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minty364 · 8 months

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DPXDC Prompt#148 Part 3

It had been a few weeks since Danny got back to Amity park and he was still a little nervous to text Damian.

He could tell Damian was getting a little nervous and impatient with how slow he was taking to respond.

That and every time he felt like he had a moment, something like another ghost attack would happen. That and the GIW announced their campaign to enact something they called the Anti Ecto acts, effectively making his existence illegal.

“Get back here ghost scum!” His mom shouted at him. Danny dodged an ectoblast as he flew away. His parents had been very persistent about catching him lately. If he was being honest it worried him a little.

Danny landed in his empty living room and changed back. Before he could do anything, the door to the lab bursts open and Danny’s dad is standing there with an ectogun pointed at Danny.

“I knew those security cameras would come in handy” he boasted as he turned the dial up on the gun, “I hope those acts get passed, ghost scum!!”

Danny, fearing for his life, fled the house changing back into Phantom. He headed to where he knew was a small abandoned house with an emergency bag but before he could make it he felt a sharp pain in his side.

His Dad was known to be a poor shot but not his Mom, and as he looked back at her piercing eyes he knew exactly what shot at him. “Get back here Imposter!” She shouted after him.

Danny turned invisible and made his way unseen.

He got to the abandoned house shortly after and found the emergency bag. He shakily wrapped his side with a bandage and used his ectoplasm to reform his suit. He took a few calming breaths before he stood up and put the backpack on his back.

He wasn’t sure how but he was going to find his soulmate and tell him everything. He hated how his parents reacted and he didn’t think he could handle if the same thing happened but he needed to know.

He spent the next few hours flying and before he knew it he was in Gotham.

Landing on a roof Danny took a few moments to catch his breath. He put pressure on his side and laid his head back on the side of the stairwell leading down.

He changed back into his human form and unfortunately that meant he needed to re-bandage the wound in his side.

Once that was done he packaged everything back up in his bag and brought out his phone.

He could tell Damian was getting worried about him, the shock and betrayal Danny was feeling was something he couldn’t really control or hide.

He sighed and let his head thump against the wall behind him.

He should probably just call Damian but how exactly he’d explain about everything that just happened… but that would mean telling him the other things too and he just didn’t know if he had the courage for that just yet. He took another deep breath and then opened his eyes to see the smog covered skies. That was one bad thing about Gotham, no stars.

He then took another deep breath and stood up and walked near the edge of the roof and looked down.

He was way up probably 7-8 or so stories high. The cars down below go about their daily lives giving no mind to the kid on the roof way up high.

He watched for a few minutes mulling things over. Then he heard a soft thump behind him. He turned around and found Nightwing had landed on the roof.

“It’s dangerous up here, would you mind stepping away from the ledge?” He said but there was an edge to his voice like he was genuinely scared Danny might do something. He guessed the vigilante’s in this city really cared about its citizens.

“Don’t worry I wasn’t going to jump or anything, just trying to clear my head…” Danny tried making his tone as even as possible. The wound in his side throbbed painfully and made it a little hard for him to concentrate. Whatever Mom hit him with did more than just singe his side.

Unfortunately Nightwing seemed to have noticed Danny was in pain, “Do you need me to take you to the hospital?”

The word hospital rang out in his head for a moment before he realized that wasn’t exactly an option, “Yeah, no… I’ll be fine, I just got to figure out exactly what I need to text my soulmate… I’ve been procrastinating because he seems like an amazing person and I kind of hate to admit I’m kind of a failure that ran from home.” Danny forgot who he was talking to for a moment as he rambled. It felt nice to finally let some of what’s been bothering him out. He took a calming breath before continuing, “I can’t risk them calling my parents.”

“Alright well, unfortunately you're not in Gotham just yet, we’re in Bludhaven. Can you tell me what their name is?”

Great so Danny can’t even fly to the right city. He took another calming breath, “Damian Wayne.”

Master Post:

Last:

#dp x dc prompt #dp x dc #dc x dp #danny fenton #danny phantom #poor danny #a bit of my own head cannon here #Danny gets shot by his mom #my asks are open #all my prompts are free to use #I don't feel like tagging #soulmates

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egopocalypse · 1 year

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Haunting

Whumptober Day 10: "Can't you see that you're lost without me?"

No matter where Chase goes, the shadow follows.

He's ditched his car and three others in the last day, driving the gas tanks down to their last dregs in his haste to get away. He doesn't have a destination in mind other than away, yet with each mile down the unforgiving highway, the chill down his spine rankles him even more.

He slaps his hand over the back of his neck, like the sting would make the crawling fade away.

"There aren't any more cameras," he mutters under his breath. "I'm safe now. It's fine."

But how can he be so sure? Ever since those freaky scientists guys were murdered, he's had to hop between towns, losing the trail of whatever people or things want to find him. He hasn't heard from Echo since he escaped IRIS. He has no idea what the public knows about him. (Would IRIS send out a manhunt? Do people think he's a criminal?) He has no sense of where to go or what to do but survive.

Why couldn't this have been a misunderstanding? Why didn't they let him go home?

What does Anti want from him?

The ghost of a breath sends a shiver down his spine, and he cranks the heat in the current old beater to the max. It sputters out a smog of hot diesel from the exhaust; his face screws up at the stench.

He's been in this rustbucket truck for too long. Hopefully the more inland he goes, the easier it'll be to find a rural town to swap cars. The sooner he can find a gas station without CCTV, let alone a WATCHR, the better.

Except the beater doesn't get him that far.

Something rattles under the hood, and a plume of smoke sparks and slithers out through the cracks. Chase curses and slams the steering wheel and pulls over three miles before the next exit, then grabs his meager belongings and sprints away as he hears a resounding boom and a rush of heat scorches his back.

It exploded. The truck fucking exploded.

With his heart in his throat, Chase reaches for his back pocket and nearly falls over in relief. The picture is still there. Even after everything, he hasn't lost it. He can't.

"For someone trying to avoid me, you put on quite the show."

Chase lurches and goes for the gun in his waistband, only to jolt when he comes up empty. It must still be in the center console, melting into a mangled mess with the rest of the scorching hot metal in front of them.

His hands flex and curl into fists. He doesn't want to turn around, to face the nightmare ruining his life, but if he doesn't, it would give it all the opportunities to stab him or snap his neck, like it had with the bodies it dropped right before they started this race.

"How are you here?" Chase asks. "How do you keep finding me?"

Anti's eyes light up with an eerie white glow. "Do you think it's hard?" it says. "I've followed you from the first time you called my name, the first time you saw this face. You've only been able to run because I wanted to chase."

Chase's breath sharpens. There truly is no getting away, is there? He's crossed half the country in the past few days, and yet no matter where he goes, Anti or IRIS will always find him.

"Why me?" He hates the pleading strain in his voice, but it never seems to fall away. "Why do you want me?"

Anti grins. "You still know nothing, don't you? Those people wanted to use you, but they didn't put in the effort to teach you."

Flames spark in Chase's chest, and despite the autumnal chill, the heat from the truck fire drips sweat down his back.

"Teach me what? I want some fucking answers."

"What will you pay to get them?"

Chase balks. "Huh?"

"You heard me," Anti says. "There's a price for answers, Chase--a price for every choice you made. What will you pay to earn the answers you want?"

He bites his cheek. His wallet got confiscated the second IRIS got their hands on him. The now-unusable gun had been picked off the corpse of an agent that Anti killed on its rampage through the facility. His phone and whiskey were lost before IRIS nabbed him. He has nothing of any value to give.

Anti's smile cools. Those dark, dead eyes bore into Chase's skull.

"Stubbornness won't save you, Chase. Refuse, and you'll stay on the run, forever looking over your shoulder until the maggots put you down. You're a danger, and if you're no use to them, you won't survive. I won't save you a third time."

Chase chokes. "A third?"

Anti's voice lowers, regaining some of the rasp it once had, before the gaping wound on his neck disappeared without a sign of its existence. "Make your choice."

The picture burns a hole in Chase's pocket. Other than the tattered, filthy clothes streaked with blood, dirt, and sweat, it's the only thing he has left to his name. The only tie he has to the person he once was. The only sign that before IRIS, before Anti, Chase had a life. He had something to return to, to live for.

What use is a memento of the last light of his life when it's flickered out?

He pulls out the polaroid and burns the image into his retinas, searing into his memory the bright, joyful, loving faces of his family. He kisses the image as a final goodbye, then offers it like a lifeline.

"It's all I have."

Anti studies the picture, studies every inch of Chase's face, and studies the hand reaching out to him. He slips the picture away and clamps a hand over Chase's.

"You made the right choice, Chase. Welcome home."

@seaswalllow @asteriuszenith @pixie-in-trebleland

#jacksepticeye #antisepticeye #chase brody #writersofjack #River's Writing #Happy birthday Anti #It's been way too long since I've a) written and b) posted anything for this fandom #But hello :]#I am back :]#I can never miss this boy's birthday ;)

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kivaember · 6 months

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woe, ftm walter be upon ye (yes this is actually canon to apv btw)

Somedays, Carla had to laugh at how far she'd fallen.

Well-respected Institute scientist, lauded for her efforts in the C-weapon project and incorporating Coral into AI neural networks... reduced to a penniless scrapper in the underbelly of one of Ganymede's colonies, barely making ends meet because of the UEG's broken form of capitalism.

It was intentional to an extent, though. If it had just been her, riding the massive wave of Rubiconian refugees after the Fires had slagged their planet to smouldering ash, she would've thrust her hand up high and declared her credentials at the immigration office. The UEG had hoovered up every single scientist or technician it could get its greedy little paws on in the aftermath, and from what Carla had seen they were living it large right now. A luxurious little corporate cage as they regurgitated all of Rubicon's little technological miracles for the UEG to warp and manipulate.

She hoped they choked on their feed, honestly, but she was self-aware enough to know that would've been her too, if she'd been alone. But she wasn't.

"Hey, Walter! It's time to close up shop!"

Her voice rang across their large, open garage, cluttered with broken down machinery and mechs alike, a literal maze of trip hazards and health violations that would've gotten her shutdown if this was on the surface. But it wasn't. No one gave a shit what anyone did down here in the slums, so long as their little worker bees kept on working, kept on producing... and didn't, gasp, form unions.

Carla was a one-man show, though- okay, technically three, if you counted Walter and Chatty, but she was wisely keeping away from that business. All power to the people and all that, fuck the bourgeois, eat the rich, etc, etc, but Carla had a purpose she was gunning for, and social liberation didn't come under that. So, for now, it was just her and Walter, working in a deathtrap of a scrapper garage, with Chatty sitting quietly in the background pretending to be dumb security system rather than a fully fledged AI (that can and has ran circles around the security AIs on Ganymede - lots of dirty laundry in many people's drawers on this moon).

A groaning, screeching rattle echoed through the garage, signifying the shutter doors being closed. Carla pushed herself up from where she'd been squatting over a dismembered construction mech arm, trying to extract the intact gyroscopes inside. These things sold pretty sell second hand... or third... or fourth... well, you got the idea.

"Oof, all this bending over is ruining my back..." she grumbled, pressing her oil-stained hands against her lower back and applying pressure, feeling how tight and knotted it was. "I feel old as shit."

"You are old as shit."

Carla scoffed and turned to see Walter lurking in the shadows like the anti-social freak that he was. His brown hair was a little flyaway than usual, darkened from where he'd accidentally rubbed oil into it from his hands, and his mechanic jumpsuit was partially unzipped, his pale skin faintly flushed from exertion and damp with sweat.

He was a lot more modest about the unzipping, though. Carla had whacked hers down all the way to the midriff, because this shitty garage got hot no matter how much she tried finangling some kind of air conditioning down here. The air was too full of smog and other pollutants that trapped heat and discouraged the human way of cooling down via sweat evaporation. It was a torturous existence... and made Carla and Walter walk around like they were auditioning for some kind of "Mechanics Gone Wild!" calendar.

"Hey, you shouldn't be backtalking your boss like that!" Carla mock-scolded, planting her hands on her hips. "What if I decided to dock your pay?"

"Well, you'd have to pay me first," Walter said flatly, pinching the front of his jumpsuit and flapping it slightly to cool himself down. "I'm working here for free, remember?"

"Oh yeah. That's true," Carla hummed, cupping her jaw thoughtfully. "Well! Carry on, then! Can't control you if I'm not in charge of your pay, haha!"

Walter rolled his eyes, forever unimpressed with her cavalier attitude and jokes, despite her best attempts. He was too much like his father sometimes, though Carla knew better than to say that. Walter had more daddy issues than an entire soap opera cast combined, and the one time she'd made a comment about how Walter was looking more like his father now that he was a little older and.... brrrrr! The dark side of the moon had been tropical in comparison!

this kid, she thought exasperatedly, he needs to loosen up...

"Got any plans tonight?" she asked as they made their way to the rear of the garage, where they both lived out of. It wasn't anything impressive compared to their immaculate lodgings on the Xylem in another lifetime, but compared to the rest of the gutter rats around here, they were living it up large. Two bedrooms for privacy and their own kitchen and bathroom with functioning plumbing? They were like royalty! Royal rats, the pair of them, hah.

"None," Walter replied. "Why, do you need me for something?"

"Yeah, as a chaperone," Carla teased, nudging him with her elbow. "We should hit up the bars. You're an adult now, you should be living it large before we've gotta focus on the job."

Walter's expression said he'd rather belly crawl over barbed wire.

"I'd rather belly crawl over barbed wire," he said.

"Aw, c'mon! Stop being a Debbie Downer." Carla nudged him with her elbow, and weaved out of the way when he tried to nudge her back. "You're really going to leave me hanging? Leave your old as shit guardian to wander the bars alone... defenceless... helpless against any ne'er-do-wells-"

Walter snorted. "You're anything but helpless. If anything I should be protecting the local population from you, cougar."

"Cougar! Well, you're right. I do like my men young and cute," Carla teased with a wink, just to see his reaction. Which was....!!! Nothing. Guy didn't even flinch.

"Right. So, I'd just cramp your cougar style," Walter said simply. "Being a cute young man and all. They'd all think you're taken... or asking for a threesome. I wouldn't want to ruin your night like that."

"Hm." Carla was reluctantly amused. "You've gotten very sassy, Walter."

"That's your fault."

Yup, and she was proud of it. Walter had been such a humourless little thing as a child - through no fault of his own, admittedly. Growing up in the Xylem had been a lonely, neglectful existence, and being uprooted from that to flee to a colony that viewed him as nothing but an unwanted mouth to feed just compounded whatever fucked up issues that childhood of neglect had lain the foundations for. It made sense that whatever sense of humour Carla tried to impart in him turned all warped and twisted and a little mean.

But! Humour was humour! When things got bad, all you had to do was laugh! Walter wasn't the laughing type, but she'd take this! Better than nothing!

"Well, you're coming out anyway," she said. "No ifs or buts! You've just been rotting away in your room, brooding about pointless crap. Just come out and have a few drinks. Unwind a little."

"No."

"I'll have Chatty recite all the poetry I wrote since we left-"

"Okay, just a few drinks," Walter immediately u-turned.

Hah. Gottem.

If growing up with Carla taught Walter one thing, it was learning how to pick his battles.

He wasn't a drinker, and the bars down in the slums were as seedy as you'd expected: the alcohol was moonshine or contrabrand, drugs were commonly traded in the background, and there was always a risk of the Ganymede Guards crashing the party to arrest a few people for encouraging socialist gatherings. Walter just didn't see the point in getting involved in that crap, but Carla always was seduced by dangerous or ill-advised things.

She also had a short attention span. As they stood at the bar, knocking back the probably toxic swill being sold, Carla eventually got pulled away by some people she knew in the scrapping business, her obnoxiously loud laughter audible even over the ambient chatter.

Walter took that as his cue to finish his drink and leave.

Broken glass crunched under his boots as he stepped out into the street, burying his hands into the pockets of his mechanic jumpsuit. The air was smoggy and thick with a wet, unpleasant smell, making him feel like he was in a rancid sauna, and he unzipped his jumpsuit that little bit more, fanning himself.

He couldn't wait to leave this place.

From the moment he had stepped foot on this damned moon, he had despised every inch of it. The Xylem had been cold and loveless, yes, but the air hadn't stank of exhaust, it wasn't constantly hot and humid, with changing seasons and weather, he could see the sky and watch the birds fly, his hands would only have the callouses from holding a pen, rather than being rough and worn like leather from constant handling of scrapping tools and sticky oil. Walter's life would be very different, if his father hadn't ruined everything.

He stopped in front of the door to his and Carla's living quarters in the garage, digging out the key from his pocket and slotting it in. When he stepped inside, he was greeted with Chatty saying: "Welcome back, kid. Is the Chief still out?"

"Yeah." Walter kicked the door shut behind him. "Talking shop with some people."

"Understood."

And that was that. Despite the name Chatty was pretty quiet, which was why he and Walter got along well. He headed up the narrow staircase to his room, which was sandwiched between Carla's room and the bathroom, and just wide enough to slot a single-man bed in there with enough room for him to actually get in and out of it.

Walter felt grimy as hell, so he shed his boots and jumpsuit entirely, tossing the soiled clothing onto the floor before walking, completely naked, to the bathroom, yanking the cord to turn the light on. As he shut the door behind him, he looked at the cracked mirror Carla had broken when bolting onto the wall. She'd laughed that her luck was already so bad that this should cancel it out.

His reflection was uncomfortably familiar.

As a child, he'd been told often that he looked a lot like his mother. Standard biases, of course: for a considerable chunk of his childhood, he'd stayed as his assigned sex, a quiet little daughter that was easily forgotten about by most people. The moment he'd stepped out of that easily assigned box, became a son hungry for attention instead of the quiet daughter, people immediately switched to well, he's looking a lot like his father nowadays, isn't he?

Truth was, Walter had looked like both of them. He had his mother's bone structure, but his father's eyes, and his hair was a combination of them both: slightly wavy where his mother's was curly and his father's completely straight. He hadn't really put much stock into his appearance back then, anyways. He'd been ten. He just wanted people to call him Walter. What did it matter who he looked more like at the time?

Now, though, he looked in the mirror and saw his father.

What lingering remnants of his mother were easily overlooked by the sharp line of his jaw and the shape of his eyes, his hair cropped short enough that it was hard to see the slight waviness. He lowered his gaze, to his body which was well-toned with muscle from years of hauling heavy machinery and scrap, his shoulders broad and his trunk solid enough that it partially hid the slight curve of his hips. Didn't do anything to hide his breasts, but he already had a plan for those, if this Furlong Dynamics pilot recruitment programme worked out.

It was strange, though. The more he carved away the parts that were like his mother, the more his father shone through, and the more complicated Walter felt about the whole thing. He hated his father, despised him from the very depths of his soul, regretted every day his failed attempt to kill him before everything went completely pear-shaped... and now he was even tainting this, having Walter's stomach clench and his face tighten at his reflection, at the ghost of his father hidden in there.

He wasn't the same as him, though... he was going to put to rights what Dr Kohler had done wrong. He'd make it so he could look himself at the mirror without wanting to flinch... either because he'd succeed in destroying the Coral for good, or because he'd die in the process. Either or.

"Kid. You've been staring at the mirror for five minutes."

"I'm fine," Walter said, anticipating Chatty's follow up question. He turned away and turned on the shower, watching as the metallic smelling water spluttered out of the showerhead sluggishly. "Just thinking."

"Hm."

Chatty left it there, and Walter neatly compartmentalised his complicated feelings and stuffed them under the figurative bed. It was a pointless thing to brood about, didn't contribute at all towards his mission. Being Walter was a selfish self-indulgence anyways, the one thing he allowed himself, despite the looming pressure of the trials to come.

What did it matter who he looked liked? That legacy was going to be buried, one way or another.

#armored core #armored core 6 #handler walter #cinder carla #fanfic #me patting walter like “this guy can hold so much messed up and complicated trauma!”#i love apv walter he's just a little guy #who commits war crimes #well that's basically everyone in armored core 6 let's be real #apv compliant

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shieldofiron · 2 years

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I just… I cannot see these antis talk about Billy being racist any more. It is distressing to see people being so bad at trying to ape anti-racism.

“Billy never apologized.” No, the writers of stranger things have repeatedly heaped these storylines on Lucas and they have not once written an apology for the character. None of his friends have a talk with him about it, his girlfriend doesn’t condemn it either. Max doesn’t come to Lucas afterwards and say, “Hey that was really scary are you ok?” No, Lucas’ character is left to deal with repeated micro aggressions and continual racism ALONE. Did Billy apologize? No. Because the writers did not think it was worth writing.

Caleb has been killing the little material they give him, Lucas is one of the best fighters in the party, the best at thinking on his feet, and he’s the most level headed in crisis scenarios. In season one he takes on a demogorgon practically BY HIMSELF while Dustin and Mike hand him rocks and shout at him. In season four he has a gun pulled on him, attempts deescelation, and then defends himself handily against a guy two years older than him. When his friends see him, they don’t even ask about what happened to him.

Lucas is an important character and he DESERVES apologies, he DESERVES someone being on his side. But the writers do not want to do it. After four seasons they don’t do it.

Billy’s actions were racist. But if you know anything about racism you know that it isn’t just individual action. It is all around us, a smog that we all breathe in, that colors every system. And like all smogs, it was worse in the 80s. Billy being racist is a symptom of the writers room romanticizing, even fetishizing, the 80s, up to and including the racist attitudes. Billy being written that way is a symptom of a systemic problem on the show, which is that they heap these storylines on Lucas without giving him any meaningful catharsis for it, and without the other characters even recognizing it.

If antis cared, they would be lifting Lucas up, talking up Caleb in tweets, sending @ messages to the writers. But they aren’t. Because like the writers they want the appearance of being better than racists, without actually doing any of the work.

I guess what I’m saying is, racism can be un-learned with work and I wish some of these people would try. But I guess telling someone to kill themselves online is just a form of anti-racism I’ve never encountered before, huh?

#ok rant over #Billy Hargrove #billy hargrove antis dni #gotta get off Twitter #Lucas I love you baby #I’ll write you all the apologies you deserve

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antismoggunmanufacturers9 · 3 months

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#Anti Smog Gun #Anti Smog Gun Manufacturers #Anti Smog Gun Manufacturers in India

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imar09 · 7 months

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Address: 207-A, HSIIDC Manakpur Industrial Area, Sector 30-A, Haryana 135003

#anti smog gun #suppliers #best

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jerek · 9 months

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tww wrathion thoughts

pre-legion (and honestly pre-8.3 in bfa) there were a lot of takes centered around wrathion's vision for the future of azeroth. it was a lot of 'he predicted this' and 'he prepared us for this' and 'why isn't he here for this.'

And they were all valid points, of course!! Especially in Legion, because our first indication that Legion was going to happen was HIS vision of a future demonic invasion back in Mists of Pandaria.

But I was thinking about what content he DOES appear in post-MoP, and there's a bit of a worrying trend.

Wrathion tries to protect Azeroth during Cata. We never see anyone question the necessity of dispatching black dragons at this time (not even Fahrad, who barely offers resistance without the influence of the Old Gods.) By the standards of Azeroth's people, he succeeds.

In Mists of Pandaria, Wrathion tries to protect Azeroth...

And by the standards of Azeroth's people, fails.

Varian jumps off a fel reaver into a horde of demons and rushes headlong with an alpha_roar.mp3 into his own death. RIP 37 year old minor I can't believe Wrathion would do this. High king indeed.

Consider Wrathion's cameo in Admiral Taylor's garrison log. Admiral Taylor starts a garrison in Spires of Arak during WoD, and by day 12 Wrathion turns up and gets put under house arrest.

On day 15, a shipment of resources arrives as a gift from Wrathion, who also warns Taylor about the local creepy warlock Ephial. Taylor "doesn't trust either of them."

On day 27, Taylor returns from a trip to the Ring of Blood to find that Ephial's taken over his garrison, and loses his life trying to take it back.

So Wrathion, in Warlords of Draenor, as a fugitive from the Alliance, is still trying to protect the people who drew guns on sight of him at day 12.

The standards drop lower in BfA (Chromie also treats him with imo unnecessary suspicion during the Deaths of Chromie scenario in Legion but that's pretty minor) with Anduin punching him on sight.

"My father is dead because of you."

My brother in the Light your father is dead because he has been waiting for a chance to give up his crown since Jaina dragged him kicking and screaming back from the arena.

But seriously. This is really rich coming from someone whose only political move while at a semi-comparable age was 'I think kids should read more.' Anduin never tried to change the world at that age because he had people who cared enough to tell him it wasn't his job. He might still be waiting around for a uwu thick dwarf dommy gf if he didn't get such a high off lording his 13 years of life experience and political education over Wrathion's head.

Everyone else is born gay: for Anduin, it really is a symptom of sexual dysfunction. Just think: not even Wrathion could keep him away from Garrosh.

Back to illustrating the trend. What else does Wrathion do in BfA?

Well, we find him having brewed an anti-Old God potion. We also find him eager to apologize for past mistakes, take accountability, and in his own words, 'let his actions speak for him.'

When we enter Ny'alotha, it's Wrathion who guards our sanity.

So far, Wrathion's underlying motivations have always been the defense of Azeroth. Whether he succeeds or fails, his ends remain the same.

Now: what about Dragonflight?

"The legacy of my flight." "I will save what matters most to mine." "Claiming the Obsidian Citadel."

Granted, he does mention "defending all of the Dragon Isles."

But where's his passion for Azeroth? Do we really believe Wrathion would be 'at home' cooped up in a citadel full of people he's never met before, with smog choking the sky and blotting out all the stars? Do we really think Wrathion has more of a familial bond with Ebyssian, let alone Sabellian, than with Left and Right?

The ultimate insult to any character (ask Garrosh fans) is to revoke their identity for the sake of someone else's story.

Khaz Algar is going to be full of Titan secrets and lost peoples.

And, unfortunately, I'm not confident that Wrathion will be there... because I'm not confident they'll give him screentime without a chance to 'humble' him.

Where's the runestone enthusiast? Where's the mogu historian? Where's the master weaponsmith, the enchanter who imbued those legendary cloaks? Is he entirely eclipsed by the fugitive?

I want him to see the sun-gem in Hallowfall. I want to hear him laugh. I want to hear him stumble over words he didn't mean to say aloud. When Blizzard says he's arrogant, and he only cares about himself, they forget how many people genuinely loved him before Anduin swung that fist.

#wrathionposting

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dopefestivaleaglewinner-blog · 10 months

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vimalcloudtech1 · 10 months

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school-in-london · 10 months

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20231007 10TH ANNIV. TOUR [OSAKA]

（※誤って1度消してしまい再掲です、、、） ■ DJ: 遠藤孝行

Animal Collective / Broke Zodiac

Groove Armada / At the River

Doja Cat / Attention

Portishead / Mysterons

Caleb Landry Jones / Dig Your Dog

The Beatles / Happiness Is Warm Gun

Vampire Weekend / Ottoman

Patience / White of an Eye

Little Dragon / Disco Dangerous

Blur / Music Is My Radar

Laundromat / Combo

■ DJ: 村田タケル

Black Country, New Road / Athen's, France

Sorry / Twinkle

Porchlight / Spin Doctor

Squid / Swing (In A Dream)

Yves Tumor / Fear Evil Like Fire

King Krule / Humbergerphobia

Sextile / Crash

Moin / Melon

Yo La Tengo / Fallout

Horsegirl / Anti-Groly

The Hazmats / Skewed View

Working Men's Club / Suburban Heights

N0V3L / To Whom It May Concern

bar italia / Clark

■ DJ: タイラダイスケ

Chicks on Speed / Wordy Rappinghood

Dante Elephante / Jeni

Donny Benet / Mr Experience

Neil Frances / Music Sounds Better with You

easy life / skeleton

Overmono / Is U

Fred again.. / adore u (feat. Obongjayar)

salute / Joy

Romy / Strong (feat. Fred adainn..)

Lily Allen / Alfie

Liquid Liquid / Optimo

Viagra Boys / Ain’t No Thief

bed / Kare Wa

slowthai / Sooner

The Strypes / You Can't Judge a Book By the Cover

■ DJ: 遠藤孝行

Buzzcocks / Everybody’s Happy Nowadays

The Strokes / New York City Cops

Paramore / This Is Why

Communions / Two Worlds

Grandaddy / The Crystal Lake

R.E.M / Losing My Religion

Olivia Rodrigo / bad idea right?

Mystery Jets / Young Love (feat. Laura Marling)

The Smiths / Bigmouth Strikes Again

U2 / Atomic City

Oasis / Hello

Weird Nightmare / Lusitania

Fontaines D.C. / Jackie Down thr Line

Yard Act / The Trench Coat Museum

!!! / Me And Giuliani Down by the School Yard - A True Story

Fatboy Slim / Song For Shelter

Mura Masa / Drugs

■ DJ: 村田タケル

Deadletter / Line The Cows

Roye Otis / I Wanna Dance With You

cumgirl8 / llc

Water From Your Eyes / True Life

Crack Cloud / Image Craft (LIVE IN LONDON)

Model/Actriz / Amaranth

Yves Tumor / Lovely Sewer

Nia Archives / So Tell Me..

Arlo Parks / Weightless

Emily Yacina / Gleaming

Leel Neale / I Am The River

The Horrors / You Could Never Tell

Highschool / Only A Dream

Cajun Dance Party / Colourful Life

Horsegirl / Billy

My Bloody Valentine / Nothing Much To Lose

shame / The Fall of Paul

Double Virgo / No Sweet

Enumclaw / Jimmy Neutron

Beach Fossils / Don't Fade Away

Indigo De Souza / Smog

bar italia / Polly Armour

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Tramhaus / Karen is a Punk

■ DJ: タイラダイスケ

The Undertones / Teenage Kicks

The La's / There She Goes

The Strokes / Is This It

d4vd / Here With Me

Massive Attack / One Love

Blur / Tender

Ari Lennox / Pressure

Koffee / Lonely

Primal Scream / Loaded

Miso / Emotions

Mura Masa / Whenever I Want

Nia Archives / Bad Gyalz

Watch the Ride & Nia Archives / Mush Up the Dance

Clipz / Again (Featuring Ms Banks, Ms Dynamite & JayKae)

Flume / The Difference feat. Toro y Moi

Baby Keem & Kendrick Lamar / The Hillbillies

Netsky & Babl Lemmens / Everybody Loves The Sunshine

The Libertines / Up The Bracket

Thee Michelle Gun Elephant / Revolver Junkies

The Who / My Generation

The Lemon Twigs / The One

Anna Of The North / Thank Me Later

Stella Donnelly / Mean to Me

~Ending~ Fairground Attraction / A Smile In A Whisper

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