#I lost my dignity writing these horrors. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

inseobts · 3 months ago

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hello!!! could you write one about how after a fight the crew had, zoro being turned into a kid and how chaotic it would be? nothing weird just some platonic fluff if it makes sense 😭

Baby-Zoro Chaos

zoro x gn!reader (platonic)

a/n: it's not really after a fight but I thought it would have been funnier like this lmao hope you'll like it (ฅ́ ˘ฅ̀)♡

words count: 1.0k

tags: platonic, child zoro, humor

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The argument is loud. Deafening, even. Voices crash over each other like waves in a storm, and it’s absolute pandemonium. Nami’s scolding Luffy with all the fury of a woman who has had enough of everyone's nonsense, Sanji’s throwing rapid-fire insults at Zoro, and you, poor, exhausted you, are trying (and failing) to restore some semblance of order before things spiral completely out of control.

Zoro, of course, refuses to back down, his arms crossed, his expression bored but somehow still managing to radiate pure stubbornness.

“You’re a walking disaster, Mosshead!” Sanji shouts, jabbing a finger at him, his other hand dramatically planted on his hip.

“Tch… shut up, cook” Zoro grumbles, like the human embodiment of an eye-roll.

Before another insult can be launched, before the chaos can climb to its inevitable crescendo, a blinding flash of light explodes.

Everything and everyone stops. Frozen mid-argument, blinking furiously, the crew barely has time to process what just happened before Luffy, ever the first to state the obvious, shouts “WHAT WAS THAT?!”

You turn to look toward Zoro and Sanji to see what they did, and there you instantly forget how to breathe.

Zoro is… small.

Not just small. Tiny. Miniature. Pocket-sized (not really but really close).

His usual towering, muscular frame is gone, replaced by something impossibly round and chubby. His oversized clothes hang off his tiny form like a poorly fitted costume, his green bandana slipping down over his ridiculously large, confused eyes. He stares down at his own tiny hands in horror.

Zoro opens his mouth to demand an explanation, to yell, to curse, but instead of his usual gruff voice, a high-pitched squeak escapes his lips “G-guh!”

The room is silent for all of two seconds before Luffy collapses onto the floor, absolutely howling with laughter.

“ZORO, YOU’RE A BABY! THIS IS THE BEST THING EVER!” Luffy shrieks, slamming his fists against the ground as he wheezes.

Everyone else trying to hide their laughs.

Zoro, whose sheer presence is usually enough to strike fear into enemies, now looks like a furious, grumpy cherub. He stomps his tiny foot, but instead of an intimidating display of anger, he wobbles, loses his balance, and tumbles forward in the most unceremonious, helpless little roll.

“ZORO!” you yelp, lunging to catch him, but he’s already on the floor, his tiny fists flailing in frustration.

“Grah!” he shouts, or at least, tries to. What actually comes out is a high-pitched, indignant wail that only makes Luffy laugh harder.

Luffy scoops Zoro up with absolutely zero hesitation “I’m carrying you now! You’re my new little buddy!” he announces, swinging Zoro around like an overexcited kid with a new toy.

Zoro, whose entire being is built on strength and dignity, is now reduced to a tiny, helpless baby being manhandled by a rubber idiot. His eyes are practically shooting laser beams of rage “Goo-goo, gah!” he shrieks, flailing his tiny limbs in protest.

“Oh my god, I am never letting this go,” Sanji says, wiping a tear from his eye “Look at you, Marimo. Acting like a little brat already.”

Zoro turns his furious, oversized eyes on Sanji and, for a brief, glorious moment, tries to scowl. But the attempt is absolutely ruined by the way his lip trembles.

“Gaaah!” he cries out, trying to push against Luffy’s chest. Unfortunately, his tiny hands are as threatening as wet marshmallows. The realization that he has lost all his usual strength hits him like a ton of bricks.

His face scrunches up. His frustration mounts. And then—

A wail erupts from his tiny lungs, loud and dramatic “WAAAAAAAH!”

“Oh my god, he’s... he's crying” Usopp gasps.

You rush forward and scoop him into your arms before Luffy can swing him around again “Shh, shh, Zoro, it’s okay” you murmur, gently rocking him, but Zoro is having absolutely none of it. He kicks, he squirms, he shakes his tiny fists in a rage.

Sanji, grinning like he just won the lottery, leans in “Aw, poor little Zoro. Did someone get all cranky?”

Zoro’s face turns an even darker shade of red. He lets out an absolutely furious, nonsensical string of babbling that sounds suspiciously like an attempt at cursing. His chubby little arms flail toward Sanji, but his baby coordination betrays him, and he just ends up smacking himself in the face.

Luffy loses it all over again, slapping the floor as he cackles “HE HIT HIMSELF! OH MY GOD, THIS IS THE FUNNIEST THING I’VE EVER SEEN!”

Zoro, still struggling in your hold, lets out another furious wail before hiccupping mid-cry. His tiny body trembles as he sniffles, his pride in absolute tatters.

You sigh, stroking his soft green hair “Okay, let’s focus, guys. How do we fix this?”

Nami, who has been suspiciously quiet, finally steps forward. She looks at tiny, blubbering Zoro and tilts her head “Do we even want to fix this?”

“YES!” Zoro shrieks, though it comes out as “BAAABYYY!”

Chopper, ever the doctor, has his hooves on his chin, deep in thought “It could be temporary. Or maybe it’s a curse? Or a weird Devil Fruit power?”

“Well, until we fix him, he’s our new baby,” Luffy declares, grinning “I’m gonna take such good care of him.”

“Grrr!” Zoro whines, but his tantrum has tired him out. His little head droops against your chest, his energy spent. His tiny fists clutch weakly at your shirt as he lets out a small, defeated sigh.

“Looks like he’s finally calming down” you murmur, rubbing his back.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sanji smirks “Just don’t let him near sharp objects.”

You glance down at baby Zoro, his big eyes fluttering closed as he drifts off into an exhausted nap. Even like this, tiny and helpless, there’s still something undeniably Zoro about him. Stubborn, strong, and unwilling to back down—even if his body has completely betrayed him.

Luffy grins and reaches out, poking his tiny cheek “He’s so squishy.”

Zoro grumbles sleepily, too tired to protest.

You sigh, looking at the ridiculous scene before you “We’ll figure it out...” you say, though, deep down, a part of you knows that until you do, things are going to be absolute, unhinged chaos.

But then again, when is life with the Straw Hats ever anything else?

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cloudbends · 1 month ago

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It's been rotating in my brain for a while, so I decided to compile my thoughts about the parallels between anaxa and sunday in terms of the way their writing, personality and themes align with one another. At this point, I don't believe this is coincidental.

Anaxa sees reason and emotion as coexisting concepts instead of opposing ends. he rejects himself but he doesn't reject his humanity. he rejects his life but doesn't reject his personhood. he debatably has more faith in his students than he does in himself, because he puts so much trust in them to continue his work. to question everything. to forsake everything. to prove everything he can because he has nothing to lose. he guards his theories with his life because its literally all he has left. and i just like how antideterministic it is. they're doomed but he proves its not humanity being doomed by the gods, its humanity's ability to both doom and save itself.

the parallels between sunday and anaxa are best summed up by these two quotes from their respective trailers:

sunday: knowing there were no gods who could save people unconditionally. to change anything, you can only rely on yourself.

anaxa: gods, decry it as blasphemy - if that is all you can do [...] we alone are the true gods of this world.

How can they believe there's such a thing as a god after all they've lost? A line that particularly stuck out to me in anaxa's stories was cerces's goading of anaxa, asking him if he prayed to the titans upon seeing his hometown ruined and his sister dead. It disclosed a deeper, more personal sentiment anaxa has towards the titans than a mere desire to erase their existence. For anaxa, forsaking the gods means to wrestle control back to humanity's hands, to his hands, in the face of an uncontrollably tragic fate.

In this sense, both anaxa and sunday must deal with a desire for control, doing so by getting their respective gods out of the equation. I think Sunday's words at the grand theatre are incredibly important to this point, and indicate just how similar (if, of course, different circumstantially) their characters and arcs are:

Sunday: My desire is not to resurrect a fallen Aeon, or become one myself... my sole objective is to create a paradise free from Aeons, where the Order ensures the dignity and happiness of all humanity. A paradise exclusive to us human beings".

Sunday, for all his religious theming and imagery, wishes to forsake the gods in favour of an order of safety, to be the sole person remaining awake to guard the dreaming. I think it's very interesting that thematically, anaxa is framed as chaotic, wishing to disrupt the status quo, a perceived opposite to sunday, who in fact shares many more similarities with his mindset than you'd imagine. They both want to liberate mankind from the gods, so their fates won't be inextricably tied to the gods' whims, having grown disillusioned with them. Here however, the stark difference in their methods comes into play: while sunday's desire for humanity's happiness is regrettably robbing it of agency, anaxa's desire for humanity to gain its agency back is knowingly robbing them of their faiths.

Sunday doesn't have faith in humanity's ability to overcome hardships, and in order to be their protector, he decided to usurp the role of a god - he saw horrors so severe, that he felt he had to shoulder their protection for himself. Sunday operates by his sense of anxiety which inadvertently disclosed his lack of faith, taking things into his own hands to ensure they will go as well as possible - he can ensure the success and happiness of humanity only if he takes the burden upon himself and sees it through with his own hands. He feels only he can, or really must, be the responsible person who can shoulder the burden of protecting humanity, which inadvertently strips them of agency. Meanwhile, anaxa's entire thesis is based on his own disillusionment with the gods and faith in humanity, that his plan and eventual usurping of the titan position was in service of proving humanity's agency over the titans by their being identical beings. Anaxa has so much faith in humanity, to the point of disregarding his life and physical existence and completely trusting his students to continue what he can't finish. The blasphemer is driven by faith in humanity, while the believer is driven by distrusting the gods.

To their respective ends, they both decide to pose themselves as antagonists in the eyes of the public in order to ascend to a higher position at the expense of their own lives and well being. They're both themed and viewed as performers of sorts (depicted in stage settings, the performer and the conductor), which on the surface level, epitomise sunday as an organizer, a puppeteering figure, a follower of Order, and anaxa as the wild stage performer, a soliloquy giver, disrupting the audience's understandings of the world into chaos. I contend, however, that the complete opposite is true, making these parallels all the more compelling. Sunday's performance is entirely puppeteered and driven by his sense of anxiety, desperation, and an urge to escape reality, not being able to withstand its horrors - the order hides personal chaos. On the other side of the coin, anaxa's performance is the epitome of calculated, an argument and theory decades in the making, meant to be his final proof so he can leave the world that pained him behind to his students to nourish and give a final sacrifice for his equivalent exchange - the chaos hides personal order.

These two opposing ideas disclose the paralleling approaches anaxa and sunday take in regards to their ideals, and their differences in mental fortitude and personality. Anaxa is very self assured that his method will lead to his desired outcomes, marches entirely to the beat of his own drum, passing his thoughts to his cherished students and trusting them to continue what he doesn't believe he can survive to accomplish. Sunday, on the other hand, is defined by his insecurity, being surrounded by the hostile environment of the family, the younger figure thrust into a position of power through manipulation, and being forced to conform to it. Anaxa's figure is that of a teacher, an authority, while Sunday was inherently stuck in the position of a novice political figure, forced to sway according to the authorities around him.

Probably one of the most dominant aspects paralleling anaxa to sunday is both of their incredibly meaningful and impactful bonds they share with their sisters. While in sunday's case his bond takes central stage and in anaxa's stage we can only infer based on the little that is mentioned about it, I think it is no less significant to a thorough understanding of his character and motivations.

In both cases, two young siblings are left to fend off for themselves as their parents either die at the hands of war (sunday and robin) or decide to abandon their children (anaxa and his sister). And as such, they're each other's most meaningful connections in the world. Sunday owes robin his dream of a utopia, her ever supporter because her happiness is his, cementing his dedicating his life for the sake of others. In a similar vein, anaxa owes his sister his education, his access to knowledge, to experiments, to what is going to shape his life ambitions. However, I think what ties these characters further together is this sense of debt towards their sisters, in a way that feeds their selflessness and becomes their central means to achieve their goals.

Anaxa, in what I can infer from his character stories, genuinely views his life as disposable after his sister's death. His philosophical emphasis on equivalent exchange is, in large part, a reflection of his guilt towards his sister and her sacrifice - allowing him to study at the grove, at the expense of her own life the moment he left. In order for him to be worthy of her sacrifice - or the exchange to be equivalent - he must give away everything in order to achieve his goal. He must continuously chip away at his body, and his spirit, while insisting on retaining his heart and person, in order to make her death have meaning, for the rules of the world to make sense.

They're both so riddled with guilt, to the point it becomes their driving force. Both of their most significant human connections were to their sisters, feeling such an intense amount of debt towards both of them, that this sense of owing encourages them to keep chipping away at themselves in a subconscious effort to live up to both of their sister's "sacrifices" (robin's is more metaphorical). The kindness they received makes them eager to sacrifice more and more of themselves, creating a core of guilt that serves as their motivation to keep losing themselves for their grander goal.

The following portion of anaxa's 'chrysos' volume drew more parallels between the two in a way I can only interpret as being intentional, at the foremost through the use of the songbird motif. While sunday's charmony dove allegory bears no need to repeat, and I could write about it for hours, the following quote by anaxa is meaningful:

anaxa: I once carved a songbird that miraculously flapped its wings and took to the sky, though it circled five times at low altitude before falling...

As it is explicitly told, sunday's turning point in his life and ideology was finding the charmony dove and having to confront the moral dilemma, a choice he viewed to be between freedom and security. His anxiety began to take root, as he had to watch the bird he nursed back to health attempt to fly again, and watch it plummet to its death, cementing in his minds that the weak, those he cherishes, are better kept secure than free. Ironically, he doesn't realise that he himself is stuck in such a cage, terrified of flying, and how his thought process ends up straining his relationship with the same person he so wishes to protect.

I don't think it's coincidental that anaxa chooses to emphasize the fact that the bird he manifested into life, also met its death a short amount of time after it was created by his hands. They're both left unsatisfied - they both must strive to do better, to either preserve life (sunday) or to create life (anaxa), so long as they can make sense of death. Both of these incidents end up solidifying and crystallizing their worldviews: they must sacrifice more of themselves in order to achieve their dreams. Be it a boundless utopia in sunday's case - posing himself as the sole guarding figure who shelters humanity from the terrors of existence regardless of the gods; or achieving transcendence and reaching an absolute truth in anaxa's case - by, similarly, posing himself as the one who must chip away at himself in order to prove, and give meaning, to humanity's existence regardless of the gods.

And perhaps most tragically, eventually, both sunday and anaxa were forced to sacrifice a part of themslves and lose the things they were most scared of losing. Anaxa, who was willing to sacrifice his physical well being, is forced to sacrifice his imprints on history and theory, sacrificing others memories of him, his legacy, his achievements. Sunday, whose drive for the betterment of others arose first and foremost from how much he cherished his only family, had to sacrifice his connection to her, the person closest to him, so he could protect her - they are torn apart, while ever present in each others' minds.

Something about these two, and their relationship to faith, the gods, their families, and worldviews, is deeply compelling in its similarity. They should meet up.

#vi rambling #hsr #UHM. HHHAHA SORRY THIS IS REALLY LONG #im not good at being succinct. and i haven't written meta in a very long time.#i hope any of this makes any sense.... ive just been trying to pinpoint #what is the similar themahic vibe im getting from both of them.#it felt at first like im just insane about my two favorite little guys in the game. but the more content they put out #the more i was proven right.#this is mostly a thematic comparative analysis so of course #some things get simplified. but #honestly. they will both talk endlessly about philosophy its just in their nature.#anyways. my hypercarry anaxa sunday robin team ily forever and youre never changing. favs on main or nothing!!!#IDK WHAT TO TAG THIS.#hsr meta #hsr anaxa #hsr sunday #I GUESS??? IDK!!!#i also got a terrible illness got being repetitive so. apologies in advance #vi.analysis

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siawritez · 15 days ago

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This one is for my secret fav anon,jokeszzz,i love u all equally, no favouritism...also it's just whatever so don't judge..and my first for njz🙏🏼😭

Minji never considered herself the jealous type.

She’s cool. Collected. Has a signature lean-against-the-wall pose and everything. She wears black blazers with the sleeves rolled up. People write fanfiction about how effortlessly hot she looks tying her shoes.

But all that dignity goes flying out the window the second she walks into your favorite café and sees you laughing—laughing—with some other girl.

Some other girl with really shiny hair. And an annoying perfect side profile. And she's touching your arm. Touching. Your. Arm.

Minji’s pupils dilate like a feral cat. She stops dead in her tracks near the entrance. Doesn’t even get in line for an iced americano. That’s how you know she’s lost the plot.

Her brain, normally filled with poetic lyrics and choreography counts, is now running a monologue worthy of a villain origin story.

“Who even is she? Why is her nose so symmetrical? Where did she get those boots—hell?”

“Are they bonding over astrology? If I hear a single word about rising signs I’m flipping a table.”

“Wait. Did she just—did she just tuck a strand of hair behind Y/N’s ear??”

Minji’s eye twitches. She's one second away from marching over and saying something truly unhinged like:

“Hi. Sorry. Just wondering if you’re legally allowed to touch MY girlfriend like that or if I should call someone.”

Instead, she does the next most deranged thing:

She grabs a chair from a nearby table, drags it across the floor like a horror movie ghost, and plops herself right next to you without a word.

You blink. “Minji? I didn’t know you were coming here.”

She smiles. But it’s the smile of someone who has already rehearsed five ways to eliminate her rival with a coffee stirrer. “Yeah. Totally random. Just felt like being near you.” She stares at the other girl. “And whoever this is.”

The shiny-haired girl, bless her heart, looks confused and a little terrified. “Uh… I was just helping her pick a birthday gift for you. I work here.”

“Oh,” Minji says, flatly. “Cool.”

A beat.

��…You touch all your customers like that, or is this a premium membership kind of deal?”

You kick her lightly under the table.

Minji blinks back to sanity for a second. Then huffs, leaning back in her chair like a mafia boss who just narrowly avoided a bloodbath.

“I’m not jealous,” she mutters, not meeting your eyes.

You raise an eyebrow. “Babe, you came in here looking like you were about to interrogate her under a swinging lightbulb.”

Minji pouts. Pouts. The cool girl mask has completely shattered.

“I just didn’t like how close she was sitting. She was in your bubble.”

“She was showing me phone cases. Chill.”

Minji leans her head on your shoulder, suddenly clingy. “I won’t chill. You’re mine. Mine to shop for. Mine to make laugh. Mine to dramatically enter cafés for like I’m the main character.”

You sigh, smiling, carding your fingers through her hair. “You’re such a menace when you’re jealous.”

She smirks, eyes fluttering shut. “You love it.”

…Yeah. Yeah, you really do.

#newjeans #njz #njz minji #minji x reader #minji x fem reader #kim minji #njz x reader #njz x fem reader #njz danielle #danielle #fem reader

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redjennies · 4 months ago

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me in 2011: idk Oghren wasn't my first choice who should be the returning companion from Origins to Awakening, but I like him. I think it was cool that they showed that just because he married Felsi, he's still fucked up from what happened with Branka and you can help him with some things that he wasn't ready to deal with in Origins so I guess it does make sense for him to return. also he's my bestie now, and I love him. :)

me in 2017: okay, yeah Oghren's writing and "jokes" often are the result of misogynistic and homophobic writing that plagues Origins, but let's not pretend Alistair doesn't also make openly misogynistic jokes and he's the fandom darling who "respects women." so let's not pretend this is about Oghren and social justice so much as it is about who the fandom at large finds fuckable.

me in 2025: fuck it, Oghren is utterly fascinating and rivals characters like Loghain and Morrigan in richness of character. he is a reflection of the ugliness of the Orzammar caste system and how even the relatively privileged warrior caste are chewed up and spit out by dwarven society once they stop being useful. by the nature of his caste, he was supposed to die a long time ago in battle, but because of his wife's elevated status as Paragon, they were thrown into a world they were both entirely unprepared for as that sort of class mobility is nigh impossible to achieve in Orzammar, and neither could adjust to a life of idle luxury. they hated each other, and still, that deeply ingrained sense of honor and loyalty has him track her down through the Deep Roads years after she abandoned him to his disgrace and witness the trail of horrors she left in her wake as she betrayed and sacrificed both her family and his to feed her obsession with the Anvil. and still, he thinks he can talk some sense into her and asks the Warden to spare her because that's his wife and perhaps, because he sees that same maddening lack of purpose in her that he feels in himself. worse yet, he is painfully aware of all this as evidenced by how he pre-emptively monologues all his faults and self-loathing to the Guardian in the Temple of Sacred Ashes before the Guardian has a chance to say anything. by his own admission, he is a thoroughly humiliated man who has lost his family twice over, his dignity, and now, his home. he is so thoroughly removed from what his culture taught him honor and purpose looks like, and unlike Sten, there is no easy fetch quest that can fix that. so of course, he spends the majority of Origins milling about in camp, drunk and unable to talk about much less move on from his grief. he only starts taking the smallest of steps towards a better life fairly late into his approval, the biggest of which is not completing his personal quest but by maxing out his approval and having real conversations with him about what happened with Branka and assuring him that he isn't useless and that he can change. of course, when he returns in Awakening, he is still only on the second half that journey. of course, he runs away from his responsibilities out of fear of fucking it up again when traveling with the Warden is the only thing that has given his life meaning in Maker knows how long. obviously abandoning his wife and child is not the "good" thing to do, but it is the understandable thing to do given everything that's happened to him, and he shows his growth by rectifying that mistake and not accepting defeat. that is how you do a fucking damn good character arc, and anyone who disagrees with me can meet me on the Proving Grounds.

#i just think about him sometimes and he's soooo - excuse me i need to do something - [sound of screaming behind a closed door]#i'm okay. i'm normal about him.#oghren #dragon age: origins #anyway BRING OGHREN ON YOUR URN OF SACRED ASHES QUESTS I'M BEGGING YOU HE IS SO INSANE FOR ALL THAT #also you can get approval by telling him to shut up while talking to Kolgrim and then when Kolgrim also tells him to shut up you defend him #like man really is like this hot mean woman can talk to me however the fuck she wants as long as she's ride or die for me #and you know what? i respect that

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nanomooselet · 3 months ago

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I hunger for good dubbed anime to watch. Sell me on Trigun-make me the newest fandom convert.

A'ight. Get comfortable, this is gonna be a long one.

In its simplest sense, Trigun is a sci-fi western story that grapples with some pretty profound questions about love, principle, volition and autonomy, hope and despair, family and friends. Vash's secrets are stranger and more terrible than can be imagined in advance - I promise you, whatever spoilers you've learned don't prepare for the wrenching sorrow and horror of his life.

But it is a fundamentally kind story. And also very funny! Vash is in many ways a Looney Tunes character. He's a strange and sweet man with no attachment to his dignity and way smarter than he seems, which means he's doing it all on purpose. He might be my single favourite character to appear in any anime ever.

Trigun is set on the burning desert planet of No Man's Land, where a set of colony ships crashed a century and a half ago. The planet is almost devoid of resources, so we rely upon beings called Plants to survive - precious biological reactors that can produce power and water. They are expensive and difficult to find (the technology to make them was lost in the crash) and more of them are failing over time. Enter Meryl Stryfe (an insurance consultant in the older continuities, a reporter in the new one) set to track down Vash the Stampede, the Humanoid Typhoon, a man with the highest bounty on his head in living history: sixty billion double dollars. The crimes attributed to him are terrible. Mass murder, the destruction of cities. So Meryl's going to try and monitor him to see if the damage he causes can be reduced. And that sets her off on learning the story of Vash's life and the history of the planet he walks. Other characters include Milly Thompson (Meryl's assistant and friend, who is set to show up in Trigun Stargaze) and Nicholas D. Wolfwood, a man who quite literally bears a cross and odd secrets, but none quite so strange as those of the man he staunchly befriends.

Okay so. A lot of people started with the OG anime series, released in 1998, and find a lot of value in it, but I have to front: I did not enjoy it at all. While Vash's silliness is cute, it's also wholly unfocused, the dub extremely amateurishly written and acted, and the attitude towards women in it is fucking weird, bordering on disgusting, which I gather is because the director kept pushing the pervy comedy and the staff all hated it. That said, the soundtrack is a banger, and I like that it gave Meryl more of a position as the viewpoint character. The dub was on Youtube but... seems to have been removed, great. So I don't know where you can find it now.

Then there's the original manga. The two initial volumes were shounen, but the magazine folded before it could be complete. When Nightow revived it in another it was reclassified as seinen and renamed Trigun Maximum. I strongly recommend it in its entirety, because it's a magnificent story. A more or less definitive online fan translation is floating around, it should have everything you need.

And then there's Trigun Stampede.

I love the manga a lot, and it's obvious the people who made this show did too. It engages with its themes and plays with the expectations set up by it being an adaptation while clearly resounding with love for the story. Everyone working on this goes harder than I've ever seen anyone go on anything - music, acting, animation, cinematography, even the writing in the English dub is powerful and meticulous, with an unflinching eye to the darkness of its themes. Because Stampede specifically talks about how Vash became the man he becomes when he doesn't done it yet. And it also does something absolutely extraordinary, which is discuss the persecution of femininity even in those who are not women. This Vash is much softer, passive, gentle and nurturing, and the story is relentless in the brutality he attracts. This version of Vash's genocidal brother might be the most chilling of all, because he is realistically emotionally abusive even as it's obvious he loves and needs his twin.

Plus the fight scenes are, hands down, the greatest I've seen in animation for the last decade. There can be no debate. The final battle in the twelve episode is a thing of beauty, perfect characterisation and relentlessly ratcheting tension, spectacle that blows your eyes out the back of your skull.

It all really makes me happy. It's... man, it's hard to state how beautiful and inspiring I find the story. I really hope you love it, and I'd love to discuss it with you once you're done!

(I've written much, much more about it in this handy-dandy index, but it's riddled with spoilers, so beware.)

#trigun stampede #trigun maximum #trigun #um so how'd i do #and the english dub is absolutely amazing too #layered like a cake

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justforbooks · 7 months ago

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Teri Garr

American actor who brought superb comic timing to her roles in film classics such as Young Frankenstein and Tootsie

The American actor Teri Garr, who has died aged 79, once said: “I’ve spent a lot of time clawing my way to the middle.” That remark could have sprung from the lips of any of the fizzy, dizzy, nakedly neurotic women who were her speciality from the mid-1970s onwards.

In Mel Brooks’s horror pastiche Young Frankenstein (1974), she was Inga, the bubbly laboratory assistant who, when proposing a roll in the hay, means precisely that and nothing more. She played the wives of troubled men in two very different fantasies from 1977.

In Steven Spielberg’s Close Encounters of the Third Kind, she tries to keep her children chipper while their father (Richard Dreyfuss), a UFO obsessive, descends into madness. In the comedy Oh, God!, in which her husband (John Denver) is visited by the wisecracking Almighty (George Burns), she says tearfully: “I went to empty the garbage and two people blessed me. And then one of them blessed the garbage.” In both instances she invested stay-at-home sidekick roles with abundant warmth, humour and generosity.

Younger audiences came to know Garr as the mother of Phoebe Buffay (Lisa Kudrow) in the 1990s sitcom Friends, but her career high point was Tootsie (1982), starring Dustin Hoffman as a cross-dressing actor. Playing Sandy, his sometime lover waiting for her big acting break, Garr was touchingly grounded. She improvised some of her funniest moments, such as being locked in the bathroom and then resolving to use the experience in her acting work, and made comic capital out of the way in which the tiniest knock could send Sandy’s self-esteem plummeting. Most magically, she brought dignity to a part that could have come across as a doormat. Garr was Oscar-nominated but lost out to Jessica Lange for her performance in the same film.

The production was famously troubled, passing through so many writers and potential directors that there were rumours of an “I Also Wrote/ I Almost Directed Tootsie” club in Hollywood. Hoffman and the eventual director, Sydney Pollack, spent most of the protracted 100-day shoot either at loggerheads or communicating only through intermediaries.

Garr found Hoffman exhausting. “It’s not enough to give in to him,” she said. “You have to like what he wants too!” Such off-screen troubles only made the delightful end result all the more miraculous. In the escalating mania of the picture’s final stretch, Garr came into her own with her killer timing and gasping indignation.

She was born in Lakewood, Ohio, to showbiz parents: Phyllis Lind, born Emma Schmotzer, was a dancer with the Rockettes, while Eddie Garr, born Edward Gonnoud, was a vaudeville performer and actor who starred alongside a young Marilyn Monroe in Ladies of the Chorus (1948). After he died when Garr was 11, the family moved from their home in New Jersey to Hollywood, where her mother became a wardrobe mistress for film and television.

From an early age Garr harboured aspirations to be an actor and dancer. At 13 she performed with a professional ballet company in San Francisco. She was educated at Magnificat high school, Ohio, North Hollywood high school and California State University at Northridge before appearing in the West Side Story road show and Donald O’Connor’s revue at the Cocoanut Grove club.

Garr’s earliest film appearances were as a background dancer in Elvis Presley movies; she appeared in nine including Fun in Acapulco (1963), Kissin’ Cousins, Viva Las Vegas (both 1964) and Clambake (1967). She began taking acting lessons and found herself in the same class as Jack Nicholson, who was writing the deranged film Head (1968) as a vehicle for the Monkees. He doled out small parts to his classmates, providing Garr with her first speaking role as a woman who suffers a snakebite. (“Quick,” she tells Micky Dolenz, proffering an injured finger, “suck it before the venom reaches my heart.”)

She became a regular in the early and mid-70s on The Sonny & Cher Show – she based Inga’s accent in Young Frankenstein on Cher’s German wig stylist – and appeared on sitcoms such as The Bob Newhart Show and M*A*S*H.

Francis Ford Coppola gave her a small role in his surveillance thriller The Conversation (1974) and she was also part of the ensemble cast in two ramshackle US comedies by British directors: Michael Winner’s star-studded Won Ton Ton, the Dog Who Saved Hollywood (1976) and John Schlesinger’s Honky Tonk Freeway (1981).

After playing the young hero’s mother in the lyrical Coppola-produced adventure The Black Stallion (1979), Garr became part of the director’s Zoetrope Repertory Company, appearing in other films produced or directed by him.

“Instead of getting a big chunk of money for a movie, I’d take a weekly cheque or a small amount, because we were all going to share the profits later. After a while, even the small cheques stopped coming.” Zoetrope productions in which she starred included The Escape Artist and the stylised but commercially disastrous musical One from the Heart (both 1982). Of the latter, Garr said: “It was over-rehearsed. After you have done a scene 25 times, you have no energy left, you don’t care.”

She was one of the leads in The Sting II, a lacklustre sequel to the 1973 con-artist comedy film. She briefly reprised her role in The Black Stallion Returns and played the wife to a house-husband (Michael Keaton) in Mr Mom (both 1983).

A rare foray into straight drama came as a divorced woman taking up with a cad in Michael Apted’s Firstborn (1984), and she was wickedly funny in Martin Scorsese’s black comedy After Hours (1985) as a Monkees-obsessed, beehive-sporting waitress whose cupboards are stacked with cans of hairspray (a touch that Garr herself suggested).

In Miracles (1986), she and Tom Conti played a couple who reassess their relationship when they are kidnapped on the brink of divorce. Further roles included the gentle drama Full Moon in Blue Water (1988) and the crime caper Out Cold (1989), as well as supporting parts in Dumb and Dumber (1994), the Watergate comedy Dick (1999) and Terry Zwigoff’s wry comic-book adaptation Ghost World (2001).

In 2002, Garr announced that she had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Three years later, she published an autobiography, Speedbumps: Flooring It Through Hollywood, which she originally planned to title Does This Wheelchair Make Me Look Fat? In 2006 she suffered a brain aneurysm that inhibited her speech and movement, though she recovered both after months of rehabilitation. Her last film appearances were in two well-liked indie comedy-dramas, Expired and Kabluey (both 2007), made before the aneurysm.

When she expressed her dissatisfaction with the roles that she had been offered, it was sometimes hard to tell if she was being comically self-deprecating. “Directors would tell me, ‘We want you to play a character a little less complex than you are.’ Yeah, sure. What they mean is, ‘You’re playing a dummy.’” No part inhabited by Garr, though, was ever so easily pigeonholed. Her particular talent lay in introducing a sparkling comic complexity far beyond what existed on the page.

She is survived by her daughter, Molly, from her three-year marriage to the actor John O’Neil, which ended in divorce in 1996.

🔔 Teri Garr, actor, born 11 December 1944; died 29 October 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #Teri Garr #in memoriam

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universefcb · 3 months ago

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Can you write about Marc Bernal? Where he finds himself in a shameful or funny situation because he mistaken the reader for her twin who looks exactly like her.And thank you

↬❥ Wrong twin

Marc Bernal x Fem!Reader

sy: You and Marc are friends with benefits and one day you decided to meet at the park, you just didn't expect that your twin sister would be there.

a/n:And sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.I hope this is what you asked for!

warnings: No warning.

Marc Bernal has always prided himself on his keen perception, his charisma and, above all, his certainty that he would never make a silly mistake. But that day, he proved himself completely wrong.

It all started with a message from y/n telling him to meet her at the park. Excited, Marc went without hesitation, already rehearsing in his head some joke to tease her as soon as he saw her. When he arrived, he saw her sitting on a bench, with her back to him, looking at her cell phone.

It was her. Of course it was. Same hair, same posture, even the way she held the phone seemed identical.

Smiling to himself, Marc decided to act without warning. He approached silently, bent behind her and, with the greatest confidence in the world, whispered in her ear:

“Are you waiting for me, love?”

The reaction was instantaneous. The woman froze, her shoulders stiffened, and Marc felt a chill run down his spine as he realized something was very wrong. Slowly, she turned her face to look at him, and it was at that moment that Marc noticed:

It wasn't y/n.

His smile disappeared instantly.

“What?! Who are you?!” the woman exclaimed, her eyes widening.

Marc jumped back, throwing his hands up in an automatic panic reflex.

“ME?! Who are you?!”

The woman looked at him as if he were crazy, but before she could say anything else, a loud laugh echoed through the park.

Marc turned around and, to his complete horror, saw y/n leaning against a tree, holding her stomach from laughing so hard.

“Oh my God, Marc! I saw the whole thing! Did you really mistake my sister for me?!”

He blinked, completely stunned.

“Wait... WHAT?!”

The woman before him crossed her arms, still looking at him suspiciously.

“You must be the famous Marc…”

s/n came closer, wiping away a tear from laughing so hard.

“This is my twin sister, Marc. I told you about her, remember? But apparently, you don’t pay attention.”

“But... but you're identical!” he tried to justify himself, still feeling his face catch fire.

“Yeah, but you could have at least looked properly!”

Y/N's sister sighed and shook her head, but in the end, she gave an amused smile.

“Well, at least now I know my sister has a rather absent-minded boyfriend.”

“We’re not girlfri—” Marc started to say, but s/no interrupted.

“He’s a walking disaster, that’s what he is. But it’s fun to watch him embarrass himself.”

Marc closed his eyes for a moment, trying to regain his lost dignity. When he opened them again, he saw his sister and him laughing together.

“Okay, you can laugh all you want, I deserve it,” he grumbled, crossing his arms.

“Oh, sure, we’ll laugh about this for a long time!” y/n winked at him teasingly.

Marc sighed. He knew he would never live in peace after this.

#marc bernal imagine #marc bernal x you #marc bernal x reader #marc guiu x you #marc bernal x y/n #marc bernal #marc Bernal x femin!reader #football imagine #football x reader #football x you #football x y/n #football #football x oc #barcelonafanfic #fc barcelona #pau cubarsi imagine #universefcb #hector fort

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voxofthevoid · 8 months ago

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Demon/Hunter Horror Wednesday #7—and showing no signs of stopping. It doesn't help that my writing pace has been relatively slow and scattered last month and this one, so I'm covering less of the narrative in a month than I used to. We'll see if November is more chill.

The fic is now 53k, and I've just started Chapter 09. The story is only approaching the halfway mark, and Gojou has yet to show up—next chapter or the one after though!

This week's entry features Tōji and Yuuji, with a little bit of sleeping!Megumi. It's my first time actually writing Tōji, and I gotta say, it's fun. Didn't mean for him to come across...like that, but well. It fits.

Enjoy?

“Fushiguro! Fushiguro, open up! Fushiguro—” Yuuji’s fists meet empty air instead of solid wood, and he pitches forward, right into a slab of rock—that yields ever so slightly, more suffocating than bruising. “Mmmph?”

“Pinkie,” drawls a distinctive voice. “You lost down there or just having fun?”

Yuuji detaches himself from Fushiguro Tōji’s overly generous chest, staring up and blinking till the world makes a little more sense. A narrow-eyed stare greets him. The scarred corner of that mouth is quirked up, but it’s not clear if it’s a smirk or a frown or some biting combination of both.

“Sorry,” Yuuji gasps, a few seconds too late to salvage his dignity. He backs up too, almost tripping down the front steps in his hurry to get away from Fushiguro’s dad’s sheer bulk. “Didn’t mean to—sorry for the ruckus, it’s just—Fushiguro?”

A dark eyebrow rises sharply. “That sure is me.”

��No, I mean—not you, Fushiguro-san, I meant—”

“I know who you want, kid,” Fushiguro’s dad says, stepping back from the door and turning away, leaving it open in what’s the closest to permission Yuuji’s ever gotten from this man. He steps inside, shutting the door behind him. “What’s the fuss anyway? You two have a little lover’s spat?”

“…We’re not dating, Fushiguro-san.”

“Fucker’s spat then.”

Yuuji breathes in and breathes out the urge to slam his head into the closest wall. “We’re not…doing that either.”

“Kids these days.” He scoffs. “Too damn slow about everything.”

Yuuji opens his mouth and closes it without saying a single word. He’s pretty sure the guy’s just fucking with him. Or fucking with Fushiguro, more like. He’s the one who always gets all red-faced and worked up when his dad starts on this. Yuuji usually finds it funny, at least after he got over the initial burst of panic-infused confusion at someone like this man thinking he was trying to woo his son, but today, he’s—

“Is Fushiguro home? I mean, Megumi—” Yuuji makes a face, the name tasting wrong on his tongue—not overly familiar, no, just not allowed.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Fushiguro’s dad tells him, with a rumble in his throat that’s a little too mean to be just amusement. “Just call me Tōji, it’s fine. Family names ain’t all that anyway. But kid, you’ll be grey in the grave before that stuffy brat gives you permission to use his pretty little name. You just gotta take what you want from the likes of him.”

“I—” He’s got no idea what to say to that. He’s not sure he wants to learn. “Is he here?”

Fushiguro’s dad—Tōji, which is weird but somehow not as weird as saying Megumi—drops heavily onto the touch, picking up the remote and gesturing upward with it. “In his room.”

“Oh. He wasn’t picking up his phone.”

“So you decided to, what, run here?” Tōji slants him a sideways glance, scanning Yuuji from head to toe, and he looks immeasurably bored with everything and anything, but Yuuji still feels skewered through, suddenly hyperaware of the clothes sticking to his skin with sweat and the hair plastered to his forehead. It’s not the running that turned him into a sweat factory, but the real reason is worse. “Needy much?”

“No, I…” There’s a wild urge to really explain—everything Yuuji saw, everything he didn’t. But he clings to what’s left of his sense and chokes it down. “I was just worried.”

Tōji looks away with a rough huff of breath, shaking his head while flipping through channels. “Sure. He’s sleeping, not rejecting you or whatever overdramatic bullshit you built up in your horny teenage head.”

“Sleeping?” Yuuji asks, looking at the dusty clock hanging on the wall even though he’s got a damn good idea what hour it is. “It’s three in the afternoon. Fushiguro hates napping.”

“Does he?” Tōji asks disinterestedly. “Go wake him up then.”

“I can do that?”

“Do whatever you want, kid. I’m not going to hold your dick for you. Just don’t get too frisky. The little shit sleeps with a knife.”

Tōji sounds such an unsettling mixture of irritated and impressed that Yuuji backs away toward the stairs in sheer self-defense, turning around halfway and speedwalking the rest of the distance, bounding up the stairs with a lot less care than he usually takes, and he’s at Fushiguro’s door in seconds, grabbing the knob and pushing it open before he can think it through—or think at all.

The door opens soundlessly, revealing the familiar confines of Fushiguro’s room.

There’s a boy-sized lump on the bed, buried under a thick duvet. The window’s open, but the curtains have been pulled shut, drenching the room in dark blue light. They billow out as if greeting Yuuji, settling slowly back down as the breeze dies out.

Fushiguro doesn’t stir.

Yuuji creeps closer, all his urgency pulling back under his skin to writhe there. No matter what Tōji said, Yuuji doesn’t really want to wake Fushiguro. He just has to see him.

He just needs to make sure he’s okay.

Yuuji stops in the middle of the room, still a few steps away from the bed. He’s close enough to see Fushiguro’s face and even the shape of his body under the covers. He looks…fine. Healthy, unharmed. He’s breathing deeply, and his face looks different than it usually does, but that’s always the case when he’s asleep, all those stubborn frowns and furrows falling away to turn its lines into something softer and sweeter.

And there’s no real expression on Fushiguro’s face right now, but it’s almost funny how this lack of expression is so different from the inhuman blankness that bore into Yuuji from those church pews. Fushiguro’s eyes are closed right now, but Yuuji knows in his bones that, if he pried those eyes open, it’d be blue-green fire that glares out at him, not that horrible darkness.

His legs almost buckle as pure relief floods him.

Yuuji backs away instead, anything but steady. He’s still careful to be quiet, even when he finds the half-open door without looking away from Fushiguro and steps back out of the room.

He can’t bring himself to close the door and deny himself the view of Fushiguro’s sleeping body.

That’s creepy, right? Not as bad as whatever Tōji thinks Yuuji plans to do to his son, but that’s a low bar. He shouldn’t be standing around staring at his sleeping friend, even from a distance.

It’s just—

Yuuji doesn’t remember.

The last time Yuuji saw Fushiguro, it was at the church, and Sukuna was holding them both—Yuuji in his arms, Fushiguro under his fucked-up spell. And that’s the last thing Yuuji remembers of the church. Standing there with Sukuna while his worldview shattered into splinters, each one drawing blood. He thinks the hands around his neck tightened, but he doesn’t remember suffocating.

Only darkness—and then light, the sun streaming in through his own bedroom windows.

He’d wanted it to be a dream so badly.

But he knew it wasn’t, even before the bruises made themselves known.

He lost hours. Nanami wasn’t in the house, but there was breakfast cold on the table. Yuuji didn’t take a single bite, but he’ll apologize for that later. At least Nanami wasn’t around to hear Yuuji curse that church and the monster there, his voice and his panic growing louder with every text and call that went unanswered, and he didn’t see Yuuji tear out of that house like the hounds of hell were at his heels.

Maybe it’s a miracle Tōji let him inside at all. Kugisaki’s grandma sure wouldn’t have.

But Fushiguro’s here. He looks like himself. He’s…not safe, probably, but he’s whole and alive. And that tight, thorny knot in the center of Yuuji’s chest won’t really fade until he talks to Fushiguro and makes sure it’s really his friend, all inside, but he doesn’t want to wake him up for that.

In case it’s vacant black eyes that flash open to greet him, in case—

No. That won’t happen. Yuuji won’t let it happen, even if he has to march back to that church and tear Fushiguro out of Sukuna’s belly himself.

He finally closes the door, staggering back to slump against the opposite wall. His heart is somewhere in his throat, not pounding away so much as clogging his airways. Every breath tastes like congealed blood.

It’s no phantom flavor.

Yuuji can feel it in his own blood—the rot, waiting.

Is that what Sukuna did to Fushiguro? Pry open his mouth, pour in the filth.

#itadori yuuji #fushiguro tōji #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #wip wednesday #jjk snippets #my fic #divider credit: saradika-graphics #fic: mouth of the wolf

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ykzzr · 2 years ago

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Deadly love (22 June 1908)

(On this day 115 years ago, Prince Nikolai Yusupov and Count Arvid Manteuffel duel took place, in which Nikolai was killed for his beloved Marina.)

In March 1908, at one of the dinners of amateur artists from high society youth, Nikolai was introduced to the young Countess Marina Haydn. Marina, as a lady-in-waiting to the Empress, was invited to take part in a charity performance.

She was 19 years old and was about to marry the captain of the Life Guards Cavalry Regiment, Count Arvid Ernstovich Manteuffel, heir to an old Baltic family.

Yusupov played the role of a man in the play, and Marina unexpectedly boldly chose the role of a nasty hunchbacked old woman, who played her role deftly and cheerfully. Nikolai Yusupov could not help but pay attention to such a charming girl.

Their meeting can be called a fatal chance. Passion broke out between them instantly, and the fact that Marina's wedding took place a month later did not stop them.

Nikolai Yusupov was going to marry Marina, but his mother, Zinaida Nikolaevna Yusupova, did not agree to this marriage.

When Marina learned of Zinaida's refusal to see her as her son's wife, she began begging her lover: "Let's run outside and get married!" They planned to escape, but Marina's mother intervened: she couldn't allow her daughter to escape so shamefully before the wedding with a man.

The girl tearfully begged her parents to cancel the wedding, but to no avail. On the eve of the wedding, the two lovers met. On April 22, 1908, Nikolai Yusupov and Marina Gaydin arranged a farewell dinner in a separate room of the restaurant, Marina and Arvid Manaville's wedding took place on April 23, 1908, as planned. There were three hundred guests at the wedding. Zinaida Nikolaevna Yusupova sighed softly: this is all resolved.

After the wedding, they went to France for their honeymoon. Left alone with her unloved husband, the beautiful, eccentric Marina realizes the horror of her situation as a recluse in a golden cage, She bombarded Nikolai Yusupov daily with passionate letters, begging him to come, and Nikolai followed marina to France

Marina asked her husband for a divorce, but was refused. Seizing the moment, she secretly met Nikolai Yusupov, who settled nearby at the Hotel Maurice in Paris.

After that, Marina and Nikolai, as if forgetting about decency, appear together in society, at fairs, at operas and restaurants. Arvid finds out quickly enough and demands an explanation from his wife, Marina in the midst of a quarrel, boldly says to her husband: "I'm leaving you. It's all over between us!" Indeed, she leaves her husband.

Inspired, Nikolai Yusupov writes a letter to his mother and again asks permission to marry Marina, who is on the verge of a divorce.

Then Count Manteuffel, in order not to become a laughing stock in society, challenges Yusupov to a duel. He is instigated by regimental comrades: "Yusupov insulted your honor and dignity! It can't be left like that. Only a duel..."

Nikolai wrote to his beloved Marina in their last letter:

“I am not afraid of death, but it’s hard for me to die away from you without seeing you one last time.

Goodbye forever, I love you."

The duel took place on June 22, 1908 in St. Petersburg, on Krestovsky Island At the predawn hour.

At 8 o'clock in the morning on June 22, 1908, Nikolai Yusupov was mortally wounded in the chest. An honest passion cost the prince his life: the cold-bloodedly offended Manteuffel shot Nikolai, who shot twice into the air, from a distance of fifteen steps.

Felix Yusupov described this tragic day as follows: “I heard tearful cries from my father's room I entered and saw him very pale in front of the stretcher on which the body of Nikolai was stretched out, my mother, kneeling before him seemed to have lost her mind. With great difficulty they separated her from her son's body and put her to bed after they had Calmed down a bit, she called me but when she saw it she thought it was her brother it was an unbearable sight then the mother fell into prostration and when she came to herself she would not let me go for a moment.

Nikolai Feliksovich Yusupov was buried in the Arkhangelsk family estate. Marina begged Nikolai's family for permission to say goodbye to her lover, but she was refused. Shaken by Yusupov's death, Marina was in a terrible state. Her family sent her to a clinic in Geneva, where she spent several months.

Marina and Arvid's life is turned upside down: they become outcasts in society. She is a shameless married woman who killed a brilliant young man, a cold-blooded killer.

They finally got divorced. Count Manteville left military service, went first to Latvia, and then to France, where he died in 1931 at the age of 52.

Marina in 1916 married Colonel Mikhail Mikhailovich Chichagov, with whom she left for Europe. They had one son, who died in infancy. Marina and Mikhail's marriage collapsed.

At the end of her life, Marina Haydn published the book "Sapphire brings misfortune", which was published in only 100 copies. Marina Alexandrovna died alone in Monte Carlo in 1974 at the age of 86. Marina Haydn kept Nikolai Yusupov's letter as a great relic.

#nikolai yusupov #felix yusupov #zinaida yusupova #yusupov #prince nikolai yusupov #prince felix yusupov #Nikolai Felixovich yusupov #Felix felixovich yusupov #Yusupov family #1908 #1900s

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mk-wizard · 2 years ago

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Top 15 Games that SHOULD get a 100% Reboot/Restart

Hi. I felt like doing something positive especially after my last post, so as a follow up, here is a list of games that I think should get the reboot treatment. And when I say reboot, I don’t just mean remake with fancier graphics and bonus features. I mean restart altogether with fresh new storylines that go their own way though in some specific cases, all they need is a new look. Note that this is my subjective opinion and nobody here has to agree with it. It’s just a fun suggestion.

1- Metal Gear - I don’t mean Metal Gear Solid, I mean Metal Gear in general. In fact, I think the “Solid” should be retconned entirely because it not only stopped being about Solid Snake who is the hero, he was done dirty with a pathetic ending and the only sequels we get now are prequels. Not to mention the constant drama and tragedy became nauseating. My advice is to restart from the beginning by rebooting the games that date back to the NES as are with better writing and then after that, only do a half-reboot of Metal Gear Solid and then go its own way while respecting Snake as a main character. Solid Snake is a staple in war themed games and set the standard of how we create them. He should REMAIN the main character and have his endings always remain open with him still standing with dignity.

2- Dino Crisis - I don’t think I need to say much here. Everyone is dying to see this game get remade and it’s not hard to see why. With the exception of the third game and the spin off, Dino Crisis 1 and 2 are amazing. They are dinosaur themed games that actually feel like survivor horror games and not like shooter games with the dinosaur gimmick. This series deserved a reboot and a third game that gives it proper closure.

3- Parasite Eve - Like Metal Gear, this series did dirty to its main character (Aya Brea) in such a way that they wrote themselves into a corner. Only the first game feels unique and special while the second and third instalments have an identity crisis, a confusing weapons and spell system, and a tank control that never belonged. Only the first game should stay as is with a simple remake and then, its sequels should actually be true sequels that keep the battle, spell and control system as are. Let’s just forget that PE2 and The Third Birthday ever happened.

4- Silent Hill - Let’s be honest. Harry Mason is the most underrated male protagonist in survivor horror because unlike all the others, he is not a man of action, not a badass and very relatable for it. He is a widower, a writer, a pacifist and one heck of a dad who literally jumped into the underworld to save his daughter. Now, while I like a lot of the sequels, this series lost its way. With the exception of Silent Hill 2, I think Harry and his daughter should have remained the main protagonists of the series. Harry is proof that real men come in all flavors and having one like him is different while still showing the best attributes of masculinity.

PS: I know Silent Hill 1 got a reboot, but it was bad. Period.

5- Turok - Before there was Dino Crisis (and I’m not discrediting it), there was Turok. The titular hero who might I also add is aboriginal which is a very underrepresented group in fiction period who literally kills dinosaurs with his bare hands. He is a badass and he while he has gotten reboots before, none of them hit the mark yet, but creators should not give up on him. He is worth the effort and if they keep trying, they will strike gold.

6- Castlevania - This series is ICONIC and nobody ever gets tired of it. It should make a comeback and it is one of the few series where being 3D would make it better. And considering that medieval settings in video games is all the rage now, it would be great to see Simon Belmont back in action. Heck, I would even be open to seeing a Belmont fighting evil in our modern times in 3D.

7- The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time - Now, I stand by that this series doesn’t need a reboot, I think this game specifically should get a remake because it is a great game that reshaped the series into how we know and love it now, but it was very buggy and the graphics were not that great even for their time. Everything else about it is great, but it does need a facelift.

8- Prototype - A forgotten gem if there ever was one. This series is unique in that it is the one game where you play as the monster who is also an anti-hero. Yet again, its series did its main character (Alex Mercer) dirty though on top of that, left too many questions unanswered. This series needs a reboot with a much better storyline. If you haven’t seen it, play the first game and you’ll see my point.

9- Tomb Raider - Now, we can all agree that this series has lost its way. While I am all for origin stories and I admit it makes sense for Lara Croft to not be hardened or toughened up from the start. Keeping her as a weak frightened girl doesn’t make her realistic nor does it make her a likeable heroine. And I am woman enough to admit that being athletic, confident, daring and badass is a part of Lara Croft’s character. I don’t want her to be realistic. I want her to be cool and fun to play. This series needs to go back to its roots when it was fun and Lara was allowed to shamelessly be herself.

10- Dead Rising - Another case of a game losing its way and its main protagonist becomes someone they’re not. The second instalment was the only game that felt true to what the series is supposed to be and even then, it felt like a spinoff not a part of the main story because Dead Rising is Frank West’s story. Another thing that also stood out about this game is that unlike most zombie themed games, the main character is not only not a fighter, he’s a total lover in all the great ways. Frank is (or rather, was) compassionate, honest and it isn’t for nothing that you only got the best ending when you would save everyone. Heck, he would save people who tried to kill him. This series should get a total reboot and a total rewrite after game 1. And can we please not give Frank a heart of stone? Him being loving is what made him great.

11- ObsCure - Another lost gem with a unique premise and group of protagonists. This game plays up our childhood fear of the dark because the monsters in this game literally are allergic to the light and the setting is in a highschool. It feels like Scream meets the Blair Witch Project making it a lot of fun, and the monsters are so delightfully creepy. Plus, the story was compelling. Sadly this series only got one sequel which was actually great, but never got that third instalment that would wrap everything up. I say we give this series a reboot, so it can finally finish what it started.

12- Resident Evil Outbreak - I know this is a spinoff series, but it’s one of the best in the series. It fills in a lot of gaps in the main storyline and any game that allows you to have your own tyrant fighting alongside you is awesome. It also has a multiple ending system which was well done and very rewarding when you get the best ending. I think this should get the reboot treatment and even have a third game that expands the aftermath further.

13- Resident Evil Dead Aim - Another one of the best spinoffs in the RE series because it expands the story specifically in how tyrants are made and how the variants work. And to be honest, I even liked the characters. I would love see new life breathed into this compelling game even if it just remains the only one of its kind.

14- Days Gone - I don’t care what anyone says. Any game that allows to play a biker with the spirit of an honourable warrior is badass. Also, can we talk about how this is one of the few games where the main protagonist is married and remains loyal to his wife even long after?! He may be white, male, straight and Christian, but he is still pretty progressive and embodies the BEST part of masculinity. The parts that drive a man to be romantic, noble and heroic. This game with extremely misjudged to the point of bigotry and it deserves a proper reintroduction because it was going places.

15- Half-Life - This series helped Valve get its jump start and it had the most unique and most iffy type of protagonist in an action/sci-fi game possible yet worked: a scientist. After all, who expect the skinny nerd with the big thick glasses to save the day? Yet, it worked and this game has tons of monsters that became iconic in video game lore. What’s really sad is that a third game was in works, but never saw the light of day. I say we reboot this series and give it the chance to honour its promise to give that third game at long last.

Bonus - Other honourable mentions here are Left 4 Dead because Back 4 Blood stinks, Alone in the Dark though I hear a reboot is in the works, Doom, Devil May Cry and the right way please, Bloody Roar, The Suffering, Fatal Frame, The Evil Within and any other fantastic game series that either went bad due to bad sequels or never got the chance to keep going.

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ivygorgon · 7 months ago

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An open letter to the President & U.S. Congress

End the Massacre, Protect the Innocent

1 so far! Help us get to 5 signers!

As a concerned American and one of your constituents, I am writing to express my PROFOUND HORROR and OUTRAGE regarding our complicity in Israel’s genocide of Palestinians. The toll is devastating: over 43,000 Palestinians, including 16,765 children, and 1,200 Israelis have lost their lives, with countless others wounded, held hostage, or missing. In Gaza, Israel's blockade has left over 2 million people, half of whom are children, without essentials—food, fuel, water, electricity, and medical supplies. This collective punishment violates international law and humanity itself. On

February 25, 2024, Aaron Bushnell, a 25-year-old U.S. Air Force airman, took his life in an act of protest outside the Israeli Embassy in Washington, DC. Dressed in uniform, he set himself on fire while shouting "Free Palestine," expressing his deep disillusionment and refusal to remain complicit in what he saw as genocide. Bushnell's final act was a plea for justice and a testament to the moral crisis that weighs on us all. His sacrifice underscores the urgent need to address the humanitarian crisis in Palestine and end U.S. complicity. We cannot continue to support actions that blatantly disregard human life and dignity.

As you prepare to vote on aid to Israel, I urge you to stand against violence and advocate for an immediate ceasefire, the lifting of Gaza’s blockade, and diplomacy that upholds the rights and lives of all people in the region. Americans stand with peace and human rights, not oppression and endless cycles of violence.

The time to act is now.

Source: Al Jazeera - Israel-Palestine War in Maps

▶ Created on November 12 by Ret. SGT Guild, A Concerned Indigenous American

📱 Text SIGN PCYFOX to 50409

🤯 Liked it? FOLLOW IVYGORGON

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systemhead · 2 months ago

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I really can’t get over the sense that we’ve lost, and everything from this point onward is just trying to save bare shreds of human dignity. I think by 2040 we will look back on 2020 longingly. I cannot forsee a future where things don’t get worse (no one but me and a couple people on the Internet seem to be paying attention to the pending blue ocean event). Alternatively Chinese century and the lucky just get to leave this dying carcass empire.

But… not everyone here deserves what’s probably coming. I always hated TW talk that wants to retort to all sad hitlerite talk that everyone in the US deserves it. It’s simply not true. All the white people - sure. Everyone in the middle and upper class - sure. But not the Mississippi Delta south and Louisiana and Detroit, the extreme urban lumpen (not just the temporary rehab pretenders, like moi!), some of the trans people, the reservations, the permanent birth to death open air prison urban areas etc.

This is bigger than my hitlerite rights btw. I’m more upset about the genocide and the utter failure of any communist organization or country anywhere in the world to do anything. I think when China / China adjacent powers write the history of the 21st century. The US backed horrors in the Middle East and Africa will be the greatest stain of inaction on them. More so than global warming.

Anyway. Whatever. None of this matters anymore and I don’t trust anyone at all. I’ve never seen anything succeed in this charade of a world hegemon and I don’t think anyone will apparently ever take anything seriously ever. We’re all dumber and weaker, so so much dumber and weaker and lazier. Whatever. I’m pulling the lever I wanted to pull when I was younger. I have no idea what I’m doing but I am really good at looking like I have an handle on things and I am very good at working in the background.

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nerdieforpedro · 10 months ago

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Wyrms and Soggy Milk

Chapter Three of Fire and Fury

Pero Tovar x Calista (fat/plus size OFC)

My entire masterlist and blog are for readers 18+ MDNI. I do not consent to my work being used in AI, recommended on TikTok, borrowed or plagiarized.

Summary: Arriving at the church was supposed to be a reprieve, it proves to be anything but. By the end of their continued troubles , Pero ends up confused and in a tub. Calista may have the advantage.

Warnings: (Dark Fic/DDDNE - violence and threats of SA) time-period misogyny, blood, mentions of some gore, insults, mention of sex work, way too much milk talk, unlawful use of scales (unsure if there's a lawful use?), Pero in a tub

Word Count: about 5.2k

Notes: I tried my best with writing fight scenes, I think the chapter ended up long because of it but they should make sense. It’s my second or third time writing one so I’m hopeful? 🤔 Let me know how it reads.

Main Masterlist/ Pero Tovar Masterlist/ AO3 Link

Meeting the Father

The sun hung low in the sky by the time they reached the church Pero and William had stopped by before heading into the forest yesterday. The trio had settled from their bickering as fatigue and hunger quieted them. Father Ignacio spotted them in the distance. He recognized the two men, but had never seen the woman before, she didn’t look like anyone from his flock from the nearby village.

As the small group comes closer, the priest is able to make out more details about the woman with the two mercenaries: this does not bode well for him. He was hopeful maybe she was older, but she appears young, full-bodied with a silver and light green dress stained with blood. Her hair is an unusual mix of the same mint green and black. What draws Father Ignacio is her lips, a vibrant bold pink. Such a color on a woman and given her clothing, he assumes that the two men have found a woman of the night to share for the night possibly, though there is something about her that doesn’t quite fit with the usual defeated look of those women. For one to enter the church, he must make it clear to Pero and William that no matter what they may have paid for, no such activity can take place under God’s house.

“Hey Father! I found him! I found Pero! You were wrong, though I’m not quite sure what happened after but we’re all okay I think.” William bounced up to the older gentleman and hugged him. Pero scoffed and Calista stood behind the Spaniard. She’s weary of men in robes, they tend to call her kind the embodiment of evil and try to hunt them. Not that any of their so-called holy relics to any more than make dragons itch. She feels vulnerable since she knows she’s weaker than normal.

“I see that Will. Who is your lady companion? I don’t remember either of you mentioning a third person.” Father Ignacio’s eyes are fixed on Calista, those sinful lips, bright honey eyes that have what looks to be paint on her eyelids. Some of the noblewomen wore adornments like that on their faces. Draws men into temptation, makes them commit acts they wouldn’t normally. But she cannot be turned away, the sun is nearly gone from the sky now and darkness is taking hold of the heavens. Such horror would befall a woman like her if left alone. “What is your name my girl?” The priest didn’t mean for it to sound vulgar, but she brings it out of him. He’ll need to be far away from her but this woman proves captivating. The Father would rather not put too much distance between them. A healthy about, room enough for The Lord if you will.

“This is Calista. We rescued her from some wolves in the forest. She’s staying with us so we can see her into town. She got lost while traveling.” William explained and Pero nodded. Ignacio assumed that what the pale one said was indeed a lie, but one to likely preserve her dignity given who the priest believes she really is.

“That will not be acceptable William. She’ll need her own room. This is the house of the Lord after all. Come. Let’s get the three of you cleaned and fed.” He smiles and William returns it, Pero does briefly and Calista doesn’t smile at all. They follow the older man into the inner part of the church past the congregation hall. He stops and points that William and Pero will share a room at the end of the long hallway they have turned down. Calista’s room would be in the middle of the hallway since normally there are men studying to be priests there but given the notoriety or the forest, few come to accept the call.

“I would prefer to stay with my protectors, good sir.” Calista informed the priest, feeling the words were foreign on her tongue. He’s been watching her this entire time. She may be a young dragon and had limited experience in the human world but she knows how many men view women, especially men whose eyes follow her with such clear intentions. Instinctively, she crosses her arms to cover her chest, much of which is exposed from the low cut of her dress. Now he wishes to separate her from the group, such a basic tactic.

“I agree with the lady Father. She is our responsibility and should remain with us.” Pero steps between her and the Father. He knows men like this priest, who act holier than most but if given the funds, access and anonymity, they would live in a brothel. Father Ignacio takes a step back, the Spaniard is intimidating to say the least and the priest is sure that he has no qualms about spilling blood in a house of God. William is watching the exchange between the three and is trying to think of a compromise, it’s a bad one, but it’s better than being run out of the village for killing this man.

“Father. Pero. Let’s just sort this out.” His hands are raised as the pale warrior speaks. “Now, Father,” William turns to face Ignacio, “Miss Calista is under our protection. We can’t very well leave her unattended and unguarded, that would go against the agreement we’ve made to see her safely home.” He slaps his palms on the Father’s shoulders and smiles. “Now I believe, there should be two sleeping quarters next to each other because I know that’s what your true issue lies despite it not being a true concern at all.” The priest begrudging looks at Calista, then Pero, and back to Calista. He is not convinced that there will not be some sort of illicit activity happening, but it is also a fair alternative. He has lost this round, but the battle is not over yet.

“Fine young William. I shall show you all two rooms that should work and are side by side.” The older man huffs and walks down the long hallway and turns the corner. Neither William nor Pero realized the church was quite this large when they first came here though they’d only been in the vestibule and chapel, never any further. Calista’s head is swiveling side to side observing the tapestries hanging on the wall, gold and silver adorning the walls and various prayers etched in Latin. That part seemed strange, usually words aren't etched into the walls of churches. There's too many questions raised about these priests here to Calista, but she remains silent for now. She needs to keep playing the part of the helpless woman. She hated the role and that it was closer to the truth than she would ever admit. The four finally reached the two rooms that Ignacio had to offer. Each room had two twin beds, were clean, had a nightstand and two candles each that could be lit for light. There was a door in the middle connecting the two rooms, the priest said that he would be right back with a change of clothes for each of them. The three inspected the rooms and were satisfied by the accommodations.

“I'm looking forward to sleeping somewhere soft.” Calista plopped down on one of the twin beds in the first room, Pero was finishing up a walk through of the second room, it was quick as both rooms were equally small. William nodded, sitting across from the young dragon on the opposite bed. He sighed and was trying to figure out better sleeping arrangements, this wasn't what he expected from a man of the cloth. He looked for the good in people which wasn't always there, no matter what their station or profession. Pero stood with arms crossed, scowl on his face per usual, except this time he was squinting his eyes at William.

“William, we can't stay here. I don't care what you told that priest. I know you're still recovering from what that gray dragon did but you saw how that bastard-” He raises his hand and Pero huffs.

“Look, I know Pero. How was I supposed to know he was like this? He's a priest!” William laments, rubbing his temples. Normally, the church takes any and everyone who walks through their doors. Apparently, the two mercenaries have the unfortunate luck of finding one of the corrupt ones. Always their lot. One break, could they just get one break?!

“You can't trust any of them. They're all assholes. How are we getting out of here?” The Spaniard is set on leaving. Calista rolls her eyes and stands to pinch Pero's nose. “Mierda (shit)! What was that for?!” He quickly grabs his nose as she takes a step back, clicking her tonuge.

“You two are ridiculous. Yes, he is disgusting, but there are warm beds and you're forgetting that I am a dragon - human form yes, but a dragon. It will be in that priest's best interest to leave me be. If he does not, he'll go meet the god he speaks of.” Her eyes flash jade to match the wicked smile that graces her face. Pero throws his hands up and sits on the bed opposite William where Calista once sat.

“Do what you want, dragón pequeño (little dragon). You're clearly going to.” Pero still hates this entire idea. He'd sleep outside at this rate, and he always prefers a bed over the ground any day. Calista was about to make another remark, but there's a knock at the door. Father Ignacio is back.

William is the one who answers the door, he knows if Pero answers it, he might punch the father in the face to start. A forced smile is on his face as he greets the portly priest, hopefully for the last time tonight. “I brought changes of clothes for all three of you. You can wash up before eating.” Is what the older man leads with. Gods, he won't quit will he?

“Thank you Father. We're tired so we're just going to wash our hands, eat, sleep, then be up early in the morning. Want to get Calista safely to the village. Need an early start for that.” At this point, just having food and uninterrupted sleep are luxuries. Frowning, Ignacio nods and carries the clothes as he walks the trio to a small wash area where two seminarians are finishing up cleaning their hands before quickly leaving upon seeing the two mercenaries. Their eyes linger on Calista as it's rare for women to be in this part of the church outside of the nuns who visit on occasion and especially during the night. After washing their hands, sitting down to eat a meal was not the worst. Their bellies were full for the time being and the stew had a passible taste. The walk back to their rooms was unaccompanied by the good father. Pero insisted that Calista sleep in one of the twin beds and William sleep on the floor. He could use one of the mattresses. When asked why he would be the one to sleep on the floor, Pero snickered.

“You made a fuss about stopping in at the local church. Even though I told you we would have been better off to skip it. That's your bed.” At this, William sucked his teeth. Yeah he had told Pero that, but in all the other churches they've visited in their travels, only one other priest was filled with something other than the holy spirit.

“Fine. I'll just be happy to be on something other than the ground, though it won't be much better. As long as I can finally get some sleep.” Pero and William dragged a mattress off one of the beds in the other room and placed it on the floor. Calista gave William her blanket stating that she was still warm from the stew.

“Don't complain you're cold later.” Is all Pero said before pulling his blanket over himself and rolling over to face the wall. William and Calista looked at each other and sighed, they exchanged goodnights, “Be quiet. I thought we were all supposed to be sleeping.” The three drifted off to sleep for a few hours. But one of them woke up.

Getting out of bed, Calista thankfully retained her enhanced vision, able to see Pero and especially William so she wouldn't step on him. She exited the room and stood in the hallway. It was slightly cooler, but her body still felt so warm, from the inside out. She ate the same soup as the two men and neither one of them was awake. Was it because she's a dragon and not used to human food? She recalled where the mess hall was and assumed there should be a kitchen not too far from there, somewhere she could get something to drink, preferably water. She passed by one of the seminarians who directed her to the kitchen and walked with Calista, even pouring some water for her. He asked if she wanted to be escorted back and she declined stating that she won't be long, she misses her warm bed already. He gives her a slight bow and leaves which gives her pause, why would he bow? She leans against one of the counters, sipping the water slowly, she's hoping that will make the cool feeling last a bit longer.

“Your senses have become quite dull Calista. You have fallen quite far, you might be in what the humans refer to as hell right now. Quite ironic given where we are.”

Calista’s back straightens and she gags on her water, coughing as she spins to turn in the direction of the voice. It's a man who's a full head taller than her, but still shorter than Pero. His build is slender, but muscular. His voice is high pitched with every word wounding like a sneer. She knows it all too well, but what would he be doing here? It's much too soon, neither her nor Pero are ready to encounter him here. They're both still adjusting to their new forms.

“Nothing to say to me sweet Calista? Where is that fiery spark that cut me before?” Setting the glass down, the young dragon slowly backs up, keeping her eyes focused on her would-be attacker. She knows he will, just a matter of when, she's still burning up, even after finishing the water. “Trying to leave me so soon. You want to run back to your new human toy? I wasn't aware that was your type. I could see how I would not be a match for you. That matters little, it only means I'll have to work that much harder to breed you.”

“To hell with you Acanthus! I will never allow you to.” Her eyes flash jade once more and she lengthens her nails into crimson claws. She'll need to fight to have a sliver of a chance to make it out. Focusing is so difficult. He closes the distance as she jumps back, only to be caught by Father Ignacio, he was not only a filthy minded priest, but a wyrm. A lesser dragon that can be under the command of a young, great or elder dragon. His facial features have contorted into a longer, more reptilian face with a long tongue that slides across Calista's cheek while his black claws dig into the flesh of her shoulders. She shakes side to side to try and free herself, but she's too weak to even escape his grasp. “Dammit! Dammit!” Calista tries to call for Pero, summoning him using the same mental command she used when he fought her mother, but she can't seem to connect with him.

“Her skin even tastes sweet, Master. May I have a taste? While she is in this form? She is of little use to you in this form, yes?” Ignacio's speech has become subservient and simple. How did she miss it? What else has she not picked up on? Her senses are truly this poor? Did she miscalculate how much of herself she transferred to Pero? Acanthus smiles, his skin has a gray pallor to it, even in his human form that makes him look like a ghoul, matched with his yellow eyes and red lines on his neck, it isn't that far off from his dragon form.

“I may allow you to do so my minion while I watch. She'll be begging for me afterward. This one is quite depraved and that's coming from me as you well know Calista.” Her eyes widen at the implication, she spits on Acanthus’ white and silver robes. “What makes this better is that you don't even know why you can't call your toy? Did you not notice the change in your body? I had the good father behind you add something special to your bowl of soup. A few of my scales for seasoning. You didn't forget what that does right?” His thin fingers cup her chin as she stares at him, realizing the gravity of the situation. Consuming his scales means that she's connected to him. Even for the week that he held her captive, she managed to avoid eating them, no matter how hard he tried. It was why she was so hungry, eating anything in his lair could have meant a loss of control. Maybe due to her essence bond with Pero, that's why she wasn't under his command, but it also meant that she couldn't reach him either.

Dreams into Reality

Tovar doesn't often remember his dreams. There's darkness and then he awakes, lives, sleeps and repeats. Tonight is the first time in a long time that he dreams. That damn dragon is in his dream, holding his head on her lap. Stroking his hair, never would she do something so tender. She hates him and he hates her too. He is aware that he needs her to stay alive, that much is certain. That disgusting priest pops up, leering at Calista, but Pero doesn't move, head still in her lap and neither does she. Fire begins to burn around them and they disappear, the next thing he knows is that he is standing. Calista is in front of him, but that dirty old man is holding her arms behind her. Why won't she break free? Pero knows she's strong enough, but she's crying. He hears a man's shrill laughter and Calista screaming.

Pero awakens with his head pounding, he notices a faint green glow in the room, it seems to be coming from his head, the left side where his scar is. “What the hell is this? Is this what happened before? Wait…” Pero looks over at Calista's side of the room and sees her bed empty. “Godammit this fucking woman! Get up William! She's gone and likely in danger!” Rising out of bed, Pero kicks Will's side and grabs his broadsword and small swords, arming himself before leaving the room. Will is soon right behind him still groggy. Tovar finds that he can't pinpoint where she is, just a general direction. “This way!” He starts off down the corridor but is met by two of the seminarians. “Choir boys out of the way lest I cut you both down!” Will draws his sword as he and Pero watch them change into large snakes.

“If I ever mention, setting foot in a damn church again. Punch me hard Pero and remind me of this moment.” Will lunges toward the first snake cutting its head off with ease, the purple blood that splatters on the wall eats away at the tapestry and stone. “Be careful! Looks like the blood is high acidic!” Pero makes short work of the other snake, lobbing its head off and having some of the blood splash on his cuirass, it eats through part of it, exposing the leather under the iron. The two men race toward the mess hall where they hear a scream and a crash.

The white dragon is laughing as he sees Ignaco bleeding from a severed arm. “Master, why will you not help me?!” He whines, Acanthus sits on the counter shaking his head. His master had promised him a taste of this dragon turned human, to play with her before he took her back to his lair. Ignacio almost had her. Calista had been pinned to the ground, but she was able to get in a fire breath directly in his face. It didn't hurt him much, but with her claws she was able to take an arm and use it to get a few hits to the wyrm’s head before it broke in half. The entire ordeal was entertaining to the white dragon. Watching his future broodmare fight filled him with an unwarranted pride, the mother of his hatchlings needed to be strong after all.

Battered and bloodied, Calista didn't see a way out alive. Her best bet would be to end her life while killing this wyrm. If she tried earlier, Acanthus would step in and let the wyrm have her arm or no arm. If she did so after, she would risk trying to overpower the white dragon which she knew was impossible in her current state. it had been difficult enough in her full dragon form. There were no good options, but at least Pero might be none the wiser and would go peacefully in his sleep, maybe. He may have been a rude bastard, but he did try and help her for the little time she knew him. She could have been nicer, but it was too late to dwell on that now. “Maybe he wasn't so bad. Not a complete reprobate.”

“That right arpia pequeña (little dragon)? Only upon threat of death do you say something nice about me? Dragons have the same manners as humans then.” A silver blade met Calista a few inches away from her face, leaving her covered with purple blood. It didn't burn her nor her dress as both were naturally resistant. The wyrm fell to the floor convulsing in pain from the hole in its chest.

“Master…help me. I…my promise…” Its eyes alternated between Calista and Acanthus, ending on its Master as the light faded from them. Pero and William leaped to stand in front of Calista as she smiled, a genuine one at the both. Her focus quickly turned to Acanthus who wore a similar scowl to Pero's now.

“The two rats have come to play have they? No matter. I'll kill the pale one and separate your limbs from your body so you cannot pursue us mercenary.” Red and white flames gathered in his hands as he got off the counter.

“Why the hell are you calling me pale? You’re the one who looks like spoiled milk!” William shouts and Pero snorts. The white dragon answers with a fireball in William's direction, he rolls out of the way, but now the wooden counter is on fire. Pero uses the opportunity to try and slice Acanthus’ head off, but the dragon catches his blade with his hands, his surprise is that his hands are bleeding.

“It seems the bond you have with her is stronger than I thought. No matter. I'll still kill you.” He pulls Pero's broadsword down and breathes white flames in the mercenary's face. Calista threw up a jade barrier to protect him, it did but unfortunately it broke. William took the opportunity to sink his sword into Acanthus’ side. The white dragon growled and threw the pale mercenary off, his sword still stuck in his abdomen. “Filthy human scum!!” The villain's eyes turn white and flames simmer from his body. Calista recognizes the pattern on the flames, Acanthus is preparing for a large-scale attack. The young dragon pulls Pero by his chainmail and dives near William to huddle the three of them together and forms another barrier.

“Brace yourselves! I don't know if I can completely block it!” Calista raises the jade again. She's forgone her crimson claws and is focusing all her energy into the barrier. Pero places a hand on her shoulder and feels some of his energy fading, he leans his forehead on the back of her shoulder. Will huddles close to the both of them as the heat in the room intensifies and the flames off of Acanthus’ body are becoming brighter. All three of them close their eyes to prevent being blinded and there's a loud boom coupled with an explosion.

They thought they would be knocked against the walls of the church, but there were none anymore. William was the furthest back so he ended up hitting some rubble on the side of the church. Only one wall far opposite of the kitchen was left standing, the rest had either been completely obliterated or were dotted pieces of smoldering stone embedded into the ground. William’s sword that had been stuck in Acanthus’ side was sticking out of one of the nearby stones, flung from his body. The sun was rising and Pero was face down in the dirt once more. Twice in two days. “Fuck…” His entire body ached but it at least felt like he had all of his limbs. His head is ringing and he can at least make out shapes though given how much rubble is everywhere it doesn't help much. There's some movement that he can make out followed by a deep growl. Pero assumes that's the damn white dragon but that when his sight finally clears upon hearing the word ‘bastard’ screamed with a wet gurgle. Acanthus has his hand on Calista's throat, her claws are much shorter but she's making cuts in his forearm, he's lifted her up off the ground.

“Did you enjoy your last little bit of freedom? I think I will kill them both. I’ll figure out a way to end the one with the scar. That bastard burned my hands? How much of yourself did you give to him?” Acanthus bends his arm to close the distance between them. He sees the fear in her eyes buried underneath the hatred. “You care about one of their ilk? They vilify us despite us only bothering them if they trespass on our lands. Such a horrid fortune I have that you are the only viable female our clan has to offer.”

“Then go find another one asshole.” Calista continues to struggle, she won’t go with him willingly and not without a fight. “And yes I prefer Pero to you.” She laughs and spits blood in the white dragon’s face. “Will’s right, you do look like spoiled milk. A dingy shade of white.” He spins her around and throws her against one of the larger pieces of remaining stone. The young dragon gasps, coughing up blood as she attempts to move but cannot. Her body isn't allowing it. Pero is able to stand to his feet as his left eye glows a bright jade again, only this time, green flames have gathered in his right hand.

“Stay the hell away from her you soggy fucker!” Acanthus expects to be able to stop Pero, maybe even a burn this time as well. He did not anticipate being pushed back and needing to dig his heels into the ground. Their fingers were interlocked and their flames burning in nearly equal amounts. It was the first time Acanthus had appeared surprised during this entire ordeal. Neither of them were giving a quarter as the ground began to sizzle. “What's wrong? Is one of the filthy humans holding you hostage?” Pero taunts and hears the white dragon growl.

Calista is finally on her feet watching the two men be evenly matched. It occurs to her that they might be able to kill him here. She focuses and circles behind the soggy dragon, putting all the energy she was left into her right hand, sharpening her scarlet claws. She starts running, building momentum to strike him from behind and hit him square in the chest for a final blow. In strengthening herself, Pero weakened slightly, enough for Acanthus to push the mercenary back and change the angle at which her attack was going to hit. She was going too fast and couldn't change her direction. Her claws went through Acanthus, but missed his core. Thankfully, it was a strong enough hit to have him cry out in pain. Tovar attempted to bash his face in, but a white barrier repelled them as the grand dragon held his hand over the hole in his chest.

“You bitch…the audacity to harm me?! Next time I will end you, all of you! To hell with breeding you, you'll suffer a slow death Calista.” Acanthus attempted to transform into his dragon form but found that he could not. “The hell have you done to me?!”

Calista pointed to the back of her hand that was covered in his blue blood. Half of one of her magenta scales was missing. It glimmered within the hole in his chest, the scale itself was seeping into the surrounding tissue, weakening him. “Looks like you're on our level now, spoiled milk.” He screamed a string of curses while extending white wings from his back and taking off. Pero stood up and helped the young dragon to her feet. “Ran like a soggy bitch.” The Spaniard laughed at the woman's foul mouth.

“We survived. How did you know that would work?” He was curious if she'd planned that far ahead. Pero retrieved his sword and Will's then scanned the area for him.

“I figured if he could poison me with his scales, I could do the same. I didn't know if it would work or not. That was some favor with whatever gods there are.” Placing her hands on her lower back, she stretches and points to a large piece of stone where Will is slumped over. Tovar and Calista make their way over and are relieved to find William breathing.

“Figured you'd half ass something again. Do you ever plan anything woman? You're the fucking dragon.” Pero scoffs and puts one arm of William’s over his shoulder as Calista does the same.

“Oh? When's the last time you fought a grand dragon Pero? Or bonded someone's soul to yours? I'm new to all of this too. Stop your complaining and show me the way to the village. Maybe this time we can actually sleep in a bed for more than a few hours.” Calista rolls her eyes and walks side by side with Tovar to balance Will between them. They mainly bicker most of the way.

Once finally at the village, they decide the best course of action is to leave Will with a woman who he saved on one of their last jobs here. Her husband may have suspiciously died during said job, but unexpected things happen as a mercenary. Pero did offer her two gold coins to care for him, but she offered to do it for free. Instead, the money was used for a room at the inn. Tovar was surprised that Calista did not argue for a seperate room.

“There's a lot we'll need to discuss and take care of Pero. No need to waste money.” Is what she told him which he was fine with. They have needed to talk about what changes both their bodies have been through since this entire ‘bonding’ process has taken place.

What Tovar is confused about is why Calista is standing before him while he's soaking in his large bathtub on the floor. Naked.

Chapter Two. Chapter Four

#pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #nerdieforpedro #pero tovar #pero tovar x ofc #Fire and Fury #nerdie fic series #pedro pascal fanfiction #dark fic #tw for violence and SA threats #dddne

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blackjackkent · 1 year ago

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Poking at Jaheira and Rasaad dialogue from Baldur's Gate 2 to get their voices more in my head for fic writing... some of my favorite bits from the wiki that I didn't get in Caden's playthrough:

Jaheira: You musn't let yourself get so wounded, Aerie. I won't always be around to bandage you, you know. Aerie: I'm a healer too, Jaheira. Jaheira: And what good are your spells now? You should be more frugal and not cast them all at once. Aerie: Y-yes, ma'am. Jaheira: And don't stutter; it doesn't become you.

Jaheira: I see you are hurt, child. I will carry what extra I can if it will lighten your load. Aerie: I am not weak, Jaheira, and you were as likely to be hurt as I! Jaheira: I have more experience in battle, Aerie. Any wound I received might have killed you comparatively. Aerie: So you say, but I shall not learn avoidance of such by cowering behind you.

Dorn: You have fire. I respect that. But I warn you, druid: Attempt to poison me again and you will not see the next sunrise. Jaheira: What nonsense are you babbling? Dorn: This concoction. You neglected to account for my orc blood. Next time, try something more potent. Jaheira: Do not be ridiculous. I am a druid, not an assassin. Dorn: Then how do you explain this vile brew? Jaheira: It is a mixture of myrtle and willow— Dorn: IT IS POISON. Jaheira: Drink it, Il-Khan. Or next time I will leave your wounds untended.

Jan: You know, Jaheira, in all our travels, your smile has eluded me. Jaheira: Oh, come now. Certainly I reserve my emotions for matters of great import, but... Jan: That is the thing. Perhaps I have moved you on occasion, but any fleeting glimmer of a smile is gone before it properly lights the room. Jaheira: Well, have you a relative that might remedy the situation Jan: Eh, perhaps illustrating the horror of unappreciated storytelling? Well... I had an Uncle Richard that tried to bring nude theater to a festival in Waterdeep...Exposure is usually good for an actor's career, but even so, a cold reception for the play caused the cast to shrink steadily. Blackballed, my uncle tried to recruit from the thieves' guild, but they wouldn't let their nick-ers go."Just bare with me," he would say, but they were afraid of being stripped of their dignity. He gave up the lead to attract new members, and eventually the production's genius was uncovered, even with his part left out. Jaheira: Ah... Jan: Verdict? Jaheira: Not... one of your best. *snicker* Jan: They can't all take the brass ring. Jaheira: Keep trying? Jan: I will if you will, my dear.

Keldorn: So this is home to your mysterious Harpers, is it Jaheira: Less and less mysterious with every day of your scrutiny, Lord Keldorn. Had I my choice, I would rather none but me were here at all. Keldorn: Then I thank the gods you do not have your choice more often. Your opinions run often towards the brash, my dear. Jaheira: I am Harper, Keldorn, I am discreet when I wish. I just find other methods to be... more effective. Now, may I suggest you keep your next thoughts to yourself? Keldorn: Ah... yes... aye, m'lady.

Korgan: That's a fine wooden staff you've there, woman. Tell me, ye crack acorns with it? Or call some rarebit friends to frolic with ye? Jaheira: Nature's servant makes no judgment on the woodlands. Your tone betrays you, Korgan. Korgan: Perhaps ye could summon a horde of squirrels to take the day, or make a lovely leaf stew? Make sure ye and yer twig be of some use, though that use be lost on me. Jaheira: A great many things are lost to you, I would think.

Jaheira: My injuries sting, but I think it is mostly my pride that hurts. But we did well enough in our last battle, did we not? I'll wager we may outlive the season if we are careful. Mazzy: That we might, though this was surely but a small scuffle. Our battles will loom larger as we garner more enemies. Jaheira: You do not seem worried at this prospect. Mazzy: Our virtue will guide the way. We shall not falter.

Minsc: Oh! Squirrels, Boo! I know I saw them! Quick, throw nuts! Jaheira: Minsc, could you please maintain a little grace while in nature's presence? Sometimes I simply do not know how you came by your title of ranger. Minsc: Do you wish me dour and sour like most others? No, I say not. The animals run and play without care, and I would too... if such a thing would not squish Boo flat. Jaheira: But your duties are serious things, Minsc. Do you realize that? Minsc: I am very serious! Boo would not let me shirk my duties! I would not want to shirk anything! No, ma'am, no shirking! Jaheira: Admirable, Minsc, but you use that word like you don't know what it means. Minsc: Eh, well... no... but it sounds sharp and painful, and I always reserve such things for freaks that might steal those squirrels' nuts! Jaheira: Good job, Minsc. You keep it up.

Jaheira: Well, little Nalia, it would seem you have grown quite accustomed to the power you now wield. Nalia: Why do you bring this up now, Jaheira? You have that tone in your voice again. Jaheira: "That" tone? I do not understand what you mean. Nalia: Yes, you do. It's that "time for an unnecessary lecture" tone that means you are about to caution me on the use of the power I have earned. Jaheira: I see. And what do you think the outcome of such a conversation would be? Nalia: Well, I believe that I would tell you I have found my true calling, that you should probably butt out, and that I would really prefer you to refrain from calling me "little Nalia." Jaheira: Determined to do good works no matter what the world thinks, is that the gist of it? Nalia: Yes, that would be the gist of it. Jaheira: Then I agree that the lecture would be unnecessary. I need say nothing. Nalia: You... what? Thank you, Jaheira.

Jaheira: I am curious, Neera. What does a wild surge feel like? Neera: It depends. I never know what to expect. The surges are all different from each other. How does it feel when you cast spells? Jaheira: Not the same, I am sure. I may feel wrath if the nature of my spell is violent, or calm if it is for healing. Beneath it all, I feel a oneness with nature that never changes. Neera: Maybe it's not so different after all. Jaheira: Why? You have this sense of oneness when you use magic? Neera: Sort of. My mind becomes part of... something. What, I don't know—I don't think it's nature. The Weave, I guess? Or maybe chaos? But yeah, it's kind of like "oneness," except it seems more like I'm looking at it through a window. When my magic is working properly, anyway. Jaheira: And when it's not? Neera: A wild surge is like that window shattering into a million pieces of glass. Jaheira: That sounds... unsafe. Neera: I don't mind. If you've been indoors a long time, sometimes you like the feel of a cold gust of wind. Jaheira: We are not talking about wind and windows. We are talking about power and your mind. Be careful of that glass.

Neera: Ohmigosh. Oh, Jaheira, I am so, so sorry! Jaheira: What have you to apologize for? Neera: A lot of things, actually, like the time I lit your hair on fire or the time I elbowed you in the stomach trying to get out of your way or— Jaheira: What have you to apologize for NOW? Neera: I just realized—I never said I was sorry about Khalid. Jaheira: Thank you, Neera. I appreciate that. Neera: I liked Khalid; he was nice. He made me soup once, when we were in Bridgefort.Come to think of it, it was REALLY GOOD soup. You wouldn't happen to know the recipe, would you?Er. Never mind. Not the time.

Viconia: Tell me, Harper, who was who with your parentage? Father the darthiir, mother the rivvil? Or father human, mother elven? It's always confusing with crossbred mongrels. Jaheira: Two people in love, swine. A rain not likely to soak your parade of scabbed obscenity anytime soon.

Voghiln: Come on. Just a little peck on the cheek. What's the harm in that? Jaheira: It'll be in my husband's fists if he finds out about it. Voghiln: Vot? Your husband raises his hand to you? This is not acceptable. Jaheira: No, you idiot. He'll raise his hand to you. And then bring it down on you, over and over again, like a hammer from the heavens. Voghiln: Oh, he'd hit ME? Ja, this makes more sense.

Rasaad: Forgive me, Jaheira, but I do not understand. I thought you a champion of goodness. You say you are not? Jaheira: There is no good in nature, nor evil, either. The wolf devours the rabbit. Is this good or evil, do you think? Rasaad: Well... neither, I suppose. Jaheira: You monks sit in libraries, perusing musty tomes about good and evil. I do not make such distinctions. My world - the natural world - simply is. Rasaad: An... interesting perspective. I shall have to think upon it. Jaheira: Perhaps you could find a book to help clear the matter up. Rasaad: An excellent idea. Have you any suggest... oh. You are teasing me now, yes? Jaheira: There may be hope for you yet, Rasaad.

Aerie: The weather is turning. Rasaad: It is a little chilly. Aerie: If we didn't have bad weather, we'd never appreciate it when it was good. You taught me that. Rasaad: I did? Aerie: Without the dark, how does one recognize the light?

Rasaad: I admire your devotion, Cernd. Cernd: My devotion? Rasaad: To nature. Has your faith in the Mother ever been tested? Cernd: Winds may sway the trunk, but this oak's roots are buried deep. Rasaad: What happens when the storm tears the tree from its holdings? What then? Cernd: When it happens—if it happens—another tree will take its place. Life goes on, Rasaad. Forever and always.

Edwin: Your head is very smooth, monk. Tell me, are you naturally bald? Rasaad: No. I shave it each day. Edwin: You shave it yourself, do you? Tell me, how do you do that? Rasaad: Surely you know how to shave. Edwin: Of course I know how to shave my own head, you impudent baboon!Uh, I merely seek to add to my considerable knowledge on the subject. So tell me—how do you shave your head? Rasaad: Having the correct tools helps. Come, I'll show you what I use.

Haer'Dalis: Yours is a story as old as time, but still as enthralling as the first time it was told. Rasaad: I am fairly sure my story is mine and mine alone. How could you have heard of it before? Haer'Dalis: The narrative shares many similarities with great plays and poems from times past. A stalwart soldier of light, his beliefs thrown into question by forces beyond his control, seeking revenge against those forces in an attempt to right that which was wronged. Classic. Rasaad: I see. And how do these other stories end? Haer'Dalis: The endings are many and varied, Rasaad, but all share one element. Rasaad: Which is? Haer'Dalis: Tragedy.

Hexxat: Still suspicious, Rasaad? Don't you think if I wanted your blood, I'd have taken it by now? Rasaad: Perhaps you are just biding your time, waiting for the right moment to strike. Hexxat: Rest easy. I would never partake of a friend of <CHARNAME>—at least, not uninvited. It would be... discourteous. Rasaad: Courtesy is not something I'd expect from a vampire. Hexxat: It is, however, something I'd expect from a Selûnite monk. Expectations are such slippery things, aren't they?

Imoen: What do you think? Rasaad: About what, Imoen? Imoen: My hair, dummy. What do you think? Rasaad: Has it changed? Imoen: YES! Look at it. Does it LOOK the same? Rasaad: I... yes? Imoen: You could at least TRY lying convincingly. Rasaad: You would have me lie to you? Imoen: Forget it. Don't worry about it. Rasaad: Have I done something wrong? Imoen: If you have to ask, then yeah, you probably have.

Mazzy: Take heart, Rasaad! The day is fine and our victories plentiful. Melancholy ill suits you. Rasaad: You mistake contemplation for melancholy. Do not be deceived. I am glad of our success. Mazzy: Your eyes tell a different story. Whatever demons you wrestle with, my friend, know that we stand steadfast behind you. Rasaad: I appreciate that, Mazzy, truly. But there is nothing to worry about.

Rasaad: You are always impeccably dressed, Nalia, yet I rarely see you shop for clothes. Nalia: I've always been good with a needle—one of the few skills Aunt Delcia managed to successfully impart, much to her chagrin. Rasaad: You sew your own garments? Nalia: Do not sound so surprised. Sewing relaxes me. It keeps the hands busy while letting the mind work. It's really not all that hard, once you get the basics down. The rest is just practice. Rasaad: And a little magic, I presume? Nalia: Here and there, Rasaad. Here and there.

Minsc: Friend Rasaad, I have a question, and Boo is being most uncooperative. What is a honeymoon? Rasaad: After two people are joined in marriage, they are provided with mead for a month in order to... ah... grow comfortable with one another. Minsc: So there are no bees? Rasaad: I have never been married, so I would not know. Jaheira: I can assure you, children, there are no bees on a honeymoon. Minsc: I shall take your word for it. Boo's answer involved both bees and birds. It was... confusing.

#bjk talks #baldur's gate 2 #jaheira #rasaad #that last one with minsc omg lmao #minsc buddy no #this has made me more interested in some of the companions i didn't hang out with previously though #also pretty much everyone here needs a couple hugs

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