#Hunger games is the single worst casting ever

[kalactus]

Watched the hunger games film for the first time and it's crazy how Jlaw has chemistry with every male except Peeta

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for...

~*~

1. Hi could you please suggest some

A) Omega Wei wuxian alpha lwj fanfics?

B) And fox wwx dragon lwj with good plot too @lostsoul234

1A)

A/B/O Comp

🧡 shoot your shot -- hot or knot by defractum (nyargles) (E, 51k, WangXian, Modern AU, A/B/O Dynamics, Reality Show, Hunger Games Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, Extremely Dubious Consent, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Humor, Additional Warnings In Author's Notes) (link in #6) would probably work?

B)

@archeaologies said: re your latest 'im in the mood for' post, 1b (foxxian and dragonji fics): ive been slowly putting together a massive rec list on my sideblog (@lansyuan) of exactly this au - its currently sat in my drafts but if op wants to pm me on my sideblog then i can link them all the fics ive collected so far! 🥰

Shape-shifter AU Comp

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2. I was wondering if yall wouldn't mind reccing any favorite Chengxian canon Era fics? @dragonfairies

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3. Itmf for wangxian post canon where WWX is threatened to sacrifice himself for LWJ. It can be any case fiction with an interesting villain making their life hard. @paraffin22

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4. Hello, thank you for all your wonderful recommendations! Itmf LXC takes care of WWX

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5. Itmf omega WWX presenting for lwj

#2 in this fic finder might have a few you would enjoy

~*~

6. Itmf wangxian survival fics, like wilderness or cold, etc

and from our own/live to ourselves by betweentheheavesofstorm (M, 105k, wangxian, modern, fantasy, reality tv, angst w/ happy ending, survival, blood & gore, self-harm, animal death, slow burn) this might count?

🧡 shoot your shot -- hot or knot by defractum (nyargles) (E, 51k, WangXian, Modern AU, A/B/O Dynamics, Reality Show, Hunger Games Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, Extremely Dubious Consent, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Humor, Additional Warnings In Author's Notes) would probably work?

The Edge of Night by Hobbsy3 (M, 277k, WangXian, XuanLi, Modern AU, Zombie Apocalypse, Yúnmèng Siblings Dynamics, Accidental Baby Acquisition During a Zombie Apocalypse, Junior Quartet, (except they’re all babies), Angst with a Happy Ending, Minor Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Gore, Ensemble Cast, Worst Zombie Fighting Team Ever, Found Family)

In The Dark Right Now by phnelt (T, 10k, wangxian, JC & LWJ, WWX & JC, graphic depictions of injuries, trapped in a cave, Near Death Experience, fatalistic thinking, established wangxian, Family Feels, mention of unnamed illness of an offscreen character, Nobody dies in this fic, Modern Setting, JC and WWX are caved in and LWJ talks to them through the radio, Hurt/Comfort)

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7. itmf (self indulgent) wwx appreciation fic. have a good day.

Simping over WWX is my fave hobby Series by brrrrrRawr (T, 10k, WangXian, WWX's original body, Fluff, Pet Name,s Blushing, No Smut, Genius WWX, yunmeng bros reconciliation, endgame lotus pier, big bro wwx rights, also dad wwx rights, BAMF WWX, Bad Writing, Body Dysphoria So OOC, world building, cliff diving, corpse wrestling, OOC, Canon Divergence, god WWX, god WN, god WQ, child JL, teenager MXY, xuanli get resurrected, rip nmj tho, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, BAMF WWX, BAMF WN, BAMF WQ)

~*~

8. papa-zhan fics please! a-yuan/sizhui calling him dad, a-die, baba, whatever. canon world or modern anything, just some baba lan wangji softness.

🧡 Yiling Salon: Hair, Nails and Piercing by TriviasFolly (T, 22k, WangXian, Modern AU, hairstylist AU, WWX owns a salon, Hairstylist WWX, 5+1 Things, Fluff, Experimental Style)

🧡 paint smears on sunny days by SnowshadowAO3 (E, 53k, WangXian, Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Everyone Is Alive, Modern AU, Dadji, Mutual Pining, Happy Ending, Brief Alcohol Mention, Masturbation, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Accidentally co-parenting with your son's art teacher, Fatherhood)

When You Wake, 怎能当梦一场 by acertainrogue (T, 39k, WangXian, WWX is in a coma, Angst with a Happy Ending, Modern AU, Single Dad LWJ, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Parenthood, YZY's A+ Parenting, JFM's A+ parenting, wangxian family) mind the tags pls

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9. hello! it is me that animal-whisperer lwj fic anon! thank you for recommending that, it was such a good read..

would it be fine to ask more of that kind? i cannot seem to get enough of that trope.

🧡 A Study in Fluff by WeaverOfTheNight (T, 29k, WangXian, Modern AU, Ghost bunnies, Vet LWJ, Architect WWX, Kid LSZ, Domestic fluff, Modern with Magic)

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10. This is more of a recommendation ask, does anyone know of any good canon compliant post last chapter fics? basically just more of lwj and wwx and the juniors etc just living their lives like the iron hook extra in the novels? Basically just any very canon post story stories people made i can’t get over the last chapter it was so cute with the lotuses and tipped boat help Sorry if that doesn’t really make sense THABK YOU TUMBLR!!!!!! @kaleajakic

🔒do not go gentle by RoseThorne (G, 684, WN & WQ, WN & WWX, LSZ & WQ, Canonical Character Death, Spirits, Ghosts, LWJ Plays Inquiry, Song: Inquiry, Protectiveness, Grief/Mourning, Love, Acceptance, Family, Angst, Post-Canon, POV Third Person, POV WN)

A More Practical Approach by Elhana (T,9k, WangXian, Canon Compliant Teacher WWX, Humour, POV Multiple, Implied Sexual Content, WWX is resourceful, wuxia magic shenanigans, Based on a Tumblr Post, Post-Canon)

It takes courage to pet a dog. by nenufares (T, 10k, WangXian, Post-Canon, a bit of canon-typical violence, past animal abandonment, Dogs, Fluff and Humor, Mild Hurt/Comfort) I'm not sure if they really count but they are post canon and I enjoyed reading them!

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11. itmf fic where wwx is cultivating the ghostly path like in the novel. i'd like recs for a cultivation that's more a compassion/empathy-based collaboration that results in the liberation of the resentful dead not an antihero necromancer forcing the dead to do his will for the greater good. thanks ❤️🩵

🔒 the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break by RoseThorne (E, 91k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Soulmates, Self-Esteem Issues, Fix-It, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, PTSD, Handfasting, Panic Attacks, Getting Together, First Time, Aftercare, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, /Referenced Torture, Scars, Chronic Pain, Golden Core Reveal, First Time, Switching, sex-related injury, LWJ Stays at the Burial Mounds, LSZ is a Wèi, Good Sibling JC, Dissociation, Burial Mounds Settlement Days)

A Life Without Regrets by naqaashi (M, 74k, wangxian, JFM & WWX, JC & WWX, WRH & WWX, LXC & LWJ, LQR & LWJ, LWJ & NHS, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-It, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Crack Treated Seriously, musical cultivation, Slow Burn, Pining, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Murder Husbands, PTSD, BAMF WWX, Demonic Cultivation, POV WWX, Cultivation Sect Politics, Worldbuilding, No Yīn Iron, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Artist WWX, Musician WWX, Night Hunts, Fate & Destiny, Bad Parent JFM & YZY, Golden Core, Cultivation Theory, Sentient Burial Mounds, Father-Son Relationship, Dysfunctional Family, Grief/Mourning, Parent-Child Relationship, Angry WWX, Pining WWX, WWX is Not Okay, No Golden Core Transfer, BAMF LWJ, Pining LWJ, POV LWJ, Angry LWJ, One-Braincell Wangxian, Love Confessions, Idiots in Love, WIP)

Ad Oblivione by Baph, HikariNoHimeWriter (M, 70k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, POV Multiple, Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Identity Reveal, Golden Core Reveal, Cultivation World Critical, Not JC Friendly, Abusive YZY, Angst with a Happy Ending)  

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12. Hi! I was just wondering if you have any good, longer fluff pieces. They can have plot, but in general everyone is happy and no one gets hurt (unless it’s jgs). I know canon makes it a bit more difficult, but if you have any recs, that would be great! I’m just looking for fluff, humor, and plot

Thank you!

how to fall in love with a catfish: a guide by wei wuxian (disaster rat) by bwyn, Yuisaki (T, 54k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Actors, Multimedia, Online Friendship, Drunken Shenanigans, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Underage Drinking, Drinking Games, Families of Choice, Ensemble Cast, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn, Catfish AU) there's a bit of angst here

Meet Me Friday At Seven by craftyTrickster (luoxiaobai) (E, 128k, wangxian, modern, Fluff, Meet-Cute, Friends to Lovers, Blind Date, lots of texting, almost a chat fic, WC and WLJ aren’t evil but they are annoying, Kissing, Masturbation, Anal Sex, romantic sex, Bi WWX, bi nhs, Single Parent WWX, Slow Burn, Unreliable Narrator) just pure fluff

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13. Hi! I am looking for canon-divergent fics where people think WWX dies but he actually doesn’t? I then want a big reveal when people realize he is still alive/never actually died. Thank you so much!

ahhh I just sent in an itmf ask about WWX dying but not really? I meant to specify that I want him to be "dead" for a long period of time, not just a brief gimmick. Long enough that people mourn him or move on, and then he comes back years later like in canon. Thanks, and sorry for not putting this in the first ask!

🔒Brotherhood by LtLJ (G, 10k, JC & WWX, CQL canon, Canon Divergence, Yunmeng Brothers Reconciliation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, BAMF WWX, BAMF JC, breaks from canon during the time skip, YLLZ WWX)

WWX and JYL run away by shanastoryteller (WangXian, XuanLi, JYL and JZX lives, JYL and WWX raise JL and LSZ, Fake Character Death)

Something From Nothing by sami (E, 55k, WangXian, XianLi, Minor QingLi, XiCheng, Canonical Character Death, Canonical Character Resurrection, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Divergence, Assassin's Creed Fusion, Kinda, Assassin's Creed Vibes, Wangxian is endgame, Slow Burn, specifically for wangxian, no infidelity, no partner betrayal, Angst with a Happy Ending) This has canon divergence and wwx being dead long enough for people to move on plus hey he's alive reveal but not exactly the way requester described

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14. hii! I'm sorry to bother you! i was hoping you could rec me some dark lwj, or dark gusu lan fics? them being more manipulative or possessive? thank you so much in advance<3

A Matter of Time by mrcformoso (M, 40k, wangxian, time travel fix-it, graphic depictions of violence, underage, LWJ pov, JC pov, dark LWJ, manipulation, grooming, teen body adult mind for LWJ, happy ending for wangxian, problematic consensual underage sex, blood & violence, insane LWJ, manic LWJ)

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15. hello!!! hehe would just like to ask if you have any fics where lsz is referenced as the lan heir? thank you! 💕

anyway, here's wuji by kakikaeru (T, 18k, ZhuiYi, WangXian, LingZhen, Post-Canon)

❤️ A Civil Combpaign by Ariaste (M, 12k, zhuiling, wangxian, arranged marriage, combs, courting, awkward teenagers, teenage drama, humor, feelings, fluff)

~*~

16. Heyy ! I am in the mood for your favourite nightmares fic (Wangxian if possible). Thxx ! @sebyyw

#FreePalestine | hold me close by gentil-minou (Flyingsuits) (E, 13k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Porn with Feelings, Emotional Sex, Grief, Mental Health Issues, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, tender husbands being tender, Character Study, Masturbation, Oral Sex ,Anal Sex, Working Through Grief With Sex, Grieving Your Husband While Fucking Him, Depressed LWJ) I'm not sure if this is what you're looking for but lwj has a nightmare in one scene in my fic here

hunters seeking solid ground by Attila (E, 23k, wangxian, Canon Compliant, discussion of canon character death, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, bed sharing, Getting Together, Yearning, Literal Sleeping Together, Really Excessive Amounts of Hurt/Comfort)

Feathers On My Breath by Sweetlittlevampire (T, 3k, wangxian, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Teen Crush, Pre-Relationship, Panic Attacks, LWJ Has A Panic Attack, Nightmare, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Past Character Death, Mentions of Dying Linked To The Panic Attack, Sharing a Bed)

a needle, a whisper, an insidious dream by pale_and_tragic (M, 19k, wangxian, WWX & WQ & LWJ, post-canon, fix-it of sorts, case fic, horror elements, nightmares, hallucinations, pining, hurt LWJ, aroace WQ, platonic relationships, suicidal thoughts, angst w/ happy ending, hurt/comfort, sleeping beauty)

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17. Me again, back to pester you all w/ an ITMF ask! Thank you so much for all you do! I have read (and re-read) An Elegant Solution and also Things to Do with a Flute During Wartime, and they have put me in the mood for NMJ-centric stories where he is a fully robust, complex, interesting character. Any ship is okay, and modern AUs welcome, but pref. no MCD. &lt;;3 @kimboo-york

🔒 Audience of One by WinterDreams (T, 181k, XiCheng, WangXian, XuanLi, mentioned SongXiao, implied MingYao, Modern AU, Celebrities, Inspired by 10 Things I Hate About You (1999), Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Singer LXC, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Needs A Hug, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Swearing, Slow Burn, Family Feels, Family Bonding, childhood crushes, past emotional abuse, Post-Betrayal, Venerated Triad Feels, Yunmeng Duo Feels, Nightmares, Fluff and Angst, hand holding, Babysitter Ā-Qìng, Domestic Fluff, Soft XiCheng, Eventual Happy Ending)

🔒 shades of grey spill from my veins (bleeding ink all over the page) by Reverie (cl410) (M, 58k, LXC/NMJ, wangxian, NHS/WN, POV NMJ, Canon Divergence, WWX raised by the Nie Sec, Mentions of WWX's life on the streets, Hurt/Comfort, Accidental Sibling Acquisition, Single Dad NMJ, NHS & WWX Friendship, Fluff, Humor, Happy Ending, Everyone Lives AU, Protective NMJ, a plot showed up, Sunshot Campaign, Some angst, Blood and Injury, Kidnapping, Protective Siblings, Found Family) more canon

found in translation by sysrae (E, 12k, LXC/NMJ, wangxian, Modern Cultivation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, my extremely justified hatred of LQR, Meddling brothers, Coming Out, Loss of Virginity, Under-negotiated Kink, slight breathplay, Light Dom/sub, Aftercare, Angst with a Happy Ending) a modern AU

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If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

[tending-the-hearth]

Do you agreed that people saying ‘the book is better than the film?’ What are your thoughts?

i think it depends on the adaptation

like Hunger Games has probably one of the BEST book to movie adaptations, and i absolutely adore both versions! the casting was completely on point, every single detail was perfect. literally the only thing i wish they could have done was cast age-appropriate actors (since i think Katniss and Peeta are supposed to literally only be like 16 in the books), but i think Jennifer Lawrence and Josh Hutcherson played them SO well (the only thing i'd change is add more of Peeta's personality from the books, i love that sassy fucker SO much)

Holes also has one of the best book to movie adaptations, and i stand by that

i probably would say that, in my opinion, "The Outsiders" is the best movie adaptation that i've personally watched. every single detail is perfect, and the casting was so *chef's kiss*

meanwhile there's book to movie adaptations like Chronicles of Narnia and the Hobbit:

the trio of Chronicles of Narnia movies, which i am not ashamed to say are some of my favorite book to movie adaptations, and i honestly love the movies a little more than the books. The casting, the visuals, the character details, just everything about the movies was absolute perfection. I love the books, don't get me wrong, but the movies are just SO good

and the Hobbit movies?? they're some of my favorite movies in the world, but i've never read the books. i have no intention to, just because those books aren't my sort of thing. But i can and will watch every single Hobbit movie in succession because they're just amazing.

and then... then you have it

the PJO movies are quite possibly one of the worst book to movie adaptations ever created.

I will say that, if you separate the books and movies from each other, the movies are not terrible. But I can't do that, since those books are literally my lifesavers. The casting choices, the changes made (literally changing the MAJOR PROPHECY bc they fucked up the casting of an age-appropriate actor for Percy???), just everything about them was not great.

The only good casting choice was probably casting Stanley Tucci as Dionysus.

(also don't get me started on the entire grover/persephone subplot that was UNCOMFY)

so, like i said, it depends on the book and it's movie. i think it also depends on a person's connection to the media + how they've experienced it, like did they watch the movie first, or read the book first? so i'm not going to sit here and say that one is better than the other, because that's just not fair. it depends on the person, and it depends on the book

(but... come on... PJO and Divergent... just the absolute worst movie adaptations)

[lesbian-in-leather]

I posted 1,361 times in 2022

That's 630 more posts than 2021!

308 posts created (23%)

1,053 posts reblogged (77%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@elytrians

@changelinq

@vaguely-functional-directions

@downton-not-downtown-smh

@lesbian-in-leather

I tagged 1,257 of my posts in 2022

Only 8% of my posts had no tags

#the lesbian herself - 563 posts

#asoue - 42 posts

#mon cher - 21 posts

#wwdits - 21 posts

#tag games - 17 posts

#send help - 17 posts

#oh worm - 15 posts

#>:( - 15 posts

#thanks for the ask!! - 15 posts

#vaguely-functional-directions - 15 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#i've always fixated on things but my parents were pretty strict about internet usage when i was younger so i couldn't really interact much

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

“A Private Exchange”?

Send me a made-up fic title and I'll tell you what I would write to go with it

So I was just going to write a little snippet of like, a few hundred words, and then... I didn't stop writing. It's going to be a whole multichapter now, that I will hopefully finish and post in the near future. You did this. Anyway, in the interest of not waiting til then to answer this, here's the snippet that the actual title made me think of

Fandom: School for Good and Evil

Summary: Clarissa summons Lady Lesso to her office after classes for a private meeting. Purely in the interest of discussing the students, of course

Rating: G

See the full post

58 notes - Posted November 25, 2022

#4

Hot take on the addams family casting debate: Gomez is Correct but Morticia is Wrong

67 notes - Posted September 4, 2022

#3

So I've been rewatching the tinkerbell films (which are so fucking good and absolutely stand up over time btw) but like... despite my childhood gay crush on Vidia (and Silvermist lmao, the two icons of every sapphic childhood) I never realised how genuinely gay-coded she is???

Especially in the third one, The Great Fairy Rescue is ABSOLUTELY the story of how Vidia and Tink became gfs and I will hear nothing else

84 notes - Posted July 24, 2022

#2

You know what does lowkey make me laugh about the hunger games

District Twelve has only ever had four victors, right? And it’s widely accepted that 18-year-olds are obviously at an advantage, as are the Careers by virtue of just... being the Careers. And yet every single victor from Twelve was 16??? Like. Four separate inexperienced and malnourished 16-year-olds - three of which were from the fuckin Seam of all places - won the wholeass Games. They beat the Careers, they beat jacked as fuck lumber guys and ‘I’m desensitised to blood’ livestock gals, and they won the entire thing - and exclusively with only one real ally - THE OTHER PERSON FROM THEIR OWN DISTRICT. Everyone hates on District Twelve as being the worst one, but if I was to bet on the hunger games and I heard they’d picked a 16-year-old from Twelve, I would simply bet on them. I don’t care how ~feral~ and ~untrained~ they are babe, Twelve’s 16-year-olds are fuckin winners

125 notes - Posted October 20, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Autumn this-or-that game!!

Thanks for the tag @omghost 💕

tea or hot chocolate | cosy books or halloween movies | plaid or corduroy | foggy mornings or twinkly nights | orange or black | pumpkin or apple pie | wool or velvet | picking fruit or carving pumpkins | libraries or coffee shops | cinnamon or peanut butter | spooky or cosy halloween | candles or fairy lights

Tagging: @swanqueensalad @downton-not-downtown-smh @vaguely-functional-directions @volunteerfelinedetectives @just-an-enby-lemon @accidentallylita @ghostlyheart and anyone else who wants to do it!!

207 notes - Posted October 26, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[kyurilin]

The simple and soft asks, ANSWER THEM ALL!

Omfg Gabby you waited until I had forgotten you did stuff like this and then struck out of the blue with a vengeance BUT FOR YOU I WILL GLADLY ANSWER THEM ALL

1. What did you dream about last night?

It was either some kind of stress related dream or family related dream but I can't actually remember I just remember yeeting myself out of bed mid dream because I woke up to a leg cramp so

2. What is your favorite color?

Red, like my car

3. Do you feel more connected to the moon or the sun?

The moon, really. The sun's too bright and the moon is just like friends with the stars so I vibe with that

4. Have you ever wished on a shooting star?

Oh absolutely, anytime I see one I make a wish. That's my favorite thing about shooting stars, they just seem magical and capable of wish giving.

5. Name a movie that makes you genuinely laugh.

The SpongeBob SquarePants Movie from 2004, hands down. The Simpsons Movie is a close second. But the SpongeBob one is just so near and dear to my heart for many reasons and it never fails to make me crack up.

6. When’s the last time you felt like you were floating?

That span of a few weeks where I was getting new comments for my Present Mic story pretty much every day, since that's the most attention anything I've ever written has gotten at once. I'm still a little bit nervous most times to share anything I've written but fuck if that wasn't worth it and the occasional comments I still get for it make me ascend every time.

7. Already answered this one so I'll skip it

8. Do you believe in guardian angels?

Oh absolutely, somebody better be out there watching my dumb ass so I don't do something stupid and get yeeted off this mortal coil

9. What’s a smell that reminds you of home?

The ocean, since our house is partially beach themed and because the ocean always makes me feel like home.

10. What is something (or someone) you’re in love with?

Oh I'm definitely in love with writing, it's the main thing in my life that I enjoy doing continuously so I very much love it

11. Describe the memory of the last time you felt true happiness.

Today when I found a kid wearing a Kirby shirt that I didn't have while at my job lmao. Working in school photos is interesting for a lot of things and video game shirts are pretty common but seeing a Kirby shirt is rare as fuck and I was stupidly happy to see one in the wild

12. Name a song that makes you feel ethereal.

I just found this artist recently and it's aesthetic as fuck

13. What’s your ideal summer aesthetic?

Being inside with the AC. Summer is the worst cause it's too hot and too bright

14. Talk about one of your most cherished childhood memories.

When I was 6/7 I was fucking obsessed with Britney Spears, to the point that one if the things I remember reading repetitively was some special edition magazine about her life because she was the Icon of that time. In 2000 when I was actually 7 my dad took me to see the Oops I Did It Again Tour because of course, he was a big concert person and knew it would make me happy. So there I am, this teeny tiny little seven year old with casts on my legs because they were trying to correct this walking problem I had, being held up by my dad to see this pop singer that I would not shut up about who I idolized. We left in the middle of the concert because I got tired but I wouldn't trade what little memories I have of that for the world.

15. Talk about something exciting or good that happened to you this year.

One of my close college friends I hadn't seen in about seven years started working at my job and getting to see her again has been a treat!

16. Where do you feel most at home?

The beach since we've moved so much in the last seven years that the beach is just more familiar

17. What is something you own that is important to you? What makes it so important?

I have a lot of answers for this, that are all kind of self explanatory. I have some ponchos and a cape that my great aunt Iris crocheted, a homemade doll my great aunt Norma had, some costume jewelry from my grandma, and a fifty cent coin from my grandpa. All of these people have passed away, and these things all make me feel close to them. I miss them a lot.

18. Do you believe dreams have meanings or are they completely random?

Honestly considering how many end of the world dreams I have I really hope they don't have meaning because I'd really like the world to end after I'm gone

19. Do you believe in love at first sight?

Not particularly no, I mean for others yeah but I don't think I could ever look at a person first time and be like MY LOVE

20. Answered this one already

21. Do you believe in mermaids?

Absolutely I do mermaids would be cool as hell

22. What do you like most about nature?

The animals, like seeing any animal just chilling out in the wild doing their thing is the best

23. What’s your zodiac sign? Do you think you fit the general characteristics of that sign?

I'm Capricorn and all I remember about it is that we're supposed to be stubborn and I absolutely fit that so I got that going for me

24. Are you more of a hopeless romantic or realist?

I guess realist? I'm not really sure tbh

25. Already answered this one

26. Do you usually remember your dreams?

Usually I do yeah, and I have some weird ass dreams that just stick with me

27. Have you ever written a love letter?

I have yeah if I'm remembering correctly lmao, that was ages ago though

28. Name a book you don’t mind reading over and over.

Oh like literally all of my favorites, but if I had to pick one i'd say the hunger games because it's something I've already reread it so many times

29. Do you collect anything? And what are some hobbies you have?

Well I have my collection of Cars diecasts, then I also collect Kirby games and Kirby figures, and then seashells. My main hobby is writing which is like wildly obvious cause I never shut up about it.

30. What do you do to feel at peace?

Watch videos of people exploring abandoned places cause it's fascinating as fuck

Gabby thanks once again for having me answer every single question in an ask game it made me laugh to see you pulling me that again lmao

[pellaswish]

The Deep Light District

The three districts of the largest cities are something that need to be learned and understood before you step into any of the train stations to enter. The green light district is, of course, the clear of crime and deviance. Where all the rich live, up in their luxury with their clear skies and their little goodie two shoes children. As though the lights from the ground don't creep up the buildings at night. The red light is the ground. Those that commit crimes that most would expect. All sorts of drugs are rampant, alcohol, prostitution, the vanilla shit.

The furthest down, below the foundations of the cities, is the deep light district. Only the worst exist down here. Fallen and cast out even from the red lights of hell. Kill or be killed, fight or be used, violent kind of place it is down here in the cogs. Murder shows a common sight, gladiator arenas a popular outing, the beast fights the biggest game down here. Above our heads looms the foundations for the city, their pillars cascading down to pierce into the earth we walk on. Their scraps go to building our empire down here in the dark. Metal welded onto the dirt covers every inch of ground, rivets piecing the rock, and their cast away beams used to raise our buildings. Their thrown away signs repurposed for our needs, and several surface raids led to our roads being lines with neon lights. Everything down here was stolen or forgotten. Even our goddamn water, siphoned from their wells. Honesty doesn't exist down here, morality is a fiction, the only thing that hold us together is our hate for those that sent us down here in the first place. Murder, torture, rape, trafficking, all of it happens blatantly and often. The only way out of it is to do it, or become a beast. The beasts are like gods down here, the only truly untouchables. For the most part. Becoming a beast commonly isn't a voluntary thing. Its never the beast's decision to loose most of their body. The augmentations are done without consent and little to no anesthesia. Pain for months. And then the beatings. Becoming a beast is difficult, but if you successfully become one and can prove your capabilities, you'll be put up for auction. Hopefully a good sponsor will buy you. Only then would you be able to exist in an alright life. They'll take you, and hook you to the system. Their engineers will build you a companion, and you'll learn to fight. From the moment you're taken to become a beast to your first battle can be as short as three months, to as long as two years. The lucky ones don't make it past the alterations. The unlucky win their first battle. And then the next. Eventually you start to enjoy it, the rush of the fight. They let you have a say, and as you win more you become more. Raised above a lowly maggot to the status of a near god. After some times you can leave your sponsor, go find your own team. The luckiest build their team. Two assistants, an engineer, and a group of builders. They'll keep you alive, long after your original body is snuffed. The tanks will become innumerable. The sizes vary, for you or for your companion it may no longer matter. You are the same. A single beast. Nothing more than bioware and anger. Nothing less than worshipped. But the most fun is within the arena. The crowds of millions gather in the pews every night, right on time, almost religiously. They're there to watch the battles, to hear the roars, to hope to get a beasts blood on their skin. A splash of red again their greyed out skin. Below the beasts rage, their lives on the line, every night. The drone of the crowd, the shriek of the companions, the chatter of the assistants, the glow of the neon, and the shine of the blood. Eventually you forget there was an existence before this. You are a beast, you are the companion. Nothing else. The past turns blurry, some nights you cant get out of your companions head. Some nights you don't know who's eyes you look through. Or if this is your body. Is it? Really? Where did that one come from? Sitting over there at the table. Or the leg peeking from the kitchen. Soon enough you'll forget what your face looked like. It changes every time an opponent's sponsor gets angry, why bother to remember what you looked like. It's different now. Different hair, your eyes used to be blue. Or maybe it was brown? What about that scar? Is it even real? The fights become blurs of anger and reverence. Your teeth are sharper. Were the lights always this irritating? The cheers roar louder than ever, and you loose your way back. or did you simply forget how to go back? Home? No, not to your home, your own mind. Is it your own now? After all this? Could it be considered yours? Who are you? A beast? A companion? A human? A child? An adult? Or maybe you're just a figment. Something they created in their labs for their entertainment. Was there even a before? Something that you did before the augmentations? Do you remember the pain? the screams? Do you remember the others' faces? Do you know your name? Do you know your assistants' names? Or maybe you don't even recall the last time you saw them. Do you? When last did you fight? Die? Start it over again? Laugh? Scream? Speak? Does your throat even work anymore? What did you sat last? can you recall? Or maybe you can't. Everything before this moment simply a fading dream. As though you woke up, and the memories simply slip through your fingers like sand. Nothing to think back to, no memories, no feelings, no certainties. Look at yourself in that mirror. Is that you? Would you know if it wasn't? Could it be that you simply don't exist? Or that this is just a dream? Maybe all you need to do is wake up? But if it were that simply you'd have done it by now. Surely. There's nothing complicated about waking up, nothing at all. You simply open your eyes. Give it a try. Wake up. See the roof of your room. If it is your room. Look around, think about it. Is this yours? No. It can't be, and you know it. Your things were never this nice. It's another dream. wake up. Is this your room? With the body in the corner? two down. Wake up. try again. This one has to be it. With the sun shine and the grass outside your window? No? Surely this view is what you've always wanted? But it's not yours. Yet again it's fake. Go again. The next is a warehouse. Maybe you fell asleep here. Did you? Still no memory? Well, open your eyes then. Here. It has to be yours! Or, is it that you simply don't have a home? You never fell asleep? If you never fell asleep then how can you possibly wake up? Wake up? From what? You never fell asleep. Of course you hadn't, they cheer. Your enter the ring. Lights blazing into your eyes. your opponent with a fresh anger in their eyes. Or is that fear? How did you get here? Where's your body? That pain might be real, but there's no time to figure it out. Your opponent is small, and their blood is sweet. Sweeter than any sugar, more addictive than any drug, smoother than any alcohol. Nothing could compare. And it's over. The shrill squeal of the bell, to tell you to go back. Back to where? Where are you? That sound digs at your ears, piecing through to slice your flesh. Run. The sound will not let you finish your opponent, it refuses to allow your to relish your victory. Leave the place. Find another victim, more sweetness to be tasted. Hunt it down. Look up. See the light up there, floating down with that oh so sweet scent? Follow it. Yours for the taking if you venture toward it. Food. Comfort. Warmth. Freedom. The red lights grow brighter the closer you get, an inviting color, but the red isn't what you want. Further up still you have to go. Those claws shall be good for something, no? To get above the red, to find the pure. The sweet. The sounds of sirens mean nothing to you now, do they? Only your hunger. Further you must climb, it's up there. Somewhere. Ripe for your taking. Reach it. Find it. Take it. Eat it. Pay no mind to the wails of machines or the pain in your side, you've felt worse. Death isn't something worth bothering with now. Now you must feast. Feast. Feast on the small creatures. The ones that hide behind their glass. The ones that wail as you reach for them. The ones that sent you to the dark in the beginning. Revel in your hunt. As the machines surround you, feast. Ignore the sounds surrounding you. Hunt. For there's nothing to wake up to after this. You're already awake. And you're hungry. Pay no mind to the pain. Shut out the lights. Adjust to your foreleg no longer working. These are simply small barriers in your way to peace. Don't worry as you slip, you won't wake this time. Those nothing to wake to. No longer. When you hit the rails do not think about what you cant remember, simply push forward to fulfill your hunger. Finally, when your limbs no longer work, as the world goes black, pay no mind as to why you can't remember your name.

[starkrogerrs]

when we got so close, so close to love;

i’ve been writing this for a month now, and it’s finally done. i just love this idea deeply and really hope i did it justice. shoutout to @oluka and @plonid for painstakingly reading through my numerous drafts and providing valuable feedback and being my hype people in general.

also on ao3.

The cell reeks of animal carcass, damp wood and terrifying unfamiliarity. Tony can hear the skittle of spiders across the walls, a welcome sound amidst the deafening silence. 

A light breeze swoops into the chamber, and Tony draws his robes closer around himself. 

Tony is used to the darkness, but not the kind that goes on for days on end, with no relief in sight. 

Murmuring ancient words under his breath, he waves his hand through the freezing air. 

He is greeted by the same, silent void. 

A loud clang echoes through the chamber. The door of the cell opens, flooding it with white light, and in spite of the fact that he needs the light so desperately, he finds himself shielding his eyes against it. 

The light is gone as quickly as it had come. He hears the crunch of feet on the stone floor and a soft click, as fire bursts into the room, flooding it warm amber. 

"Food for today," says the man from behind the flaming torch, as he stoops down to place a wooden plate before him. 

Tony doesn't know if it is the hunger that is making him see differently, but the food looks absolutely ravishing. 

"What coven do you belong to?"

They have been through this before. Three days in a row in fact. Tony would've almost called it their little game. 

He doesn't answer, reaching out to the plate, but the hunter draws it back. Atleast, he assumes the man is a witch hunter, given the circumstances. 

"What coven do you belong to?" he repeats. 

Tony lifts his head to gaze at the hunter. Icy blue eyes that seem almost green when reflecting the yellow flame, greet him. 

"Why am I here?" he retorts, choosing to ignore his question as always. 

Two days he had said nothing, and the hunter had merely taken his food away and not returned until the next night. 

Not a muscle on the man's face moves as he gazes at him steadily. 

"You're lucky that you have a pretty face, hunter," Tony adds, when he says nothing. "Or I would've slaughtered you long ago."

Truth be told, Tony is terrified. He has no idea what the man's intentions are with him, there is no way he can guard himself against whatever the man has planned for him. He can't, however you, let him know that. 

"You can't move a hair on my skin, witch," the hunter murmurs through gritted teeth. 

The flame cackles between them as they stare each other down, and Tony is all too aware that their breaths are not synchronous. 

"I am looking for someone," the hunter finally admits. Something flickers across his features for a moment and then it is gone. 

Tony huffs, unamused. "I can assure you that it isn't me."

"I haven't told you who I am looking for, yet."

"You don't need to. I know you're not looking for me."

The hunter glances at him irritably, a single muscle clenching in his jaw. They say nothing for a moment. 

The hunter stands up then, but not before pushing the plate towards Tony and placing the torch into one of the holders in the wall; and is gone. 

*

Tony has never missed Jarvis, his familiar as much as he does at this moment. The looming darkness dulls against the ache of missed company. 

The hunter - Steven, he has learned- visits frequently now. They have the same conversation everyday but that doesn't stop the man from trying again. Steven grills him at an increasing degree everyday, but hasn't resorted to physical torture. Yet. 

He's had days to prepare himself for the worst, to talk a bargain if he can. Because here, in the dusty cell, he is completely at Steven's mercy. 

To infuriate him more, he has learnt next to nothing about the hunter, save for the fact that he is looking for someone. A witch. A witch that is not him. 

His powers still don't work; the familiar tingle in his body as he chants spells that have been engraved in his mind, is now fainter than ever. There must be some sort of spell over the cell to render him powerless, he is sure of that. 

Tony wonders if Steven had used and perhaps, killed another witch to have the place warded. 

An all too familiar clang shocks him out of his thoughts and he backs up against the wall feebly. By his calculations, it is almost an hour past midnight and definitely not the time for another visit from the hunter. 

The door opens and Steven stumbles in; bent over and almost collapses before him. Tony blinks against the light as he leaps forward involuntarily. 

"What in the Heaven..," he murmurs to himself. 

A large cut runs across Steven's front, extending from his left shoulder to the middle of his belly. His torn shirt clings on to his sweat covered torso as he heaves, struggling to breathe. 

"I-I was attacked," Steve manages throatily. "By- by a werewolf."

For a moment, a sickening sense of pleasure rushes through Tony. He forgets that there is a dying man before him. The door of the cell, wide open and inviting, beckons to him. "Run away," it whispers. 

"Please-," Steven whispers, reaching out to grasp Tony's arm. "-please, help me."

Even as he speaks, blood pools beneath the hunter. 

Despite the fact that relations between mortals (most hunters included) and witches have improved significantly over the last decade, Tony doesn't know if he should even consider helping his captor. His captor, a man of whom he knows so little. 

Steven squeezes his arm again, his face beaded with sweat and dirt. "P-please."

"My magic doesn't work here," Tony finds himself saying, even though his obvious choice should be to rush out the dingy cell and never see it again. 

"Out.. side," Steven croaks, gasping as he tightens his grip on Tony's arm. 

Tony doesn't think twice, all second thoughts leaving his mind at once. His coven was unlike most black witch covens. They believed in treating humans with respect, helping them in dire situations. When he had been baptized to become a witch, he had also taken an oath as a healer to always save those in need, no matter the species. Torn as he was, about helping someone who was possibly a witch hunter, he had to help him. 

Steven was a mortal first, after all. 

That very oath rings in his ears as he removes his robe and tears a long strip from the hem. Wrapping the cloth around the wound as gingerly as possible, he helps Steven sit up. Then, he pulls Steven's left arm around his shoulders and hauls them outside. 

For a moment, as soon as they step outside, he freezes. He feels his body buzz as the spell instantly lifts, primordial magic flowing through his veins again. 

Steven guides Tony to a small room leading off of the landing. A row of fire against the wall of the room, illuminates what looks like a mini infirmary. He gently sets Steven onto the tiny bed in the far corner, and checks his pulse. His breathing is ragged and Tony can feel him burning up against his skin. 

He eases Steven out of his already torn shirt. There are tiny cuts everywhere, a million paper cuts if you will, that probably hurt more than the actual wound itself. 

Tony chants spells that heal the paper cuts easily but the large gash across his front is persistent. It runs deep, cutting into his flesh and right to the bones. Two smaller, but equally deep gashes flank the larger one. Some of the torn skin hangs loosely at the edges, as more blood continues to ooze out. 

Tony has never seen a more gruesome sight. He can tell that it, most definitely, is the mark of a werewolf. 

How Steven managed to walk home with his guts spilling out, Tony will never know. 

In his desperation to help the man, Tony reaches over to the array of herbs and plants stocked up on the shelves behind him and concoct the quickest healing potion. Steven groans behind him, and Tony can almost sense that his heart is giving out. He summons whatever plants he can remember and mixes them together before rushing over to Steven. 

He cleans up as much of the blood he can, so as to save the wound from being infected. 

"This might hurt," he advises, before pressing the paste onto the wound. 

Steve screams in agony, reaching over to clutch Tony's arm. He flinches as his nails dig into his skin, but continues to spread the paste around. The blood flow has slowed down but if Tony doesn't act fast, he knows that it would kill him. The paste can only do so much. 

Summoning magic that is as old as time itself, he chants a spell he's never used before. Before he can even complete it, the wound starts to glow white. Tony can feel the familiar tug in his gut as he continues to whisper the spell, Steve's grip still firm on his arm. 

There is a blinding flash as he finishes and the world comes to a stand still. 

Tony's eyes flutter open as he leans against the wall, panting. Three angry red lines still run down Steve's chest but the skin has stitched itself. The hunter's passed out but is fortunately alive. 

Tony saved him. His captor. It was his duty to help him, and it seemed like the right thing to do in spite of everything. He's done more than his share for the hunter and now that he's asleep, he can finally make a break for it. 

The thought exhilarates him. 

Despite his powers being feeble at the moment, he rushes out of the room, but not before he casts the hunter one, last look. His features seem gaunt, which is natural, considering that he has just been on the brink of death; ghost-like skin caked with dust, hands greasy and bloody. 

Tony tears his gaze away from the man then, the thought of escaping clouding his mind already. Adrenaline courses through him, heart beating wildly at his chest at the thought of freedom. At the thought of seeing familiar faces again. He almost grins as he reaches the main door and yanks it open.

Cool, midnight wind sweeps towards him and sends shivers down his spine but the euphoria of freedom keeps him warm. He steps outside, a little too excitedly, grin plastered on his face but is immediately flung backward into the hallway and lands on his back with a thud. 

He groans, feeling pain shoot up his back from the rough landing. Thankfully, nothing seems to be broken. 

A force-field spell. 

"Absolutely brilliant," Tony mutters angrily as he sits up. Trapped. He is truly trapped. His captor, who he just healed in an act of stupid nobility is asleep and he can do nothing except wait. He almost wants to go back to the hunter and slit his throat, even though he's never, in all of his years on the planet taken a life. 

White hot anger burns through him. 

Having used most of his magic on the healing spell, he cannot even attempt to break the spell that surrounds the house. The spell, he realises, must be the work of a white witch. 

He slams his fist into the ground, frustrated at how pathetic and helpless he feels.

In the face of spending a lifetime trapped with a hunter of all people, death seems like the most welcome choice. 

*

Tony wakes to find Steven sitting up on the bed, looking less gray than he had just a few hours ago.

Dejected, Tony had set up camp in the infirmary and fallen asleep by the table. 

"You healed me," Steven says raspily and moves to stand up. His wounds, although closed, must still hurt because he falls right back onto the bed with a loud groan. 

Tony walks over to help him ease back into the bed, hand gripping his back. The gash across his front, although stitched, is still an angry red and the skin around it seems to be infected. 

"Why?" Steven whispers, and Tony is forced to ask himself the same question. Why did he ever take that oath? It had forced him to help a hunter. Satan knew his kind would hate him forever.. 

"You need to rest," he whispers, ignoring the hunter's question altogether. He falters as Steven reaches over to grip his hand. From what he can gather, Tony knows that he must be in incredible pain. 

Tony goes over his options. The only two options that swirl in his head over and over. He can either leave Steven to die and hope that the spell breaks once he does or he can help him heal and ask for freedom in exchange for his service.

Helping a witch hunter of all people would definitely be frowned upon by his coven. But his magic is still weak, (he had hoped it would return once he was awake, but to no avail) and he's not sure if he can force Steven to set him free. He has noticed the strange symbols on Steven's arm and back; symbols he doesn't recognise. Who knows what spells against witches his body is warded by. 

Resigned to his fate, Tony decides that the latter of the two choices is a better and more probable option. Maybe, just maybe, Steven was of the benevolent kind and would hear him out. It was a risk he'd have to take, otherwise, once he had learnt what Steven had planned on doing with him, he'd think over the more... dire options. 

Steven looks up at him then, blue steel meeting warm brown and Tony has to look away when something spikes inside him, hot and strong. He frees his hand from Steven's grasp, as the latter looks on. 

"You need to rest," he repeats, gulping, as he turns to grab some of the paste he had made before. 

*

"I don't generally do this free of charge," Tony muses, handing Steven - Steve - the bowl of soup, prepared from whatever the hunter had stocked in his kitchen. 

Steve laughs through his nose as he sips the soup, moaning as it warms his throat. 

Tony knows that he should be hating Steve. That he should be poisoning the soup that's brewing before him, knows that he should run away from someone who could possibly be his mortal enemy. 

And yet, he can not bring himself to. Satan damn him but he can not. It isn't because Steve is just so bloody gorgeous, although he does admit he'd love to bed him if he weren't his captor. But he doesn't know what it is either. 

Steve's dependent on him now, because he isn't fully healed yet. It is exactly what he had wanted; to ask Steve for freedom when he was most vulnerable. And yet, Tony finds himself straying from that very thought and showing Steve concern no hunter deserves. 

The hunter has given him access to the entire house but he is still bound, unable to contact his coven or his familiar or anything that is not Steve. 

His magic, to add to his misery, continues to remain at sub par levels. 

"You want freedom," Steve comments, as if reading Tony's thoughts and walks over to place the bowl into the kitchen sink. 

"Glad you noticed," Tony chides, his white knuckled hand grasping at the spoon handle tightly. 

Steve hums, and there it is again; that swooping feeling inside Tony's stomach that raises a million red flags in his head. 

"My mother was murdered by a witch."

The shock that rocks through Tony at his words leaves him grasping at his chest. In all the days they spent together, they never talked much. Tony healed Steve and the latter made sure that Tony was comfortable. Well, as comfortable a prisoner could be. 

"She was beautiful and kind.. and I was seven. Only seven and it was just us," he says, voice cracking and Tony does all but reach out to pat his shoulder. 

"Just me and ma, when a witch murdered her right in front of me."

"I was in another room, watching from behind a wall when it happened. I ran away to the woods and.. n-never looked back. I don't know what happened to her body."

A single tear rolls down his cheek and Tony feels his chest tighten. 

A mortal. Killed by his kind. 

Tony can't fathom what Steve must have gone through. He had to witness his mother's murder at such a tender age and be on his own from then on. Tony himself lost his mother when he was ten, but he had his coven and father to turn to. Although the loss was irreplaceable, Tony was never alone. 

Steve turns to him, vulnerability shining bright in his eyes. He cannot help but sympathise with the man; ache for him. Even if he shouldn't be because he's being held captive, for Satan's sake. 

How cruel the ways of the universe could be. 

"I joined the Barnes' Hunters Guild then. They took me in when I was eighteen. It's been my mission to catch my mother's killer then," he says grimly. 

"And that is why I need to know what coven you belong to."

Tony purses his lips. 

"Do you know the witch that killed your mother?"

"No. But I am aware of the coven they belong to."

Tony sighs. He might as well let him know. He was at his mercy after all.

"I belong to the Church of Lilith."

A shadow passes over Steve's face. 

From his pant pocket, he draws a piece of charcoal and begins to sketch something on his hand. Tony watches impatiently, as the drawing looks more and more familiar with every stroke until- 

"That's the symbol of the Church of Lilith!"

Steve looks up at him, a muscle twitching in his jaw. 

"The murderer was from your coven."

Tony deadpans as the implication dawns on him. 

"I may have been alive for over seventy-five years, hunter, but I have never killed a mortal."

Steve says nothing at first, only looks grim and distant. 

"I believe you," he says after a moment, looking up at Tony. 

"You healed me, your captor. I don't think those hands could kill an innocent mortal."

Tony doesn't know what to say. Steve seems to be more trusting of him, and he doesn't know what to think. Or feel. 

"Then let me go," Tony says, "- repay me by giving me what is my right."

Steve's features darken. 

"That is the one thing I cannot give you. I need you to help me find the murderer."

Tony bursts into laughter at that, disbelief shining in his eyes. 

"I healed you when I could have left you to die. I am now nursing you back to health, as you hold me captive, against my will. And now," he snorts, "-you want my, a witch's, help to kill another. Are you out of your mind?"

Steve wrings his hands and sighs. 

"I just might be. I've been looking for the killer for so long and you're the closest I've gotten to finding them. I don't want you to work for me, I need you to work with me."

"You want me to help find a witch from my coven and hand them over to you. Work with you and against my own coven. You cannot possibly, be asking me this."

"But I am. I will return your powers in exchange for your help in finding the killer. Once we find them, you are free to go."

Tony takes a shaky breath.

What Steve wasn't telling him was that he didn't really have a choice. It was either help or refuse and face certain death. 

Besides, Tony did want to catch the traitor. The witch had broken the very oath that made the coven different from the others and followed a path of its own. Broken the new rules that reigned over mortals and witches and encouraged them to be friends and not enemies. The high priest of their coven might not even be aware that such a thing had happened. And why had the witch killed an innocent mortal, anyway? What were their intentions?

"How do you even know if the witch is still alive?"

Steve rubs his thumb against the palm of his hand. 

"Let me show you."

*

Tony stares at the wall with dread. Four, neatly cut newspaper clippings stare back at him. 

Steve flinches as he rests his back against the wall. "These are the murders committed by that witch. At least, supposedly. I've looked at the bodies myself. And on all of those-," he points at the symbol drawn on his hand, "-this symbol had been left. The most recent one happened two weeks ago."

Tony scans the clippings. The first of the four, Tony realises is about Steve's mother's death. 

"Has it occurred to you that the witch might not be from my coven at all?"

Steve nods. "All the more reason for you to look into this. Someone is framing your church for these murders."

Inspite of himself, Tony finds himself being impressed at how convincing and tactile Steve can be. 

"If you want me to help you, we will need to go places. If I'm out, how will you ever get me to help you?" he asks, although he already knows the answer. 

"If you leave with me, you are bound to me automatically by the spell that guards the house. There is no escape, Anthony," Steve answers and Tony wonders if he imagines the reluctance in his voice. "I need you to help me."

But Hell, he hates him so much. And yet, he can't help but admire the cunning Steve possesses. It is almost witch-like. 

And, as much as he hates to admit it, Steve is right. If working with a hunter was the cost he had to pay to restore his coven's glory, so be it. There was a chance that Steve might be lying about setting him free, but he had to take the risk. 

"Fine. I will help you," Tony says and much to his dismay, Steve purses his lips in sympathy. "As if I have another choice. But first, I want you to return all my powers. Second, I need you to make a blood pact."

Steve looks at him questioningly. 

"An oath bound to your blood; You will never bother me or my coven again, after I help you. Fail to deliver and your blood will turn to poison."

The hunter stares at him for a moment, undoubtedly considering his options. 

"I guess I do owe you that much for saving my life."

"Oh, you owe me so much more," Tony shoots back and Steve chuckles brazenly. 

*

"We should get to my coven as soon as possible," Tony says later that night, as he stands by the window, watching the moonlight dance on the roaring waves. He massages the palm of his hand absentmindedly. The cut on his hand from the blood pact although healed, still hurts. 

Steve looks up from his seat at the infirmary table, "I don't think I can walk much yet."

Tony casts him a wry glance. "I know. At this rate, it will take you a millennia to recover."

"You should eat," Steve says, turning back to the book open before him. 

"Your concern for me is absolutely heart-warming," Tony comments sarcastically. 

Steve laughs through his nose.

"I don't want you staying here for long either," he says. "But you need to eat, you can't die on me."

Tony feels a slight pang in his gut at his words. 

He dismisses it quickly, before pouring himself some of the hot broth he had made. 

*

Tony doesn't think he and Steve are becoming friends. 

He still doesn't trust the hunter much; although with the pact, chances of him betraying him are small. 

But Tony finds himself relaxing more in Steve's presence, finds himself liking the way they shoot each other down while also being equals in some ways. 

He rolls the last of the gauze from the box as Steve sits on top of the kitchen counter, clenching his teeth and red-faced. 

"Quit being such a chicken, will you," Tony mumbles, gesturing at Steve to hold out his arms. He starts to bandage his torso with the fresh gauze. 

"It hurts," Steve mutters, gasping when Tony presses too tightly. 

"’Could've done this myself, you know?" 

Tony glances at him irritably. "And I would have to hear you grunting and ooh-ing and aah-ing until it drove me mad."

Steve bites his lip at that, face reddening even more. Tony has to look away because he finds it way too endearing for it to be alright. 

*

"I've never actually killed a witch," Steve admits as they sit pouring over books, in the amber light of the tiny library that the hunter himself built. Several rows lay stacked with ancient books that he somehow possesses. 

"You keep calling me witch hunter, but I've never really killed a witch."

Tony looks at him questioningly, jaw set. He doesn't know if he wants to discuss this. It is easier to justify his choice of helping Steve if he pretended that he wasn't really a hunter. "I find that hard to believe."

"I know. But it's true. I've only ever caught a handful; some of which had nothing to do with the Church of Lilith, and some who-who-," he glances awkwardly at Tony, "-I had to torture to get information out of."

He looks almost ashamed and full of regret but that doesn't douse the fire that spikes through Tony at that instant. He shouldn't have been surprised or upset to find that Steve did all of those things that hunters did. 

"I'm going to go get some rest," he says, standing up abruptly and storming out of the room. In hindsight, it was a bad decision to have shown any sort of emotion really but Tony was crushed. 

He crashes onto his bed heavily, feeling that hot anger flash through him in bursts. He misses his coven, his friends and familiar more so than ever. James, Happy and all of his friends must be looking for him as well. The thought twists at his heart. 

He is truly trapped and the weight of it seems to have finally settled in, because tears begin to brim in his eyes. 

Just then a loud knock resounds in the room, and he has to bury his face into the pillow. Steve, although his only company, is the last person he wants to talk to right now.

"Tony, if you can hear me, know that I regret all of it. I've never admitted this to anybody, but if I could take it all back, I would. Please believe me," Steve's muffled voice comes through the door. 

There is no reason for Steve to have walked up all those stairs to tell Tony this, and maybe that's why, a part of him wants to forgive him. But a lot of him still hates that his freedom is just a mirage; that pretend as he much as he'd like, Steve would always be a hunter. 

He decides not to respond, burying himself deeper into the mattress. He doesn't know how long he stares out of the window sullenly, or when it is that Steve leaves but the night seems to draw on for eternity, until he finally succumbs to the exhaustion. 

*

Next morning, Tony finds Steve bent over himself on the floor, clutching his chest. 

"What happened?!" he yells as he rushes to Steve’s side. 

He holds out bloody hands in answer. 

Tony learns, after healing Steve with a quick spell, that a part of his wound had opened up when he'd been cooking that morning. He had patched him up silently, some of the anger from last night still burning through his being.

"Hey?" Steve murmurs, grasping his hand when Tony turns to leave. "Can we talk?"

Tony shuts his eyes and massages the bridge of his nose. 

"Tony, I did what I had to do," he adds softly, regret full and genuine in his voice. 

And that's what Tony hates, hates that Steve is so genuine, so real. Despises the fact that a part of him trusts him, wants to help him while the other tears its hair in frustration. 

Steve is messing with his head and a strange, new anger burns inside him. 

"I don't care, hunter. You can do whatever you want. I just want to get out of here as soon as possible," he spits out, letting the anger roll of his tongue.

Steve's face visibly falls at that, and he lets go of hand and Tony suddenly feels cold all over. He turns away, not wanting to fall victim to the tricks his mind seems to be playing.

Only tricks, he repeats to himself as he storms to his room. They're only tricks. 

*

He finds Steve in the library, hunched over books as usual, after he had spent the entire day avoiding the hunter. The only thing that is odd about the sight is the bottle of rum and a half full glass beside him, on the table. 

Tony slides in next to him on the high chairs wordlessly. Steve watches silently as Tony takes the glass and brings it to his lips. Throwing his head back, he downs the liquid to its last drop, before slamming the glass onto the table. 

Steve throws him an amused look, a subtle smile playing at his lips. "By all means, make yourself at home."

"You're messing with my head," Tony declares, turning to look at Steve. He seems to be half drunk too, which he can tell from the half-open eyes and slur. 

Steve frowns at him, suddenly looking serious. 

"How?"

"Oh, don't act like you don't know," Tony retorts, rolling his eyes. He reaches over to grab the bottle but Steve pulls it away from his reach. 

"I don't know," Steve replies, flipping the book shut and pushing it (and the bottle) to the far corner of the table. 

Tony squints at Steve. "I've done things that I regret too, you know?"

Steve cocks his head. "I'm sure you have."

"But I've tried to be better. Do better-"

"Why do-" Steve interrupts but Tony places a finger against his lips, silencing him. A tinge of red dusts Steve's cheeks but Tony's already slipping under the alcohol's influence and doesn't notice. 

"O’ Hell, would you let me finish?"

Steve nods and Tony drops his hand. 

"I've regretted them every second I have lived. And now I am here, sitting with you, a hunter I saved. Should be the biggest regret of my life."

Steve looks down at his palms. "You keep saying that. But I'm not a hunter."

Tony doesn't say anything for a moment, only breathes heavily. Steve blurs a little out of his vision before his outline comes into focus again. 

"Say what you will. Believe what you will. You are and will always be a hunter. And I should hate you," he says, the words sounding like poison on his tongue. 

Steve adverts his eyes and Tony's gut twists. 

"But I can't."  His words are almost a whisper, he’s not entirely sure if he said them out loud.

Steve looks up at that, blinking. 

"I.. I regret everything I have ever done. Perhaps, ma would've hated me for choosing this path. F-for wanting to avenge her. But she was my mother and I was seven. It's no excuse but.. if it hadn't happened...I wouldn't be here. Nor would you," he says, voice raspy as if he's struggling to get the words out. 

Tony glances awkwardly at the glass and then back at him. Steve's eyes are shining with tears and Tony's heart almost stops.

"I never wanted to harm another person but the hatred that my guild has towards your kind...it fueled my need to find the killer," he says, and he's sobbing now; this hunk of a man who suddenly seems so small, so tiny, as he curls into himself. 

"I-I don't know what I've become. But hunting for her killer.. it's all I've ever known."

Tony reaches over to hold Steve's hand, his body acting on its own accord. A heartbeat passes as Steve stares up at him with big, round eyes.

"Promise me," Tony says, staring into those ocean eyes, "Promise me, that you'll stop once you've caught the killer." 

Steve blinks at him, making the tears spill faster than ever. "It was what I had planned. I would stop once I found the wretched bastard. But.. I-I promise.."

A strange calm washes over Tony at his words. He blames it on the alcohol, but knows in his heart that it isn't the liquor that makes him do what he does next. 

He pulls Steve close and kisses him, a strange fire bursting through his body at the contact. Steve, to his mild surprise doesn't pull back, instead, only slumps against him, as if all of the strings restraining him had been cut off. Tony let's his hands curl through Steve's hair, feeling the rush of blood and alcohol roar in his ears. He can taste the last of the rum on his lips and mint; freshness that sets his body humming. 

Steve wraps his arms around him eliciting a moan from him. His hands drop to Steve's shoulder, as Steve untucks his shirt out of his pants. He pulls away for a moment, hesitating as his hands ghosts the front of Steve's shirt. The latter chases after him, staring intently at the dip of lips like he wants them and Tony knows better than to push him away. 

Before long, Steve's shirt is on the floor. Tony can see the now dark red scars down his front and he hesitantly runs his finger over them. Steve shudders at his touch. 

"I never thanked you for healing me. For agreeing to help me. I don't know why you did it, but- but I am grateful. And. And I am sorry. For making you go through all of this," Steve whispers against his lips, words tumbling over one another in his effort to be earnest. 

"You should've never been a part of this," he adds, lifting Tony's chin with one finger. He looks alert all of a sudden, as if coming to a realisation. His words slur but his tone is fierce when he says, "I set you free, Tony. I am sorry we had to meet this way. I am sorry I kept you against your will."

The words settle over Tony like thick skin. He is finally free from his chains. He could walk out the door  right now, the very thing he has been thinking about since he got here, and never come back, never see Steve again. 

The thought leaves him feeling empty in a tiny part of his heart. His mind is its own master at the moment, all of his feelings and desires oozing out of his being unfiltered.

Deep in their hearts, perhaps they both knew that there was something indescribable between them. Something more than raw attraction, but also not something that was always meant to be.

It had simply been woven into existence when their paths had crossed. 

Tony decides to not say anything in answer and pulls Steve into him again, shutting off the myriad of feelings and thoughts hurtling through his brain. He hopes that his actions convey what he wants to say. That for once, he let that one part of him rule over the other. That for once, he wants this, as complex as it might make things. He runs his free hand over the curves and lines of Steve's body, committing them to memory. 

He could always leave tomorrow.

"Kiss me like you mean it,”  his eyes seem to say.  And so, Steve does.

Everywhere that Steve touches him, grazes his teeth against, sends a sliver of sparks down Tony's back. The bliss of alcohol and Steve's gentle touches and squeezes is nothing short of electric. 

If Tony didn't know better, he'd have thought it was magic. 

*

Tony jolts up in his bed, as if he's been shaken awake. It is still dark outside but the first tendrils of dawn are starting to blossom across the sky. 

He winces when the vein in his temple throbs slightly. All of the rum that he unceremoniously downed last night is finally taking affect. 

Last night. 

Tony can still feel the ghost of Steve's lips in places that make him blush, still taste him on the tip of his tongue, still smell him in the sheets strewn around him. 

And then it hits him, the realisation that Steve isn't there next to him. Where is he? 

A dull thud comes from somewhere outside the room just then, startling Tony. Straining his ear, he hears loud voices coming from below. His body reacts before he can and the hairs on his neck stand up. Before he can take action of any sort, the handle on his door turns and someone slips in. 

It's Steve. 

"Satan's Horn, you scared me," he breaths, clutching the sheets to his chest but falters when he sees the look on Steve's face. 

"The other hunters... they are here. They know about you," Steve says, a frantic look in his eyes. 

Tony looks at him, shocked. For a horribly numbing moment he thinks Steve has double-crossed him. After everything they went through and last night-  he opens his mouth in question but Steve answers him before he says a word. 

"I didn't tell them, I swear. They must've put a spell on this place. I've told them to wait downstairs so I can fetch you." 

Tony blinks at him, heart beating wildly against his chest. Was he to die today? His mind seems to have shut down, fear seizing his body completely. 

"I can't hand you over," Steve says, gripping his shoulders. "I've never lied to you, Tony. I need you to believe me. I- I like you. You saved me and in spite of everything, I fell for you, as the gods would have it. I need you to trust me."

Everything seems to be moving at the speed of lightning. Mere hours ago, he had been in Steve's embrace and now Steve is asking him to run away.

Tony's body tingles with electricity, feeling the adrenaline rush through him as his powers take control, ready to defend him. A billion questions burn through his mind and he blurts the first thing that comes to him. 

"Steve, you're not fully healed-"

"I almost am. I'll tell them that you fled, I'll make up some excuse. I can hold them off. They cannot harm me," Steve says, handing Tony his clothes that he immediately shimmies into. 

"You could tell them that I'm not like the other witches-"

"They won't listen. They'll burn you before they give you a chance to speak, you need to go. Now,"

As if on cue, Tony picks up footsteps coming up the staircase. Steve glances at the door and then pushes him frenziedly towards the large window beside the bed. 

Tony hesitates as he climbs atop the bed. He could stay. He could help Steve fend off the other hunters. He could run away with him and they could start afresh.

"I could stay and help you fight," he breathes, trying to shake off the cold feeling that's turning his stomach to concrete. 

Steve shakes his head. 

"No more of that. I already freed you last night and...” he stops for a moment, seeming lost but shakes himself out of it seconds later. 

“I, Steven Grant Rogers of the Barnes' Guild, free Anthony Edward Stark, heir to the Church of Lilith from his binding," he chants quickly, eyes wide with fear. 

The effect is almost immediate; Tony feels like a blanket has been lifted off of him. 

There is a dull knock on the door and Tony's heart threatens to burst out of his chest. 

"Run," Steve whispers assertively and Tony sees remorse and... something else in those azure eyes. He wants to look away, lest it burn him completely. He can't bring himself to. Instead, he pulls Steve close and kisses him, with the passion of a thousand burning suns. He tastes fire, regret and a flash of the future that leaves him gasping for air. 

“Memento mei,” he whispers against his lips, letting the power of the words settle into Steve’s being.

When they break away, Steve grabs his hand before he can climb onto the window sill. The remorse in his eyes has been replaced by something brighter and in his heart, Tony knows just what it is. 

"I'll find you," Steve breaths, eyes glinting like wildfire and Tony nods meekly, at a loss for words. 

Steve seems to sense his hesitation and squeezes his hand. 

"I'll find you," he says again, finally letting go of his hand and nodding reassuringly. 

There's promise in the way he smiles at him, a little dazed but with such surety that Tony can't help but believe him. 

With that promise and the image of crinkling blue eyes, Tony summons his broom and leaps into the darkness below. 

[onebloodsoakedlion]

Destruction Calls (DBQ2 crossver oneshot)

Ryoma stared at the ceiling of the cell that was now his room. He was nearly crying. He and Malroth had fled the Isle of Awakening to avoid capture only to crash into a prison ship and get arrested anyways. And all because Malroth refused to fight back against the stupid Gargoyle that was holding Brownbeard hostage. Seriously though, Ryoma had an entire sack of healing herbs - they could’ve treated Brownbeard’s injuries after the fight was over. And considering how quick Ryoma was with the sword, chances were that said injuries would’ve been minimal! And besides, Malroth was the more... callous one here, so his surrendering to ensure Brownbeard would not have been hurt was unexpected.

Because of this, Ryoma was stuck in a prison. With nothing. And worst of all, he was dehumanised with a fucking number. Ryoma was so out of his depth that he didn’t even care if fucking Brownbeard had lived or died. He was furious that he was forced to make this sacrifice even if there were other options.

As he failed to get to sleep from his pure anger at the situation, he noticed a shadow appear in front of the prison bars. “It’s time to go, Builder. You’ve been here for long enough.” “Who are you” Ryoma growled. “I am the Puppeteer,” the shadow replied, reaching through the bars, slipping the young prisoner a hammer. His hammer. “This place will do you no good. It won’t do your friend any good. You must leave. Now.” The shadow dived through the bars, straight at Ryoma, dissolving into his body. Ryoma immediately got the urge to break the cell doors down. He slowly walked to the bars, hammer in both hands, before using Bigger Bash to break the bars to bits. It felt so good, as if he’d dealt a heavy dose of irony and karma to his captors. “What do you think you’re doing, 6207?! Think you can break out of this place? Well how about we break your bones, one by one!” Ryoma had no fear of the guard, only rage. He marched up to the skeleton and raised his hammer, before bringing it down on its bony head.

Of course the skeleton’s mates had to come running, so Ryoma switched from hammer to Dragonsbane. The skele squad’s attacks were no match for Ryoma’s swift slashes and dauntless dodging. He was enjoying this way too much. After the skeleton guards were defeated, Ryoma had just enough time to free Malroth and equip his armour before the inspector arrived. The builder didn’t even bother to explain to Malroth how he’d managed to get his stuff back or escape. “What is the meaning of this!? 6207, 6208, how did you even manage to escape!? And how did you even get back the stuff I confiscated from you!?” “None of that matters,” Ryoma growled back, “All that matters is you’re doomed. And it’s all your gods-damn fault.”

The inspector didn’t stand a chance. Ryoma was lightning-quick, and with an expertly-executed sword slash, he knocked the staff right out of the inspector’s hands before he could cast a single spell. Ryoma then proceeded to follow up with a spinning slice aimed at the magus’s lower body, leaving his legs with large lacerations that brought him to his knees. “You’re not killing me,” the shocked magus exclaimed. “Not just yet,” Ryoma replied, propping the inspector up and holding his blade to the monster’s throat, “I wanna show you something. You see, you pathetic children of Hargon keep raving on about how destruction is the way. Well I’ll give you destruction. I’ll destroy this fucking hellhole you call Skelkatraz, before I destroy you!” “No... no! You can’t do that,” the Inspector cried, “You can’t destroy Skelkatraz!” “Oh yes I can, idiotic beast,” Ryoma replied with a wide, menacing grin, “It fits well within the teachings of the Children of Hargon. It’s exactly what you asked for and exactly what you deserve!” What followed was an entire three hours of Ryoma laying waste to every single structure of Skelkatraz, fatigue and hunger be damned. Such destruction had inevitably entailed setting the other prisoners free, but the method and fury only left them with fear and concern. Ryoma would not stop until there was barely any sign that a prison was even there. Concluding his rampage at the crematorium on the Puppeteer’s orders, Ryoma begrudgingly awoke Brownbeard whose body was scheduled to be burned. “So you’re alive,” Ryoma growled as soon as Brownbeard was back on his feet, “That means our trip to this putrid prison wasn’t in vain.” “I’m so sorry that this has happened to you,” Brownbeard fearfully apologised Like I said, they - ” Ryoma interrupted by shoving a bag containing several doses of medicinal herbs and a sword into the sailor’s arms, “Next time someone tries to hold you hostage, fight back and heal yourself. Saves us ever having to surrender again.” Ryoma turned to the Inspector, who he had dragged along with him to watch the destruction of Skelkatraz. Even Malroth, who had helped the young Builder lay waste to the place seemed to pity the poor magus. “Skelkatraz is no more,” Ryoma growled, almost completely out of breath, “Now you know what happens next.” The Inspector trembled in fear. “You guys have always been such hypocrites, you know. You say that building is outlawed, yet you yourselves have the guts to build this prison to put human builders in.” The Inspector nodded, too scared to deny it. “You don’t actually hate building,” Ryoma continued, “You just hate when humans do it, because it gives them an unfair advantage over you monsters. You want to stop us humans from getting what we need in order to defeat you and thus be free live our own lives.” “That’s right,” the Inspector replied, “You humans are so weak without your creations that even two slimes working together could beat you! You would have no choice but to follow Hargon’s orders!” “You just want Hargon to have power over us, don’t you,” Ryoma replied as he slit the Inspector’s throat and let his body fall to the ground. “Burn in hell, you megalomaniac sympathiser,” Ryoma growled as the magus’s body dissipated, leaving behind his soul, which burned brightly for a few seconds before fading away.

Ryoma staggered to the docks, his hands stained with bone dust from the skeletons and magic essence from the Inspector. There were two boats - the boat he and Malroth would use to travel to other islands and a familiar-looking slave ship, the latter of which had only just docked. A gargoyle flew out, took one look at Ryoma and Malroth and its jaw dropped. “We sent you here four days ago and already you’ve escaped!?” Ryoma’s rage energised him once more. He sprinted at the gargoyle and threw his Dragonsbane straight into its chest. He lunged on the gargoyle as it screamed in pain and yanked the blade out of its body before leaping onto the ship and killing its mates with a mere few slashes. Ryoma proceeded to dump a heap of dry grass and oil on the ship before using a torch to set it alight. “Wow, you really are mad at these guys,” Malroth sighed, shaking his head. “This part of the game should never have existed,” Ryoma hissed back. “Game? What are you talking about,” Malroth asked, his head leaning to one side. “You wouldn’t understand,” Ryoma replied, “You’re just a character, bound to a script. Let’s get out of here.” Before Ryoma, Malroth or Brownbeard could set foot on their boat, the other prisoners, still in their raggedy rags, had followed them onto the docks. “C-can we come with you,” one of the prisoners asked, “Since you destroyed Skelkatraz... we don’t have anywhere to live!” “Are you kidding,” another exclaimed, “That boy and his mate are madmen! Didn’t you see their frothing rage as they wrecked the place?” “But what about us! He never hurt us! Sure he grabbed me, but that was just to move me out of the way so I didn’t get destroyed!” “That builder is scary! For all we know he could be worse than our captors!”

It had taken several round trips to get all the former prisoners of Skelkatraz to the Isle of Awakening. While some were pleased as punch to finally be free, others, fearful of Ryoma and Malroth, had made it clear that they only came because they had nowhere else to go. But after the first trip back to the Isle of Awakening, Ryoma had already disembarked, and he was nowhere to be seen.

[astromechs]

this is less an organized essay and more a series of scattered thoughts, but with the release of the ballad of songbirds and snakes, a hunger games prequel novel told from the perspective of coriolanus (aka future president) snow — arguably the worst villain in all of YA lit — and making him the hero of his own story, i had some thoughts about why this book ultimately worked for me, especially as compared to other recent works that have attempted the same thing.

namely infinity war, which attempted the same thing with thanos.

there is a clear delineation between humanizing a character versus sympathizing with them to the point that the narrative justifies their actions; to pull off the former without veering into the territory of the latter requires a great deal of skill and nuance. and i think is something that is worth trying to pull off, because it’s important to remember that even a monster like coriolanus snow and real people like him are human too — that people aren’t born monsters, but rather a confluence of external events and personal choices usually create them. so, i encourage this kind of story being told, but it’s imperative that they’re done well.

suzanne collins is conscious of this balance from ballad’s opening page. we learn a great deal about the backstory of panem’s future tyrant early on — that despite being born into a wealthy family, he comes from poverty because of the effects of the war on the people in the capitol. his parents are dead; he’s seen dead people cannibalized in the streets. coriolanus snow, like many of the people he will grow up to (continue to) oppress, comes from poverty and trauma. he is angry at the state of the world and how it does not help his family; he is human. and while this provides a backdrop for understanding the choices he makes and the actions he performs, these things do not excuse him.

in fact, collins makes it clear that, even though we seek to understand his humanity, we are not meant to root for coriolanus and his controlling personality, manipulative and self-serving tendencies, etc. the narrative is rife with people who come from similar circumstances but do not make the choices he does or act the way he does — there’s idealistic sejanus, his own cousin tigris (who we see helping katniss and the rebels in the trilogy), several capitol classmates who raise objections to various aspects of the games they are meant to mentor. snow may “land on top” in the end, based on his own perspective, “winning” the story as a protagonist is structurally meant to do, but the narrative is organized and told in such a way that makes it clear that it condones none of this.

(it’s interesting that i see some negative reviews of the book that cite “we can’t root for this guy” as a criticism, when — i’m pretty sure that’s the entire point.)

so, that’s what worked for me. why, by comparison, did infinity war not?

infinity war, for one, is told with far less care and nuance; the script is clearly framed like “lol we’re so cool and edgy for having the villain be the protagonist” without a lot of actual thought as to how to really pull this off. yes, it’s clear that he’s doing bad things, and yes, it’s clear that the movie is not advocating the murder of billions of people as right. but characters are rarely allowed to confront him directly — and the ones who do are not treated as narratively justified. (i’m thinking of gamora, who may be the only character in the film who’s allowed to straight up call him “insane” to his face, but that’s quickly brushed aside as something not that significant to the film.) he doesn’t really have foils like sejanus, or lucy gray, or any of the other myriad cast of characters given narrative importance in opposing corlionaus’s ideas by collins.

furthermore, we get things like a lingering shot of a single tear streaking down thanos’s face with swelling music after he’s just murdered (who he claims is) his beloved daughter. the focus is taken completely off of the horror of what he’s done, and the narrative wants us to completely immerse ourselves in his feelings — and reward him for them.

the horror, then, or what is supposed to be horror, is completely stripped away. this is how you get people saying things like “oh, i felt so sad that thanos had to kill his daughter! :(” or “well, maybe thanos was right!”

the ballad of songbirds and snakes did what other works could not pull off: it made us understand the humanity and motivations of coriolanus snow, without ever once making us forget that his behavior and his choices are horrible, and never, ever losing sight of that.

[concerningwolves]

Before the earth had settled, before magic allowed itself to be bent and shaped, humans lived in terror. Only a select few dared to brave the wildness of Ys. These were the fisherpeople — the Herdannan. They fished in the bays in early spring and harvested the herring’s eggs in summer, taking what they could from the teeming waters before winter descended once again. But no matter how bountiful the waterways of Ys, the land was hungry and perilous. Things from the marshes crept amongst their yurts at night and snatched children from the cradle, stealing faces and playing tricks with the human mind. Wolves savaged the goats and emptied the hunting grounds. 

And worst of all, ravens plagued the settlement night and day. 

(Rostfar scrunched up her nose and broke in, "No, not ravens.”

Skanna frowned down at the telling stones, and Natta frowned at Rostfar. 

"What else were they then?" Natta scoffed. "Flying ponies?" 

"No. Why would ponies—?" Rostfar gave up with a shake of her head. "Look." She pointed to where three chiselled divots in a vertical line intersected the painted symbol for a bird. "Not like Ethy’s ravens. Ravens like—like the wyrdaetha. They weren't really ravens at all." 

Skanna took the stone from Rostfar and held it closer to the candle. Her pale eyebrows arched. "You've good eyes, my girl. So they were." 

"I'd have seen that," Natta huffed, even though Rostfar knew her sister couldn’t read the stones. Not that she minded the lie. She just wanted to hear the rest of the story.) 

Wyrdaetha who assumed the shape of birds plagued their settlement. These not-ravens stole the fish from their nets and descended in great flocks during the roe-picking season, plucking the clusters of herring eggs straight from the hemlock branches as fast as people could harvest them. The fisherpeople were in despair.

But then, when the winter bore down upon them with freezing rains and hunger, a beast came walking. 

The beast was many things; he was a silent watcher who slumbered among the mountains, and he was a single constant in a world that was forever changing. One day, they would worship him as a god. But he was also a monster, and for this, the people feared him. His eyes gazed out on the world beneath brows of blooming fireweed, and the antlers of a caribou wreathed his head like a crown. Moss grew on his back and bees nested in the branches of his antlers, for he moved so slowly and so infrequently that he became a part of the land itself. 

The people called a meeting. Shambler, as they knew him then, was someone to live in awe of. Not someone to trust. He was magic itself, and magic had not been a friend of the fishers for many a year. 

"We haven't any choice," said the Old Man who served as both Dannaskeld and Dannhren. Nobody else wanted to lead or protect a settlement under siege.  "If he can call away the creatures, we may yet save our last roe harvest for trading." 

All the people seemed to agree, and that was when a boy spoke up. 

"But what is his price?" asked Boy. "We have nothing he would want." 

Old Man laughed. "Why would he ask anything in return? He came to us." 

The next morning, when Recc was high in the sky, Old Man went to Shambler. He seemed like a small replica of the mountains where he slept, just a few spans outside of the Fisherpeople's circle of huts. When he breathed, the earth shivered. 

"Will you help us?" Old Man asked. His voice startled a nesting flock of terns from the miniature forest on Shambler's back, and Shambler lifted his shaggy head with surprising speed. Old Man was afraid then, but he would not show it. 

"You've woken me," Shambler said in a voice that wasn't a voice at all. His words went right through Old Man's head, clear as day, but he had no mouth to speak with. "For what purpose?" 

Unease spidered down Old Man's back. But, undeterred, he said, "You came to us from your mountain roost. Was it to help?" 

Shambler hummed, and the earth hummed with him. 

"Perhaps," he replied. "We are kin, after all. Or perhaps not, for those you would have me defeat are my kind." Shambler rose until he stood on his hind legs with his long, long arms dangling down past his knees. He was so tall he blotted out both moons. 

“We will give you anything,” Old Man said, too hastily. He did not understand that the ancient mountain-beast had already decided. 

Shambler laughed. "Do not give me thanks. That is all I ask." 

"Do not give thanks?" 

"No," Shambler agreed, "I will not accept any instruments of debt from you, little one, not when I am going against my kind." 

Old Man sensed that he had a deal. From his belt he drew a sharp knife. Bending down to Old Man's height, Shambler held out one of his own hands. It was as big as a human was tall. Old Man drew the blade across his palm and pressed the wounded skin flush in the centre of Shambler's leatherlike hand. 

"We're settled," Shambler said. And with that, he turned and loped back into the mists from whence he came.

That night, the Fisherpeople were woken by the thunderous grinding of stone on stone. They stumbled from their yurts, children clinging on to the limbs of their parents in mute terror.

Cast in the light of both the red and silver moon, his body cut from the shadows of deep night, Shambler was an awesome sight to behold. In his long arms he held great boulders, and to these stones he whispered the words of a language that only the earth knew. When the rocks would not listen he hurled them out into the tundra and then went to retrieve them — all with a gentle, serene gait. 

In the morning, Shambler lay down near his huge pile of stone slabs and half-closed his eyes. The children, curious and frightened in equal measure, edged ever closer. They did not near him that day, nor the next. But after three nights, when Shambler had laid the foundations of the wall, he was no longer frightening. The first to approach him was a girl. Her name was Almr, a name that people would love and fear in equal measure in the centuries to come. 

Almr rode on Shambler's shoulder the next day, half-hidden amongst the fireweed and lousewort. He made strange flowers blossom from his palms and Almr wore them in her black hair with pride. Crisp, sweet berries grew along the ridges of Shambler's spine for the children to eat and he would hold them up so high that they could pretend to touch the clouds. They loved him, and he loved them in return. That, for Shambler, was worth more than all the thanks and gifts in the worlds. 

But Old Man did not understand. He was already planning, desperate to pass his titles on to someone — or something — else. He whispered to the children in the evenings across dying fires, planting suggestions: make him a bracelet, ask him to help, show him where baby hares sleep, seek him out for your chores. Unaware of anything but their fondness for this huge, slow beast, the children listened. They were, for the first time in their short memories, safe. The walls encompassed everything, with space aplenty for play, and for once their parents did not call after them in hushed terror. Shambler had given them that. So surely, they thought, they should give him something in return. 

By the Bloom’s end, Shambler had finished the walls around the settlement, but he showed no signs of leaving. The people grew accustomed to seeing him asleep outside their walls, or carrying most of the village children on his back. He helped with the roe-harvest and whispered old words to the earth to make it fertile. Beads of clay and silver adorned his antlers, glinting in the sun and moonlight, and the birds that once found safety on his body fled for quieter, child-free heights. The children wanted to share their sweetcakes, so Shambler made himself a mouth and sat at mealtimes, tiny little drinking-bowls clasped in his fingers. In time, the adults loved him, too. 

Only Almr withdrew from Shambler’s shadow. She heard how the adults spoke — asking favours when Shambler was content by blazing fires, using their children as mouthpieces if they thought he would not otherwise agree — and it rattled her to the core. Shambler had trusted Almr with his true name, told her secrets and showed her how to let the magic of the wyrdness into her soul. Old Man’s game made her bristle. 

In the depths of the night when everyone was asleep, Almr donned her cloak and crept out to Shambler’s sleeping-place. Seated upon his shoulder, she whispered her suspicions and begged him to leave. 

“I’ll come with you,” she said, holding on to the crags of his face so she could gaze into one drowsy amber eye. “But if you stay here, they’ll chain you up with your own kindness.” 

Shambler did not believe her. He didn’t want to. And he continued to dismiss her claims night after night, until the fateful feast on the last day of the Bloom. 

Safe in Shambler’s presence, everyone gathered outside of the walls eat and drink. Fires blazed and spirits burned bright in defiance of the long, dark winter to come. No creature of magic could cross their walls, their children were safe, and the summer had been bountiful. For this winter at least, they would want for nothing. 

Standing on a pile of sacks, Old Man blew his horn and called for quiet. His voice carried in the sudden stillness. “Tonight, we feast, and tomorrow we close up our homes against the winds. But there is someone who made all this possible — our friend, Shambler.” 

Cheers went up. Shambler nodded his head as if he was listening to an interesting new idea, his face otherwise impassive. Almr sat at her mother’s side and held her breath. 

“I asked the K’anakh smiths of Aaven to make you a gift finer than any you have had before.” At this, Old Man stepped off the sack-cloth and pulled it aside. Bone-forged steel glistened in the moonlight, huge links carved with beautiful patterns. Almr wondered how much corn Old Man had traded for it. She felt sick. 

Brow furrowed, Shambler lifted the chain and held it up between forefinger and thumb. His newly made mouth curved into a grimace, but Old Man did not seem to notice. With a triumphant smile, he drove the final blow home. 

“You are loved here, my friend. Without you, I fear we would have died — our children would have died, starving and frozen.” He reached up and placed a hand on Shambler’s leg. “For that, we thank you from the bottom of our hearts.” 

Shambler dropped the chain. He looked past Old Man, across the fire-pits, and met Almr’s eyes. A shiver of rage passed through his body, stirring the earth and making the walls tremble. 

“You have shared your last meal in my company,” Shambler said. “Tomorrow, I leave.” And then, without another word, he lay down with his back to the people, as unyielding and cold as the mountains he came from.

And he kept his word. 

On the first morning of winter, after five whole months among the herdanna, Shambler went home with Almr sitting proudly on his shoulder. Seeing this, some of Almr’s closest friends gave chase. They followed all the way out into the tundra, where Shambler welcomed them with open arms. 

“Where are you going?” Old Man yelled from atop the walls. 

“I am Erdan,” the beast called. “I nurtured your kind, pulled you from the foaming sea, and I would have loved you no matter what you did. But you’ve wounded my faith in you.” 

“But we gave you our gratitude!”

At that, Erdan turned around. New flowers bloomed on his arms and back, and birds had returned to his antlers, sensing a change on the winds. Almr was the one who spoke. She stood between his antlers, a crown of flowers in her hair, and cupped her hands around her mouth. 

“No, we did.” She held out her arms to show the other children. They waved. “You tried to trap him with guilt and use his good old heart against him.’S best you let us go, else he might lose his faith in all of humankind everywhere — and then you’d starve for real.” She grinned, bright and gleeful, Erdan’s magic humming in her veins. 

Old Man gaped, but no words would come out. 

Content with his newfound company and satisfied with a job well-done, Erdan turned and loped away into the horizon. And all the children went with him. 

Don’t know who or what a “when dealing with wolves” is? Here’s the info post.

A wild Ysan folktale for WDWW appears! It’s been aaaaages since the last tale (Speaker and Shield) but! Hopefully, it won’t be too long until I get the next instalment out. This just spent a very long time in my drafts and i forgot abt it oops. 

Tag crew: @yvesdot @kriss-the-writing-nerd @lady-redshield-writes @thespooniewrites @weaver-of-fantasies-and-fables @wri-tten @oheoo @focusdumbass @wolvesofarcadia @incandescent-creativity @heniareth @ofvisitorsthefairest@reikeburgen @mirror-of-too-many-books @pixiepurple 

If you want to be added to/ removed from the tag list, just let me know!  

[fourteendoors]

The Queen of Akzetha and the King of Crete

Image credit to Denys Tsiperko on artstation. Most modern stories about the Minotaur suck. I’m allowed to say this because I’m an Artist, and therefore objectively correct about everything. These stories suck because they focus on Theseus, a boring prettyboy whose only real talent is murder, instead of the much more interesting blend of divine retribution, personal tragedy, and general horniness that underlies the creation myth of the Minotaur. So, before we go any further, let’s have a quick refresher of the story, and then a dissection as to why I like it so much.

The Minotaur is a creature entirely born from the fuck-up of King Minos of the Isle of Crete. Upon ascending to the throne of Crete, Minos was having trouble consolidating power, and as such asked the sea-god Posideon to send him a snow-white bull to show that the gods favored him for leadership. Posideon asked Minos to sacrifice the bull to honor him, but Minos valued the bull so much that he instead sacrified another instead. Angry at this, Posideon caused Minos’ wife, Pasiphae, to become incredibly attracted to the bull, at which point she begged the inventor Daedalus to build her a bull-shaped armature so that she could have sex with it. Upon doing so, she became pregnant with the half-man, half-beast Minotaur, who, being divided between two species had no natural source of food, and so (logically) was only able to subsist off devouring human flesh. Although Pasiphae attempted to take care of it for a time, eventually Minos imprisoned it in his Labyrinth, constructed by Daedalus. There’s a ton of interesting things here. Firstly, that the Minotaur was entirely born out of hubris and spite. He’s not a monster because he was made by an evil god, he’s a monster because he was made by an incredibly petty one. The detail about the wooden cow is incredibly choice, but not really gameable (although I am begging someone to prove me wrong.) It’s interesting that Minos chose to imprison the beast, rather than kill it. If you can contain something enough to trap it in a giant maze you had your inventor friend build, surely just straight-out murdering it wouldn’t be impossible? I like to imagine that Minos felt some guilt about what he’d done to his son, and couldn’t bear to have it killed on his own orders until Theseus arrived. Anyway. Here’s a Minotaur-variant you can stick in your own games. ------ The Queen of Akzetha The Kingdom of Akzetha is a small city-state on the Sea of Silk. It’s not a Kingdom anymore- it hasn’t been for the past few decades- but the Council currently in charge of the city is absolutely resolute that Akzetha is a kingdom, and will be known as such. (They tried to issue an official motion to transition the city into the Republic of Akzetha. They had to suspend the vote because of the nightmares.) For its size, Akzetha is fairly wealthy. This is mostly due to the exploits of its founder, Vrantearn the Serpent, a legendary Yncol pirate who terrorized the Sea of Silk for nearly a century. Upon his retirement, he took the hand of a legendary songstress in marriage, and bought the island where he would found his Kingdom. Vrantearn’s hoard funded the fleets of trade ships that now ply the Sea of Silk, making the early years of the kingdom very profitable for The Serpent and his loyal crew. There is a story about his death, and the story goes like this. Vrantearn and his lover had a daughter after Azketha’s founding- a clever and bright-eyed girl named Xurah. Vrantearn truly loved his child, and spoilt her with exotic trinkets from across the known world. One night, while Xurah was being tutored in poetry by a Cvess philosopher, a bedraggled man approached Vrantearn’s throne. He claimed to be a priest of Rhulenkaath, the goddess of blood and birds and contracts, and asked after a certain artifact that had come into the Pirate King’s possession. The artifact was of grave importance to the priesthood, and if Vrantearn would turn it over they would consecrate a new temple in his honor. The Serpent simply laughed, saying he had no need for the assistance of a goddess who could not protect her own subjects, and turned the man away. Ill omens followed. Traders at port found that the touch of gold opened cuts on the skin of their palms. Vrantearn’s prized monkey died, bleeding black ink from its eyes. And Xurah grew strange and distant, keeping odd hours and odder habits. The people whispered of the wrath of the goddess, of the folly of the Pirate King. One day, Xurah entered the royal bedchambers and devoured both her parents whole. The girl hungered for blood, and although the guards fought valiantly they found that she healed from any wound they could give her. It was only through the wit of the King’s advisor that they were able to Xurah beneath the palace, in a network of secret passageways that had been built if an escape was ever needed. The entrances were sealed, but for a single accessway, watched day and night by guards to ensure the monstrous child would never escape. This is what the story tells. It less often discusses what happens next. Although Xurah is monstrous (guards report glimpses of feathers and talons and wide, dark eyes), she is intensely intelligent, charismatic, and persuasive. The art of statecraft seems like an intriguing game to her, and it is one she is very, very good at. And although the Council would never admit it, in matters of politics they still often answer to her. It goes like this. The most heinous criminals in Akzetha are sentenced to the worst fate imaginable: to be devoured by Xurah. They will not go willingly, of course, and so they’re often given a soporific beforehand. Under the soporific, a question may be tattooed on their back- ‘should we go to war,’ perhaps, or ‘how do we cure the blight.’ They are cast down into the dark, and they are not seen again. The answer will usually appear by the next morning, either in a dream, whispered on the wind, or (in one particularly unpleasant case) spelled out in animal viscera on the floor of a Councilman’s estate. This is the price for the questions of state. For questions of one’s own life- the Councilmen’s aspirations, their relationships, their future- Xurah demands flesh from one’s own body. In recent days, a change has occurred in Xurah’s behavior that terrifies the members of the Council. It’s not that she’s began to try to escape- far from it. Xurah’s entire life has been marked by escape attempts, each more elaborate and unpredictable than the last. (The Council has spent a fortune hiring wizards and engineers to try and keep up.) Rather, it’s the fact that in the past year, Xurah has not tried to break free once. The more optimistic members of the Council speculate that her will is broken, that she is now utterly resigned to her fate. The more pessimistic members say that she’s only biding her time, or even perhaps that she’s realized that staying trapped beneath the earth can inflict more cruelty upon them than her release ever could. And in the dockside inns and on the cold beaches at night, you will sometimes hear the commoners speak of a queen that speaks in dreams, a queen whose crown is wind and blood... ------ How To Use Xurah In Your Games: Xurah will take an interest in your PCs, because your PCs are likely interesting. What this interest will actually mean is entirely up to you. Perhaps she’ll want to eat them (if that’s what she’s doing), and will convince the Council to frame them for something heinous and cast them down into her lair. Perhaps they’ll end up serving her, knowingly or unknowingly, following the cryptic words on the wind and the voice in their dreams. (She can pay them well- there are caches of pirate treasure all over the island, and she knows each and every one.) Maybe she’s not even interested in escaping anymore, and is instead looking for the PCs to assist her in her newest scheme- perhaps killing the old rivals of her father, or serving the interests of the god who made her. I wrote Xurah’s followers as acting on her behalf, but I actually like it better if they’re not, instead misinterpreting random dreams as signs of divine prophecy. Of course, when Xurah tries to drive them away with nightmares, that’s just more signs that the prophecy is fulfilled. This gives Xurah, the Council, and the cultists a push-and-pull aspect, each ostensibly allied with the other, but secretly working on their own agenda.

[pxiao]

Reasons I’m glad V///R is dead and gone forever

So V//R is dead and cancelled and my only reaction is FINALLY. Since VR is gone and we can finish forgetting the forgettable show and get rid of all our salt. You’re free to add to the post but there are rules. 

1. DO NOT TAG IT SO THE FANS CAN SEE. As much as I hate the show and the fandom even they don’t deserve to see people bashing the show in their tag. 

2. Don’t write the name of the show or the characters. Use /// or ---- in the character’s name like Yu///saku so the tumblr search can’t pull them up

ok good? Good. 

Everyone but Yu///saku is worthless. 

Seriously when have any of the characters actually progressed the story? Potentially only SB have done anything truly worthwhile. Everyone else was just to die to build tension for Yu//saku. And if you’re asking for RE///volver. OHHH I have a section just for him, don’t you worry.

Sto//rm Acc/ess aka Yu//saku is such a shitty duelist that the MINORITY of his duels has him not cheating. 

SERIOUSLY it’s written that Yu//saku can get a random extra deck monster with his skill BUT the issue is despite it being “random” Yu//saku ALWAYS gets the monster he needs to win. NOT ONCE IN THE 100+ EPISODE HAS HE GOTTEN A USELESS CARD. ALWAYS THE ONE HE NEEDS. Totally doesn’t seem like plot armor. And you know it wouldn’t be as big of an issue IF HE DIDN’T USE IT FOR EVERY SPE///ED DUEL!!!!!!!! For a character that the show likes to say is “invincible” he sure isn’t good enough to win with the deck he built. It got ridiculous with his duel with G/oo in season 2 where G//o countered his skill BUT A//i revealed it had a secondary effect that let him draw a card AND still get a new extra deck monster. 

Plot twists: 

They fall into two camps, “we already knew you dumbasses” or “THE HELL WERE YOU GUYS SMOKING!” Essentially the twists are obvious like A///i was based off of Yu//saku’s data as why wouldn’t he be. Or the dumb ones like Spec///tre beating A///oi or somehow Spec//tre had CONSCIOUS TREE AS A MOTHER. There have been a few twists that I can count that surprised me but they lead to other twists that fall back into stupid.  

the “Plot” just plain doesn’t exist.

 It’s just things happening with some connecting plot lines BUT they rarely lead into each other. Light///ning revealed that his plan was happening THE EXACT SAME TIME as season 1′s finale. A//i being the villain is more due to Light//ning’s simulation somehow proving that A///i will destroy humanity than the fact that A/i’s the only Ig//nis left. And each season’s arc has no connecting plot either. Season 1 can be broken down to Yu//saku gets A//i which has him meet the “main cast” and then Yu///saku go to S//OL for info that was TOTALLY pointless. Which is isolated from Re//volver setting a virus that traps you on the internet which leads to Re//volver learning Yusa//ku’s face AND MEETING HIM but does jack shit with that info. And then Re///volver’s final plan happens that was based on timing than anything else. 

Does that seem disjointed? YEP because there is no narrative at all, things are just happening. There is a vague connection at best but none of the characters’ actions actually affect how the story goes. THE FRUSTRATING PART IS THEY SET UP MOMENTS WHERE THEY COULD HAVE BUT THEY DIDN’T. SEASON 2 AND 3 IS THE SAME THINGS JUST HAPPEN AND THEN YU//SAKU HAS TO SAVE THE FUCKING DAY. V/R has no rhyme or reason why things happen, they just do and let me tell you, that’s fucking boring.

The Yu//saku praise

 My fucking god. Look the protagonist getting praised isn’t new, it happens with each series BUT the issue is the volume that Yu//saku gets and how early he gets it. Most protagonists have to wait till at least the second series before the population love them. Yu///saku got it by the THIRD EPISODE. BY. BEAT. A. MOOK. He was called a hero, people were saying he was hot, people were copying his avatar. AND IT NEVER STOPPED. EVERY OTHER EPISODE HAS SOMEONE SAY HE’S AMAZING, STRONG AND SOOO IMPORTANT. 

An A//oi episode in season 1 has a less than five minute section just to show that a kid HERO WORSHIPS YU//SAKU AND WAS IT. The kid appears with an avatar based on PM, PM saves him and tells the kid to trust him to save and then the kid logs out. AND THIS HAPPENS CONSTANTLY. “YU//SAKU IS INVINCIBLE”, “YU//SAKU IS MY HERO!”, “EVERYONE DEPENDS ON YOU YU//SAKU”. IT’S BEEN AN ENTIRE SHOW OF PEOPLE SINGING YU///SAKU’S PRAISES AND THE WORST PART OF IT IS, HE DESERVES NONE OF IT.

The setting. 

Let me ask ... THE FUCK IS IT. What even is Link Vr//ains? Is it a game, a site, a program? WHY IS IT ONLY IN DE///N CITY? WHY IS DESTROYING IT WILL LEAD TO THE ENTIRE INTERNET CRASHING???????? Link Vr///ains is something that NEEDS to be explained but the show NEVER DOES. HELL IT NEVER EVEN TRIES. 

The girls

Jesus christ ... the girls are .... just sad. A///oi ... my fucking god A//oi. A///oi’s personality starts and ends with “onii-sama”. NEARLY EVERY MOTIVE OF HER’S IS I WANT TO DO SOMETHING FOR MY STEPBROTHER. Everything else is a passing fancy. Mi///yu? Yeah nice motivation but that’s why her two duels as BM in season 2 is more about her relationship with Ak//ira than her “friend”. 

Em//ma’s backstory was absorbed into BS’ despite the fact he was a new addition when Em//ma was around since season 1. 

Vir//ya is just a bit character meant to fill out the remain KOH, since their return in season 2, she haven’t done anything of value. 

Qu///een ... why is she there? I mean she appeared in a Bikini ... in virtual reality. seriously there is no point in that shit, and then did nothing besides watch over Ear//th’s death and then lost to A//i when her skill was named honey trap. 

Mi////yu is so unimportant we haven’t gotten a scene of her out of flashback despite being a lost chi//ld.   

Back to A//oi, it’s not even that A//oi isn’t important,sadly that’s not uncommon in YGO, it’s the fact EACH TIME SHE TRIES TO DO SOMETHING, THE SHOW PUNISHES HER FOR IT. She tries to be a symbol for people, it’s stupid why she trying but still, Spec///tre reveals he was toying with her the entire time and she had no chance. She tries to get stronger in season 2, SB beats cause she doesn’t have an Ig//nis and then she does nothing for half the season. She tries to save her “childhood friend”, Bow//man beats her and takes her consciousness so Yu//saku has to save her ... again. She tries to protected Ak//ira, A//i beats them and only takes A//oi to taunt her over her failure. THROUGHOUT THE ENTIRE SHOW, ANYTIME A//OI TRIES TO DO ANYTHING, THE SHOW BEAT HER UP AS IF TO SAY, YOU SHOULDN’T DO ANYTHING EVER. Great message there. 

Simulations

You know as people there are plenty of reasons that conflict starts, greed, hate, anger, lust, desperation to survive, hunger. And how does conflict start in V/r? FUCKING SIMULATIONS. EVERY SINGLE CONFLICT IN THIS SHOW IS BECAUSE OF A SIMULATION. K//OH are a thing cause Kog///ami did a simulation that showed that the Ig//nis are learning TOO FAST AND WILL CAUSE THE END OF HUMANITY. Ligh///tning turned evil because he learned no matter what he can NEVER BE FRIENDS WITH HUMANITY CAUSE OF A SIMULATION. A///i turning “evil” because he’s doom to end the world cause of you guessed it a SIMULATION. Simulations are just tools and are NEVER THE FINAL RESULT. There are too many variables to truly make an 100% accurate simulation BUT HERE THEY ACT AS IF SIMULATIONS ARE A FUCKING GOSPEL. IT’S STUPID AND INCREDIBLY LAZY THAT THE CAUSE OF ALL the conflict in this show is because of independent simulations.  

Mental illness

As a person with a mental illness and went to therapy I can say this, VR doesn’t deserve any brown points for covering mental illness. If anything VR touching mentally illness takes points away. I have already said my piece on how poorly VR tackles mental illness. But my take away is this when it comes to mental illness VR is a absolutely horrible.

Rev///ovler

Re//voler is in all honestly a shitty character despite what his fans think. He’s an asshole that has no drive of his own. He admit he does this all BECAUSE OF HIS DAD. The one time he did do something of his own accord, turn his dad in, he later regretted so much that he refuses to do it again. LOOK I can understand missing your father despite the fact he’s trash, human relationships are complex BUT RE///VOLVER BEING “FATHER I WILL NEVER EVER GO AGAINST YOU AGAIN DESPITE THE FACT YOU KIDNAPPED KIDS AND THEN TORTURED THEM BECAUSE YOU FELT SAD HUMAN WILL EVENTUALLY GO EXTINCT ONLY TO TURN ON YOUR CREATIONS” IS FUCKING STUPID. And then he goes the EXTRA MILE OF ASS and says to Yu//saku’s face that he REGRETS SAVING HIS LIFE TWICE. And he never apologized either. 

Also his “development” is forced as shit, Revo//lver never develops onscreen or shows signs of changing, just the show and characters say OH YES RE//VOLVER CHANGED.... IN A SHORT PERIOD OF TIME.  Honestly after his return in season 2 where he showed he DIDN’T CHANGE, then he tries to help Hom//ura despite telling Yu//saku he regrets saving him. WHY THE CHANGE. HE HAS SEEN NOTHING THAT MADE HE FEEL SYMPATHY FOR THE LOST KI//DS. BUT HE’S ALL OF A SUDDEN KIND TO HO///MURA. AND THEN AFTER HE LOSES TO LIGH//TNING AND SAY’S A/I NAME, ONLY TO SNAP BACK IN SEASON 3 AND WANTS TO KILL A///I. What I’m saying is, he has no real character development, you can tell what the show WANTED him to become but my god they were too lazy to actually show him changing. 

Yu//saku

OH BOY this is going to be long. Yu//saku is by far the WORST WRITTEN PROTAGONIST IN YGO HISTORY.  He has no personality and no real background besides HE WAS TORTURED, POOR HIM!!!!! Seriously what was his life like before the Lo//st Incident. What did he like to do, did he have friends, where the fuck are his parents. There is no information about him, past or present. Like his current “personality”, WHAT IS IT besides he’s stoic/emotionless. He’s not nice or even mean anymore. He has no likes or even dislikes. All we know is he’s determined ... and that’s it. Yu//saku is a blank slate for the viewers to project on. Yu//saku is honestly NOTHING. 

Honestly, Yu///saku isn’t strong as he cheats the MAJORITY of his duels, he isn’t smart as rarely does he do anything that’s smart, wanting to brutal force the solution and he doesn’t follow his own advice. 

Yu//saku: Bonds are important and the only thing that are absolutes

Yu//saku then fucks off for 3 MONTHS NOT TELLING ANYONE

And like Re//volver, his “development” is forced as hell. He just says things that make no sense for him to say. Yu//saku shouldn’t say revenge doesn’t help WHEN IT OBVIOUSLY DID. The show was supporting him and he got the guy that kidnapped him killed and then he got better. HELL JI//N WAS SAID TO GET BETTER ONCE THE K//OH WERE BEAT.   

[regularlyfe]

you know, every once and a while I really get to thinking about the big plot details of the TAZ Balance arc and Lucretia’s whole thing really fucks me up.

Don’t get me wrong, I adore her, and no one is their best self in truly desperate situations, let alone something like what she was going through, but so many of the choices she made...

Like I’m not even going to cover the whole mind wipe thing because what happened to Davenport is literally my worst nightmare with not even a shred of hyperbole, I’m just gonna focus rn on the whole “cutting the planar system off from the Prime Material plane,” because that alone is a whole mountain plus some.

So like the details of her plan, if I recall correctly, were that she would cast an abjuration spell, powered by the Light of Creation, around the whole of the Prime Material plane in order to shield the Light from the Hunger’s scouts, and eventually starve the Hunger out.

That’s a fantastic plan if there aren’t any consequences, like all the logic is sound. You don’t have to figure out how to kill the giant vore monster, you don’t have to dump a bunch of incredibly powerful, incredibly dangerous, and guaranteed to be used artifacts on some unsuspecting inhabitants, it’s just a waiting game, and then you’re done.

But like immediately the consequences were recognized and pointed out. The bonds between the Prime Material plane and the rest of the planar system would be severed, and all the planes would starve, wasting away and dying.

The inhabitants of 12 planes of reality would die.

Now I know that DnD universes tend to be smaller in population than our particular world, but even if we reduce the population of each entire plane to that of a single planet, say earth-scale, that is a LOT of lifeforms.

Ignoring the current, generous, estimation of 8 billion humans, there are estimates ranging between 8.7 million to of 11.3 million with a few going upwards of a billion and to scales of a trillion in accounting for deep water microbial life in numbers of species.

So let’s be generous and assume a biodiversity count at around 10 million species, getting rid of the microbes and adding some of the magical creatures.

Did you know the online world atlas estimates about 900 million dogs exist on the planet today? 7.8 billion humans exist in our world. 1.5 billion cows. 2 million rats in New York City alone, and that’s 784 sq km out of all flat land on the planet being 148.94 million sq km. Mice, squirrels, and bats are considered to be on the same scale as the rats.

But let’s continue to ere on the conservative side here and go with the average population per species be somewhere around raccoon level. In North America, the estimated raccoon population is between 5 and 10 million, and the global population is estimated to be around 20 million and rising.

So let’s go with 15 million. Again, trying to be conservative with our numbers.

These assumptions brought together, we are saying each plane - note that the Prime Material plane encompasses and entire universe - only has one, sparsely inhabited, earth-sized planet’s (or equivalent) worth of population. And that population is broken down to approximately 10 million species with 15 million members per species.

Now a lot of this is incredibly hand-wavy and vague - I am definitely not an ecologist - but I feel like for estimating a fantasy planar system’s population while giving the Director the benefit of the doubt by assuming low, this has at least some grounding.

So we have 12 planes, with 10,000,000 species each, and 15,000,000 members per species.

This would ultimately be 12*10,000,000*15,000,000 lifeforms.

1,800,000,000,000,000 lifeforms.

1.8 million billion lifeforms.

Numbers like these tend to make more sense when translated into into terms of time, so say, if each lifeform equated a single second, then that would be over 57 million years.

And this is a generous estimate.

This is a possible number of lives that could be lost if Lucretia had succeeded in putting her plan into action.

**And, I just want to say as a quick aside here, I forgot about the ethereal plane, which a checked to make sure it did in fact have inhabitants (it does), which bumped this from 11 to 12 planes. That was an increase of 150,000,000,000,000 lifeforms, or ~4,700,000 years - remembering that each second of those years is a life - from the time translation. It’s hard to see that significance when the majority of the characters in a number are 0, so I just wanted to make that clear.

Now the relics definitely had incredibly high death counts. I’d say it’s reasonable to argue that those counts would be comparable to the counts of our wars, and not to rehash any specifics, but out all pre-history, midieval, and modern wars the highest estimates remained in the tens of millions, no higher than 85 million deaths.

Of course, without saying, that is an utterly horrifying number of lives lost. But that versus not just one people’s lives lost, but the entirety of a set of world’s existence?

That’s a scale difference in the realm of 10s of million, specifically around 21,176,470 times larger in size.

I know the ethical dilemma of arguing the value of one life versus the value of many is an age old debate, but when it comes to person-scale war versus the destruction of not one but eleven universes?

Literally the choice to allow people to fight each other with absurdly dangerous magic versus allowing all of this planar system’s existence to waste to nothingness?

Which, mind you, the destruction of entire planar systems is exactly what the Hunger was doing. The crew of the Starblaster was trying to stop all that.

This is not just a mass extinction event, it’s the end of everything to this planar system, changing it in a way such that it will never produce any semblance of life again. Like in Cycle 82 when the Plane of Magic vivisected the Prime Material Plane, life in the whole system was destroyed, as the system no longer functioned in a way that could sustain anything more meaningful than shells of what had been before.

Like optimistically, the Hunger starves before the Planar System does, and minimal casualties occur. But the Hunger has the energy of Many, Many, Many more planar systems, just like, in it. Because who knows how long it had been consuming these things before the crew showed up.

So really, the best case is that the planar system changes, and everything designed to function in the previous flow of the system dies, the Hunger dies, and eventually life that can function in this new, changed system comes into being after, I don’t know, another universe, that jives with the new flow, is made within the Prime Material Plane?

I feel like this is a case of preferring an semi-unknown to a clear known.

Because the crew has seen powerful artifacts, citing a 5 wizards out of 7 party. And they have a solid grasp on the power levels of the Light, citing both the time spent with it to build the Starblaster and the entirety of the Stolen Century. So it’s pretty clear what the consequences of supercharging some enchanted artifacts with the Light and dropping them on some unsuspecting planet will be.

Especially if these artifacts are 100% definitely going to be used due to Craveability.

They had to have seen, and likely fairly up close, the kind of damage that heavy-hitting magical artifacts plus the Light of Creation can do in the previous century, just not in the precise configuration of the artificing plan sets up.

Where as they haven’t ever actively cut off a Prime Material Plane from the rest of the system. Sure, they had spent years studying planar systems as members of the IPRE and they had the whole century to observe planar systems in many configurations. Enough to develop an incredibly solid hypothesis of what would happen, but they never really saw something similar in action.

But 6 out of the 7 members of the crew were able to see the possible consequence of “The whole planar system would slowly, painfully starve to death in literally every way possible,” and decided “yeah, fuck that,” save for Lucretia.

And I know we can get attached to our own ideas, but when you see violent wars versus the collapse of all of this planar system’s existence?

Like don’t get me wrong, the relics were pretty dang bad, but to not even trust the crew so far as to try to persuade an adjustment of the relic plan once the damage started getting truly awful?

Just jumping straight to, “I guess I should erase all of their memories of the people closest to them, and dropping them in a world where they now have LITERALLY no one”?

I digress on the memory thing, I did say I was gonna keep that out of this post, but seriously.

If she couldn’t trust the crew as her family to agree with her that the relics were bad, and maybe they should try something else because it was tearing their family apart as much as it was tearing apart the world down below; couldn’t she at least trust them (and herself) as a committee of literally All of Existence’s foremost experts on planar systems, the Light of Creation, and the Hunger, and if 6 out of 7 experts can conclude the catastrophic end of ta planar system from severing the bonds between its planes, maybe she should consider it too?

Like, they didn’t write her off out of spite or a lack of faith in her magic ability. They just said that they’d rather some wars ravage a particular plane until maybe they could find something better instead of initiating total planar collapse.

[eldritchsurveys]

646.

How are you doing today? >> Could be better, could be worse. I’m still a bit depressed but I’m hoping it’ll even out. The Inworlders have been very helpful.

What was the best thing that happened to you today? >> Er... I mean, nothing. Nothing much has happened at all.

Which cell phone network are you on? >> Boost Mobile.

Do you like the smell of cinnamon? >> Sure.

What was the last book you've read? >> The last book I finished was a reread of PZB’s Lost Souls. I’m working on Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood right now.

Are you hungry right now? >> No.

What was the last thing you've had to drink? >> Water.

How often do you visit this website? >> This website? Daily. Bzoink? Whenever I need a new survey to take (not that I always find one, mind you. Bzoink is very hit or miss with a marked emphasis on “miss”.)

Do you like frogs? >> I mean... not particularly? They’re cool sometimes, I guess. Mostly they’re just... there.

Are you afraid of dying? >> Sometimes.

Do you like bananas? >> I hate bananas.

Name a movie that you hate. >> I didn’t like Meet the Spartans. That whole genre of movie should have stopped at Scary Movie.

Do you like the show American Dad? >> No. Maybe I just don’t get it.

What TV show do you miss the most that's no longer on TV? >> Galavant.

Are you currently fighting with someone right now? >> No.

Is your life full of drama? >> It really isn’t.

How long can you hold your breath underwater >> I don’t know.

Where's the last place you've been to out of state? >> Houston, Texas.

Have you ever been kissed in the rain? >> Probably.

What letter does your last name start with. >> D.

What are you listening to right now? >> Nothing.

Have you ever had a pet that died? >> Wasn’t my pet, per se. Vlad had a cat die whlie I was living there, and Sparrow’s cat died this past October.

Would you rather use a trackpad or a mouse? >> Depends on what I’m doing. For just using the internet or whatever my trackpad works fine, but when I’m gaming I obviously need a mouse.

Do you consider yourself politically intelligent? >> No.

Have you ever done any volunteer work? >> No.

Do you like the Beatles? >> No.

Is it night time where you're at right now? >> No, it’s early afternoon.

Do you like steak? >> No.

Do you eat healthy? >> I just eat, man. Whatever.

How often do you work out? >> I don’t.

What was the best gift you've ever received? >> *shrug*

Have you ever participated in a spelling bee? >> Yeah. When I was in fourth grade, I won the spelling bee in my school, so I was supposed to go on to regionals -- but apparently, fourth-graders were too young to go to regionals. I was the first fourth-grader to win in the school bee’s history so they’d never had to deal with that. My father raised a big stink about it because he said that if fourth-graders aren’t eligible for regionals, they shouldn’t have been allowed to participate in the school bee in the first place. Somehow this conflict was so interesting to people (or my father’s just such an adept big-stink-raiser, which is most likely) that it ended up in the newspaper and on the evening news. ...And no, I personally did not fucking care either way. This was just one more example of adults placing undue importance on something that did not matter to me and never would matter in the grand scheme of my life, and just shoving me into a spotlight regardless of my feelings. Also, fuck spelling bees as a concept anyway.

If you could have one wish right now, what would it be? >> ---

Do you owe anyone an apology right now? >> No.

Are you the jealous type of person? >> No.

Have you ever tried doing yoga? >> Yeah. It doesn’t quite agree with me, unless I’m just doing the wrong kind or something.

Do you like getting massages? >> Me? The person who hates being touched? Hmm...

Would you rather be too hot or too cold? >> I’d just rather not be in any kind of extreme weather condition, thanks.

Are you good at telling jokes? >> No.

When was the last time you've attended a sleepover? >> ---

Tell me one of your pet peeves. >> I’d rather not.

Do you wear glasses? >> No.

Do you like to keep your nails painted? >> No.

Have you ever had a pedicure? >> Probably, a long time ago.

What is your favorite smell? >> ---

Do you like the TV show Full House? >> Never watched it, not interested.

Would you rather listen to country music or rap music? >> I like both, so.

Are you a Duck Dynasty fan? >> No.

Have you graduated high school yet? >> Yeah.

What kind of person were you in middle school? >> I don’t know. Probably a socially maladjusted one doing its best.

Do you have any major regrets in your life? >> Meh.

Have you ever thought about running away? >> Yeah.

Do you like pixie sticks? >> Not so much anymore. But there’s still some kind of fun novelty about them, despite the fact that I don’t really want to pour pure sugar down my gullet.

Do you like French toast? >> I like it a certain way.

Are you a fast typer? >> Yes.

Are you good at doing math in your head? >> Some math.

Have you ever played with Silly Putty? >> Not to my recollection, but maybe.

Do you take in a lot of caffeine daily? >> No. Caffeine fucks with me too much.

Do you like watching Football? >> No.

What language do you wish you could speak? >> ---

Do you know a lot about history? >> Not a lot, no.

If we could travel back in time, where would you travel to? >> ---

Would you ever consider joining the military? >> I would literally rather die.

Do you think women should be allowed to have abortions? >> Yes.

Are you a cigarette smoker? >> Not usually.

Have you ever done something you didn't want to just to look cool? >> No.

Do you like zombie movies? >> Not usually. Shaun of the Dead and Zombieland were fun, though.

Have you seen The Hunger Games? >> No, but I’ve read them. I don’t like the casting choices in the movies so I don’t know if I’ll bother watching them.

Do you have a favorite piece of clothing? >> No.

Do you own any Uggs? >> No.

Are you wearing any rings on your fingers? >> Not right now.

Name a TV show that you absolutely can't stand. >> Meh.

Do you have any unusual talents? >> I don’t have any talents, usual or otherwise.

Do you look like your age? >> I don’t know what the fuck I look like age-wise and I don’t care.

Do you feel confident in a bathing suit? >> No, I don’t like bathing suits at all.

Do you do a lot of online shopping? >> Not a lot.

Do you like the Harry Potter films? >> Some of them.

Do you judge people based on their sexual orientation? >> No.

Have you ever been told you had an accent? >> I mean, probably.

Have you ever ridden an elephant? >> No.

Are you allergic to pollen? >> No.

Have you ever eaten sushi? If so, do you like it? >> Yes, and I like it fine.

Are you a fan of anime? >> Sure. Not every single one in existence, obviously, but there are plenty I enjoy.

Would you rather play Xbox or Playstation? >> PlayStation seems to have more games I like. But I actually prefer PC gaming.

Are you a big fan of seafood? >> Yes.

What kind of food are you craving right now? >> None, I’m not hungry.

Are you currently in a relationship? If not, are you happy being single? >> I am in relationships.

Do you depend on others for happiness? >> Obviously. People made the video games I play, after all. Just as an example. Also, since I’m not a complete hermit, obviously I keep company with other people for some reason...

Do you like to go fishing? >> Never been, probably wouldn’t care for it. Even video-game fishing is the worst.

Are you a fast runner? >> I don’t know.

Have you ever worked at a fast food place? >> No.

What's on your mind right now? >> The answers I’m giving to these questions.

Are you texting anyone as you're taking this survey? >> No.

Have you ever had a nasty rumor spread about you? >> Probably.

Have you ever sent someone sexual pictures of yourself? >> No.

Do you like who you are on the inside or the outside more? >> ...

Are you good at drawing? >> No.

Do you know how to dance? >> I don’t dance as a matter of skill, I dance as a matter of enjoyment.

What's your favorite reality TV show? >> ---

Do you think Kim Kardashian deserves to be famous? >> I literally do not care.

Are you excited for Christmas this year? >> It’s January, I’m not thinking about Christmas.

Do you celebrate Halloween? >> Not really. What would I even do? Most of the time we just help pass out candy at the Wayland house and that’s good enough for me tbh.

Have you ever had a concussion? >> No.

Do you pretend to be someone you're not? >> No.

Do you listen to heavy metal music? >> Yeah.

Were you sad when Michael Jackson died? >> No.

Do you have more upper or lower body strength? >> I don’t know.

Have you ever been in a tanning bed? >> No.

Do you like hot tubs? >> No. The only time I got into a hot tub I thought I was going to pass out and die. That is definitely not for me.

Do you know anyone who is battling cancer? >> No.

Have you ever donated money to a charity? >> No.

Do you get bored easily? >> Sometimes.

Have you ever peed your pants in public? >> Yeah.

Are you afraid of roller coasters? >> No.

Are you good at doing tongue twisters? >> I don’t know, moderately?

What was the last movie you've seen in theatres? >> Jojo Rabbit.

Have you ever been to a drive-in movie? >> No.

Are you good at doing fractions? >> Probably not. Luckily, I don’t usually have to do them.

What is your favorite holiday? >> Christmas.

Do you prefer Apple or Android? >> Android.

Would you rather have a tablet or a computer? >> A computer. I like having a full keyboard and more robust hardware.

Do you like things that are touch screen? >> Not really, but they can be convenient.

What age did you have your first kiss at? >> ---

Do you regret losing your virginity to whoever you lost it to? >> ---

Do you have a good relationship with your mother? >> I don’t have a relationship with my mother.

Do you like the color lime green? >> It’s okay. In moderation.

What are your plans for tomorrow? >> I have no plans for tomorrow aside from the weekly Cafe Boba thing.

Would you rather wear jeans or yoga pants? >> Sweatpants.

Do you like your clothes to be baggy and comfortable or tight and revealing >> A little baggy and comfortable. I definitely don’t want anything “revealed”.

Do you wish you could change something about your hair? >> No.

Have you ever gotten a makeover? >> Yeah, at a Lord and Taylor’s counter when I was seventeen, for prom. Ugh.

Do you get mad easily? >> Not unless I’m depressed.

Have you ever punched someone in the face? >> No.

Do you think the minions from Despicable Me are cute? >> I really don’t.

Did you have a Gameboy as a child? >> No.

Would you rather have chocolate or gummy worms? >> Gummy worms. Sour, please.

What are your favorite pizza toppings? >> Pepperoni and various vegetables.

Have you ever auditioned for a talent competition? >> No.

Do you make good sandwiches? >> They’re good enough for me.

Would you rather get high or get drunk? >> ---

Have you ever failed a drug test? >> No.

Do you like the Silent Hill movies? >> I liked the first one.

What movie scared you the most out of any other movies? >> ---

Tell me something you've been made fun of for in the past. >> Having big eyes.

What is one thing you need to work on to make yourself a better person? >> ---

Do you support war? >> No. It doesn’t need my support, though. It will always prevail.

[theangrypokemaniac]

Sinnoh has massive flaws as an era, although it's starting to feel like the good old days compared to the present piss-poor offerings.

The major drawback is the amount of 'recurring characters', ones not good enough to be in it fully, but inflicted upon us nevertheless.

I did care about Ash. I did care about Team Rocket.

I was prepared to care about The Misty Replacement, as in the girl shipped with Ash.

I was prepared to care about The Brock Replacement, that is the older brother figure who does all the cooking, carries the medicine, and knows about Pokémon.

I don't give a toss about extras who outstay their welcome.

Hoenn only had Drew and Harley. What was wrong with that?

There are just too bloody many.

Why does Dawn require so many opponents, as if she's of the greatest importance? Why won't Jessie suffice?

I accept the necessity of Paul as The Rival, and we were at least permitted to resent him initially, before the writers fanboy'd like there was no tomorrow.

I admit I liked two of them. They therefore featured the least.

Typical.

Nando

The Blondel of Iberia

A softly-spoken, raven-locked troubadour, roaming the many pathways of life, playing his songs for those weary travellers he encounters on the road.

He's wearing a cloak! The finest use of material to ever be invented!

All this ethereal grace considering the dub lumbered him with the most appallingly unsuitable name possible.

It could've been Raphael, or Dante, or Leonardo.

Oh no, let's name him after a restaurant chain. That adds gravitas.

His lyre pays tribute to Mew, because Nando knows she's The Rarest Of All Pokémon, thus refuses to be impressed by any deformed horse like Arceus throwing its weight around.

Damn straight.

Ursula

A pretty girl with lovely clothes and the spark of a proper personality.

You're not wanted round these parts, love.

I have no particular animosity towards Dawn, but it irritates me how the world revolves around her whims, where if she's lost in the woods, it's a major disaster, and if an attack heads in her direction, she must be protected in case she shatters.

It makes a refreshing change to find someone firmly inoculated against the lures of the temptress.

Also, alongside Ursula from Dinosaur King (the real Jessie), I'm glad of any attempt to reclaim that name, considering most of my generation, upon hearing it, think only about evil old octopus women.

As for the rest?

It's that bad I prefer the Unova bunch to these.

Reggie

Reggie is even more of a knob than Paul. As above, being Ash's enemy meant that, if only by narrative, he was intended to be somewhat disliked.

Not Reginald. No, he's the kind one.

Oh really?

When Ash and Paul have their showdown, Reg starts wittering that it's just as well Chimchar took up with Ash, since he wasn't suited to Paul's 'battle style'.

Battle style.

Is the what he calls mental and physical cruelty?

In Reg's amoral cesspit of a mind, there is no right and wrong, so do whatever you feel.

Reggie is quite aware of how his brother tortures Pokémon, and not only is he unconcerned, he excuses it with euphemism, hoping the audience will obligingly forget too.

What's more, he implies it's Chimchar's fault for not pulling his weight, and Paul abandoning him was the compassionate thing to do.

Cynthia

Suffering severe Bridge Nose Syndrome.

She may be Champion, but I don't remember Lance turning up all the time where he wasn't wanted.

She doesn't even use her influence properly. Rather than give it straight to Paul, order him to shape up and stop spanking the monkey, she fannies about with her cod mysticism, emptily preaching about how Ash and Paul are spiritually linked, with magical, beeyewteefull events taking form just because they met.

That's right, don't bother about Paul clearly being a psychopath, for 'tis ART!

It's the same as trying to convince me that Ash, Dawn and Brock were the Divine Trio because they all saw Something Nasty In The Lake District, as if they have an intrinsic bond foretold in ancient prophecy.

The writers pull this knowing two thirds of the Holy Trinity, plus Paul the Fallen Angel, will be leaving, at which point we'll be expected to stop being overawed at the great majesty they all apparently possess and transfer allegiance to their usurpers.

What's the point?

Angie

Yet another smackhead from that lunatic stare.

What shining genius decided giving all the characters contracted pupils was a good idea?

She looks like one of those kids whose parents dealt with nits the traditional way:

Shaving the entire head and painting it purple.

A barnet resembling privet hacked at by a paralytic gardener before he conked out.

I've seen her arc three or four times, and I still remember nothing about her, except for the amazing skill she possesses to make Ash sneeze on command from a distance.

Conway

One word: nonce.

A clichéd weirdo fitting into Pokémon's Four-Eyed Freaks fixation, where anyone with a slight visual impairment is a weedy, know-it-all bastard or on a register.

Oh yes, and this lad comes with hidden delights, because his glasses gleam like a giant cockroach, just in case he wasn't creepy enough.

Zoey

The human black hole. Has the incredible ability to suck all the joy out of a room just by appearing. A personage of absolute lead.

Too nice and over familiar, lacking a single detectable personality trait.

Bland, empty, and with the charisma of vomit-sodden cardboard.

Sinnoh is a prolonged saga as it is, padded with nonentities like her and Kenny.

Alright, episodes must be devoted to Dawn's Contest career, however tiresome it is, but why exactly do we need any about Zoey and Kenny? Why should we care?

Every time I sat through a competition Dawn lost, I resented that she was no further along on her quest, equating to another episode eaten away by this shallow, blackened hymn to superficiality.

Compare this indulgent treatment to the sneering disrespect shown to Jessie, an actual main character, who not only had to win her Ribbons practically off screen, but the writers delighted in hammering home how worthless she was in only scraping into the Grand Festival because Princess Salvia took pity on the deluded wretch.

They favour their own inventions over the original cast, then dump 'em as soon as the next generation arrives, so how could they ever matter if even the creators eagerly cast them aside?

After all the effort on my part to put up with the entire witless farce, Zoey beats Dawn in the finals!

Why?!

I understood the unspoken law of Ash not being allowed to win a League until the very last series, for fear whatever came after would be anticlimactic, but why should this deadening failure apply to May and Dawn?

By the culmination of the Contest rigmarole, it's obvious they'll be making their exit for the next region's Girl, so why couldn't either bid farewell to the fans with a victory?

Why must they be incompetent too?

Even if achieving their dream dampened any hunger to carry on, they're departing anyway, so what difference does it make?

At least Ash will continue, but for May and Dawn, it's the end.

How could any fan be satisfied with a smarmy vacuum of a creature like Zoey succeeding instead?

Barry

Eyes of molten evil.

The second-worst character ever created (Iris is top of the ranks), Barry is a smug, arrogant, screeching dweeb jabbering his oh-so endearing catchphrase about fining anyone who slightly irks him, so sure is he that his feelings should come above everyone else's

He truly believes he has a God-given entitlement to demand lesser lifeforms should arrange themselves to suit his pleasure, that they are morally compelled to shield him from  meagre inconvenience.

Twat.

Knocking the little geck out of the League was the most noble thing Paul ever did. It practically redeems him.

This is what I cannot comprehend:

Ursula is openly conceited, rude to Dawn, and brags about her own excellence even after losing.

We're asked to dislike her.

Barry slags Ash off constantly, is convinced of his own divinity, and jeers at Team Rocket.

We're supposed to see him as a 'good guy' and welcome his arrival.

Why? Are Ash and Team Rocket fair game, but offending Saint Dawn's intolerable?

Again, it astounds me how temporary, region-specific stars seem to count for more than those who've been here since the beginning.

Whilst they're here, that is. Once gone, you wouldn't know they'd existed.

Kenny

He wears a matador outfit to compete.

It's a crying shame Tauros was never given the opportunity to gore him.

As usual, it's Piplup I blame.

Each generation likes to flaunt the starter Pokémon, presumably in the hope of flogging more games, that's why Ash usually catches all three, or they're spread out amongst his friends.

It's about time Team Rocket had one.

Can't do that, they only appear five times per series now.

Piplup is a whiny attention whore who refuses to evolve. In consequence, he can't advertise the next stages in the evolution chain, so we have to keep seeing Barry and Kenny instead, that's why Empoleon and Prinplup are always walking about.

This equates to three characters having the same Pokémon, albeit in different incarnations.

There's variety.

However, Kenny's true purpose is much more grim than that.

Fans will ship Ash with The Girl, a useless endeavour when it's destined to come to nothing when she's kicked out.

In Hoenn and Sinnoh, an effort was made to wean shippers off in preparation for the upcoming split, so alternative suitors were introduced, with the girls effectively pushed on to them.

May got Drew.

I don't mind that. He had some refinements.

Dawn got Kenny.

...

What, you want me to cheer for such a revolting couple?

Have I not suffered enough?

What unpardonable crime did Dawn do to deserve such a horrible fate?

She's not a bad-looking girl. She can do better than an ugly, portly, shrunken, pie-faced cretin! 

You do this to me when Nando exists?

Sod the age gap, that never concerned anyone here.

This being the Kenny who spends four years belittling Dawn by constantly reminding her of a humiliating childhood experience, even giving her a nickname too!

Dawn is visibly distressed when he does this, but he's a fine candidate for romance?

She has to settle for a sweaty, lecherous herbert like him, who doesn't even try to atone for his unfortunate mug by being kind?

I suspect the whole Sinnoh adventure was really him wearing down her self-esteem until she believed he was the best available, wanting her to be grateful for his slobbery attentions.

It won't stop there either. He'll trap her for the rest of her life by isolating her from friends, followed by accusations of how undeserving she is of his 'love'.

Such is Dawn's lot: absent father, pushy mother, whinging penguin and abusive boyfriend.

Kenny's already a perv:

He's not looking at her face.

She knows he's not.

Ash and Pikachu have noticed an interesting feature further down.

Aipom likes it too.

[harryglom]

Present Time (a short story)

It was the weirdest wall in the world.

Clock after clock stacked floor to ceiling. A chorus of tick-tocking and tock-ticking. Old and gold, ornate and engraved, bare and blank, international, novelty and nautical and a cuckoo clock or two. At the centre, the ones with darker edges of black firs and autumn wood matched with one another in a circle. In the centre of this circle were two lines drawn by a set of clocks of brighter colours, of white edges and silvers. Altogether they built a mosaic of clocks and, drawn as one, became a single giant clock in and of itself. A bazaar of sound, it was like being perched inside a beating heart. The display being so intricate, you have to ask, whose got the time?

One might also think to ask: is it safe for a psychiatrist's waiting room to have such an absurd array of clocks? If reality has become fragile to someone in some way as to lead them into his or her care, they probably shouldn't adorn their walls with displays that could be interpreted as a personal affront to a person's peculiarity. Or, at least in my experience of the room so far, a pointed statement of one's own alienation and madness.

The secretary chewed sourly on her pen, sucking and un-sucking in time with each loudly punctuated second. Her eyes were full of contempt, colourless and glazed over by the poison of her own perceived wasted potential. She looked like the ink had been slowly drawn into her lips and, year on year, sapped into her pale skin and made one with her blood. Her name was Irma Loveless and she didn't seem the person who could appreciate the irony of her name.

"Irma?" I said as jovially as I could "The last Irma I met was a hurricane."

She wasn't amused. She stared blankly through me, threw the pen onto the desk and walked across the room to the bathroom down the hall. The door thudded behind her and left me wondering if she makes that same sour face when she's taking, as can only be deduced by her unwavering demeanour, a powerfully hateful shit. Secretary, a word that used to wear its heart on its sleeve. Now pronounced sek-rah-terry, once was secret-ary: a bank of secrets. Is there any more fitting place for such a title than within ear shot of a therapy session? Perhaps the troubles of the world have meddled their way into her life as sullen ghostly whispers. Or perhaps she's just a cunt.

Sara Simmons leaves the doctor's office. A frail middle-aged woman, Sara can best be described as a blonde perm hanging at the end of a mop. She's always jangling her bag and twitching her taut and bony arms looking for something. I don't think she'd know relaxation if it hit her in the face with rohypnol. She used to come in here with her husband until her madness was deemed by the psychiatrist not to be shared. He was a banker, a big guy who looked at the other patients as if there should be a VIP room to separate him from the riff-raff. He was a man with big money, big decisions and a big dick attitude. He had no time for emotions besides a hunger for domination and a suicidal thought or two. Now she comes in alone, twice a week, with an irrational fear of time. I wonder why?

She told me all this last Tuesday despite my best performance of a certifiably anti-social Grade-A nutjob. I suppose for 200 pounds an hour, you've got to make your moneys worth where you can. I'm not a doctor but from the stolen minutes of self reflection she's inflicted upon the waiting room, I'd diagnose her with an incurable case of a terrible personality. She gives me a weak smile before leaving money in an envelope on Irma's desk. She's stopped charging the credit card: her husband thinks she's at brunch with the girls. Like he'd care, she'd say with a sudden vigour, a crack of pained breath splintering the air, hoping someone or something in the universe would challenge her. The last thing she does when she leaves is tie up her navy blue scarf, a cotton stream beneath the frazzled bolts of sun that comprise her hair, covering the air between her shirt and pale throat and I struggle to not momentarily consider picturing a noose.

Mr Peterson would usually be next, waddling in from his time-machine life of waist coats and romantic poetry memorised verbatim, a stanza or two left to linger in the waiting room like a sudden burst of sunlight.

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

Selfishly, the Dickensian odd-ball went and died on us. He joined his husband and Byron in the big clouds in the sky and left us behind in a cultural wasteland, adrift like the boss-eyed soldiers wading through the embers of Dresden. Matching craters in the earth and their skin, concave boils of led and blood, where once joy and life resided in. We're all looking, like Byron said, for the moment where the fates change horses.

Irma returned unchanged and motioned me through to the doctor's office. I'll have to rethink my diagnosis of poisoned blood and bowel extremities and go with what is most simple: a cunt, a total and utter cunt. I nod at her and the curtesy goes unrecieved, her eyes drawn to the floor as she slams the door behind. It was a white fire door-- heavy enough that a slam requires deliberate, rehearsed and methodical engagement. Yes, a cunt indeed.

"Oscar, what can I help you with today?" Doctor Mathis says as she pins her round framed glasses onto the thin bridge of her nose. She sits cross legged in a pallid green skirt suit and her silvery blonde hair hangs above the lightly frayed cotton edges of her jacket collar. She is a vision of grandmotherly serenity and she speaks with a honeyed-glass transatlantic accent. "Been too busy being sane to see me?"

This is a reference to our last session, a month prior, where happiness had coursed easy through me like a summer's breeze. I always get hyperbolic when I'm happy and so the usually pointed words of sane and insane avoided by psychiatrists have become part of our regular vernacular. They probably didn't teach her this when she got her PHD but sometimes, for the right patient, we need to be mocked out of our self indulgence. I suppose, not mocked so far as to stop paying 200 pounds a session to discuss nothing but oneself but who am I to judge? I'm the one who is insane.

"It's all starts and stops with me isn't it?" Springs my voice. It's the first time I've been honest all week.

"That's life, Oscar." She says smiling.

"Is that the kind of observation that separates private from NHS?"

"The best lessons, for a case like yours" She adjusts her notepad into a comfortable position under her arm, "are often the simplest."

I've made a game of deciphering my psychiatrists when I get bored of myself. I play detective, scan outfits for clues, ticks and habits, the rings and life around their eyes. Divorced? Former addict? A late-starter? A sexual maniac who feeds off the madness of others? She's the first one who ever picked up on it, grinning with amusement, noticing me noticing her.

"Its hard being watched for you isn't it? Being vulnerable to observation. Those who feel themselves cast outside their lives, feeling scrutinised, often seek control in casting others in the same place." She never stuttered or paused. She simply removed the purple beaded bracelets she habitually played with, the ones I had been not so surreptitiously eyeing up throughout the conversation. The beads rattled for a moment on the table and she leaned forward like a drawn arrow. "Why do you think you feel the need to deflect attention?"

She's always like that, audaciously perceptive in a way only a good psychiatrist can be. Sometimes in doctors offices there is a lot of excess data, the human folly of pinning significance on that which has none, wrapped up in narratives perceived to be influenced by everything but that which has truly influenced them. Once we had core experiences and reactions, simple emotional mathematics. Now we have existential self awareness and who needs it, to end up like Sara Simmons? Yet sometimes something slips through the cracks, strikes a chord brighter than lightning, lingers in the lexicon of your brain, rigidly unforgotten like your worst nightmare or deepest regret. Why do you think you feel the need to deflect attention?

Instead in this session we discuss the pitfalls of self awareness, mindful not to mention Sara after the swift and stern rebuke Dr Mathis dealt me the last time I mentioned another patient in her presence. I perfunctorily professed my regret, admitting that I'm a bit of a bastard. She said outside of these walls that would not count as an apology. There's always something being avoided like the remaining broccoli on a sweet tooth kid's plate. Aimless philosophy and scathing observation are my chocolate pudding. I wonder if beneath the frailty Sara Simmons is the same-- using wellness as a pastime, branding Mr Peterson a poof, Irma a piece of work and me a creep. Little did she know that I am all three.

"I'm sometimes not in control of my thoughts." I spring forth, hoping to jumpstart anything other than auto-pilot conversation. She holds silent with her pen poised. "I've told you before, my brain whirs past me. It's like life is happening over here in one part of my brain and me, the real me, is off to the side."

"As seriously as that first time?"

"No, not as bad as since- no." I corrected myself. "The thoughts are as bad; hurting things. People. Animals. Children."

Even in a place as safe as this, the last word hits me like a knife edged boomerang, severing her pleasantries and my dignity at the throat. I can feel her eyes on me, I know they're gentle but even in her profession she must sometimes be afraid.

"We've talked about moral scrupulosity before. It's very common and not indicative of the rationality of people with your condition." She says "Much as popular culture would have you believe otherwise."

She knows I like horror movies. I used to talk about them a lot when I first came here, that they were all to blame; Freddie, Jason and Jigsaw, and of course Hannibal the Cannibal. They danced in my dreams, finger nails, steak knives and masks, bonfires of depravity ablaze beneath my eyelids. Yet in daylight, my thoughts never showed them holding the weapon. It was never them squeezing the life, bubbling bursting cartoon eyeballs left lopsided, pinning fur-skins to the walls. She talked me down from thinking I was one of them.

She joked: "Very few, in my experience, are."

I suppose it is rather funny in a way, those dark corners of thoughts that never belonged to you. A summer's day, cherry blossom and silver maple seed twisting into your conditioned hair and artisanal ice cream when your brain decides to ponder what that short woman would look like hanging from a tree. A building in flames at the slightest shame of a cracked voice, to think of nothing else but the sound of their screams. Or a man who cuts in line at the coffee shop being crumpled by construction, loose scaffolding, metal bolts and beams where his face should be. I suppose it is rather funny. Unfortunately, it's not for me.

"Commonality doesn't make them less pleasant."

"I'm sure it doesn't. But you've made progress: you're now sure these thoughts are not really you. Surrendering to it, as long as they don't flare up any worse later, is the best you can do."

Surrendering, always surrendering. Surrendering to impulses to run away, surrendering to happiness, surrendering to love and for all the money in the world I can't stand the possibility of surrendering to myself. She leans forward again, closer with her hands on her knees, and gestures for me to open up towards her again.

"Do you know why I keep all those clocks, Oscar?"

"Because you're as mad as us?"

"Because for all my medicine, mental tricks and multiple degrees" She takes off her glasses to clean them again. "I don't have the answers to everything. I have only what we all have-- the present moment."

I look up at her, with glistening eyes that say the honey moon is over. Her eyes are calm, still as the shores of emerald green seas. In the silence, the clock ticks enter the from the other room. It doesn't startle me, it becomes a part of me, my brain ticking forward with it, ready to strike a new hour for my life. Of course, this hour has been and gone many times but it rings true as the bells of midnight every time.

"I think- I think it's time for the medication again."

She assumes next week's time before I go, stands and turns her body in a way that seems to indicate that she would like to prescribe a hug were it allowed. A flash in my brain; a hug that crushes her bones, silvery gold locks torn at the root, blood on her matching emerald shoes. I breathe and smile weakly, my fingers mere inches away from hers as I take the prescription. She holds her hand tight on the paper for a moment as I begin to slide it away. She just nods at me in earnest, a distanced yet maternal motion, like an aunt for a nephew who has grown too old for kisses. That's the closest she can give me. I suppose it's funny in a way.

I heave open the fire door and clear out of Irma's way before she gets to take up my space. I don't make eye contact with anyone on the way out nor skirt my eyes over the weirdest wall in the world. I just glare over the empty chair where Mr Peterson would sit. As I walk onto the pavement, the high trills of bird calls replacing the sterile ticking of the clocks, the world rushes back to me. A flash in my brain, for once pleasant, recalled a poem he once said.

Time, like an ever-rolling stream,

   Bears all its sons away;

They fly forgotten, as a dream

   Dies at the opening day.

Silvery upon the leaves, beams of gold glistens through the shifting trees onto windows of black taxis.

I hail one down and, presently, resume my life.