#THE WAY YOU TELL STORYS

[lastoneout]

People don't like to admit it bcs cringe or w/e but Homestuck really did revolutionize the webcomic as a storytelling medium and I am endlessly frustrated that before webcomic artists could really stretch our legs fucking webtoonz swooped in, set a new, more restrictive standard, and then monetized and monopolized the ever living fuck out of the concept of The Webcomic until it drove away anyone who couldn't be a professional quality manga artist for free, and now the only webcomics that actually feel like spiritual successors to Homestuck are so obscure they're basically cult classics that you have to beg people to read.

Like it's just so wild to be in high school and see Homestuck be like "we're using like fifteen different artistic mediums to tell this story bcs we can" and be really fucking inspired by that, only to grow up and see basically every webcomic ever have to conform to One Single Standard or fucking perish.

[duhnova]

fighting • l.s.m.

Pairing: lee seokmin x afab!reader Genres: smut (minors dni!), boxer!au, kind of e2l Warnings: idrk shit about boxing so i threw in some illegal stuff i suppose fjskdjf, swearing, fighting/sparring/boxing obviously, they're a little mean to each other but down bad and thirsty, mentions of blood/broken bones, marking/bruising, slapping, hand job, nasty oral (male receiving - you're welcome deekay), kissing eheh, humiliation kink... look - seokmin's cocky but melts for reader WC: 4k A/N: spur of the moment collab (enforcer of evilness): in your corner by @onlymingyus can't believe she encourages me like this 😭 ❤️ side note: seokmin is wayyyy too pretty to be a boxer imho haha anyways, my fingers slipped and i'm a lil nervous abt this one but i hope you enjoy it hehe

"Lee Seokmin!"

Your shout echoes menacingly in the almost empty training gym. A straggler who had been spending a little too long looking at their phone by the exit doors quickly scurries out as the vengeful air that surrounds you luckily heads in the opposite direction.

The man in question — whose name is bitter upon your tongue — looks up as you approach. Your stride is purposeful, not faltering even as his dark brown eyes remain steadily trained on you all the way up to pausing in front of him. Putting one hand on your hip and the other on the punching bag that he is very much not using like it's supposed to be. 

"Strange how only you and my family will be the ones to know me by that."

"Yes, what do they call you? DK, Lee Dokyeom, the Black Jaguar… a man whose uppercut to his opponents is as sharp as his jawline."

He dares to show off that very same feature with long fingers tilting up his chin smugly and a smirk on his face. "Someone's been reading up on me."

"It's my responsibility to make sure you have good publicity. Which will all go right down the drain if this is how you act after one win. Your first win. And the only you'll ever have again."

"Harsh, Coach. Finally paying attention just to scold me, breaks my heart!" Seokmin says it with light ease though, the megawatt smile that's gaining popularity brightening at your dark scowl that just makes you look cuter to him.

Which in theory, is dangerous. You're not someone to be messed with. There's a reason you're his trainer. A strong purpose as to why you don't fight in the ring anymore and choose to stay on the sidelines. Behind the scenes. Giving young and raw talent the tools they need to dominate the matches under your strict tutelage. 

"Don't worry, I was paying great attention when you sparred with Jace."

"Yeah? And?"

"Just 'cause you ran with the big dogs for a little bit and won means nothing. You're no alpha and this isn't a playground. It's — "

" — a battleground. Your battleground. Where everything begins and the only reputation on the line that matters is yours. I know, you've said it over and over — "

"Then why are you just throwing this bag around like it's a child on a swing?" The glare after getting a familiar lecture repeated back to you is directed to survey his body. Upper body muscles clearly visible through the unnecessarily large arm holes of a gray muscle tee. Lean legs shown off by black shorts had every other person in the gym side-eyeing out of jealousy. "You're going to lose everything you've worked so hard to gain."

"Worried 'bout me?"

"Yes. Your footwork was horrible, which isn't like you. Something's up."

"Indeed."

"What?"

A large hand thumps against the heavy bag just a bit above yours. Auburn bangs threaten to tickle your forehead when he leans on the back of his palm to get close. Very close. Probably too close. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Not really," you admit, never one to back down or away and meet his cocky stare straight-on, "but if I'm to keep my star fighter up to standard, there are things that need to be done." Tilting your head toward the right, you narrow your eyes. "Get on the mat."

The minute he steps back to obey, you're free to turn and head there yourself. Seokmin lags a step behind. Unusual, but his whole entire behavior has been more than strange today so you ignore it. Luckily also missing the discreet way his gaze skims your body from behind and licks his lips.

"Don't treat this like a therapy session," you instruct once he's in position across from you. "We'll do a couple of drills and you can share what's on your mind. I'll kindly listen."

"How sweet."

"Don't patronize me."

"Isn't that what you're doing to me?"

"I'm helping like I always do. On the balls of your feet — good, now you know this one." 

"You try to hit my legs, I avoid and dodge, and vice versa."

A scoff escapes your lips. "Trying to hit you? Please. Whatever, keep your heels up!" 

Seokmin lunges forward, aiming for your bare inner thigh. You're quicker though. Eagle-eyed and experienced. Also used to his movements after observing him tirelessly for months. He always aims for what he wants first. You dodge before he can even get close enough and dart behind his figure. Pleased when he side steps away from the hand going for the back of his calf and spins around to face you again.

"Nice. Why didn't you do that earlier?"

"Sparring with Jace is boring."

"So you're just going to give up."

"Sure, if it gives me the chance to spar with you instead." He attempts for your knee this time and you pick it up at the right second to spring out of reach with the power of your other foot. "I learn more and do better."

"That's the nature of the game but you're doing a good deed by helping train and encourage some of the newbies in my place. They admire you." 

Rolling his eyes and ducking away from your next strike, he spits out, "Not as much as they worship you."

"Hah, you wanna be worshiped, Seokmin? Then do better. Even the most mundane fights keep you active and on your guard. Complacency is a fool's move, a complete loss, and an admission of pathetic defeat." 

"How am I supposed to improve when you won't pay attention to me anymore?" 

You block the hand that shoots out way too high above your waist. Irritation gnaws at your gut the same time as you bite your lip, taking a moment to adjust your sports bra before deciding the next move. Elastic snaps against your skin and he gulps. "Hands below the belt, Lee!"

"Sorry, Coach."

"No, you're not! Your head isn't staying in the ring. Why? Because I only spend two hours Monday, Wednesday, and Friday training you rather than five every day like before? My apologies for dedicating so little of my already busy time to you."

"That's not what… I thought we had something okay!"

He suddenly stops moving and you end up delivering a much harsher slap than intended where he had aimed at you originally — the inner side of his thigh. Seokmin grunts and you seethe, straightening to your full height. "Honestly, is this a joke to you?"

"No, I — " 

"It's not that I don't think you wouldn't have gotten anywhere because your talent is obvious. But you got there a lot faster because I saw what no one else did at the time." You dig a pointer finger accusingly into his chest. "And you're throwing it all away, spitting in everyone's face that supported you for such a petty reason? You and I both know you should've been able to avoid that slap!"

And for the first instance since you'd met him all that time ago at the street fights, Seokmin gets angry. Even when he was betrayed and abandoned in the dangerous underground boxing rings by people he considered friends, after losing round after round repetitively because he was initially too afraid to hurt others in order to survive, mocked and jeered while being cheated out of what should have been his first win a month ago — he simply smiled and moved on. 

But now his face hardens, the gentle light snuffed out in his eyes, lips curled downwards, and eyebrows furrowed. He takes a menacing step toward you with fists clenched. And as expected, you don't even flinch.

"Petty? Hah, you accuse me of being petty when this is the first time we've actually had a chance to talk 'cause you've avoided me ever since that ring girl kissed me!"

Heat burns in your cheek. Anger or shame, you're not quite sure. "So?"

"So tell me. Talk to me. Goddammit, even fight me!"

"You wanna fight, Seok?" you growl, "and then what?"

"Winner gets a wish granted."

"How cliché. Arms up, then!" Yours raise to match his stance, eyeing the veins that ripple with tension across his forearms. "Anything's fair game?" 

"Anything is fair game." 

"Then you'd better be ready to fight for your life." 

There's a certain thrill to sparring with him. He's right. Jace is boring. Seokmin isn't just some kid that wanted to pick up boxing as a hobby. This man entered the ring because everything rides on him winning. Succeeding. Excelling. 

And he's threatening to throw it away like it doesn't matter. Give away everything he'd put blood, sweat, and tears into. What you and his loved ones had sacrificed for his growth. Why? Because of you? Because of feelings? Believing in something so wholesome amidst this crummy world? Your blood boils, fierce glare set as his rather mean smile gets even crueler. 

"Talk with your fists," you had once informed him during a training session. Ever since, you'd dutifully read every one of his punches, getting a clearer intent of the message he's sending with each swing. Encouraging aggression. Gaining control. Demanding respect. Elevating his status. Shooting for the top. The best of the best.

Now, you can only see hot red annoyance. All of it aimed at you. It's reflected back right back though. Adrenaline surges through your veins, easily blocking the jabs, hooks, and cross punches he throws and parrying them back with solid hits. Hits that land hard. A sharp kick to his shin has him stumbling back against the heavy ropes of the ring with a curse and hitting them out of frustration.

"Done already?" 

"As if." 

A pleased sneer lifts your lips upwards. Seokmin probably thinks you're goading him further, and even though you aren't intending to, it works. His movements gain momentum, striking at you harder. But they also get sloppier. 

You frown. "Sometimes I just want to… " 

"Punch me in the face?" He dodges the strike to his shoulder and returns with one to your ribs that's too easy to evade. "Haven't you done that enough to satisfy yourself?" 

"Hardly. Now stop leaving yourself open!" 

A roundhouse kick doesn't even come near his face and he knows it won't, letting it whack his shoulder. After a couple of rounds of bruising his cheeks in the early days of training, you never did it again. Not when he'd arrived at your doorstep one night — absolutely beaten bloody during a vicious scuffle. You'd nursed his wounds while berating him with well-intentioned advice on how to not let that happen ever again. 

You might've also let slip that he's too pretty for his face to get messed up. Must've gone to his head a little. 

Here's the thing. You're the undisputed, reigning champion of the boxing world. Both professional and underground. Even the so-called king of the illegal matches acknowledges your prowess. It's inevitable for someone who was the fastest to stake their name on the brilliant TV screen and scribbled on loaded betting cards. 

Seokmin knows he can't beat you. Ever. But you actually have more faith in him, satisfied when he manages to catch your fist in his hand. Rules don't exist when you two spar. Familiar with underhanded techniques, he uses them to his advantage. Still holding onto your fist, he takes your feet out from under you with a side sweep to your ankles and throws you to the ground. 

You're pinned beneath him, all his weight holding you down. Trapping your arms behind your back with one hand and the other slamming against the mat near your head. You feel his hot breath brush your ear as he whispers with an edge to his voice, "Done now?"

Rather than respond, you relax your muscles. Lulling him into a false sense of security. The minute you feel him release some of the pressure, you're kicking his thighs back and rolling over before his body weight can crush you again. Maneuvering your core as you push against his unbalanced shoulder and scramble on top of him. Knee to his chest, forearm against his throat, and free hand securing his wrists.

"As if."

He sighs. "I could never beat you anyways."

"Not exactly true. If I was simply pro, you would certainly have the upper hand."

"But you're aware I could never hurt you so what do you want? Me to leave you alone?"

You study his features in silence. It's unnerving enough for Seokmin to want to divert his eyes. But where? He blinks rapidly instead and your eyes are drawn to where his tongue peeks out to nervously moisten his lips. His wrists twitch when your grip turns lax and he unintentionally slips out of it to intertwine his fingers with yours.

"I've been in that very position far too many times that it's as easy as breathing to get out of. I can teach you the technique."

"Well, I'll definitely be feeling it in the morning."

"Are you hurt badly?" you reposition your lower body to straddle him, feeling at his sides. "Where?"

"Don't worry 'bout it, what's your wish?"

You mull it over. Tonguing at your cheek and hands stilling to play with the threads hanging from the bottom of his shirt's armholes. "Normally, winners get a congratulatory kiss."

"Do you say that to all the guys you body slam to the floor?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

Seokmin leans up on his forearms so his nose brushes yours. "Yeah."

The words, "Maybe just you," are interrupted by a gasp that's swallowed by his mouth when it slams against yours. It's a ferocious kiss that brings his head back down on the mat, cushioned by your arms as your body follows.

Electrifying. The same surge of energy that fills you when fighting him but in a much different manner. Thrillingly.

When you lean back, biting his bottom lip as you go, he groans. Fingers splayed against the bare skin of your back prevent you from moving too far and you have no choice but to feel the hardness stirring within his gym shorts. 

"You know that kiss… that kiss meant nothing."

"The one with Aeyong?"

"Was that her name? And of course, most certainly you didn't mean ours." He pulls you back down to mold his lips to yours again. "Or that one." Placing a smooch on your nose. "Or that one!" 

It takes everything within you to not giggle at his silliness. But nothing can stop the tender smile gracing your lips as you cup his chin, angling his head this and that way to cover his face in kisses, especially where you recall landing a blow to.

Seokmin has no trouble hiding his giddiness, happy chuckles turning to pleasured sighs when you start nibbling on his earlobe. "I hope you know these kisses though… they mean everything."

He's spent far too long denying his attraction to you that it's impossible to hold back now. You answer him with another kiss so he can feel your returned smile against his lips, threading fingers through his hair. Then you're yanking at the silky strands so his neck is exposed and the moan he lets out has your cunt automatically clenching while you suck a bruise to darken his skin.

"Want to cash in my wish now."

It takes a few moments for him to blink back to reality and register what you said. "Didn't you already?"

"Kisses are obligatory, not what I wished for." You choose to swivel your hips, slow and methodical, down against his. "You would deny me?"

"N-no, 'course not. What… do you want?"

"To suck you off."

"… Really?"

You're already sliding down his body and playing with the band of his shorts when you hum in confirmation. Tugging them down the second his hips lift instinctively, cock almost slapping you in the cheek when you do. You don't complain, simply wrapping a hand around its thick and heavy girth to steady it. Rough calluses from years of fighting rub pleasurably at the gentle foreskin.

"So pretty," you murmur. Of course, it would be as lovely as he is — red and leaking to match flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. "Too pretty for such a dirty boy who likes getting his dick sucked for anyone to see." When it twitches in your grip, you grin wickedly. "Always knew you had a thing for humiliation."

"Says the one who enjoys destroying and taunting me. Think I didn't notice how you squeeze your thighs together after giving me shit on my form?"

"You're cute. When you get all huffy," you make another mark on the inside of his thigh, licking at the sting smarting right below his mole, "it makes me want to ruin you more."

"Gonna be the death of me."

"Did you think I hadn't noticed you checking me out, Seok?"

"Was hoping you wouldn't."

"Silly," you deliver a light slap to the thigh you hadn't hit earlier and he tries to hide a whine despite his legs betraying him with telltale tremors, "and cute."

You and everyone else that comes to your gym are able to wear skimpy clothing that allows for easier movement simply because any perverts trying to touch or get a sneaky peek are swiftly kicked (out). But you enjoyed Seokmin's eyes on you and you know he enjoyed yours on him as well. So you let it be. Maybe all for this moment.

Covering the muscular ridges of his thighs in bite marks, hickeys, and shiny saliva trails while he begs for more of them, whimpering out an admission of, "Show everyone I'm yours so not a single ring girl even thinks to kiss me."

"I quite like that idea." You sincerely do though you probably like the blemishes left on his honey golden skin even more. "But you have to win again for one of them to consider it."

"I'll win."

"Yeah? Promise?"

"Pr-promise," he stutters out as you creep higher and higher to nuzzle at his heavy balls. Licking in between them teasingly before your tongue traces the prominent vein running along the underside of his cock, all the way up to the tip. "Win 'em all in your favor."

You hesitate briefly then stick your fingers inside tight spandex shorts and past your tiny thong to lather them in the wetness pooling from your pussy that's threatening to seep through and ruin the layers of fabric. Retracting before you're tempted to finger yourself right then and there, you reach for Seokmin only to jolt when he tugs at your wrist and puts them in his mouth, moaning greedily.

His tongue swirls around each finger, cleaning them of your essence thoroughly, and coating them with his spit instead. He wiggles his eyebrows as you watch — flabbergasted — and releases them with a pop once satisfied.

"I hope you weren't planning on doing that right in front of me without at least letting me have a taste."

You fix him with a serious stare. "You're going to have to train harder than anything and prove to me that you won for yourself. Not me, not anyone else. All for you."

"And then what?"

"Maybe I'll let you fuck me."

He wants to complain for various reasons but you don't give him time to think, wrapping your slick hand around his now slicker cock. Rubbing your thumb across the slit of its tip and spreading the excess of precum up and down his shaft, your mouth replaces your hands that choose to press down on his thighs and prevent him from thrusting up.

There's nothing to grip or grab at out here in the open on the boxing ring mat with anyone able to walk in on the two of you making a different kind of sweaty mess upon it despite how unlikely that happening is. You find that you don't even care — it might even excite you — empty cunt getting spongier and wetter, already addicted to Seokmin's salty taste. Noticing how his fingernails dig into the canvas, you guide them on top of your head. Giving him permission to set the pace if he so chooses to.

And he does. Alternating between slow bobs that let you kitten lick and pay attention to every single inch of his long cock versus harsh, fast up and down motions where you happily gag around his length. Whimpering and soft moans, breathless praises that make no sense as he listens to your pretty noises.

"Always wanted… like this. Imagined you getting on your knees… every time… you pushed me harder."

It's funny. Seokmin almost had his nose broken during a match yet he hadn't winced a single bit while you fussed over him and gave the opponent a tongue-lashing lecture because of the illegal fake-out move he'd conducted. Maybe if it had been a fight in the dungeons you'd let it go but on the professional mat that led to your star spilling blood — vengeance was your middle name.

But now with your mouth on him, he's significantly weaker, vulnerable, and soft — so hard yet so soft. And no matter how strong you want him to be to succeed, maybe the sick part of you really likes how you alone can reduce him to a state like this.

"Always been you, no one else." His sincere tone is slurred with lust, simultaneously trying to hurtle towards that sweet climax but also delay it as much as possible. Afraid for the moment to end but longing for release. "My anchor."

And he treats you like one, holding your head down firmly. Nose pressing into his pelvis as he gives into the rush of endorphins. Your throat constricts and swallows around his length that throbs and spurts an endless load of cum. 

When he lets you go, you gulp the extra remnants left on your tongue and wipe your lips. Grateful and proud of having one less thing to clean up. Seokmin squints at you, panting wildly as you politely tuck his softening cock back into his shorts and stand up.

"Wh-what… what about you?" He won't lie and say he's not a bit hopeful you're going to sit on his face. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"Of course not," you rasp, cracking your jaw and neck as a point. Then you stick out your hand, a familiar indication that you'll help him up. "Let me show you how to do that move."

He blinks and cocks his head. "I don't mind being under you. But I was thinking… in a different way?"

"You just were underneath me."

"C'mon Coach, you know what I mean!"

"How about this — we wait for your dick to get hard while you learn this move. But you have to promise I'll be able to walk tomorrow. And no marks. Now, on your knees."

"That's not fair!" Seokmin pouts and refuses to budge. "You underestimate me and won't let me be possessive. I wasn't lying when I said they worship you. Jace is so into you it's annoying."

You laugh. "So that's why you think he's boring. I'm surprised you didn't beat his ass then."

"That's too easy," he smirks, "it wouldn't just end with that so I'd rather spend my energy getting your undivided attention. I know how you like to dote more on the injured rather than the victor."

The need to admit that you only do it for him is strong but the urge to roll your eyes is stronger. But he knows what you're thinking. Just like everything. You might be able to read his fists like an expert but he can read your innermost thoughts better than you can imagine. 

"Fine, master this move in ten minutes and I'll let you eat me out in the office."

Seokmin has never gotten down on his hands and knees faster and he looks so good doing it, you might have to save that for future ideas in the bedroom later. After he proves himself first, of course.

Or at least that's what you tell yourself.

onlyseokmins: February 2023 ©

Taglist: Taglist: @joshibambi @junhui-recs @pandorashbox @rubyscoups @woozluv @darlingvernon @charcharfairy @httpswonwoosglasses @yeosayang @buffhoshi @horanghae8star @noraehey @misssugarlips @tinkerbell460 @aceofvernons @dejavernon

[eveningrainstorm]

take responsibility.

[chloesimaginationthings]

The tragedy of being William Afton’s daughter in FNAF..

[spitedemon]

i really don’t think it’s “typical dragon age fandom nonsense” for people to be genuinely upset about the world state choices. combat, level design, art direction, gameplay gimmicks, those have all varied across each dragon age game. the one thing that’s remained constant are nods to our previous choices.

i wasn’t expecting my HoF to come riding in on a griffon, but i can’t find a monument dedicated to warden tabris somewhere around the anderfels? lucanis couldn’t have some lines about the time that one arainai boy was stirring up trouble in antiva city? you’re gonna tell me that making a mage the new divine wouldn’t have some impact on nevarra and antiva? on the anderfels, the supposed most devout militant andrastian nation in thedas? you’re saying nobody in the north is paying attention to who rules orlais or ferelden? come on.

[0rchidm4ntis]

Thinking of that time Silver ran away from home

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Bonus 8: How met your mother (CSSR design by @qourmet!)

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[egophiliac]

CROWLEY SSR THOUGHTS

there is zero basis for this, but I can't get this thought of my head

I don't know why I decided to draw it this way

[looney-mooney-studio]

Thinking about that one joke in the Book of Bill that implied Bill might be the biological father of the Flynn kids. Thinking about how Linda Flynn had a secret career as a famous astrophysicist at one point. Thinking about how we don’t know exactly what Bill was doing in the 90s, and how he seems to want to skim over that part of his life, after Ford broke up with him for good but before the twins showed up in Gravity Falls.

Thinking about how Bill frequently hung out with famous musicians. Thinking about Linda, a brilliant young woman fresh off a bizarre pop star career, wanting to make a name for herself that ISN’T Lindana, might have found a new direction with an old friend (before he showed her his true colors.)

Thinking about Bill, fresh off a devastating breakup, trying again one more time to get SOMEONE on Earth to make him a portal. Trying to make the plan WORK. Trying to get a home for his friends in the face of a home dimension that was being destroyed (again). Having someone who’s COMPLETELY DIFFERENT from the man he was obsessed with, but who was no less brilliant and no less capable. (But, unfortunately for him, MUCH less gullible.)

Thinking about how Linda doesn’t want people to know about her former career as a famous astrophysicist. How she keeps this secret, even better than she did her past as Lindana. How she keeps the lid on this even TIGHTER. How she’s almost bitter about it. As if something HAPPENED.

I’m not saying Bill Cipher WAS Linda’s partner of at least five years, even going so far as to start a family with her before she saw his true colors and filed some sort of Uber-effective inter-dimensional restraining order against him, one-upping him so hard that he doesn’t even wanna think about it, but. Holy shit. Imagine

[genericpuff]

new genre of LO comedy unlocked: watch the LO wiki editors fight for their lives to justify entire articles for characters who only showed up once and then disappeared forever

"well, themis is pregnant so that must mean SOMEONE knocked her up, right??? put that in relationships, that counts"

"charon's abilities... ferryman... boat... he ferries a boat! therefore he must be very good at ferrying boats! write that down!"

"now hold on, let's not completely discount the idea of artemis' pet wolf having some kind of relationship with someone later on, i'm sure rachel will answer that soon"

[vilochkaaa]

lonely observer.

[astral-herald]

Viktor's (subverted) Aristotelian Tragedy

A common sentiment I’m seeing throughout post-finale Viktor discourse is an understandable concern or distaste for the element of choice lost throughout his story. I know a lot of us – myself included – expected more time spent on his transformation, along with emphasis on the anger/rage/betrayal fueling it. But seeing him allow Singed to “begin the process” in episode 8 reminded me of Arcane’s origins – tragedy. Bear with me for another long analysis :)

Aristotle wrote the following on the tragedy: “A tragedy is the imitation of an action that is serious and also, as having magnitude, complete in itself…with incidents arousing pity and fear, wherewith to accomplish a catharsis of these emotions.” He also emphasized that the true tragic hero couldn’t be perfect, and his downfall into such catharsis-inducing circumstances was reliant on a fatal flaw, oftentimes pride.

Viktor fits this mold, as do many Arcane characters, and it stands to reason that this was intentional since the writing team has reiterated that the show is a tragedy, at its core.

Regarding Viktor’s fatal flaw, I’d argue it’s pride, but it manifests very uniquely. He never makes any grand declarations about his success and doesn’t draw attention to himself in any clear way throughout season one (“Progress Day” comes to mind). Instead, his pride manifests as staunch independence and self-reliance that lead to his downfall; his unwillingness to break his stoic mold arguably led to his use of the Hexcore…so it goes.

Fascinating caveat: Viktor’s pride is a defense mechanism, a necessary tool he built in order to survive and succeed in a hostile environment to people of his station. His self-reliance is increasingly desperate as his illness worsens. He’s cornered by fate but banks on the sanctity of choice at every turn – in season one, Viktor is bound by the conviction that we all have a choice. It’s why he’s so distressed when Jayce makes the wrong one regarding weaponizing Hextech.

“There is always a choice.”

Viktor’s choice to fuse with the Hexcore is the classic Aristotelian fatal flaw moment, the singular incident that opens the flood gates for eventual catharsis. We watch Viktor make an irreparable choice, one that we know to be bad, and endure the repercussions. He then makes the choice to abandon the Hexcore, and end his life, but audiences can’t shake the feeling that those consequences aren’t leaving anytime soon.

So why is Viktor so anti-choice in his final season 2, act 3 form?

Choice is Viktor’s weapon. Pride is what leads him to abusing it. Despite how uncomfortable and depressing it is to watch, Viktor’s slow descent into the Herald is a perfect twist of fate. The Arcane is even so insidious that it meshes with his original intent, to help those suffering in the undercity, while convincing him that their subservience is healing. He becomes responsible for their choices. He knows what’s best because he’s relieving the Gloriously Evolved of their suffering, right? The utopia is for the greater good, yes?

Admittedly, it was really hard watching act 3 Viktor descend fully into his choiceless ethos. But we can still relate it to his tragic flaw – his pride has mushroomed into coldhearted omniscience; not only does he know what’s best for everyone, evolution, but he also has the sense to make the choice for them to supersede their “baser instincts.” The grief we feel upon seeing this perverted, violent version of himself, as far removed from Viktor as possible, is the culmination of Aristotle’s treatise on tragedy. The catharsis is the rock-bottom Machine Herald.

"Choice is false."

But then Arcane decided to basically make Jayvik canon (get out of here, Christian Linke) and destroyed the early drafts of this post. I’m going to rapid-fire this next bit:

Jayce forces Viktor back to life. Viktor has no agency in his season 2 inciting incident. Again, it’s distressing when we mourn his agency, but it remains in accordance with Aristotelian tragedy.

Viktor clings to humanity as long as he possibly can. When Jayce calls out Viktor’s trajectory, alleging that his old partner had died in the Council chamber, whatever is left of Viktor gives way to the Arcane because his last tether has been snapped.

Jayce knows the game – Old Man Jenkins Mage Viktor told him so. Jayce becomes the linchpin in subverting Viktor’s tragedy. He knows what must happen. He understands now.

Machine Herald Viktor is given the chance to undo his fatal flaw, to reverse the catharsis, when he sees Old Man Jenkins Mage Viktor. With Jayce’s help, he takes it.

Given that it’s a version of Viktor who ultimately frees him from himself by empowering Jayce, we can gather that Viktor has liberated himself from his tragedy.

Aristotle’s catharsis is rapidly transformed from something based in release to something healing – Viktor’s tether to humanity returns. He grasps it. The walls of his pride and self-reliance collapse. He accepts Jayce’s help, finally being seen as the full individual he is. Catharsis ensues, for sure, but I don’t think it’s based in the typical tragedy genre.

All this to say, I think Viktor’s arc was, in fact, carefully constructed. He represents the Aristotelian descent into a fatal flaw and that’s very distressing to see unfold, especially since he embodied the tragic hero archetype so well from day one. However, Jayce undoes this narrative and we’re given an incredibly subversive ending that I, personally, never saw coming.

I’m sure that Mage Viktor has a much larger bearing on this analysis than I’m accounting for. But for now, suffice to say that he is Viktor’s way out of the tragedy. TALK ABOUT CHOICE!

This doesn’t erase anyone’s discomfort for Viktor having less and less agency, but I’d like to emphasize the logic and literary precedent behind the story decisions.

PS: here's a quick source I looked at about Aristotelian tragedies. I hope to re-up on Greek tragedies so I can get more specific about the parallels Arcane draws from them.

[chloesimaginationthings]

Those were Vanessa's friends too in the FNAF movie

[wandixx]

Danny, the Young Justice member snippet nr 2

these snippets aren't connected in anyway but just some little scenes I came up with, everyone is welcome to build up on them if they want to

Trigger warning: death mentioned, self-harm mentioned, idk, Danny gets flashback to portal incident

unrelated snippet nr 1, unrelated snippet nr 3 (?)

Out, out, out.

He tripped over his own legs and almost fell and it didn’t matter because he needed to get out. 

Away, away, away. 

He wasn’t sure if he ran or flew or dragged himself on the rough floor but he had to get away. His back hit a wall and he couldn’t get past it, intangibility just out of his grasp.

He logically knew that Zeta Tube wasn't the same as the portal but it was similar. So deadly similar.

He wasn’t sure when his own, corps-like, trembling with rigor mortis cold hands started rubbing his arms. He also wasn’t sure whether it was to comfort himself in this lonely self-hug or to try to rub hard enough that the hazmat and skin underneath would be torn, allowing him to see his own, red blood running in his veins. It was still red, right? It was still red, right? Of course it was still running, why wouldn’t it?

His knees gave up. He fell to the ground with quiet reverbatting thump, his eyes fixated on danger at the other side of the large room. He had to get further away but he couldn’t.

Because he was dying again.

Eyes full of tears and terror were jumping around, unable to see the room around him. Why couldn’t he see anything? Why were there only splashes of various colors, all contrasting with a light gray background. Were these people? Colors were moving, that seemed likely. Ghosts?! He had to get ready if these were ghosts he needed to fight them. People could be in danger and he couldn’t even stand without support. He started it, he had to take care of it, no matter how he felt right now.

His normally overly, unnaturally sensitive ears were filled with constant electric buzz from still active Zeta Tubes.

He was quite sure someone was yelling something but no matter what, Danny couldn’t understand what was being said. He tried looking around again but his teary eyes still failed him. There were no red stains though. Not in the right shade at least. No one was bleeding. It was okay for now.

Was it really? He hadn’t bled when he was dying had his accident though. It was all inside him, the crushing hollowness inside him and infinite outside pressure making his body implode. Ectoplasm bubbling in his mouth, throat, stomach and fingers, silencing his scream of agony and destroying his muscles. His limbs were limp and tense, twitching like a broken light bulb, out of his control but not out of his senses. It was so cold that it bit his bones and so hot that his skin was melting. There were screams so loud that it could shatter glass, as if every inhabitant of the Ghost Zone wanted to be heard and absolute suffocating silence. He was alone like nobody ever was and stuck in a stifling crowd that could stomp him to death any second. It was all contrasting, impossible but happening, existing together. He lived died it.

It was impossible, just like him.

There were others, they could help while Danny got himself together.

They couldn’t help if it was a ghost. He had to calm down and get ready to fight.

He couldn’t.

It was all happening again.

He was dying again.

It hurt to even think about.

Would it at least kill him for good?

Air he hadn’t needed before, not since his first death he always needed, like all functioning, alive human beings, got stuck in his lungs. He was gasping for it, choking on it. There was something stuck in his throat. SOme part of his brain that wasn’t screaming in agony and panic and loneliness had considered tearing his neck open just to get whatever was stuck swallowing but it didn’t help. 

He rubbed his arms harder. His eyes were locked on a blurred, still active portal. One of the color blobs moved, growing larger but he couldn’t think about what it meant. His arms hurt. It was good. Pain was grounding. In a gray room with few portals. Not the basement. Ghosts still could be there but it wasn't a basement. He still needed to get ready to fight

If he could feel pain, it meant he was alive, right? Ghosts never showed that they felt pain right? His parents always said they couldn’t.

He knew it was a lie but he felt like it was his last hope.

He realized that growing group of colors actually looked like a person but he had no way to tell whether they were alive or not. His ghost sense was quiet but he didn’t trust himself to not miss it. His throat was still shut tightly. His body kept twitching like a glitching character. No matter what, he couldn’t fight right then. He had to get himself together.

He scratched his arms almost violently.

Warm, soft, gentle hands pried his palms away from his arms. It wasn't a ghost. Ghosts weren't this gentle, this calmingly warm. Someone, someone who was alive, was crouching in front of him, face at the same level as his, hiding portals from his sight. Danny nearly sunk into their gentle touch.

“-om." their voice also was so gentle, filled with concern but firm enough to get to him over the buzz of portals. He tried to concentrate on this voice. He didn't want to hear portals.

"-ntom." It sounded like they were calling someone. He had to focus more to understand. Gentle grip on his wrists got more firm. There he was. He wouldn't feel it if he was dying again.

"Phantom." They called quietly, like little windbells Sam gave him as a birthday present. It was his name, they were asking him something he couldn't understand, something he couldn't do.

"I'm sorry."

He wasn't sure if any sound came out of his mouth.

Grip on his hands loosened a little, not enough for him to do anything about it, but enough to return to the pure feeling of safety and reassurance it gave him before.

“It's okay Phantom." they murmured. Danny nearly cried at their kindness and calmness. Air slowly started to fill his lungs again. It truly was okay, he wasn't dying again."Can you focus on five things you can see for me?"

He could do it. It wasn't much to repay the gentle person kneeling in front of him.

He blinked tears away and started the list in his head.

Black Canary in front of him.

Superboy in the middle of the room. He looked like he didn't know what to do.

Kid Flash next to him, ready to come to where Danny was shaking on the floor.

Robin and Artemis both made sure that Kid stayed where he was.

Miss Martian for sure feeling his panic and having trouble coping with this. He should calm down as soon as he can, he didn't want to cause any of his teammates too much stress.

Danny nodded, looking once again at the only adult hero in the room.

Molecules in his body were rearranging again. It all hurt.

"Thank you Phantom. Can you focus on four things you can hear?"

Five racing heartbeats.

One heartbeat that sounded more like buzz because of its speed. KF's heart was always weird.

Tapping of someone's feet.

Zeta Tubes.

He had been in the portal again, it had turned on with him inside again. He was dying again.

Next cautious nod.

"Alright. Now three things you can touch." Black Canary still sounded so calm, so sure she had it all under control. So contrary to her panicked heart. Danny wanted to believe her voice.

Canary's hands still on his wrists. In fact she was touching him more than he was her, but it still counted. There was some physics rule about it.

Cold stone he was sitting on. Weird, he was sure this cave was heated.

Hard wall pressing on his spine.

"Excellent. Two things you can smell?"

Jazz had done same exercise with him before.

Cookies made by Megan before she went on a mission.

Ectoplasm. Somewhere there was ectoplasm that wasn't inside him. He couldn't smell his own ecto. But there was no ghost in the cave. His sense was silent. It was there somehow else. It was concerning but not enough to make him panic again. They could handle it.

His lungs were still aching but air started filling them nearly as much as it did normally. His limbs stopped shaking so much too. He knew he wasn't dying this time. He was calming down.

"You're doing great Phantom. Now think, what's one thing you can taste?"

Aftertaste of ectoplasm he spat between the rough fight and the moment when Kid Flash rushed him to the nearest Zeta Tube, talking about medical attention. Danny tried to tell him, he didn't need that but he was inside before his explanation left his mouth.

"Do you feel better now?"

"Yeah," It was all he was able to say at the moment. He truly felt better but that didn't mean good. It was only a little less bad than shitty, one step from fully dead.

I considered writing continuation with Danny explaining a bit what happened and how he even ended up in Zeta Tube but a) lost spark to rewrite it b) hated what already had But if you want, I can probably rub my remaining two braincels together and continue. Or someone else can. Do it if you want to. Do it. Do it

[vaguely-concerned]

To the ‘themes I am picking up on in Veilguard’ list, let's go ahead and add what I have a sneaking suspicion will actually turn out to be The theme:

— the world has changed and can never be as it was again.

— I have been changed and can never be who I was again.

— in this simple unavoidable truth there is endless grief and endless hope.

And I… may be getting a bit emotional about it haha. Let me show my work a bit: 

if da:o is a game about people who are already dead or half ghosts in some form (through societal forces, psychologically, functionally, literally, in body, through the joining etc.) coming together anyway to save the world from being swallowed by total nihilism and despair (symbolized by the blight) through the power of love and friendship and also this sword/potential heroic sacrifice that I found, da2 is a game about people who have lost their homes and been set adrift finding and building new homes in each other (while completely failing to save the world. also through the power of love and friendship. as well as years of petty bickering <3 we must imagine kirkwall if not happy then worth having been because the love was there the love was there and that's the only sanctifying force we can ever have in this doomed world and city of ours), and da:i is a game about old stabilizing-but-unjust comfortable lies vs. disruptive but potentially liberating uncomfortable truths, and the power of friendship to help us distinguish the one from the other and navigate through them...

folks… I'm starting to think that veilguard might be a game specifically about moving towards recovery and acceptance after trauma — about how even in this flawed, severed, scarred state, what is here right now is worth loving and worth caring for. even in an imperfect and impermanent world and self, there is worth and joy. and of course the first real tragedy — and threat — of Solas is that he just cannot find it in himself to accept this and move on, to let go of what was, the regret won’t let him go or he won’t let go of it. which means that even though on the surface it’s Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain (and the will to subjugate and violate they represent) who are the main villains, the real antagonistic force in this story beneath that is the Dread Wolf’s despair. A despair Rook must make an answer to by the end of the game, one way or another, compassionately or with righteous fury, triumphant or pyrrhic.

The world will change again and again and so will you — BUT the crucial element is that so will everyone else who exists along with you, you are fundamentally not alone in this existential truth. all we’ll ever have is each other and my god that is plenty, my god that is enough!!! Which is the second thing Solas just can’t accept, he keeps himself separate and completely alone out of an awful mix of fear and pride and feeling himself unworthy of anything else. Rook and the player want to save the world of Thedas because it’s where everyone we love lives, Solas wants to go back to the past because that’s the only neighbourhood where he can still visit those he loved — and the person he himself was, before. A very sympathetic and human instinct/trap to fall into when touched by trauma, I think, if only it wasn’t backed by godlike power, a fundamentally oppositional personality, and a catastrophic lack of therapy to make it literally everyone else’s problem too lol. It’s varric and solas’ banter about the man on the island and where meaning in a life comes from all over again, writ large and with detail work — and the added idea of ‘what if there are also other islands out there, though. With other people on them that you could find if you reach for each other’. Rook with the best of intentions has to make choices to which there are no perfect outcomes and live with what happens — and not cut themselves off from everyone else around them even when there is regret or shame. You get back up every day and you make a life with other people doing the same and you do your best, and that’s the only victory this world will give you. In the end, that is more than enough, that is essential. And I um. I love that. So much. It’s why some of the writing clumsiness on top can’t hurt me because this thematic spine is so solid and so beautiful to me. It’s DA2 all over again that way for me personally — I forgive this story for what it isn’t and couldn’t be, and I love it with my whole stupid open heart for what it actually is. Thank you for coming to my TED-talk and goodbye etc.      

(For my fellow TLT heads out there — you know what this story is reminding me of most of all, actually? It has some big Nona the Ninth vibes down there in the deep. It’s about… the horror and unspeakable beauty that can only be found in liminality, and the role of love in making that basic fact of existence bearable. And also even more unbearable at the same time. I'm so sorry.)

[the-meme-monarch]

what if i Entirely made up another relationship but with the express intent that they Don’t get together actually. this started out as a lol an lmao even but honestly i think i needed this. cathartically

based on the tags of my post here

👍if you ship scc go away