's machinery.

The superhero says some douchey misogynistic things about his new girlfriend to Dr. Horrible in private, so, naturally, he decides to compromise his values and murder the superhero. Through no fault of Dr. H's own (the narrative would like us to believe), the superhero makes the weapon malfunction in a way that, instead, kills the girl. Dr. H is broken-hearted and despondent but finally recognized by society as a true supervillain.

So, good nerd "villain" VS bad jock "hero" and the nice girl takes the douchebag with muscles.

This was several years before the "incel vs chad" meme took off—but it's hauntingly familiar in hindsight.

The thing is, even though the main character does have his "villain" moments, the way it's written makes it pretty clear the audience is supposed to be on his side. His evil is cartoonish and funny rather than things that actually tend to bother viewers, we're supposed to want to see him win over the girl and be mad that she went for the jock. Not only is HE your typical "nice guy (who isn't nice)" who doesn't understand why he skeeves out girls—but the STORY thinks he's genuinely a nice guy, too*.

(*This is the part that's controversial. Some people think "nah, Joss Whedon knew exactly what he was doing, we ARE supposed to recognize that he's really just a creep in defiance of how the narrative frames him, it's an unreliable narrator thing" and other people think "Joss really thinks Dr. Horrible is a tragic underdog who deserved to get the girl." Personally, I think the truth is somewhere in between, but it's closest to "tragic underdog.")

Except, Dr. Horrible is a supervillain! That's what makes the whole thing extra interesting. On a surface level, this is your basic role-reversal type story, "the supervillain is actually the hero and the superhero is actually the villain"—but once you recognize Dr. Horrible isn't quite as much a decent guy as the narrative paints him, the role reversal reverses: "the villain really is villainous, he's your typical vengeful entitled incel, but seeing the story through his eyes he can't see himself that way."

It's really a masterfully done unreliable narrator story breaking down the toxic incel "girls only don't like me because I'm nerdy" "they go for bad boys with muscles" "if I can't get a girl it's my right to lash out at the world" viewpoint, done convincingly enough that you can totally buy into the narrator's skewed perspective. (Like, it took years before I started seeing this "it's a breakdown of nerd culture toxic masculinity" interpretation of Dr. H in mainstream discussions. Some people might've been saying it at the time but it was nowhere near as widespread as it is now; when it first came out, just about every discussion I saw took it for granted that the narrative considers Dr. H the "good guy.")

But, on the other hand, it's only an okay trope role reversal story. Like it's pretty good? It's all right. It's fine.

The story is better if you look at it saying "Dr. H really is the bad guy here, but is so deep in his head neither he nor the narrative sees that" and worse if you look at it saying "Dr. H is a misguided good guy stuck in a tragedy."

And yet, I'm pretty confident "misguided good guy" was the authorial intent. For other folks who believe that was the intent, in order to let the narrative truly flourish, they have to interpret it in a way that directly defies what they assume the author wants; in order to say "the main character is blind to his true nature" they also have to say "the author is blind to the main character's true nature." And I think that's fascinating.

#dr. horrible #anonymous #ask

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hersterical · 6 months

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soul lore in Buffy is finally beginning to make sense in my head (give me a break, I didn’t watch the show until COVID and didn’t start taking part in the fandom until at least a year after that). A lot of this is basic stuff the fandom’s been saying for years, this is just to help get my thoughts in order before I fall asleep and lose the train of thought.

There are a few important elements but I think the two biggest ways the lack of a soul influences a vampire is 1. No moral compass and 2. No empathy (as we see mostly with Spike but a few others as well, they can have sympathy but no empathy). I also don’t get the impression that soulless vampires are capable of true, selfless love. Again looking at Spike, whenever he loves someone pre-soul it always felt possessive or like he wanted to be possessed by someone. Sure, he sincerely wanted certain people he cared about to be happy, but he didn’t want them to be happy just for the simple sake of them being happy. At best he wanted them to be happy because being around them makes him happy and it’s his happiness that truly mattered to him. So if there ever came a time where the happiness of the person he cared about didn’t make him happy anymore, then he wouldn’t care about their happiness. This is mostly based on Spike because he’s the vampire we have the most opportunity to understand while he doesn’t have a soul. To me it seems that all soulless vampires could be placed on a scale from Spike, who possesses the most amount of sympathy and derives the greatest amount of happiness from the happiness of others, to Angellus who doesn’t have a single ounce of sympathy and actively takes joy out of the misery of others. Most seem to tend closer towards Angellus’ end of the scale and I wanted to explore that a bit.

Before I do that though there are some important things of a more physiological nature that would influence vampires both with and without a soul. The first is that I’ve always gotten the impression that a vampire’s primal, predator instincts are more heightened and animalistic than humans. The way I see it there are two main explanations for this: 1. Those instincts come from the demon that possesses the body or 2. Something about becoming a vampire allows them to access the human’s dormant predatory instincts. I’m no evolutionary scientist so I can’t say how likely that second one is, but no matter what it’d be far from the hardest thing this show asks the viewers to suspend their disbelief for. The other thing about vampire physiology has just little enough evidence to support it that I would probably have to classify it as a headcanon. I am convinced that human blood is an addictive substance to vampires based on how secretly being fed Connor’s blood influenced Angel.

With all that said, I’d like to take this opportunity to explore the after-life span of an average Joe vampire.

Imagine you wake up and it is dark, cold and suffocating. But none of that bothers you because more than anything you are hungry. No living being has her possessed this great hunger that you are experiencing right now. Not even being capable of conscious thought at this point, you start clawing. Eventually you dig your way up to the surface where you either have your sire waiting for you, holding in their arms the greatest smelling meal you’ve ever smelt in your whole life, a human, or no one and you need to find something to eat yourself. Even if you find a small animal to eat that’s not enough to satiate your all consuming hunger. No matter what you’re going to get your first taste of human blood as a vampire that night. And it is the greatest thing you have ever tasted. Sure, you had to kill someone to get it, but you don’t care. As you finished eating and stared at the corpse of a human being whose heart is no longer beating because of you, the closest you get to regret, shame, or guilt is the surprise that you don’t feel any of those things.

That was the best thing you’ve ever experienced but you still don’t have a particular desire to kill people. You might even avoid it for a bit in order to avoid attention or out of habit. But even if you actively don’t want to kill another human for whatever reason, you can’t get the taste of their blood off your tongue. The thought of human blood consumes you every waking moment of your life, which is quite a bit considering you don’t need to sleep anymore. But whether it be in a day or a week or a year, you will kill another human. This time you do care. Not that they’re dead, no. But in that moment as you took their life force and made it your own, you have never felt more powerful or in control (ironic considering vampires actually tend to lose control while drinking human blood). Even with all of this great supernatural power you’ve been gifted with, nothing is as powerful as taking a human life. And the blood itself. It feels almost like your rapidly fading memories of warm sunlight on your skin, gentle instead of burning. You’ve never been particularly power hungry before so even though that part might be cool, it doesn’t hold a candle to the sensation of drinking blood. Whatever hesitation you might have had towards killing humans is now gone. But that still doesn’t necessarily mean that you want to though.

You go and visit your loved ones from when you were alive, but when you get there all you can think is how weak you were. How dull the life of a mortal is. How nice the warmth of the sun was on your skin. How it felt to be loved. How it felt to be willing to give your own life and happiness for the sake of someone else’s. It fills you with rage, disgust, and even jealousy for your old self. You take your power back and get rid of any reminders of who you used to be.

Time goes on. Decades pass. You feed, you travel, and you learn. And you grow bored. What was once an exciting after life is nothing but pure drudgery. Even the taste of human blood is becoming common after so long of living off nothing but that. What hasn’t gotten old is the chase. The hunt. That power you once got a taste of but didn’t particularly care for at the time is the only thing that can make you feel anything. Humans are no longer tasty little juice boxes, they’re your play things. The adrenaline from the hunt turns your hunger for blood, into a hunger for power over people.

Eventually the chase grows stale. It’s just too easy. You try to spice it up by toying with humans. Making them scream or beg. But it’s still not enough. That’s when you hear about it. A hellmouth. A slayer. Both together in the same place. One of the greatest sources of power for a demon alongside with the greatest challenge any vampire could hope to face. It’s more powerful than any siren call, how could you possibly resist. Sunnydale is waiting for you.

You get there and between the influence of the hellmouth and the group think of a ridiculous amount of vampires and other demons, it feels as exhilarating as the dance floor of a crowded nightclub. Which is funny because the local nightclub is where you do most of your feeding.

You lead your latest victim out into the back alley, and start feeding. You are once again growing bored even on a hellmouth with the prospect of facing a slayer. It’s just too easy. These are your thoughts when you hear someone clear their throat. This surprises you enough to pull you away from your meal to see a small, blonde girl who’s dressed for a night of dancing. Dessert. Except something’s off. She tilts her head and outs on a mock pout as she asks if she could just get one night off. You don’t like her attitude, her face looking far too smug for your taste, and her blood is singing out to you like no blood has ever done before. You feel almost as hungry as the night you crawled out of your grave. Tossing aside the barely alive human you were just feeding on, you eagerly lunge at the small woman.

She punches you in the face. Hard. You fall to the ground and scramble back up as quickly as possible as you’re filled with a sudden certainty. “Slayer!” You snarl with equal parts shock, anticipation, and fear.

“Is that part of the vampire handbook or something? You guys really gotta get some new material.” She says in response.

How dare she? The insolence! You’ve drained the life out of hundreds of humans before her. You are immortal. Invincible. And she just dismisses you like you’re nothing? She will learn. You are the night, you are fueled by the life-force you’ve been draining out of humans for decades. You’ve seen things this little girl couldn’t think up in her worst nightmares. You have purged yourself of all weaknesses and now you will obtain the greatest power any vampire could ever hope to possess, the blood of a slayer.

You run for her, your claws reaching for her.

You are immediately impaled. As you crumble to dust you hear the last words you’ll ever hear: a half-hearted quip about you not being the dance partner she was hoping for tonight.

#long post #it went from being meta to being a fanfic partway through #btvs #buffy the vampire slayer #Soul lore #angel btvs #spike btvs #angel the series #ats

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dragonrider9905 · 1 year

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In Defense of Hunter's Caution

Hey guys, spoilers for Ep 14 of The Bad Batch. Just some of my thoughts.

I know that some people are going to be upset with Hunter for his reaction to the news about Crosshair but I just wanted to express some things so even though we all agree it is sad to see Hunter doubting Crosshair, maybe show the guy some understanding...think about his position a little bit.

Last time Hunter saw Crosshair, Cross said he didn't have the chip and didn't clarify when it was taken out. This could have been ages ago. The writers gave US immense hints when it was, so WE would be able to figure it out. We were able to observe Crosshair's change of character and obsessions and goals of when he went from "kill! kill! kill!" to "join me! join me! join me!". From watching Clone Wars, the body language between Hunter and Crosshair (also the fact that Crosshair was the only person Hunter didn't roast to the looks) they were really close before this. Going from feeling like you know someone to having that person burn you in the hardest of ways is difficult to deal with and it seems that Hunter isn't dealing with it. He's ignoring how he feels. He's angry at himself too. There's a lot of baggage here. Also how Crosshair is harder on Hunter than everyone else--sometimes when we are hurt by people who are closer to us, they are the harder to forgive, right?

Wrecker has a huge heart. It's his nature. He's like, "WOOOOW Cross turned on the Empire! Let's go fellas!!!!" because we see how easy going he is. He would have taken the low percent rate that Cid gave them happily a few episodes ago, he's happy playing with the kids. He's so innocent! We can't compare that to Hunter who is responsible for all of them...he's torn. What if Crosshair IS trying to hurt them again? They found some semblance of peace, finally, and to have that threatened so soon is a huge blow.

Also consider this. Maybe Hunter is trying to convince himself that it isnt' true because .... if it is....his BABY BROTHER is being held by a crazy evil scientist who wants to do nasty things to him. Maybe its a NO NO NO PLEASE NO you HAVE to be WRONG. because if Crosshair is being hurt? He'll rip down the facility to get to him. He's still hurt by Crosshair so it won't go back to normal but if he knew for a fact what we know, he'd go to hell to save Crosshair. Even thinking about what they could possibly be doing to Crosshair sends him to a 'no it can't be true, has to be a trap' because if it is, how on earth can he sleep until he saves his little lost brother? How long has he been there? What will he be like when they see him? Will he even still be alive? IS he still alive? So many ugly things to consider. It's easier to think it could be a trap so he can stay a little sane during the mission. And he never said *not* to go. He just pointed out it could be a trap like he set before. Being responsible for everyone isn't easy. It's something he has to weigh carefully. He doesn't have the freedom to say, 'to hell with my life if its a trap' like others may have because he still does have a responsibility to his brothers.

#hunter is stressed #tbb hunter #star wars the bad batch #the bad batch #tbb echo #tbb omega #tbb wrecker #tbb crosshair #tbb tech #episode 14 #possible spoilers #the bad batch season 2 #the bad batch season 2 spoilers

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the-eggplantblog · 7 months

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This is my little headcanon:

Dreams, the most powerful force in the Glade of Dreams for obvious reasons. Polokus created the world through his dreams. The best scientists in the Glade still can’t fully figure out the true power of dreams.

However a few have noticed that in the time of great trouble and suffering in the Glade, the people’s desire for a hero always bears fruit. These heroes are not created by Polokus but instead something else.

It’s as if the hopes and dreams of the people creates these warriors who’ll bring about peace and happiness to all.

As for why they’re always limbless that’s pattern that still baffles the most brilliant scientist to this day.

I really like your idea, I agree, in fact I could say that I have similar ideas, definitely the most powerful energy in the glade of the dreams are dreams after the entire world of Rayman was created through these….

It is also very true that they are a very unknown and inexplicable force, no one is capable of understanding a dream and the powers that they have and the influence they have on the world, dreams are capable of anything…..they can bring hope and very very things. good, but also the opposite……both literally and philosophically and in every sense that can be applied.

I always considered curious the fact that at least in the original trilogy of Rayman games, well rather in Rayman 2, it is said in the manual and within the game, that Rayman is a being never seen before, which was not dreamed of by polokus like the others……

Rayman was unspicable in every sense he was nonsense without any logic, even for a world that is strange on its own, but Rayman breaks anything that makes sense for that world, he is such a mysterious being that he simply appeared on a beach sleeping out of nowhere. ….no one knows where he came from, how the hell his body works, or who his family was, in fact not even Rayman himself knows…

Maybe I'm going off topic hehe, but I think very few know this other Rayman story, because if we all know the one about Origins, well what I want to say, maybe all those strange things can be explained with your idea, Rayman It was dreamed by collective consciousness, there was a point where the world needed a hero and they dreamed so much about the idea that they accidentally created him, which is funny if you think about it like that….but in a world where dreams can come true it is very serious .

In fact, Rayman, from the beginning when he was found by the fishermen and the inhabitants of the glade, always demonstrated his good faith and his desire to help everyone without looking for anything in return. At first they feared him but later even the one with the toughest heart empathized. With him, when he defeated nightmares and Mr Dark, there was no doubt that Rayman was a hero and someone with a good heart.

Anyway I think I made this too long xd…..

I will only say that well, I really know the origin of Rayman in Origins and I like it and I find the story of its creation very funny, but I have always liked the story of Rayman 2 much more. It is interesting, really the idea that it could have been created by the search for hope in a difficult moment, for people and their dreams, even if it's just a headcanon, I like it, since in the canonical I also like all that mystery that surrounds it.

and the headcanon agrees in a certain way because rayman is described as the protector of his world several times and it always seems that he sleeps for a long time when there is no danger, in fact it has been discovered that he spends his time resting on his laurels but when there are threats he awake and good at punching, it has been said, in some way he always looks for good, his nature is like that, as if he were a guard dog, deep down in his being he knows what his mission in the world is and he fulfills it.

Another curiosity, Rayman looks too much like an Electon, that is, they do not have limbs, they fly with their hair, and even in a Rayman 1 loading screen it is clear that Electoons also hit with their fists and Electoons are related to dreams, not to mention that they are the living representation of the power of dreams. What a coincidence, no?

#rayman #rayman 1 #rayman fandom #rayman 2 #headcanon #foxy talk #rayman origins #long post

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sorbeau · 4 months

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THIS IS THAT MANIFESTO I WROTE I WANT THE TITLE TATTOOD ON MY EYEBALLS I THINK

The Stars, God, and Most Importantly, You.

There is a fundamental misconception held by most people in the world, in which we believe that we are distinct from everything around us. All of our existence centers on the idea that we are separated from the rest of the universe, and we foolishly act as if we are not built from the stars just as everything else on our planet is. We deceive ourselves into thinking that we are not part of the universe, but watchers and controllers of it.

I was raised by three instead of the American standard of two. My mother was a woman of gentle guidance, my father was a man of simple resolve, and my stepfather was a man of complex science. Describing him as a “man of science” may sound cold and distant, but in my experience, science is anything but. Yes, he was the traditional ex-Christian religion doubter scientist pessimist, but he was anything but cold. Where my mother taught me empathy, and my father taught me responsibility, my stepdad taught me curiosity and truth.

By teaching me about science and the natural order of things, he instilled in me the gift of investigation and wonder, and through a clinical eye he showed me the complex, improbable wonders of the world. He showed me how flowers reproduce before I learned to write, and he taught me that the smell of rain is petrichor from the earth instead of how to tie my shoes. From him, I learned to ask “why?”.

This being said, my step-father gifted me with three core ideals:

Science is the only truth in this world, if it cannot be proven, it cannot be.

There is no true God.

If you believe something to be true, fight for it.

This list may be controversial to some. Especially those who enjoy the comfort of religion, but before you storm off in a rage to deliver me passionate speeches on the glory of Allah, or God, or Whoever, listen to the rest of my statements. My step-father is a cold and critical scientist, but I have decided that the science he gave me is nothing short of kind and loving.

Everything I’ve been given, from my name to my ideals, has been changed and morphed to fit me comfortably, and this includes my definition of science and reasoning. This isn’t to say that I’m giving in to delusion, modern religion still has little resonance within me, but I can appreciate the desperate nature in which human love is channeled through it. There is very little in this universe that we understand, so we tend to explain it using abstract, ineffable terms like “divinity”, and the same goes for ourselves. Still, instead of exploring it using the tool of religion, we use science. To the smallest protons, science still cannot fully explain what is happening in your body, just as religion cannot explain what happens amongst the stars. There is so much of our existence that we will simply never know, and using all of the logic and science given to me by my step-father, it has left me stumped and floundering for an answer for as long as I could ponder the subject. However, I have found my answer.

That answer has always been, and will always be, Chaos, Love, and Time. Life always begins with Chaos and improbability, the chances of a sperm reaching an egg to form a baby, or stars colliding to form new elements have always been infinitesimally small. And yet, Chaos is so widespread and ever-present that there happens to be a sizable planet absolutely chock-full of that Life stuff. Of course, Time, being both the cultivator and the reaper of Life pushes it along its journey and is there to see us off when our Life ends. Chaos is our maker, and Time is our unmaker.

But what happens during Life? What gives it its supposed meaning? What gives it its worth? Love. The only thing that makes this consciousness business bearable is that it’s filled to the brim with Love. I don’t mean the simple “I think that girl is cute” kind of love, I mean the ever-present, all-encompassing, so-huge-and-universal-that-it’s-quite-impossible-to-wrap-my-head-around-without-crying Love (the capital “L” is important).

Love surrounds us at every moment whether we notice it or not. There is love in the way the sun shines, the way dirt holds us up, and the way fruit tastes sweet on our tongues. The universe loves itself in ways that are so complicated that men have spent their entire lives trying to unravel the tangled web of energy, and have labeled it science. Yes, science is a pursuit of love. What could be a grander expression of Love than for a human, made of stardust and milk and earth, to dedicate themself to the understanding of the universe in which they are a part?

I was taught to be a man of science, and in the important ways I am. But science, I’ve learned, is more “divine” than my step-father gave it credit for. We both agree that there is no Christian God, but I believe that if She exists, (God would be a She, I believe, as most mothers tend to be) She is the abstract personification of Chaos, Love, and Time, for which we wonderful creatures worship through Science.

#i tried to copy and paste the entire thing on my ipad but it wouldn't work #i was gonna send a google doc link out of desperation when i remembered that computers exist #im actually so giddy about this i love talking about it and sharing it #thank you tumblr user gingermarshmallow ur my number 1 fan actually adn ily 4ever and ever #any time i get a single ounce of support or praise i go feral and insane #tomorrow it will be back to my usual depraved activities but today it's ideology and philosophy #PLEASE PLEASE SOMEONE TALK TO ME ABOUT HUMAN PHILOSOPHY AND MEANING GOD PLEASE #it's sorta ranty and not very well held together but you get the idea

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karnaca78 · 1 year

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I'm looking forward to see your exploration of the Dishonored scientific lore! Roseburrow's an intriguing soul, considering he had his best intentions, had difficult time and lived in poverty and then... he's famous innovator with guilt conscience. I see your Esmond on the edge of the discovery - not yet enough resources and support, but he feels he might soon bring great changes in the society. Any natural philosopher is remarkable, the developers really made the game's lore worth of interest, Sokolov from the first Dishonored is my absolute favorite. Renaissance man with many talents and complex character. Perhaps, Dr. Galvani is another interesting scientist. He's as well passionate about his work; marks the day he had a conversation with Sokolov as the greatest day in his entire lifetime; once was Granny Rags' doctor; studied the rat plague, kept a bunch of rats in his house for that case (there was an incident which resulted with a severed arm that can be found near the rat pantry); he can be robbed by the protagonist at least thrice after which he becomes understandably paranoid (I also loved his notes, he seems like an ardent man, maybe choleric). I even find some similarities with Piero. I'm curious what people imagine him look like. Oh, and you can think of the parallels with scientists from the real world! I'm certain there's a lot. P.s. I have no idea if I made any spelling mistakes, but I hope my rant is somehow coherent. I wish you luck :)

Hello! First and foremost, I thank you kindly for your interest and your support, it's very much appreciated!! :)

Your message is very interesting, and there's a lot to say about all of these scientists.

Starting with Roseburrow, I think that's an unjustly forgotten character. Probably because we barely hear of him at all in the games, and not everyone has seen the beautiful Tales of Dunwall shorts. But without his breakthrough, who knows what the Empire would have looked like at the time of Corvo and Emily's story? He's a truly pivotal figure and I think it right to pay him tribute somehow. So yes, I wanted to depict him as he was in his younger years; idealistic, full of good intentions and gifted with a true belief in science despite the hardships thrown his way.

Sokolov, too, is a man of many faces! By 1837 and the Rat Plague outbreak, he has completely eclipsed Roseburrow (whose death is still recent!) with his deadly contributions to natural philosophy. On the other hand, he is the Royal Physician and an accomplished artist. Although his methods aren't always the most commendable, he's also a fascinating character.

As for Galvani! That's a good idea. I don't envision him as a genius, and not really as a pivotal scientist in the grand scheme of things, but I agree that his works and his character in general are very interesting too. He's a bit of a shape-shifter as far as I'm concerned: almost menacing in Dishonored, because his apartment anx experiments are honestly very creepy; less so in Dishonored 2, where robbing him is played more as comic relief and there isn't a mission that features him extensively like in the previous game. Representing him would be an interesting challenge, so thank you for the idea!

Researching real scientists and their artistic representations is also a great inspiration, of course! It's pretty clear that Sokolov is heavily inspired by Da Vinci, whereas Jindosh is something of an "evil" rendition of Nikola Tesla. Hypatia, too, is named after a very real Greek philosopher! I'm not sure about the others, but perhaps someone else can provide insight on them.

Forgive me for rambling! I'm very happy to share my thoughts on Dishonored lore and your contribution is very thought-provoking.

Thank you again for your message and have a great day! :)

#ask answered #dishonored #dishonored lore #science illustration #natural philosophy #thank you for your message!#esmond roseburrow #anton sokolov #luigi galvani #alexandria hypatia #kirin jindosh #piero joplin

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wrathofbloodeye · 1 year

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dennis nilsen letters: part two

nilsen wrote to another unnamed penpal on september 4th, 2003. while the letter found in this article is seemingly ordinary, i think there are some interesting insights on his personality to consider throughout it.

he begins with his criticisms on the prison system’s procedures on receiving money. he then begins to talk about a documentary on myra hindley, who killed five children in england with her lover, ian brady.

“I watched the Channel Five documentary on Myra Hindley last night. One suspects that any programme with “Monster” in its title is not to be taken seriously as offering any new insight into the subject. TV journalism remains too set in its populist formulas. It revealed no new analysis or enlightening information. It hinged itself on that famous ‘demonic’ photograph of her taken at the police station. That saved millions the bother of ever having to think deeply about her ever again.”

this excerpt gives us insight on his opinions towards true crime material. in another letter circulating around, he writes to another person saying “my singular observation on crimes crackers is that they are mostly crackers.” i admit, i share the same opinion on the title of the documentary. the word monster is a reoccurring word in the titles of many serial killer documentaries and dramas. two examples would be the series invisible monsters: serial killers in america and monster: the jeffrey dahmer story. the use of the word can become overused and repetitive, which simplifies the unique details of an individual and their case.

my favorite part of this letter is towards the end.

“Scientists tell us that an asteroid might strike the earth on 21st April 2014. If I’m still around, I’ll look out for it as the end of the world is something not to be missed. Friendly greetings as always, Des. PS: What do you think of the new Bull Ring development?”

some of nilsen’s personality is revealed through these few lines. he seems quite pretentious even in his letters. not surprising, given his narcissistic personality disorder diagnosis. he is intelligent and provides thorough descriptions for his opinions (whether they make sense or not). and then he just out of nowhere, adds on something completely irrelevant and a little bizarre. seems like he had the attention span of a squirrel here, but it was probably just an attempt to make the recipient laugh. honestly, i found it amusing. it truly feels like you are reading the letter of a pretentious old man that likes to joke around.

i’m not sure if this next excerpt is from this same letter, but the article mentions it nonetheless, as it connects with earlier topics.

"I serve my time as an extreme example of human contradiction in the wide continuum of human nature and its actions. I am not contained, mute and immobile in a glass jar as some kind of eternal official specimen of popular 'evil'. As I am alive I must live as a man. I seek only to reach out to engage with the human dimension which is anathema to rigid officials of the retribution machine who are content with the official view of men like me as eternally and evilly sub-human and monstrous."

i believe he means he is a complex person who should not be simply categorized as evil, just as myra was. he deeply wants people to understand him less as a criminal and more as a person. he feels he is interpreted through a lens that ultimately deems him as evil, and that opinion is therefore passed on to others without further thought like a machine. des honey this is a difficult thing to ask for, since you killed multiple innocent lives.

i have two opinions about this that coexist, even though they are conflicting. this makes a lot of sense, while making no sense at all. his opinions and meanings are there, but it’s overshadowed by fancy syntax that does not always fit. especially that last run on sentence, as it takes him a long time to get to the point. he’s right about being contradictory- he desperately wants to be seen, but toys around with the idea more than outright demands it. his autobiography in its draft form included hours of tapes and 6,000 pages of notes. he forces people to understand him and will drag time out to do it. however, he is too high up on his own hill to level with everyone else.

his intentions may come in bits and pieces, but we may never have a clear understanding of who dennis nilsen truly was.

also, if anyone has a clear photo of the letter, feel free to share!

#in relevance of his birthday being today #dennis nilsen #true crime #tcc #hope i made sense #more than him at least LOL

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stitchar · 6 months

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So I finally watched the Shockwave episode in Earthspark and um....

Hm, I don't know how I feel about him.

Please understand, what I wrote down under the cut is my own opinion about this. Also CW for mentions of experimentation implications (ie; surgery stuff)

I love the design, the choice of his voice and all that, but the way he reacts to Terrans is... Not what I expected

I don't know, just the way he refers to them as... Freaks of nature somehow put me off so wrong about him. Like, raising so many red flags that I want to drop this character immediately.

Most Shockwaves I know about growing up through shows and movies had always been; the Mad Scientist. He experimented a lot of inhumane things to test the limit of Cybertronians body and mind. He cloned stuff, he even trained subjects to fight for Decepticon cause. He's in the top list you want to avoid because he's a Glados if she has a body to run around.

To me, it'd make more sense that Shockwave would be more interested in experimenting the Terrans and their unique coding/schematics to figure out how they tick. I'd think it'd be a far more interesting if Shockwave actually states he wants to run some experiments instead of going on about how Terrans aren't true Cybertronians.

Because if he does attempt to break Terrans down by parts to code, to figure out their building components, not only Megatron would be going protective Grandpa mode; he'll more than likely try and use those schematics to create armies of Decepticons to take over Earth.

Because let's face it;

Hashtag can hack into any internet no issue. If she was trained/experimented by Shockwave, she could ruin cities, even countries. Hell she can control any of your devices and use it maliciously if she could. She may even hack into Cybertronian databases and warships to sway the tide of war if she could.

Nightshade, as far as I know, scanned their owl mode from a single stone statue. I know that may be a reference to something else, but so far as I know, none of the Cybertronians had actually scanned a statue and used it. So to me, Nightshade is a rare case, cause if Cybertronians can scan a stone; Shockwave could've made Earthspark's take on Rock Lords.

While Thrash, Twitch, and Jawbreaker are the usual standard cybertronian models (a grounder, a flyer and a dinobot), that won't stop Shockwave from wanting to experiment with them. Who knows what he'll do to them too.

But that's all the limited knowledge I have of Shockwave, so I don't really know too much about Shockwave from the comics.

I don't care if people disagree with me about ES Shockwave, I personally believed they just missed the opportunity to make Shockwave to be a larger threat next to Mandriod.

#my ramble on about earthspark shockwave episode #also don't mind this cause this is just a nerd rambling #like wtf why did you make him so extreme?#i won't lie i grew up with goofy mad scientist shockeave #like he's soooooo goofy and dorky but he's also intimidating and dangerous #he has pets that destroy buildings and stuff

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twistedtummies2 · 9 months

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Top 10 Spirits of Chaos

Chaos is one of the most unusual concepts in the universe. It’s a difficult thing to try and understand and approach. Generally speaking, most people don’t like chaos in their lives: human beings rely on a sense of order and structure, and we typically try our best to get along harmoniously, if only for our own senses of self-preservation. We want things to go the way we plan, and we want things to work the way they should. Yet for as much as we try to fight against chaos, there are also times we feel the need to embrace it: the thrill of exploration, the joys of creativity, and the urge for celebration, many would argue, all come from our inner chaotic elements. Even science can show the fine line between these two ideals: science is a study all about finding a sense of order and understanding in the universe, but for all the study one can do, I think even the most ardent scientists will admit that there are just some things you can never properly explain. And even if you CAN, not everyone will ACCEPT that explanation, because we humans are always fascinated by the unknown and the fantastical. In fiction, just as there have been personifications of other ephemeral concepts or ideals - such as death, light, or various elementals - chaos, too, has been personified on numerous occasions. I’m not talking about characters such as the Joker, who are “Agents of Chaos,” nor am I talking about different alignments, such as “Chaotic Evil” or “Chaotic Good.” I’m talking about chaos ITSELF, personified in a character: tricksters and villains with incredible powers who exist for the sole purpose of sowing the seeds of mayhem and anarchy, with little rhyme or reason beyond that. I’ve always found such characters and creatures to be particularly fascinating, so I decided it was time to give a shout-out to some of my favorite interpretations of this concept. From the wild and the wacky to the purely destructive and wicked, these are My Top 10 Spirits of Chaos!

10. Chaos, from Castlevania: Aria of Sorrow.

Like I said before, we humans generally don’t like chaos in our organized lives, whatever we perceive that as being. As a result, it’s fairly common that chaos is depicted as an antagonistic presence. (In fact, I think almost every character on this list is or was at one point an antagonist in their respective source material.) Not all versions of chaos are outright EVIL, mind you…but this one certainly is. In “Castlevania: Aria of Sorrow,” our hero - a teenaged lad named Soma Cruz - discovers he is the reincarnation of Count Dracula himself. Many many moons before the story of the game, Dracula made a bargain with the Devil, which gave him the power to control and manipulate chaos. As a result, Chaos itself now seeks to turn Soma into Dracula proper, and use him to bring about the end of the world. The final boss of the game has Soma facing against Chaos incarnate, which first appears as a trio of strange statues, before revealing its true form, which is an abstract array of demon-like…THINGS, surrounding a black Sun. Chaos doesn’t have much actual personality in the game; it’s more of a force of nature than a proper character. However, when I think of the idea of a chaotic entity, this is one of the first things that comes to my head, so I felt it was deserving of placement, all the same.

9. Majora, from The Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask.

I’ve never actually played “Majora’s Mask,” but I do know the game fairly well, from a sort of layman’s standpoint. The title, of course, comes from the main villain of the game: a mysterious entity known as Majora, who represents chaos and destruction incarnate. Possessing the mind and body of the Skull Kid, through a mask that contains their spirit, Majora uses his power to try and destroy the land of Termina, by drawing the Moon closer and closer to the surface of the world. The heroic Link thus goes on a quest to stop Majora and save Termina, before time runs out. Majora is a thoroughly motiveless villain, with a mercurial personality: a childishly amoral creature who literally creates worlds just so they can blow them up. It seeks to destroy and wreak havoc simply because that’s what it DOES, and its forms of trickery range from the relatively harmless and silly to the genuinely terrifying and cruel. A representation of primal madness, with multiple forms to do battle with, Majora’s origins are as unfathomable as its purposeless villainy. That, in a nutshell, is what makes this nefarious trickster so iconically creepy.

8. Dormammu, from Marvel.

Marvel is home to a LOT of characters who could, in some fashion or another, be seen as representatives of Chaos. Few such characters, however, are quite as powerful or ruthlessly destructive as the mighty Dormammu. The arch-enemy of Doctor Strange, Dormammu is one of the most dangerous villains in the Marvel canon: the overlord of the Dark Dimension, he has been referred to as the Great Enigma, the Dread One, the Lord of Darkness…and, yes, the Lord of Chaos. Dormammu was once a being of pure energy, who was banished to the Dark Dimension: a place where the laws of physics do not naturally function, and where mortals experience Hellish torment untold. Over time, this entity of chaotic evil assumed a corporeal form, and found a way to harness the power of the Dark Dimension. He thus made it his own kingdom in the universe. Dormammu’s ultimate goal is to conquer all worlds and make them part of his Dark Dimension, one by one, till only chaos is left. While he’s probably most famous now for his meme-worthy appearance in the MCU, Dormammu has appeared in various Marvel properties - from TV shows to video games - not to mention a great number of comics. He is one of the most unpredictably evil villains in the Marvel universe, as he is just as capable of conjuring up long-running schemes as he is impulsively destroying for the sheer sake of it. When you combine that unpredictability with incredible mystical and cosmic power, it’s no surprise he’s widely regarded as one of the most diabolical characters in supervillain history.

7. Chaos, from Aladdin.

Voiced by Matt Frewer (who actually has played a few trickster figures, including another character on this list), this incarnation of Chaos only made a single appearance in the Disney animated series “Aladdin,” a spin-off of the popular film of the same title. But while Chaos only had that one episode, many fans agree it’s one of the best and most memorable episodes of the show. Inspired by the Cheshire Cat, Chaos is a winged sphinx-like creature who is said to have “more magic in one little whisker than a palace full of genies.” It’s his level of power that makes Chaos so memorable, since, at first glance, he seems harmless: he’s small, silly, even kind of cuddly-looking. The problem is that Chaos has a temper, and when someone rubs him the wrong way, things can get nasty real fast; not even Mirage, an entity of pure evil, dares to risk making Chaos mad. On that note, while the past few characters have all been outright villains who represent evil and destruction as much as chaos itself…Chaos in “Aladdin” is different. He’s not evil, he’s just…chaotic! While he can be dangerous, he’s not necessarily out looking to deliberately harm anybody: he just doesn’t like things getting too repetitive or predictable, so he does whatever he feels is necessary to stir things up and have some fun. The issue is that what he finds “fun” isn’t necessarily always fun for everyone else, and he gets bored and/or cranky quite easily. You’re never quite sure where you stand with him, and the twist ending about his true motives in the story only adds to the uncertainty. It’s a shame he never showed up again, but I guess when your entire being revolves around not repeating the same game twice, maybe that’s the only fitting case.

6. Puck, from A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

I debated whether or not Puck - a.k.a. Robin Goodfellow - really earned placement on this list or not…I didn’t debate LONG, mind you, but I DID debate it. Easily one of the most iconic tricksters in both theatre and literature, Puck is, I would argue, the prototype for characters like Chaos and a few others who have yet to appear on this list: powerful troublemakers who aren’t necessarily evil, but delight in causing mischief with their skills and abilities, and don’t seem to mind much even when things go wrong. In Shakespeare’s classic “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” Puck is the jester of the fairy king, Oberon; while Oberon can be a bit of a prankster himself, Puck seems to take particularly relish in playing tricks on both mortals and fellow fairfolk alike. It doesn’t matter who it is; the Fairy Queen, a human nobleman, a dimwitted peasant…Puck will do just about anything to anybody for the sheer pleasure of it. He even has a monologue where he talks about some of his favorite ways to play pranks on mortals, and some of the things he describes (such as changing shape) sound very much like the sorts of things later chaotic tricksters would pull off with delight. While he’s never outright identified as an ACTUAL spirit of pure chaos, that’s certainly the role he fulfills; there’s a reason characters like Chaos can be described “Puckish.” So, even if it is a slight stretch, I still think he counts for this list.

5. Eris the Goddess of Chaos, from Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas. This is the last pure evil Spirit of Chaos on the list. Eris - based on the Greek Goddess of the same name - is the main antagonist of the Dreamworks picture “Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas.” Voiced by Catwoman herself, Michelle Pfeiffer, Eris is one of the most beloved villains in the Dreamworks catalogue: her whole existence revolves around causing trouble for the sheer sake of it, and anytime one plan goes awry, she always has another to back it up. Her greatest goal is seeing the entire world reduced to a chaotic wasteland, similar to her home realm of Tartarus. In the movie, she creates an elaborate scheme to steal the Book of Peace, and get the faithful Prince Proteus killed. If her dusky personality and crafty mind don’t make her an appealing villain, though, the animation on the character definitely will. Seriously, the animation on Eris is some of the most breathtaking I’ve seen in ANY animated motion picture: she’s a being seemingly made of smoke, and the way she MOVES, the way she changes her shape and size, and everything else that goes with it all just makes her so enthralling to see in action. Combine that with Pfeiffer’s glorious vocal performance, and she steals the whole show from top to bottom. This is one of my favorite Dreamworks pictures, and a big part of why is just because of Eris. There have, admittedly, been a couple of different portrayals of this strange and sinister Goddess over the years, but my guess is that when most people think of the Mistress of Chaos, this is the version they think of first…well, that or “Billy & Mandy,” but that’s another story.

4. The Cat in the Hat, from Dr. Seuss.

Much like Puck, most versions of the Cat don’t outright REFER to him as a spirit of chaos, but it is made clear that’s essentially what he IS. In the original books, he has a habit of appearing and disappearing at random, and seems to be able to do things that defy the laws of even Seussian physics and logic. Later adaptations and reimaginings of the character would continue this trend and expand on it: in “The Wubbulous World of Dr. Seuss,” the Cat is a seemingly omniscient figure who occasionally pops into the stories to create the conflict. “In Search of Dr. Seuss” features Matt Frewer as a mysterious Cat that others seem to fear for his power and mischief, but is generally friendly. By far my favorite example is “Seussical,” where the Cat outright IS a spirit of chaos, who acts as the main antagonist of the story by generating all sorts of problems, which the heroes then have to solve and get through. I’ll even throw the God-awful Mike Myers movie a bone (and you have no idea how SICK I feel TYPING those words), by saying even they did some interesting stuff with the concept, by giving the Cat his own chaotic pocket universe and playing with the concept of anarchy he represents in some unique ways. For everything the film did horribly, HORRIBLY wrong (which is…99% of every FRAME in that abhorrent disgrace of a motion picture), it at least understood that much about the Cat and found a way to toy with it. However, while our previous pick, Eris, is one of the most evil incarnations of this concept, I would say the Cat is the closest thing on this entire list to being a good guy: a consistent element with most versions of the character is that, no matter how chaotic he may be, he’s not by any means a villainous character. In fact, he’s an example of a character who uses chaos to teach a lesson: most stories with the Cat have him causing trouble of some sort or another, but he also always makes sure things turn out right in the end. Even his catchphrase seems to indicate this: “It is fun to have fun, but you have to know how!” For everything that goes wrong when the Cat appears, you also know it will turn out alright in the end. Chaos isn’t evil, it’s just hard to control, and that’s the best description of the Cat in the Hat one can ever offer.

3. Mr. Mxyzptlk, from DC.

One of my absolute favorite Superman characters, Mr. Mxyzptlk has been a thorn in the Man of Steel’s side almost as long as Lex Luthor (though not quite as long as two other tricky Super-Rogues, the Prankster and Toyman). A resident of the mysterious and cartoonish 5th Dimension - sometimes outright touted to be the God of Chaos (not kidding, look it up) - Mxy is a being of pure magic, and the source of many famous fables and fairy-tales. Stories of imps, leprechauns, and troublemaking genies, according to him, all stemmed from his long history of pranking people on Earth just because…well, why not? While massively powerful and usually an antagonist of the Man of Steel, Mr. Mxyzptlk isn’t necessarily an EVIL character. Some versions make him nastier or nicer depending on the needs of the creators, but even a lot of the meaner versions of Mxy make it clear that, before anything else, he’s a guy who just wants to have fun. Sometimes the ways he seeks thrills can be dangerous, sometimes they can be thoroughly harmless, but they are ALWAYS entertaining to see. He also makes for a great opponent for Superman, because he’s one of the few Superman enemies who is actually more powerful than the Last Son of Krypton will ever be: his near-omnipotent magical capabilities make him a force to be reckoned with, as he can go from just making someone slip on a banana peel to creating world cataclysms literally with the wink of an eye. Superman has to use his wits to outfox the wily Mxyzptlk, usually by making him say his name backwards, which banishes the little rascal back to the 5th Dimension for about three months. You can be sure, however, that once those three months are up, Mxy will be back in business. The character has been so popular, he’s made it into nearly every form of Superman media there is, outside of motion pictures, and various other comic book characters - such as Batman’s Bat-Mite, and the Impossible Man over at Marvel - are essentially copycats of the same concept. Mxy came first, though, and has been infinitely more popular than any later versions: when I think of hyper-powerful tricksters and spirits of chaos, this dandy gremlin is one of the first I imagine.

2. The Cheshire Cat, from Alice in Wonderland.

In the original book “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland,” the Cheshire Cat is an enigmatic character. He’s actually one of the more helpful and friendly figures Alice meets on her journey: he’s never rude to her, doesn’t do anything to harm her, and even gives her advice. HOWEVER, he seems to enjoy terrorizing and causing trouble for the King and Queen, doesn’t seem bothered by the lunacy of the Duchess’ house, outright claims to be insane (telling Alice, famously, “We’re All Mad Here”), and Alice admits to being a bit scared of him, mostly due to his “VERY long claws and a great many teeth.” As a result, while he SEEMS generally friendly, there’s this decidedly dangerous edge to him that makes him difficult to pin down. Later adaptations and reinterpretations of the Cheshire Cat have REALLY played with this idea: I think the version that really popularized it most, though, and brought the concept to a zenith would be Disney. In the Disney version, the Cat is a seemingly omniscient, eternally perplexing character who gets Alice into trouble just as often as he helps her out. He gives her directions, and she DOES eventually get home by FOLLOWING these directions, but it’s an extremely roundabout manner of working. It’s also worth pointing out that his directions aren’t necessarily the safest routes: going to the Mad Hatter and the March Hare eventually leads to Alice being hopelessly lost, and visiting the Queen - combined with all the tricks the Cheshire Cat pulls while there - nearly gets her KILLED. This is the Cat that most people recognize nowadays: some versions are nicer or nastier, but most of the best versions of the Cheshire Cat play with this sort of chaotic quality to the character, which was really only hinted at in the books. Again, like Puck and the Cat in the Hat, the Cat is never outright referred to as a Spirit of Chaos in the books OR the Disney movie, but that is essentially the role he plays, and other interpretations have made that element more or less overt. I frequently refer to characters who play this kind of trickster role as “Cheshire-Cat-esque,” and that fact, alone, is all this big kitty needs to get second place.

1. Discord, from My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic AND Q, from Star Trek.

I decided to lump these two together in first place because a.) both are played by the same actor, and b.) it’s kind of hard to talk about one without discussing the other, in my mind. The aforementioned actor in question is John DeLancie; Q was the first of these tricksters he would portray, appearing as a major recurring antagonist in “Star Trek: The Next Generation.” Q is the member of a race of all-powerful, all-seeing beings simply referred to as “The Q Continuum.” He starts off the show as an out-and-out villain, who uses his powers to play deadly games with the crew of the Enterprise and put them through various trials. However, things changed in the episode “Deja Q,” where Q is stripped of his powers and forced to live a human life. His experiences cause him to change his ways once his powers are restored, and he becomes less of a true villain and more of a mischief-making antagonist whose attempts to help out tend to lead to conflict. Q may not LITERALLY be a Spirit of Chaos, in the truest sense, but at the same time…he actually kind of is: his powers are stripped BECAUSE he causes chaos, and he is even referred to at one point as “next to kin of Chaos.” That sounds like qualifying evidence to me! Discord in “My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic” is directly inspired by Q, and has a similar setup: he starts off the show as a nigh-omnipotent villain, and it’s implied throughout the series he can be a LOT more dangerous than he often seems. However, in the episode “Keep Calm and Flutter On,” he forms a friendship with one of the main characters, and this causes him to change his ways; while he remains a constant presence, and usually an antagonistic one, he goes from a pure evil monster to more of a playful trickster. DeLancie plays both characters brilliantly, each having decided similarities but also some definite differences (I would say Q is a bit more “slick” than Discord, in several ways), and when I think of chaotic entities, I usually find these two are the first ones I imagine. And, alongside Puck and the Cheshire Cat, they’re probably the most quintessential examples of the idea I can use when talking to people. It’s hard for me to say which I like more, to be honest: I prefer “Star Trek” overall, and Q is my favorite character there. However, I actually think Discord is probably my favorite visual representation of a “God of Chaos” I’ve ever seen, and while I’m not a huge fan of the show he’s from, I’ve watched and enjoyed every single episode he appears in, just about. So, yeah…considering they’re played by the same person, and considering DeLancie’s experience with these two has actually led to him playing a few other somewhat similar characters over the years (such as Mephistopheles), I can’t think of a better option than to name both Discord and Q as My Favorite Spirits of Chaos. “What fun is there in making sense?” ;)

HONORABLE MENTIONS INCLUDE…

Havik, from Mortal Kombat. (Not sure if he really counts, which is why he’s not on the list.)

The Black Guardian, from Doctor Who.

Bezel, from Chikn Nuggit (Webtoons).

Azathoth, from the Cthulhu Mythos.

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