#but for the much simpler and yet no less complicated one of. What IS a Germania. Answer quickly.

[breitzbachbea]

Oh def don’t worry! If you don’t feel like answering them you can just delete lmao :3

Oh no, I totally feel like answering them, don't you worry, nonnie! With anons the pity is just that ppl don't get notified with answers, so I like to make posts immediately after receiving anon asks for ask games, in case answering them will take longer. Just so that anons like you know I won't have forgotten them!

[citrusandrottefruit]

Diagnosed with Hanahaki, a genetic autoimmune disease, as a child, Steve has learned to live with it. Along the way, he finds a family and falls in love with Eddie. He is never cured, but he lives.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Some thoughts on this

The conversation with Jonathan and Nancy couldn't be called easy, but it was manageable enough for Steve to do it at a time that wasn't even planned. Maybe it was the lack of planning that made it easier, maybe it was the practice he'd been getting over the last few weeks. 

Jonathan apologized profusely, for the pictures he'd taken in '83, for the punch, and for having gotten together with Nancy before she and Steve had actually broken up. Nancy was a little more complicated. Her apologies only came after a lot of pointing out, about all the times she hadn't noticed what was going on with Steve, and she ended up feeling so bad and guilty that Steve almost had to console her.

Luckily, Jonathan had the good sense to try to hold back their emotional response for later, and they both tried to act normally. The next time they met, it was impossible for Steve to help but notice how worn out they both looked, with even bigger bags under their eyes than usual. So, they had to talk a second time, just to make sure that no, Hanahaki didn't start because of either of them and with everything related to the Upside Down happening, they were far from having caused his health to worsen.

It was a lie, but there was no point in wanting them to blame each other after all this time, especially just because of Hanahaki. Steve wished things between the three of them had been simpler, but the illness had nothing to do with it. And after all, compared to everything that had happened, it wasn't that important.

In the midst of all this, he kept talking to Eddie. He shared the fact that his parents' marriage seemed to have improved after his mother was diagnosed and he had never been able to understand that.

He told her how his mother seemed like the protagonist of a dramatic movie, always suffering with such elegance. He remembered one week, when she was bedridden at home, he had to get up very early to get her makeup and help her brush her hair, even though a nurse would come in later and do exactly the same thing.

When he asked about it, his mother said, “I don’t want to be seen like that, Steve.” 

At the time, he didn’t understand, but he was happy to be of service. Months later, when he was diagnosed, he remembered that day and was even more confused, because it was so tiring just to exist, how could he care how shiny his hair looked? When his cheeks were flushed and his lips were soft? 

It took him years to realize why it felt so good to try to take care of his appearance when there was so little he could do for his own body. It was comforting.

But he didn’t share that memory with Eddie. Not yet. 

He just kept talking about his parents. About how Mrs. Harrington liked to have romantic dinners regularly and she had mentioned about ten honeymoons. It was one of her favorite topics of conversation, and she especially loved trying new hobbies or even sports during those trips. His father was okay with it, just so she would be happy.

“I don’t think she wanted to be a mother, just my father’s wife.”

“Absurd!” Eddie exclaimed, anger hidden under theatrics. He let go of the steering wheel for a moment before gripping it tightly, pulling the van into the center of the correct lane. That day, Steve had his monthly checkup and Eddie asked to accompany him, promising a movie afterwards, in a neighboring city. “How could anyone choose your father over you?”

And there it was, once again, Eddie’s ability to make the wounds that Steve hadn’t even mentioned hurt less.

“It’s just that she’s always been in love with him. When I was a kid, I thought it was the most romantic thing in the world. I even wanted to have the same thing.” He laughed thinking about the absurdity of it. “To love so much that even if that person made me feel so much pain, they would also make me very happy.” Steve sighed, serious again. “But I still want someone who would stay with me on a romantic night or sleep in an uncomfortable chair in the hospital.”

Before Eddie had time to say anything, he turned up the volume of the music.

A few hours later, he confessed that Mr. Harrington was that person to his mother, but not in the right way. Because he indulged in his illness almost like a hobby, very involved in it until he was not around Mrs. Harrington and something else caught his attention. 

Steve noticed this when his father called and informed him, very casually, that she was in the ICU. He would spend a fortune to make her live well, yet he seemed barely able to realize that her life was in danger.

A few days later, with the test results in hand and feeling stronger, he invited the kids over for a movie night at his apartment. Hopper offered to help tell them and was so worried that he decided to spend the night at a diner when Steve refused. Joyce, less extreme, promised to be just a phone call away. 

Jonathan and Nancy weren’t there, because they all figured the kids would be less upset if it wasn’t obvious that they were the last ones to find out. 

Guys.” Steve clapped his hands together, then put them on his hips, standing in front of the TV. “I have an announcement to make.” 

“Are you serious?” Mike yelled. “We’re here for the movies!” 

“Shut up, idiot.” 

“We’re here for the movies,” Dustin interjected into the fight that was already starting to form between Max and Mike. “But we’re going to listen to Steve.”

“You’d hear it anyway, you know, we have three adults here to keep you brats in check.” Robin stood next to Steve and began clapping her hands until everyone was quiet. “Steve.” 

Then she went to join Eddie, who was standing behind the kids, silent and watchful. 

It was good to have them both there, someone to look at without letting himself be consumed by terror.

“This has nothing to do with the Upside Down, but it’s very important, so I’ve already talked to Hopper and Joyce too and I don’t want you to get upset, okay? I’m going to talk to everyone about this in the way I thought would make this easier.”

At this point, no one seemed more scared than Max or Dustin. Even Mike, who was trying to keep his expression irritated, looked worried and was the only one who had the courage to speak up.

“Why make such a mystery? Just say it.”

“I’m sick. Hanahaki.”

There were no more movies for the rest of the night, just tears, screaming and hugs. Max barely left Steve’s side and Dustin kept checking his pulse, as if he couldn’t see with his own eyes that Steve was alive. They also had to explain Hanahaki to El and she was so upset that she joined Max. Lucas did too, after a few minutes. He and Will were the quietest, looking too shaken to know how to react.

Dustin got irritated and started talking nonstop about the health care system. Eddie, finding resonance in Dustin’s feelings, also started roasting the pharmaceutical industry.

They all slept together, huddled together, in the living room.

In the middle of the night, Mike, having the same thought as his sister, asked if Nancy had anything to do with it and after being assured that she didn't, Steve realized that he would once again need to educate the people he loved about how Hanahaki really worked and about his family.

When everyone finally left in the early evening of the next day, he only had a few hours before he realized that he would probably need to have a walkie-talkie on him at all times, because everyone wanted to make sure he was okay.

The next time he and Eddie were alone together, Steve continued to talk.

It was a little embarrassed that he confessed that, although he had always wanted his parents’ love, he was relieved by the huge distance between them, because he wouldn’t have to worry about being the cause of his mother’s downfall. Because he couldn’t even imagine what it was like to be so loved by someone who had a disease so influenced by emotions. It seemed terrifying.

“I must be very selfish.”

“For wanting to preserve yourself? Everyone wants that, it’s not selfish, it’s human.”

“I didn’t give you that option.”

Eddie grabbed Steve by the shoulders so they were face to face.

“You did. You practically put a warning sign on your forehead. We all chose to stay here. Because you’re part of our lives and we love you, Hanahaki isn’t going to change any of that.”

Careful with every move he made toward Steve, Eddie leaned in until he could put his head in the crook of Steve’s neck, for the first time in a long time looking like he was the one who needed comfort.

Steve couldn’t describe how happy he was that he could still provide that and tightened his arms around Eddie.

“If it were up to me, you know where we’d be right now. You’re the one being so careful about this, so I don’t regret it. Don’t ever insinuate that you’re selfish for allowing us to feel the joy of being in your life.”

Steve didn't know if he could ever stop feeling guilty, but he would try.

One afternoon, when Steve came home from his shift at Family Video, he found Eddie standing at his door, a folder full of papers in his hand. He didn’t say anything, just waited for Steve to come in and followed.

“I did some research,” he announced and waved the papers. “Dustin helped me a lot, because he’s much better at research than I am.”

And Eddie launched into a somewhat confusing monologue about how 4.4 out of every 500,000 people had the Hanahaki gene and only a few of them actually had a real chance of developing the disease, and even in those cases, environmental factors were very important. In conflict zones, for example, the chances of acute and fatal manifestations were up to 300% higher than in other patients. 5 to 10% of carriers would be lucky enough to only have mild symptoms even under periods of intense stress, but without proper treatment, even those people would be at very serious risk.

Almost all of Hanahaki’s patients who survive the first two years require at least one transplant at some point in their lives. He talked about the complications, the lacerations of internal organs, the blood clotting problems, the cirrhosis, the hypertension, the encephalopathy.

“Steve, I said I’d do my research, and I did. I’m not a smart guy, not that smart.” He held up a piece of paper at random. “I’ve never been interested in medicine, and I’ve never been good at science, so there are some things I may not have understood that well, but I’ve learned a lot. I’m not going into this blind. I know what the expectations are here, I’m a grown man and I can make my own decisions. And I want you. I’ve wanted you, somehow, since high school, I wanted you when I saw how the kids adored you, I wanted you when you came to me even though everyone thought I was a murderer. I wanted you when I saw you take off your shirt, when you jumped in the lake, when you fought the Demobats, when you walked with me through hell. When you pulled me out of there. I’ve wanted you constantly, all the time, for all these months.” He took a deep breath. “I want you. I love you.”

Steve knew that no matter how happy he was, there would always be things that would hurt him. He would always have scars on his lungs, roots tangled in his ribs, internal bleeding, shortness of breath, injuries… There would always be a million problems, one after the other. Maybe he only had a few years left.

But Eddie knew that too. He knew that sometimes he would need to take care of Steve, and that he would need to learn to control his anger better, that he would always have to be careful when he communicated a problem, that he would need to offer reassurance and remind Steve that he was loved. He knew it would be hard. He knew the risk of coming out of this with a broken heart.

Even knowing the potential disaster, Steve kissed Eddie knowing it would be worth it.

[rita-repulsa-ke]

Death and the Black Widow

“Come see,” Death says, turning away, toward a well-lit path and the mists beyond.

“No,” Natasha says. She’s not going anywhere with anyone, not without more information. She sinks her weight into the ground, watches the ominous being in front of her slowly rotate to try and stare her down.

Natasha has fought gods and monsters. She doesn't flinch in the face of Death.

Natasha dies, and Death is waiting.

Natasha Romanoff is falling.

There’s peace in falling. There’s peace in ending. She’s finally cleared the red off her ledger. She can rest. The life that flashes before her eyes mostly isn’t worth reliving, but she grabs for the good parts. She saved the world a few times, that’s got to be worth something. She was part of a team of good people, some of them too good, she worries what will become of them. In her experience, the world doesn't have much room for good people.

She’s glad she met them, though. She’s proud she stood shoulder-to-shoulder with heroes. She's become someone who can face herself in the mirror. She isn't afraid to die.

Natasha Romanoff falls. She doesn’t remember hitting the ground.

“Hi,” the stranger says.

Natasha assesses her on instinct. Five foot six, wearing ornate green robes and some kind of headdress. Pretty.

Not even a little human. Not breathing, barely blinking, watching her complete her assessment with mild curiosity.

“You know, I always assumed nothing happened after you died,” Natasha tells the stranger, coming instantly to the correct conclusion. “That it all went black. Actually, I think I found that comforting.” Maybe she should have asked Stephen, he might have known. She's missed her window now.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Death says. “It’s a bit more complicated than that.”

It always is. Life always has been, she shouldn't have expected death to be any different. "What happens next?”

“Come see,” Death says, turning away, toward a well-lit path and the mists beyond.

“No,” Natasha says. She’s not going anywhere with anyone, not without more information. She sinks her weight into the ground, watches the ominous being in front of her slowly rotate to try and stare her down.

Natasha has fought gods and monsters. She doesn't flinch in the face of Death.

“Ugh. I hate the stubborn ones,” Death complains. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

“The answer to my question. What happens next?”

”What do you want to have happen next? Do you want it all to end in darkness?”

She thinks about that. Once, she would have been glad to simply stop. The business of living, as a spy and assassin, had been a bloody one. She had lived anyway, simply because she was too good to die.

It’s different now. She’s seen that life can be better, that the Red Room that shaped and warped her so she never quite fit into the world wasn’t how things had to be.

“I want to try again,” she says. “I want to be reborn.”

“You sure? You won’t remember anything. And there could be a paradise on the other side of that veil.”

Maybe she should ask more questions, but Natasha is used to making decisions on incomplete information and making hard choices, for herself and others. And she doesn't want paradise yet, if it exists at all. She can't imagine it and maybe she still doesn't feel quite worthy of it.

Instead, she wants something much simpler.

"I'm sure,” she says. “…I assume I don't get to pick, but it would be nice if…”

“It was better than last time?” Death suggests.

Natasha shakes her head. That’s too much to ask for and anyway, better is subjective. She’s saved the world, she’s befriended amazing people, she wouldn’t trade this life for anything, and she could only do that because of who and what she was. She's not sorry she got to be the Black Widow.

But for the next life—even thinking it is hard, much less saying it. Her whole life has been about guarding herself, never being vulnerable. Asking for things from supernatural beings is definitely vulnerable.

It’s her last chance, though. Might as well go big.

“Maybe just the beginning?” she asks.

“…Sure,” Death says after a moment, a strange, sad smile playing across her lips. ”That can be arranged."

Natasha is just going to have to trust her. That goes against her nature, she doesn't trust anyone, but she's got no choice. Death is holding all the cards. She extends her hand. "Take me, then."

Rio Vidal, Death incarnate, takes the hand of the Black Widow and walks with her beyond the veil.

In a hospital, a woman strains, holds her wife's hand in a crushing grip, her expression one of mixed joy and agony as the baby, their baby, makes its way into the world.

Rio, invisible, watches the birth, the smiles, the tears, the way the two women tuck close to stare at a tiny, red face.

"There," she murmurs. "That's the best beginning anyone could have."

Then Death is gone and only life remains.

Link to the small collection of Agatha fics I've written

[autistichalsin]

I know a lot of people find it boring how much Halsin talks about nature, and I do get it- it is repetitive. However, I also find that if you break some of his statements down into what he's implying, you end up with something a lot more interesting. (ESPECIALLY because a lot of these support the "Halsin is autistic" interpretation.)

Take, for example, Halsin talking about his place in the world, specifically relating to relationships:

Halsin: I still have hot blood in my veins. Nature gifted us our desires, and the means to act on them. But we muddied its beautiful simplicity with rules, social strictures... clothes. So, I am not bound to nature. I am unbound in nature.

Halsin: Relationship? Such terms belong to civilisation - a little unfamiliar to my lips. You know what we share is more fluid, more founded in the principles of nature.

Implications: Halsin finds society too complicated. He enjoys nature because its rules are simpler and more sensical; rather than social rules and structures that are beyond him (especially when you take into account the autistic Halsin interpretation), he feels comforted by nature, which is complex in a way that he understands.

There's also Halsin's friendship with Thaniel.

Halsin: I had a friend when I was young, long ago. He played with me in the forests where I grew up... but eventually, I realised no one else had heard of him. It was Thaniel, of course. Nature was my very first friend. I get older, but he hasn't changed a day. I knew then that I had to be more than a companion to him. I had to be a protector.

Implications: Nature, by being Halsin's first friend, has always been what Halsin is comforted by. It has been a steady and comforting presence for him, something he can rely in, in contrast to other people who are unpredictable. Nature is consistent and comforting for him.

Halsin, infamously, is not happy in the city of Baldur's Gate.

Halsin: Too much noise, too many lanterns kept burning... nature's rhythm is ignored here.

Implications: Halsin is overstimulated easily by excessive noise and other sensory inputs. Nature provides him somewhere quiet.

Halsin: I wish... I wish there was a better way. I wish everyone could see the sun, have a full belly, and know nature as a friend. There is a balance that is yet to be found.

Implications: Again, Halsin sees nature- not just Thaniel, but all of nature- as a friend. A source of comfort and companionship.

Halsin: I think on [politics and high art] also. But nothing matches the splendour of an ancient tree.

Implications: Halsin loves the beauty of the natural world as much as anything else. Rather than art or music (which he can appreciate), what he prefers is something that grew rather than being made.

Halsin: I am... less anxious to find myself in a city. So removed from nature's power - I do not know how I will fare.

Implications: Not only does Halsin prefer not to be in the city, but he is actually, to some extent, frightened of it (likely due to how overstimulating it is for him), in contrast with his feeling of being right at home in nature.

There's other things to note as well. If a Dark Urge player embraces Bhaal and then tells Halsin to bow, Halsin has this to say:

Halsin: Nature bows to none. It will fight on and survive, no matter what madness your god has inspired you to undertake.

Implications: Halsin views nature as strength, and admires that very much. He draws a lot of his tougher qualities from this aspect of the natural world.

Or a line where Wyll gently points out that he talks about nature a lot:

Halsin: When you care about something deeply enough, it consumes every thought and word.

Implications: Halsin isn't thinking of little else besides nature because he's "boring"; it's because it's important to him. (A special interest, one might say.) And when something is deeply important to a person, they think of everything else in relation to that thing; think of a sports fan who constantly uses sports metaphors to understand the world around them.

There's another party banter with Wyll that is telling when combined with what he has to say about the city, too.

Halsin: It is most unfair to pour such scorn on rats - they have their place in nature, same as you or I. 

Halsin: I thought cities were supposed to welcome folk of all walks of life. Clearly I was mistaken.

Implications: Halsin feels everyone has a place in the natural world, yet that the city shuns those it deems different. As someone who has struggled greatly with fitting in/finding a place he "belongs", Halsin feels more sympathetic to nature, where all living things belong, than anywhere else.

I think that when you break up Halsin's love of nature into all the little things it implies, it paints a much more interesting picture of him, personally. It also supports the "Halsin is autistic" interpretation, which makes him even MORE interesting.

[nephalem-da]

Breaking Point

Part 2 (Ending)

(Bill Cipher x GN!Reader)

There was a request of this but I accidentally deleted it, sorry! (ノ_<、) Good thing I read all of it to get the idea of what the Ending of Breaking Point. Read the first one before reading this! \(^ヮ^)/

Genre: Romance, Supernatural, Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Angst, emotional vulnerability, mild suggestive themes, references to arguments and reconciliation

Summary: After a hurtful argument, Bill desperately tries to win you back with heartfelt gestures and small gifts, fearing he may lose the one person who makes him feel truly alive.

The days after your argument with Bill were heavy with silence, the kind that clung to every corner of your mind. You hadn’t known silence like this, one that seemed to settle in your chest like a weight, pressing with the weight of words left unsaid. Bill had been a constant in your life, one that brought color and chaos, the very spark that made each day feel anything but ordinary. Yet now, you sat with the silence, unsure if you could move past that sharp, hurtful exchange.

But Bill seemed determined. You began noticing little gestures, attempts that weren’t exactly subtle but spoke louder than any apology could. A plate of your favorite food appeared on your kitchen counter in the mornings, arranged meticulously, almost as if Bill had spent hours making sure each part was perfectly in place. And flowers—ones you hadn’t seen before, each with strange, vibrant petals, materialized in random places around your home. Each bloom had a meaning if you cared to look it up: apologies, love, regret, the longing for forgiveness. Each arrangement a carefully crafted message, like a silent plea echoing through every room.

Bill was giving you his version of a bouquet, every one carrying an unspoken promise, a small fragment of his soul offered to you. The first bouquet, a mix of dark crimson flowers, was tucked near your bedside one night. The petals glowed faintly in the dark, as if they’d been touched by some cosmic energy, radiating his remorse and affection. When you looked closer, a note attached simply read, “I messed up, but I’m here.”

Through all of this, Bill remembered. In the solitude of his own reflections, he drifted through every memory he held of you, from the day you two had met. He recalled the initial deal you’d made—a trivial favor, something he hadn’t thought much of then. Yet, somehow, it grew into something more. He hadn’t expected to enjoy your company, or the odd, inexplicable attachment he felt around you. He remembered all the highs and lows: the first time he’d made you laugh, the nights he’d let his guard down, telling you stories of worlds far beyond anything you could imagine. He was a being of chaos, but around you, he felt something… different, something that made him feel as if he could let his guard down without losing a part of himself.

But now, he feared losing you would mean losing that part entirely.

On your side, things were hardly less complicated. Every day without him brought memories, and with each passing hour, those memories seemed to grow clearer. Life before Bill was simpler, sure, but it was also colorless. Mundane. You could barely remember the moments before he came crashing into your life, turning every day into something unique, something that felt alive and buzzing with possibility. He was unpredictable, infuriating, and sometimes dangerous. Yet, in his chaotic way, he made you feel more alive than you’d ever thought possible.

Gradually, Bill’s gestures began to chip away at the walls you’d built around yourself. His attempts at reconciliation, the careful thought he put into each act, and the sheer vulnerability he showed softened your resolve. You couldn’t help but feel the love and sincerity behind every little thing he did, and despite yourself, you started to miss him. His playful chaos, his over-the-top laughter, even his sly little comments. Bill had somehow managed to weave himself into your life in a way that felt irreplaceable.

Days turned into weeks, and while he tried to return to his usual self, there was a tension around Bill, one that he couldn't seem to shake. He was spiraling, slowly unraveling under the weight of his fear—fear of being abandoned, left behind, and forgotten by the one person who made him feel human, in a way he never thought possible. His anxiety manifested in restless hovering around your door, leaving little gifts and food, then disappearing before you could spot him. He didn’t know what else he could do, but he knew he couldn’t lose you.

Then, one evening, as he lingered in the hallway near your closed door, feeling as if he were on the verge of breaking apart, he heard it: the soft creak of your door opening.

His gaze snapped up, finding you standing there, framed by the dim light spilling from your room. You looked at him, something gentle and understanding in your expression, the faintest hint of a smile pulling at your lips.

“Wanna… cuddle?” you asked, voice soft, the words hesitant but full of warmth.

For a split second, Bill’s entire form stilled, as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Then, a sigh escaped him—a sound full of relief, gratitude, and something almost like joy. His single eye crinkled in what would have been a broad, relieved grin if he’d had a mouth. He was practically beaming, his eye glowing with a warmth you rarely saw.

“You’re kidding, right?” he said, his tone playful, but there was a softness beneath it, an edge of vulnerability. “I thought you’d never ask!”

He practically floated into the room, following you with something close to reverence, and when you lay down, he slipped beside you with a care and gentleness you hadn’t expected from him. For once, he was quiet, as if he didn’t want to ruin the moment. His arm, spectral but somehow solid, wrapped around you, pulling you close. The silence stretched out, but it was warm, comfortable, each of you breathing in sync with the other, letting the weight of the moment fill the space between you.

You felt the tension melt away, your heart finally letting go of the hurt that had lingered. Bill held you like you were the most important thing in his world, like he couldn’t quite believe he’d gotten a second chance. He didn’t speak, but his grip was firm, secure, as if he was afraid that if he let go, you’d vanish.

After a while, he finally spoke, his voice barely a whisper. “I thought I lost you,” he admitted, his tone uncharacteristically raw. “You have no idea… what that did to me.”

You shifted to look at him, placing a gentle hand over his. “I’m here, Bill. Just… don’t make me regret it, alright?”

He chuckled, the sound a little unsteady, and his eye softened as he nodded. “Scout’s honor. I’m sticking to this… whatever we are, for as long as you’ll have me.”

He nestled closer, his usual bravado replaced by something real, something vulnerable. You knew he was still Bill, still capable of causing chaos and wreaking havoc, but here, in this moment, he was yours. And for the first time since the argument, you felt at peace.

As the night wore on, you both drifted into a quiet contentment, letting the silence speak where words weren’t needed. Bill didn’t let go, not once, and you knew that in his own, chaotic way, he was saying what he could never fully put into words: that he loved you, that he was sorry, and that he would do anything to keep you by his side.

[mysweetobsessions]

Let me tell you the small details that absolutely floored me in The Penguin, season 1, episode 4 before the next one comes out.

Spoilers ahead.

Sofia’s hand gestures. Before Arkham, Sofia’s gestures are so femenine and scream spoiled rich girl, they even feel performative at times, except when she’s smoking - a habit she keeps after Arkham. Afterwards, polar opposites. Need I mention the eating? Eating and beyond, after Arkham her hands are no longer playing the part of her previous life which is why they feel more free while also more intentional. (Where’s her acting nomination?)

From normal uncontrolled behavior to unhinged controlled behavior. Let me explain. Before Arkham, Sofía can barely hold her emotions in. She loses her temper talking to the reporter both times and she’s on the verge of crying when talking to her dad. It’s all very normal how much she can’t control her emotions. After Arkham, she’s much more controlled. Her actions are more deliberate and thought out despite the fact that they are absolutely mad (honestly, justifiably so). - she only loses it (so far) when she’s confronting Oz over her brother’s murder, but after what we know, it’s hard to blame her.

Family is so important. Until we all betray each other to protect a horrific man. The references from previous episodes now make absolute sense, like why she hated the name “hangman”. Her mention of “young girls not doing so well in the family” (something like this). The mention of not letting men control her. How much she can’t stand her family and the visible urge to kill them every time they spoke to her. Why she loved her brother so much. And the list goes on.

From Oz to Penguin. In a couple short scenes, they showed us how Oz always felt belittled and his ego hurt (when Sofía asks him what’s he doing *inside* the party, because he doesn’t belong there really). How she tells him he’s “just a driver”. We didn’t need to see this a million scenes to get that small things like these were some stones (of many) that created The Penguin character. I’m sure more is coming in this regard.

Clinically sane? It is an impossible situation to try to convince people you are sane when you’ve been deemed clinically insane. Yet what behavior is sane when you are framed and put in a deplorable place like Arkham? What do you do when the truth is more complicated and sounds less plausible than the lie? Our minds are made to accept what sounds simpler and makes a more coherent story. Proving her competence becomes an impossible task, especially when she is slowly actually losing her mind from the conditions that would make anyone unhinged. I felt her frustration. (I could not personally figure out how I’d manage this if it were real. Anyone got ideas? Share ‘em with me.)

Arkham “rehabilitation”. I know it’s an asylum but it’s also a prison. We been knew that these places probably make more criminals than they “rehabilitate” but damn if that entering sequence wasn’t as dehumanizing as intended. The corruption inside it to top it all off… Even just the noises and screams that would drive anyone mad. (A point for abolishing the prison system here).

Trust is a bitch. Sofía’s downfall is her ability to trust, that’s how I see it. She wants to trust the people around her despite what she’s been through. This shows that a side of her is desperate to find someone to either give her the trust she seeks or to prove her wrong that people can’t be trustworthy. From another angle, this could be seen as her reliving her trauma, by trusting people (or the penguin) over and over as if to try and change the end result (the betrayal). Either way, it kills me.

I’m sure there are other things many people loved but this episode was absolutely fantastic and these are my favorite things about it.

[silverofthunder]

☆ no more pretending ☆

Papa Emeritus II (Secondo) x GN Reader

🔞 MDNI 🔞

summary: It was supposed to be just letting out some steam whenever you needed – just sex – but fate had another plans and things got a bit complicated.

content: 1.6k words, sex mentioned, hurt/comfort (kind of?), romance, just feelings, NSFW (kind of)

What can I say? Hmm, this is quite similar to my other fic called stay with me but I love this idea, setting, whatever this is, and I just had to write about this again.

It was supposed to be just letting out some steam whenever you needed. Just sex – a mutual understanding that this would lead nowhere on emotional part. It was as easy as breathing. You loved how you two could just meet and tell what you needed with one look and then the next moment you were tangled together, exploring each other's bodies, every coherent thought leaving from your minds.

But of course fate decided to intervene and eventually it got complicated.

You noticed it when you were with someone else. Your thoughts drifted off to Secondo and how everything felt with him and you couldn't shake those thoughts away no matter how hard you tried. And then you just couldn't let anyone else touch you the way Secondo had done.

You got confused and frustrated, scared even. Secondo noticed the change in you soon but he didn't say anything. And you tried to continue like you had before.

However it didn't feel the same anymore, your heart aching for something else – something deeper. You tried to deny it, telling yourself that it would pass but slowly, surely, the ache just grew and being around Secondo became hard.

The only thing you could do was take a step back and keep your distance. You just couldn't let Secondo know how things had changed. There was no way he shared those feelings that had blossomed within you.

Days went by, turned to weeks and you did your best at avoiding Secondo. Not every meeting could be avoided but you tried to keep everything as short and quick as possible, professional, using every will power you had to keep yourself from breaking.

And eventually Secondo had had enough. After one meeting he stopped you from leaving the room, pinning you against the wall, eyes boring into you hard. Your heart hammered in your chest as he asked for an explanation.

The words were completely stuck in your throat and you just stared at him, silently pleading him not to do this.

"Please."

That word sounded so strange coming from Secondo yet it had so much emotion that your heart missed a beat. The look in Secondo’s eyes was almost... hurt and your breath hitched as his hands gently cupped your face.

"I miss you."

It was getting too much, all the bottled up emotions mixing and the tears threatened to come. You blinked rapidly as Secondo caressed your cheeks with his thumbs, his eyes scanning your face as if searching for an answer. If you only had let yourself get lost in his eyes, you would have drowned immediately.

It was new, the way he was acting now. Your steamy couplings had always been so hurried that there hadn't been much talking or softness. It had been rough, bruises, nail scrapes and teeth marks on the skin as you had chased the highest pleasure. And when you had finished, you just had quickly put on some clothes and left to mind your own business.

You knew Secondo wasn't just collected, stoic or rough around the edges – you had seen his softer side whenever he was around children or his brothers. And he had always been kind to you. But this felt different.

You were so used to the less talking, more action thing that you were lost now that you had to use words to communicate. It was much easier to understand the language of bodies – it was simpler and the bodies knew how to respond to the other.

Secondo's fingers brushed close to your lips, making you gasp, and it would be so easy to just forget the words and just fall onto bed and become a tangled mess. Secondo was still waiting for you to say something, his latest words hanging in the air.

"I'm sorry," was all you got out eventually and then you broke free from Secondo’s hold. He didn't try to stop you and you left, hurrying to your quarters. As soon as you got inside, you leaned against the door, slid down to sit on the floor and finally let the tears fall free.

...

A week later there was a small festival held and you didn't feel like going there. You had barely slept as your mind had been racing due to all thoughts and your heart felt heavy in your chest. However, a conversation with Primo changed your mind and you attended the festival. It was nice for most part but it was hard seeing Secondo there, looking all handsome and fulfilling his duties like he was meant to do.

At some point Terzo had come to you, mumbling something about two idiots, and taken a hold of your hand and basically dragged you to one of Primo's greenhouses. You were left standing there completely dumbfounded until Secondo was also brought in.

Then there was a clicking sound of a lock and Copia's familiar voice heard from behind the door.

"It's about time you two speak and pull your head out of your asses."

Your and Secondo’s eyes met and you shifted, nervous. Secondo let out a sigh, stepping closer to you and you drew in a sharp breath. You couldn't help but notice how tired and tense he looked. Your heart ached and you almost reached out to touch him.

However, Secondo thought otherwise and closed the distance between you, stepping right into your personal space and cupping your face. You breathed in and out, slowly, trying to calm your now racing heart.

"I guess it's time for us to stop pretending," Secondo said, slowly running his fingertips along the side of your face. His voice was thick with emotion, eyes shining softly in the dim light.

"What?" you whispered, even though you had a good hunch of what Secondo was talking about. He slid his other hand down, stopping it onto your chest, right where your heart was.

"We both have been fools as we thought that there would never be any feelings involved. But there is, has always been," Secondo spoke, leaning closer to you. "At least on my part."

You blinked, not sure if you had heard right. It couldn't be...

"I..." you started but didn't know what to say. Secondo gave you the tiniest of smiles, brushing his thumb over your lips.

"I'm sorry I didn't say something sooner," he apologized. "But I've never been good at voicing my feelings."

You let out a light chuckle. That was something you both were equally bad at, or so it seemed. Slowly you moved your hand up, placing it onto Secondo’s chest. Butterflies were fluttering in the bottom of your stomach, your heart filling with warmth and a smile rose to your lips as a thought came to your mind.

"Perhaps you can show me how you feel."

Secondo's smile grew, the fondness and relief evident on his face.

"That I can certainly do," he said quietly and closed the gap between you, claiming your lips. The kiss was anything but hurried – there was gentleness, hesitation as if you could break if he was too rough. It was slow, giving you both time to taste each other, feel everything, convey all the feelings you had no words for now.

Secondo wrapped his arms around you, pulling you as close to him as he could and your hands grabbed his upper arms as he deepened the kiss. It felt like your knees could give out at any minute and you were lucky Secondo was holding you so tightly. Your heart was full, the ache now gone, replaced by the most beautiful warmth you had ever felt.

Something wet fell to your cheeks soon and you realized that you were crying. All the emotions were flooding out and you had to break the kiss so you could take a moment and breathe. Secondo was gently wiping your tears away, resting then his forehead against yours.

Silence fell between you, being comfortable this time. It was a lot to take in, this new closeness, the feelings you never thought would step in the picture. You slid your hands to Secondo's waist, breathing slowly in and out. Secondo placed a few kisses on your cheek, the sweet gesture making you smile and heart soar. It was scary to step into this new chapter in your relationship but you knew together you could learn to communicate differently, a better way.

"This is crazy," you eventually sighed, earning a small chuckle from Secondo. He pulled away, just a tiny bit so that he could look at you, affection shining in his eyes and at that moment you knew that you would never get tired of seeing that look.

"Well, I'm all in for this crazy ride," Secondo said smiling and your brows quirked up.

"Oh, are you sure?" you asked, teasing the man little. Secondo hummed, a grin passing his lips.

"As sure as I can be."

You brought your face closer to his, smiling.

"Good," you said and kissed him, short and sweet. When you pulled back, your expression changed more serious and you lowered your gaze, squeezing Secondo waist.

"I'm scared," you admitted quietly.

"I know," Secondo spoke softly, pressing a kiss on your forehead before pulling you into a hug. "But I'm with you on every step of the way.”

You smiled against Secondo’s chest, wrapping your arms properly around him and listening his heartbeat, the sound of it strong and steady, calming.

Silence followed again and you just stood there in the middle of the greenhouse, embracing, for what felt like a small eternity. If that moment had been a part of a romance novel, there would have been many saccharine words used to describe it. Words that were so familiar to you on pages but didn’t sit well on your tongue yet.

But in time you knew that you would learn to speak of your love.

[yeehawpim]

HI UM i really admire you and your art and i was wondering --

so i really love the way you format your comics, its really straight-forward and lets the reader process every word with ease (which i think adds to the impact of the writing), and that one rue comic with the split colors for the parentheses... how do you do it without making it look so messy?? to bring up another example, the hide-and-seek comic- i love how subtle and genius the call back to hiding behind the door was, it blew my mind... i take a lot of inspiration from the way you format and lay out your comics but for some reason i cant wrap my head around how you do so much with so little (in reality this might just be the result of me wanting to add so many little details for others to find , while being conflicted on keeping it simple, and,,, AGH...) for context : im trying to make a comic about isolation, but i keep filling up the page because i want to add things - when really i know i should be keeping it simple... but other than removing unnecessary details, i want to know what else you do to make your comics so clean and simple yet it rips out the emotions from your heart and has you stare at it as it beats. like... i want that type of impact!! i want to affect others on such an intense level!! i want to induce emotions!!! but how?

(sorry this was long, HAHAHA i just want to drive my point home- again with the 'wanting to add a lot of stuff to prove a point' thing but i digress)

ok first of all that is a huge compliment and it means v much to me, thank you 😭🙏❤️❤️

tbh for me the answer of keeping things uncluttered is paying attention to spacing and eye direction. Spacing depends on timing, if you want an action to happen slowly for instance you can make the space between panels longer, or take more panels for someone to complete an action. There's tricks for directing your eye, if you ever read anyth about focal points (eg biggest contrast, triangular shapes pointing towards what's important), but really with comics I keep in mind you're reading left to right and top to bottom.

The ruehob comic is actually simpler than you think 😅 I already knew which text had to be on the left and right with august's text post. And after that the "lanes" were so narrow there weren't a lot of complicated things I could do, just make sure you still read left to right and saunter vaguely downwards.

when you talk about putting little details, that doesn't necessarily have to distract people. Like I honestly applaud you having the drive to do detailing. You just have to make sure your compositions allow for it. Like if you think about ghibli backgrounds, they're elaborate and beautiful af.

For smth about isolation, my first thought was that you can draw a person in a setting alone among a bunch of objects, for instance. If you keep the person small but surround them with a bunch of detailed objects, it could feel very lonely. Just make sure the person still stands out b/c they're what's important, so for example the background stuff is a less saturated colour, or the person is the least detailed thing on the page. I think that's the main thing, you just have to make sure the things important to what you're saying stand out. Clarity is rlly half the battle when I'm laying things out haha

In school our teacher called this "killing your babies" because it sucks when you work hard on a cool drawing and it just doesn't work out😂This also still happens to me, it's actually partly why I keep things simple so I can work fast and throw out less

Here is a timestamp from supereyepatchwolf's video about Chainsaw Man, which has some of the coolest fuckin layouts

He's got other stuff that talks about manga and how eye direction can work and what cool stuff has been done. Off the top of my head his vid about one piece and his vid about gantz have helped me understand how to cause Emotions. Also I think he has one about Junji Ito that specifically talks about how details can make you scared, if you're into that 😂

hope this helps!

[okalanissolis]

⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭ ᴅʀɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ᴍᴏᴏɴꜱʜɪɴᴇ ᴀ ᴄᴇʟᴇꜱᴛɪᴀʟ ᴍᴀꜰɪᴀ ᴀ.ᴜ.

⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴋɪɴɢ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ɪꜱ ᴄᴏɴꜱɪᴅᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ . . . pt. i | | series masterlist

focus on: muni sarang (diane meunier) word count: ~4.1k warnings: language, intermittent Lore Dumping™, mentions of violence, occasional graphic imagery, mentions of semi-main character death

ᴛᴄᴅᴜ (ᴛᴏᴏ ᴄᴏɴᴠᴏʟᴜᴛᴇᴅ, ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ) ɪꜱ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇᴅ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ !

⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭

lilo's mic: we start this story with essentially a history lesson, to keep you up to date on all of the Complex Relational Lore between all of our characters. also, before this past is considered previous is currently the only part of the story i actually have planned. so. enjoy it, this part of the story will probably be the only part that truly makes complete coherent sense. but, in the wise words of okalani akana in her swag girl era: fucka dat, we he'e nalu.

⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭

⌜ i kick a rhyme drinking moonshine / i pour a sip on the concrete for the deceased ⌟

ᴅʀɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ᴍᴏᴏɴꜱʜɪɴᴇ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖

— in hoku city there were three gods that everyone prayed to and, in secret, one power that bound them. supplication for the latter was far more clandestine, whispered and sequestered — in exile, made strange. ʜᴏᴋᴜ, ɴᴇꜱᴏɪ, ʙᴀᴅᴀ. star, earth, sea. the three gods that, when destiny conspired and came crawling, created the refuge of the bay on which hoku city was erected. favoritism named the city hoku when it was nesoi who ruled over land, and bada that, with her heaving oceans, carved the bay. but hoku was a star, and the city fell right beneath it's never blinking truth. it was only inevitable that one would be remembered more than the others, and in hoku's complacency, it would only be fair that bada's volatility and nesoi's jealousy would grow.

the ꜱᴇʀᴘᴇɴꜱ was the intensity that kept the city from eating itself whole.

— serpens, short for the serpens syndicate, was no true god, though certainly you'd be forgiven for thinking as much.

— formed generations ago (eight? six? what did it truly matter when the bones of them no longer existed, long pulverized, buried then exhumed, desecrated, then revered on an altar?) when a woman stepped off of a boat and onto the anticipating shores of a fetal city, barely christened with the name of hoku — the recrowning of a deity once forgotten, now animated anew and worshiped again, a cycle beginning at it's center. she had a dream of creating an empire — a whole world that would bend to her whims, small enough to swallow whole, powerful enough to seat her progeny for millennia — and create it, she had. first as a true business, a coalition of handpicked merchants who would come to rule the city with the foresight of a deified star, the omniscient eye, and the volatility of the omnipresent sea that raged around them. their trade was primarily alcoholic spirits and all manner of goods that could be sourced from the omnipotent abundance of the earth.

in those days, the prohibition had yet to emerge. in some ways, it was harder, more convoluted — byzantine. to hold the stopper on someone's desires is so much simpler when you are the only voice commanding vice. to control the flow of sin is a straightforward, near effortless task when there is only one fount, and you it's supplier.

— generations ago, when the world was less complicated, and the laws held with a velvet glove rather than an iron fist, the serpens syndicate was formed. not yet a godhead, something commonplace and admired. perhaps sharper, then, as it navigated streets it did not yet own and, with lazy skill, intricately wove itself into the desires of the people there. and with time, the corrupting influence of that diety named ꜱᴀᴍɢᴏɴɢ, that which is illicit becomes so much more tantalizing to hold. first it was little things, and then the shadows came to dance closer to their vision, and serpens had no choice but to embrace them or be swallowed whole.

— eventually, the elders of the serpens died and their prestige passed to the children beneath them. markets swelled and companies rose, and other things, still, ebbed with the water and, violently, were pulled to sea. only the serpens was strong enough to survive. only the snake born of sky and sea, tending to the ground beneath, could curl itself into the heart of the city and, triumphant, keep it's watchful eye keen.

and when prohibition came knocking, an unfortunate response to the political fear of a red light district growing stronger than it's keeper... well, who were the serpens to venerate: the gods that birthed them, and by favor, swelled their size? or the lawmen that cowered in fear, clawing at what never belonged to them to start?

— it was an easy choice, the former. and an evident decision for the people of hoku to raise the serpens up and, in their devotion, both conceal and empower them.

— when the prohibition hit, the serpens was headed by the mysterious ᴇʀɴᴇꜱᴛ, eldest of the meunier family and heir to the most vast and impressive organization hoku would ever see. open and inviting by name, but hidden yet renown, envied and feared, by reputation.

it was he who expanded their previous business, opening more hidden speakeasies — nips for the well to do that just needed something to take off the edge, bars for those who only wished to partake in their established addictions, and more clandestine holes in the wall for those that were used to the darker shades and umbra the serpens had long been expected to supply: canned heat, bottled torment, and tinned apparitions of ebullient euphoria.

bootlegging, drug peddling, pleasure dealing, death. the gods could save you from misfortune and lead you from disgrace, but the serpens could command all that sin and vice and all those evils that itched the back of your screaming throat.

— so pray to them. buy a bottle of their greed and spill a drink onto the pavement. the cops would never know if it was you that offered the liquid, or them that spilled it in confiscation. but the serpens would know. they were in every window, on every street corner, just around the block. they would see you downtrodden, and they would appreciate your awe, and they would raise you, when the moment became opportune.

to the serpens, master of all three: the omniscient eye, the omnipresent sea, the omnipotent abundance of the earth.

ᴅʀɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ᴍᴏᴏɴꜱʜɪɴᴇ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖ ᴄᴏɴᴛ.

— ernest was a man that, however paradoxically, lived up to his name. warm. friendly. true. and yet, to those who would interfere with his business and create problems or messes (things less than ideal), he was unequivocally feared. his ire was your death; your mistake his boot on your broken neck, a miscalculation...? something bloody would be trickling into the rust-stained drain, the slow drip absinthe that was distilling into liquid gold in the serpen's hands.

most of the grotesque work — the unrefined, the unsightly brute force — was left to the delegation of ernest's right hand: ʙʏᴇᴏɴɢ-ʜᴡᴀ. a man to be equally feared, a name to invoke misfortune and curse. how the two met was a secret all-too-well kept. one day he appeared: the shadow of a crime lord, the brass knuckles of his right fist.

— even when they became fathers their resolve never weakened, their terror never lifted. ꜱᴏʏᴇᴏɴ, born in august, the daughter of a kingpin's right hand, and ᴅɪᴀɴᴇ, born two months later, the dauphin of a power much larger than the self, a weapon so deadly even ɪᴋᴜ himself — death incarnate — could only fathom the shallows of it's striking blow.

if anything, the rise of the next generation simply made them all the more careful in their planning — more visionary, more cutthroat.

— soyeon was born the eldest, and the shadow in her fathers deeds caressed the hair on her head and worshiped the light in her eyes until they were as dark as all that she would be groomed to do. diane was her opposite and not-quite-equal — someone on a pedestal already raised, above in rank and not apologetic of it... yet.

— when it came to diane — darling of hoku's underground world, devoted of that which sat above — many things would sink in slowly, overtime: eat their way through her thickened skin and gnaw at the tenderness encased within. yet was her eventuality, yet was all that she could not abide, and yet would be the knife pointed at her treasonous heart at the beginning of what lies beyond.

it was her father's fault, if we're to place blame.

after all, was it not him, that, in the giddy delight of having a daughter, suggested to his wife that his progeny should have a name no less witty and ironic than his own? ernest for a kingpin. truth for a crown of deceit. they should name her something cynical — acerbic when you faced it unblinking, bathed in truth. sarang, he said, through bubbling laughter: love, when it would be most impossible to abide.

and it had stayed that way: her second identity, her secret name. the epithet she only used with the closest of her kin, the appellation she only whispered through unsteady breath. sarang. love. oh, how it betrayed her. oh, how it shackled her to the floor of her deception and ever-growing lies.

— daughters of monsters and daughters of men. hoku crawled with them and it was the power of ʜᴏʀᴋᴏꜱ — oath — and that almighty mixture of convenience and duty that combined to draw the fates of diane and soyeon ever close, so they would tangle upon bloom.

after all. when there was an education for one, why should there not be opportunity for both? when there was such rich history between the fathers, why not a friendship and devotion for the daughters?

so knit their lives to be experiences in tandem. cut the cloth so their fraying edges could tangle rather than break. school together, extra circulars joint, assembled schedules with collective goals; if their lives were in constant collaboration and concert, their goals and dreams, too, might coalesce and unify. perhaps their bond would triumph over that of even their fathers and their leverage, in the end, would eclipse all the control and power the serpens had ever known.

— from their youngest years, diane and soyeon were together. it was only natural that companionship should rise, and no one celebrated it more than the demon of hoku and his calloused right hand.

byeong-hwa and his quiet pride (the secret, near half curve of a schadenfreude smile; the confident satisfaction of a brief exchange of half-muttered words). the mastermind of an empire didn't express much, but in his silence was a world of self gratified honor and his daughter and her closest companion were at the epicenter — all he could focus on, all he could contain. his blessings were all skills they would hone to a knifepoint, his devotion a paved road.

ernest, by contrast (a man indulged in his freedom, so high above the rest that he bound those that would not be bidden and answered to only those he so carefully chose), delighted in the two girls with ripe expression and open hands near constantly filled with the tangible, though on rare occasion and most cherished, the cerebral. diane, to whom he gave all his wisdom and wove all of his bleeding love, and soyeon, who he blessed with clairty of vision for all her ambition.

— two fathers, two daughters. and all that to say nothing of the mothers who bore them and ever after rose them up. and for a moment longer than the stasis that holds you at the fear of death, and in am embrace softer than the hands encircling your eiderdown throat, the two girls received all that virtue and knowledge surrounding them, and they were happy.

"i thought your name was diane."

"it is."

"then why does samchon ernest call you sarang?"

"it's my secret name," and the younger girl giggled, flipped upside down on the stairs she would climb like monkey bars, dreaming that this staircase was a freedom beyond one she would be granted at this age, still prepubsecent, a liberty perhaps not reached even in the whole of this life. "only the people who know me best call me that. family."

and for a long moment soyeon just stared at diane. upside down as well, moreso hanging than dangling, too stubborn to admit to the vulnerability in suspension. she looked at the girl beside her — this built in friend, this given companion that she grew to care for more dearly than any other — soft. then... "can i use it, too?"

"of course! i was waiting for you to."

— and it would be only too intimate when such familiarity would rot and envy sink in her teeth — anchored deep with her claws.

— diane was the heir to hoku, and soyeon her second fiddle. a weapon for diane to one day direct, a voice in her ear that could be disregarded or misattributed.

it began in those meetings, almost mock sessions — child's play — where diane would speak her beliefs into action, her desires into assignment, and soyeon would see the heart of the blonde leaping from its place and tumbling out of her uncertain throat. soyeon would challenge her then, the way she had their whole lives, with the counsel she was bred to provide, and her tutors would set their jaws and flicker their eyes.

when she speaks, her word is law, her ambitions reign.

never mind the softness that turned her bile into forgiveness, the compassion and love within her yielding and spreading thick, a knife turned to it's side, indulgence forgetting the edge to favor the spine.

— they were little moments, and the thoughts, though poisonous, petty. diane's tenderness would blind her one moment, and the next she would dictate a torture graphic and bloody to the fool who had dared to break byeong-hwa's good knee. the resources of her station could enable her volatility, but without the fervor of passionate emotion, it was a tendency more likely to dull from lack of use.

and so it was a simple question of fitness — a lingering hypothetical of what if that rooted itself in the dark places where twisted things like to grow, and, by degrees, spread it's uncertainty into the deeper beliefs in soyeon's mind.

ᴅʀɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ᴍᴏᴏɴꜱʜɪɴᴇ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖ ᴄᴏɴᴛ.

— it was a sort of self gratifying joke in the meunier household that sarang could see the truth of people and diane could see their use.

sarang, imbued with love from the moment she was a thought in the minds of her parents (a hope, a joy — something to be cradled and held — cherished, for all innocence in hoku city was fleeting and met a tragic demise) , could always see the truth of someone despite any will to hide — verity and devotion bowed before her: unblinking, unmotivated, bare.

diane was less romantically inclined. she had to be, by nature of her role — her existence, her duty, her reign. she could only see the use of people. it was her only saving grace. if she began to entangle herself in the hearts of men, bog herself down in the histories and vulnerabilities of their lives, it would be impossible to do her work. it would be foolish of her: imbecilic to see the heart of people — to focus on all their love, all their life, all their vibrancy, still bleeding and not yet cold. it wouldn't serve her in the end, and so diane had to let those ideals rest.

— it was certainly a work in progress — this distinction between the two parts of herself.

which was more true? which would win in the end? these were questions without answers, quandaries lacking resolve. who are we really? that which we project or that which we feel tearing us limb from limb, clawing inside out, feasting on our rotting flesh, and undeterred, forever starting again?

— but let us begin here with the duality of sarang and diane. the same person — two different people — the same values, different ideals. diane neatly dissected herself on the daily — crafting identities and electing character (cherry picking the best of her, discerning those weaknesses that fit the narrative, burying those foibles that could not), a vulture that picked herself clean and only consumed that which would not fester between her teeth.

— and when she would go out and into this world that would only see her by degrees, she would often keep another name in her back pocket. secrets upon secrets; lies upon lies. you could never truly know her because you only knew a half, a part, a fragment. when she was old enough to hold her own and old enough to where her educational needs differed from that of soyeon and the two of them on occasion would part only to return again, half changed, diane chose a second friend. a bodyguard, mainly. a protector in name.

— his name was ꜱᴀɴ. a year younger than her, but with a build twice her size. fearless, intense, courageous, genuine. how he found his way into the underbelly of hoku city was a predictable tragedy, a commonplace loss; but how he managed to safeguard the softest parts of himself in a place protected and secure, still half transparent to be seen by the eyes of one so clear as sarang, was his true peculiarity.

it was unsurprising, in the end, when diane chose him to be her armed weapon: her chosen conspirator, her useful friend.

— once, when san was newly appointed, and diane hoped to hide a fascination she had with the softness of humanity, she slipped away from san in the crowd. he'd caught up with her and all of his barreling force of anger burnt into ash when he realized what she stooped over was a stray puppy — still infant, terrified and matted and cold.

"you could take him to the complex. the demon of hoku would never say no."

"i know." and sarang was uncharacteristically quiet, like this was some secret, some vulnerable part of her character that untombed itself and didn't belong here — at least, it was still somehow premature. "but innocence has no place in the serpens. i don't want him to bury himself alive and resurface as something changed."

and they stood there, the guiltless whelp before them, whose only sin was not being loved to the point of sanctuary.

"don't slip away from me again. your father is on every corner of this city and if i'm seen without you and a hint of concern, it will be my head." and it was sarang, then, that nodded her apology and agreed. "you don't have to hide softness from me."

— and it was that sort of understanding, that sort of freedom, that compacted and grew, spiraled and engorged — feasted on opportunity as any serpent might — and became the monster curled in the little demon's lap.

it certainly led them to where they were, now.

— the courtyard of the police academy was simple and no nonsense, by a general rule: bare. but during special events like the one being celebrated today, blue ribbon (with shades from the deepest midnight to the softest powder blue) was wrapped around columns and set to flutter in the mild breeze. whole families sat, poised and proper, in unyielding folding chairs. they clapped politely when names of graduating students were called, and peacocked, beaming, when the name was an honor their own.

diane sat comfortably toward the back, her eyes following police academy hopefuls, then the crowd that so warmly received them, by turns.

san was alongside her, as always, but their conversation was nothing but niceties for the duration of the ceremony — nothing like the conversation they'd had before they'd resolved to arrive.

"why are you so set on seeing the police graduates anyway?"

— establishing a civilian face in the most unlikely of locations. taking stock of who was still trusted with the youngest recruits. finding an exposed and vulnerable underbelly that soon enough, could be exploited, gutted, turned. the police were slowly understanding the profile of turncoat that the serpens was partial to adding to their payroll. it had been soyeon's idea to poach where they were least likely to expect: idealized graduates, still wet behind the ears with nothing of value, yet, but the potential and fire of youth.

there was another younger serpens member hidden somewhere in the crowd, sharp minded ꜱᴇᴏɴɢʜᴡᴀ who ernest, these days, was partial to favoring whenever he needed another mind of judgement than just diane, and soyeon was busy, aiding the few senior members to fill the gaping hole left by byeong-hwa.

(he'd died last fall, days before he swore he'd finally retire. a bad omen, some had said: vengeance and penance would always force the worst to reap what they sow. there had been a few retirements after that, some loyal enough and peripheral enough to be true resignations, some far too close to the trigger to see any reprieve other than what lay on the other side of a bullet and it's ashen powder. they were of an age, it was understood. for some of them, there was no expertise, just liability. according to the laws of the gods, a roulette with fate and a handgun was the most they deserved, and an honor they could rest easy with on another plane.)

at the end of this ceremony, diane would convene with seonghwa and together, they would find the rabbits easiest for the blow. perhaps the girl that few clapped for beyond polite acknowledgement; ever still, the boy with a smothered nervousness in his gait, like if he looked over his shoulder, he'd draw attention to his own smoking gun.

— one of the graduates had a grin that near broke into a boisterous laugh when his name was called. "ʙᴀɴɢ ᴄʜᴀɴ." the row in front of diane erupted into the most fearsome of cheers, and they stood, perhaps to make up for their sitting so far back.

diane stood, too, if only to size up this boy that had made her very ground shake with raucous thunder.

when somehow they locked eyes, it was all her power to not immediately falter.

— when the speeches were through, sarang sat to linger.

she and seonghwa shouldn't leave and arrive at their mutual second location quite so noticeably. even in the hubbub of a graduation ceremony. even on a night the nips were sure to be bought dry with young people looking to celebrate, hiding their illegalities under the alibi of youth.

— she could have moved. anticipated the movements that would wrap her string of fate around her neck like a noose.

she stayed rooted to her spot.

— bang chan, the ebullient graduate from before, came proudly over to his family before long. he caught her gaze, big brown eyes flicking briefly to the muscle beside her, before turning to who must have been his sister and laughing, pulling her into an embrace.

it took less than one whole look for san to disappear from beside her, and when bang chan was done receiving congratulation from his sea of adoring family, sarang — diane — was quite alone.

"hi."

and she echoed his greeting before finding more of her voice. "congratulations on your graduation."

"ah, thank you." and he was bashful, rubbing the back of his neck. "it wasn't anything anyone else hadn't done."

"the whole courtyard burst with applause."

and he had all the humility of laughter. "that was just my family." and he waved to the group of familiars retreating out of the archway, a promise to catch up soon. his smile twisted into something still warm but searching. "i saw you standing, though. we can't have met before; i know i would have remembered you."

and for a moment, there was a sound on the tip of her tongue, sly and smooth, serpentine sooth. but a different moniker tumbled out when she thought better, a contrasting life.

a fake name. chan savored the taste of lies on his tongue.

"are you here for anyone i might know?"

"no," and a half truth was followed with falsehood, the genuinely twinkle in her eye accompanied with a smile she could not truly own. "i came to get out of the house, and this is one of the few places my father allowed — so long as i brought my cousin, of course."

chan's eyes brightened, then. relieved. he pressed slightly closer, conspiratorial, light. "your bodyguard."

"that's the desired affect." a laugh. then here, a half calculating, half hopeful hint. "but a push over. give him money for ramyeon and he'll vanish."

and when he left, it was with the parting wish that he would see her one day, again.

— when san appeared at diane's side as though he'd never left, it was mutually understood that they'd never speak of this bang chan and report only to seonghwa those names easily overtook: cho miyeon, seo changbin.

in the end, nothing would come of nothing and only dust follows dust; those things we do in the space between living and death — where nothing can live and no one can die — are always clandestine but teeter on meaningless. we can only have that which we are given to hold, and if there are no hands in this space of oblivion, and the omniscient eye cannot see, are we held in contempt for the arteries we burst and the chambers we disintegrate on our way to be free?

⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴋɪɴɢ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖ pt. i | | series masterlist

ᴛᴄᴅᴜ (ᴛᴏᴏ ᴄᴏɴᴠᴏʟᴜᴛᴇᴅ, ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ) :

1 - hoku city is a port city where there is currently one major gang at play, named the serpens syndicate. the serpens is an old organization that was started long ago as a legitimate business selling alcoholic beverages. as time went on, they expanded their business to things less than legal, and their control over the port makes them strong and rich.

2 - hoku city recently became a prohibition city though it is not well maintained. the serpens is older than the prohibition laws and has many ways to circumvent the system, though the police force is becoming savvy to their m.o.

3 - the current leader of the serpens is ernest meunier. he has an heir, diane meunier. ernest's right hand man was the late byeong-hwa, who has a daughter, soyeon. byeong-hwa died and soyeon, groomed to inherit his place, keeps ernest informed with the aid of older informants, who are slowly "aging out" of the life of crime.

4 - diane meets bang chan, a recent police academy graduate, when scouting for police officers the serpens will add to their payroll. she keeps their meeting and acquaintance a secret from all others, barring san, her bodyguard and friend.

now onto pt. ii . . .

[itsclydebitches]

for all that it's very clear RWBY took influence from a lot of anime, the writers sure don't seem to have learned much of anything from it. i'm watching the redub of the classic sailor moon anime right now, and it's insane to me how much better this thirty-year-old anime packed with filler was at things like character arcs and believably redeeming villains and having a main character that is at once childish and yet a great leader who, when the chips are down, could talk some of the worst evils in the universe down from their plans.

if anyone could talk salem out of her plans for world annihilation by just being able to love her, it's usagi tsukino.

Right? Man, I'd pay for a high-budget, animated version of that crossover lol.

That's one of the big arguments of the Why RWBY is Disappointing vid though, using Cowboy Beebop as an example, if I remember correctly. There's no doubt that RWBY has been influenced by a number of classic series, but deliberately mimicking something that worked in another show doesn't guarantee success, particularly if you don't understand why it worked in the first place. I'm constantly emphasizing that stories are whole products made up of a thousand smaller pieces, like a puzzle or a patchwork quilt, and simply slapping one piece down because it looks good in another story isn't enough. You have to carefully build everything around that piece so that it fits into the unified whole. Continuity, world building, characterization, setup... RWBY is very good at throwing out those "cool" moments, but it does none of the work ahead of time (or, just as often, after the fact) to make those moments satisfying outside of the initial adrenaline rush of watching.

Plus, RWBY is over-crowded nowadays. Characters, mysteries, real world issues, and those "cool" ideas have populated like bunnies until, I think, it's easy for a lot of fans to just get swept up in the spectacle of it all. The simpler your story is, the less there is to hide behind, which is why I think a lot of manga like Sailor Moon still rings true 30+ years later. If you do right by your core concepts and prove to the reader (often subconsciously) that your storytelling skills are strong, it will resonate even after new generations have different expectations in their media, or these ideas have become "cliche" in wake of that initial popularity. If we go with a food comparison (always my favorite lol) Sailor Moon makes me think of something like good home cooking. Looking at it now it's simple, it's straightforward, it has some technical flaws, but the comparatively low number of ingredients have all been treated stunningly well and there is an insane amount of love poured into the dish. Meanwhile, later seasons of RWBY feel like a semi-successful restaurant serving a special so long it took the server a week to fully memorize it, rattling off an absurd number of ingredients and fancy techniques used until you're not even sure what the dish is supposed to be anymore. Some diners go, "Wow, what an amazing, clearly high-end dish! And they've included this super rare ingredient which means it must be good." Meanwhile, others are going, "... Honestly, that sounds like Too Much. I'd have preferred a simple, well-done pasta." And all the while the restaurant—which is pretty big and popular now, garnering a lot of critical attention—is trying to pass this complicated, fancy-for-the-sake-of-fancy dish off as the product of a humble, mom-and-pop establishment. No, you used to serve that kind of food: simple, technically flawed in a lot of ways, but with so much love poured into the dish that most diners didn't care. Now people suspect that your chefs are miserable and we definitely know they're overworked, so even if that insane dish would have tasted great to certain pallets, it was doomed before it even left the kitchen.

[juniperpyre]

Do you think it was more essential for James to develop a more binary way of thinking than the others? I imagine James growing up as Voldemort is coming into power and in family that’s known for radical beliefs may have influenced him. It is probably easier to develop a simpler view as a way of coping and understanding as a child. James hating the dark arts isn’t inherently bad because he is more vulnerable than the others to Voldemort - adding to the necessity and weakness of his worldview. Yet, James not recognizing that most things are not as easily categorized as Voldemort is dangerous.

I wouldn't say it's essential for James to have black and white thinking on a human level, but on a narrative level I think it's a great character trait. black and white thinking is an ideology of purity, which james, and his son, the protagonist of the series, are both fighting against.

I think you're arguing that James' position as a wealthy pure blood man who is growing up with a genocidal war looming makes his childhood intellectual resistance to pure blood supremacy aggressively rejecting anything associated with pure blood supremacy. this includes the Dark Arts and the conservative, reactionary pure blood/wizarding world culture. since he is being invited in he will not risk accidentally being charmed by the ideology.

I think this is logical. I'm sure his parents raised him with inclusive, compassionate values, and he is clearly a loyal, helpful, loving person to those he cares about. he takes a left turn in thinking he owes none of this compassion to people he categorizes as "bad", and I doubt he spends a lot of time questioning why he considers certain people bad and certain people good until his late teens. to him it is abundantly clear, and people are stupid or stubborn when they refuse to acknowledge the universal truth that, coincidentally, aligns with his own perspective.

*cough*this adds to his fixation on lily and severus*cough*

Another element to consider in James' black & white thinking is that he is categorized as "good" by his society. this means his perspective is in alignment with the dominant culture, since obviously he sees himself as good. the dominant culture, which he opposes, enforces this core belief. this is a complicated knot for anyone to undo, much less a child.

untangling the knot would require James to inspect his core beliefs and his own goodness. is there an itch in him, somewhere, that something in his morality is wrong? um, yes. I doubt his bullying actually aligns with the values his parents taught him, but it's very easy to ignore the itch you get when a core part of your identity is challenged.

I don't even think his core beliefs are disrupted or shattered when he does start to untangle the knot, like, James is right. pure blood supremacy is bad. it is okay to use violence in your resistance. taking the fight to the bigots is brave, and he, as a wealthy pure blood, trying to fight back against discrimination is good!

I see one of James' core identity traits is him as a protector. that comes across in his care for Remus, his home being where Sirius runs, his demands for Severus to apologize to Lily, his role in the Order, and, finally, in his self-sacrifice when he uses his life as an obstacle between Voldemort and Lily & Harry. so if actions he justified as being good because they're against baby Death Eaters and therefore protecting muggle born students, are actually bad (what he did to Severus in SWM was harmful) is he even a protector?

like, yes, he still is, no one is perfect, but having to ask that question is painful for him. I discuss Lily saying he's as bad as Severus here, but tl;dr James thinks because he's not using slurs he's "good" and therefore does not need to introspect. right? he has never laid awake at night wondering if he is just as bad as Snape. he never shoves down a feeling of wrongness when he and Sirius harass a student who is obviously less skilled than they. he is good, so what he does is good.

I think jkr stumbled on great character writing with the way she portrays James' morality. it would be better if we got more time, but I believe he represents a common kind of privileged person who, for all of their good intentions, has trouble unlearning the dominant cultural values. it's a very sharp portrayal of that kind of person, who is usually displayed as ignorant and silly.

not seeing more of James weakens this (because jkr can't follow thru with the og ideas presented bc to do so would critique liberalism in a possibly radical way). nonetheless, I really like how horrible he's allowed to be as a teenager. it is developmentally appropriate for teens to be egotistical and be black & white thinkers, as long as they're growing out of it.

I do want to note a positive of this: it takes a lot of James to stop believing in someone. he trusts his friends immensely and it would take a lot for him to give up on them. Lily is the same.

haha "than the others" and I've only discussed James. yes, I think the struggles of the other character's lives put them in constant grey areas, and none of the other characters have both family and society reinforce their inherent goodness in a way they agree with. this makes it way easier for James to develop black and white thinking than the rest of them.

[itcamefromthetoybox]

Past His Prime

Hey there, hi there, ho there! I’m back. Ended up taking a break from the blog to finish moving and just never got around to it for a while. One of those, “oh yeah, I’ll work on that tomorrow” things where I kept meaning to but kept forgetting. But yes! I am back! And on my update schedule of “when I get to it.” But what exactly dragged me back? New toys from the upcoming “Transformers: One” movie! Today, we’re going to be looking at “Transformers: One Prime Changers Optimus Prime.” How does the latest version of the Autobot leader hold up? Is he a hit or miss? And is he worth the big price tag? Let’s dive in and answer those questions!

Now, as of this article, the movie isn’t out yet, so I can’t spoil anything or say too much about the plot or characters, other than that the movie is about Orion Pax and D-16, the best friends who will become the heroic Optimus Prime and the evil Megatron. If you don’t know who those characters are, then I am very confused as to why you’re reading a review of Transformers toys. Are you that bored at work?

Now, what is a Prime Changer? Prime Changers, basically, are the main figures of the “Transformers: One” toyline. They’re simpler than the collector-aimed “Studio Series” line, and are the off the shelf figures for kids you’d think of when you think of Transformers. No fancy gimmicks, no overly complicated transformations, just a robot that turns into something and back again.

At first look, Prime Changer Optimus Prime looks great. He’s very colorful, blocky-looking, and seems to be exactly what you think of when you think of a young, pre-war Optimus. He has all the expected Optimus details, like the smoke stacks on his shoulders, the chest window, and the wheels on his legs. He’s supposed to capture the essence of Optimus Prime, and he does. Of course, these days, that means he also takes a massive amount of inspiration from the original, G1 Optimus Prime that’s been around since the 80’s and who gets a new figure every single year with no exception, so do keep that in mind. Now, when you get a closer look, flaws become apparent. The wheels in Prime’s shoulders are a different grey than the pant on him, so they stand out like a sore thumb, which takes away from the look. Hollow areas become more noticeable, and there’s nothing particularly new or interesting to compensate for those cosmetic letdowns.

Articulation-wise, Optimus is pretty decent. Very posable, lots of joints, just as you would expect. There’s nothing really shocking or dynamic here. Saying that a mainline Transformer is very posable is like saying ice is cold. Like, yeah, I would certainly hope so. If it wasn’t, I’d have some concerns. It’s important to note, though, that there are some limits on his poses. Optimus comes with a removable Matrix of Leadership that he can theoretically hold in his hands to recreate the classic “lighting our darkest hour” pose everyone does with the Matrix. The thing is, his big chest gets in the way of that, so he needs to hold the Matrix at about gut level. It looks a lot less impressive than you’d hope and a lot more like Optimus is rubbing it on his stomach for luck.

Speaking of his waist area, while he does have a waist joint, his crotch design actually limits how much the waist can rotate. And by “limits,” I mean he can barely rotate. It’s kinda a letdown, because the parts are there, but the toy itself stops you from using them.

So, this is a Transformer, so let’s talk about transforming. I hated this part. It wasn’t complicated, true. It was very straightforward, with a few extra steps like rotating the arms and opening the legs, and the process integrates Prime’s ax accessory into it, so that has a place to store, which is nice. The problem is that you gotta line up some tabs just so to make sure the whole thing pegs together right, and that was a living hell. I spent more time trying to get those tabs on his legs and the holes on his back lined up than I did on any other step of the transformation. It was frustrating as hell, and I really don’t wanna do that again. Also, part of the transformation is unfolding the truck grill from behind Prime’s chest. It’s a simple process with no extra steps, but if you have short nails, it’s gonna be more of a pain than it should be. Getting the axe into position for vehicle mode takes way too much fiddling and adjusting to be worthwhile. Transforming this guy was really annoying and not all that fun. As for getting him back to robot mode, that’s a damn chore. Prime’s back piece doesn’t like doing a lot of what it’s supposed to, and parts pop off constantly. Unless you’re very careful, expect Prime’s arms, chest, and back to pop off at least once during transforming, which especially sucks because reattaching the back is a pain. It took a while before I was able to transform him even once without any issues, and I remain convinced I just got lucky.

Of course, Optimus Prime turns into a truck. It’s basically an alien version of the truck he always turns into. If you’ve seen one G1 Optimus Prime truck mode, you have a solid idea of what this dude looks like. The truck mode doesn’t roll well at all. The back wheels just barely clear the legs to roll unencumbered, to the point that if you get a figure with the molding off by even a smidge, you’re outta luck.

Let’s talk accessories. Optimus comes with his axe, two smokestacks, and the Matrix of Leadership. The axe looks pretty good. Between the sculpting and color, it looks like a mechanical weapon charged with energy, and the sculpting and paint at the base make it look like the axe emerged from Prime’s palm.

It fits over Prime’s hand, with a peg inside the base that Prime holds onto, The problem here is that once Prime has it, he doesn’t wanna drop it. It’s a snug fit. Too snug. The way Prime’s hands are attached to his wrists means that you need to be careful taking the axe out of his hand, or else the hand will pop off. I find that pressing against where his hand connects to his wrist helps hold the hand in place while I pull the axe off.

Prime’s smokestacks are meh. They can be removed from his shoulders to be held as a pair of pistols that are blatantly just smokestacks in his hands. When you transform Prime, they will want to come right out of there, so keep an eye on them.

The Matrix, though, is awful. Just, really awful. It looks and feels cheap, which is a shame considering it’s the damn Matrix of Leadership. It’s also inconsistent about staying in Prime’s chest. Sometimes, it fits pretty well. Sometimes, it feels a bit loose. But the thing I really hate about it is that its plastic and design are definitely cheap. This became clear to me the first time I transformed Prime. When transforming Prime, the instructions say you can leave the Matrix in his chest, because its storage spot is a peg on the back of his truck grill.

The instructions are a sheet of lies. The Matrix takes up just enough space where it will get knocked out when transforming Prime, or , worse, it’ll break. The first time I transformed this figure, before I even took pictures, one of the handles on the Matrix snapped off.

This actually revealed how cheap it was to me. See, the break was a clean break. TOO clean. It seems like the handles of the Matrix are actually separate parts that were glued onto the Matrix, and that glue’s not exactly the stuff of legends. When I looked at the break, I also noticed that it looks like the Matrix itself is actually painted over blue plastic, the same kind Prime’s axe is made of. The Matrix is very small, and the plastic is very thin, so any amount of force on it’s going to break it. Hell, the plastic is so weak and cheap that when the handle broke off, I didn’t even notice. I didn’t feel any resistance or indicator it was in the way of the transformation. It was there, and then it broke. As easy as I breathe with as little notice. If you wanna keep it safe, just take it out and set it aside, only to be used for poses.

And now, of course, the main issues I have with this figure. I know plastic’s gotten more expensive, so toy companies are cutting costs. I get that. But by God, this figure feels cheap. The plastic feels so cheap to the touch that it’s the first thing my wife commented on when she touched Prime. When you start looking him over in your hands, you notice how hollow the toy is. He LOOKS very solid and bulky, like Optimus should. This makes how light he is feel surprising, and how hollow he is feel like a letdown. Some parts, like his chest plate are thin enough that I can see the shadow of my hand on the other side. Also, he’s just so damn small, He’s frustratingly short. I’m gonna sound like an old man here, but I remember when a $20 Transformer had some size and heft to him. This Prime’s smaller than the $10 ones I had as a kid and still do have. Between the cheap plastic, the parts popping off, how hollow and short Prime is, and how easily the Matrix broke, the whole toy just feels super cheap. 

“Transformers: One Prime Changer Optimus Prime” is available at mass retail for a starting price of $20 and is aimed at ages 6 and up. Would I recommend him? Absolutely not. This is really not a good toy. The plastic feels cheap to the touch, the transformation’s a pain, parts pop off way too easily, his guns are literally just his smokestacks held at a different angle, the Matrix is small, thin, and breaks easily, his waist is impeded by his own body, and he’s just so damn short. I can’t in good consciousness tell people to spend $20 on something so damn small that doesn’t even bring anything new to the table and, if anything, is a significant downgrade from what’s come before. Like, I compared this to older figures I have. It’s literally more money for less toy. This figure was such a letdown that it made me not want to get the other Prime Changer figures. I was actually turned off from an entire series of figures because of how annoying and disappointing this one toy was. He looks good from a distance, but then you get him in your hands and all the flaws, big and small, come shining through. Definitely pass on this one. I know, I sound like an old man. “Things were so much better when I was a kid.” Well, I handed this figure and some of my older ones to my wife, someone with very little interest in Transformers, who didn’t grow up with the figures or shows and has no problem telling me when she thinks I’m completely wrong or being that old guy. She actually agreed with me completely. Compared to the older toys, this one’s really not good. It’s more money for a toy that is significantly smaller and of lower quality. I know this is what’s out there, and this is all kids and collectors have on the market, but that doesn’t mean you should throw money at something that’s clearly not good. You want a great Optimus toy? Go on eBay. There’s plenty of fantastic old Primes from past movies and shows there for decent prices that WON’T break in two seconds and actually have some size to them. Next time, who knows what we’ll be looking at! Hopefully something I don’t feel an immense case of Buyer’s Remorse over. This is JS signing off and wishing you Happy Toy Hunting!

[ilynpilled]

this is an incoherent and unedited stream of consciousness but what i also take away from the whole process of mythmaking in the series is that it is in dialogue with the meta in such an interesting way.

ofc the series itself is a ‘song’. it is about stories and their power. it is about seeking meaning in fantasy. thrones alluded to this with the ending but it fumbled pretty hilariously at it. but i think there is an interrogation of truth inside of this whole dialogue. like a false ideal presented in fiction vs ‘truth’ in fiction. propaganda vs meaningful humanistic existential depth etc. jaime is a very existential character. he wants to make himself into a story. he wants to make his life have meaning because he dreads his existence and himself as a human being. he has one of the most severe existential crises in the series. “why would the stars want to look down on such as me?” is that. the stump is about an empty space that he needs to fill. it is about severing a previous identity, it is a metaphor for so many things in his life. but he in particular has such a layered relationship with stories and how they function and what his role in them is. he hates lies. he hates songs and stories for lying to him. he hates the story that he became, it destroyed his identity. and yet after hope is rekindled he once again desperately grasps for an unachievable false ideal to redefine his existence so he can stop hating himself. i reiterate, a figure like “arthur dayne” is as much of a lie as “kingslayer.” like these are all lies or incomplete truths. there is no goldenhand the just either, just the ugliness of a stump, as he subconsciously concludes in the dream in affc. human beings are more complicated than myths. so i cannot help but think that the whole idea of legacy in jaime’s story is more about the eyes of the reader and himself and certain characters rather than the eyes of the world that he is in. that feels like such a rich metatextual mess that works so well thematically. deconstructing and reconstructing the knight from the stories. what i find interesting is that the songs and myths within asoiaf are also often about ‘dehumanizing’ the subjects, but the series itself at its foundation is about thoroughly humanizing its characters. the songs are about interpretation, and they are not meant to be defining or all encompassing. they can often present a false reality that upholds a status quo rather than depicting truth. but they can also hold some universal truth in their depths that humanity can thrive for. that feels like a very intentional conversation the text is having with itself and its genre.

anyways yeah he is deeply concerned with ‘legacy’ and what mark he will leave. what the whole point of his existence was. he wants to redefine his existence, and he is desperate to make that definition something redeemable. i generally view the whole process of redemption and reformation as something unanswered and continuous. being better is not something you just “become” to me. it is not about being a bad or good person deep down, i do not think that is at all how george views human beings, it is about choices you make and keep making. with a character like jaime it should not be something that clearly and straightforwardly concludes with a simple answer. being better is a choice that has to be made every day. i have said that i am not that fond of the redemptive heroic death thing because again that is not something he is afraid of in the text, it feels very straightforward, and it is something he craves because in some ways he thinks meaning lies in that, not even a heroic death but just death where he dies with a sword in his hand. and yeah it is easier for him because it is simpler than confrontation and the grueling untangling of knots. fighting things physically is easier. being defeated physically is less scary. but i do not necessarily mind it if he dies eventually after key confrontations and some form of meaningful atonement and a form of existential victory. i do certainly get the feeling from the text that his life is on a timer right now and he has to make do and atone with the time that he has left. he is an older generation character that is attempting to actually redefine his existence, not just make something out of it like many of the other protagonists dealing with identity. but i cannot help but really dig the idea that george could be subverting that aspect of his character and he might conclude with the open and difficult reality that redefinition and reformation and redemption is not as straightforward as just ending your story on a better note and leaving a decent legacy. it could be about having to live with your flawed humanity and what you are as a whole and continuing on an unending inconclusive path of change anyway. that is more difficult and real, and accepting that reality requires existential courage.

songs are songs. jaime hates being a dehumanized figure. the kingslayer is like a figure from a song. much of the core of his character is that he is a human being that was in many ways ruined by being turned into a larger than life figure and myth. he is the villain and monster in the songs and stories. and that is the role he fulfills in the series up until this point too. during asos he realizes he wants to be the hero again like he used to dream as a young boy (the dream was always lingering, that romantic soul never really goes away, much of the JC dynamic for him is rooted in that fantasy, this idea of creating a false ideal: a song, something that gives his existence meaning). he thinks these things have meaning again in a deeper and more conscious way. but the series is not simple like the songs in it, it goes inside of the heads of these figures and it contextualizes them. how you are remembered by history is ultimately out of your control. again, those songs are not really ‘truth’. jaime deals with this so much. he is trying to write a story right now: a story that he chooses. that is what the white book is about. but he explicitly says he would rather slash it into pieces than fill it with lies. he keeps repeating he is sick of lies, which is a loaded statement concerning so many things in his arc. and the white book page is meant to represent his existence. i would like it if the whole idea of how jaime is remembered is more about the meta rather than an in universe thing. i would not mind jaime leaving a “bad legacy”. i do not think it matters how the songs remember him. what matters is where he actually ends up as a human being and what paths he had taken. i like it more as a conversation between him and the reader primarily. maybe the “heroes will always be remembered: the best and the worst and a few who were a bit of both - one of us is like to live in song etc.” is more about the impression of the reader, and the song is the series itself. that whole passage is very unsubtly meta anyway, we are supposed to point at him as we are reading the page, just as he points at the kingmaker. i am sure he is gonna be a figure that lives in song within the text too, i just do not think that is really about truth or what is ultimately defining for his story. like i would find it poignant if his legacy is a mixed bag or even a not particularly good one in history, and if he is never contextualized or redefined in the eyes of his world, but that will not change the reality of his actual story that we get to witness through his eyes and the eyes of other key characters. it makes it more meaningful to me bc then it becomes about an internal existential battle rather than an external one. and we know it is deeper than that for him already: “he did not think the maesters were like to confuse him with Prince Aemon the Dragonknight when they wrote their histories. Still, he felt curiously content.” i think his existential victory should be internally driven rather than defined by an uncontrollable external lens that often falsifies reality anyways, and never understood the people that thought him regaining his “honor” in the lens of westeros is what his arc’s interrogation of redemption is about. affc deconstructs that for him. like that is what his story arc played with a lot already. and his atonement is more about specific relationships with specific characters, not the eyes of history. what history hates him for is one of the most heroic acts in the series, that is not what has to be addressed and reformed.

what is also apparent to me at this point is that asoiaf doesn’t really have concrete conclusions and all encompassing rigid answers concerning the concepts that it interrogates. like obviously the characters have a different view of things. there are distinct philosophies that can all be reasonable and can contradict each other. there is a certain amount of relativism that is inherent to the structure of the story. george is giving the reader a bunch of perspectives, and allows them to decide for themselves. he is not gonna hold your hand and give you a straightforward answer on most things. take for example the whole:

"Are you saying you are monsters?"

"I am saying we are human. You are not the only one with wounds, Lady Brienne. Some of my brothers were good men when this began. Some were ... less good, shall we say? Though there are those who say it does not matter how a man begins, but only how he ends.” (this one especially is very tied to Jaime considering who it is said to and where and when etc)

vs

“A good act does not wash out the bad, nor a bad act the good. Each should have its own reward.”

and many many other statements made by different characters at different stages and said to different protagonists dealing with the same question.

what i am trying to say with all of this is that i do not really have a preferred concrete endgame in that sense nor do i expect george to give a clear answer to certain questions proposed in his arc, but i do have certain conceptual preferences. i do not want him to end up “rewarded” or absolved, i think a lot of people project that onto people arguing that his arc is about redemption and an interrogation of redemption. idk if i would really like his story ending with him dying and then history remembering him as an “honorable” man because a passage written in the white book by a person he saved like in the show. i guess it is not that bad because it was obviously not his intention or goal by the end, but still. the only thing i really want for him is a well written existential victory, which is not really about absolution to me. he has been in a state of existential defeat and cowardice for like 20 years, locking himself into moral nihilism and false fantasies as a result of the incoherent moral structures of his world and his trauma and dissociative tendencies and rage over how he is understood. i just do not want his story to end with that again. that is what i would view as cynical and “pointless” and cyclical in an empty way. like i am not sure i want key decisions that may lead to tragedy to be self sabotage either. i want it to be a choice with meaning to him. i think it would be along the lines of accepting and confronting truth and reality and not letting hope be defeated by it, and continuing to believe that choices hold meaning despite it all.

[aruanimess]

*blows a kiss* 47, 62, 64, 77, and 91

Hi!!! *kisses and hugs*

ask game referenced

47. what story are you most proud of?

I'll have to break fandom lines for this one, since I haven't published much in the snk fandom, but it's definitely my rhaenicent fic Remorse is memory awake (idk why I'm linking it nobody here cares, but oh well). I'd never worked with two different timelines in the past, but I'm supremely proud of how that one turned out. Chapter 3 especially has this huge brawl that breaks out between the characters where everyone's involved and the rising tension is just excellent.... sometimes I worry I'll never write anything half as good again.

62. what’s the weirdest reason you’ve ever shipped something?

I thought I was weird for shipping Armin and Annie lmao, but turns out there're many of us. And I started shipping them because I took the Female Titan Arc as a thinly veiled metaphor (and not so metaphor) about Armin falling in love. But turns out, my weird ass assessment was kind of canon? Isayama is just as weird as the rest of us, it seems.

64. what is your favourite title for a fic you’ve read?

For someone who agonizes over titles, I sure don't notice them a lot lol. Most of the time I remember a fic from the premise rather than the title. Right now the only one that springs to mind is These City Lights by Katsy0c0, because I feel like it captures the tone of the story perfectly.

77. how do you write kissing scenes?

Hmm, I guess it depends on what I want to achieve with it. Is it the first kiss? is it the 1000th kiss? the last kiss? Also, is it meant to be sexy, is it meant to be romantic, casually intimate, tragic? I go into more or less detail based on the answers to these questions and the language changes as well.

91. how has your writing style changed over the years?

This is something I don't really pay attention to until I read my older work. Other than the technical stuff (better sentence structure, more complicated and yet simpler plots, better handling of tone) I think the main difference is that these days I'm trying to be more vulnerable and honest on the page.

I used to write a lot of things that sounded cool, but with very little substance to back them up. Like I still write this sort of thing, it's just that now I'm allowing the characters to do most of the heavy lifting without forcing them into impossible scenarios, and I believe the end result is more impactful that way.

[thistransient]

- So I went to the Taiwanese trial class with my friend. It was taught by a little old lady who was nice enough but gave me some mild flashbacks to those harrowing weeks with the Mandarin teacher of a similar age. Most of the session was her explaining the history of 台語 in Taiwan, with a side of trying to force the 8 tones and counting from 1 to 10 upon us via rote memorization. I felt a bit frustrated and not entirely thrilled, my friend was miffed that the school hadn’t explained the price they quoted was for the trial class only. We’ve decided to give it a pass and try a different school, although our scheduled trial there is on hold on account of the teacher falling ill. In the meantime my friend has begun to contemplate taking group Japanese class instead (as his partner and her kid are Japanese), which is much more widely available. I am tempted. Do I need to start half-assedly learning yet another language? Probably not. Do I want to divert my energy from Mandarin to whole-assedly learn Japanese? Also not really. Is there a high chance of following through nonetheless? At least I’m self-aware about it...

- Job applications here largely require a photo, and I need a haircut but I’m afraid to go back to the place I went in August for the big chop. The guy started cutting it while wet, then broke out the blow-dryer and kept snipping til he was satisfied, but because my hair is curly and I do not own styling product more complicated than a comb, it reverted immediately to a vague dandelion shape and took several months to actually resemble the reference photo I’d provided. The thought keeps crossing my mind to simply shave my head entirely. I had it buzzed to a 3 some ten years ago after a dye-job gone wrong and did not enjoy my appearance. Of course I look different now, and hair grows back, but the struggle between wanting the catharsis and radical change (not to mention less mess in the shower drain strainer) of a head-shave, and fearing the hassle of growing it all back out if I do truly detest it is raging inside of me.

- After coming back from Korea I may have spent one whole day languishing in bed and eating spoonfuls of peanut butter as a meal before slowly reconvening daily activities. I have been meeting some friends and going out, but I end up needing one day of hermit-like recovery for every outdoor social endeavour. I have yet to implement any kind of proper schedule (beyond “try to eat three meals and go outside at least once”), leading my friends to recommend I start by contemplating my greater, overarching goals for life. Every few years I come round to the notion of attempting a STEM degree (which would require redoing undergrad, but, as they say, “the time will pass anyways”). I think it would be really engaging to do a program taught in Chinese, and possibly motivate me to overcome my deficiencies in the math department, which is what always puts me off the whole scheme. Scientific terms are so much simpler in Mandarin because they’re extremely 顧名思義 (just as the name implies); English really shot itself in the foot with all the Greek and Latin. I don’t even need to check the dictionary to figure out 光合 means ‘photosynthesis’... Will I actually follow through with this, and live out my days happily studying trees and avoiding small talk with humans, or will I continue to trundle through life intermittently trying to teach English between bouts of autistic burnout? When I put it that way, the answer seems obvious, but this is without factoring in all the bugs that live in trees... Also wasn’t I trying to convince myself to go to grad school for what, translation? linguistics? library science? something? just a few months ago? Maybe overarching life goals are a red herring at present, and I should just get a job first and then see what kind of things I’m interested in when I have consistent disposable income to pursue them at length.

- I am, at the ripe old age of my mid-30s (I’m rounding up since my birthday is next month- again, so soon??) being forced to reconsider what it means to like someone. Perhaps on account of being socially inept and spending all of my formative years in Catholic school, I took for granted that it was that painful, infatuated pining one feels for attractive strangers or casual acquaintances who generally don’t reciprocate. In the past couple years I began to experience the strange phenomenon of having great affection for friends I’d gotten to know slowly and who became increasingly physically appealing as time wore on, but I wrote this off as Mystery Emotion X because it lacked that frantic obsession I was accustomed to. Now I suspect this may simply be a healthy manifestation of romantic attraction. I’ve often struggled with exactly what identity label the intersection of my gender, attraction pattern, and neurodivergency might land me under. I think the plot is thickening... but I will put off pursuing further clarity by going to the BDSM bar instead.

[prophbuilds]

White Base MS Hanger Set – A Review

Last day of 2024 and the last build is… A Stand?

Yes. That’s exactly what it is. In fact, it’s More than just a stand! It's also Less than a stand. It's... complicated.

Join me in my confusion as I snap up the White Base MS Hanger set! A Gundam Base exclusive kit for some unknown reason. O.o

“Hey Proph," I can hear you say, “Why are you reviewing a stand? You have a whole list of stuff on the page you haven’t gotten to yet. Don’t you have better kits to build?”

Well, dear reader… you’re not wrong. I Do have a list of kits – some half finished and others simply not built yet – that I could’ve chosen to make on this last day of the year. Instead, I pulled from the top of the pile and snapped up what I thought was going to be a stand for my HG’s based on the little transport thingies in the White Base’s hanger bay. Before I get into the Why, let’s get into how the build went.

It’s a simple runner’s worth of parts with a single page of instructions. Not really any different from the other stands I’ve made in the past. This one has the neat gimmick of being able to recline the object on it so as it’s leaning back - not unlike the stored position seen in shots of the anime and other artwork from the original Gundam series. Having a bunch of kits, I figured this would be the perfect geeky thing to have on my shelves for my displayed HG kits.

I was Mostly right.

The Hanger Set is as the name suggests: It’s a set of three stands. When I tossed the kit into the cart during the annual P-Bandai sale, I didn’t think much of the “Set" part. I figured it’d be a single stand with some extras. I was pleasantly surprised when I found it was three of them and I didn’t have to pay for the others when I would eventually need them. Where things get sticky is the build of the little beds.

Simply put: These are made for early UC kits. If you try to put anything with a backpack bigger than a Guncannon’s, you’re going to have trouble. And these are not Technically stands. Not in the classic sense, anyhow. They are straight up props that would fit in nicely with the White Base Catapult deck or the other full on Hanger sets that were released. At least… they Would be if they also didn't have a flat chunk of platform that they connect to instead of the larger platforms of those other sets. They have no way of holding the kits placed on them. They just sorta’ lay on them without any extra supports or pegs to place stuff on. Any easy fix but a curious one to have to do, ya’ know?

So what can I say about these? Well… if you’re like me and you want to have something fun or funny to place your kits on, this is an okay buy. Despite my previous paragraphs of mild complaining, I like this little not-quite-a-stand and I think it’ll be the perfect thing to display my simpler HGs on my shelves. If I use it on my desk, it’ll have to have something like double-sided tape on the feet to keep things stable and prevent stuff from falling over but that’s not a terrible issue for me.

The one thing I can say that’s confusing to me is that age-old question, “Why was this a P-Bandai and Gundam Base exclusive?" aside from getting three in the box. Nothing about it really screams “Exclusive!" It’s a stand alone (Ha!) set that wouldn’t really work with other White Base displays. It’s great for rolling your own but the other sets don’t require the extra little plate on the bottom with bits of the hinge built into it.

Kind of a weird way to end the year but Hey! Making that stand leads into what I’m hoping will be the first build of 2025 – the Gundam Base colored HG RX-78-2 Beyond Global kit that I got at the same time as those "Stands”. = )