#and i hate when people chalk him up as just as psychopath

[pussyeater8000]

Eren Yeager has a chronic illness called resting bitch face

[zprites]

Lucifer x Female OC Below!!!

Oh hey, wow it's been a while since I've shared anything I've written, huh? Well I have good news! I have multiple wips that I will finish this year so be on the look out (nothing TMNT related unfortunately, for my hyperfixations have gone all over the place... oops).

Yes, I fell down the Hazbin/Helluva hole and I don't see me leaving anytime soon. So read this! I wrote a little drabble for @unknownfanartist (who I love and adore, no matter how much she stinks <3) with her OC, Penelope (you can find her info here) and Lucifer. Just a small SFW brainworm that ate at me earlier and I had to stop writing my Alastor fic to appease the little wriggler.

This is not proof-read in the slightest so if you see any mistakes, no you don't. *points a can of silly string right at you*

Enjoy!

Diamonds and Coal

When left alone with his thoughts, Lucifer found himself wondering where he went wrong. Sure, he had the chance now to be there for his daughter, supporting her endeavors to lead Sinners down the path of redemption, no matter how fruitless he believed the idea to be. That was until he got word from Heaven that the first ever redeemed soul had crossed the pearly gates during the last extermination, and everything he knew had been pulled into question. 

Was he wrong to dismiss Sinners so easily? He supposed he could chalk up his view to his own regrets in life. Countless nights were spent feeling bitter over his previous actions, hating the fact he granted free will to all of humanity without so much as a second thought. He even began to hate himself for it.

But now, watching Charlie bring her dream to life, something he tried and ultimately failed to do, he knew that he made the right choice. He’d met so many Sinners who have chosen to call the hotel their ‘home’ and honestly, he was growing rather fond of them all. 

Especially her. 

Penelope… After meeting the woman who was the hotel’s resident art therapist all those months ago, the woman was still an enigma to him. She was quiet, so much so that he sometimes forgot she was in the same room as him, though that was in the beginning. As of late, he couldn’t walk into a room without first looking for the artist and upon spotting the brunette, Lucifer would make his way towards her and start a conversation. Well, ‘conversation’ was putting it mildly. They were more one-sided than anything. Not that he minded one bit, he could talk uninterrupted for hours.

He just couldn’t figure out what her deal was. 

She often kept to herself, really only interacting with other guests to help with exercises that would hopefully help them through whatever hang ups and traumas they may have. And it seemed like she had a lot of her own, from what little Lucifer could glean from her. Yet he couldn’t help but feel drawn to her. It didn’t help that she was beautiful. 

He had no idea when his compliments on her art shifted to flirtatious remarks aimed at her. Maybe it was when he found out about Lilith spending the past seven years in Heaven after their separation, wanting nothing to do with her family and actively trying to thwart all the hard work their daughter has put into this place? Or maybe it was when he first realized his stance on Sinners was not fair to the souls who were giving redemption an honest chance?

It was true he thought that all Sinners were nothing but violent psychopaths. He had even thought the same about her, assuming whatever she had done while she was alive was something that could never be forgiven. But he was proven wrong - not all Sinners were like that. Maybe she wasn’t as well. After all, she was choosing to help people with her craft. She couldn’t really be all that bad, right?

The answer to that question came to him much quicker than he’d anticipated.

It was like any other night. He was up late as usual, looking over a seemingly never ending pile of paperwork that only grew each morning. However as he looked over some new plans for the hotel that Charlie had handed him earlier, the words on the page were beginning to blur, a clear sign that he needed to take a break.

With a groan, he pushed himself up to his feet and stepped out of his room. Some fresh air would do him some good…

Though as he walked towards the expansive balcony near the rear of the building, he noticed a light on at the end of the hallway, a familiar humming emanating from the room. Curiosity got the better of him and he found himself moving on his own towards the artist’s studio. Inside, Penelope sat on a stool in front of a large canvas that almost reached the ceiling, the colors appearing blocky and barely resembling any shapes except at the bottom where she worked. After looking at the painting for a few moments, he could glean that it appeared to be a depiction of water, the figure of a woman laying underneath it, reaching towards the surface while several air bubbles escaped her open mouth. 

As if sensing she was being watched, the woman ceased her song and turned to look at where he stood in the doorway.

A nervous chuckle escaped him as he waved. “Ah, knock knock…?”

Way to sound like an idiot, idiot, he chastised himself mentally.

“Can I help you with something, sir?” Penelope asked, her voice holding a monotonous and even tone that seemed to never leave her. He didn’t know when he’d grown to love her voice regardless of how uninterested she may sound. It was part of her charm.

“I told you to stop calling me that, Penelope. Just Lucifer is fine.” He said. The woman raised a brow at him before turning back to her painting, dipping her brush into some brown before gently swiping the bristles over the canvas.

Lucifer watched in silence as she worked, captivated by the way she layered each brushstroke with careful precision. God, she was stunning. The large overhead light casted almost an ethereal aura around her, catching the dust particles that sparkled as they floated along. She looked so peaceful like this. 

His gaze traveled from her face to her fingers, pale skin turning dark at her fingertips where she held her brush with care as she swirled it in a pool of deep blue on her palette. Not only was she captivating, but she was a damned good artist that clearly took pride in her craft, pouring nothing but love into each piece. Several of her works graced the halls and spaces of the hotel, like the portrait of Sir Pentious that hung in the foyer. Many of the guests even had their own Penelope-original in their rooms, alongside their own art that was crafted during their stays. He was only slightly disheartened that he didn’t have one of his own. Maybe he should ask. Would it be weird to ask? None of the others had to ask. No, it would definitely be weird to ask. Oh- crap she was looking at him.

He gave her a half-smile as her brows furrowed. He could swear a hint of distrust flash in her amber eyes as she spoke. “What?”

“What?” He repeated.

Penelope rolled her eyes. “You’ve been staring at me.”

“Oh, I am? I was uh… I-” 

His words were coming out in a disjointed mess, crimson eyes shifting as his hands moved about as he struggled to find the right words. It wasn’t until he had to forcibly stop himself and take a deep breath that he got his thoughts in order. “I’m just trying to figure you out.” 

She blinked at him, her face staying perfectly blank as she turned her attention back to the canvas. “Well, don’t.”

“Oh c’mon, I know next to nothing about you!” Lucifer remarked, a small seed of hope planting in his chest that maybe he would finally get her to open up tonight.

“Good, let’s keep it that way.” Penelope brushed some of the blue onto a bit of gray, gently dabbing the brush so as to not mix the colors too much.

“No no no, not ‘good’. It’s not good.” He let out a small laugh though anything about the situation was humorous. “You make a big deal about using art as a way of expressing emotions and feelings yet you keep yourself so closed off. Oh, don’t look at me that way. Of course I noticed, and I’m sure everyone else has too.”

Her focus was on him as he spoke, eyes cold as if she didn’t appreciate him voicing his observations on her. A sigh left her upon realizing he wouldn’t be backing down from this and resigned herself to her fate. “I keep to myself because it keeps me safe.”

“Safe from what?” He questioned, glad that he was finally getting something out of her but eager to know anything she was willing to give him.

A stretch of silence passed between them until she gave him an answer. “From getting hurt…”

Confusion gripped his entire body as his forehead creased. “What are you talking about? No one here wants to hurt you.”

“I know.” She stated plainly before cursing under her breath. Setting down the brush she grabbed a towel, pressing it to a small area on the canvas in an effort to minimize the damage of her mistake. 

Lucifer was beginning to understand now. 

“Is that why you’re so reserved? Because you’re afraid of someone getting too close, afraid of someone getting to know you, earning your trust, only for them to hurt you in the end.”

Penelope’s body grew rigid as his words hung heavy in the air and he knew he hit the nail in the coffin. So that’s what this was all about, he thought to himself, feeling almost proud that he’d figured it out, but that feeling was slowly fading away as the silence stretched longer. He hoped he didn’t take it too far and mess things up. How could he fix this?

“You know, not everyone is like that.” He began while taking a step closer to her, bringing his hands behind his back to fiddle with his fingers. “There are good people out there, even in this infernal afterlife that seems to only bring out the worst inside everyone.” 

She hesitantly met his eyes as he paused, taking a second to swallow the nerves that came to him suddenly before getting to his point. “Like you.”

“Me?” Doubt somehow finding its way into her monotoned way of speaking as her nose crinkled in disbelief. 

Cute, he told himself but quickly squashed that thought down.

“Yeah!” He exclaimed. “You’re kind and have incredible talent! And you’re patient with everyone here, even if they’re getting on your last nerve with using the wrong type of brushes or wasting supplies. Sometimes I feel as though you’re the only sane one here. Well, besides me, of course.” He let out a small huff of amusement at his own joke before composing himself.

“And… And even if you don’t believe me, just know that you’re pretty special, especially in a place like this. A brilliant diamond amongst a sea of coal. Anyone would be lucky to have the chance to get to know you, the real you.” Lucifer expressed, his eyes shining with the same truthfulness he spoke with.

Penelope regarded him for a beat, golden pools encased in black flitting back and forth between his own eyes before shaking her head. “I’m not someone worth knowing.”

“I think you are…” He whispered.

Then her shoulders shook, a silent giggle wracking her frame as he felt his jaw go slack. In the several months of knowing her, he had never seen her laugh, granted it wasn’t a full one but still! He did that! He made her feel happy!

He wanted to do it again, and again, and again. Suddenly he wondered what it would feel like to be the reason for her happiness. He wanted to touch her, to hold her close, to tell her how much he cared for her before kissing her, to-. 

Oh…

Oh…

Her amusement quieted down and he could swear that the corners of her mouth were twitching. “Then you’re more of an idiot than I thought you were.” 

Lucifer felt his heart do a flip as he noticed the smile that graced her lips, so small that he almost missed it. 

He was in deep shit.

“Well!” He all but shouted, clearing his throat as he scratched the back of his neck. “I should uh- go! Gotta get back to the office before the paperwork decides to have babies, hah ha…”

He clapped his hands together as he turned to leave with awkward movements, almost falling on his ass in the process. As he reached the door he looked over his shoulder to see that her smile was gone but her eyes still gleamed with mirth.

“You have a good night, Penelope.” 

He was barely two steps away when he heard her call back to him in a gentle tone instead of her usual even voice. “You too, Lucifer.”

With a dumb grin that refused to go away, he trekked back to his room, ignoring the mountains of paper that surrounded his desk and making a beeline for his bed, flopping onto the plush comforter. He had no idea how long he stayed there, laying on his back and staring up at the patterned, red fabric that draped over the canopy frame as he replayed the interaction with Penelope over and over again in his mind. It wasn’t until morning broke over the horizon that he realized he’d spent all night thinking about her. 

It wasn’t until he heard the rest of the hotel come to life that he moved, getting up to seek out some coffee. As he left his room, he caught sight of a thin rectangle wrapped in brown parchment paper. He picked up the package that was clearly a painting and saw a note taped onto the front that read ‘Even a diamond needs reminding that they’re someone worth knowing. - P’. 

Excitement coursed through him as Lucifer went back into his room and carefully ripped through the wrapping. It was a simple painting that couldn’t be bigger than two by three feet, but he was more drawn to the flower that was depicted on the canvas. A pair of hands delicately held a singular white orchid, the dark colors of the background and the skin making the brightness of the flower all the more radiant. 

He blinked in amazement at the painting, surprised that she was able to make something so pretty so quickly, though he could vaguely remember her going on about how some paints dry faster than others. With a large grin he scanned the walls, deciding that right next to his desk would be a perfect place to hand the art since he would be able to turn and see it often.

Heat creeped onto his face as he thought this, bringing a hand to cover his face as he groaned. 

These feelings… They were going to be a problem, weren’t they?

[musingmemories]

A hero. His hero. Harleen didn’t think of herself as anything like that, and she couldn’t quite place where the sudden warmth across her cheeks came from. She could, she was just ignoring that it stemmed from a place of pride accompanied by the praise, desperation to be something for someone.

Placed on such a pedestal Harleen wondered who in the past Joker might’ve looked up to before. Who’d been the role model that’d led him astray, life and circumstances tugging him down the threads of possibilities to the person he’d become. Mass murderer, psychopath, sociopath, deranged lunatic… just a few pet names the city of Gotham and past psychologists had bequeathed The Joker.

At the very least, he was also optimistic about their dynamic being a good fit. “Did you say that to my predecessors, or am I justa special case~?” The teasing, playful tone of Harleen Quinzel used both in and out of professional settings. Because to her there wasn’t any need for strict boundaries— in every setting she was always herself. And she would be in this one, having found a pattern that when she was real and genuine it brought out another’s. Confiding in one another a shared bond of trust.

So far it was a theory proved to be working, an appreciative smile blooming across Harleen’s face hearing Joker liked her, turned nonchalant and dismissive as she studied the room, searching for clues into his psyche. “I like what ya’ve done with the place. Made it your own.” Blue orbs fell to the straitjacket keeping Joker’s hands restrained. The elephant in the room, ironically, not the criminal in front of her. “They give ya a timeline on when they’ll ease up on that?” Like a muzzled animal. Punishment for being naughty. “Cause I don’t mind tryna be part of your decoratin’ committee for the time bein’.” Not part of her job description, but might ease the Joker’s boredom and itch to create chaos, a safe space of his own… as safe as an Asylum could be.

Then, the silence lulled. And oh how Harleen hated silence. Her brain buzzed with the classic game of 21 Questions, neither of them seeming to be the right one to start their first meeting off correctly… and she found herself becoming tongue-tied under his intense, almost clear colored, gaze. Harleen recognized it: studying, like she were under a microscope. But she was an open book— well, a professionally restricted one she had a tendency to cross the line over.

The shiver that ran down her spine with the purr of her name was a red flag example that she chalked up to the Asylum being chilly, and lithe fingers tucked stray blonde strands behind her ear before answering. “Well, I don’t play favorites,” A lie. “But I am a psychologist, and I was interested in speaking with you. Getting to know you. I just…” Tongue flicked over nude pink painted lips. “I want to help people, and I think everyone here is still a person. Ya deserve fairness, Joker— and not bein’ treated like an animal even if ya were bein’ a naughty, naughty boy.” To quote his own words.

“So, question for ya: if ya could be anywhere else doing anythin’ else, where would that be? I’d like to rule out any crime-related activities. Really think outside the box.” Pen in hand, Harleen adjusted her spectacles on the bridge of her nose before focusing on her notepad, edges decorated with spontaneous hearts she’d drawn prior out of boredom.

In all of his ten thrilling years spent rotting in and barely out of Arkham Asylum, the swift rate in which his psychologists had mysteriously vanished without a trace after leaving for their shift in the evening was eerily alarming to the rest of the world, their disappearances swiftly reported across every news channel with theories on theories about how he was somehow behind it all. And if they didn’t vanish, well.. they almost always ended up quitting their jobs after an intense session or two with Gotham’s most evil. They were all the same with their bright eyed and bushy tailed bravado, waving their expensive education around with reassurances that they could and would help him escape this chasm of insanity he’d found himself trapped in. But oh how easily they cracked under the pressure of his menacing stare. Who knew a simple glance could send them running with their tails between their legs like scared puppy dogs~?

Joker refused to believe that this doctor would be any different to the witless wonders they’d issued him with before.. that was until the silky feminine timbre of her voice reverberated around the room, followed by the soft click! click! clicks! of high heels closing in on his position. Now that sound alone piqued his interest considering all of his past doctors had been male.

Body finally stilling from the light tremors, Joker slowly whirled around in his chair until he was met with somebody who looked to be the embodiment of innocence. A pair of ocean hues concealed away behind a thick pair of spectacles, every fleck of blue perfectly illuminated by the fluorescent bulb above. Such a dainty thing by the looks of it, doe-eyed stare peeking out from behind a clipboard.. Pretty.. would make a good looking corpse to hang in his room. Oh how easy it would be to string her up by that slender little neck and watch the light in her eyes dimmer out. But where were his manners? Such courtesies could wait until after their meet and greet.

Face completely void of any emotion while he analysed and sized her up, Joker finally broke into a crooked, metallic grin.

“My hero. I do believe we could be a good fit, Doctor. I really do.” A hum followed by his tongue trailing along his lower lip. Harleen Quinzel. A mouthful; he much preferred Harley for short. But nicknames had to be earned. However, it wasn’t her name that had captured his full attention. No, it was that saccharine smile and overly trusting nature, evident in the hand that had been outstretched in a polite greeting— even though he couldn’t at all return the gesture even if he wanted to. Didn’t she know what he was capable of? What a ditzy little thing. The offer of a rain check only had the devilish grin on his face stretching until it was almost unnaturally wide— unnerving as it had been deemed many times before.

“Well aren’t you a funny one~? I can already tell I’m going to like you.” Was that sarcasm? Even he couldn’t tell. Alas, he’d roll with her friendliness for now. “I’m sorry I couldn’t spruce the place up for your arrival.. my hands a little tied as you can see. I’ve been a naughty naughty boy lately.” Chuckling at the latter part of his sentence, his head then lulled to the side in thought, brazen stare never once wavering from its focus on her. Why oh why would they send somebody like her to deal with him? Were they perhaps hoping this was be some sort of Beauty and the Beast type fairytale where she could tame him into a newly reformed man? If that was the case, then they were going to be sorely disappointed. After all; there was no charming prince to be found in here.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Joker leaned in closer to get a better look at the blonde bombshell sitting across from him. “Tell me, Harleen Quinzel..” Her name practically a purr rolling from his tongue. “What really brings you all the way to Arkham Asylum when you could be anywhere else doing anything else? Surely not little ol’ me~?” Distract her. Befriend her. Gain her trust. A route he’d never tried before, but.. maybe that’s where he’d been going wrong in the past. It was worth a shot.

[frostcorpsclub]

Slasher Playlist

My slasher playlist on spotify and in extension, my Jack playlist so the explanations are a bit of both

Possum Kingdom -Toadies

There are some obvious ones on this list, this is one of them. It’s about a psychopathic serial killer who thinks women are at their most beautiful when they’re dead in a swamp, watch the films.

“I'm not gonna lie

I'll not be a gentleman

Behind the boathouse

I'll show you my dark secret

I'm not gonna lie

I want you for mine

My blushing bride

My lover, be my lover, yeah

Don't be afraid

I didn't mean to scare you

So help me, Jesus

I can promise you

You'll stay as beautiful

With dark hair

And soft skin, forever

Forever“

Skinned -Blind Melon

The song is explicitly about a serial killer who makes furniture out of human remains, Jack makes pies but they’re both creative.

“I'll make a shoehorn outta your shin

I'll make a lampshade of durable skin

And, oh, don't you know that I'm always feeling able

When I'm sitting home and I'm carving out your navel?

I'm just a sitting here carving out your navel

When will I realize that this skin I'm in? Hey, it isn't mine

And when will the kill be too much meat for me to hide on?“

A Little Piece of Heaven -Avenged Sevenfold

The song itself is pretty theatrical, its a double serial killer combo here ladies and gentleman. This time around we’re focusing on the driving force of the story, a dude who was so afraid of his girlfriend saying no to his proposal he made sure she couldn’t say anything at all. A nice addition to this song that really solidifies the energy is the way this dude talks about it.

“Our love had been so strong for far too long,

I was weak with fear that

Something would go wrong,

Before the possibilities came true,

I took all possibility from you

Almost laughed myself to tears,

Conjuring her deepest fears

(come here you fucking bitch)

Must have stabbed her fifty fucking times,

I can't believe it,

Ripped her heart out right before her eyes,

Eyes over easy, eat it eat it eat it.“

My Axe -Insane Clown Posse

First off, the title. Theres a bit of vigilantism in there but it’s mostly about all the things Violent J (heh heh heh) does with his axe

“My axe is my buddy, I bring him when I walk,

Me and my axe will leave your head outlined in chalk,

My axe is my buddy, he always makes me laugh,

Me and my axe cut bigots spinal cords in half,

My axe is my buddy, and when I wind him back,

Me and my axe will give your forehead a buttcrack,

My axe is my buddy, I never leave without him,

Me and my axe will leave your neck a bloody fountain.“

My Name Is Mud -Primus

This song is about an unstable yet (seemingly) milquetoast man who finally snaps during an argument with a man who frequently gets on his nerves. Another layer within the title could be referring to the fact that his reputation as a person is mud, worthless wet dirt.

“My name is Mud,

But call me Alowishus Devadander Abercrombie

That's long for Mud, so I've been told

Told that by this sonsabitch that lies before me bloated blue and cold

I've got my pride, I drink my wine

I'd drink the finest except I haven't earned a dime in several months

Or were it years

The breath on that fat bastard could bring any man to tears

We had our words, a common spat

So I kissed him upside the cranium with an aluminum baseball bat.“

The Horror Of Our Love -Ludo

This was included on another playlist so I’ll rehash the same explanation. Taken from a quote by the artist. This song is about profoundly loving someone so overflowingly that it devastates you. Where your physical person cannot possibly contain your emotion, but that emotion still begs for physical expression. And even still, no affection or act or word can satisfy it.

The way this is done so is where slashers, and Jack, comes in.

“I’m a killer, cold and wrathful

Silent sleeper, I’ve been inside your bedroom

I’ve murdered half the town

Left you love notes on their headstones

I’ll fill the graveyards until I have you

Moonlight walking, I smell your softness

Carnivorous and lusting to track you down among the pines

I want you stuffed into my mouth

Hold you down and tear you open, live inside you

Love, I’d never hurt you

But I’ll grind against your bones until our marrows mix

I will eat you slowly… ”

Ready To Die -Andrew W.K.

This a morbid song about an undefined number of people, represented by a narrator who clearly revels in a thirst for blood and a disdain for the live of others. The whole time asserting that this is a thing they can do...because he said so.

”Your know life is over now

Your life is running out

When your time is at an end

Then it's time to kill again

We cut without a knife

We live in black and white

You're just a parasite

Now close your eyes and say goodnight

You better get ready to die

(Get ready to die)

You better get ready to kill

(Get ready to kill)”

Boogie Woogie Wu -Insane Clown Posse

This is a song from the perspective of a boogey man, THE boogey man in this case. He’s essentially going through how he kills people, how he feels about it, and what goes through his mind as he does so. Gloating the whole time.

”The world's famous Boogie Woogie Wu will come to you

Slumber parties, sleepovers, intimate nights

What the occasion for the midnight hour

He will gladly come and fuck that shit up

I don't beat woman, fuck that, I'm above it (no no)

But I'll cut her fucking neck and think nothing of it

I bet you didn't know the Boogie Man was a clown

But when you see the juggalo, your holding your jugular

With a swing, chop, stab, swing, chop

You're holding your neck together, but your nuts drop

And the cops do the best they can

They pull the axe out your face and say

Was it the Boogie Man?"

Right Now -Korn

Another great quote from an artist, "That's a song about waking up and wanting to kill everybody... I have a real problem with people." This a deeply aggressive, violent, and rage filled song.

"Right now

Can't find a way to get across the hate when I see you

Right now

I feel it scratch inside, I wanna slash you and beat you

Right now

I rip apart the things inside that excite you

Right now

I can't control myself, I fucking hate you

You open your mouth again

I swear I'm gonna break it

You open your mouth again

My God, I cannot take it"

[rvb-is-gay]

ok so now that the final episode of rvb0 is out for everyone, lets get into some discussion about it! please note that post isnt a topic of debate but rather just my personal thoughts about everything, so dont go arguing in the replies

(fair warning ahead of time for any fans, this is mostly criticism and negative feelings about it, so keep scrolling if you dont wanna read it)

When RVB0 was first announced, I remember everyone was first upset that the Reds and Blues weren't in it, including me. But now that I've watched the whole thing, I can say with confidence that my only issue with RVB0 isn't the lack of the Reds and Blues, but rather everything. the dialogue, some of the animation, the characters, the delivery, the pacing, the ridiculous amount of clichés, etc. I don't dislike RVB0 just because there's no Reds and Blues. I dislike it because I just found the entirety of it bad.

When I first started watching it, I went in with an open mind that maybe this season could actually be really good. I’d also be lying if I said that there wasn't a single scene that I liked. There were actually a few, but they still didn't make up for just the overall badness of the season. But please note that I don't blame the voice actors for any of this or even just Torrian Crawford for the season coming out a giant mess. Many people worked for this season and always had the opportunity to improve or change things but didn't. But anyways, let’s get into some of the criticisms I have for this season.

1. Smaller and more opinion oriented criticisms

This isn’t really criticism or anything important, but rather just a few things I found a bit weird to me personally.

First, the term “ragtag team of misfits” was used to describe Shatter Squad (and was even actually said out loud by One in the last episode, which sounded just so cliché and dumb in my opinion). I don't think this describes them at all?? Everyone has, at the very least, decent relationships with each other (save for One and East who were competitive with each other (which I also fucking hate in RVB that all the girl characters are always competitive with each other)), but that still doesn't really fit the term ragtag) and they all fight very well. I think ragtag fits the Reds and Blues more than it does Shatter Squad; they're bad at fighting, they argue and fight all the time, they're idiots, and that's why we love them. If they had just stuck with “a team of misfits”, that would've made more sense, but again, this is more of a personal opinion than genuine criticism.

Second, I don’t really like the aesthetics this season had. Everything felt a bit too neon and bright and then some stuff just felt like it came straight out of World of Warcraft or something. It didn’t really feel like RVB.

Third, my feelings about Carolina constantly calling Wash David can be summed up by what Michael said in the first episode of Halo 4 LASO: “Now we’re just gonna throw his name around all willy nilly. It used to be a secret.” When someone is called by their real name in RVB or just any story in general where everyone goes by code names, it’s usually a big deal and indicates something serious. Carolina wore out Wash’s name the first time she said it and it just got more and more irritating from then on out and lost its value.

Fourth, who was the blue and purple soldier in the first teaser we got? Was that One? Did they decide to change her armour colour? I don’t know, I just randomly remembered that and thought it was weird but I guess it must’ve just been a colour change.

Now, onto the more serious criticism.

2. Animation and dialogue

The second thing I wanna talk about is the animation. Don't get me wrong, the fighting animation is probably the best compared to everything else and it was pretty good to watch, but the talking and idle animations and gestures were..... kinda yikes. I know that it could be chalked up to “well we’re not used to seeing animated gestures since all of RVB usually has everyone just holding their gun and using the regular Halo models” but there were still some pretty bad parts.

Take the scene from Encounter at 3:26 as an example (I uploaded the scene to YT to put here, but obviously it was blocked for copyright):

This scene is probably one of the worst when it comes to not only the animations, but the dialogue, pacing, and delivery. When I first saw this, I honestly laughed. Here's a list of my problems with this scene and what made it so laughable:

The overexaggerated hand gestures. I get that because everyone's in armour and a helmet, it can be hard to show expression, but this feels like a bit much. Especially when One says “what? You’re pulling us off the mission? You cant do that!” I think that one scene in season 15 when Grif stays behind on Iris while everyone leaves and it slowly zooms in on Simmons’ visor somehow does a lot better at expressing feelings than this.

East immediately making the connection between Axel and Zero feels weird. I don't know if its just me who feels this way, but I think it should've been a little bit longer before she immediately is just like “you know Zero don't you”

Axel saying “I... I do... I did”  also sounds weird and like he was trying a bit too hard to sound dramatic. I don't really know how to describe it its just such a weird delivery of the line.

The way they all immediately start yelling at each other.

One saying “Axe, I trusted you” right after saying “tell us the truth”. Girl, you gave him no opportunity to explain and just immediately jumped to not trusting him anymore. Speaking of which, I don't think this was ever really mentioned again and had no meaning or importance to it.

The echoing of “I trusted you” also feels cliché to me, but this is more of a minor thing.

I think this one comment on one of the episodes on the RT site that says the dialogue “seemed acted rather than natural. It didn't really sound like how people normally talk, more how actors talk in plays” is how I feel about all of the dialogue in RVB0.

3. The villains

Zero and Diesel both felt like they didn't really have any motivation at all for being villains. Phase is probably the best when it comes to this. She was essentially abused by her father as a child and forced to undergo being experimented on. This is an actual good and understandable motivation.

Diesel we know basically nothing about, and then on the other hand, all Zero wants is power. But for what? Why? I can understand that power is a pretty common thing for people to want, but it still kind of felt like there wasn't really anything there.

Some previous good villains in RVB include:

Temple: Temple witnessed his best friend be brutally murdered right in front of him by 2 soldiers who didn't give a shit and just left him to die, especially right after he told him he was having a baby. Of course it’s understandable that he has a hatred of Freelancers after this. Any normal person would.

Felix: Felix was probably the best villain of all of RVB, to be honest (right beside the Director). He was just somehow so likeable and had so much personality, despite being an asshole. His ultimate motivation was money and being rich, which is another thing I can understand; the more money you have, the more you can essentially do whatever you want and live in luxury. I mean, even so many people in real life do horrible things just for money. I don't even have to give examples for this. Felix in general is also just a psychopath.

The Director: The whole reason the Director did what he did was because he lost the person he loved most in the world: his wife. He was willing to do literally anything to bring her back, leading to all of his actions in the Project Freelancer saga. You can find many examples of movie/TV/book/etc characters/villains seeking vengeance as a result of loss of a loved one and grief. Despite being a horrible person, the Director actually managed to be a villain you could even sympathize with, making him even better.

Sharkface: Although a bit of a more minor villain, similar to Temple, Sharkface is a villain because he wants revenge on the people that killed his team, the people he considered to be the only family he’s ever had.

4. Tucker & the swords

The fourth thing I wanna talk about is the whole thing with Tucker and the swords. I always found it kinda weird how both Tuckers sword and now Locus’ sword in the chorus trilogy were the same, but then in RVB0, Zero’s sword looks and acts completely different, but that might just be a little nitpick of mine.

As for Tucker, it was so good to see him. Although I don’t know if it was just me, but he seemed a little OOC. What I didn't like about seeing Tucker again was that he did literally nothing the entire episode. He was useless. He said “I can fight” at one point but then all he does during the battle is get held at knife point, run away, and then get stabbed and have his sword taken. Tucker isn't an amazing fighter, but he’s definitely a lot more capable than just this. We’ve seen him in action many times and I just feel like he could've done a bit more. It almost feels like he was purposefully nerfed and tossed aside just to advance the plot.

Another thing that I and probably a lot of people are upset about is the fact that Tucker might not even own his sword anymore?? When East stabbed him, he apparently died and the sword was rebound to Phase, but it wasn't very clear that this was the case. Although the beginning of the next episode starts with hospital beeps and a flatline, I don't think it was still really clear enough that Tucker actually died long enough for Phase to reclaim the sword because I saw a handful of people confused in the comments and, like me, even thought it was just bad writing at first and that the writers completely forgot about the rules of the sword established over several prior seasons.

When in the hospital, Wash tells Tucker that he almost died. Although I actually liked this scene because it was nice to see wash and tucker bantering again, I think it could've been made better and made the plot clearer if instead of saying he almost died, Wash said something along the lines of “Tucker, you died. Your heart stopped, but they were able to bring you back thanks to their advanced medical tech” and then in response Tucker freaks out because that means his sword will now work for Phase and now they know how urgent the situation is.

I really really hate that Phase just has Tucker’s sword now and nothing is even said about it. If Tucker was to give his sword away to someone, I think many people would prefer that it was at least someone close to him, like Junior for example, but instead it goes to a random girl he hardly knows.

5. Pacing

The fifth thing I wanna talk about is the pacing. This season was definitely a lot shorter than normal and I think that’s one of the things that really prevented it from being good. The entire story just feels rushed and while I understand that it can be really difficult to build a good story and characters in such a short time, I think there’s still ways you can do it without it feeling like there’s so much missing. I think the long intros and outros are also responsible for less time and maybe they should’ve considered cutting them to give more actual episode time. Here’s a few things that were poorly done as a result of bad pacing:

The final battle against Zero: The whole battle just somehow felt like a typical video game boss battle that ends super quickly to me. Shatter Squad didn’t even defeat Zero, he just up and got disintegrated or whatever from Black Lotus.

Shatter Squad giving up on their mission: After receiving the silly deep voice filtered message from Zero, everyone on Shatter Squad just immediately gives up on finding him.

One’s speech: One’s speech wasn’t awful or anything and I didn’t really have any problems with the speech itself, but rather just how quickly the team went from “we can’t do it.. it’s over..” to “you’re right! I’m in! Let’s go get them!” Compare this to Doc and Sarge’s speech to the Reds and Blues after Church and Carolina leave in season 10 episode 20. It just felt a lot more genuine (this is probably because the Reds and Blues had a lot more time to be developed, though) and was only given after some time passed rather than 2 seconds later. The scene and context also transitioned well into it and at first, nobody was on board with what Doc was saying, which is more realistic in my opinion. People’s minds won’t just instantly change, they’re still gonna think about it and maybe have a few doubts at first.

Phase and West: During their fight, West talked a lot about how he regrets giving Phase away to Starlight, that he won’t hurt her, and is even willing to die for her. Their scene together ends with Phase punching him in the head and then leaving to join the others and nothing else about them is mentioned. We don’t know if Phase forgave him or not, we don’t know how West feels, etc.

Tucker’s sword: Phase still has Tucker’s sword and like the scenario with West, nothing about it is mentioned. We don’t know what she’s going to do with it, if she’s going to keep it, if Tucker’s gonna do anything about it, etc.

6. Clichés

Clichés aren’t inherently bad and can be really impactful and good if done right. But when it comes to RVB0, it’s jampacked with clichés that aren’t good. Here are a few examples:

Everyone gives up until a speech is given: All of the points for this are the same as above, but I wanted to include this scene as a cliché as well.

Every female character is competitive with each other: RVB falls into this a lot, like I mentioned earlier. It happens again with East and One, although luckily they seem to resolve it, but not until literally the end of the season.

West’s fit about East: All of the lines and delivery in this scene were just atrocious and cheesy. I think West’s dialogue just could’ve been a bit more original, but instead we’re given this boring predictable “I won’t lay a hand on her. I promised her. I promised her mother. I promised she’d be safe” spiel that has no emotion to it in his voice.

The whole “I got this, you go ahead” thing: This isn’t like a super cliché thing, but I found it pretty interesting how it happens twice in the same episode.

I think this is pretty much all I can think of at the moment. If I think of anything else, I’ll add onto this. Overall, I think RVB0 would’ve done a lot better as just an RVB spinoff so that it could have more episodes and seasons dedicated to developing characters and a good plot. I’m really disappointed with this season and I hope whatever comes next is better than what RVB0 was. I hope the team that worked on it can learn a few things that come from the good and valid constructive criticism given to them. And if I had to pick, I think I’d say Raymond was my favourite out of all the new characters. He just felt the most relatable and realistic to me.

[turtle-steverogers]

Trust Fall

oh hello, a fic?

warnings/disclaimer: race is going through a moral dilemma in this fic.  i’m not trying to make a political statement or anything, nor do i agree or disagree with the conclusions in this fic, i’m just tryna get into this specific character’s mind given the situation he’s in.  warnings for death mentions, crying/guilt,,,,cuz of course, terrorism mentions (nothing graphic, it’s just there), and guns and stuff

ship: sprace

word count: 1754

editing: no

-

Race remembers reading once in a Time article that: “Evil isn’t easy”.  The search had been on a whim.  A heat of the moment, one in the morning google search after his first day out in the field.  Really out in the field.  As in, the first day as a member of the Joint Terrorism Task Force where he was trusted to shadow a case.  

Details of that mission were unimportant now that four years had passed, but he’ll never forget how it ended.  The feeling of triumph once they had busted the terrorist cell and the almost giddy satisfaction of knowing that they won when he pulled the trigger on those men.  But man never forgets his first kill.

Sure, in the moment, it had felt good.  That particular cell had been a nasty one.  Lots of innocent civilians died at their hands.  But they were still humans with lives and heartbeats and neurons firing and really, he shouldn’t have tried to humanize what were ultimately murderers to the worst degree, but he couldn’t help but do so.  It was innate and the notion was clear.  Race had killed them.  He had taken lives that day.

So, that night, after returning home to his boyfriend (now husband), Spot, and smiling his way through a hasty dinner, then excusing himself halfway through Up to throw up said dinner in their hall bathroom, he’d googled it.  “What happens in your brain when you kill someone?”

It’s just the way Race functions.  If he can understand his thought processes- what’s happening in his brain when he’s performing an action, the ultimate why- then he can stomach whatever it is that’s plaguing him.  He lives by that: logic.  It makes sense.  

Spot’s always said that surprises him.  Apparently, outwardly (or at least outwardly when he isn’t working), Race doesn’t come across as super logical.  When Spot had told him that, Race had been a little offended, but ultimately it didn’t matter.  As long as he knew when to put on the serious front, he’s fine.

Beyond that, Race seems to have a knack for surprising Spot.  Namely, when Spot found out his actual job was with the FBI, specifically one of the most secretive and risky branches.  JTTF was no organization to be fucked with.  Yeah, for about 24 hours, Race was certain Spot was going to break up with him for keeping such a huge thing from him.  But after the confusion and fear had subsided, they were okay.  Thankfully, Spot respected his need for privacy in most work related matters.  They were okay.

Anyway, Race remembers seeing the first line of that goddamn Time article, “Evil isn’t easy”, and rethinking all of his life choices.  All he’d wanted were the straightforward facts on what happened in his mind when he pulled those triggers and what he got was an existential crisis that hasn’t quite ended, because what he was doing as a Special Agent wasn’t evil, right?  No, they were the ones tasked with the precarious job of stopping evil, so they couldn’t be the evil ones.  But they were still killing, weren’t they?  And that was evil. 

Halfway through the article, which chalked up to be mostly about serial killers and psychopaths and nothing that could remotely justify Race’s own actions, he’d clicked out and cleared his history, then chucked his phone across the room and nestled into Spot’s side.  Spot just grumbled a bit and pulled him closer in his sleep.  In the moment, that had been enough to rest Race’s mind, even a fraction.  But now, as Race points his gun between the eyes of the leader to a terrorist cell that had nearly blown up Union Station and pulls the trigger, feeling the way his heart beats too fast, but his hands remain steady, the familiar pit of guilt rises in him.  

XXX

The rest of the day passes methodically.  Paperwork, debriefing, more paperwork, coffee break, quick shower in the agency’s locker room, even more paperwork.

Finally, the case is done.  Or at least, Race is done with it.  It still has to go through some final wraps, but that’s for his superiors to worry about.

On the ride home, some of the feeling that had previously left Race’s body, leaving him vacant and robotic, begins to return.  By the time he pulls into his parking space across from Spot and his’ brownstone, he’s shaking.  The reaction is purely physical, though.  He still feels numb.  No pits in his stomach or lumps in his throat or jaws clenching to keep from crying.  

His mind is white noise, but his body is on fire.  His palm and pointer finger tingle where the gun had been nestled, the pressure from pulling the trigger seemingly still there.  His legs feel restless and he flexes the muscles in his thighs, trying to relieve some sort of instinct to fucking run and never stop.  He clenches the steering wheel hard enough to turn his knuckles white, allows himself thirty seconds to breathe, then turns of the engine.  One more deep breath later, he’s crossing the street and pulling out his house key to let himself in.  

Spot is in the kitchen when he enters, hovering over the stove and wearing one of the aprons Race’s Ma had gifted them a couple Christmases ago.  He looks up when Race perches himself at the kitchen counter and smiles, gesturing to one of the pots on the stove.

“Hey, you hungry?  I’m making some split pea soup.  There’s little hotdogs in the fridge that we can put in if you’re feeling frisky.”

Race had managed to calm himself down to the point of feigning normalcy, but his chest is still vibrating and the thought of eating food makes his stomach churn.  

He must pause a second too long to answer Spot, because he looks over again, frowning, “Hey...you okay?”

Race sighs.  He can’t share details of his work, but after their argument when Spot had found out about the whole FBI thing, he’d promise to at least be as honest as he could.  Besides, as much as Race’s job told him not to trust anyone, all good relationships are built on trust and Spot deserves the dignity of Race’s.

“No,” He says.  

Spot’s frown deepens and he gives the soup one more stir before turning off the stove and moving the pot off the burner.

“Rough day?” He asks.  His tone is conversational, with just the right amount of sympathy.  Race appreciates it.  He knows Spot worked long and hard on how to talk to Race so he would open up to him.

“Yeah,” Race says, finally feeling some of the emotions that had previously been sidelined returning.  He takes a shaky breath, feeling a little hot around the eyes all of a sudden, “Awful.”

Spot leans over the other side of the counter, reaching out a hand to cover Race’s, “Can you talk about it?”

And can he?  Race has had bad days before, hell the number of times he’s wordlessly curled himself into Spot’s chest and cried while his partner held him is almost embarrassing.  And each time, Spot asks if he can talk about it and each time he refuses.  But it hurts.  God, it hurts so bad and sure, Race has talked about this shit to his field partner, Dasilva, before, because he gets it, but right now all Race wants to do is tell Spot.  Get it out to a third party who isn’t involved in this messy shit.  Hear that it’s okay.  Or hear that it’s not and just have the truth already.

And yeah, he does trust Spot.  No, he’s not going to tell him details, he’s not disloyal to the Bureau, but he trusts Spot enough to tell him this.  He needs to tell him, he needs to-

“Did you know that I’ve killed people?”  He asks.  

Spot squeezes his hand and takes a measured breath.

“Never for sure,” He says, honestly, “But I’ve figured that it may come with your job.”

And now Race feels so small and vulnerable and he drops Spot’s hand and in a moment of pure longing- for comfort or just for Spot, he doesn’t know- he reaches up and tugs at the front of Spot’s shirt.  Spot gets it right away.  They’ve gotten to the point where reading each other is second nature, as familiar in their minds as the english language.

He crosses around the countertop and pulls Race into his arms, rubbing a soothing hand up and down his back as he cries.  It feels good to cry knowing Spot knows what he’s comforting him for.  The fact that he’s willing to hold Race this close, despite knowing what he’s done- what he’s had to do- speaks volumes.

“I hate doing it,” Race says, voice thick and muffled by tears and Spot’s shoulder, “I’ve had to do it so fucking much and I hate it and I try to justify it, but I never can in the end because I can still see them- every fucking one of them- in my mind.”

Spot hums, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, “Let’s go to the couch.”

Race nods, allowing himself to be guided to the couch in the living room.  He cries for a few more minutes, Spot holding him close, until eventually the breakdown tapers off.  

“I can’t imagine what you have to do, Race, or how you must feel,” Spot says, “And I can’t provide reasoning behind it any more than you can, because really, there shouldn’t be reason in this world for you to be in that position in the first place.  But what you do, you do because it’s your job.  You’re keeping a huge fucking number of people safe.  Maybe there’s no justification for this shit on either side, but that’s just the fucked up way of this fucked up world.  You do what you have to in the moment to keep people safe in the long run.”

“I’m not a bad person?” Race asks, still working to take measured breaths.

And whether Spot thinks so or not, he says, “No,” firmly.

And gradually, the rest of the tension in Race’s gut lets up.  He’s not okay, not really.  But now that the weight has been pressing down on his chest for so many years is not a secret he has to keep from the person he loves the most, he can breathe a little steadier.

-

again, this is purely fiction 

thanks for reading, chiefs!

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[randomkposts]

Favorite FFIV WMG’s (from TV tropes)

Ffvi WMG Celes and Maria are really the same person. Celes apparently looks exactly like Maria, sounds exactly like Maria, and is able to sing opera well enough to pose as Maria. Further, the real Maria never shows up, and nobody claims to have even heard from her while Celes is with your party. Celes agrees to the impersonation plan rather quickly, after seeming to resist for all of a few seconds. Opera isn't something a beginner can just take up and instantly master. Also, it's unheard-of for one opera singer to sound exactly like another, even when they have the same range and type of voice. To be able to perform that well during the opera scene, Celes must really be a professional opera singer with years of training. Due to her genetic augmentation and magitek infusions, Celes may not have needed much combat training to perform her military duties, which may have allowed her enough free time during her off-duty hours to pursue a secondary career as an opera singer. Perhaps she has a teleport spell that lets her get to and from the opera house quickly. But she may be embarrassed about her passion for opera, fearing it may clash with the "tough chick" image she tries to project among her military comrades, so she hides this side of herself by taking on a different name and pretending to be someone else. Out of my head, boy! Strangely enough, she does have a secret teleport spell she doesn't tell people about: When Kefka catches up with the party under the magitek factory, she teleports away with him. Needless to say, she doesn't have this power when she's under your control, so she must be keeping it secret for some reason. WMG Banon and Duncan were the same person. Think about it, we get no backstory for Banon, none at all. And he and Duncan share the same sprite, Duncan just has a different color palette. Sure, you could chalk it up to being lazy, but remember that when Edgar was using the alias Gerad, he used the same sprite as normal with a different color palette. So why not pull the same trick with Duncan and Banon, use the same sprite but different palettes to hint they're the same guy? Think about it, if they were the same person, then Duncan would easily be found by the Empire as a famous martial arts master. So he makes up an alias, and whenever the Returners refer to their leader, they use his alias "Banon" to keep his identity secret. When Vargas "killed" Duncan, he took the chance to drop out of sight and devote his full energy to the Returners - remember that the timeframe when Vargas killed Duncan more or less lines up with Locke rescuing Terra, so if we assume he sent word to Banon of this young woman who could use magic, it makes sense Duncan would use the "death" excuse to vanish and take on the Banon persona full-time. This is why Banon vanishes in Vector when the Floating Continent rises, he's going back to hide under the Duncan persona again. This is also why, despite the fact he's supposedly alive the whole time, we never see Duncan in the World of Balance - because we do see him, as Banon. This would also explain Banon's Pray/Health ability which seems to be magic, Duncan would naturally have the ability to harness the same type of energy that powers Sabin's Blitzes. But then why doesn't Sabin say anything? Simple - he knew, he was in on it. Being that Terra never knew who Duncan was it would make no sense to point it out to her. The people who ought to have been told Duncan was Banon knew, and the people who didn't need to know weren't told. Even Duncan's wife mentioning he's dead fits in with the idea, she either didn't know about his double life or did know and lied to people to keep up the charade. That's actually not a bad theory. When you meet Duncan in the World of Ruin, he doesn't say a word about Vargas, even though that was a far more obvious reason for him to be dead than the End of the World as We Know It. That also explains something that has always bugged me a bit, why Sabin was immediately accepted as part of the returners. Locke and Edgar had already been shown to be members, Terra being recruited is part of the story but Sabin just seems to be along for the ride for no real reason. If he was already secretly a member already then there would be no reason to try and recruit him. Sabin is probably along for the ride because he's a capable fighter, and Edgar's brother. That, or the fact that Sabin was the most distraught when his father died, poisoned by the Empire, so he'd probably be part of the Returners anyway if he knew about them. Assuming Duncan is Banon, if Sabin ever told Duncan why he ran away, then Duncan might recruit him into the Returners and make sure he knew about the Banon alias. This theory has a tangential yet interesting implication: Was Vargas really Duncan's son? An argument against this would be that Banon betrays no hint that his son just died; shouldn't he be in grief? Yes, but neither do his parents. You can speak to both his mother throughout the game and his father later in it, and neither of them have a single word to say about the death (or even the existence) of their child. The only way I can see to explain that are that Vargus, being an uncontrollably antagonistic psychopath who kills (or claims to kill) his own father over a snub, without any display of remorse or guilt, was so awful a person that even his own parents wouldn't acknowledge him (perhaps politely expressed by his father in the form of shunning Vargas in favor of Sabin). Which *whew* would explain why Banon expresses no reaction about the death of 'Duncan's' son. Maybe he even feels relief inside. Or, 2: There's some stupidly convoluted scenario involving Duncan lying to Vargas about being his father. I prefer the first idea. The World of Balance has continental drift margins. At the western edge of the western-most continent, and at the eastern edge of the eastern-most continent, the shapes of the lands are such that they just about fit together, like South America with Africa. Chalk that one up to the original War of the Magi. The world before that might well have been one prosperous continent that was subsequently split apart and reduced to a barren wasteland. (Fridge Brilliance moment...) I hadn't actually thought of the drift being that recent, but it makes perfect sense. That opens awesome possibilities for the layout of the pre-Magi world map. Kefka is Baram. Kefka grew up in a crappy orphanage, where he learned to steal and fight to survive. As he grows up, he is noticed by someone in the Empire, and is taken in to become a soldier. He grows up more and becomes a general, etc etc. When the Espers were discovered, he was prepared to become the first Magitek knight. However, it seems unlikely that Cid and the Emperor Geshtal hadn't experimented at all before trying it on one of the best soldiers, so they probably tried weaker Espers on weak animals or criminals, and Kefka got to see the results, which were likely filled with Body Horror and insanity. The esper he was to be infused with was also probably out of control. It freaked him out badly and he ran away, hoping to escape the experiment. Government propaganda covered his escape as him going on a mission or something. Kefka drew upon his past experience of thieving and fighting, and became a robber with the name of Baram. He met Clyde, etc etc., until he gets injured. He begs to be killed, because he remembers what the Esper infusions did to the subjects, and wants to escape that fate. Clyde leaves him behind, and he gets brought to the Empire, where he is forced to become a Magitek knight. His anger and feelings of betrayal are amplified by the Esper's anger, causing him to snap and become permanently hate filled and angry, as well as insane. Also, both Baram and Kefka lose self-control when they see their blood: Baram breaks down when he's injured, and Kefka goes berserk when Celes stabs him. note I know this reads like bad fanfiction, and I got the idea from a Youtube comment, but I don't think this has too much fridge logic. So Shadow tried to make amends by finishing Kefka/Baram off on the floating continent? Interesting theory. That... is disturbingly plausible. I have to admit, I don't favor this theory and even I have to say it's surprisingly plausible. Good job. Madeline is the most badass character in the game She made it through the Cave to the Sealed Gate, apparently alone and without weapons, certainly without magic, and somehow opened the gate to the Esper realm and got inside, something that on the two other occasions it is down needs the magic force of multiple Espers to be done. Even the Espers don't know how she managed to get into their realm, so clearly her ability surpasses even them. It's fortunate for the Empire Madeline isn't a playable character or she'd probably be able to take out the Guardian and storm the palace on her own. CID : Designated Good Adopted Grandparent: Cid. After his esper infusion process turned Kefka into what he is, he tweaks the process and then runs it on the child he has been entrusted to raise, which is to say Celes. Maybe he tested it on some more folks before he did it to her, maybe he didn't, but she was certainly too young to give any kind of meaningful consent to the procedure. After that he let her be raised as a Child Soldier. But nobody ever calls him out for this particular ethical shiner. There's also the fact that he researched the detained espers (a process that left Ifrit and Shiva near death) in the first place. The only regret he seems to feel is that his discoveries were misused; he's perfectly content with what he had to do to make them. It might be that the only reason that he was entrusted with Celes' care was because Emperor Gestahl told him run the process on her. In that case the fact that Cid treated her as a child instead of a test subject is to his credit, not that it excuses him being involved in the research in the first place. Nobody may call Cid out for it, but he does express regret himself, saying that there's no excuse for what he's done to the Espers, or for what he's made out of Celes's life.

Ffvi Wmgs

What if all the rentals had a cover outside of their job, and Celes is Maria

[offiiciium-a]

Anonymous is being adorable: I love seeing your version of Midori because I see a lot of the fandom chalking him up as just a sort of psychopath who’s horrible and has nothing else about him other than being horrible. I find it fascinating to see you delve into more than that behavior and trying to understand the line of thinking and his feelings towards Shin and other people. And the way you describe his smile hits different.

    ty ty!! this is so sweeeet ;;w;; i’m not a huge fan of most of the fandoms Takes but in midori’s case it’s really hard to know anything since he’s hardly been in the game yet. i’m sure i’m gonna end up taking back a lot of what i’ve said about him when the next parts are released. i’m doing my best tho so thanks so much for the kind wooooords!! (and lbr if the next parts of the game come out and i hate what they do with midori i’ll just.......... brush his canon aside). 

[darkangeldesignstudio]

Mother’s Day

Negan x Reader

Honestly, writing this story was hard. The angst was real and the PTSD was not fun to deal with, but I feel like sharing this story with you all has made me stronger in the long run and I hope you all enjoy it. Remember, if you are ever going through something like this or know someone who is, talk about it, ask for help and know in your heart that, no matter what happens. YOU ARE STRONG!!

Summary: When the world ended, you used it to escape a living hell. Later, found yourself a place to call home in Alexandria. You  and your two children were welcomed into the community and you soon found a friend in the reformed soul of a prisoner named, Negan. Your relationship grows steadily over time and he becomes an irreplaceable part of your family, but when a nightmare from the past rears its ugly head, will your love be enough to keep you alive?

Warnings: Negan's foul language (as usual), implied smut, talks of mental and physical abuse towards children and women, threats of sexual assault, violence, and death.

Chapter 1

When the world went to shit, you knew it was your only chance for freedom. In the dead of night, you woke your two sons and told the rest of your family goodbye. They would be leaving for Virginia tomorrow, acting as a decoy to cover up your escape. With any luck, no one would notice that you were not with them until it was too late to turn back.

With Nik and Pat in tow, you headed west, into the North Carolina mountains to meet up with your friend at his military bunker. With any luck, you would be safe from the living and the dead until the day you could meet up with your family again.

Years later, you found yourself a resident of Alexandria and you couldn't be more thankful for finding this wonderful place. The people who lived here were amazing and welcomed you all pretty quickly considering all they had been through, but you chalked it all up to what you offered as an ally.

Before the apocalypse, you had been a weapons collector and your vast collection had really come in handy once everything went down. Swords, knives, handguns, bows, and daggers and all of what was left came with you to Alexandria. A new fighter and great weapons were always welcome in this horrible new world, and after finding your brothers among their fighters, you were welcomed with open arms.

It took about two seconds for Judith and Nik to bond, another week for Pat to join them and they were so happy. Michonne had become your friend soon after and you were trusted on multiple occasion to watch Judith while she was on runs, just as she was trusted with your boys when you were gone. You became like family.

One day, after Michonne and the others went to help Hilltop, you found Judith on the steps talking out loud to seemingly nobody. Concerned, you walked towards her and heard the deep voice of a man. Knowing a little about the prisoner in the basement and that Michonne would not be happy with Judith's conversing with him, you intervened.

“Judith, its time for your weapons lesson.” She looked up at you with a smile and light blush on her face, probably embarrassed at being caught. You smiled back at her, motioning with her hand to follow. “Come on girly, Nik and Pat are waiting for you.”

With a cute squeal, she stood quickly. “Thanks [Y/N], I almost forgot.” Turning back towards the man in the cell, she waved happily as she jumped down from the stairs. “Bye Negan, I'll see you later.”

“See you later Judith.” The man said to her retreating form. “Don't forget that trick I told you about, it will give you an edge during practice.”

You watched as Judith skipped away, sometimes it was hard to remember that she was still a child. The man in the cell cleared his throat, trying to get your attention. Rolling your eyes, you turned back towards him, hands on your hips.

“So, the new girl is trusted by the almighty Michonne? That's something I never thought I would see.” Negan smiled at you winningly at you from between the bars on his window.

“I highly doubt, Michonne would be happy to find you chatting with her daughter.” You looked at him disapprovingly and sighed internally when he grinned all the wider at you.

“Well excuse the hell out of me darlin. I take whatever little bit of conversation I can get at this point. Anyway, I was helping her out with some homework. No harm done.”

Rolling your eyes, you turned away from him and began to walk away when you heard him speak again.

“You though, I will look forward to the next damn time we speak.”

Your little conversations kept happening that way. You would walk by and Negan would try to get your attention. Curt words, mocking glances, and rolling eyes from you soon became less harsh as you grew used to the man in the cage.

One particularly hard day, you walked to the house to collect Judith and Negan noticed the tightness in your smile. Once she was far enough away, Negan spoke.

“[Y/N]?” His soft inquiry caught your attention. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine. Why do you ask?”

“Don't give me that bullshit. The fact that you didn't just roll your damn eyes at me is plenty of evidence I need to know something is wrong.”

You did roll your eyes at that statement, but with a sigh you sat down on the steps. “My boys noticed, too. Guess I'm just too easy to read.” A small chuckle escaped your lips before you put your head down in your hands and sighed again.

Negan sat quietly, looking at you through the bars. His silence took you by surprise. The man didn't had a bit of patience, usually muscling his way through a conversation, annoying the hell out of you until he got you to talk. The fact that he waited, didn't push for you to talk, made you much more comfortable and eventually you opened up to him.

You told him about your past. How you and your children were treated by your ex. It left you with an extreme amount of PTSD that, even after all of this time, would rear its ugly head at you. Today was one of the worse days you had had in a long time, you were stressed to the point of breaking and nothing seemed to help calm you.

Flashes of the abuse you endured, the stalking, the threats, the mocking and hateful things he said to you and your kids were bombarding you, and without Michonne to talk you through it, you felt as if the world was ending all over again.

You talked for hours, Negan quietly watching you. He didn't offer sympathetic words or butt in with his opinion, just listened and waited for you to spill your guts to him. By the time you finished, you were scared to look at the man. He had been so quiet, you expected not to even see him there when you turned your head, but he was and he didn't look happy.

At first, you thought he was angry with you, but all of those thoughts went away when he spoke.

“If I ever meet that son of a bitch, I'll gut him like the coward he is.” His voice was quiet with underlying tones of rage. It was terrifying, but it sent a wicked thrill down your spine. You had heard stories about Negan and how brutal he could be. Many of the stories came from the man himself and you first thought him cruel. But, over time, you realized he only did those things out of what he saw as necessity.

Before Negan took over, the Saviors were a group full of brutal and dangerous psychopaths that were just as much of a danger to themselves as they were others. He brought them to heel with his high handedness and punished those who threatened the safety of the group. They did what was necessary to stay alive, even if those things hurt a lot of people in the end.

You knew he regretted many of the things he did. He was remorseful under all of that bravado, but nobody ever got close enough to be able to tell. Only Judith and you ever spent more than a few minutes in his presence any more. You kind of felt sorry for him.

You spent more and more time talking to Negan and when the day came that he was released from his jail cell, you volunteered to watch him. Michonne and the rest of the group trusted you highly and knew if anyone could keep him straight, it would be you. He wouldn't risk losing the only friend he had in the world.

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Psycho Analysis: The Joker (The Dark Knight)

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS!)

The Joker is one of the most widely interpreted characters in all of media, with so many taking a stab at him that it should really not be a surprise that he’d end up in a Psycho Analysis. There are plenty of Jokers to talk about, so I feel it’s appropriate to start out with the best interpretation of the character thus far in live-action cinema: Heath Ledger’s Joker from The Dark Knight.

Really though, what can be said about this performance that hasn’t been said already a million times before? This performance is legendary, and truly makes the movie the modern classic that it is. This take on the Clown Prince of Crime, a more down to earth take, really helped shape and mold the decade of superhero films for the decade to come, for better or for worse.

Actor: Unless you have lived under a rock for the past decade, you are well aware that Brokeback Mountain’s Heath Ledger portrays Joker in the film, a casting choice that was widely derided when it was announced. Ledger would go on to prove all the naysayers wrong – dead wrong. His take on the Joker seems more in line with the character’s very first appearance in comics, where he was more about murder and black comedy than theatrics and cackling, and Heath sells you a version of the Joker that in the hands of anyone else would likely be unappealing to those who grew up with Hamill’s Joker. Add in a dash of characterization from the more nihilistic Joker from The Killing Joke, and Ledger managed to cook up a psychotic anarchist clown for audiences of every stripe to love to hate.

It’s worth noting that Ledger’s performance is practically unmatched in comic book cinema; despite Joker being ripped off in and out of comic book movies to oftentimes poor effect, very few villains managed to come close to the complexity and talent Ledger brought to the role. Only the MCU has managed to give villains of this level of quality – villains like Thanos, Killmonger, and Adrian Toomes – and even then it took them a decade to get to those. Incredible, isn’t it? The MCU, which has produced the best comic book movies since The Dark Knight came out, has only JUST managed to get villains with performances that match up to Ledger. Ledger’s performance is just that hard to match.

Motivation/Goals: The Joker’s goal is simple: he wants to kill the Batman. Okay, it isn’t that simple, but he’d sure love you to think that. The Joker very much seems to draw from his interpretation in The Killing Joke, especially in regards to Harvey, with him wanting to put the purest hearts of Gotham through the wringer to make them as warped and wicked as he is. He also wants to take Gotham from the organized crime and introduce his own brand of anarchic, disorganized crime, where criminal actions are done for the sake of it. Frankly, almost every action Joker does in this film can just be chalked up to him wanting to do it just because, but it’s hard to deny there’s an underlying genius to everything he does. Every move he makes is just so perfect and calculated, all in the sake of bringing ruin onto Gotham and destroying and crushing its hopes.

Personality: This Joker is much more subdued than, say, Hamill or Nicholson’s take on the character; the wacky props and the over-the-top showmanship are a lot more subdued, but it’s still easy to see that this Joker is a genuine Joker. He indulges in lots of black comedy, he’s constantly lying through his teeth, he’s underhanded and is constantly executing overcomplicated plans, he executes anyone when he feels they’ve outlived their usefulness, and most importantly of all, he really loves screwing with people. Much like the previous clown covered on Psycho Analysis, Joker truly seems to relish in the anarchy, misery, and suffering he causes others

Final Fate: The last we see of Joker, he’s dangling from a building and cackling like a madman. It’s easy to assume he was arrested, and the novelization of the sequel mentions he is the sole inmate of Arkham Asylum… maybe. He may have escaped, for all anyone knows. Sadly this lackluster ending is because Heath Ledger tragically died, and Christopher Nolan felt it would be disrespectful to have him appear in the sequel, even as a cameo using unused footage. It’s rather unsatisfying but it is understandable.

Best Scene: Every single scene could count. There is not one scene with Joker that is not iconic, awesome, and memorable. For my money though, the scene in which he walks out of the hospital dressed like a nurse and attempts to detonate the charges, only for them to not go off which leads with him fiddling with his detonator until things finally start to explode, is easily his best, funniest, and most wonderfully in-character moment in the film. It’s one of the most traditionally Joker-y things he does.

Best Quote: Pretty much everything out of his mouth is wonderful, but I think the gold medal has to be the first story he tells about how he got his scars. “Why. So. Serious?”

Final Thoughts & Score: Look, we all know Joker is getting a 10/10, it’s pretty obvious and we all know it’s what he deserves. And with that out of the way, I can just get right into the meat of why he’s so great.

Nolan’s Batman films are a more down-to-earth, darker, and realistic take on Batman, so they tended to sacrifice some of the more comic booky aspects of Batman in an attempt at realism, usually to good effect. For instance, there’s no Venom drug that Bane is hooked on, the Lazarus Pit is more metaphorical than literal, stuff like that. But Joker? Joker manages to straddle the line fairly well. It’s damn near impossible for a psychopath who dresses up like a clown to be taken 100% seriously, so while the Joker is toned down here, it’s not to the degree that someone like Ra’s al-Ghul was. Joker’s not wildly hammy, overly theatrical, and using guns that have little “BANG” flags in them, sure, but he’s still pretty funny, he still is a bit theatrical, and he’s still just as cunning as ever. As far as “realistic” takes on characters go, Joker is the absolute pinnacle. If you want to do a realistic take on a more unrealistic character while still staying true to them, this Joker is the character to look to.

There’s honestly not much to criticize here; like yes, I’m sure I could nitpick here and there, but for what it is this performance is utterly electrifying. However, it’s hard not to point out how, much like the movie he’s in, this Joker had quite an uneven impact, as a lot of movies tried ripping off the elements of the character that worked in the context of the film without understanding just why Ledger’s performance worked. One need look no further than the next cinematic interpretation of Joker courtesy of Jared Leto to see how toning down the Joker and trying to aim for gritty realism can backfire spectacularly. And then of course there are all the incredibly edgy people on the internet who take this Joker at face value and idolize him as some sort of philosophical wiseman espousing harsh truths about reality, when he is in fact a hypocritical liar who is constantly screwing with everyone around him; perhaps that only adds to his brilliance, though, as he managed to even pull one over on the audience.

Still, none of that is really Ledger’s fault; he had no way of knowing that his take on Joker would be ripped off or treated as some incredible intellectual instead of as a conniving madman who sought to crush hope and bring about chaos. Ledger may be gone, but he left us with a brilliant and unique take on a classic character, one that even years later still holds up as one of the greatest villain performances of all time in any media. To this day, people still talk about him, still try and theorize about his origins, still quote his lines; for better or for worse Joker is an icon, and while the worse in that equation is pretty bad, the better is what really matters and what we should really remember this incarnation of Joker for.

[yastaghr]

Grey 7

The next chapter of Grey is up! You can find it here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16555439/chapters/38788544

Or below the cut!

If you would like to support what I’m doing, commision me, or donate, you can contact me here or find out more on my Ko-fi:

https://ko-fi.com/yastaghr

Stretch woke up to a world of grey. He could feel it trickling into his skull through his eye sockets and swirling around inside him. The patterns it made against the black of his mind were mesmerizing. They were also nauseating. He really needed somewhere to throw up.

Stretch blinked his eye lights and sat slowly up. The world was spinning and wobbling way more than it should have been, but he could just make out a snowy path and some trees. Great. He was so far away from a bathroom it burned. He’d have to make do with a hole behind a tree. He crawled a few feet into the forest and found an acceptable place to heave. Then he did so. He didn’t remember to bury it after. Rude.

Once that was over with, he crawled back onto the main path. He needed to find Blue. Blue would take care of him. If he could find Blue- oh. He was an idiot. He could just call Blue and ask him to come get him. He just had to…

Stretch propped himself up on the door and fiddled around in his giant cavern of a pocket. Finally he found his clunky old phone. Could he ask Blue for a new one yet? Maybe when they got home. For now, though, he needed to open it up and hold 1. There. It was ringing...and ringing...and ringing.  

“BROTHER! WHAT’S WRONG? I’M A BIT TIED DOWN AT THE MOMENT. DID YOU RUN OUT OF PARTS?”

Good old Blue. Always answers his phone within three rings. If there was nothing else constant in the world, it was Blue and his three rings. He kept saying Stretch needed to answer his phone faster. Heh. Like that was ever going to happen.

“nah, bro. i’m super dizzy and way out by the ruins door. d’ya think you can come pick me up?”

Silence beat for a few seconds. Muffled voices sounded from the other side of the phone. Was Blue out training with that fucking murderer again? That asshole had better not hurt his brother.

“I’M SORRY, BROTHER. IT’LL TAKE ME AT LEAST AN HOUR TO GET TO YOU. PROBABLY TWO. DO YOU THINK YOU CAN TELEPORT BACK TO THE HOUSE? WE’RE HEADING THERE NOW.”

Stretch scowled. Was his brother really too wrapped up in Edge to come get Stretch? They were boyfriends as well as brothers! He should be Blue’s first priority. Why was his brother so selfish?

“i think i’ve got a concussion, bro. don’t want to mess up the coordinates and end up halfway through a wall. you know how bad that turns out. we’ve seen it enough times in undyne’s animes, and then there was the time-”

“-I HAD TO CUT YOU OUT OF THE DRYWALL. I REMEMBER. I STILL HAVEN’T MANAGED TO GET THE DUST OUT OF YOUR CLOTHES.”

Stretch growled. He hated when Blue interrupted him. “what have i told you about interrupting me! i hate that! i finally get a full sentence lined up to go out my mouth and you interrupt me. now i’ve got all those words stuck on my tongue with nowhere to go. it feels so fucking weird.”

A sigh traveled through the phone connection. Blue sounded so tired. Had that bastard overworked him?

“I’M SORRY FOR INTERRUPTING YOU. IF YOU’LL JUST WAIT THERE THEN I’LL COME AND GET YOU IN AN HOUR OR TWO. CAN YOU PLAY ON YOUR PHONE UNTIL I GET THERE? YOU STILL HAVE BATTERY, RIGHT?”

Stretch scoffed. “you know i’ve got one of the new ones. they run directly off ambient magical power. they don’t need batteries.”

“OH,” Blue’s voice came through almost flat, but Stretch chalked it up to bad cell reception, “THAT’S RIGHT. I FORGOT THE NEW ONES COULD DO THAT. WELL, SINCE YOU DON’T HAVE A BATTERY PROBLEM, YOU CAN PLAY ON YOUR PHONE UNTIL I GET THERE. IF LOOKING AT THE SCREEN HURTS YOU, THEN PLAY ONE OF YOUR AUDIOBOOKS. OKAY?”

Stretch settled into a comfortable position against the door. “i can do that. see you soon, bro. bye.”

---

Blue shoved open the stuck door of Edge’s house. The hinges squeaked. Blue made a mental note to oil them later. Right now he needed to get Edge into a bed and in a healing sleep. He co-“I DON’T NEED TO LAY DOWN. I’M PERFECTLY CAPABLE-”

Blue shook his head. “WE WENT TO TRAINING. YOU HAD A BIG CRY. YOUR SOUL BOND IS DUSTING. ALL OF THESE ARE GOOD REASONS TO TAKE A BREAK. YOU KNOW I’M ABLE TO DEFEND MYSELF. IT WON’T HURT FOR YOU TO REST A BIT.”

Edge searched Blue’s face for something. Blue knew all he saw was calm and cheer...and maybe a bit of fear that Edge would be angry that Blue had interrupted him. After all, Stretch hated when Blue interrupted him, and Edge was kind of a copy of Stretch. Blue didn’t want to lose his new friend over something like that.

“ALRIGHT. I’LL TAKE A NAP.”

When Edge said that, Blue felt his mood instantly lift. Edge hadn’t said anything about the interruption! And he’d agreed to do what Blue said! That made Blue feel good inside.

“THANK YOU. I MIGHT BE GONE FOR QUITE A BIT. STRETCH SAID HE IS ALL THE WAY OUT BY THE RUINS DOOR. SO I’LL HAVE TO WALK ALL THE WAY THERE AND THEN COME ALL THE WAY BACK WITH A CONCUSSED MONSTER IN TOW. SO I’LL PROBABLY BE AT LEAST AN HOUR AND A HALF, IF NOT TWO HOURS. IS THAT OKAY?”

Edge nodded as Blue lowered him carefully down to the couch. Blue made sure to have his clothes smooth underneath him. Stretch hated having to lay on anything creased.

“THAT IS FINE. I TRUST YOU TO STAY SAFE. AND...THANK YOU.”

Blue tilted his head at the laid out monster. Edge looked exhausted, even more so than usual. He looked like he could barely stay awake. Blue started gathering his magic in preparation for the healing spell.

“FOR WHAT, EDGE?”

Edge coughed. The slightest of blushes colored his cheekbones.

“FOR TAKING CARE OF ME, EVEN THOUGH I SHOWED WEAKNESS. FOR LISTENING TO MY STORY, EVEN THOUGH IT WAS HARD. AND FOR CARING ABOUT ME...ABOUT MY BROTHER...AND ABOUT EVERYONE IN THIS UNDERGROUND. THAT KIND OF COMPASSION IS RARELY SEEN HERE. SO...THANK YOU.”

It was Blue’s turn to blush, only his blush was bigger. He was so unused to compliments of that weren’t about his skill as a fighter or his skill in bed. It felt...nice.

“I WOULD HAVE DONE THAT ANYWAY. IT’S...IT’S A PART OF MY SOUL. MY DAD IS THE SAME WAY. WE JUST HAVE THIS NEED TO HELP PEOPLE. STRETCH DOESN’T SEEM TO HAVE IT, THOUGH. HE’S VERY...SELF-ABSORBED. BUT HE CAN BE NICE! HE CAN BE A HUGE ROMANTIC AT TIMES. HE BRINGS ME FLOWERS ON MY BIRTHDAY. HE’S ALSO GOT A HUGE SENSE OF JUSTICE. IT’S JUST, SOMETIMES, HE MAKES A JUDGEMENT TOO QUICKLY AND GETS HIMSELF IN TROUBLE.”

Edge chuckled. “LIKE WITH ME? I CAN HARDLY BLAME HIM. WITH MY LV...WELL. I’M HARDLY A NICE PERSON.”

Blue argued hotly, “YOU TOOK US INTO YOUR HOME. YOU WRAPPED MY ARM. YOU’VE FED US. YOU’VE TAKEN THE TIME TO GO SCROUNGE FOR PARTS IN THE DUMP. YOU’VE LET ME TRAIN WITH YOU. YOU’VE TRUSTED ME WITH YOUR BROTHER’S CONDITION.  YOU THANKED ME FOR HELPING YOU. YOU ARE NICE.”

Edge gave Blue that small smile of someone who didn’t believe a word he was saying. Blue sighed. He was way too used to that expression.

Blue said quietly, “I GUESS IT DOESN’T REALLY MATTER. EVEN IF YOU ARE A MEAN PERSON, YOU STILL NEED TO REST. CAN YOU REST HERE FOR ME?”

The taller skeleton gave a reluctant nod. “I WILL.”

“GOOD. “I’LL BE BACK SHORTLY WITH MY BROTHER.” Blue hesitated for just a moment before he added, for the very first time, “STAY SAFE.”

“STAY SAFE,” Edge said back automatically. Then he blinked at Blue and smiled at him. It was a soft smile, there one instant, gone the next. Blue felt his soul leap with joy. Edge had smiled at him. Edge had smiled at him! Blue hadn’t seen Edge smile that big the entire time they had been there. Maybe he could help Edge after all.

Blue spun around and left almost in a skip. Finally, he had hope in the future.

---

Blue felt as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him. It wasn’t. It was just the weight of Stretch. The concussed monster was just shy of being carried by Blue down the path of grey snow. Blue definitely wasn’t happy with that situation (after all, it hurt his injured shoulder badly), but he was willing to put up with it for his brother’s sake. There was one other situation he was barely putting up with.

“...and that’s when i saw the damned jar of dust. i didn’t think it was dust, of course. what kind of a psychopath keeps a jar of dust in their basement? i actually opened the damned thing and got it all over my clothes. so gross.”

Blue took advantage of the break to try and correct Stretch’s mistaken impression. “ACTUALLY, STRETCH, THAT JAR OF DUST IS-”

Stretch snarled, “i don’t really care what fucking excuse you’ve come up with this time. he’s got a damned jar of dust and it sure as hell creeps me out. i don’t understand why you keep apologizing for that fucker. ”

The older brother pouted. “STRETCH. PLEASE WATCH YOUR LANGUAGE AND TREAT OUR HOST WITH THE RESPECT ANY SENTIENT CREATURE DESERVES.”

Stretch sighed dramatically. “sure, bro. let me just fold up my anger and put it on a shelf. oh wait. i can’t do that. someone tried to fucking sever my soul and now i can’t regulate my emotions at all!”

Blue winced and nodded. He could still remember the day he’d come home early from school and found their babysitter holding a knife that was slicing through his baby brother’s soul. He’d done everything he could, back then all the way up to right now, to help his brother survive the consequences of that action. But it irked him just a little that Stretch only brought it up when he felt he was losing an argument.

“anyway,” Stretch continued, blind to his brother’s feelings yet again, “i haven’t finished telling you about my day yet. i had just found out that the jar was full of dust when…”

[dykes]

|| 2 Corinthians 5:10 ||

"For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, so that each of us may receive what is due us for the things done while in the body, whether good or bad." - 2 Corinthians 5:10

The story of how Deputy Addison Gully loses herself in the madness of it all.

fandom: far cry 5 / far cry new dawn

warnings: self-harm, implied brainwashing, mental disintegration, post-traumatic stress disorder, scarification, angst.

pairings: none but female deputy/faith seed is heavily implied/referenced.

inspired by something that @athurmorgan​ was speaking about irt their deputy.

also available on ao3

Gods.

She’d tried so hard she—

If she takes just too deep of a breath she can still smell them; gutted and burning alive out there. Whitehorse, Pratt, Hudson. Gods even Dutch ; this was his bunker.

She’d let them die. She’d killed them all. She did this. She did—

“Do not cry,” the singsong voice comes nearer and nearer, “You truly did the very best you could. If you had but only listened.”

“Stay away from me,” she manages to get out around the tightness in her throat, “You think you’re absolved of tragedy? You let your Brothers die for this. You let Rachel—”

“You forget who it was that pulled those triggers, snake. Rest now. Rest. Awake when you are feeling anew.”

She doesn’t miss the prick of pain in her arm or the buzz in her head.

“Fuck you,” she slurs before succumbing to sleep.

When he does finally release her from the chains on the bed she draws a line down the center of every hall and every room and throws the chalk down beside his scribbling hand.

“Stay on your fucking side and we won’t have any issues.”

“And if I do not?” he asks with vague amusement; like a parent to a child.

She hates him. She hates him. But they already have one dead body and she shudders about the possibilities for getting rid of that.

She won’t kill him. Not yet. She can’t—

“Just. Stay away from me,” she grinds out, stalking away from the communications room to one of the furthest in the bunker, pinning the door closed.

Her hands curled around her head do little to stop the ever-present hum of a hymn she can’t quite remember the words of.

Rachel— Faith— Whoever she was in the end of things; still shows up.

In dreams. In flashes of light. In the mist of tear burdened eyes.

The now ghost sits curled up beside Addison and touches gently at their hand and at their face and begs in fragmented words for forgiveness.

“I could have saved you,” she says, turning to look and soak the image of her former— something in, “I would have torn down the entire valley to save you, you know.”

“I chose my path, Adi,” the image says in soothing tones, “I chose my path.”

She huffs a laugh and slams, perhaps a little too hard, her head back against the wall, “You had your path chosen for you. You weren’t free from the moment he had his psychopathic fingers wrapped around your throat.”

“Do you wish they had been yours instead?”

Addison startles. This ghost. This figure. It’s her own imagination after all. A figment to deal with loss not yet recovered from.

“No,” she says eventually, “Not around your throat.”

“Do you see angels, Deputy?” her bunker mate asks, “Is that who you talk to late in the night? Ghosts and angels and images of the past?”

They don’t talk often. She makes very sure of that. If he enters a room she occupies she moves. And she’s far more in shape than him and can keep the game up for longer.

She’s sure it comes as a surprise when she willingly enters a room with him, clutching two barely heated meals in her hands.

It’s their first real meal together since they entered the damned prison a month before.

“I see— I don’t know what I see,” she all but whispers, scooping up the beans and shoveling them in her mouth. They’re bitter and bland and have awful texture and here she was— stuck with them forever.

He waits in silence. He waits and lets her stew and think and watches her like a hawk. He’s the predator still, even now. Or perhaps. Better put. She is more prey than ever.

“It’s all blurring together,” she admits long after their food is finished and their plates cold.

He’s gone back to reading but looks up with such languid calm movements that it would unnerving if she weren’t so— used to it.

“I see Rachel— Faith. I see Hudson and Whitehorse and Pratt. I see your Brothers. I see me. I see you.”

“It is the burden of Death to see all that she touches.”

“Do you expect me to kill you, Joseph?”

“I expect you to want to try.”

It’s not a real answer. Not really.

It still leaves a sour taste in her mouth as she throws her stained plate in his direction, “Do the washing,” she barks, leaving in a hurry with her proverbial tail tucked between her legs.

A month bleeds into two then three then four.

Faith appears more often than not. Faith now; not Rachel. Not like before, when she could pretend it was still her friend haunting her.

The others she loses in the mess of it all; first their voices go and then their eyes and then their faces. And soon all she sees is specters and horrors that keep her up at night with barely a name left on her lips.

“I don’t remember what they look like anymore,” she quietly admits, curled into the furthest corner of their shared room; lines drawn long forgotten, “I can’t— It’s like they don’t want me to see them anymore. Why would they do that?”

He doesn’t look at her with concern or empathy. He looks instead with the same curious eyes that he always had done; as if she were nothing more than an interesting play thing to him. A toy.

“It’s this place,” she continues, rocking just slightly, “It’s this fucking place. It’s the smell and the taste and the texture of the air. It’s the shadows that move. I hate this place. I hate it.”

“We will leave soon, child,” the calming voice comes, suddenly in front of her.

She doesn't know when he moved. Did he move? Did she? She rocks again. Back and forth. Eyes fluttering shut.

“Soon, child. Soon.”

There were three mirrors in the bunker when they entered.

There are none now. Just shards. Bloodied and broken. Smashed and stepped on and cut into the soles of hands and feet and chest and stomach.

Wrath. Pride. Wrath. Pride.

Carved and crossed out over and over again.

“You carve such ugly sins into yourself,” Not-Rachel speaks from her side, steadying her hand, stopping the sixth or seventh or eighth carving she’s not sure, “Such ugly sins.”

“He was right, you know?” she replies, letting the shard of glass tumble to the floor, shattering on impact, “He was right.”

“Now you see. Now you see what I saw. Go to him. Go to him and he will show you the world you denied yourself for so very long. He will show you a world you never dreamt possible.”

She hums and nods and steps in the broken shards of glass, feeling each pierce through the soles of her worn shoes and into her skin.

Faith, at least, stays and holds her bloodied hand.

God tells you, if I listen to you, it’s good and right, and I can help, and I can save people, and make it right, and everything will be okay.

If I judge as your judge, the judgement is right and just, the judgement is God’s Word.

I see now.

I am so sorry.

If only I had Faith.

Give me a mask, I am afraid, she scribbles, passing off the note to the man beside her.

He reads it once before putting it aside and reaching out, holding his face in her hands and twisting it this way and that.

“Do you believe if they cannot see you, that they will stop their haunting?” he asks, keeping her face held, “You removed your tongue to stop the talking and yet they still come; now you will remove your face?”

She taps the paper again. Insistent. A begging plea.

“Bring me wood and I will fashion you a mask and when it is done, we will emerge as Father and Judge and you will serve under God as I have and through me you will do his bidding.”

She reaches and scribbles out another note.

Thank you, Joseph.

Thank you, Father.

The mask is somehow between heavy and light; weighing like stone in her hands but a feather against her face.

It’s exterior is rough and pitted and if she runs her fingers too fast along the surface her skin catches on barbs and splinters and is left bleeding and raw.

He helps her put it on for the first time; knelt in front of him with her hands pressed up against his hips, eyes begging.

He anoints it too, dipping his own fingers in water and pressing them against the forehead.

She cries. Muted and ugly for her lack of tongue.

She cries and cries and cries; even after he has said his words and disappeared some rooms away.

Faith curling around her does little to quell the ache in her chest.

At first the sun is almost blinding; painful and all encompassing and far too hot.

She is grateful at least, that her mask blocks most of it out.

The Father takes it in stride; chest bare and shoulders flexing.

His people; her people; have awaited their return like the disciples of God and Jesus knelt around the Tomb of Jerusalem.

It’s been two years they say in wondrous adoration, falling to their knees in front of him; in front of her.

“The Prophet has risen,” they sing out in chorus, “The Father has returned to us.”

She turns and watches the image of Faith skip about at her side; white sundress fluttering about in the wind and innocent smile playing about her features.

‘Come on!’ the playful voice cries out, a hand reaching out towards her, ‘ Come play.’

She doesn’t miss the Father watching her watching the ghost. And when she turns to look at him, sees the almost imperceptible nod he gives for her to leave and return as she wishes.

After all, they’re Family now.

As much as he and Faith were. As much as she and Faith are.

So she follows, she reaches out and takes the hand of her former friend and lover; the one she had killed herself and let drown in the mighty river. She reaches out and takes the hand and allows herself the quaint feeling of peace in the wide open fields.

Thank you, Father.

[jangyeevns]

eight for the happy meme

modified rp meme — ( accepting )

eight characters i have played.

i’m just gonna put this under a read more because i wanna gush about my soon-to-be revived kids and the ones i miss sdfglkgf

also, don’t drag me for the gifs being different sizes and psds. some of these fcs get Fuck All in terms of resources compared to the others sO —

sage ( herrera - ) buckley

so sage WAS a nina dobrev fc, but with a little tweaking to her ethnicity i’ll use her with a kelsey merritt fc ! she’s a medical student with a desire to work in the lab, unlike her past version who already WAS a working lab tech of sorts, and is a very sweet, playful lady. back in her old rp, sage was super adventurous, loved to travel and try new things so these distractions from the ugliness of the world didn’t really affect her positive, live in the moment outlook ! honestly, she was one of my fave muses before i left the community for a minute to focus on post secondary, and i’m glad that i’m able to build upon her old characterization now that i’m older and more realistic. also shoutout to my old pals gorgeous and dakota bc i wouldn’t have refurbished my sad ass variation of sage if they hadn’t opened southportrpg :/ miss them and their messy muses

odessa fulton/lorelei dorsey

while she’s going by lorelei on my indie, she went by both at one point when i used her in two or three different rps. she’s my lax but passionate photojournalist baby who was a means to become a better researcher with muse backgrounds and helped me to better understand aspects of ptsd. she had been sent to different parts of the world for her job, but was caught up in the crisis in syria i believe — i’m 90% sure it was before the time when we began sounding off about plots and backgrounds based on Real, Scary Events that could be really problematic, otherwise younger!me would’ve changed that to be respectful — and had to deal with the traumas associated with the bombings and unrest once she returned to take on more National or Regional stories; i never went too deep into it as it was a triggering topic and i didn’t wanna use events as severe as that in a tone-deaf or heartless manner, but i did want to explore beyond the safety blanket i had in place for my muses and considering my interest in journalism abroad and a certain movie at the time, odessa/leia came to be

estelle claxton

i didn’t get to do much with her, but este was a part of a futuristic apocalyse rp centred around an artificial intelligence uprising, her being a tech whiz just like her dad; he died during the uprising and her and her family had to either seek refuge elsewhere or become part of a resistance group, and she wound up doing the latter with her older sister. rather than follow that plot, she’s just gonna be your usual grad student with her shit together — which is fucking rare SLDGFJDFKS so you’ll really get to see her fun, witty side without some sense of doom looming overhead !

laure zehner / brigitte sondag

js but i hate how sarah’s resources are primarily with this type of psd and are mostly from her period work. basically, give me her letterkenny and interview clips Thanks !! sgflfjsd

my sweet little french spy.. so born laure zehner, she was used in an rp that was essentially reviving people who died prior to said rp’s present day or decade in some magical, unexplained way. she was the daughter of a wwi veteran in the alsace region and would go on to wish to be onstage, doing so upon moving to paris to become a cabaret performer and adopting the stage name brigitte sondag. forget how i explained it in my mia intro for the muse, but she soon became a spy for the allies after the germans occupied france during wwii and, after years of killing and hiding the bodies of officers, she was arrested and killed by a firing squad in secret. came back to life a good seventy years later and had a Massive modernity shock.. idr what followed but she was truly a badass, i wish i did more with her :/

louisa kent

my little oddball artist :( she was a creative girl who had a bit of a wild child lifestyle, and in the rp that she was created for, she was something of a telepath ?? basically, she wished she could find an easier way to communicate with her best friend, who was serving abroad in the military or something, and suddenly ? she could talk to him in her head ?? it never got fleshed out and tbh i probably wouldn’t fuck with something like that again bc of my perpetual fear of being godmoddy, but she was fun to play — albeit cringey bc past!me was equally cringey with All of my muses — and the rp itself had some cool people :/ i just miss anyone i got along with in the Slightest in the past, okay ? LJGSDFKL

kang miran

the first form hyeran took.. but one i revamped a Good bit when she became the music producer ari and i know and love JFGSKLG miran was a little college dropout with a sugar daddy and a dream to run her own fashion label/boutique, a fucking sweetheart who was ever the hopeless romantic ! honestly, she was either the basis for kerry or vice versa, idr which rp i joined first. but unlike kerry, miran could hold her own a Little better, she had people around her who didn’t coddle her or weren’t always sweet in return after all — but i chalk that up to ker being part of a small mumu of college pals for the Great majority of her ( still ongoing ) run while miran was just used in that rp. anyways i miss many of gangnamhq’s lovely muns almost two years later and it’s where i first met a good few of my mutuals even if we didn’t get to interact ic, so i still think about it fondly fslkdgd

maxime seong

look, he’s up on my indie to be used, but bc he’s only had a proper run in One rp, he counts SLKGDS he’s one of the only males i’ve ever used in a group and for good reason. Bc I Fucking Suck At Characterizing My Own Male Muses. DSFLKSD i’m just insecure and uncertain as hell with them, that’s all. but max was just a scummy hetero fuckboy from france, the male version of the Iconic han yeseul but a little more headassed, and for the latter reason Alone is he Okay in my book. otherwise i’d fucking disown him sdjgfkdsfl he wasn’t used for very long, the rp lost heat and i kinda lost muse for him, but he’s certainly a memorable endeavour of mine

kang saerom

i Loved playing her. so much SGLJSGFD i never really played a Genuinely dark muse until her, as far as i remember anyways, and romy took Some inspo from yeseul as well ( plus they share an fc ) ! she was a girl who had almost done it all in seoul’s criminal underbelly, somehow being corrupted at a young age to Push Her Limits and going from a simple teenage pickpocket to a con artist, to a coke dealer or some shit for some quick cash, to an assassin. with some psychopathic tendencies, she had a substantial amount of self-control when it came to chasing her dangerous highs or when confronted, not prone to genuinely snapping for little or even good reason.... though it would go down the drain if you took the last boston cream doughnut. Watch Your Fucking Back SDFGJKSDF 

[notintheipswichboyband]

It really didn't matter what Caleb or anyone else had to say about Chase. There was not enough evidence to prove that he had actually killed anyone. The closest they had gotten had been to the dead guy that had been found, because obviously Chase had stolen their identity. But they could not place him at the scene of the crime. They had no idea how the other had really even died. That only clear evidence was that they were, and Chase had taken advantage of it, in the eyes of the cops. It was a 'coincidence' they chalked it all down to.  Calling Chase a witch had only gotten his accusers strange looks, because not even anyone in the town believed that much in witches.

Everything happened in flashes.  Pieces of memory Chase couldn't quite make out clear enough, his head hurt, his body hurt. But he was alive, he knew that he was, of course. No dead person could have been in as much pain as he was in, right? He just didn't know where in the hell he had been. There was no sign of fire, just trees. There were plenty of tree's and it was still dark outside. Pushing himself up a bit he managed to move himself away from one where he fell, wincing as pain cut through his back. Dropping to the ground he pushed back the  tears threatening to spill from his eyes. But it was too much, the pain had been far too much, even for him and after trying for another few minutes to force himself forward. He dropped to the ground again letting out a breath as he surrendered, everything fading to black.

It took two days, roughly, before anyone had walked into the woods and stumbled upon Chase. It had taken another day for the doctors to work on stabilizing Chase's condition. He had large second and third degree burns over his body. Several damaged organs and a broken back. Ultimately he had been left in a coma in order for him to even begin to heal. It had been on the third day that police contacted Caleb about possibly finding Chase. They of course didn't know for sure, which is why they had contacted Caleb.

A few days later he had been shown images of Chase, not wanting Caleb to get anyone near the prime suspecting being accused of murder, by Caleb. Especially since it had been looking like Chase was tortured. His wounds suspiciously looked as though someone had intentionally set him on fire as well as had beaten him. And though the police had not begun to question Caleb about it, it was on everyone's mind. What had really happened that night at the barn had only been told, by one other person. As the police spoke with Caleb they made sure to avoid any accusatory questions, only wanting Caleb to identify that the person they had found, was indeed the person they had thought killed three people. And Caleb had done that. They then released him going back to their investigation.

Caleb returned to the other sons of Ipswich then, who were not happy that Chase was indeed still alive. Pogue had especially not like that Chase was being 'pampered' in a hospital, after all he had done to them and other people. Pogue had never really liked Chase, and as he was talking it had become a little more clear just how much he had never trusted Chase entirely. Though he was not really the type of guy who had accepted anyone close to the people he loved, just out of the blue. He was like a wolf, in that sense. Caleb had ordered everyone to just remain silent and stay out of trouble while the police had their eye on them. Caleb then decided he was going to find out more about Chase, try and gather up anything to get him sent away.

He knew Chase had still been a threat, whenever the other could get out of the hospital they would be after him again, he had developed a paranoia about it. Since the incident had happened he had been having nightmares, more terrifying than any Chase could make him have. But it was Chase who he had considered to be the nightmare, without the use of magic.

After a month of searching for anything to get Chase a life sentence for murder he had eventually found his way to the hospital Chase was being held at. He slipped into the intensive care unit. It was a little unlike him. But his paranoia and sleepless nights had perhaps made him a little more inclined to breaking in. Despite this not being the very same as when he and Pogue broke into the schools files to look for Chase before. This was more out of desperation. He walked closer to Chase's room, having sensed where they were keeping him. There was no sort of protection outside. Walking into the room Caleb moved closer to the bed an uncharacteristic anger bubbling inside of him. As he could hear the breathing tube pumping air into the other teenagers body, his eyes moved to the tube. Something about the fact that Chase was being allowed to live was irritating him.

He didn't think it was fair, his father was dead, and Chase wasn't.  He had blamed Chase for what happened to his father. He was angry about it. Coldly he made his way closer to Chase, pulling up a chair and sitting down next to the other, just staring. He still couldn't add it up. This person in front of him, that he knew nothing about, had caused him so much misery and trouble. Had come into his life and tried to kill him. Why had he still been alive? Leaning forward he grabbed the breathing tube, again, very much unlike how he liked to think of himself to be. He was supposed to be composed, in control, wasn't he?

As he could hear Chase struggling to breath he released the tube before leaning back,  he hated Chase. But there was still something about them. Something curious, really. He wanted to learn more about them. Wanted to know why they had turned out the way they had. Though it was really obvious. It had been very clear how Chase had turned out the way he was. He just had been choosing to ignore it. Because it would mean he would have to sympathize with this person who had tried to kill him. It would mean he would have to accept that Chase was damaged, as he had said. Long before he had even met Caleb. Caleb didn't enjoy that very much. No. He could never empathize with this psychopath. That's what Chase was, a madman with too much power, a power hungry psychopath. And he wasn't wrong.

But he still hated it, because there was something more to it. Wasn't there always? The world was full of far too many grey's sometimes. It made thinking in black and white a selfish act. People couldn't just be evil, or just be good. No, they had to have a story behind their reasoning. And Chase had one, a mostly untold one. Caleb wished he would have died at the barn. It would have saved him all of this inspection, he thought. Maybe he could get away with it, if Chase had just died. Get away with thinking, maybe Chase wasn't completely wrong for going, what he viewed as, completely insane. Maybe Chase had chosen the best option he could, under his circumstances. Pushing himself up he leaned over Chase, brown eyes locking onto his partially burned face.

“You were jealous, weren't you. In your mind, I had everything, family, friend who understood what I was going through. Protection from the dangers outside of Ipswich, wealth.” Caleb narrowed his eyes a little on Chase's face “What did you need, Chase? What was it? If you had everything you wanted. And not what you needed, what was it? Do you even know? Was it worth all of this?” Caleb moved back from Chase then, growing a little more frustrated about the things he had missed. Trying to figure out a way he could have stopped this from happening. There was this feeling, ever since Chase had entered their lives, like there had been a completion of a whole.  All four of them felt it, that click, the final piece of a puzzle being put into place.

For a moment he wondered how things would have gone, if Chase didn't have to bring himself to them. If he had been found sooner. How it would have been a lot easier for him to deal with, if he had control over the situation. That was really what he cared about, controlling the situation. Chase was not like the others. He was uncontrollable. He was defiant. Someone who was supposed to be a member of their coven turned into an enemy. Made into someone who would never belong, long before he had even been born. Yes, maybe, he thought, Chase was better off dead. It would better, for him, a righteous retribution for all evil Chase had committed. His family must have committed in their exiled existence. If Chase had only died and his bloodline ended.

And the heart machine flat lined, all of a sudden the anger melted as he realized that Chase, just like any of his other Brothers, was still just young and stupid. He made mistakes, had not been taught the proper disciplines as the rest of them. His world shrank for a moment as he tried to process the two feelings of wanting Chase to die, and needing him to live.  A little voice in the back of his mind had told him that Chase needed to live, for his sake. He was trapped in his own little world, when several staff came rushing in, pushing him out as they tried to figure out what had been causing Chase to flat line. Caleb could just hear that it had something to do with the breathing tube before the door closed and another staff member had security take him away from the scene.

Months went by before anything was done. Chase had been ruled out as a suspect for the most part, though the cops were going to keep an eye on him. He had been released into the care of someone unknown Caleb had learned, but didn't look into it any farther. Ever since the incident at the hospital he had been trying to ignore that part of his life and spend his time making sure everything was as The Covenant, had planned, in the book.

It wasn't until Chase had seemingly made them run into each other while Caleb had been out buying something for himself and almost walked into the other as he exited the store. Smirking, the scarred teen had seemed to not lose his personality, even if he did lose some of his good looks “Chase, I thought you were dead.” Caleb muttered as he narrowed his eyes on the other male.

“Yeah, I bet you would like for me to be. But, I'm Chase Collins, I think it would be an insult to my family if I died to someone as weak as you.” Chase narrowed his eyes on Caleb then but didn't make an attempt to attack Caleb. It was still apparent that he was still injured. It was also obvious that he was using his powers. Caleb gave him a knowing look before he turned and started to walk away. Chase watched as he started to walk toward the store again, staring at the back of Caleb's head as he entered the store. It was obvious that the wheels were in motion, Chase wanted power, and he wasn't going to stop until he got more of it.

[dontbeallupinmyfriesdawg]

Tyler/Jeremy + college au + we hate each other and are stuck together on this dumb studio art project (bonus points for unsympathetic TA!Klaus)

A/N: I kind of want to call this a very late birthday present for Angie. Also this is part 1 of ???

It’s 2:45 in the afternoon and Jeremy Gilbert is sitting in his usual seat in the back of the art studio, once again wondering what it was that he’d done in a past life or this one to make God hate him so much. He’d enrolled in college, as per his parent’s request, he’d grown out of his rebellious phase and stopped doing unsettling things like using recreational drugs on a school night, stealing Elena’s nail polish and only hanging out with people that treated school like an optional pastime and never seem to have last names. What’s more, he was actually getting decent grades and managing to stay out of trouble (a first in his life). So short of his penchant for ripping the heads of Elena’s Barbie dolls when they were kids and sticking them on the backs of pencils for his own amusement, Jeremy was stumped as to what grudge karma possibly had against him.

A more reasonable explanation than the universe inexplicably trying to ruin his life was the idea that their TA Mr Mikaelson (who more or less taught their entire course considering that their actual teacher - Shane - was quite clearly a pothead who believed in ‘leaving his students to be free and let their creative juices flow’ and therefore never showed up for class) was orchestrating this entire situation for his own amusement. That was the only possible explanation for why he had paired him up for an assignment with Tyler Lockwood of all people; the one person in the entire class Jeremy blatantly didn’t couldn’t stand (there was a grand total of 1 person in the entire class he actually liked and a resounding 2 more he tolerated, the rest Jeremy could care less about and made a point of ignoring).

The problem was, Tyler was so freaking transparent. Jeremy knew a poser when he saw one. Tyler was just like every hollow-headed jock he knew from high school that took an art class because they saw an easy way to sleep their way through some extra credits or scores some ass because they thought taking an art class would make them look sensitive to chicks.

Tyler actually had the audacity to walk in every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon like he was doing everyone else a favor by even turning up for the class. Jeremy knew for a fact Tyler didn’t take any notes or do any rough sketches in class when Mr. Mikaelson asked them to (not that he ever watched what Tyler was doing because he didn’t care) so it baffled the hell out of him how Mikaelson hadn’t kicked him out of the class yet. Unlike High School, Whitmore had no obligation to pander to its athletic students and even if Tyler’s parents had donated a wing to the campus, Mikaelson was hardly the type of person who gave a rat’s ass about the prestige of his students. So Tyler had to be turning in his assignments and doing some work at some point.

Part of what Jeremy low-key respected about Mr. Mikaelson (while simultaneously loathing him) was that he was no respecter of persons. He hated everybody equally: everyone had an equal chance of being screamed at and humiliated for the quality of their lines or shading and Mikaelson gave out F grades like they were going out of style. An optimist would attribute Mikaelson’s teaching style to being some kind of backward motivational tactic. But optimists were idiots and anyone with sense knew that Mikaelson was just a sadistic bastard with a pool of stale black coffee where his soul should be.

Which brought him to his current predicament. When Mikaelson had announced the pairs in class, Tyler hadn’t so much as flinched, let alone glanced in his direction, maintaining his aloof, I’m-too-cool-to-care demeanor - for who, Jeremy didn’t know. Liv, his one friend on the course and arguably - his psychopath roommate Kol aside - the entire campus, had shot him a sympathetic glance from where she sat and then proceeded to text him the thunderstorm emoji and a sad face.

Despite her and the rest of his classmates scurrying out of the class once the bell went and Mikaelson had dismissed them with his usual trademark grunt, Jeremy found himself rooted in his seat, unfathomably burning a hole in the back of Tyler’s head, as he too hadn’t made a move to leave the room.

If Jeremy didn’t know better he’d say they were in some kind of competition with one another. That somehow, by not getting up, Tyler was telepathically communicating to him that the first one of them to leave was the loser and he didn’t intend for it to be him. That was the problem with Tyler. He unnerved him, for a dumb, (objectively) attractive, stereotypical jock, he confused the living hell out of Jeremy. He always felt the need to prove something to him despite the fact that Tyler barely acknowledged his existence most of the time, save for the occasional glares and not so accidental shoves they walked past each other. Jeremy didn’t know what made him go out of his way to antagonize Tyler on the occasion that they did speak or why at Whitmore’s annual art fair he felt the need to make a jibe at Tyler and imply that he wasn’t ‘cultured’. As far he could tell it was a reflex. A knee jerk response. An annoying one he wished he could curtail.

His sister, the budding psychology major that she was now (her true calling apparently) would probably characterize his complicated altercations with Tyler as the result of unresolved frustrations he had with High school bullies, similar to Tyler that he wasn’t able to confront. Guys that Jeremy concurrently wanted to impress but also punch in the face but never had the chance.

But he had never been one for introspection. It was far easier to chalk Tyler up to being a dick and not give his juvenile behavior towards him any unnecessary thought. Yes. Much easier that way.

Mikaelson had apparently finished getting halfway to second base with the cup of coffee in his hands and had noticed that he and Tyler were still there. He looked up and locked eyes with Jeremy, which was usually a student’s first and only warning to stop doing whatever stupid shit they were doing to piss Mikaelson off and if necessary run while they had the chance but Jeremy refused this time to let himself be intimidated and decided to hold his ground. It was probably a lost cause but he wasn’t going to leave the room without at least trying to convince Mikaelson to let him switch partners, even if it killed him.

Which it quite possibly would.

Seeing that his usual method of intimidation didn’t take, Mikaelson rolled his eyes at Jeremy and instead, wandered over to where Tyler was hunched over his desk nearer the front of the room and cleared his throat obnoxiously. It was only when Tyler didn’t move that Jeremy realized that Tyler was, in fact, asleep. When Mikaelson realized it too, he paused for a couple of seconds before raising his fist and abruptly rapping his knuckles against the table.

To his credit, Tyler didn’t leap out of his sleep like Jeremy would have (and had on several occasions, complete with drool and everything) and merely shot Mikaelson a inconvenienced look before tucking his arms behind his head and stretching out the kinks in his muscles (which didn’t interest Jeremy in the slightest because who cared how many back muscles Tyler had? certainly not him).

“What?” Tyler grumbled as if Mikaelson was standing over his bed at midnight addressing him in his dorm room instead of in a classroom in the middle of the day.

“Get out, Lockwood.” Mikaelson hissed, not sparing Tyler another look as he turned and began to clear his desk.

Tyler nodded blearily and rose from his chair, still not bothering to acknowledge Jeremy on his way out (even though Jeremy knows he saw him). Why that makes him so angry in the first place is a mystery to him. It’s another confusing emotion that he shoves down because even if he wanted to confront it he doesn’t have the time because Tyler is long gone and Mikaelson is towering over him looking murderous.

When Jeremy manages to regain his wits he stutters out:

“Sir I-”

Only to be rudely cut off by Mr. Mikaelson’s bored voice.

“Speak Gilbert, I haven’t got all day. There’s obviously something you want to get off your chest,” he muttered disinterestedly.

“It’s about Tyler, sir,” Jeremy began.

“Ah, Tyler,” Mikaelson repeats, a rare smile gracing his (admittedly) handsome features - a smile he usually reserved her circumstances that occurred at someone else’s expense.

“Yeah.” Jeremy nodded. “Him. You can’t do that.”

Mikaelson paused between his desk and board at the front of the room. He frowned processing what Jeremy just said.

“I’m unsure what specifically you’re referring to but I assure you that it is my divine right to do whatever it is I please while I’m in charge of this classroom, Mr. Gilbert,” he said coolly.

Jeremy felt he urge to make a snide comment about the fact that it was technically Shane’s classroom but he didn’t think that would help his case so he bit his tongue and instead said:

“I can’t work with Tyler,”

When Mikaelson kept his back to him and didn’t respond he decided to up the ante.

“Please,”

Mikaelson turned and arched an eyebrow, the amused expression reappearing on his face.

“I never took you as one to grovel, Jeremy,”

Jeremy sighed frustratedly and scrubbed his hands over his face, mentally chastising himself for what he was about to do.

“What do you want?” He asked.

“Want?”

“Do you want your board cleaned, or me to carry your stuff before class or do extra assignments. What?” Jeremy implored him.

MIkaelson stood and stared at him for a moment before the corner of his lips quivered and curled into an almost cruel looking half smile. The thought struck Jeremy that the man had quite obviously missed his calling as a bond villain and should be somewhere stroking a white fluffy cat and planning world domination instead of standing here playing with his mental health.

“You really don’t want to work with the Lockwood boy do you Gilbert?” Mikaelson purred, folding his arms behind his back and strolling closer towards him.

“Gee, is it that obvious?” Jeremy deadpanned, his need for sarcasm overpowering his will to get Mikaelson on side.

Mr. Mikaelson’s smile only grew more patronizing as he approached him and to Jeremy’s unpleasant surprise he reached out and rested his arm on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry mate,” Mikaelson began in that entirely unsympathetic tone of his. “But my decision is final. I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do to help.”

Jeremy’s eyes rolled back so far he could actually feel them touching his frontal lobe.

“That is literally the complete opposite of the truth,”

Mikaelson gave him one final disparaging glass and walked back toward his desk.

“Good day Jeremy. Do make sure you and Tyler have that project due on time. You’re well aware I have no scruples about kicking anyone off of this course who refuses to comply with my demands.”

Jeremy bit his lip in order to physically stop himself from screaming and forced himself to grab his bag off his seat and head towards the door. In his hurry to get as far away from the art studio and as close to the safety of his dorm as possible, he wrenched open the door and ended up coming face to face with the person who, unbeknownst to him, had been lurking behind it.

Tyler.

Jeremy was about to stutter out an apology but caught himself when he realized who it was. For some reason both boys just stared at each other awkwardly for a moment before Jeremy half hearted mumbled “What do you want?” just as Tyler at the same time grunted out “Watch where you’re going punk,”.

“’Punk’, seriously? What is it 2005?” Jeremy quipped, unable to help himself.

Tyler screwed his eyes shut and shook his head.

“Jesus, Gilbert do you ever shut up?”

Jeremy was about to open his mouth to fire a response when Tyler silenced him by shoving a folded up piece of paper in his face and immediately after doing a 360 and walking away from him.

“What the hell is this?” Jeremy asked, staring down at it incredulously as if he was afraid it would explode in his hands.

“My number idiot,” Tyler called out carelessly over his shoulder. “I’m not failing this class because of you,”

1k followers, send me a ship along with fic or headcanon prompt

[letsflytoasiarenata]

Thank you!!

PS: I definitely couldn't lump So into that "nice guy" category but I would put him into the category of "great man" (for the reasons you mentioned) but also from what little research I had done on the real Gwangjong, I think just based on what I read he was a pretty decent King IRL too. (I wish I could find more info on that era of Korea.) 

Ok, you must be that anon who sent me a couple messages in winter, I guess, I remember you!

Yes, you’re right. Honestly, I didn’t mean to categorize him, I’m just really upset with the fact that many people overlook all his positive traits that they praise in other characters.

Don’t get me started! Lonely, abandoned boy, whose only friends were trees (still not over the fact that Soo chinese character means tree) who has been though hell, was sent to die on the mountain filled with wolves, starved to death. He had to learn how to survive almost by himself (with general Park’s help). This experience traumatize people and harden their hearts and make them cruel people or even worse - psychopaths. Yep, he was ruthless time to time but he always remained human.

Great man - exactly. How remarkable is that Wang So was always a man, real man, even when he was 17 yo boy. He had to mature so early and by seventeen he was already utterly broken but how he handle this, how coped with it? He didn’t hate all humanity and didn't even hate his mom (should have). Even though sometimes he acted like a dorky teenager (mostly with Hae Soo), he always was a reliable, strong, devoted, noble man with dignity. Did anyone notice that even though he was craving for Hae Soo’s mutual affection and his feelings were one-sided for a very long time, he never looked pathetic or embarrassing? Moreover, he never complained? He was abused most of his life but never played that card. Even snake Wook was sobbing like a baby saying “why, I just wanted Hae Soo, I’m so pure, I didn't deserve it.”

I from what I read I have the same impression of him. Also, omg, how hard to find information about Goryeo. I also wanted to make research on Goryeo clothes, I wanted to write an article, they translate it and maybe post it here but guess what there are 100000 articles about hanboks and almost nothing about Goryeo period clothes, neither in English or Russian - pain.