#ending in good versus evil

[hondacivicbrain]

One thing I've been thinking a lot about amid the argument over the Barbie movie's lack of nominations is the aggressive level of hate it gets.

FYI, this is not about whether I think the Barbie movie deserved more nominations or not because it doesn't matter. It doesn't even matter if it was a good movie or not. It doesn't matter that it was about feminism either. What matters — and what is at the core of all the hate — is that it's a movie for women. For girls.

Anything whose target audience is young women and teenage girls is inevitably slammed with hate.

It will be called overrated. It will be called basic. It will be shit on. The comments and reviews will be FULL of people saying how stupid or terrible it is, how they've always hated it, and how anyone who watches or listens or consumes it is too.

Again, it does not matter whether x product or y performer is overrated, or not talented, or a thousand other insults people (mostly men, but anyone seeking to set themselves, even subtly, apart from people who like popular, feminine things). What matters is the alarming level to which we've normalized the hate that gets thrown at young women — and especially at teenage girls — for daring to like something popular.

Since when has popular become a bad word? Products that are marketed towards women are hugely profitable, and yet critically shamed. Remember pumpkin spice lattes? I've never seen one girl fawn over them as much as I've seen 100 grownass men spew nonsense about how silly and childish and girly a flavor is. A flavor.

It doesn't matter what Taylor Swift's most adoring fans are like, even the ones who are over the top, because no one attacks men who get too enthusiastic about their favorite sports teams or fantasy football the way people attack her fans for being excited to see her in concerts. It's because her fanbase is predominantly young girls, and anything young women are into must be shamed.

The relative anonymity — or at least, the safety — of the internet has enabled people to be harsher than they might in real life, but bullying young women and girls for their interests is not a new phenomenon.

Romance has occupied the lowest rung of the genre ladder for arguably hundreds of years. Wholly romantic movies (meaning movies in which romance is the primary drama, rather than a subplot within another genre) must be *exemplary* to get critical praise. More male-centric genres like dramas or any movie seen as "intellectual" often only have to be *good* to get the same kind of attention. This is not a dig at Oppenheimer or any of the other movies nominated (nor am I saying Barbie is a romance). The point is that romance is held to a significantly higher critical standard because it is largely not for a male audience.

(As a side note, plenty of romance is genderless the way many other genres' audiences are, but as a society we've boxed it into a 'feminine' box and decided feminine=bad. I could write a whole essay as to why.)

I am absolutely not saying Barbie deserved or didn't deserve this or that, or that Taylor Swift should never be criticized, or that romance is a perfect genre. I am not saying these examples are the most important of their kind.

What I am saying is that anything that is both popular and centered around women is always, inevitably, and extremely harshly attacked by people who do not like it, and this has the potential to be incredibly damaging to teenage girls, especially in an age where social media use starts younger and younger.

What happened to, if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all? Or, let people like what they like? You don't have to like something, but you don't always have to voice your hate for it either.

[icedvanillas]

Hot take but a game about the intricacies of free will and how any one decision by any character can impact all aspects of the narrative because choices don't exist in a vacuum and will have consequences on the outcome should not have had a "best ending" where everyone survives at all.

[xyywrites]

The Psychology of Morally Grey Characters: What Makes Them Tick

What Makes a Character Morally Grey?

They’re not fully good or evil. Instead, they operate in the messy middle, where ethics clash with desires, survival, or flawed logic.

They’re justifiable but not excusable. Readers might understand their motives but can’t always condone their actions.

The Psychology Behind Morally Grey Characters

1. They Operate Based on Personal Morality

Grey characters don’t lack morals—they just don’t align with societal norms. They may follow their own code of ethics, which can feel justified to them but questionable to others.

Walter White (Breaking Bad): His descent into crime stems from wanting to provide for his family. His personal moral code excuses his actions, even as they spiral into destruction.

2. Their Actions Stem from Trauma or Desperation

Morally grey characters often carry scars—trauma, loss, or desperation drive them into morally ambiguous territory.

Zuko (Avatar: The Last Airbender): His quest to capture the Avatar is fueled by years of familial abuse and a desperate desire for his father’s approval. His actions are harmful, but his pain is undeniable. 

3. They Prioritize Their Goals Above Morality

A morally grey character may believe the ends justify the means. They’re willing to cross lines for what they see as a greater good—or personal ambition.

Kaz Brekker (Six of Crows): He’ll lie, steal, and kill to protect his crew and achieve his goals. 

4. They Live in Shades of Contradiction

Humans are contradictory, and morally grey characters embrace this truth. They can be kind one moment and ruthless the next, depending on their circumstances.

5. They Force Readers to Question Their Own Morality

The best morally grey characters don’t just act—they make readers uncomfortable. They challenge black-and-white thinking and force readers to empathize with the unthinkable.

Thanos (Marvel Cinematic Universe): His belief in sacrificing half the universe for survival sparks fierce debates about utilitarianism versus morality.

Tips for Writing Morally Grey Characters

1. Give Them a Relatable Core

Readers don’t need to agree with your character, but they need to understand them. Ground their actions in something universal—love, survival, revenge, or a desire for belonging.

2. Show Their Justifications

Grey characters don’t see themselves as villains. They often have strong internal logic that explains their choices, even if the world disagrees.

3. Make Them Likable in Unexpected Ways

Even the darkest characters should have moments of levity, charm, or vulnerability. These moments make readers root for them despite their flaws.

4. Give Them Moments of Humanity

Highlight their internal conflict or flashes of goodness to remind readers they’re human, not caricatures.

5. Show the Consequences of Their Actions

Grey characters rarely walk away unscathed. Their decisions should create fallout—relationships broken, guilt weighing on their conscience, or irreversible damage.

Examples of Morally Grey Characters in Fiction

1. Severus Snape (Harry Potter):

His cruelty toward Harry is undeniable, but his love for Lily adds layers of tragic complexity.

2. Victor Frankenstein (Frankenstein):

A brilliant scientist driven by ambition, Victor creates life but abandons his creature, sparking tragedy.

3. Thomas Shelby (Peaky Blinders):

A crime lord who manipulates, kills, and betrays, yet he fiercely protects his family and battles his inner demons.

4. Eleanor Shellstrop (The Good Place):

Selfish and manipulative, Eleanor starts as morally grey but evolves as she confronts her flaws and learns to do good.

Morally grey characters live in the space between right and wrong, where humanity is at its rawest and most interesting. By exploring their contradictions, vulnerabilities, and justifications, you can create characters that feel as real and complex as life itself.

[spacelazarwolf]

apparently a bunch of ppl on social media are trying to call for a boycott of rick riordan because of this statement in a blog post:

Becky and I are just back from a busy weekend with events at the Boston Book Festival and New York Comic-Con.

Before I get into that, however, some words to acknowledge the ongoing horrors in Israel and Gaza. As many of you may know, I am no longer on social media. My accounts post only updates on my books and related projects. I do not read posts, reply to posts, or share my thoughts about world events on those forums. That doesn’t mean I don’t have strong feelings and reactions. It means I am offline as completely as possible, except for the occasional blog post like this one.

I will say this: Over the last eighteen years, I have received many fan letters from young readers, both Israeli and Palestinian, who often told me that my books helped them escape the fear, grief and anxiety they were dealing with at the time. Some had lost family members to violence. Some were writing while in the distance they could hear explosions, gunfire, and the launching of rockets. They used my books as a way to escape into another world, where the monsters were fictional, and where demigods usually saved the day. While I am always glad that my books can help young readers find joy during difficult times, my heart breaks every time I hear about the things they have to deal with. I am grief-stricken by the horrific events now unfolding, especially because I know that they are part of a long historic pattern that has been robbing too many children of their childhood and perpetuating hatred for far too long.

I am also quite aware that when anyone, myself included, tries to speak about this issue, the reader is waiting to pounce, thinking, “Yes, but whose side are you on?” That is exactly the wrong question. If there are two sides to this issue, those sides are not Palestinian/Israeli or Muslim/Jewish. The two sides are humanitarian and dehumanizing. Dehumanizing has a long evil history. It is appealing and easy to buy into, because humans are tribal animals. We are hardwired to think in terms of ‘us’ versus ‘them.’ We are the real humans, the good guys, the ones with God on our side. Those other people are evil monsters who don’t deserve empathy. Hate mongers have thrived on dehumanizing for as long as there have been humans. It provides them with a purpose, a way to rally support, power, and scapegoats. It is easy to point to atrocities committed by our enemies, while justifying or minimizing the atrocities committed by ourselves or our allies.

Humanitarianism is a much harder sell. It requires us to empathize, to see other groups of people as equally deserving of dignity and quality of life. It requires not always putting ourselves and our needs first. But in the long run, humanitarianism is our only hope. If violence could end violence, if we could put an end to “those other people” once and for all, human history would read very differently than it does.

So yes, I am appalled by the Hamas attacks on Israeli civilians. I am appalled by the suffering of Palestinian civilians in Gaza. Both things can be true. Both things must be true. My thoughts are with all the people who have died, who have lost loved ones, who have had their worlds and their lives shattered, especially the children. More death and violence will not break this cycle, which has been going on for generations. There is no military solution. Even since I first wrote the post, only twenty-four hours ago, the Israeli government’s brutal retaliation against the entire population of Gaza has reached genocidal proportions. This is not only an atrocity. It is folly. Answering misery with misery only creates more fertile ground for extremism, dehumanizing the “other side,” letting hate mongers thrive, stay in power, and reduce us all to our most monstrous impulses. The only real solution is treating each other like equally worthy human beings, and negotiating a peace that allows all parties a chance to live in security and dignity, with hopes for a future that does not include bombs and rockets and gunfire. This means security and support for Israel, yes. It also means a secure Palestine which is allowed to get the international aid and recognition it needs to build a viable state.

Do I think that will happen? Unfortunately, no. Humans are simply too selfish, too ready to blame “the other” for all their problems, too ready to dehumanize, though I also believe, perhaps paradoxically, that most people just want to live their lives in peace and have a chance for their children to have a brighter future. The problem is when we don’t allow other people to have those same hopes and dreams — when it becomes a false choice of us versus them.

What can I do? I will continue to write books that I hope will give young readers some joy. I will resist the urge to demonize entire groups of people. I will call for less violence, not more violence. And when asked whose side I am on, I will tell you I am on the side of humanitarianism.

So with that said, I return to the world of books . . .

honestly, if you have a problem with this statement, it’s probably because he’s talking about you. this is exactly what legitimate activists (as in not just random westerners who share social media posts but on-the-ground activists who are doing real work) have been saying for decades. and i think all this really speaks to just how disconnected a lot of westerners who claim to be pro palestinian are from those activists.

if you can’t read a statement that says “i am on the side of humanitarianism and less violence” without immediately jumping to cancel them, you are the problem being discussed in the above statement.

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCXDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (Pt. 5)

—

Tw: torture scene (GiW agent receiving), general angst, canon-typical violence (DC), nobody is having a good time

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Masterlist/subscription post)

—

It was pretty easy for Danny to forget that Dr. Crane was a rogue at times.

Most of the time he wasn’t comically evil, like what he’d expect of a Gotham rogue. He was helping Danny, even if only because he didn’t want to be taken in by the GiW as well. He was even downright nice most of the time, or at least neutral.

Sure, he had a strange obsession with fear and psychology, but that wasn’t really out of the ordinary for Danny. It didn’t feel like living with a rogue, just like…staying with a distant relative, or something.

He seemed like just an ordinary person.

Today, though, Danny was brought back to reality.

The GiW agent they’d tracked down together writhed on the ground, screaming in pain and terror. Scarecrow was sat a few feet away, setting up a syringe of the antidote he’d made.

After a few more moments, he injected the man with the antidote, watching him like a hawk the entire time.

Suddenly, the man surged forward, lunging at Scarecrow with a feral scream.

Unluckily for him, though, he was still weak from the fear toxin in his system, and from the beatings he’d received prior. Scarecrow easily wrestled him to the ground, settling himself on the broad part of the agent’s back with a vice grip on one of his arms.

“Let’s try again,” he said sharply, all of the warmth Danny had grown used to gone from his voice. “Where is the GiW base of operations?”

The agent took several shuddering breaths before spitting at Scarecrow, defiance and hatred written all over his face.

For just a moment, the room was utterly silent.

“Fine, have it your way.”

Scarecrow began to twist the man’s arm further. It wasn’t long before the agent began to squirm, then writhe, beneath him. Danny’s stomach churned.

“You know,” Scarecrow began, almost conversationally, “there are plenty of jobs that one can get without the use of their legs, especially with the level of education you have. Anything that doesn’t involve hard labor, really.”

The man’s face was beginning to turn red in his struggle not to scream. He took in gasping breaths, the way that his mouth moved almost reminding Danny of a goldfish.

(He felt awful for the comparison, but it was true.)

“However,” Scarecrow continued, “I find you’d be rather hard-pressed to find a job without the use of your arms. Especially in a place like Gotham, where you can always be replaced by someone eager to do your job for even less money. Of course, you could most likely coast off of savings and severance pay for a while, but…”

He leaned closer to the man’s head, his voice lowering.

“Would you be able to live like that? To live with yourself, if you no longer have a purpose?”

He allowed the agent a few seconds of rest before increasing the pressure on his arm. The agent gasped, letting out a strangled hiss. His arm bones were making fascinating noises in response to the strain. Danny felt sick.

“You seem like a rather driven young man. I’m sure your family would hate to see you unmotivated, directionless. Would they resent you, do you think?”

“Fuck you, you—”

The man was cut off by his own scream as Scarecrow finally allowed his arm to break, audibly splintering into thousands of useless shards of bone.

He had the exact pressure memorized. Clearly, he had done this before.

This was wrong. This was wrong.

Shouldn’t Danny step in, do something?

“That won’t heal cleanly. Even with the best medical care in the world, you’ll end up with permanent damage.”

The man below him wheezed and sobbed, choking on air as Scarecrow let go of his arm carelessly, letting it flop back onto the ground.

“Just the sort of thing something like you deserves,” Scarecrow hissed, his voice cold.

“You tortured a child, and you enjoyed it. You laughed with your friends about it. In your notes, one of your friends complained about the screaming,” Scarecrow brought his leg around, grinding his boot into the man’s broken arm. He howled in agony, writhing uncontrollably.

“Was it inconvenient to him, do you think? Too loud? If you were joking about it, clearly you thought so, too. I could fix that as well.”

He drew out another needle, this one once again filled with fear toxin.

“Scarecrow, wait,” Danny choked out.

Scarecrow turned to look at him.

Even his posture was different than usual. He looked… stiff, more like an animal than a man. When he tilted his head at Danny in a silent question, it looked like something in his neck had snapped, his head lolling to the side.

Danny wondered if he was consciously moving like that, or if it was habit at this point.

“You—we don’t have to do this. We can get information some other way, right? You don’t have to…”

Danny looked down at the GiW agent below Scarecrow. He didn’t even have it in him to glare up at Danny like he had before. Instead he laid limply on the ground, tremors rolling through his body uncontrollably.

“We’ve exhausted every other option and you know it,” Scarecrow said, his voice low, “this is the only way we can move forward.”

“Still, I—I don’t,” Danny swallowed, his throat tight, “this isn’t—this isn’t right. Isn’t there some other way to do this? Like—a truth serum, or something?”

“Truth serums are notoriously unreliable. They’re almost as bad as lie detectors. We’re much more likely to get a reliable result from this.”

Danny just stared at the GiW agent and his splintered, ruined arm. He began to weakly wriggle in Scarecrow’s grasp, which was graciously ignored.

He vaguely remembered himself doing the same thing when he was on the operating table; even if he knew there was no chance of escape, he still thrashed and screamed, desperate to get away. The jagged I-shaped incision on his torso felt uncomfortably warm.

What was there left to say?

“The Bat does the same thing at times, you know,” Scarecrow said, “him and the rest of his brood. By using my toxin, I’m actually lessening the amount of permanent damage that I’m doing. Physically.”

“Still, that doesn’t make it right,” Danny said desperately. “Even if—even if everyone in the world did this, it wouldn’t make it right.”

Scarecrow hummed.

They were both silent for a moment.

His next words were gentle, absurdly so when compared to the scene in front of him.

“I would love an alternative. But…”

He shrugged, hand coming to rest on the break in the GiW agent’s arm. Even without applying any pressure, the man stopped squirming immediately.

“There aren’t any other options,” Danny repeated, his voice flat and his body numb.

“Yes,” Scarecrow said. “I’m sorry.”

There was a pause. No one moved a muscle. Eventually Scarecrow spoke again, his voice strangely empty.

“You can stand outside and keep watch, if you’d like. At such a short distance their radars won’t pick us up.”

Danny said nothing, leaving the room silently.

He sat outside for quite a while.

He was grateful that Scarecrow had, with his help, dragged the agent to one of his previous hideouts. It was soundproofed, after all.

He was glad that he didn’t have to hear the rest of what Scarecrow did to the man.

After what felt like an eternity, Dr. Crane left the building, joining him outside. He guided Danny back to his beat up old truck and they drove home in silence.

“Did you at least…do you know where they are, now?” Danny asked as they entered the apartment, his voice small.

“They didn’t share the details of all of their locations with any one person. I know where one of their locations are, but not their main base of operations.”

Danny felt disgusted. With himself, with Dr. Crane, with the GiW.

He was disgusted by the agent, too. Did he just hate the restless dead so much that he would prefer to be tortured than to give them the upper hand? Did he really think he was in the right?

Was there a chance that he was?

Danny felt very, very small, and very stupid. Stupid and weak and cowardly.

“Danny,” Dr. Crane spoke, his voice soft.

“I’m truly sorry that this is happening to you. I really, truly wish that you didn’t have to endure my company. I…”

He fell quiet. Danny wondered if he was just saying this to pacify him, or if he truly meant it. He wondered if it really mattered in the end.

After a few moments of silence, Dr. Crane sighed, looking truly pained.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

Danny was quiet.

“I’m going to bed early,” he finally said, turning away and leaving without a second glance.

—

[misscammiedawn]

Thinking about We Know The Devil and Heaven Will Be Mine today. A duology. WKTD the tells the story of accepting you're queer, framed as a horror story of 3 repressed teenagers at a christian summer camp fighting off their inherent queerness and HWBM tells the story of how one accepts their place in society after embracing their queerness.

WKTD uses magical girl tropes in a fairly grounded Midwestern teen experience.

Magical girl stories often involve the struggle of the forces of Good and Evil. Purity and Impurity. Corruption often being a core theme of any girl squad facing down the nightmarish forces. This can be seen from Madoka's approach to the concept which is often referred to as a deconstruction. The Pink Opaque from I Saw The TV Glow overtly uses these themes in the exact same allegory as WKTD with the evil forces attempting to suppress the queerness of the protagonists.

HWBM uses mech anime tropes in an allegorical wonderland where the setting fades away to have the audience engage with the ideas at play rather than the lore. Mech anime often uses the giant robot duels as a method of visualizing ideological struggles. Too often in these shows beam sabers will cross as the pilots yell at one another to embrace ideas of how the concepts of war and prejudice can be battled out of existence.

In HWBM the "war" in play is humans versus space... or more accurately humans versus those who are not of Earth. Versus those who are alien. Versus those who are not human.

The dominant culture versus queer culture.

WKTD frames its tropes via the dating sim mechanics popular within its visual novel medium. But rather than choosing which of the 3 girls the player wishes to romance you must choose which of the 3 you wish to exclude. The idea being to scapegoat one's struggle with queerness by attacking outward, blaming the other, by shaming others into the closet to keep yourself in there.

Lashing outward to prevent reflecting inward.

The only good ending of the game is to accept a polycule dynamic where everyone is seen, accepted and embraced for who they are unconditionally. God's love, in this world, is conditional and one must always be excluded. The devil has room for three.

There is no room in normal society for a polycule. It is inherently queer. The dominant culture is binary and there's no version of a polycule where only a 0 and a 1 are represented. The binary is incompatible.

I recently told a friend that the duology tells the journey of a thousand miles and how it begins with a single step. WKTD is the story of that first and all too important step acceptance.

HWBM is the story of what comes after acceptance. After that first step.

It tells the story of the thousand mile journey.

The ideologies at play are the concepts of assimilation, activism and separationism. In the allegory Earth/Humanity represents the dominant "straight" society and the three characters represent each of these ideologies. Assimilation is to return to Earth, to integrate into the dominant culture and lose some of the inherent joy and "otherness" that being queer brings. It's no coincidence that the character representing this path is a trans woman who is known for defecting from her faction and crossing over to every other side while repeating the mantra "I've never betrayed anyone in my life", it is a coincidence however that her faction's war efforts are lead in part by God's Strongest Chaser herself (as far as I'm aware the Halimede Twitter Account is not affiliated with the game, but I find it funny that the assimilation path is represented by someone who a character whose gimmick account argues "t4t is incest"). It is a life of peace. But it is a life of compromise. Of giving up humanity's dream of the stars. To be grounded and tethered to Earth forever.

The Activism Path represents the idea of staying in Earth's orbit but never surrendering even an ounce of the queer identity for the sake of acceptance. Forcing the dominant culture to argue with us on our terms. Accept us on our terms. It is a life of constant battle but in that battle we will save those on Earth, invite them into the stars, embrace them with acceptance and love. Let them join us or remain where they are. This is a life of constant war, knowing that until all are loved and accepted, no one is and so we continue fighting. Letting people change sides. Nothing changes but maybe it's better that way.

Separation is the idea of abandoning Earth entirely. To become so incompatible with the dominant culture that we are no longer "human" to those who remain tethered. We are unapproachable. Separate. Unique. Other. Queer above anything else and incapable of creating a rational dialogue with the dominant culture. It is picking up your toys and walking away. Going far enough away from the culture war that it will never be able to reach you.

The author of the Halimede account once wrote, while in character, that this is the saddest ending of them all because it's unsustainable and that it does not address the inherent intersectional fighting between communities, allowing wars to simply break out further away from our blue marble in the distant stars. It is a life of abandoning war without embracing peace. To live separate in bubbles apart.

The ending of the game forces you to pick. There is no existing outside of these options. Maybe one day we'll find other ways to be but within the view of this game they are all we have. Embrace Earth, declare war on Earth or abandon Earth.

Choose.

I admit. Since the pandemic and coming out as trans, I've favored Saturn's ideology more than others. Completely giving up on "humanity" and only working within circles of those whose acceptance of queer culture is baked in. I fought so hard to accept who I was and "know the devil", so to speak, that I pulled back and withdrew.

Both games have a lot of themes about the demons ones must face within queer culture and outside of it. The way we hurt ourselves, hurt our allies and how the world outside societal, structural and individual will force us to compromise, to cut away parts of ourselves.

These games are masterpieces.

I wish I found them earlier in my life. I want everyone able to read these words to find them now.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Story Plot

Plot - is what happens in a story.

Every story is made up of both events and characters.

A story happens because a pattern is interrupted.

If you are writing about a day that is like any other day, it is most likely a routine, not a story.

A Strong Plot

Centered on one moment—an interruption of a pattern, a turning point, or an action—that raises a dramatic question, which must be answered throughout the course of the story. This is also known as plot A.

Every element of the plot—each scene, each line—exists in service of answering that question. There are myriad plot devices that can bolster the main story; these are considered subplots.

7 Types of Plots

The nature of the dramatic question informs the plot and what kind of story it will be. Are the characters threatened by something external or internal? What genre will the story be?

Tragedy

Your main character should undergo a major change of fortune — almost always from good to bad, happy to sad.

Tragic characters have to suffer.

Comedy

Even though your characters have defects, their defects should never wind up being painful or destructive.

Comic characters make it through unscathed.

Hero’s Journey

The hero of a story must undergo two things:

Recognition and reversal of a situation.

Something has to happen from the outside that inspires the hero in a way that he/she didn’t realize before.

Then he has to undertake a quest to solve the situation.

Rags to Riches

Remember Cinderella? The classic fairy tale follows a simple rags-to-riches plot:

the protagonist is downtrodden, impoverished, or otherwise struggling, and through a series of events—either magical, like in Cinderella, or more realistic, like in Great Expectations — achieves success.

This type of plot often features a happy ending.

Rebirth

The rebirth style of plot follows a character’s transformation from bad to good.

The character will frequently have a tragic past that informs their current negative view of life, however, a series of events (usually set in motion by the protagonist or a narrator) will help them see the light.

See: Scrooge in A Christmas Carol, or the Beast in Beauty and the Beast.

Overcoming the Monster

Otherwise known as the good versus evil plot, this type of story features a protagonist (good) fighting an antagonist (evil).

The protagonist can be a singular character or a group united in their mission.

The antagonist is generally a big, bad evil (like Darth Vader in Star Wars) who continuously throws obstacles in the protagonist’s way—until the final battle.

Voyage & Return

This plot is a simple point A to point B and back to point A plot.

The protagonist sets off on a journey, only to return to his or her starting point having gained wisdom and experience (and sometimes treasure too).

Paulo Coelho's The Alchemist is a beloved contemporary illustration of this plot.

How to Outline a Story Plot: Three-Act Structure

Beginning

The beginning of your novel has to accomplish a lot.

It must introduce the hero, the villain, and the world of the story, as well as the story’s dramatic question, and it must do this with enough energy to grab your reader’s interest right away.

A prologue can be useful for seizing the reader’s attention.

Middle

Your job during the middle of the story is to make the hero’s quest as difficult as possible so that at every moment it seems less likely that the hero will triumph.

You must raise the stakes along the way and create obstacles of ever-increasing intensity while keeping your eye firmly fixed on your conclusion.

The different plot points can include the basic plot, plus various subplots.

The main plot of a story always has to build up to the resolution.

End

The end of your story answers the dramatic question, which already has your ending hidden within it.

For example, if your question is:

Will Ahab catch the whale?

Then your story’s finale will be the moment when he does.

Often, tension evaporates in the middle of a novel, so it’s a good idea to write your ending first. It may not be perfect, and you can always change it later, but it’s useful to know the climax to which your characters are headed.

Having that destination will help you stay focused during the “middle muddle.”

Freytag’s Pyramid

German novelist Gustav Freytag expanded on Aristotle’s concept of plot by adding 2 additional components to the beginning, middle, and end:

Rising action and falling action.

Freytag’s dramatic arc, also known as Freytag’s Pyramid, includes the following:

Exposition. This is the beginning of the story.

Rising action. Once the story has begun, it is important to create tension by raising the stakes. You must raise the stakes along the way and create obstacles of ever-increasing intensity while keeping your eye firmly fixed on your conclusion.

Climax (middle). The pinnacle of your plot.

Falling action. The falling action occurs after the climax but before the end. Falling action frequently depicts the protagonist dealing with the consequences or fallout of the climax. The falling action is when the protagonist ties up loose ends and heads toward the conclusion. It is also referred to as the denouement.

Resolution. This is the end of the story.

Source ⚜ The 3-Act Structure: History & Elements ⚜ A Guide More References: Plot ⚜ Character ⚜ Worldbuilding ⚜ Writing Notes

[edamameimei]

the sidelines

"watching the world from the sidelines, had nothing to prove. til' you came into my life, gave me something to lose."

pairing: megan skiendiel x reader (university au)

synopsis: megan doesn't know much about the universe, but she does know she is very lucky to exist at the same time as you.

tags: heavy angst, a few happy moments here n there. lots of talk abt philosophical things lol CW: reader has a medical condition. pls lmk if there is anything else i should add!

an: just want to put out there that this is not a REAL portrayal of the people mentioned in this fic. all events are fictional and are for entertainment purposes only.

wc: 5333

now playing: sidelines - phoebe bridgers

Megan Skiendiel doesn’t know much about the stars and constellations. The amount she knows is only the Zodiac. She had basic knowledge of the subject and if anyone were to ask her about the different signs, she thinks she’d be able to give a decent description of them. She knows astronomers have provided their concepts of the constellations and storytellers well before her time have given them a meaning that many people have changed as those stories were passed down. Megan loves the stars. She can’t point out the shapes they form and she doesn’t know any of those stories, but she loves to stare at them. 

She wonders as she stares at you in class, if you ever think about the stars. She wonders if you knew about the constellations and their stories. 

She thinks, you probably do. You look like you do. 

The class you two share is Intro to Philosophy. 

It’s a required subject and to Megan, it’s a bit boring. A lot of reading that even her accommodations couldn’t help her manage. She doesn’t care to know what Socrates thinks about good versus evil, and she wasn’t even paying attention when they talked about Plato. She does know that you’re a good student. She often watches as you write notes quickly, listening to every word your professor says. You participate often, always raising your hand and giving an answer that didn’t make a lick of sense to Megan, but it always ends up being praised by their professor. The Chinese girl sometimes thinks about picking at your brain, wondering what other bit of knowledge it holds. But that requires her to interact with you. 

So, she sits at her desk and shyly glances at you during the lecture. She hopes for the day you forget a pencil and may need to borrow one from her. 

It ends up not being a pencil you need, but the notes from class on Thursday. 

She lies, telling you she also was not in class that day. In reality, she was too busy sulking over the fact you weren’t there to take notes. Even if you were, she still wouldn’t have anything to provide. She wasn’t much of a notetaker, she just hoped for the best on the exam. You look at her, a bit disappointed. When you turn back around in your seat, Megan couldn’t help the frown forming on her lips. It was her first real interaction with you and it was so short. She is about to look back down at her notebook but you turn around again, a sheepish look on your face. “Can I borrow a pencil? Sorry, I’m a mess today.” Her eyes light up, immediately nodding. She hands you the only pencil she had and you smile at her, grateful. “Thanks, Megan.” You turn back around, continuing what you were doing, unaware of how red Megan’s cheeks were. 

You knew her name. 

The most surprising thing about you is that you’re always five minutes late to class. 

With how prepared and diligent you are in the classroom, it shocks her every time you enter the room mid-lecture. You would walk in, an unreadable expression on your face as you walk toward your desk that is in front of Megan. She watches you put your stuff down and notices how you’re never in a hurry to unpack your notebook and pencil. It’s as if you were taking everything one step at a time, your mind checking off the boxes as you move throughout your day. Megan zones out, just looking at you. She widens her eyes when you turn around in your seat, handing her the pencil you were given last week.

You smile at her gently and whisper, “Sorry. I forgot to give this back to you.” Megan looks at the pencil, taking it from you. She bites her lip to try and contain the huge smile that wants to form. She looks at you and wonders if you notice the hearts in her eyes. She whispers, “Thank you.” You nod in response, turning back around to finally grab your notebook and pencil. 

It was all simple, really. But Megan’s heart skips a beat every time she thinks about you smiling at her. 

At one point during the lecture, her head finds the table comfortable, and falls asleep. She feels a light tap on her shoulder at the end of class and she slowly raises her head, confused. She looks around the room for the culprit and her tired eyes catch a glimpse of you exiting the room. She rubs her face with her hands and curses herself internally for falling asleep in class. She begins packing up her stuff, grabbing her laptop and blank notebook. Underneath her notebook were a couple of papers Megan had never seen before. She picks them up, trying to decipher what it was. She realizes they were the notes for today’s class. 

At the top was the date, your initials, and the subject for today’s lecture. 

Megan hates reading but she reads your notes about Existentialism like they were assigned to her. 

In her defense, it was assigned. It just wasn’t her work. And she most definitely will not be opening her philosophy textbook to get a better understanding. She finds your handwriting very neat, easy to read. She thinks the way you cross your T’s and write your Y’s is adorable. On the sides, you write your own formulation of the information. It was as if you were talking to yourself, having your own conversation inside your head. On the very bottom of the page, in dark red ink, lays a question that makes Megan’s brow furrow. 

‘Why do I exist?’ 

She hands you back your notes two days later in class. You smile at her softly, taking the notes from her. “I hope those were helpful.” Megan nods. She notices you wearing glasses today and she loves when you wear glasses. “They were so helpful. Thank you so much, Y/n.” You smile even wider at her, a chuckle escaping your lips. You say, “I hope they weren’t too messy, sometimes I get ahead of myself.” She shakes her head and gestures to your notes with an impressed look on her face. “No, they were so easy to understand, trust me.” You smile at her words, standing up to continue packing up your stuff. Megan stands awkwardly as she watches you, not knowing what else to say. She wants to continue talking to you but there is only so much to say with the little to no information she knows about you. 

When you finish packing your stuff, you put your bookbag on, giving her one more glance. You wave, “I’ll see you next week, okay?” Before Megan could respond, you turned away, walking out of the classroom. She sighs. 

A lightbulb goes off in Megan’s head one day when she looks down at her blank notebook during class. 

She looks up and sees you packing your stuff up. She stands, leaning over her desk to tap on your shoulder. You turn to look at her and she notices the tired look in your eyes. She almost decides against asking you the question on her mind but she wills herself to be brave. She takes a deep breath, asking, “Can I… Use your notes again?” You look down at her blank notebook and chuckle, looking back up at her with a raised eyebrow. “Fell asleep again?” Megan shakes her head, feeling her cheeks heat with embarrassment. She replies, “No I just. I’ve never been a notetaker…” She looks down, feeling silly. She continues, “I have… I’m dyslexic. So, it’s kind of hard sometimes.” She knows it’s a bit ridiculous to use that as a way to talk to you but she has been feeling desperate the last few days. 

There’s a pull toward you. It’s gravitating. 

She looks up and sees you digging through your bag. She bites her lip when she watches you pull out of your notebook, handing it to her without a second thought. “Here. You can take it after every class from now on, okay?” Megan shakes her head and takes the notebook from your hands. “No, that’s okay. Just today.” She says shyly but you wave her off, zipping your bookbag. You swing it over your shoulder as you reply, “No, every time. It’ll motivate me to take better notes.” You wink at her before waving goodbye. “I’ll see you on Thursday, Megan.” She waves back, feeling frozen in place as she watches you exit the room. She looks down at the notebook in her hands and squeals quietly. 

Apparently, absurdism was the topic of conversation in today’s class.

She reads through what you’ve written and she decides she hates the concept of this theory. It’s dark, pessimistic. Megan didn’t like the idea of the world not having meaning. And she can’t help but ask her own questions to counter the philosophers’. Why is it so absurd to add meaning to everything? Isn’t it human nature? To live with meaning, to find purpose in everything you do? How could you live life without the drive to find purpose? It was ridiculous. And Megan is glad you felt the same way. On the sides, like always, were your own thoughts and criticisms. She giggles at the frowny faces you drew, the poorly drawn thumbs down in response to a quote made by one of the fathers of absurdism. 

She stares at a sentence you wrote down. It sits with her as if the weight of it also affected her in some way. 

‘I have meaning. I have a purpose.’

She walks into the classroom on Thursday with your notebook in her hands. To her surprise, you were already at your desk. She walks up to you with a teasing smile. “You aren’t late today.” Her statement makes you laugh– a genuine laugh that makes you throw your head back. She places the notebook down on your desk and you look at her with a twinkle in your eyes. “Yeah. Just wanted to make sure I get everything for you.” Megan feels her heart beat rapidly in her chest. You came to class on time for her. A month has passed in the semester and you changed your habit for a complete stranger. 

The words tumble out of her mouth before she can stop them, “Can I get your number?” Her cheeks burn with embarrassment but the kind smile you give her eases the anxiety. You nod, pulling out your phone and handing it to her. “I was going to ask you after class today but you beat me to it.” Megan tries to keep her cool, nodding frantically. She puts her phone number into your contacts and saves it under the name, ‘Megan from Philosophy.’ She hands your phone back to you. “I agree with your notes,” She says quietly, she continues, “Like, your sidenotes. I agree with them and… I was hoping we could talk about it?” There’s a hopeful look in Megan’s eyes. She hopes she isn’t coming off as desperate, that’s the last thing she would want from this interaction. 

You open your mouth to respond but your professor walks in. Megan quickly walks to her seat, her cheeks still burning. She berates herself internally for being so weird. At some point during the lecture, she feels her phone vibrate in her pocket. She pulls it out subtly, checking the notification. She smiles widely at the message on the screen. 

You texted her: “Let’s do it. I’ll text you after I’m done with classes today.”

You text her: “Absurdism. Thoughts. Go.” 

She replies: “I think everyone has a purpose. Like, I think that’s what makes life so much fun.”

You text her: “Yes. Yes. I agree 100%.” 

She replies: “Absurdism is absurd!!!!”

She texts again: “Sorry. That was stupid.” 

You reply: “You said what you said.” 

You text her again: “Absurdism was created by cowards. I love making meanings out of everything.”

And again: “Do you wanna go to the library with me tomorrow?”

She replies: “Yes.” 

Megan meets you in the library.

She finds you already sitting at a table with your headphones on. You’re typing on your laptop, clearly zoned in on the assignment you were working on. Megan approaches you slowly, not wanting to startle you. She sets her stuff down and pulls out a chair in front of you. When she sits down, you finally look up from your laptop with a tired smile. You take your headphones off, setting them on the table. “Hey there,” you say softly. Megan waves at you before pulling out her laptop along with her notebook and pencil case. Your eyes light up at it. It had the Sanrio characters on it, all of them wearing cute little ballpark hats. Megan watches as you pick it up, analyzing it with bright eyes. “This is so fucking cute.” Your statement makes the Chinese girl laugh. 

She would have never taken you as a Sanrio person.

You set it down, an adorable smile still on your face. It makes Megan melt at the thought of you liking such cute things. She wonders what else you like, she wonders what kind of music you listen to. She wonders if you have any thoughts on the secrets the universe may hold. 

She settles for asking you what kind of music you like. It’s less of a mouthful. 

Conversation with you is easy. She finds herself laughing at everything you say, smiling during all of your stories. In return, Megan shares bits and pieces of herself with you. She tells you about about her friends on campus, how she chose her major. Megan shares things with you that she hasn’t talked about in a long time. After rambling for so long, she would pause to look at you, as if scared you had become disinterested. But you keep your attentive gaze. The same smile you had before stays on your lips. Megan felt seen by you, a feeling she doesn’t get often. After two hours, you two finally decide to work on your assignments. 

Megan looks at you as if you created the stars, handcrafted them, and placed them all over the sky with purpose. She looks at you as if you hold all the answers to the world. She only met you this semester but she can’t help but feel she has known you her entire life. You’re unaware of her staring as you check the time on your watch and for some reason, Megan chuckles. It catches your attention, making you look up to see the Chinese girl attempting to cover her small smile with her hand. You look at her curiously. “What’s so funny?” She points at your watch, her tone playful, “Do you forget to put that on when we have Philosophy class?” 

She notices the way your cheeks redden. You look away, rubbing the back of your neck. “I’m… Well, usually, on the days we have Philosophy…. I have to go to the school clinic right before,” you clear your throat before continuing, “I have a heart condition.” Megan’s heart drops to her stomach at your words and she immediately begins to feel bad for the joke she previously made. You notice her expression and shake your head. “It’s nothing serious. Don’t worry, honestly.” 

Whenever you’re late to class, Megan now finds herself worrying about you. 

Today, she watches you walk into class looking more tired than usual. She tries not to overanalyze you but she can’t help it. Her eyes follow you until you sit down. You don’t even reach down to pull out your notebook and pencil, simply putting your head down on the desk. She looks at you and she wishes she could ask how your appointment went. She wants to ask what you do at the clinic. But she isn’t sure if she was there yet with you. Everything with you so far has only been surface level and she wants so much more than that. Megan looks up at the board and sees a question written on it:

‘Is happiness the answer?” 

Megan leans back in her seat. For the first time since the semester started, she takes the time to listen to her professor. 

At the end of class, Megan walks over to your desk. She taps you on the shoulder and you look up with wide eyes. You sit up immediately, rubbing your face with your hands. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” The apology tumbles out of your mouth quickly. You’re about to say something else but Megan places a note in front of you on your desk. Written on it was the question from earlier and you stare at it in confusion. You whisper, “Is this what we did today?” You look up at Megan again and she smiles warmly. She nods, “I actually paid attention today. Wanna walk with me on the quad and I can explain it to you? I don’t know how good I’d be at it but–” You stand up, grabbing your bag. You look at her with a twinkle of excitement in your eyes and it makes Megan’s heart beat quickly in her chest. 

Oh, to make you look at her like that again. Forever, maybe. 

You two make a habit of discussing the topic of the day after class now. 

Megan finds you fascinating. The way you articulate everything so passionately, the way your brain makes connections to previous things told in the lecture, everything about you was so profound. 

Today was a Thursday and you find yourselves lying on the grass on the quad. 

Megan looks at you as if you were the only thing worth paying any attention to. She counts the freckles on your cheek, she loves the way your lips curl into a smile when you have a funny thought to share. She still thinks about asking you about the stars and constellations but she isn’t sure if it’s the right time yet. This moment with you was hers, and she wants to stick it in a locket as a keepsake forever. Without looking at her, you speak up, “You know the real question I’d like an answer to?” She smiles, whispering, “What?” 

“Does pineapple belong on pizza?” Megan giggles loudly, not expecting that question from you. She covers her mouth, her eyes turning into crescents as she continues laughing. For some reason, the randomness of it makes her stomach hurt with laughter. You join her, your cheeks hurting as you smile widely. As you both finally calm down, she glances at you again, a playful look in her eyes. “Are you being serious?” You nod, furrowing your brows, “Megan. I’m being very serious. These are the real questions those stupid white guys needed to ask.” 

The Chinese girl laughs again, her hand finding your shoulder to brace herself. She smiles at you with her whiskered dimples, responding through her giggles, “Those stupid white guys… It’s always a stupid white guy.” You nod in agreement, looking back up at the sky. At some point, you shifted closer to Megan, your shoulders touching. Megan’s breath catches in her throat when you turn your head towards her again, your noses only inches apart. You whisper, “So, does it? Pineapple on pizza?” She lets out a breathy laugh, her eyes looking into yours. Her fingertips brush against your hand and she wants more than anything to connect them. To feel that spark of electricity she knew would be there. Your skin is soft and she wonders if you’ve thought about her like she thinks about you.

“I think it does.” 

You scrunch your nose, sitting up from the grass. She watches as you grab your bag and she can’t help but laugh at your dramatics. “Y/n!” She says through her giggles. You bite your lip trying to contain your smile as you stand to your feet. Megan copies your actions, a wide smile on her face. When she grabs your wrist, she proves herself right. There’s a spark that sends shivers down her spine and when you turn to look at her, she wonders if you feel it too. 

She tilts her head, her eyes softening as she asks, “Can I wait for you at the clinic next week?” 

There’s a silence between you two. Her hand is still around your wrist and your eyes speak silently to each other. You blink at her as if waiting for her to take back what she said. But she doesn’t. She waits, patiently for an answer. 

You nod, replying, “My appointments are always at 9:30 AM, Tuesdays and Thursdays.” 

Next Tuesday Megan is sitting on the bench in front of the school clinic at 9:15 AM. You stop in your tracks when you see her, your eyes wide. You didn’t think she would actually come. Megan stands up from the bench when she notices you, waving excitedly. 

She doesn’t know this, but your thoughts run wild. The grip you had on the straps of your bookbag loosens and it scares you. 

She texts you: “How are you so smart?” 

You reply: “I’m not that smart. Philosophy is just interesting to me.” 

She texts you: “I need your brain.” 

You reply: “I like your brain.” 

She texts you: “I don’t think like you do.” 

You reply: “But I like the way you think.”

You text her again: “What is your favorite thing to do?”

She replies: “Dancing. And making music.”

She texts you again: “How about you?” 

You reply: “Being alive.” 

You text her again: “I also really like going on walks.” 

When you walk out of the clinic on yet another Thursday, Megan stands outside with a cup of coffee in one hand and a cup of match in the other. You look at the green drink with raised eyebrows, “Is that matcha?” She nods, forcing it into your hands. “Yeah. I looked it up and even though it doesn’t have as much caffeine as coffee, it still gives you the energy you need.” You look at her, still confused. Megan sighs, walking ahead of you. She doesn’t want to look at you as she talks, “You said you’re always so tired after your appointments but you can’t drink too much caffeine so… I thought that would be the best alternative,” She continues, feeling her cheeks burning with embarrassment, “I know some people hate matcha but I don’t know. If you hate it just let me know so–” She feels your hand on her arm. You spin her around, wrapping your arms around her tightly. 

She widens her eyes, not responding at first. She stands awkwardly for a moment in your arms, her hand clutching her coffee cup. After her mind finally catches up to her, she hugs you back, her arms around your neck. She buries her face into your shoulder, the scent of whatever perfume or cologne you put on filling her senses. She notices how warm you are, hugging you even tighter. You whisper, “Thank you, Megan.” She can’t help but notice how vulnerable you sound. Your voice was hoarse and there was a tinge of sadness to your tone. Megan was never the best at words, so she just held you. After a while, you finally pull away, your eyes glistening with tears. 

You had been crying. 

Megan reaches up and wipes your cheeks with her thumbs. She asks, “You’re not a matcha person, are you?” You laugh shakily. You sniffle as you shake your head but you still bring the cup to your lips, sipping the drink. You grimace but you quickly wipe it away, hooking an arm around Megan’s neck as you continue walking to class. By the time you get to class, you finish your matcha. You throw away the cup with a satisfied smile on your face. 

“Is memory enough to prove existence?” 

You and Megan sit with each other in your apartment, staring at the question for your essay. You look at her as if asking what she thought about it. She raises her hands in defense, “Don’t look at me. You’re the one who actually likes this class.” You roll your eyes, chuckling. You lean forward, grabbing your laptop off of your coffee table. “I never said I liked the class. I said I think philosophy is interesting.” She scoffs and gives you a pointed look, “That’s the same thing, isn’t it?” You shake your head and lean back against your couch. You stare at your computer screen, deep in thought. Megan leans her shoulder against the couch, propping her head up with her hand. She studies you like she always does. She smiles as she watches your glasses begin to slide off the bridge of your nose. 

She reaches over and fixes them. She asks, “Well, yes or no? Is memory enough?” You quickly respond as you type something on your laptop, “Yes, of course it is.” You look away from the screen, your brows furrowed and your lips pursed. “But I don’t think I agree enough to write like 5 pages about it…” You groan, closing your laptop shut. You shift your body, mimicking the way Megan sits. You both look at each other in silence, not saying a word. It isn’t until you snort, covering your mouth as you laugh. Megan looks at you, giggling, “What?!” You shake your head, zipping your lips as if what you thought about was confidential. Megan swats your arm, glaring. 

“Wait! Tell me!” You shake your head again, shrugging your shoulders. Megan feels her cheeks heat up. From the first moment she heard you speak in class, she wanted to know every single thing that went through your head. She wanted to know if you often thought about the universe like she did. She watched you from afar for months and she would be damned if she didn’t get to be inside your head just this once. She launches herself at you. She only intended to grab your shoulders, but instead finds herself toppling on top of you. 

She widens her eyes, looking down at you. She’s sure she is as red as her hair and she knows she should get off but you don’t make a move to push her either. You just stare at each other, wide-eyed. She breaks the silence, her voice shaky, “Do you know anything about the stars and constellations?” She says it so quickly that you almost don’t understand her. You tilt your head, an amused smile on your face. You reach up and tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear as you whisper, “What?” Megan giggles nervously, she looks away from you for a moment, biting her lip. When she looks back at you, she takes a deep breath. “Do you like. Know anything about the stars and constellations? Like… What they mean and stuff.” 

You look up at her, a warm smile on your face. You say, “I don’t actually. Do you?” 

Megan shakes her head, her smile getting wider as she responds, “No. Not at all.” She glances at your lips and whispers, “I’d like to learn though.” She looks up from your lips to your eyes. Your hand reaches up to cup her cheek, not breaking her gaze. As Megan’s eyes flutter close, as she leans in closer, you whisper, “We can learn together.” 

She texts you: “How many pages do you have now?” 

You reply: “Megan it has only been 30 mins.”

She texts you: “Well I have 3 so.”

You: reply: “Me when I’m a liar.” 

She texts you: “Yeah I like lying.”

She texts you again: “At least I don’t have to write the whole five pages.” 

You reply: “Two, right?”

She texts you: “Yeah. You’re a loser.” 

You reply: “Try asking for my notes tomorrow, Ms. Skiendiel.” 

She texts you: “I will literally fail the class without you don’t do that to me.” 

But, you don’t show up to class. 

And you don’t answer her texts asking where you are. 

She usually meets you outside the clinic but today you had an early appointment at 7:30 AM and you had to beg her to not show up. You told her to get rest and that you’d see her in class. 

But you aren’t in class. You were nowhere to be found. 

Megan doesn’t know the topic for today. All she could think about was you. 

Your grip was always on the handle of a suitcase. It waited to be packed and loaded into a car to go to its next destination. You always found it easier to be the first one to leave. Staying in the same spot for far too long always puts you in distress. When you were younger, you always groaned and wept about standing in the grocery line with your mother. The days when you were able to frolic amongst the dandelions in the springtime were your greatest memories. Your soul was vibrant yet quiet at the same time. 

Quiet enough for you to sneak out the back door. So quiet, you were always able to leave without a trace. It was less painful that way– to leave. 

When you were told about your condition, it didn’t phase you much. You saw it as another way to live your life with no strings attached. You were okay with never leaving a mark on this world. As long as it left an impression on you, you were satisfied. Sure, college weighed you down but you treated it as a side quest. The real adventure was what life had ahead and you were ready more than anything to take it into your hands and call it your own. You planned to coast through college, give your best in everything you did, and leave without a footprint to say, ‘I was here.’

The funny thing though, is that you didn’t take into account that you would meet someone like Megan Skiendiel. 

And then suddenly leaving became hard. The thought of never seeing her again made your body go cold. 

The grip on the handle of the suitcase loosened. Every time she looked at you, you felt like you were in a field of dandelions. Perhaps if you made a wish right now on one, its rays would whisper her name, almost pleading. If you could plant yourself anywhere, it would be wherever she was. That night in your apartment, as you looked at her, you realized you had found an answer. 

The proof of existence was being loved. And there was one thing your condition couldn’t take from you– the ability to love someone back just as much. 

Megan doesn’t fail the class. 

In her essay, she writes about you. She could have written an entire book about you but she settles for the 5 pages. She writes about you and your ideas of the world. She writes her essay as if she had been paying attention the entire time. She remembers your sidenotes, the little drawings next to them. She mentions the irony of how being alive was one of your favorite things to do.

When she gets her essay back, at the top right-hand corner is an ‘A+’ written in red ink. 

She smiles. She doesn’t care what those white guys say, this was enough to prove you exist. 

Megan Skiendiel still doesn’t know much about the stars and the constellations. But she does know that you didn’t either. Out of all the questions she had this semester, she’s glad that was the one she got the answer to. And with all the answers she was given, that one was her favorite.

a/n: i took a philosophy class last quarter, can yall tell? lol n e ways. hope u all enjoyed, lmk what u think!

requests are open

[kissagii]

it's finals season, and nishinoya desperately needs a savior

cw: gender neutral reader, 2k words, reader is a bit of a nerd and noya is smitten, both are a little dense, i didn't proofread this nearly enough.

Nishinoya Yuu cannot fail high school. At least, not if he wants to go to the Tokyo training camp and meet the funny guys from Nekoma again. As it stands, the only obstacles between Noya and going to camp are the steadily approaching final exams - exams that he hasn’t spent nearly enough time studying for.

That’s how he found himself here: not-so-casually asking (read: begging) for help studying.

“But I can’t fail these exams!” He half-yells, smacking his hands dramatically onto your desk, “I’m too cool to fail! And I want to go to camp!”

You sigh, not thrilled to have the libero drawing so much attention to you, especially in the middle of the school day. But his pleas are pitiful - and bound to get annoying if left unanswered for too long - so your only real option is to offer whatever assistance he needs.

“Sure, I’ve got time, what do you need?” You offer, hoping desperately that you sound relatively nonchalant. You had grown fond of him as first-year classmates, and now being in separate classes made any opportunity to spend time with him one worth taking. Even if it ended in studying with Nishinoya Yuu, a man not exactly known for being studious. Loudness aside, he's a good guy: caring (at times overbearingly so), observant (but never when he needs to be), and unendingly passionate about his interests (and very little else). And undeniably attractive, though you’d never tell him that. It would go straight to his head.

His face lights up as soon as the offer is made. “You’re amazing! An angel sent from the heavens to help me go to camp!”

“Yeah, yeah, alright, now what subjects are giving you the most trouble?” You say, heart fluttering at the subtle words of appreciation. 

“Math. And physics, but that’s basically just math but more evil. Oh, and English. And history. And writing.” His expression shifts from joy to a pout with each subject, brows knitting together as he realizes just how inept (and uncool, he’s probably thinking) he is.

“Noya, you just listed every subject, that’s way too much,” You laugh, “But I’ll see what I can do. Give me a day to prepare?”

“Just try not to miss me too much!” Noya says as he jumps excitedly, waving to you as he walks backward out of the room. He waves the entire way until he walks back-first into the doorframe, letting out a squawk of surprise and continuing proudly like nothing ever happened.

This boy is going to be the death of you.

Exactly 24 hours after his first visit, Noya bounds into your classroom and over to your desk again. Despite expecting his visit this time, you’re caught off guard by his punctuality and higher-than-usual energy. 

“It is I, Nishinoya Yuu, Guardian Deity of Karasuno!” He announces, dropping into a neighboring desk.

“Yeah, I know that, Noya.”

“Hmph, but it’s more fun to do that,” He huffs, poking at the papers you have lined up on your desk, “What’s all this? For me?”

You stack up all the papers, creating a thick packet, and hand them to him. He loses interest the moment he realizes that the ridiculous-looking stack is indeed for him, mortified by the concept of having to do all of that. He pays minimal attention as you explain everything he’s supposed to do - something about the order of the subjects versus the tests, the problem difficulties, and suggested pacing - instead choosing to focus on something far more interesting. 

The way certain subjects make your eyes light up more than others. The way you tilt your body to face him as you talk. The way your lips move with each word. How much he wishes he could grab your face and kiss you.

And, ultimately, that which brings his attention back - the reward system. Your method of motivating him to put effort into his practice.

“The rewards are indicated with symbols, the key is at the back, and you don’t have to take any reward you don’t want. I’ll be here to check your work and help you with the harder ones, does that sound good? Oh, and no getting answers from your teammates. You’ll only get prizes for your own work.” 

“All this? really? These rewards better be good,” He sticks out his bottom lip, thumbing the papers, itching to flip straight to the back and see what he might have a chance at acquiring. 

You laugh, shooing him out of the chair he sits in, “Yeah, yeah, I’m sure you’ll like one or two of them. Now go get working, deal with your prizes when you have an actual chance at earning them.”

“Hey! At least let me try to get motivated!” He whines, making a point to struggle to carry the twenty-or-so pages in his hands, “I might never forgive you for this!”

Though he acts offended, the moment he’s out of your sight his posture straightens and he hurries to his classroom. Only there does he set down the papers and fumble to the back, finding the Prize Key at the very end.

♤ - 1 sticker (assorted themes)

Who do you think he is? A first grader? Though he has to admit, the concept is cute.

♧ - Snack coupon

Now this, this is good - he could use them to barter with the team… if he could convince himself to not hoard them.

♢ - 10 minutes letting you show off at practice

Finally, you’ll come through on your promise of visiting him at practice!!

☆ - Bento Box

So you had been paying attention to how he always ogled your food during lunch hour. Oh, Tanaka is gonna be so jealous.

♡ - Kiss

He rereads the single word again. And again. He blows away nonexistent eraser shards; wipes the paper with his sleeve; traces his finger over the word. And still, there it is, inked directly onto the paper, completely intentional. Kiss.

Frantically he flipped through the packet, searching for the problem sets marked with a heart. Just what would he have to do to earn the sweetness of your lips against his? He’d do just about anything, really, he’d craved your affection since midway through first year.

Nishinoya Yuu would do anything to kiss you just once - even a physics problem so brutal even the most genius of his classmates might shy away from it.

“Ok, fess up, which one of you gave Noya answers to his study work?!” You shout, storming into Karasuno’s volleyball gym as the team begins their practice. The underclassmen’s confused stares hardly dent your frustration with the team and whichever of them was insolent enough to go directly against your request.

Ennoshita winces, smiling bashfully. “Well… I didn’t help him, exactly. He just told me to check his work and it was right, I didn’t give away any answers.”

Noya smiles proudly from across the gymnasium, “See! I’m perfectly capable of doing physics on my own!”

“Suga? Daichi? Is this true?” You ask, turning to the reliable third-years on the team, who you’re sure were there to witness Noya’s breakthrough.

“Mhm,” Suga nods, “And he went skipping to first period like a little girl.”

“I do not skip!” Noya insists.

The first years giggle amongst themselves, clearly amused by the dispute. Though, in their shoes, you probably would’ve laughed too.

“No, you were skipping,” Daichi adds bluntly. Noya’s jaw drops, insulted.

“I do not- Oh, fine, whatever, maybe I skipped a little. But see, I didn’t get answers from anyone, I solved the problem by myself! So therefore I deserve my reward!”

So maybe he did solve the problem on his own. So maybe he did spend all night working on that one near-impossible problem just to get the reward. So maybe he does want to kiss you.

“Alright, alright, I accept it, you solved the problem yourself. Good job. Call me when you’re done with practice, you’ll get your reward then.” You say resignedly, turning to leave the club room.

“No, don’t make me wait so long! I gave you the problem at lunch, you’re so mean to me!” Noya calls after you.

As you leave, a redheaded first-year (Hintata, if you correctly remembered Noya's ramblings about his teammates) whispers to you: “I think he’s in love with you.”

Thank the heavens that your back was turned, because your flustered expression would’ve made your crush on the libero painfully obvious to all in the room. 

But oh how you hoped that first year was right.

Only minutes after the end of practice, Noya found you behind the gymnasium. Still sweaty and haphazardly changed, he jogged to you excitedly. 

“I’m here now! Now don’t tell me I sat on the sidelines through morning practice for nothing, Daichi was ready to kill me,” He said, breathing slightly heavier than usual but still energetic.

“Have you just been pretending to be stupid this whole time?” You ask, “I spent days making that problem for a different study group, days, doing everything I could to make it impossible. I gave it to you as a joke, more than anything, I didn’t think you’d actually solve it.” 

Noya inhales sharply, looking down to the ground. “So, the part about… the kiss… was that a joke too?” He begins stepping back, feeling a fool for getting his hopes up so high. Frustrated and confused, he begins running his mouth like he always does, muttering about being a fool, being hopeless, the evilness of your schemes, and having wasted his energy and time in search of something he would never get.

“Noya, shut up,” You say, but he pays you no mind. “Yuu!” 

The one lesson he needs to learn is how to quiet down, and you know he won’t learn it on his own. You grab him by the cheeks and pull his lips to yours, cutting him off mid-sentence, kissing him right there behind the gymnasium as night descends upon the city. When you part he remains speechless, cocoa-brown eyes darting between your eyes and lips.

“It was a joke because I didn’t think you’d want it,” You murmur, letting a hand slide into his sweaty but somehow still soft hair. “If I had known this was what you wanted I would’ve let you kiss me as many times as you wanted.” 

Noya leans into your hand, as if making sure that you’re actually there, actually touching him. Gently you bring your foreheads to touch, a silent reminder that you are indeed real. “You're more than just a friend to me, Yuu, and in every moment that you’re silent I’ll remind you.”

“Ehehe, guess I’ll just never speak again,” He laughs cheekily, stealing another kiss, quick and playful. 

You pull back, but don’t move your hand away. What an idiot, snapping from speechless to silly in such a quick moment, and absolutely desperate for affection to boot. And yet this dramatic idiot had you absolutely smitten and wanting to kiss him over and over until evening turned to night turned to morning.

“You didn’t earn that one, Yuu! I guess I’ll have to cut your showoff time rewards by half,” You tease, poking the tip of his nose with your finger. It’s a ridiculous facade on your part - he’d never have to earn a kiss from you, just ask and you’d gladly give it to him. But the way his face twisted yet again, horrified by your mock threat, was too cute to pass up.

“Half?!” He scoffs, “I guess I’ll have to be extra flashy for my sunshine!” 

“Sunshine? Since when am I your sunshine?”

“I dunno, since now? Come on, it’s cute!”

Sunshine it is, then. Though if either of the two of you is the sunshine, you’re sure it must be him, because his giddy grin is easily the most beautiful thing you’ve seen in your life.

:)

[fellthemarvelous]

Aziraphale hate makes my brain hurt.

Like let's be really fuckin' for real here.

Neurodivergent fans have repeatedly said that Aziraphale is autistic coded. I agree with them. I have never been diagnosed but I wonder about myself. If only I could get a doctor to take me seriously enough to test me for it, but alas, I'm a 43-year-old woman living in the good ole US of A.

Those with religious trauma have repeatedly said that they identify with him as well. I'm one of those people. I endured 12 years of Catholic schools and just as much time being taught a very black and white view of things that I've had to spend more than 20 goddamn fucking years working to unlearn.

I find that my views as a survivor of religious abuse are often dismissed because people keep wanting to say "Aziraphale doesn't have religious trauma." Yes, thank you, I get that, but unless you've been indoctrinated and brainwashed into a very black and white view of the world, you probably don't understand the kind of feelings Aziraphale's onscreen experiences evoke in so many of us. Heaven might not be real, but the feelings of "God is always watching" still stick with me today even though I no longer believe in God. I have entirely denounced Christianity because of my own personal experience, and I refuse to allow people to try and guilt me or shame me for trauma that I didn't ask for. I wasn't given a choice.

As a child I was told that God was real and always watching everything you do (just like Santa Claus) and can hear everything you say and knows everything you are thinking. Do you know what I learned to do in order to cope with this overwhelming and anxiety-inducing information as a small child? I learned to censor my thoughts. I never spoke up, and I have always felt like I was putting on a show for people because I had to be who I was told to be or I would get into trouble.

Aziraphale said "poverty is a virtue" during The Resurrectionists, and as someone who grew up in the Bible belt and went to private schools, I was taught this very same shit by the Catholic church. He learned in that very same episode that "poverty is a virtue" is actually a tool of oppression to keep the poor poor and the wealthy wealthy. I know we all watched the episode. He went into that episode believing what he said, but by the end of it he knew it was actually utter bullshit. Aziraphale is not ignorant. He's highly intelligent, and he has never been too proud to admit when he has been wrong. He accepts that the information he learned before is not matching up with reality.

And it's so obvious some of you have zero experience with that type of indoctrination because of how very little empathy you show Aziraphale for his "mistake" of "choosing Heaven over Crowley" and "making Crowley sad" so clearly Aziraphale must somehow be "abusive" and "manipulative" and "selfish" and "self-centered" because he didn't choose to run away with Crowley at the end of season two.

First of all.

FIRST OF ALL...

Aziraphale has a mind of his own.

Aziraphale is always going to try and do what is right.

Aziraphale is an angel. He's a being of love. And the reason he's so "bad" at being an angel is because he actually wants to protect humanity. He has always loved humanity. He repeatedly has to contend with what is "right" versus what is "good" and "wrong" versus "evil". Yeah, he has flaws. He's an angel, not a goddamn fucking saint. He has lived on Earth for more than 6,000 years. He has seen everything. He loves doing human things.

He's obsessed with magic. It makes him so happy. He's not very good at it...well not when he's trying to put on a show for Crowley.

He chose to learn French the hard way, so even though he knows every single language in the world, he chooses to be mediocre at French. Something that annoys and amuses Crowley at the same time.

He loves to dance even though angels aren't supposed to dance, and dancing with Crowley was what he wanted the most.

He owns a bookshop and refuses to sell any of his books because they are books he's had for as long as there have been books. He will chase customers away from his collection, and Crowley understands how much they mean to Aziraphale because he refuses to sell any when Aziraphale leaves him in charge.

He and Crowley have been speaking to each other in coded language for more than 6,000 years. They have to be very careful about what they say because Heaven and Hell are always watching.

Heaven has photographs of Crowley and Aziraphale sitting or standing together throughout history. Hell had one photo of Crowley and Aziraphale actually working together and it was Aziraphale's quick thinking and how good he actually is at sleight of hand tricks that managed to get that photo out of Furfur's hands so he wouldn't be able to turn Crowley over to the Dark Council.

Aziraphale saved Crowley from being taken to Hell again. He wasn't able to save Crowley from Hell in Edinburgh, but he sure as heck managed to save Crowley from Hell during WWII. He took Crowley to his bookshop and showed Crowley that he stole the picture from Furfur. He saved Crowley.

You get that, right?

Aziraphale SAVED Crowley.

People always talk about how it's "always Crowley saving Aziraphale" because apparently heroic acts are only heroic when they are grand gestures. The sleight of hand wasn't heroic at all, am I right? It wasn't sparkly and showy. It wasn't interesting enough, therefore not heroic. At least that's all I'm hearing when people start with their "blah Aziraphale deserves to suffer because I have no imagination or ability to understand the media in front of me blah", and all these reasons he deserves to suffer is because Crowley almost got hurt.

Aziraphale did that without flinching and I watch that part closely every single time. He's not scared for himself. He's scared for Crowley, and he managed to hold onto that photograph. He did not fail Crowley. He protected Crowley.

And so here's another thing that we like to point out. The way that Aziraphale, an angel who is effeminate and male presenting, an angel who is soft and full of love, an angel who is kind and forgiving because he has empathy and compassion, is somehow painted as abusive and manipulative. He's not violent, but he could easily fuck up your world. He doesn't use his powers. We have no idea how powerful he is because we only ever see him do small acts. He's used to hiding. It's the only way he has ever been able to protect Crowley.

And I'm not saying that Aziraphale has actually saved Crowley before means that Crowley hasn't also saved Aziraphale. Like, you get that those are not mutually exclusive and their relationship is not transactional, right? They have spent their entire existence protecting each other but never actually getting to be together because Heaven and Hell are always watching.

Yeah, Crowley fell. We all know this. We are aware of this. He was the serpent of Eden. He gave humanity the knowledge of free will.

But what we don't talk about is what Aziraphale gave humanity.

What did he give them?

We all know what it is!

Let's say it together!

He gave Adam and Eve his flaming sword because it was dangerous outside the garden and Eve was pregnant and she was already having a really bad day. He showed them compassion and gave them his extremely powerful angelic weapon so they would stand a chance on the outside of the garden. He gave humanity the gift of compassion. It's just unfortunate that his flaming sword became a weapon of War.

And then what did he do after that?

Ooooh, yeah, that's right.

God asked him about it and he straight up lied to her and pretended he had no idea where he'd managed to misplace it. She didn't say anything after that. He told Crowley the truth though. He told Crowley the truth even though Crowley fell.

Yeah, we know Aziraphale has done some really fucking questionable things. He and Crowley both suck at passing for human in front of observant people like Nina. They're not human. They are still learning, but they managed to experience human history together despite being on opposite sides and their experiences with humanity are what has shaped them into the compassionate and loving duo they are now. One of them is not better from the other.

This, my friends, is what we call meeting in the middle. It's why shades of gray is so important. Aziraphale constantly breaks the rules. Crowley refused to play by Heaven's rules. It's the reason he fell. He doesn't play by Hell's rules either. These two dorks figured out how to cancel each others' miracles out throughout human history in order to have more time learning about humanity and each other because working all day every day sucks when there are so many new things to learn and experience with the people you love.

We know Crowley and Aziraphale both love each other. Neither of them are good at hiding the hearts stars in their eyes.

But here's what's really fucking annoying about the Aziraphale hate.

Aziraphale was already crying when Crowley grabbed him and kissed him. Aziraphale is trying so very hard to do the right thing. He loves Crowley. He does. But he also has a duty to humanity, and he has taken that job very seriously since the creation of Adam and Eve. He sent them out into the world with a flaming sword so they would have a chance at surviving beyond the walls of the garden.

And he knows that Something Terrible is going to happen and he spent all of second season trying to figure out what that Something Terrible was while trying to have some sort of more honest and open relationship with Crowley, but again, they aren't human, they are a demon and an angel approaching life from opposite sides who met in the middle and fell in love with humanity together.

He wants more than anything to tell Crowley how he feels about him, but he wants to do something grand for Crowley because Crowley has always been grand and dramatic and sexy and a little bit scary.

Crowley is impulsive and has a temper and sometimes says the wrong thing but he has always trusted Aziraphale because Aziraphale gave him a chance even after he fell. Aziraphale chose to shelter him instead of smiting him while they stood on top of that wall. He knew he was supposed to kill Crowley, but oops, he gave his sword away to the humans so he didn't really have anything to kill him with and Crowley is the one who created nebulas. The Pillars of Creation is Crowley's work and Aziraphale was there to witness that, but he watched Crowley more than he watched the nebula. He witnessed the pure joy on Crowley's face when he said "let there be light" as a nebula full of colors exploded before their eyes. He was fascinated by Crowley.

But Aziraphale is going back to Heaven even though he has made it perfectly clear he absolutely has no desire to go back to Heaven. He told the Metatron this during their conversation. He spoke these words out loud. They exist.

But then The Metatron said this....

The Metatron. The very same angel who told Aziraphale in season one "to speak to me is to speak to the Almighty." He's the boss. He's the big guy. He's used to existing as a giant head and he had to give himself a body so he wouldn't stand out on Earth. And he knows that Aziraphale and Crowley have been working together since the beginning. He knows they worked together to prevent Armageddon in season one, and now he's made it clear he knows they were working together long before that. And let's face it, Aziraphale really wants to know what this Something Terrible is that Gabriel is running from so he can try to prevent it from happening.

It makes sense that he would want to take Crowley to Heaven with him because he would be able to keep Hell from getting their hands on him again. Aziraphale hates it in Heaven. He doesn't want to go, but Something Terrible is happening and Metatron isn't taking no for an answer, and maybe Heaven won't be so bad if Crowley is there with him. At least they can fix Heaven together.

But Crowley can't go back. We all get that. We don't blame him for saying no. It doesn't change anything.

Something Terrible is about to happen and Aziraphale has to figure out what it is. He wants to change Heaven.

He is fully aware that Heaven sucks. He still has faith in God. His faith isn't in Heaven. He deserted his platoon in season one and threw himself back to Earth so he could figure out how to make sure the war between Heaven and Hell doesn't happen.

But see, here's the thing. Heaven is at the top. Heaven has all the resources. Heaven is responsible for the creation of Hell. Heaven is empty and Hell is overpopulated. Aziraphale knows this. Crowley knows this. It's obvious every time we see either place. Both sides are desperate to go to war and will not hesitate to destroy humanity in the process. This is the opposite of what Crowley and Aziraphale want for humanity. If anyone can change Heaven, it's Aziraphale. He's the only one up there who gives a shit about humanity as far as we know. No one else is going to speak on humanity's behalf.

Some of us are so busy getting mad at Aziraphale for going back to Heaven and giving Crowley a Big Sad. Newsflash: Crowley is not the main character of Good Omens. Aziraphale and Crowley are equals, yet we wanna hold Aziraphale to higher standards because he's an angel, and when he makes mistakes it's proof that he's the bad guy.

Holy mother of all things that trigger my religious trauma, let me tell you. I spent my entire life hating myself every time I made mistakes. I've had to teach myself that just because I mess up sometimes doesn't mean I'm bad. It means I'm human. I still struggle with it. I probably always will. So when you say that Aziraphale deserves to be punished for breaking Crowley's heart, you not only ignore that Aziraphale's heart is also broken, you're saying he deserves to be punished for doing what he thinks is right.

Wanting to change Heaven for the better is not a bad thing.

And some of y'all wanna see him suffer for going back into the lion's den that is Heaven, knowing that he is already an outcast, that they have already tried to kill him once, knowing that he is a deserter, that he has been lying to Heaven about a lot of things, and you still think he's blinded by Heaven? You think he's just so naive and that's the only reason he's going back. He doesn't show his emotions the same way Crowley does so it means he doesn't care as much. He's expected to consider Crowley's feelings over his own when making choices. Like holy shit if all of that hasn't defined my experience as a woman with religious trauma in this fucking society. He's expected to be subservient to Crowley and if he doesn't do what Crowley wants then he's being unreasonable and illogical.

What the actual fuck, y'all.

Like seriously.

I'm sick of this bullshit. I had to step away from this fandom because of how toxic some people in this fandom are. It's not chasing me away, but the fact that I chose to hang out in a a more toxic fandom that is already notorious for being really toxic over a fandom that claims to be more open-minded and welcoming should probably tell you something.

It gave me a lot of perspective, and yeah, I'm still gonna speak up against the bullshit Aziraphale hate.

People are entitled to their opinions, but the Aziraphale hate isn't an opinion. It's just ableist, misogynistic garbage. At this point we all know y'all say these extreme things about Aziraphale because y'all get more joy out of the harm and alienation it is causing others.

Keep being loudly wrong, but if you think I'm not entitled to challenge shitty-ass, harmful, hateful discourse, bite my ass.

I'm not the one who lost the plot in this fandom.

[giveamadeuschohisownmovie]

I’m gonna be honest. The more I think about it, the more I’m believing that the Star Wars Prequel Trilogy could’ve been better than the Original Trilogy if the script was tighter (a lot tighter). But George needed to let other people handle the script and he needed way more help with bringing his vision to life.

I mean, just think about it. The OG trilogy was a fairly straightforward, good vs evil storyline. Jedi and Rebels good, Emperor and Sith bad. Amazing storyline, but fairly simple. In comparison, the Prequel trilogy is far more complex in terms of what it was trying to achieve. If you look past the shitty dialogue and questionable storyline choices, the story that George came up with deals with:

1) Duty vs. Desire (Anakin trying to remain a Jedi but wanting to pursue Padme)

2) Questioning the Jedi Code instead of just blindly accepting it as gospel. Because despite how much Anakin was struggling with his complicated emotions, the Order doesn’t notice. In fact, the Order encouraged him to bury his emotions, which we see led to disaster since that led him right to the Dark Side.

3) An actual attempt at more complex politics rather than just evil empire versus good resistance. For example, it’s a meme that Anakin made an argument in favor of fascism, but in the hands of a better writer, that could’ve been a really good moment. We get an idea of why the Empire would have its supporters, despite being the obvious bad guys. It humanizes the Empire in a way that it doesn’t make you sympathize with them, but makes you understand how someone could end up on that path. That’s more true to life than just evil people being evil. (Andor is probably the one Star Wars media that understood this, which is partly why it’s one of the best Star Wars content out there)

4) The hero is genuinely a tragic character. He’s a child prodigy who was freed from slavery with the promise of a better life. But as he grows up, he becomes frustrated with how his life is turning out. He’s powerful, but not powerful enough to save his mom. He falls in love, but can’t be with Padme since it’s against the Jedi Code. Obi-Wan looks over him, but Anakin doesn’t feel he’s respected. The Order assigns him dangerous mission after dangerous mission, but he doesn’t get the rank of master. Anakin’s arc is about a man who feels like he’s not in control of his life (which is doubly sad when you remember he grew up in slavery) and, in his lowest moment, turns to a man who claims to be able to give Anakin everything he’s ever wanted. And that becomes his downfall since he ends up losing way more than he gained.

I’m sorry, but, that storyline is way more interesting than Luke and Leia’s story. No offense to Luke and Leia, but their dad’s story sounds like a Shakespearean tragedy. What messed it up was that George Lucas needed someone else to write the script.

[zepskies]

The Boys S4: Is it just me or...

Okay, anyone who knows me knows I love this show. And I don't mean to be overly critical, but...there's something missing for me in season 4. 🤔

Episode 4 brought me back in a bit more this week, but I have thoughts and just wanted to get them out. Which of course you don't have to agree with, if you so choose to dive below the cut. 😂

So here we go! Highlights and lowlights (and **spoilers**): ⤵️

Sorry in advance for my slightly stream of conscious-style thought process.

Lowlights (so far):

Kimiko x Frenchie: Violently pushing down something you built up for 2.75 seasons? Because "being more than that/family" can also be romantic? Why do you hate the fans, Kripke? 😂

The political "satire" is getting a bit old for me. A lot of the same jokes over and over. However, the problem of taking out Victoria Neuman is a very intriguing conundrum (and Bob Singer sweating over it while trying to keep supes out of the military/law enforcement is keeping me hooked).

THAT Rob scene: lmfao come on now. This was for gross shock value and nothing else. Even the exploding dick and Love Sausage in S3 served a narrative purpose. (But I enjoyed the footnote commentary while watching it on Prime: Rob B. apparently wants to remind everyone that he's a Shakespearean-trained actor. 🤣) I’m actually more disappointed that he didn’t have a more meaningful role in the show, because he really is a fantastic actor and I was looking forward to seeing what his character would bring. (Not that lmao.)

Overall, the season just feels...emptier than seasons 1-3? Maybe that has to do with the lack of Soldier Boy's gravitas as a new antagonist, and connecting the entire narrative and various conflicts of the season -- all while shedding light on the grisly past of Payback, Grace Mallory, and Stan Edgar. Stormfront also brought that ante up in season 2 in a similar way, all while shedding light on Vought's sordid history with the creation of Compound V.

We're missing the layers here in season 4. Now, this could just be because we haven't seen the full season yet as well, but that's what I see so far.

I think it also has to do with the odd dynamic the boys side is in right now. With Butcher on the fringe of the group, and the others splintered off on their own side plots, it feels like the supes' side of things are more...for lack of a better term, "unified" in the narrative.

Which I realize is probably to reverse parallel the state of each side in season 3. But it just feels "off" to me somehow, since we're supposed to be just as invested in the boys side lol.

Highlights:

Butcher and Ryan: Butcher's doing his best there now, and it soothes my heart.

Ryan's slowly seeing the consequences of his choice to join Homelander. In fact, I'm wondering where Ryan is in episode 4. Hiding in his room?

The Khan Worm that appears to be inside Butcher is both frightening and intriguing. I wonder if this is the key to saving his life? Or just another lovely side effect of taking V24 long term. 🐛

JDM (Joe) and Butcher: All their scenes were golden. And that subtle John Winchester reference? Being willing to train up his son to be a killer? Being able to grieve at his son's funeral, knowing he "saved the world?" *Chef's kiss* 🤌🏽

(And if Butcher or Joe end up being the one to break Soldier Boy out of his cryo coffin, my fangirl heart will freak TF out. 🤣)

The way that Homelander is noticing his age is fucking hilarious. Bet you wish you had that life longevity from your father/sperm donor, dont'cha? 😂

But also the way Homelander "confronted" his past in E4 had some truly WTF/Holy Shit™️ moments, in a good way. As in, I'm once again afraid of this unhinged psychopath--kind of way. 😅

A-Train continuing to struggle internally with the place he's fought so hard to keep in the Seven, versus recognizing the evil around him, his own complicity, wanting forgiveness from Hughie, and wanting a true connection with others (namely his family).

It's interesting that Hughie's mom is being brought back in at this time. And even MORE interesting that she seems to be the one who gave her ex-husband Compound V. Her story of why she left her family seemed so normal that I actually got a little suspicious of her. But now, even more so. 🤨

M.M. doing his fucking best. (Except for the way he suddenly had a change of heart about Butcher in E4. Not sure about that one.)

Tilda effing Swinton voicing Ambrosius. PLEASE. My Queen. 😭🤣🤣

I actually had more lowlights before I watched episode 4. There were some really interesting moments that literally had me gasping in shock (this time in a good way), more so than in the first 3 episodes. However, I still think seasons 1-3 were stronger from the get-go.

But even with my lingering reservations, now I'm actually more so looking forward to getting into the meat of the season in this second-half coming up. 👏🏽

[xjulixred45x]

Thank you for doing my ror Jack the Ripper x daughter reader. I loved it and was wondering if you could do a sequel set during ragnarok. Either daughter chearing on her father during his match and meeting afterwards or daughter being summoned alongside her father as the people who created the legend of Jack the Ripper and committed the crimes.

Hi! I'll try My Best

Jack the Ripper and Daughter Reader Pt2: Love?

Jack was unaware of love for much of his life. he knew that now.

And he was fine with that for a long time, he found certain forms of comfort, forms that others did not understand, abhorrent and unforgivable forms, but that gave him the closest feeling he would ever experience to euphoria, adrenaline, love.

Of course, until he met reader.

Even if Jack never thought about the future after what happened with his mother, he didn't really see himself worthy of being a father himself. After all, what could ensure that he wouldn't end up repeating the same mistakes? What if he didn't love his children the way he should? He couldn't imagine anything worse than that. However, the reader made a special place for herself in his life.

Jack felt something with the reader that he did not feel with many people, almost none, sympathy. From living in poverty to having a parent who didn't genuinely care about you. But above all, being unkown about affection. The love. This girl was never loved either.

In her he didn't simply see a daughter, he saw what he could have been if he had had what he longed for so much, love. For the same reason, he could not allow himself to stain his daughter's innocence with his “work”, with his customs, with him in general. He had to make sure this girl had everything he couldn't have, a prosperous life, an education, maybe a family of her own, a bright future that he wouldn't dim.

And he was proud of the lady she grew up to be, intelligent, gentle and educated. The only thing Jack really regretted in life was not having been able to live longer, to see what his daughter's life would be like in the future. will she have had children? any husband? It's not like anyone was worthy of her anyway, maybe she dedicated herself to studying? She was always very intelligent and observant, if times were different, he did not doubt that she would reach the most brilliant men of the time.

Unfortunately, there was no way for Jack to know about it. After all, it turns out that actions do have consequences, especially in death. He was in Helhaim for more years than he could count, completely deservedly so, but at least he was grateful that no matter how many years passed, Reader never appeared there, even if he missed her company, it was better that she was in the place she really was. deserved, away from him.

However, something changed one day. When the fate of all humanity depended on fighting the gods.

And the Valkyries couldn't think of a better idea than to use the most prolific assassin in history against the most worthy god. Good versus evil. God against human. Very interesting. However, already being in Valhalla, Jack had other priorities in mind.

Even if Jack had some preparation time before his round, they didn't give him permission to go find the reader (or even let her know he was there), because if the other souls in Valhalla knew about it they would probably be angry, hysterical even, plus they had to focus on the fight they would have. Which left Jack more distracted than usual until it was time to fight.

If there was one thing Jack hoped for, that he wanted with all his being at the moment the fight started, it was that Reader wasn't in the crowd. Don't come here, don't see me like that, don't see me for who I really am, stay with the memories we made together, but don't see the monster I hid from you for so many years...

However, you cannot control luck.

When Jack was leaving the arena after his victory, he felt the hatred of the people once again, the shouts, the insults, the looks of displeasure and disappointment, nothing new. Still, he was satisfied with the outcome of the fight, satisfied with his victory. It's not like he didn't deserve people's displeasure anyway.

Despite this, Jack was not prepared for what awaited him on the other side of the stands.

As soon as he set foot in the infirmary, being treated for his injuries, Jack could hear the door open. At first he thought it was one of the Valkyries or a doctor, but as soon as he looked up, he could feel his hands shaking and his eyes widening like never before. She was there.

It seemed that she had not aged a day since the moment he died, being a lady, an adult, however, her eyes betrayed the girl he had known. She was no better than him, she was gripping the skirt of her dress very tightly, and trying very hard to keep her head up. she blinked a lot, trying not to cry in front of him. Not now.

He was going to say something, he had to say something, maybe a “I'm sorry” or “forgive me” but before he knew it, his daughter rushed at him in a golden rush, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. Jack could feel himself almost crumbling inside as he heard his daughter sobbing against his shoulder, tears threatening to fall from his eyes as well, as he gently returned the hug.

He and the reader sometimes could not communicate their emotions well, even with his special eyes, Jack could not know exactly what the reader felt at times, so she resorted to these types of displays of affection or physical actions, ways of saying what What was happening, no talking, just actions.

And now, almost two centuries later, that same custom remains, while Jack hugged his daughter, a hug that he waited years to be able to give, that he understood again the message she wanted to convey to him.

I don't care what you did, I don't care what you think, you are my father, I am your daughter. I love you.

And that was all he needed.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

[mryoyo000]

Wicked book and musical: on Glinda (SPOILERS)

I waited a bit to write this until hopefully the Discourse™️ has settled a bit but I wanted to say something about Glinda in the novel “Wicked” vs. the musical/movie.

SPOILERS

One thing I’ve seen people talking about regarding the book vs. the show is expressing disappointment regarding Glinda as Maguire depicts her, versus how she is changed for the show. Glinda in the musical follows a fairly typical kind of character arc, beginning as the archetype of a superficial, popularity-obsessed rich girl, who grows in depth and maturity over the course of her life (kickstarted by her relationship with Elphaba) and by the end has become, if not the primary heroine of the musical (which is Elphaba), a character who we see has earned her title as the Good Witch.

I said this in my precious post, but again it bears repeating that “Wicked” the book and “Wicked” the movie have not only completely different target audiences but also completely different goals as stories. I’m not trying to criticize anyone who saw the show or movie first, and felt disappointed by the novel—or really anyone who didn’t care for the novel in general—but I think that some of the criticism the book has gotten recently, after the movie came out, doesn’t take into account that in many ways, the book and the musical are completely different works with the same character names and broad plot outline.

So I’ve seen some people expressing disappointment that in the book, Glinda “regresses”, that she’s racist, that she’s not actually a good person, etc. And I can definitely understand how this rubs people the wrong way—whether in comparison to the show or even just to the Oz books or the 1939 movie in general. Glinda in pop culture is about as synonymous with good as the Wicked Witch of the West is with evil, and seeing her depicted in such an unflattering way is probably not what a lot of people anticipate or necessarily enjoy reading.

(In my previous post I already addressed a different criticism, which is Glinda’s comparative lack of presence in the novel—she’s the POV during Elphaba’s time at Shiz and then largely fades out of the story before a final confrontation. I maintain my stance this is what works for the book, which saves Elphaba’s perspective for the end after showing us all of the people she’s lost first.)

But it is true that in the Maguire book, Glinda’s “goodness” is a cynical punchline for a character who, in her reunion with Elphaba, has become this:

[Glinda speaking] “‘Yes, I had been at an orphanage on the shores of Mossmere, and for a lark I thought I’d go to the game park—they have dragons there now, and I’d never seen a dragon—so I was scarcely a dozen miles away when the storm hit. We had terrible winds even there; I cannot imagine how a ceremony could have been in progress in Center Munch. In Mossmere there were whole sections of the park closed to visitors due to the fear of falling trees and escaping Animals—’ ‘Oh, so they call it a game park, with Animals?’ said the Witch. ‘You must go, dear, it’s a lark…’”

and this

“Glinda turned yellow-pink. ‘My dear,’ she said, ‘I was fond of Fiyero and he was a good man and a fine statesman. But among other things, you will remember he was dark-skinned…’”

Knowing about Elphaba’s history with Dr. Dillamond and general involvement with the cause of Animals makes Glinda’s casual mentions of Animals in game parks that she visits even more unpleasant. And while it is definitely indicated that Glinda was in love with Elphaba, I don’t think her comments about Fiyero here are some sort of deflection to hide her feelings about Elphaba—this would be overly convoluted and anyways Glinda could have denied the suggestion of an affair without making a racist comment.

Glinda here is an archetype that I think many people are familiar with especially in current discussions about society and politics: the idea of the supposedly “benevolent” elite, doing lots of public charity and good PR, while actually aligned with the forces of oppression out of convenience and material benefit. Elphaba explicitly calls her out on this:

“‘You are working in collusion with the Wizard to render Munchkinland ready for annexation,’ said the Witch. ‘You have no agenda of charity, Glinda. At least don’t fool yourself. Or are you really under some rusty spell of Madame Morrible, after all this time?’”

Glinda’s “goodness” in Maguire’s telling is the exact opposite of Elphaba’s “wickedness”—one is rewarded and praised for her participation in the Wizard’s regime where the other is ostracized and eventually treated as a criminal for her attempts to rebel and resist. The book “Wicked” is in some ways a story about failure, and while Elphaba’s lifelong failures are the focus of the story, Glinda adds to that thematic focus—she is yet another disappointment in Elphaba’s life (in addition to Nessarose, and Boq, and her father, and so on) and one that stings in particular because she could have been better. She was better, at one point. And Glinda has failed herself, too.

In the quote above, there is a nod to the suggestion that Glinda and Elphaba’s fate and even their actions as adults may have been influenced by Madame Morrible’s spell. But Glinda herself says to Elphaba: “‘I’m no pawn…you do have some choice.’” In that very same scene, in fact.

I can’t blame people who dislike the novel for being quite cynical and pessimistic in its outlook of humanity, but at the same time that cynicism is what drives a lot of the characterization. Glinda in the novel is not the friend to Elphaba or hero that she is in the musical, and she isn’t meant to be. Viewing the book primarily as a political satire, Glinda fits in well as a parody of a particular kind of figure, and it’s both intriguing (in my opinion) and controversial that Maguire uses a character so strongly associated with goodness to make that point.

[jokers-bat]

BatJokes Headcanons by Series:

Harley Quinn Show:

(This is my favorite Joker quote from this show! 😆)

- Complicated, long history. On again, off again boyfriends.

- Not together but still have feelings for each other.

- Bruce was legitimately happy for Joker having a new life and job…But he missed the old Joker too.

- Joker knows Batman/Bruce is a little crazy himself but he’s still shocked whenever he does something reckless and impulsive.

- They aren’t good for each other and they know it. Like they know each other’s vulnerable sides and their demons but neither are equipped to help them get better (with Joker not wanting to get better and Bruce turning to self-destruction rather than real help).

2004 Batman

- Night and day. Bruce is stability, peace, hope, and warmth while Joker is chaos, hate, destruction, and wacky.

- It’s rare, but there is a tenderness between them. Meeting on the roof at night, watching the sunrise, speaking freely and openly. Brief moments of peace and something more than just being enemies.

- Never said out loud, but Batman will come to save him if Joker was in danger. Similarly, Joker would protect Batman and his identity if he knew he was in trouble.

- ‘I love you’ is never said but they feel it.

Under The Red Hood

- Not good but ify. Depends on situation and/or circumstances (following canon versus fan fiction).

- They have a history together. Were a couple at one point but it’s complicated.

- All the ‘what could have been love songs’ mixed with the ‘not over you’ songs.

- Bruce is bitter, gloomy, and full of regret while Joker is crazy, out of control, and evil but both are violent and hate themselves more than anything else.

- Whatever is left of Joker’s former self deeply resents Batman for accidentally creating him but he’ll never show it. Bruce, meanwhile, wishes he could have known him before he became the Joker.

- If they were to get back together, it would require a decade’s worth of therapy.

- In an alternative universe where Batman and Joker were together and Joker continued to be a criminal (though not as deadly) and Jason still became the Red Hood, the bay family would be one heck of a complicated, dysfunctional, and kind of toxic family.

Lego Batman

- They got married and adopted Dick, the end!

- Fun dads. Bruce is the kickass, awesome dad with super cool cars and gadgets while Joker is the crazy and wild dad who knows all the best jokes and pranks.

- Pure wholesome love story. Just let it be!

- Joker was never really a criminal. Just a prankster who ultimately wanted to go out with Batman but didn’t know how to ask so he annoyed him instead. 😆

- Found family that makes each other better people!

- Very affectionate. Hand holding, fixing each other’s hair, hugs and kisses, Everyday is Valentine’s Day for them!

[seeker-ophelia]

Ophelia’s Review, Part Two: Thedas, The Dragon Age System

Some things I need to get off my chest.

One. This does not feel like a Dragon Age game.

Two. That doesn’t mean I didn’t like it.

Three. I have a lot of feelings right now but I’ll come back when my brain has re-hydrated itself.

(I finished Veilguard at 10PM on Monday, and wrote this the morning after. And its still true, 5 days later.)

TLDR at the bottom

[Read Part 1 Here]

I do miss the heady blend of power, intrigue, danger, and sex that permeates these events games.

[Photo Cred: Dumped, Drunk & Dalish]

Because Veilguard is missing all of that.

Listen, it’s good. Great even. I loved it. Cried. Laughed. Dropped my controller and paced around the room for 5 minutes in anger and angst. Drank a bottle of wine in the bathtub after Solavellan’s happy ending (and my Rooks sad one). But this is not a Dragon Age game.

It is Dragon Age ADJACENT. Similar of course. The backbone is there. The direction, the vector, is there. But the execution…

Dragon Age (Origins through Inquisition) for me, was A Song of Ice and Fire. I love that series.

It was deep. It was harsh. It was MEAN. If offered me hope and then snatched it away. The world-building, the lore crafting, was intense and deep and required attention and critical thought. The characters were nuanced and troubled and real.

Veilguard, for me, is Eragon.

I also loved that series. It is pure and good and takes me on a journey through a fantastical land of dragons and heroes, of good versus evil, of mysteries and magic. But, it is juvenile. Its simple. It doesn’t try to be anything other than it is. Veilguard, is shallow.

The essence is there, beneath the surface Veil, pressing and bursting at the seams to escape, but is being held back by a gentrification of Thedas, the Tranquility of the Dragon Age world, if you would.

The Lore

I don’t want to go into to much about it (its going to be its own post, I think), but I love the lore of Dragon Age. I love learning about it. I love the questions, the pervasive theme that history is only as true as the historians who write it; things get lost, muddled, confused through and over time. And Veilguard, kind of feels like I’m being spoonfed? Like I’m a baby.

I think EA did BioWare a disservice by making this game for new players, instead of assuming that RPG players have the intelligence and wherewithal to comprehend at least a little bit of lore and history, or at the very least, introduce a cannon world state. You can have your cake and eat it to, but, as Veilguard shows, it diminishes the quality of the cake as a whole.

This game is an Action RPG. This is a game about combat. For the record, the first, second, third, 17th time I saw my Rook in their Takedown Animation, I said, out loud, ‘Dragon Age, G.O.T.Y.’ I swore at my inability to time dodges properly, I planned and schemed with primers and detonators and damage types. This is very reminiscent of The Witcher and Assassins Creed, for me (I have not played a ton of games, im sure there are others more like it). It was fun, it was challenging. But. This is not Dragon Age. Its Something Else™.

Dragon Age: Dark Origins

When people say Dragon Age is a dark game, they’re not talking about the gameplay, or the graphics, or the art direction.

Dragon Age deals with dark subject matter. Slavery. Racism. Religion. Politics. Power dynamics. Mages versus Templars. Addiction. Death. War. An unstoppable contagion that deals death indiscriminately. THAT’S what makes Dragon Age Dark.

These stories are deep. They’re hard. And yeah, they weren’t always handled properly (lookin’ at you, Gaider), but doing something wrong… looks like it might actually be better than pretending it doesn’t exist.

As a Sollavellan, I’m unspeakably glad they didn’t yassify Solas. He is still an unlikable character who has committed unspeakable war crimes. And we got a redemption arc that did not end in death. That’s a win for me.

But they kept his darkness at the expense of lightening literally EVERYTHING ELSE in Thedas.

What the fuck happened to Zevran’s Crows? I got the Puss-in-Boots-Found-Family Assassin Agency.

Where are the slaves in Minrathous? Where’s the trip to the upper city, gilded and clean, so we can compare it to the slums of Dock Town (which was not bad at all). Where is the “Rescue the Rabbits” Quest? Tevene Politics boils down to Dorian or Mave, “bad” or “good,” change from within, or power to the people.

The whole Qunari are just Bad™ now? The Antaam warriors turned into… what the fuck is even that? You know the advertising theory where women’s bodies are shown but not their heads or faces? This feels like that. Giant Grey Muscular Powerful Bodies with NoFace. THAT’S the Antaam? The Tamassrins really eliminate every embodiment of individuality from them? They’re just Storm Troopers?

And ‘Thal’enaste, what a lost plot thread to not have Lace and Solas meet in the deep roads, or Kal-Sharok, or fucking anywhere. Instead, you give her one little blurb of “companion banter.” Weak.

Where’s the racism towards the Elves? What happened to that? What happened to Dark Thedas? Oh, its actually all in the South, and thats destroyed now (lets put a pin in that for a minute).

The Companions

I have written and re-written this section 3 times. Its too long. I don’t need to mention them all. How to summarize them.

If you read my part 1, you’ll remember how I fell in love with Dragon Age 2, years after its release (after playing Inquisition, in fact), and how I fucking hard I fell for those very real, very troubled, very nuanced characters.

Anders and his quest for freedom, Fenris and his quest for vengeance. Merrill and her quest for knowledge, Isabella and her quest for… other cultures relics, I guess?

I hated the graphics in 2. It was the characters that carried that game. I don’t know how BioWare wrote them, but they failed to do that in VG.

My favourite character in Inquisition? Surprisingly, its not Solas. Its not even Cole, or the Iron Bull, or Dorian.

Its Cassandra.

I love her. Her story is SO complex. Her devotion to the Seekers, to the Andrastian Faith, is so pure, yet it does not impede her friendship with a Dalish elf who believes in gods that she does not. It does not stop her form forming close bonds with other people from different backgrounds, and although she is fearless in calling out the darkness in her own faith, its sins and its rot, she admits to her Herald that she is envious of the Heralds conviction.

Which character in Veilguard has that nuance?

The necromancer afraid of death? The Elvhen Engineer with ADHD? The literal Demon of Vyantium Puss-In-Boots? The smirking detective? The questioning Qunari? Or the gruff monster daddy?

Listen. I read trash. Smut, romantasy... I read objectively bad literature, for fun, all the time. And, I have a fantastic imagination. It is my own personal fleshing out of theses characters that saved me in this game.

But I should not have had to do that.

The Keep

I cannot explain to you, in words, how important those one-off codices and cameos are.

(Don’tThinkAboutIsabela Don’tThinkAboutIsabela Don’tThinkAboutIsabela).

*Grimaces* Okay.

I can speak no more about this. I am already writing a “Keep” DLC for Veilguard.

I would have rather lived in your world state than this abomination. Which leads me to…

‘The Soft Reboot’

So. The South is Gone. That’s the answer. The Hero of Ferelden. Hawke and their siblings. Everything is wiped clean, just as EA asked. All of the South, turned to the Hissings Wastes and the Anderfels, because of the Blight and the hubris of the Gods. What a tragedy. DA5 looks likes its overseas. Cool.

You know what would have been a better reboot?

Spite, taking over Lucanis’ body, walking through the Ossuary, or the catacombs of Minrathous, explaining to Rook how the heavy emotions of People manifest in the fade. The birth of a spirit. Or a demon.

Taash, meeting a spirit face to face in Arlathan, recoiling in disgust, until they help the spirit on its journey, and Taash begins to question their whole worldview surrounding demons. I- I mean spirits.

Emmerich, taking Rook on a lecture-walk through the fade, meeting spirits, solving puzzles, ‘you know, its not so bad in here, what’s the big deal?’

Bellara, instead of discovering Cyrian only to lose him, meets the demon formed of his death, and how to help him back into a spirit.

Neve, following a trail of wisps in the fade, learning things, memories, feelings, songs. Neve, reveling in the pure beauty of the wisps, until they lead her to Vir Dirthara, and her eyes grow wide, what is this place?

Davrin and Assan, after hard training in the High Anderfels, take a break, and while Rook and Davrin flirt, or joke, Assan finds a long string, and begins to play, the string growing and lengthening and thickening until a soft, feminine whisper fills the air, I Am So Sorry… And Rook and Davrin meet a strange spirit, a perfect combination of protection and regret, and they help her find her way home.

Harding, palms flat on the stone, pushing, working, threading her magic into a titan, tilting her face up to Rook, eyes shining blue, speaking in a thousand voices at once, let me show you what was lost, and for a millisecond, we FEEL Isatunoll.

The Dwarvhen was tranquil’d from their Memories, but the Elvhen were tranquil’d from the Fade.

And when Solas turns from Rook in Minrathous, I am sorry for this final betrayal, he is puzzled at the lack of retaliation, and turns to see the Veilguard, standing behind Rook, eyes locked on the giant eye-shaped rift in the sky.

Why are you not stopping me? He asks the group of misfits.

And Rook answers, I can admit when I was wrong. Tear it the fuck down.

And Solas, battered, bruised, and bloody, smiles, brandishes his ritual dagger with a flashy flip, banishes the blight, and tears down the Veil.

When I learned there were only going to be 3 choices carried over from the rest of the series into Veilguard, I tagged my complaint posts with something.

#You Cannot Dangle A Carrot In Front Of Me For 10 Years And Then Not Be Surprised At My Anger In Discovering It Was A Painted Dowel

Let me reiterate. I enjoyed this game. It was fun for me. I’m in the middle of my second playthrough and am planning a third, and a fourth. But this is NOT a Dragon Age game.

This is an EA game. And its good. But it could have been everything.

Bellanaris.

TLDR;

How torn I feel; lobotomized, rendered tranquil, separated from the memories, lore, and spirits, of the old Dragon Age, while still, like the Veilguard, wanting this world to endure.

Var lath vir suledin, BioWare.

For now.