#and so desperately want to know WHY

[ganondoodle]

okay i typed this in a reply but i need to say this more detailed here too, the way totk dealt with horses (and stables) is bad and worse than botw imo (yes i can rant about that too, these weird choices are in every little spot in totk, its almost impressive)

in a game that lets you build cars and stupid flying maschines, towers that shoot you into the stratosphere AND teleporting points all over the place, the chance is already low that you use a horse- though i would be one of them bc i love horses and hate building and didnt find it fun at all-

(also i almost never used any parts i had with me bc you cant put them back and your dumb vehicles despawn as soon as you dont look at them- also a negative thing about that system that reinforces the feeling of actually using it being more punishing than rewarding with the added bonus of the good ol saving your health potions forever problem)

-and something i DID like was that you can have more horses and the ... one.. new color (the lil spots but only AFTER you do that one quest in the spy post)

the stable points seemed like a neat idea, but like so many things, are utterly cheatable, imo the system should have only given you a point when you visit a new stable, so you actually have to go around and visit them all

(also .. add new stables, like mini ones or sth that dont offer beds- you dont need that anyway- so you have more places in which you can get them ... why did they remove some of them anyway, shouldn there be MORE now that the land is supposedly healing/being repaired? especially the one next to the big canyon, its so empty there it would have the perfect place for sth like a new settlement or a big boss arena but no its more empty than it was before, why?? and then putting yet another repeating annoying quest there in that weirld empty place?? i just dont get it)

letting you farm points by sleeping at a stable or bringing in a horse gives you LESS incentive to actually go around the world bc you can just farm it there

(and if that was done so youd 'discover' the malanya talks to you in your sleep 'secret' ... that is literally told to you, and if its bc you dont want to force players to go around and find every stable to get all those rewards ... why do you have 140 or whatver caves then with the majority of them being the literal same thing over and over ... to make people actually use the sleeping thing there? .. why, who uses that anyway, and farming points by sleeping there .. what the hell does that add? AND THEN the stupid sleep over tickets, probably the most nothign reward ever, dont count?? i dont think i ever used one- it just all doesnt make any sense, everything plays against each other)

the upgrading system for your horse is .. once again, a neat idea horribly executed, you have to go find malanya to upgrade them, and similarly stupidly like the fairies, they only tell you what food you need for what upgrade when you are there .. or when you are sleeping in the special tm bed at a stable, randomly, one food, bc the quantity changes too

which is just so ??????????? let me go and do a quest that rewards you with a lil booklet in which you can look up what an upgrade costs, or let the stables have that, either as a list or in the menu when selecting a horse or something?? (also why the hell is malanya in a different spot anyway, like, it feels like a modder just plopped them over there, their og spot is just empty now - except for yet again a stupid filler quest for .. another big horse and a yaaaaaaaaays crystal shrine quest- ... the spot is even still called spring of the horse god .... its so stupid, just like the fairy shuffling around, like you really couldnt think of a better way to reuse that concept other than to ... move it to a different spot in the same map and map level???? and not change anything in their og spot except idk, put a hole in the map ... for one of them like .. its like they moved them around last minute just to have the semblance of things being 'changed' with no regard what makes a change actually feel like one and what just feels like, pick up thing, click on random spot on map, drop thing- its like that for the fairies and shrines too, its so dumb and .. feels disrepectful to botw and how much thought seemed to have went into these spots that were clearly built about those things)

and like it couldnt get WORSE, they cut off the paths that horses follow automatically with one of those miasma buttholes (sorry its just a hole cut into the map, it doesnt even look like miasma burst through, it just .. cut out) a monster camp (that RESPAWNS, i thought those camps you clear with a quest would stay clear, but that would make sense, so of course it respawns and you can do the frame rate killer quest over and over yippieee) or otherwise like, with a big rock or a broken bridge-

and there is NO WAY to create a new path or fix or move anything in a game ABOUT BUILDING supposedly, like you needed more reasons to never use a horse????? i liked jsut hopping on and letting them follow a path and chill looking at the landscape, you cant do this here, and you cant even excuse it with 'its bc of the theme' as in, stuff is destroyed bc calamity 1.5 or whatever bc nothing in the game makes it feel like theres anything actually at stake, but the real crime is to make it not be fixable. WHY??? link moves entire buildings with ease but cant move one freaking rock that fell into a river?????? you swing around logs like a club but cant fix a bridge so your horse can get over it??????????????????????????????

[hychlorions]

a what-if i've been thinking about for forever... trucy knowing the truth before anyone could tell her

[mamawasatesttube]

im sick (again :/) so we're on silly time lockdown. please enjoy tim experiencing the consequences of pissing off a drunk wizard (get psychic blasted idiot)

“Kon, I could really use you here, if you’re”—Cassie grunts with some kind of effort—”not busy.”

The wind whistles past Kon’s ears as he picks up speed, leaving the golden fields of wheat behind. Cassie’s voice reaches him the slightest instant faster as he gets closer to Titans’ Tower:

“It’s nothing, like, life-threatening, but I promised my mom I’d—Tim, stop wiggling!—I promised my mom I’d help her out with this big thing at the museum tonight, and—”

Kon barely alights on the rooftop and zooms down into the common room, not bothering to actually let his feet touch the ground until he’s there. And then he blinks.

“What’s… er, what’s up?”

“Oh, thank the gods.” Cassie, holding a squirming bundle of black fabric, breathes a sigh of relief. She shoves the blob at Kon, who belatedly realizes that it’s Tim, wrapped up in his own cape like a delinquent cat in a towel at the vet. “This is your problem now.”

“Kon!” Tim sounds overjoyed, albeit muffled by cloth. “You’re here!”

“Uh… yes. Hi?” Kon turns the cape bundle in his arms to locate Tim’s face, flushed from struggling hopelessly against Cassie. The moment Tim’s eyes fall on Kon’s face, he lights up with a brilliant smile.

“Hi,” Tim says, and wiggles in Kon’s arms. “Hi, Kon!”

Okay, something is definitely wrong with him. “That’s me,” Kon agrees, and looks back over at Cassie. “Why is he in the punishment burrito?”

Cassie gives Tim a long-suffering look and rakes her hand through her hair. “Because,” she says, “after the third time he forgot his grapple line is broken and tried to climb out the window anyway, I got sick of his shit.”

“Kon,” Tim says, wriggling some more. He hasn’t stopped beaming. “Hi. You’re Kon.”

“I sure am,” Kon agrees, raising an eyebrow. Since he has the showstopping, awesomely handy-dandy power of TTK, he lets Tim get his arms free of his cape, just to see what he’ll do; to his surprise, all Tim does is grab two handfuls of the back of Kon’s jacket, then buries his face in his shoulder and hums in contentment.

“Kon,” Tim says again, rubbing his cheek against his shoulder. “You’re nice.”

“I do my best to be, yeah.” Kon pats Tim’s head, bewildered and a little amused. “Cass, what happened to him?”

Cassie buries her face in her hands. “We may have kiiiind of pissed off a wizard? And then there was, um… well, it turns out he specialized in psychic blasts, and he may have announced that by zapping the shit out of Tim?”

Zapping—

Alarmed, Kon looks down at Tim, sweeping him over with X-ray vision. No broken bones or any immediate damage sticks out; he doesn’t even have a bump on his head to show. But he’s sure acting weird! He’s still nuzzling Kon’s shoulder like a cat, not even trying to get out of his grasp. 

What does that even mean? Kon doesn’t know anything about how to help with psychic injuries! What if the damage is permanent? What’s gonna—

“Okay, okay, chill, whoa!” Cassie holds up her hands quickly. “That’s your doom and gloom freakout face, whoa, I promise it’s not all that bad! I already got him checked out, Raven said he’s gonna be fine, it’s just—he’s just gonna be a little loopy for a bit until it wears off, that’s all.”

Loopy, huh? That sure is an apt descriptor. Kon shifts Tim in his arms, absently rubbing his back; Tim hums in contentment, boneless against his chest. Honestly, Kon’s amazed that Cassie needed to punishment burrito him.

“Okay, so…” Kon glances down at Tim again, then back to Cassie. “I just gotta watch him for a bit, make sure he doesn’t try to climb out any windows?”

“Yeah! Pretty much.” Cassie shifts her weight, rakes her hand through her hair, and glances at the clock on the wall. “I’m super sorry to dump this—Tim���on you and run, but I promised my mom I’d help out with the museum charity gala thing tonight and I gotta be there to help the setup crews in, like, twenty minutes, and…”

Kon waves her off. “Hey, it’s no big! S’not like Tim and I don’t like to hang out. Right, buddy?”

Tim lifts his head, looks at Cassie, and puffs up his chest importantly. He jerks a thumb at himself and announces, “I’m Kon’s buddy.”

Cassie stares at him, unimpressed, and raises her eyes to the high heavens. “Yeah, Tim, you sure are.”

[clownowo]

this is my wishlist for TGAA's 10th anniversary. i hope we get TGAA merch. hopefully from Fanthful.

@ capcom:

[despazito]

germany's green party after the country phases out all nuclear energy to save the planet and becomes the EU's largest coal consumer

[secriden]

Everyone in the tags calling Style swagless and rizzless, but can I just raise the counterpoint that the second he actually tried to be seductive, Fadel folded like the wet tissue paper he had to use to clean himself up afterwards.

[frindoka]

el bestias

[the-broken-pen]

Hey hey

Could you perhaps write a snippet where the building hero is in, gets bombed? Its bombed as an assassination attempt to get them, however the people in that building die and hero, succumbed to their injuries couldn't save everyone of them. At last they watched the last ambulance left without them, even as they called for help

Villians villa is just few kilometres away

Thankfu hero's legs aren't broken

They begin walking

The problem? Vil is way to composed and prim and perfect to let all of hero's blood get on their expensive carpets and fabrics. They could even be mad at the hero for reddening their porch if they hero stood their asking for bandages. What now? And the fight the two had yesterday that ended with "never see me again" and "don't ever talk to me"s.....vil was stopping hero from attending the event the building....

Will vil help them? They can just ask for bandages and leave.

What hero doesn't know: vil would literally destroy the world for hero, and there's no way in hell are they leaving hero on their doorstep.

(Anon you were cooking with this ask, thank you!)

The hero realized the building was going to explode a split second before it did, which wasn’t enough time to do anything other than brace.

They tensed, and there was a horrible screeching of metal and brick, followed by a deafening silence that covered them more completely than the rubble did.

The hero coughed once, weakly, pain rocketing through their chest, and shoved a piece of concrete off themself.

From somewhere else in the building, a soft, terrified wail began, broken around desperate sobs.

The hero coughed again, hand rising to their ribs. They didn’t have the energy to be surprised when their fingers came back coated in blood and dust. They grimaced at it, struggling to their feet–

And oh, god. That hurt.

The hero had a surgery once, the kind that resulted in bandages and a care regime and a set of stitches, and when they had woken up in the recovery unit, it had felt sort of like this. A moment of loopy half-awareness, and then a pain that had knocked the breath out of them, hands clenching into the sheets as a nurse tried to figure out if they needed more medication. 

This was worse. Their vision swam, and they blinked it back with a hiss.

Because someone, somewhere in the wreckage, was crying. And if one person was crying, it meant there was someone who survived. Which meant it was likely there were other survivors–ones too hurt to make any noise, ones knocked unconscious, ones still too shocked to do anything other than lay there–and it was the hero’s job to find them.

It took them far too long to locate the source of the crying. Longer to dig them out, vision going white as the person slammed into the hero’s chest in some facsimile of a terrified hug.

“You’re okay,” they managed, voice like gravel. “It’s okay. I’m going to get you out, and you’re going to be just fine. Were you with anyone?”

And then again, and again, and again.

The hero panted, hands on their knees as their body fought them in an attempt to just collapse onto the concrete below. They just–they just needed a minute. Just one, maybe, and then they could–

This time, the hero wasn’t even aware of it before it happened.

The remains of the building shook, then disintegrated into itself in a plume of dust and rock. The hero shielded their eyes with one hand, blinking against the onslaught.

What little air they had managed to get stuttered out of their lungs in something close to a sob. They had done this enough times to know there wasn’t anyone in that building left alive. 

They sagged down against the nearest thing–more rubble, maybe? They didn’t know–and this time when they rested a hand on their side, there was a considerably larger amount of blood.

“That’s…not great,” they said, and their fingers blurred in front of them slightly. There was an ambulance right there. Just a couple feet away. They had already helped most of the survivors, so maybe it would be okay for the hero to–

A paramedic rounded the back of the ambulance, and the hero lifted a hand, reaching–

“Please, wait, I think–I think,” it hurt coming out of their mouth, “help. Please I need–” they trailed off as the paramedic took the step up into the ambulance.

And closed the door behind them.

The hero wasn’t even that surprised when the ambulance began to drive away.

“Help,” they finished weakly, then sucked a breath in through their nose.

They were supposed to be good at this kind of thing. Surviving, no, thriving in catastrophe. A pillar of light. The one with the plan. 

The kind of being that didn’t beg for help on the ground.

The hero wasn’t entirely sure how they managed to get themselves back to standing. It was as easy as that–one moment they were on the ground, gravel embedded in their knees, and the next they were up and shaking but they were up.

“If I stay here, I’ll die,” they murmured. They had hoped maybe the threat would keep their legs from buckling again. It didn’t.

They weren’t near any place that could be trusted. There wasn’t a safe clinic for heroes on this side of the city, and even if there was, the hero wouldn’t trust them. Couldn’t afford to.

But as for near…the hero swallowed the nausea as it rose in their throat. There was one place they could go. One person they could go to.

Four miles. They could do four. There was no other option.

Where the hero had had some blurry recollection, or at least, a good guess of how they got to standing, they had absolutely no clue how they made it onto the villain’s porch. They managed a blink, retching slightly as they stared at the villain’s wavering door, then had to freeze just to bite down the pain that had come from the gagging.

They tried to knock and ended up collapsing against the villain’s door, knees giving out entirely as their fingers scrabbled for purchase and left behind smeared bloody marks on the wood.

They weren’t entirely sure how that happened either, or how long it took the villain to answer the door. Just that it hurt—so, so much, it hurt so–and that they managed to shove themself back into some semblance of standing right before the villain pulled the door open.

The villain’s face did a sort of spasming thing as soon as they saw the hero, jaw dropping slightly in what the hero could only really read as shock.

There was a very considerable amount of blood on the door. They were cold.

“I–” the hero tried, but they weren’t really sure where they had been going with that sentence, and after yesterday and the screaming and the fight the villain probably didn’t want to see them at all, didn’t want to ever see their face again, so–their mind blanked. “I got blood on your door.”

They tried to gesture towards it, but that hurt, so their hand simply twitched slightly from where it hung by their side.

They glanced down at their feet, because they didn’t want to see what the villain’s face was doing, especially if what it was doing was anything resembling anger.

“Oh.” There was blood at the hero’s feet. “And on your porch, too, I guess.”

They looked up at the villain, but they were still staring at them, brow furrowed, hand clenching on the doorframe.

“I’m sorry.”

There was a very faint quiver of tears when they said it, and the hero knew better than to hope the villain didn’t catch it. 

Were they saying sorry for the porch or the door or yesterday–

“Holy shit,” the villain finally breathed, and it sounded like it had been punched out of them. The hero froze, panic rising in their chest.

“I’m sorry,” the hero blurted out, stammering. “I’m–I’m so sorry, I’ll go, just–could I maybe have some bandages? Just–just one, maybe, please? I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” they said uselessly, head swimming. They couldn’t even remember what they were doing here. The villain was perfect in every sense of the word, stoic and proper and collected in a way the hero would never be; a marble statue brought to life. The idea of them letting the hero–the personification of a train wreck in motion–in to bleed all over the villain’s soft carpet and nice shoes and cause irreparable damage to their very expensive house was almost laughable. 

If they had had the breath to laugh.

More of the hero’s blood dripped onto the slats of the porch, and they stepped back. “I’m sorry–”

The villain reached for them, and the hero flinched, taking it for the dismissal it was–

The hero blinked, and it stuck for a moment too long as the world tilted, and when they pried their eyes open again the villain was staring at them with something the hero was too out of it with pain and possibly delirium to identify. Their gaze drifted back to the blood smeared on the door, and the villain’s grip tightened on the hero’s bicep–when had they grabbed the hero’s bicep?–until the hero’s gaze returned to theirs.

The villain said something, but there was a roaring that had started up in the hero’s ears. They seemed to take the uncomprehending blink the hero gave them in return for an answer anyways, and guided them down until they were both sitting on the cool wood. A tug, and the hero was resting against their own propped up knees, villain’s hand still firm on their arm.

“How much blood did you lose?”

It was like screaming underwater, the hero reasoned. Or through a mirror. But they heard it nonetheless, and that was their villain, and even in hatred and war they would always answer them.

“Was ‘supposed to be counting?” If they had any more energy–or maybe slightly more blood–in their body, the slur to their own words would have been concerning.

The villain’s lips pursed into a thin line, and the hero felt them begin to run an assessing hand over their injuries, cataloguing them, brow furrowing further with every second.

“M’sorry,” they managed, tongue thick. The villain didn’t pause.

“For what?”

“Bleeding on your door,” they managed. The villain stopped them from raising their head from their knees. “And your–porch.”

“I don’t give a shit about either of those things,” the villain said, simply, easily. Like it was nothing. Like they didn’t feel the weight of it as they threw it into the air.

The villain sat back on their heels, clearly having learned what they wanted from the hero’s injuries.

When the hero didn’t immediately look at them, the villain grabbed their chin, gently turning it until the hero faced them.

“How far did you walk,” they said slowly, and the hero had never been more grateful for anything in their life.

“Four miles,” the hero said, and they couldn’t hear their own voice above the roaring, but the villain obviously could from the way their eyes darkened.

The hero wanted no part in making the villain angry again–I never want to see you again, do you hear me? If you ever try to talk to me again I will kill the both of us, I promise you that–, but when they attempted to push themselves up to leave, the only thing they managed was a piteous whine and a stab of pain so intense they forgot to breathe.

“Idiot,” the villain hissed. But oddly, the hero didn’t sense any anger coming from the villain.

They blinked–too long, again–and found themselves in the villain’s arms as they walked through the house. Their head lolled back onto the villain’s shoulder, and the villain glanced down as if–to make sure the hero was okay. That they were conscious, and breathing.

Oh.

Oh.

The villain wasn’t angry.

They were afraid. For the hero.

Which didn’t make any sense, because–

I never want to see you again–

“You’re mad at me,” the hero reasoned, and it came out half strangled and petulant. The villain looked down at them, and the hero caught the tiniest flinch in their jaw.

“I’m not mad at you.”

“That’s not what you said yesterday,” the hero whispered, and the villain flinched.

“I wanted to stop this from happening.” The villain settled them onto a bathroom counter, lights flickering on as the hero leaned back against the mirror. Blood began to dry, sticky, between their fingers.

The hero’s mouth went dry, and it caught in their throat when they tried to swallow it.

“You could have just left me there.” Their voice only shook a little bit, but the villain’s head still snapped up from where they had been digging through a drawer.

“What?”

“On the porch,” the hero clarified, clearing their throat. The lump didn’t go away, and they had begun shaking at some point, and they couldn’t stop. “If you didn’t want to deal with me you could have just left me there–”

The villain’s face had darkened into something the hero almost didn’t recognize. 

“I would burn the world for you, and you think I would leave you to die on my porch?”

“You said you didn’t want this to happen.”

“No, that’s not–” the villain rubbed a hand over their brow, and the hero winced at the blood it left behind. “No. No, that’s not what I meant. I was trying to keep you from going to that stupid event and getting hurt. I knew it was going to blow.”

“I would have gone anyway.”

The villain stilled. “I thought maybe if you never wanted to see me again, and you knew I was there…”

“I would,” the hero repeated. “Have gone anyway.”

The hero watched as the villain’s face rippled through a dozen emotions, settling onto something unidentifiable.

“Why?”

“Because you were there,” the hero said easily, shrugging one shoulder. Because when it came to the villain, it really was that easy. They could scream, and shout, and hold a knife to the hero’s throat, and the hero would still follow them into hell. That was their villain.

The villain looked like the hero had stabbed them, face draining of color. Their fingers went white around the edge of the counter, as if it was the only thing keeping them upright.

“What,” the villain’s voice was hoarse.

“I went because I was hoping you would be there,” the hero said honestly

“Stop,” the villain raised a hand between them, a shield, voice breaking. They sucked in a breath, then another, like they were trying to keep themself from breaking down onto the tile.

“You would have gone to the event no matter what, just to see me,” the villain said slowly, and the hero nodded

“Yes.”

“Even though I screamed at you?”

“Yes.”

“And told you I hated you.”

“Villain, please–”

“Now you know,” the villain interrupted, voice incredibly soft. “Why I would have never left you on that porch.”

The hero forgot to breathe for a moment, tongue going numb in their mouth. The villain couldn’t mean–

They blinked for a moment too long, and then the villain was standing between the hero’s knees, hand on their chest.

“You love me,” the hero said a moment later.

“Ruinously,” the villain agreed.

“So you–”

“I was trying to save your life,” the villain’s hands were gentle as they began to patch up the hero’s side. “And now I’m saving your life in a new and unanticipated way. But there is nothing you could ever do to stop me from saving your life.”

The hero’s heart clenched. 

“Really?”

The villain caught their chin, eyes boring into the hero’s. They brushed a piece of hair off the side of the hero’s face.

“Really.”

The hero sighed, and the villain caught them as they slumped.

“I thought you hated me,” the hero said, and they hated how raw they sounded. The villain made a choked little noise.

“I’m so sorry.”

The hero sniffed.

“Don’t do it again.”

The villain simply hummed, and smoothed the ends of a bandage down against the hero’s abdomen. The hero could feel their hands shaking.

You scared me.

A second later, their hands settled on either side of the hero’s head, and the villain rested their face into the hero’s hair. They pressed a kiss to the hero’s temple, tension easing from their shoulders.

I’m sorry.

The hero clutched the front of the villain’s shirt between their hands, drawing them closer. The villain went willingly, loose limbed with affection and the rapid draining of terror from their system.

“I would have never left you on that porch.”

The hero had never believed anyone more.

[idontmindifuforgetme]

Just a girl who wants to be her mother’s daughter in the ways that matter

[hmsdoodlin]

Thinking about an obsessive, devoted Mind who’s trying his best to keep Whole alive and thriving. A robotic Mind who believes his only purpose in life is to keep his host living and therefore often goes to the extreme.

He doesn’t understand what his host is going through, not entirely at least, fighting an uphill battle and getting frustrated with himself and their vessel for not being fixable.

A Mind that refuses to give up, constantly pushing Whole to his limit in an attempt to save him. A Mind that beats himself up over this, instead of asking for help he just digs himself deeper in this ideology. If this isn’t helping them then maybe he just needs to up the anti, maybe he needs to sacrifice everything. He’s going farther than ever before, pushing the boundaries until they snap and is possibly going a bit mad in the process.

Eventually Mind breaks, either finally realizing Whole is unfixable this way and that he’s failed his only objective, or he’s forced to face Wholes mortality and that flicks a switch in his brain.

A Mind who completely breaks down, unable to process these emotions and becomes hyperaware of everything ‘bad’ he’s ever done. He realizes he’s the one killing them, all he can hear are the words failure over and over again.

I’d do anything for you, I did everything for you but I could never be enough. I’m the one hurting us. I failed you.

A devoted Mind who cradles his vessel with as much tenderness and care he can muster, holding him close and silently begging for forgiveness while also struggling to even understand what he’s feeling.

Maybe it’s too late, maybe it’s just in time. But he fucked up regardless, I don’t think he could never let that go.

Song that was on loop while I wrote this btw ^^^

Idk but it gave me such a vivid daydream/animatic in my head that I just had to share. Sorry if this is ooc I’m Heart coded so everything has to do with emotions and feelings 😔

[artuurle]

So what happened to Gru's eye anyways?

This will be very very tied into my personal headcanons about both Grujaja and a little about the drain so be warned:

info under the readmore for sanity reasons hope u understand<3

My interpretation of the drain is a very bad place to raise someone. The whole place is essentially the slums of a city- though the most dangerous part of the place isn't because of anything living, but because the place is actually crumbling from poor infrastructure. Gruja was from a very low income family that lived in that area; just trying to live like anyone else.

The infrastructure expectedly ended up failing and in the collapse he got cut really badly by some of the resulting shrapnel across his face and left arm. He was one of the "lucky" ones. If you could even call it that.

He sure didn't.

[dellamortte]

Jason Isaacs as Colonel William Tavington THE PATRIOT (2000)

[thatwildwolfart]

🎃Happy Halloween!🎃

Shepard chose the costumes. Garrus doesn't know what he's dressed us, he's just happy he gets to carry a sniper rifle.

[fairyroses]

He was about to kill you, Lex. Or divulge something you didn't want me to know.

— SMALLVILLE, "Forever" (4.21)

+ bonus from "Arctic" (7.20):

[taikk0]

the unspoken broflovski family curse

[crimeronan]

ultimately i think the appeal of daniel and armand to me is that it's very much a typical dark romance storyline where the heroine is kidnapped and tortured by an evil monster but using her wits she manages to seduce him and make him emotionally vulnerable to her, because she is More Special and More Clever than all of his other victims, and because of this she enjoys a level of dangerous favor and protection from him, except in This version of the dark romance it's two toxic old men who both have the worst fucking personalities imaginable. who truly just fucking suck beyond measure. like no pun intended, they are Garbage, one is the actual literal immortal devil and the other is just kind of a deadbeat with no moral compass, neither of them is willing to work on himself and neither of them has ANY reason to want to rail the other as bad as they do.

and yet. There They Are,