#i love him so much wow

[aimfor-theheart]

my cicicielo💛 for your writing game: western au + vash pls? :3

amira you love me fr for giving me this one!!!! <3333 THANK YOU!!!

western au

vash x reader

cw: none...soft....lil touch of angst....

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a sea of endless green, the hills rolling as far as you can see, meeting the mountains somewhere in the distance like old friends. the sun is a honey melt in the sky, ripening to a deep blue. the flowers, bursts of red and pink and orange and white, scatter over the fields before you.

a figure in the distance. silhouetted against the setting sun. standing there, lonesome against the sky.

you'd know the slope of his shoulders anywhere.

"vash!" you crow to the heavens happily, a bird crying out. "vash the stampede!"

that figure turns, but you're already running for him, running down the slopes and bends of the earth and towards him.

and he runs for you, too. shouting your name into the sky.

when you collide, its like reckless stars.

he laughs as he catches you, as he turns to take the brunt of the fall, arms around you tight and secure. with all the momentum, you both roll over each other a few times in the flowers, down the slope of the hill.

when you both finally still, you're on top of him again, still laughing. you pick yourself up, hands flattening against his stomach to lift yourself up. your legs are straddled on either side of his waist.

when your giggles subside, you're left looking at each other, breathing hard. petals caught in his hair, his hat missing somewhere, shirt a little open underneath your hands.

"hey, cowboy," you say slowly, taking him in like you can't believe it's really him, breathless with your excitement, aching with your joy. you breathe it through your smile;

"you came back."

"heya, cowgirl," he says back and his hands twitch, reaching up to pluck petals from your own hair, to take you in, too, "course i came back—i told'ya i would."

his smile is wide and brimming, but you can see that touch of sadness in his eyes—that creeping melancholy, like it's own vine that overtakes and chokes out the flowers of his happiness. you touch at the corner of his eyes as if to chase it away.

"i wasn't sure you'd make it back to me." you admit, smile waning.

he reaches up and covers your hand with his. catches it. presses his lips to your open palm in a reverent kiss. his brow furrows for just a moment.

"i did my best." he says, "i made you a promise."

you pull your hand away to fist both in the front of his shirt. "almost makes up for how you left me, vash the stampede—damn criminal that you are."

he smiles sheepishly, "i am sorry, sweetheart, i knew you'd be mad—"

"damn right i was!" you say, shaking him a little, baring your teeth.

but then you take him in again, underneath you. alive and breathing. heart kicking beneath your hands, beneath all those scars and wounds. back in your life like he'd never left. back on these hills and under the same sky. tears prick your eyes.

you could cry having him back—it's like a dream you thought you'd never have again.

"you better not ever do that to me again—" you say, voice breaking, trying to be angry and tough but so, so lovesick, "you hear me, vash?"

"loud and clear," he says, his starry eyes suddenly welling with their own tears, smiling fond and soft at your anger that isn't really anger at all. he swallows around it all, "i got a lifetime to make up for it, huh?"

you grip the front of his shirt, hauling him up to you, and he yelps a little, laughing.

"you better, cowboy."

he kisses you hard, kisses you desperate and sorry and aching. his hands, one cool and metal, and the other warm and flesh, all over you suddenly. around you. hitching you tighter to him, mouth warm and soft and stubble scraping up against your lips like it had so long ago.

when you pull away, breathless, he says, "let me start now," and suddenly rolls you onto your back in a field of flowers. the sun sinks in the sky, bruising blue and soft, stars winking to life above you both. the moon's curve is a soft smile, shining down on a lovelorn earth.

"let me show you how sorry i really am, cowgirl."

when he kisses you again, you taste the curve of his smile, and yours fits against it like an old, worn key coming up against it's homelock.

in another universe writing game!

[tangledinink]

The prettiest of boys :3

I was so happy to be drawing Raph in all the pink fluffies, but he be hard to draw TwT

(The set is almost complete!)

OH MY GOODNESS

THE PRETTIEST OF BOYS <3

[hinamie]

subject, specimen, spectacle;

should i say that you're dead?

[lotus-pear]

charm stat at debonair ‼️‼️

[zipsunz]

two bracelets, five years later

[metallictastinglifesupportliquid]

Emotions are hard for Ghost

     Simon was staring into his cup of tea, it was barely warm at this point. He wasn’t a very emotional man, never have been, but lately he’s been having a lot to figure out when it comes to his emotions. Than he has to figure out what to do with the emotions. It was simpler when he didn’t feel much of anything, he glanced up to see Johnny skating in his journal from across the table. Simon thought that letting himself feel things again at least had it perks, he could admit to himself.

     “Johnny,” Simon spoke softly, just enough to draw Soap’s attention from what he was doodling.

     Johnny just hummed in response but did look up at him with a raised eyebrow.

     “I think-”Ghost started to speak.

     “Oi, there’s no I when it comes to our relationship LT, it’s just we at this point.” Johnny gave Simon a cheeky smile as if he was waiting for this moment.

     Simon gave Soap a look before continuing. “Fine, then WE have a crush on Y/N”

“You’re damn right we do! They’re everything we want and need in a partner. Now the question is how are we gonna get a date with them?” Soap had an excited look about him now that they were on the same page.

“Let me get a new cup and we can plan.” Simon stood up from his chair to get himself a new warm cup of tea. 

[astral-herald]

Viktor's (subverted) Aristotelian Tragedy

A common sentiment I’m seeing throughout post-finale Viktor discourse is an understandable concern or distaste for the element of choice lost throughout his story. I know a lot of us – myself included – expected more time spent on his transformation, along with emphasis on the anger/rage/betrayal fueling it. But seeing him allow Singed to “begin the process” in episode 8 reminded me of Arcane’s origins – tragedy. Bear with me for another long analysis :)

Aristotle wrote the following on the tragedy: “A tragedy is the imitation of an action that is serious and also, as having magnitude, complete in itself…with incidents arousing pity and fear, wherewith to accomplish a catharsis of these emotions.” He also emphasized that the true tragic hero couldn’t be perfect, and his downfall into such catharsis-inducing circumstances was reliant on a fatal flaw, oftentimes pride.

Viktor fits this mold, as do many Arcane characters, and it stands to reason that this was intentional since the writing team has reiterated that the show is a tragedy, at its core.

Regarding Viktor’s fatal flaw, I’d argue it’s pride, but it manifests very uniquely. He never makes any grand declarations about his success and doesn’t draw attention to himself in any clear way throughout season one (“Progress Day” comes to mind). Instead, his pride manifests as staunch independence and self-reliance that lead to his downfall; his unwillingness to break his stoic mold arguably led to his use of the Hexcore…so it goes.

Fascinating caveat: Viktor’s pride is a defense mechanism, a necessary tool he built in order to survive and succeed in a hostile environment to people of his station. His self-reliance is increasingly desperate as his illness worsens. He’s cornered by fate but banks on the sanctity of choice at every turn – in season one, Viktor is bound by the conviction that we all have a choice. It’s why he’s so distressed when Jayce makes the wrong one regarding weaponizing Hextech.

“There is always a choice.”

Viktor’s choice to fuse with the Hexcore is the classic Aristotelian fatal flaw moment, the singular incident that opens the flood gates for eventual catharsis. We watch Viktor make an irreparable choice, one that we know to be bad, and endure the repercussions. He then makes the choice to abandon the Hexcore, and end his life, but audiences can’t shake the feeling that those consequences aren’t leaving anytime soon.

So why is Viktor so anti-choice in his final season 2, act 3 form?

Choice is Viktor’s weapon. Pride is what leads him to abusing it. Despite how uncomfortable and depressing it is to watch, Viktor’s slow descent into the Herald is a perfect twist of fate. The Arcane is even so insidious that it meshes with his original intent, to help those suffering in the undercity, while convincing him that their subservience is healing. He becomes responsible for their choices. He knows what’s best because he’s relieving the Gloriously Evolved of their suffering, right? The utopia is for the greater good, yes?

Admittedly, it was really hard watching act 3 Viktor descend fully into his choiceless ethos. But we can still relate it to his tragic flaw – his pride has mushroomed into coldhearted omniscience; not only does he know what’s best for everyone, evolution, but he also has the sense to make the choice for them to supersede their “baser instincts.” The grief we feel upon seeing this perverted, violent version of himself, as far removed from Viktor as possible, is the culmination of Aristotle’s treatise on tragedy. The catharsis is the rock-bottom Machine Herald.

"Choice is false."

But then Arcane decided to basically make Jayvik canon (get out of here, Christian Linke) and destroyed the early drafts of this post. I’m going to rapid-fire this next bit:

Jayce forces Viktor back to life. Viktor has no agency in his season 2 inciting incident. Again, it’s distressing when we mourn his agency, but it remains in accordance with Aristotelian tragedy.

Viktor clings to humanity as long as he possibly can. When Jayce calls out Viktor’s trajectory, alleging that his old partner had died in the Council chamber, whatever is left of Viktor gives way to the Arcane because his last tether has been snapped.

Jayce knows the game – Old Man Jenkins Mage Viktor told him so. Jayce becomes the linchpin in subverting Viktor’s tragedy. He knows what must happen. He understands now.

Machine Herald Viktor is given the chance to undo his fatal flaw, to reverse the catharsis, when he sees Old Man Jenkins Mage Viktor. With Jayce’s help, he takes it.

Given that it’s a version of Viktor who ultimately frees him from himself by empowering Jayce, we can gather that Viktor has liberated himself from his tragedy.

Aristotle’s catharsis is rapidly transformed from something based in release to something healing – Viktor’s tether to humanity returns. He grasps it. The walls of his pride and self-reliance collapse. He accepts Jayce’s help, finally being seen as the full individual he is. Catharsis ensues, for sure, but I don’t think it’s based in the typical tragedy genre.

All this to say, I think Viktor’s arc was, in fact, carefully constructed. He represents the Aristotelian descent into a fatal flaw and that’s very distressing to see unfold, especially since he embodied the tragic hero archetype so well from day one. However, Jayce undoes this narrative and we’re given an incredibly subversive ending that I, personally, never saw coming.

I’m sure that Mage Viktor has a much larger bearing on this analysis than I’m accounting for. But for now, suffice to say that he is Viktor’s way out of the tragedy. TALK ABOUT CHOICE!

This doesn’t erase anyone’s discomfort for Viktor having less and less agency, but I’d like to emphasize the logic and literary precedent behind the story decisions.

PS: here's a quick source I looked at about Aristotelian tragedies. I hope to re-up on Greek tragedies so I can get more specific about the parallels Arcane draws from them.

[shanastoryteller]

The day his deal comes due, Sam goes missing.

Dean tells himself it’s nothing, that he’s gotten caught up in some research, some last ditch, hail mary nonsense and that he’s just turned his phone off and everything’s fine, that he wouldn’t do something stupid, that he wouldn’t break his promise.

He tells himself that for the first two minutes after he cracks his eyes open and sees the empty bed across from him, and the first time his call goes straight to voicemail, and not much after that. Sam’s broken his promises over things significantly less important to him than his brother’s life.

Dean is dressed and in the Impala five minutes later, heart thudding wildly in his chest. He calls Bobby, Ellen, everyone he can think of, but none of them have heard from Sam, none of them have eyes on him. Sam was with him last night, even if he boosted a car, there’s only so far he can get.

He keeps calling, keep searching, desperate to stop whatever he’s trying to do, to find him, to see his brother one last time before he’s dragged to hell. To make sure Sam is going to be okay after he’s dragged to hell. But the hours tick down, the sun sets, and he can’t find a trace of him. He’s so exhausted and heart sick that when he goes to call Sam again it takes him a long time to read the number on his phone, eyes swimming, the time not making any sense.

1:03

That’s not possible.

That’s not –

His phone rings, blocking out the time with Bobby’s name across the screen, and he answers it but his throat is too thick to say anything.

“Dean?” Bobby says tentatively. “Are you – I got an email from Sam. It just said, I mean, did–“

“What did it say, Bobby?” he asks, even though he’s sure he knows.

Bobby sucks in a breath at his voice, because he knows just as well as Dean that he should be screaming in hell right now, not answering his phone. “To take care of you.”

Dean drops the phone, hears Bobby still talking as he grips the wheel and presses his forehead against the back of his hands. This is what he’d been afraid of. This is why he hadn’t wanted to mess with the deal in first place. This is the one thing he’d begged Sam not to do.

It's easy to find a crossroad.

The demon is laughing at him when it shows up, wicked grin in a pretty face. “That didn’t take you long, boy.”

It’s a different demon than the one he delt with, obviously, but Dean figures they all know the same shit, since demons are a bunch of gossips. “This wasn’t the deal. My brother lives and I die.”

“You traded your soul for your brother’s life,” she corrects, so amused by all this that all he wants to do is kill her, to exorcise her, to make her scream. “Just like your father traded his for yours. There’s no reason Sammy can’t make his own trade. Man, but is your family fucked up. Maybe if you’d just settled down like little Sammy wanted, you wouldn’t all be bargaining for each other’s lives like haggling at a flea market.”

“Untrade it,” he snaps. “My soul for him alive, come on, no year, no waiting, you bring him back and take me to hell right now.”

She laughs in his face. “You don’t have anything to bargain with, boy.”

“My soul,” he repeats, “That’s what this is about, isn’t?”

“Oh, it’s what it’s all about,” she says. “But Sammy’s a clever boy. You know that, don’t you? He didn’t trade his soul for your life, he didn’t have to. You didn’t die. No, he traded it for your soul. Sorry, honey, but your credits been declined.”

At first he doesn’t understand. Sam traded his soul for Dean’s, exactly, so there’s no reason he can’t trade it right back. Then he gets it.

She sees the exact moment it clicks, the moment despair and horror sweep across his face too quickly for him to stop them. “That’s right. Little brother owns your soul now. For some reason he didn’t think you’d take proper care of it. You have it because that’s where he wants it, but no one will be making any deals with you, Dean Winchester. You can’t sell a soul you don’t own.”

“You can’t,” he has to clear his throat, “you can’t just come in and change things at the eleventh hour-”

“Eleventh hour?” she interrupts. “Sammy made his deal eleven months ago.”

His mouth is so dry he can’t speak.

“Isn’t it funny?” she asks, head cocked to the side. “All this time, the deal he’s been trying to get out of wasn’t yours, but his own. Maybe the two of you might have even managed it, except you just wouldn’t help, would you? Insisting that he not research, that he not look for a way out, and he spent so much time trying to convince you, coaxing you to talk about your feelings when he knew you were safe, all he because he thought it would make you feel better when he was gone, because he couldn’t tell you the truth and talk about how scared he was, so talking about your fear was as close as he could get.”

Dean’s going to be sick. “Don’t – please, please, I’ll give you anything-”

“You don’t have anything,” she says, gleeful. “You want to know why I agreed? The thing that made it just too delicious to refuse? Sammy’s down there, just starting in on an eternity of torture, and all he has to do get out of it is give up your soul. It’s his, after all, and he can put the original deal back in place any time he chooses. Just one moment of weakness on his end and his beloved big brother will be on the rack instead.” She sighs happily. “It’s almost as good as anything we’re doing to him down there, the knowledge that if he slips up for even a moment then it would all be for nothing. I couldn’t have found a way to twist the knife deeper if I tried.”

There’s vomit crawling its way up his throat and he has to swallow it down before he can speak. “I can’t – I’ll do whatever you want, please, there has to be something.”

She leans forward, cruelty and delight shining in her eyes. “The only thing you can do is what you’ve been telling your precious baby brother to do for the past year. Accept it. Move on. Live a good life so his sacrifice isn’t in vain.”

God. How can she – how can Sammy expect him to –

He’s doubling over, finally upchucking what little he’s ate today, and he’s dry heaving on the dirt when he hears the fading sound of her laughter.

This can’t be real. This has to be Hell, he has to be in it right now. He has to be.

[benevolenterrancy]

(Unseen Academicals, Terry Pratchett) I think Shang Qinghua and Ponder Stibbons should have tea and compare notes about somehow accumulating so much behind-the-scenes power by doing menial jobs no one else wants that they could basically run the show if they wanted...

meanwhile we have Shen "meh good enough" Qingqiu

[astrobolical]

Okay.

As much as I love feral Satan, who lets his instincts run wild and growls, bites and everything else… his soft side is so fuckin’ cute.

The Satan that stares at you in confusion as you tend to a small cut on his hand he’d received on one of his rampages, unbothered by the mess around the two of you and concerned solely with him. How he doesn’t quite know why his chest feels so warm and tight as he looks at your gentle, concerned expression.

Satan, who doesn’t understand why he feels so weightless with you, why his heart flutters and why he wants to hold you so gently, as if cradling something precious.

Satan, whose anger fades just from your presence alone, overtaken with feelings he’s never experienced, that baffle him entirely but he can’t get enough.

Satan, who desperately throws himself into research just to understand you a little more, to put a name on how he feels about you— who’s just as afraid of his own feelings as he is elated by them.

Satan, who worries you’ll be frightened of him if his temper rises, but you never are, even when he tells you that you should be.

Satan, who lays beside you, watching your sleeping face and utterly baffled that you trust him so completely to allow him to see you in such a vulnerable state… who knows deep down he’ll protect you forever.

Satan, who fumbles each time he tries to explain any of this to you, whose face becomes adorably reddened with each failed attempt.

Satan, who realizes that you’ve accepted him entirely, his every fault, his everything, before he had even come close to accepting himself. Who loves you more than he could ever put to words, or that he could ever really comprehend.

Just him. You know? Ahh, just helping him come to terms with everything he doesn’t know, to grow and understand. Helping him, in the end, to love.

[camthecatchameleon]

a few days ago my brain demanded i draw polywitchlight RIGHT NOW and who am i to refuse

original and closeups under the cut

original/template is from “Go For It Nakamura!” by Syundei which i have not read actually

+ closeups; feel free to use as icons with credit smile

[bamboo-bees]

yes, i love my boys

[hatsunevita]

this is literally one of my favorite panels of the war arc.

i am OBSESSED with deku’s perception of romance and how it’s probably based off popular melodramas and his peers’ stories about their dates.

because you can’t argue with me that that’s the reason why he will have no idea his and katsuki’s relationship is so close to romantic. i’m so sure he’s gonna be the last one to realise his feelings for katsuki aren’t purely friendly and platonic. the guy will be like “oh yeah we’re really close and i care about him deeply and i hate the very thought of him being hurt and i wanna spend the rest of my life next to kacchan but haha that’s just our friendship! we’re not holding hands and sharing crepes so there are no romantic feelings involved🥰”

bro is gonna be so shocked when kacchan finally confesses his true feelings.

[egophiliac]

new chapter 7 installment dropped how we feelin????

YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND

THAT'S HIS DAD

[starks-kid]

sometimes i just look at crowley and like. wow. THAT is david tennant??¿?!?¿? like really?? how in hell can he do that??? they're so different, i still just CANNOT believe that he and crowley have the same body

how are these two the same person this is impossible

[kj-beastboy]

Paperhatober Day 13: Plush

Build-A-Flug(?)