#but pls give me your thoughts

[marimeeko]

Thought of Izuku falling from the sky and Katsuki catching him and them clinging to each other as they land/hit the ground.

Izuku starting to process everything and saying that he couldn't save Tomura but he may have reached Tenko? Also btw I think I'm quirkless, now, Kacchan, OFA is gone, I let it go...

Katsuki soothing him in an adrenaline high, breathy way, you did your best, you did your best, you're still a hero Izuku, you're the best GD hero around...

And then as everyone in 1a starts to descend on them in celebration, Katsuki literally fucking growling at them to give Izuku some space and some air, DONT FUCKING CROWD HIM!

And someone (probably Kirishima or Kaminari) complaining that HES THE ONE holding Izuku so desperately as if he'd disappear.

Katsuki telling that person to fuck off and squeezing his grip on Izuku as Izuku clings to him.

Izuku silently sobbing into Katsuki and not being able to tell which emotion the tears are from, because there are just so many.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Blue and Fire Engine Red, Pt 6 (smexy times ahead)

To Kara’s surprise, steak dinner happens at Lena’s apartment. From how little Lena has shared so far, she’d expected to wait weeks or months to see where Lena lives. It’s not until she arrives that Kara realizes exactly why Lena is so willing to let Kara into her inner sanctum. 

It’s completely void of personality.

Well, Kara allows, it could be that a lack of personality could be a personality in itself. And there are photos, but they all feature Lena and her crew. All smiling– all recent. Nothing to suggest Lena had a life before National City. She spies a punching bag in one corner, but the rest of the furniture is worn and basic, suggesting the place had come pre-furnished by a landlord who didn’t particularly care about aesthetics. It’s spartan and plain– forthright in a way that actually fits Lena. Still…

Kara wishes the space could have given her a better look at Lena’s inner life. 

The kitchen, at least, is functional enough. Enough that Lena is able to season and sear her steaks to perfection, with some fresh asparagus sauteeing on a side burner. And she does it all with a smile, chatting with Kara as well as she had on the way home. A capable multitasker, Kara notes, though it’s less than surprising. 

Lena seems incapable of being incapable at anything. 

The meal is served up on non-descript plates– at least they’re ceramic and not paper, and Lena does lower the overhead lights to set the mood. Kara moans when the first bite of steak hits her tongue. Moist and savory and perfectly seasoned, it puts anything she herself could have made to shame. The asparagus is also perfectly softened without being mushy, retaining enough of its texture to allow for a bit of a crunch at the center. 

“Are you sure the Army didn’t put you on the chow line? This is delicious!” Kara groans. 

Lena smirks, taking a sip of her wine. “You think ‘chow’ tastes like this?” An arch eyebrow dispels that notion. “Nah. Not so much.”

“Well, wherever it comes from, color me amazed and impressed.”

Kara takes another large–too large– bite, and has to spend several quiet moments chewing her way through it. When she swallows– still too large– she tilts her head. 

“Is there anything you’re not good at?”

Lena’s eyes warm with mirth, but takes a moment to consider.

“Jumping rope.” Lena shrugs. “I hate it. Can’t stand it.”

“But you can do it?”

Lena waves away the answer. 

“Then it doesn’t count!” 

Lena laughs. “Alright, alright… um. Okay. I can’t draw to save my life.”

It’s a surprisingly candid answer. “Really?”

Lena nods. “Any required art classes were passed on charm alone.”

Kara grins. Lena eyes her suspiciously. 

“What?” 

For a moment, they play a game of silent chicken as Kara waits for Lena to say the words, and Lean waits for Kara to confess what she already suspects. Finally, Lena caves.

“You’re an artist, aren’t you.”

Kara laughs, tickled by the suspicion at odds with the twinkle in Lena’s eye. “Maybe…” she draws out, unable to help the taunt. She relents when Lena’s eyebrow climbs dangerously close to her hairline. “Okay, fine. Yeah. I am. Kind of. At least, I was.”

“You were?” 

“Not much opportunity to flex my brush skills on a cop’s schedule,” she deflects, unwilling to dull the mood with the somber reality. If Lena suspects the deeper reason, she gives no indication. 

Instead, she tilts her head. “Well, I’d like to see some of your work, sometime.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Lena confirms. “If you’re willing to share, of course. No pressure.” She takes another sip of her wine. “I just know that anything you do would be amazing.”

Lena’s voice is low and throaty, and Kara senses the shift to a mood far more intimate than playful banter. “In that case, you would be right,” Kara confirms, leaning forward across the table. “Play your cards right, and I’ll prove it to you. Again.”

“Uh uh,” Lena returns, leaning to meet Kara midway across the table. She pecks a tantalizing kiss to Kara’s lips. “Tonight is my turn to go first.”

“Oooh,” Kara purrs. “I don’t mind the sound of that.”

She plays a light drumroll on Lena’s ass as she clears the dishes, which only receive a quick rinse before being forgotten in the sink. Lena’s attention turns to Kara, who feels the weight of her focus like a planar shift. The rest of the world ceases to exist, narrowing to the two of them alone.

They haven’t even reached the threshold of Lena’s bedroom before warm lips caress the skin of her neck. Her flesh prickles with goosebumps, a frisson of desire coursing through her. She wants this, and the flutter of nerves in her belly only heightens her anticipation. She’s never wanted anything– or anyone– as much as she wants this, wants Lena. She doesn’t know what Lena has in store for her, and doesn’t quite know how her body will react to her ministrations. If her current arousal is anything to go by, Kara suspects she might not survive what’s to come. And she’s perfectly fine with that.

Lena guides her with gentle hands to sit on the edge of the bed. For a moment, Kara thinks she’ll sit on her lap, like the last time on her couch. But instead, Lena lays her back, leaning over her with a muscled arm holding her up.

“Tell me what you want,” Lena murmurs between slow languid kisses. Kara whimpers into her mouth, making Lena’s lips curl in a smile against hers. “That’s not an answer, love.”

For a moment, Kara struggles to think, but Lena doesn’t relent in her ministrations. It takes long minutes of nearly losing herself in the sensations before she manages to conjure her wish.

“Let’s go slow.” she murmurs.

Lena pauses immediately, but Kara keeps her from pulling away by cupping her cheek. Lena gazes into her eyes, studying her to understand the meaning behind her words. Then, slowly, a low fire sparks deep in her gaze.

“How slow, exactly,” she asks, low and silky.

Kara lifts her chin to kiss her. “As slow as possible.”

Nodding her understanding, Lena runs a velvet touch up under Kara’s shirt; slow enough to count each and every rib. “And where would you like to start?”

Breath hitching when Lena hits a sensitive spot just under Kara’s breast, Kara tries to blink her way to at least partial coherency. 

“Do you have a vibrator?” she gasps.

Lena nods, nuzzling Kara’s ear. “Excellent idea, darling.”

Finally, Kara releases herself to the experience. Lena takes her time with her, going deliciously slow as she raises Kara’s shirt by inches, kissing every exposed bit skin on her way. Not just kissing. Licking, nibbling, suckling. She lingers on Kara’s breasts, brushing her thumbs over pebbled nipples as she diverts back to Kara’s lips. 

Slowly but surely, Kara’s skin heats with pleasure. But when her breath starts to quicken, Lena draws herself away. Without Lena’s body heat against her, chill air washes over her, making her groan. She squeezes her eyes shut in frustration.

“Now, now,” Lena tsks. “I want you to watch.”

Kara’s eyes fly open, and she props herself up on her elbows to watch as Lena unbuttons the fly of her jeans. Her fingers dip beneath her waistband, and Kara’s breath goes ragged in her chest. But just as smoothly as they slide under, they slip back out, and Lena shimmies out of her pants. 

She kicks them aside as soon as she steps out of them, and Kara is left to ogle smooth, tones legs. Lena may not match Kara for height, but her legs are long and packed with muscle. Kara’s mouth goes dry.

“Jesus fucking christ,” Kara mutters. 

Lena saunters closer, a satisfied smirk on her face. “Well, hopefully he won’t be the one fucking tonight.” 

She tilts Kara’s chin up. Kara lets her mouth gape, just enough for Lena to see the invitation and take it. Her tongue slides over Kara’s, then curls languorously up and along the roof of Kara’s mouth. She sucks against Kara’s upper lip as she withdraws, and Kara lists after her when she sits back on Kara’s knees. 

“Do you want to see more?” Lena croons.

Kara swallows thickly. “All of it,” she croaks. “I want to see all of you.”

Lena smiles, pleased with her response. She grips the hem of her shirt with her fingertips, and slowly begins to pull it up, up, up over her abdomen, her breasts, and finally her head. Dark hair flows through the neck opening, swishing around Lena’s bare shoulders. When Lena’s fingers move to her bra, all higher function vacates Kara’s brain. The little strip tease that follows sends bolts of arousal down through Kara’s core, pooling between her legs. Soon, only Lena’s underwear remains.

When Lena twists to deposit her bra on the pile with the rest of her abandoned clothing, Kara catches sight of a dark smudge on Lena’s ribs, but it flashes out of sight and out of mind when Lena turns her attention back to her. 

Thankfully, Lena makes quicker work of Kara’s own pants. Soon Kara is completely and enthusiastically nude, and Kara notes that Lena makes no mention of how wet she is. Kara’s glad for it– she suspects it will be her default state whenever Lena’s eyes take on this sort of glint. 

She jumps when the first rumble of the vibrator tickles the inside of her thigh. She inhales through her teeth, and is answered by a palm pressing flatly against her labia and clit. 

“Easy,” Lena coaxes. Her lips still smirk though. “Don’t want you getting worked up too soon, do we?”

The even pressure on her groin eases some of the edge that had been building within her, and she manages to take a breath that relieves any more. Even so, she knows that once Lena gets to work with the vibrator, she would be hard pressed to draw this out as long as she hoped she could.

Lena isn’t one to disappoint. She plays Kara like a fiddle, taking her tantalizingly close to edge after edge, before drawing her back down again and again. Her technique is expert– the vibrator seems to trace patterns everywhere but her clit. Her labia, her bikini line, even the bottom edge of her belly. Sometimes, when Kara lingers too long on one edge, a warm tongue soothes her clit, dulling the hungry ache.

“Hanging in there?” Lena checks in once Kara stops squirming. 

“Barely,” Kara gasps, panting. 

“You are so hot,” Lena purrs. “You’re doing so good.”

That alone almost almost pitches Kara over the precipice. She curls her fingers into the sheets, gritting her teeth. “Soon,” she warns.

“Just say the word, baby. I’ll get you there.”

Lena starts again, taking her time tracing more patterns around her ultimate destination. Slowly, inevitably, the pressure building to unprecedented heights. Kara’s never been attended to like this, never been read so plainly, so intuitively. It’s as though Lena has already memorized her body, chasing every sensitive part of her with expert precision until even the ebb aches as deliciously as the flow. 

When Lena brings the vibrator closer to her clit than she has so far, Kara cracks. 

“Now!” she gasps.

The vibrator has hardly touched her clit when Kara hurtles over. She can’t help the cry that escapes her, loud and long and desperate. She’s never made a sound like this before. She doesn’t realize Lena hasn’t moved the vibrator before she’s tipping into a second orgasm, then a third. The last lingers for long, long seconds and only then do the vibrations cease.

The whine that Kara issues is inhuman to her own ears, but Lena only chuckles as she climbs up to check on her.

“Still conscious?” 

Kara grunts plaintively, as her fingers slowly release the sheets. 

“That was– whoah!”

Lena’s exclamation is swallowed by Kara’s mouth on hers, lunging for a kiss before full conscious thought has even returned. Lena melts into it, letting the kiss deepen and last until Kara is the one to break it. 

“Amazing,” she finishes Lena’s sentence for her. “That was amazing. You’re amazing.”

Lena’s cheeks flush under the praise. “And you,” she returns, “are a glutton for punishment. You lasted longer than I thought you would. Much longer.” She licks Kara’s upper lip so sensually, it almost makes Kara ask for another round. Almost. “Good girl.”

Kara sighs. “I don’t know if I can return the favor,” she confesses. It kills her to say it, but she barely feel her toes. Lena laughs. “I’m sorry…”

“Please,” Lena dismisses, still laughing. “That’s possibly the greatest compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

Kara blinks. “Ever?”

“Ever,” Lena confirms. She smiles, her eyes warm and full of comfort as she gazes down at Kara. “How about an early night then?”

A sigh escapes Kara. “That sounds…”

“Amazing?” Lena teases.

“Yeah,” Kara confirms contentedly. “Amazing.”

[hoshieeyewrinkles]

The jeno stans on Tumblr are unhinged and unstoppable. They are the biggest simps and hoes. It's a whole ass cult now. What's funnier is that Jeno in fanfics is the cuntiest guy ever while irl he is just a pouty bbg.

[portsandstars]

The fact that Kuras supposedly feels guilty, or is repenting- but has such a low empathy score??? Soooo interesting to me. That he would dedicate so much time to help humanity as a doctor if that's the case. Does he not really regret what has happened, and serves humanity now to feed his own ego? Does he see his injured patients the same way that people view insects? And what will a relationship with MC look like, if he struggles to care about their curse and their past?

[hinamie]

Not trying to start anything but is there a reason why you want Yuuji to have kept his injuries so badly? /gen

a ! part of it is the fact that I spent so long figuring out how I wanted to implement yuuji's scars into the way I draw him, n now to have had all that effort be for naught is salt in the non-existent wound :'> there were so many of them that I was pretty proud of myself when I settled on something I was happy with,,,, not to mention they looked so cool cries i was ROBBED

but even from a non-petty non-aesthetic standpoint i have some thoughts on why i think yuuji should have kept the scars. SPECIFICALLY the right eye injury. don't get me wrong megumi having the facial scars that echo sukuna's mask does look cool it's nice and angsty he looks good i do Like it. HOWEVER. i think from a narrative standpoint, to have Yuuji be the one to lose the right eye or have a significant scar in that spot would have been Better visual storytelling. Not only does yuuji spend more time as sukuna's vessel comparatively but Yuuji as sukuna's vessel n foil is SUCH a key plot point (mans literally says "you are me" like>?>??????????) n i feel like the scars n what they represent in that regard are better suited to him. family resemblance if u will.

ik this isn't rly taking into account megumi's torso scars but personally i got no beef with those I think they make sense. he was punched out of sukuna, obv that's gonna leave a mark . "but by that logic couldn't you make the same argument for why megumi keeps the facial scars?", I hear you ask. and to that i say you /could/ but imo megumi's torso scars also carry a symbolism that makes it Meaningful fr him to have them. i'm mostly thinking here about yuuji being better able to Suppress sukuna's true form whereas megumi Couldn't and him having to wear the reminder on his body as a result. at the end of the day though my main gripe really just boils down to the fact that not only does megumi end up with /more/ sukuna-related scars than yuuji, but Yuuji straight up loses /All/ of his. As far as we know he has none now and that's SUCH a shame imo.

I think if megumi were to keep the torso scars + slits where the second eyes used to be (+ some other misc LEFT SIDE facial scars from the fight w gojo and the jacob's ladder attack), with Yuuji instead being the one to sustain the main right eye injury as a visual reminder of sukuna, that would be ideal for Me. Have megumi be an echo of the body, have yuuji be an echo of the face. That way there's good symbolism - the size/placement of their marks better corresponds 2 the nature of the time they spent as vessels + the weight of their respective relationships with sukuna. simple, effective, matching angsty bfs. AND they get to look at themselves and each other and be riddled with intense soul crushing guilt!!!!!

anyway scarred!megu nation we won but scarred!yuuji nation suffered for it and i'm not going to take that slight lying down.

[freyrmichokolatte]

I want to see Lloyd be a dad like pls give me dad Lloyd content I'd write it if I can but I'm in writers block and it's annoying

anywyay dad Lloyd believers where are you

[vastwinterskies]

album-length Hornblower playlists, anyone?

Boy Strange - a Horatio Hornblower playlist

Glow, Miracle! - an Archie Kennedy playlist

Waiting For The Thunder - a William Bush playlist

St. Elmo's Fire - a Captain Pellew playlist

[slowtides]

Poets and political philosophers alike (such as Richard Siken and Karl Marx) have posited that romantic love must be mutual to be love, and that unrequited love or love that is not returned, is not love but something else. Siken claims it is desire, and Marx calls it an impotent misfortune. Others have weighed in as well with varied and conflicting perspectives, from bell hooks to Erich Fromm. But what does tumblr think?

[joethehoeee]

Stricklake Month week 3 : Sunlight/Moonlight

Or...

SunGoddess!Barbara & MoonGod!Walter

You all don't believe how I lost my sanity while drawing that. It is my most detailed work and the longest I ever took to draw. Over 12 hours.

Anyways...

Barbara is the sun goddess, bringing light into the world. Walter it the moon god and brings darkness over the world. Two individuals that are considered too different to get along, however, unbeknown to yearn for each other.

Their outfits are inspired by Gods in all kinds of mythology and obviously my own touch. Both wear a headband-like crown with a moon/sun. They are obviously themed in their colors, however, their eyes are supposed to represent each other. Walter’s eyes grow in a bright yellow while hers show a soft blue. (Obviously it is from canon, tho I thought it was a nice addition to make)

I can't say much about the AU beside the fact that I LOVE IT. My writing explains the World building much better...sooo

Link for my fanfiction for Sunlight/Moonlight

Now close up:

[oneluckydragon]

got hit with the echo+sora brainrot so i am once more rambling in your askbox about it. because reasons.

anywho i think there is something truly saddening about echo's struggles to make peace within herself and how she truly finds it hard to find that peace when she is so certain that if the truth about her origins were to be revealed to the world, much less to *sora*, everything she achieved, everything she worked for, all of which matters to her most, will crumble away in a moment's notice.

but the fear of losing all your life's work is none compared to the fear of losing sora. the feeling of poison that settled itself within themselves and between each other out of fear and tragedy of what had happened to them is familiar. echo's resemblance to dusknoir was already enough to set the two off because of how much it had all hurt to see someone you love and yourself turn into a mockery and a splitting image of someone who had pretended to care yet showed he never did at all, but this poison is louder. it hurts to bare, to carry, and to have none but yourself to be its sole holder.

but this poison, this feeling of heartache is different. because whereas the previous pain was something both of them felt, sora was lucky enough to not have known the truth about the person who she cares for so dearly.

echo knows that she used to be darkrai. and it haunts her to have known that her previous incarnation was so *cruel*, all for the sake of it just feeling right. wishing to engulf an entire world in darkness, solely for whatever desire she used to have.

and for how much she knows, how much she will hammer it into her own head that she is *not* like that anymore, that she looks at her past with sneer and disgust and that she will not be the barer of evil anymore, it will not matter in the slightest when she will have to look at sora if she were to ever find out.

how afraid, angry and dejected she would look when finding out, and how she will go on the defense/offense because of how much this will overwhelm her.

because when echo looks at her own shadow, she sees herself for what she is. she knows what she is, be it out of shame or guilt.

but when sora will look at it, she will see a tall, contorting and menacing shadow, towering over with a bright cyan eye doing nothing but looking at her, as if tempting her to make the next move.

and she defends herself. from someone she knows will not harm her. she raises her arms up in self defense from a hand that would never hurt her more than the world has already did.

she knows echo will not hurt her. and thats why she is afraid.

Oh my oh my OH MY, Sinnoh!!! YES YES YES!

HOW!!! IN THE WORLD!!! Are you so good at crawling into my head and creating these vivid analysis/snippets on my OCs??? I've barely shared ANY information about Echo and Sora because I've been wanting to hoard most of my stuff for when my fic is finally finished... but... I think you've broken my resolve a bit, if I'm entirely honest.

You know what? I'm so inspired by your accuracy and eagerness to talk about my girls that I'm gonna forgo my crippling anxiety regarding my writing skills and instead post a snippet of my WIP fic here as a treat for you. A teaser, if you will. Since I have no idea when the fic in question will actually be done and ready (or when I will be satisfied with it, cause the thing is currently 36,000 words and still slowly climbing). And now you've got me eager to share SOMETHING of my fic with you and anyone that might want to take a peek at it.

Please enjoy this conversation between Dusknoir and Echo. The topic deals a lot with what you'd described up above!! c:

[Note: this is an unedited part of my fic because I am still in the process of writing and it may change in the future, so please be gentle w/ me but I'd love to read any thoughts/comments that pop up while reading!! pls send asks or replies or anything really cause I love you guys]

+++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++

“I’m going to tell you something now, and you are going to listen.” Echo commands with a sharp bite in her voice that Dusknoir cannot fathom ignoring. He pauses and then offers a slow nod, waiting, wondering what she could possibly desire to tell him at a time like this, of all things.

Minutes pass as Echo remains rooted in place, still as her own shadow, and her eyes dart around as she stares at the patches of dry grass and sand beneath her paws. Her claws clench and unclench, digging into the earth like daggers as the wind of the forest (it’s trees so close, just behind them, a looming sort of presence that could engulf them whole) whistles through the surrounding branches, carrying stray leaves of many bright greens through the chilling breeze. Dusknoir watches them dance around Echo, twirling, floating down, down, down… but it’s quiet, too quiet, and Dusknoir feels a shiver pass through him when Echo’s voice finally rings out through the silence.

"When I evolved, Sora was petrified," She says, nearly a whisper, an admission that melts away her confidence and appears to bring her a flood of both shame and regret. Her face twists up then, strangely, like she’d felt a twinge of pain from somewhere deep inside the very fabric of her own soul and was unable to quell it. "She couldn’t even bring herself to look at me most days. At first, my appearance… well, it reminded her too much of you. And eventually of someone I used to be.”

Someone I used to be. At that, Dusknoir’s immediate reaction is to recall Echo’s previous life as a human, as the miserable shell of a creature surviving alongside Grovyle that he’d relentlessly hunted in the dark future. A human made of contempt and anger and apathy, who never smiled or laughed or cried or screamed like the old legends said humans would-- an entity that simply existed rather than lived. An echo of a life long dead and buried. But, judging by her tone, by her voice, by some uneasy intuition itching in the back of his mind like a swarm of pestilent Ninjask… he knows that she means something else entirely. Something that she isn’t willing to share. And frankly, that concept utterly terrifies him.

Someone I used to be. Dusknoir wants to speak, to break his own silence, wants to ask the myriad of questions bubbling up in his throat because this isn't the first time she's hinted at another life beyond being human, but those questions die at the source like a flame doused in water. And always the coward, coward, coward, instead he takes the easy way out by doing nothing at all. Whether Echo notices his surge of inner conflict or not-- the nervous wring of his hands and the tremble in his spine that he cannot control under her gaze-- she does not react.

“I’d take a step and Sora would flinch away.” Echo confesses, her markings flickering with light before going dark and dead, as if her body wished to snuff them out entirely, a deep seated rejection, a self-loathing so strong that Dusknoir cannot help but recognize it and empathize, and his heart aches, “It took ages for her to stop shaking when I’d speak. To stop looking at me like-- like I was going to…” 

Echo grimaces like she’s enduring waves of grueling torture and doesn’t finish that string of thought, but it’s not hard to make an educated guess on what went unsaid. Like I was going to betray her. Hurt her. Break her heart. She’s been through so much already and I couldn’t bear to be another influence in the history of her suffering. I hate myself because of how I made her feel. When her eyes went wide in fear and through them I could see myself staring back like some sort of burden, some sort of curse.

“I am not my past.” Proud and true, Echo straightens up and holds her head high, a spark igniting in her eyes, a glint of determination, a will to keep going and going despite such circumstances and strife, despite this horrid, unspeakable past that haunts her so, “And I am definitely not you. It’s taken a while, but I know that much now. I’ve accepted it.”

I am not my past. And I am definitely not you.

A sigh, a breath, and Echo glances at him with a certain sorrow that cannot be described, a sorrow that lingers even through the veil of her tenacity, "But no matter how I feel, no matter my conviction, my shadows still find ways through the cracks. Every time I think I'm getting a grip and that I might finally understand myself… I change all over again." She admits, sounding more angry and tired than defeated now-- like a mirror of her old self, her human self that had clawed and damned and cursed him, despised him more than anything. "I hate it. I hate that I never truly know who I am. That I have to learn about my past through stories others tell me, or through fragments of twisted, broken memories that I wouldn't wish on anyone. Through conflict and pain and… and..."

"Echo," Dusknoir murmurs her name softly, an offering, a potential escape if only she would wish to drop the subject and forget this conversation had ever happened-- if she'd overstepped and needed an excuse to back out, a diversion, an understanding. And briefly, Dusknoir wonders why she is opening up about this particular information, why she would delve into something so vulnerable, so personal. Why she would bring up this hurtful history when it obviously brings her great discomfort.

And then, he gets an answer.

“You’re lucky, Dusknoir." There it is, that wildfire burning in her eyes again. A spark that’s new and bold and startling. But lucky? No, never. He'd have to disagree, accounting the mountain of evidence that was his life and regrettable deeds.

"You already know exactly who you are and what you’ve done, and most importantly why. You have more than a tattered picture of yourself that reflects broken answers. And you can change with that knowledge. I see you trying.” She tells him, searching, looking for something so deeply and Dusknoir wishes he knew what it could be so that he could give it to her, because he would, he would gladly give it to her without a second thought if it meant they could be close again. But he isn’t a fool, and he’s wise enough to know they’ll never be like they were before. “And if somehow I could change, even as half-assed as I have. Well, then what’s your excuse?”

You can do it, say her unspoken words, I believe in you.

[chososhoeso2]

This morning I realized that I have a type when it comes to web novels. Bc three of my favs that I read recently all have the following in common:

1. Webtoon adapted from a novel which I promptly binged after spending an assload of coins to get caught up on Webtoon.

2. MC that was abused growing up

3. MC escapes their old life somehow

4. In their new life they immediately meet an EXTREMELY handsome, dark haired, brooding man who's dangerous

5. The MC already knew of this man's cold, calculating, apathetic exterior but doesn't know that the man is actually very soft and caring on the inside but has been jaded due to trauma

6. MC ends up spending all their time with this man and ends up falling in love with him even tho this was not part of their plan

7. The man also falls in love with the MC but the MC doesn't actually believe it to be love and believes it to be either out of obligation or for appearances

8. The MC doesn't value their life at all and is willing to sacrifice themselves for their loved ones (including the handsome man) at the drop of a hat

9. MC somehow ends up going away - either by choice or by force

10. Hot man goes to the end of the earth to bring them back

11. Confrontation of true feelings

[transboykirito]

weird little thing i'm writing hi

And then, with an unceremonious, electronic ding, it’s over. The world fades out of view one last time, and he’s met with the endless black under his closed eyelids. It’s all over now. 

Kazuto sighs, exhaling Kirito’s final breath. He’ll always carry him in that hollowed-out section of his heart, like a weight in his ribcage he couldn’t remove, but his journey has come to an end now, at long last. After seventeen years trapped fighting that castle, the swordsman has finally been laid to rest. 

A long, expansive chapter in Kazuto’s life had ended. But, more than that, the fantastic, wondrous, rollercoaster chronicle of Kirito had ended. The final cover closed, the pages yellowed. His adventures had been well-read and well-loved, his story tucked safely in the arms of a fourteen year old beta tester who had the rest of his life ahead of him without even recognising it.

Perhaps, for many years into the future, Kazuto would hide away in the secret library of his mind, dust off his old memories, and remember his time as Kirito fondly, the avatar’s long existence serving as a wonderful and painful memory of the greatest loves and tragedies of his life. But, for now, it was time for him to rest. 

Kirito had been the catalyst for a great many things in Kazuto’s life, and not all of them had been positive. The avatar had also been the cornerstone of beliefs Kazuto would have to spend the rest of his life unlearning, self-loathing and guilt plaguing him for all that alternate self had caused and represented.

But, in the same breath, Kirito had been the string that pulled Kazuto to Asuna, gave them their children. For all the scars he and his avatar had gained together, all the trauma he had faced at the hands of himself, when he took a deep breath and looked around at everything in his life, he had to admit the simple truth, that none of this would exist without him.

Asuna stirs beside him, and Kazuto slowly opens his eyes. The couple sit up silently, then slowly fall into one another’s arms. The versions of themselves who had fallen in love all those years ago no longer existed – then, had they ever existed again after they got married? After they had a child? After they met in the real world for the first time? Wasn’t love just constantly finding new versions to love, new stories to create together? 

[antaripirate]

for hypothetical fic reasons…if an antari was poisoned in the soner rast would nadiya want to experiment on them to properly see the impacts of the poison on an antari…???

[lee-minhoe]

jongup for @babytunninjadrac 🎁 💗

[spikedlynx]

You know… I wonder whose eyes were looking through in TPoH. Putting in a Keep Reading for spoilers stuff in both concept and moments.

So like it's established from the get-go that stuff that's not really tangible is so in the World of Imagination through the introduction of fears, lies, and doubts. Later on we see Hate literally cut panels in half to take away Julienne and Melody. I could go on to name other characters but you get the point.

So POV/point of view/perspective is how the audience sees things. The default for most visual media is third person either limited or omniscient. And that's how we're seeing the events of the comic. But we are seeing through someone's eyes. They are mostly silent but they do talk to us in a few pages (thinking of when we see a bit of Human!RGB's past in the train and when Hero tells RGB about Negative.) It can't be hate because she can't see in the train or when Negative's out but we do. And Mod implied in an ask that we're only seeing highlights of the journey when someone asked/commented about how fast they were moving through the world. (Please link if you know/find it.)

While the mystery person seems to be mostly interested in Hero and RGB, just by the fact that they show us different people like the events of the Black Market collapse and Dial in the Sands of Regret means that they aren't limited in where they can see. And the fact that we saw events that Hate couldn't see and the convo between Dial and Hate implies that the owner of our eyes is fairly powerful.

I might just be overthinking it and this is not an aspect of the comic. But given what we know of the world it is fun to think about. If this is a character I wonder what their motivations are and why they are interested in RGB's quest to save the world.