#it's a constant and terrible battle with myself

[trippinsorrows]

the space between us + oneshot

authors note: i need everyone to know and understand i condone none of this. the bar is literally on the ground. below it.

i don't really write a lot in first person pov on here with ya'll, just cause i'm a lil self-conscious about it, but this idea felt more fitting for first person versus third person.

warnings: angst. smut. forbidden relationship. vaginal penetration. dirty talk. unprotected sex. multiple positions. slight butt play. mature ass themes.

words: 3.8k

masterlist

For as long as I’ve known Roman Reigns, three things have remained constant. Unchanging. Consistent. Permanent. 

He’s an awful person.

He’s a terrible person.

He’s the worst person.

Plain and simple. Easy to understand. Impossible to keep in mind, to remind myself of every time I find myself in his trap. 

Especially in his bed. 

His hand slams down on my ass, snapping me from undisputed truths and warnings that any sane person would heed to. That any smart person would heed to. Both adjectives I would always use to describe myself. Except for when I’m with him.

Nothing exists nor matters when it’s just the two of us. Sense, logic, and anything else that keep people from making bad decisions goes right out the window the minute I’m in the same space as Roman Reigns. That’s always been the case. 

“Fuck.” His voice, deep, strained, tinged with something unspoken is in my ear, those big hands of his on my hips, guiding and keeping me in place. Just where he wants me. How he always wants me. “So fucking tight…”

My eyes shut, the feel of his hands on me, his cool, minty breath on the side of my face, sensations that pale in comparison to the feel of his dick ramming inside of me, claiming every inch of me, marking me, etching his place inside of me. 

In more ways than one.

As hard as I try to suppress my moans, to withhold the intensity of the passion and pleasure, it’s a losing battle. Much like anytime I’m around him, my resolve is but a thing of imagination. I have none when it comes to him. I try to stomp my feet in the ground, try to pretend like I actually have a say in the situation, but I don’t. I never did.

Perhaps I never will.

“Roman….” His name tumbles out my mouth, quiet, low, hushed, moaned almost, and it’s enough to evoke that sound from him. That verbal thing similar to acknowledgment. He loves when I do that. Say his name. Especially when I moan it, and as ashamed as I am to admit it, it’s happened more times than I—or he—could ever count.

“That’s right,” he goads, another slap to my ass, his fingers digging into the meat of it. “My name.” My eyes clench tighter the same way my cunt flutters at the low growl behind his words. “Say it.” He’s met with silence, an unacceptable thing, prompting yet a particular deep thrust inside me. One that forces a hiss followed by his hips pressed against my ass, his dick throbbing inside, tip teasing my G-Spot. “Say it, Sola.”

The outcome is unavoidable, just like us, but that doesn’t mean I can’t delay it. 

“F–fuck you.” A strained act of defiance, his name almost spilling out of my mouth. Such weakness.

A dark chuckle. I already know what’s coming, and yet there’s this irritating sense of shock when he shoves me down on the bed, his chest no longer pressed into my back. The way his hand moves to my head, thick fingers tangled in my hair. 

The way he forces it out of me as he fucks into me, wildly, animalistic, uncontrolled, and unhinged. The way that unforgiving dick of his slams into my pussy, over and over again, driving tears to spill over. 

For his name to spill over. 

“Roman!” 

He says nothing, just continues to fuck me like it’s the last time. It should be. It really should, but even I, with all my refusal to acknowledge the inevitable, the uncomfortable truth, can’t deny that.

I’ve tried. 

God, I’ve tried so hard. For years. Years I’ve been under his unbreakable spell. For years, I’ve worked to rid myself of him. To remove myself from his life. To remove me from him. And for every attempt, I always end up right back where I am.

Under him.

With him.

His.

I suppose it’s true after all.

The devil doesn’t do well parting with his toys. 

“Fuck, please,” I moan, reaching behind to push him away. I hate when he fucks me like this. Like less man and more beast. Or, maybe it’s that uncomfortable truth trying to make itself known in an inconvenient or perhaps effective way. 

But, it’s not. It’s not, because as much as I hate it, I love it even more.

“Move your hand.” A growled demand, both of his hands having returned to my hips, forcing my cunt to take the massive, unrelenting assault of his cock. “I said, move your hand, Solana.”

Once again, my defiance does its best to put up a fight for a forever losing battle. Another massive hit, a casualty, when he moves said hand and pins it behind my back. 

He pins both hands behind my back.

“Shhiiiitttt,” I moan into the mattress, words muffled, my body jerking erratically back and forth, already tender breast jolting against the limited almost nonexistent space between my chest and the bed. “R–Roman—”

“You act like you have a fucking choice. Like you can deny me this. Deny me you.” I hate him. I fucking hate him. “Fuck me? That’s exactly what you do.” The snap of his hips is accompanied by the snapped delivery of his words. Pointed. Firm. Clear. “Every. Fucking. Time.”

My eyes still remain shut, like keeping them privy to only the darkness allows me the excuse of being blind to it. Being blind to it all. 

“It’s why you always end up right back here,” he continues spilling uncomfortable truths that I cannot and will not acknowledge. No matter what he says or does. I can’t. “Why he’ll never be me—”

“Stop,” I murmur, a weak protest lost into the mattress that holds every sinful, dirty secret of ours. Years worth of sins and pleasures too carnal and wrong to be uttered into the world. 

“Why you always come back to me—”

“Please.”

“You’re mine, Solana. You always have been and will be.” Another dirty reminder as his hand moves in between my ass, thumb toying with, teasing, and probing my hole, exploring yet another part of me that he’s already invaded. That he’s claimed. “He’s just the bitch I let play with you, because I’m a generous Tribal Chief.”

I hate him. I hate him so much, and yet I don’t.

Not even a little bit.

Not even close. 

I end up on top. His hands once again situated on the meat of my hips, holding and guiding me as I bounce on top of him. My head back, eyes fluttering, completely full and stuffed, I don’t have to be looking down at him to know his eyes are set on me. On my big breast that flop almost wildly against his my chest, the soreness something downplayed and overpowered by the pleasure that wrecks both of us.

“So good,” I moan, incapable of holding it in. It’s too difficult. Too painful. “You feel so good.” A language he cannot understand, something I know secretly irks him. He’s always so needy.

“Tell me what you said,” he demands. I groan as he starts to thrust up inside of me, slow, spaced out thrusts. Bastard.

“Roman….”

A sharp snap upward that makes me scream. “Tell me.”

My refusal remains stronger than what is typical, a sense of pride overcoming me at this unfamiliar ability to stay on the path of resistance. That is until he starts fucking up into me with a newfound intensity and borderline brutality. One that has me reaching for the headboard, hand squeezing the dark wood, those tears forming again.

Damn him.

—----

I want to leave afterwards. I need to leave afterwards. I should leave afterwards, but I don’t. I never do. I allow him to carry me into the bathroom and into his large walk-in shower where there’s more than enough room for proper distance to be kept.

It isn’t.

We fuck in the shower, the back of my head against the tiled wall as he fucks into me again like this isn’t the third round. Maybe fourth. I’m not sure. Time seems inconsequential whenever it’s the two of us. 

His touch is almost gentle as he washes me, a common, usual thing.

I return the favor.

No words are spoken. It’s far too intimate of an act for any sort of conversation, because then maybe we’d have to finally acknowledge it.

Or, maybe I would. 

He only says something to me as I move around his living room, retracing my steps, gathering my clothes that got discarded in various places, the location of each telling the erotic tell. 

Except, right as I clasp the hook of my bra, the familiar sound of a customized ringtone recently set fills the room. My eyes lock to his, and right away, I know he knows. 

I wish I didn’t hesitate to answer, but I do. The same way I wish I would just walk out into his backyard for privacy, but I don’t. I hit answer with him standing only feet away from me.

“Hi, babies.” 

“Hi, mommy.” It’s a synchronized greeting that automatically puts a smile on my face. I can only imagine the way they’re huddled close together, leaning over the phone that’s clearly on speaker. “We miss you.”

My stomach knots in ways uncomfortable and unsettling. “I miss you, too, babies.” Shifting my weight from one side to the other, I visually scan the living room for any sign of my pencil skirt. “Do you want me to come get you?”

“No,” Kaiden answers first, prompting me to chuckle quietly. “We come home mañana.”

“Yeah, mañana,” Kaydence chimes, her voice shifting in a way that makes me imagine her smiling happily. That familiar smile… 

I clear my throat. “Are you having fun with abuela?”

“Lotsa fun!”

“Good.” They always do. The twins love my mom probably more than I do, and there’s no one on earth that I adore more than that woman. Next to my kids, of course. “Hey, do you—”

“Where are you, mommy?”

It’s only then that my gaze somehow falls on him where he continues to say nothing, all the while never taking his gaze off me. Probably overhearing the little voices on the other end of the call, the combination of the increased volume of the phone and the silence of the room, the perfect environment for him to snoop.

If one can really call it that. 

“I’m uhh—I’m home.” And just like that, my smile is swiped. Dr. Solana Miller, MD. Pediatrician by day. Liar by night. The weight and mountain of untruths seems to grow exponentially with every day that passes, but there’s something about lying to my children that never fails to sink my stomach.

And my heart. 

“Is daddy home?”

My eyes remain locked with his as I answer. “No…not yet, babies.”

It’s only then he looks away, his jaw ticking in that way it does when he’s about to say something, and I’ve known Roman Reigns long enough to know that if there’s something he wants to say, he’s going to say it.

I have to wrap this call up.

“Hey, why don’t you use your tablets to call him?”

The happiest, excited sounds. “Okay!” My smile returns. Not much, but it’s still there, albeit barely visible. “We gotta go now, mommy.”

“Okay, babies.” I swallow, my chest swelling imagining their sweet, happy faces. “I love you.” 

More synchronized voices. “We love you too, mommy.” I start to ask to speak to my mom but quickly decide against it. She’ll ask where I am. Like she doesn’t already know. An intentional guilt tripping strategy. 

If only it worked.

I wish it did.

God, I wish it did.

A final goodbye before I end the call and resume my search for the rest of my clothes. The speed suddenly increased. 

I have to get out of he—

“You think he ever wonders why they don’t look like him?”

I’m completely still. Unmoving. Unflinching. Eyes burning on the dark leather of his sofa, the material of my dress suddenly slippery against my clammy palms. I ignore him, trembling hands moving quickly to slide the skirt up my legs and ass. 

“You think this one will look like me, too?”

Silence. A different type of silence. The type that’s palpable and suffocating. The type that can’t and won’t be ignored, gradually sucking the air out of the room until there’s nothing left, and you’re gasping for breath. For some sense of relief.

Only to find none,

“You think I don’t know?”

My swallow is followed with a quiet. “Roman—

“Think I ain’t notice your breasts are swollen—”

“Stop it—”

“That your skin is glowing—”

My eyes shut. “Please—”

“Will you give this one his last name, too?” The pin that pops the balloon. “To help you feel better about hiding the truth from him?”

It’s at that, I turn to look back at him, to see that intense smoldering expression focused solely on me. So many emotions, anger at the forefront, but it’s a cop-out. I know it is, because as much as he likes to pretend he knows me so well, I know him better. 

“Fuck you, Roman.” I’m not sure I’ve ever meant it as much as I do in this moment. But then, my gaze shifts, assertiveness melting into something docile and unconvincing. “Cody’s a–a good man—”

“But not good enough for you to take his last name?”

My eyes narrow. He’s such a dick sometimes, but it’s a welcomed deviation from that conversation. One I don’t intend to ever have with him. A topic I haven’t really allowed myself to think too much about. If at all. I can’t. “You know why—”

“You ever gonna tell him the truth?” That thick silence returns with a hefty vengeance.  “All of it?”

My eyes close again, my focus on anything and everything but him. “Roman—

“How every time that bleached bitch leaves town, you’re practically tripping and stumbling to make it over here and ride my dick?”

Disgust fills me, marring my face. “You son of a bit—”

But, he continues, and I see it. See that it’s less the man, Roman Reigns, that I’m dealing with right now. It’s the monster. “That you walked down that aisle in that pretty white dress, spent that week long honeymoon in Hawaii with him, making him believe you were his blushing, virginal bride all the while I took your virginity just a week before—”

My breath catches. “Be quiet.”

He scoffs. “Amazing how the twins were conceived on your honeymoon.” The most wicked of smiles. “Interesting timing, Dr. Miller.”

“You’re such a heartless bastard.” And, I’m the idiot who keeps coming back every time. 

So am I any better?

Rushed, angry grabbing at my shirt that I slide over my head, forcefully tucking it into my skirt, uncaring of the top buttons that remain undone. 

I just need to get out of here.

And, I don’t just mean his house.

But, the minute I turn on my heel, he’s right there, in front of me, blocking me. And when I try to move past him, he has his hands on my hips, holding me in place, keeping me right where he wants me. 

Like he always does.

My jaw clenches, my nose flaring, the anger flowing and growing. “Let me go, Roman.”

“How far along are you?” 

And there it is. That damn question I’ve been dreading, the forceful acknowledgement of something I wish was nothing more than a bad dream. If only the four tests I took didn’t indicate otherwise. 

“It doesn’t matt—” My distant response interrupted by his hand under my chin, forcing me to look at him, to confront both the source and relief of all of my problems. 

“How far along are you, Solana?”

It’s the way he looks at me, the curiosity latent underneath the question, the way one hand shifts to the indent of my waist. I can’t not answer him.

“Six weeks.” A quiet answer that’s met with no immediate response, prompting me to disclose for reasons unknown. “I don’t—I don’t know if I’m keeping it.”

I wish with everything in me that he offered no sort of reaction to said confession. Wish he could be like most men would be in this situation. Uncaring. Relieved, even, but this is Roman, and I know him.

I know as….awful as he can be, there’s a reason when I was rear ended, the kids seriously hurt in said accident, my husband was not the first person I called from the hospital at 3AM, hysterical and uncaring of my own minor injuries.  

It was Roman. The same man who stayed with me all night. Stayed with the twins.

A reason every birthday since they were born five years prior, they always get a plethora of gifts from a “secret relative” on my side of the family who prefers to remain nameless.

A reason he somehow managed his way into the hospital when Kaiden and Kaydence were born three weeks prematurely. Held them before Cody even did.

A reason he always asks how they're doing.

Always. 

It’s those reasons, and so many more, I already know what he’s going to say before he does.

“Is that what you want?”

There’s only one logical response. “Does it matter what I want?”

“That’s not what I asked you.” 

“Roman….” Saying his name is always such a toss up. The best thing to leave my lips or either the worst. I’m not sure where this utterance lies. “I can’t….I can’t keep doing this to him.” I see it. How his warm eyes flash with something angry. Something painful. I shake my head, licking my lips. “You hate him for what his father did,” A detestation that could and most likely last the test of time. “And, I hate myself for being no better.”

Because murder can come in various forms. A physical, actual act of violence inflicted on the body. But, sometimes, it’s just inflicted on the heart, and I have no doubt whatsoever that the depth of my betrayal and unfaithfulness, my lies, the extent I've gone to to continue to live out said lie would no doubt kill Cody. 

An emotional death followed by a possible physical one that could be the result of such scandal. Gotham would bleed red from the bloodshed that would transpire from the war, because Roman’s actions would no doubt be seen as a violation of the truce between the Bloodline and the Nightmare Factory. 

Someone would end up dead. 

Multiple people.

And I could never forgive herself if my children’s father ended up six feet under because of me.

Either of them. 

“You know he’ll find that suspicious,” he shares, and I wish it was something I could refute. Something I could deny, but I can’t because he’s right.

Not that I hadn’t considered that though. 

“He doesn’t have to know.” Just another thing added to the list of things my husband doesn’t know about me. A list that knows no end. “It’s my body. My choice.” Words I always have and always will live by. That I stand by firmly. At the end of the day, this is my decision to make. Cody doesn’t get a say, and neither does Roman.

He doesn’t say anything, just makes a sound, his hand shifting to the front of me, to my stomach. I try to back away, his touch suddenly burning and bothersome, but his other hand moves to the small of my back, applying enough pressure to push me closer into him.

My hand naturally falls against his solid chest. “Roman….”

“Stay the night.”

Fuck.

There’s so many things to hate about such a simple sentence, the main thing being that it leaves his mouth. That he actually asks me that. Something that’s been asked before, but I was hoping to avoid tonight. 

“I’ve been here long enough…” A few hours, at most. A few hours too many. “I need—”

“They’re with your mom. They’re fine.” He knows me. Knows me too well. Knows that that would be my reason for not staying. Not an excuse. A true reason. “And, he’s gone for the weekend.” His eyes dart to my lips, a hand to my face, thumb brushing over my bottom lip. “Not that that’s ever stopped you before.”

Shame. I should feel nothing but an ungodly, unhealthy amount of shame. Except, I don’t. I don’t because I’m suddenly hit with flashbacks from years prior. Primarily during my years of residency out in California. Countless flights on his private jet. Him coming to me. Me sneaking back into Gotham to see him. Spring Break spent with him in the Maldives. Cody thought I was with my family in Mexico. Whole time I was with the man he hates most being fucked all over that villa. 

That was when my mom first found out. A situation transpiring where she had to lie for me. 

The disappointment in her expression when I was forced to come clean after returning home to find her in my apartment is something I’ll never shake from my memory. Never.

I try to picture that, try to use it as a reminder, a warning sign. A thing of caution that nothing good waits for me where I am. Physically, and in life. Nothing will grow from this. It will only continue to destroy and poison until there’s nothing left. I’m playing a dangerous game that I was never meant to play nor win.

A dead end to nothing but destruction and heartbreak.

Or, worse.

But, then his head dips, his mouth ghosting over mine. My eyelids lower as he once again shifts his hands back to my waist, holding me close, against him, with him. Our bodies pressed into one another, my own hands moving up his chest, locking behind his neck.

“Just want you to stay….” He murmurs, palming my ass, kissing along my jaw. “Just tonight…”

It’s never just one night. Never has been. Probably never will be. It should have been. What started out as an unlikely, forbidden friendship from our collegiate days should have stayed that way. Perhaps should have never been a thing to begin with. But, it was. It is. 

Will always be.

Because the truth of the matter is that the children we have together, this unborn baby included, biologically his, but not his, will always tie us together.

I wish I could tell if it’s something I hate or love. 

Maybe neither. Maybe this strange space between. Similar to the space that will always exist between us. Rivalries. History. Perhaps even timing. All the things that will never let this be anything more than….whatever it is. 

It’s that unspoken thing, that thing neither of us, nor ever will probably acknowledge, that allows me to only give him one answer. 

“Yes.”

[artsymeeshee]

Been in a weird headspace lately and I wanted to put my thoughts and feelings out to give a better idea of what's been happening. Putting under a read more/feel free to ignore.

I've talked about my struggles mentally on and off for a while and this one has been an ongoing thing for me and it's one I feel has begun to stick out more as time goes on.

I don't see myself as a good person. Most of the time I feel like I'm a bad person. And there's a lot of factors that play into this. One, is the things that I draw, which sounds absolutely crazy. Even I think it is as well.

It's no secret that my main priority has always been familial/platonic themes because that's how I've always viewed Gravity Falls as. And I know a lot of people do as well. It's one of the main themes of the show for crying out loud. And it's not to say I'm getting tired of it. That's a thing that has never crossed my mind, ever. It's more so along the lines of thinking it's too boring or falling back to that feeling of feeling bad because I don't make ship art. And I know I shouldn't feel bad about it and there's plenty of others that gladly do it. It's just one of those things that I'm not sure I'll really accept. And I'm always always grateful for the ones that tell me they appreciate all the family bonding/themes in my art. I guess the feeling of loneliness plays a part in that as well. I'll still make all the family things as long and as much as I can, but I won't deny the feeling of loneliness I get sometimes.

I do have that strong feeling that I am made to do something more and actually be someone and not the usual husk of a terrible individual I fall back on so many times. I won't deny anxiety and fear has taken a big hold on me lately. And it's also driven me to isolate myself in a sense and made me a cold person. I was so much more open years ago and now I've closed a good part of me away because... maybe I realized my "correctness" of myself being a bad person and who would even want to be around someone like that, so it's easier to hide. And I'm always afraid that one day I'll do or say something to no longer make me feel like I'm safe to approach. I've gone through so many people I've found that I've grown to like only for them to be an awful person and it sucks. I never want to be like that.

It's also been hard to not fall back to up and leaving. Whether that be online or real life. Last year was a time I fought with staying or leaving and it was always hard to decide to stay because leaving seemed like the only option I deserved.

I'm aware my ongoing battle with depression has hindered me a lot and it's a main factor for all of my negative feelings and thoughts about myself. And I don't want it to always resort to being the final say of who I am. I would like to find and show that part of me I feel people deserve to see.

I'm going to be honest, putting my raw emotions and thoughts like this is always scary. I'm sorry for the unexpected and serious post. I hoped I didn't make it too annoying or bring the mood down, but I needed to clear an ongoing struggle I've had for a long while. Thank you all for the constant support. Thank you for liking my silly, dumb, wholesome, sometimes feelsy art. Wanted to state another serious thing because life is so unexpected and you never know what will happen, but if something were to happen to me, I really can't explain how grateful I am for the love I've gotten from my time sharing my art. Thank you. Truly. 💜

[searchingforserendipity25]

universal constants.

spoilers for star trek lower decks.

'but you love arguing, darling.'

'i do not!'

'indeed you do. about books, of course, and experimental xenobiology theories. although i do think your proposed treatment plan for the vulcan sexual fever really is too experimental - '

julian spluttered. 'that's not arguing! that's - that's chatting, conversing. you know, establishing a lively debate, a repartee, in a context unrelated to, oh, i don't moving across the multiverse for the foreseeable future -'

'you can hardly blame me for enjoying myself. cardassians flirt by arguing, as you may know.'

'there is a time and place for flirting, garak!'

'naturally, naturally. but there is an extreme circunstance you are failing to consider.'

julian lifted his chin, arms crossed in the way that never failed to make garak's blood warm.

'which is?'

he smiled, sly and slow, in the way that never failed to make julian lean closer to catch his eyes.

'you are wonderful to aggravate, my love.'

flaring nostrils, and a mouth that nearly managed to stifle its expression.

'flattery will get you nowhere.'

'historically false. if i may say so.'

'you may not. and i know what you are doing, the way.'

lifted hands, an universal gesture in every universe: an offer, an humble request. 'would you enlighten a poor fool?'

julian stepped around him. closer, closer, until he warmed the air around him.

garak's scales shivered with the most welcome static. every time it was a sensation like no other. reality insisted on his husband's existence: pressure, warmth, and a pulsing energy that was his own only.

such a light in his eyes! no one could doubt the truth of him, beneath that arch glance. light turned into matter making itself stubborn and kind and aggravating all the time, with a will like no other, and garak could not credit his fortune, sometimes, he really couldn't.

'i may not be made of carbon, elim garak,' julian reminded him, rather smugly. 'but i can feel the physical alterations, shall we say. such an acceleration of muscles and blood flow! terribly wound up with all this battle rush and shameless teasing, aren't we? it is very flattering; but this cardassian's husband argues by arguing, on occasion. take that into consideration, dr. garak.

'duly noted, dr. bashir,' garak said, tilting his head diffidently. 'however can i make it up to you?'

garak was a surgeon, and not just a surgeon. he was happily married, for one. not many of his fellow elim garak's could claim such a privilege, in their dealings with julian bashir.

any universe, as long as they were together. as long as he could see this happen again and again, the moment julian's eyes crinkled for him.

the thrumming in his bones where julian leaned his weight on him, a real weight, the realest thing in all the worlds.

'you can argue with me a little more, a little better,' his husband said. sly, and slow, fingers pressing lightly on his back, careful of his bad shoulder. 'for a start'.

[ladyhoneydarlinglove]

one piece fic | zosan | pride kisses 2025 challenge

{NOT QUITE A KISS}

Unlike their descent down to Fish-man Island from the Sabaody Archipelago, the ascent up from the sea depths is (relatively) uneventful. There isn’t much for Zoro to do besides lift weights, fish for sea beasts, and nap, which is what he’s doing when Sanji finds him under the mikan trees and jolts him awake with a kick to the ribs.

“The hell was that for, asshole?” Zoro gripes as he sits up and glares furiously at the cook, even though the kick didn’t actually hurt. He assumes from the plate of onigiri Sanji’s holding that he’s here to deliver a snack and simply decided to wake Zoro up in the most dickish way possible, which is confirmed when Sanji smirks crookedly around a lit cigarette held in one corner of his mouth and says—

“Just wanted to make sure you hadn’t turned into a moss-covered rock, shitty swordsman.” He eyes Zoro’s robes with a pointedly arched eyebrow and adds, “You’re certainly dressed for the part.”

Zoro scowls at him. “Fuck off,” he snaps, unsheathering Kitetsu just a few inches in challenge, and then fully when Sanji strikes his foot against the ground and lights up his diable jambe in response. From there, it’s easy to fall back into their old, familiar dynamic, exchanging blows and hurling insults as they battle across the deck.

It feels good. It feels right. This is where Zoro belongs, at sea on the Sunny with his crew, wrestling with Luffy and showing off for Chopper and fighting with Sanji. He’s missed it so much these past two years—their constant back and forth, the bickering and the arguing and the unflinching trust. No one has ever matched Zoro the way that Sanji does, being so at odds with each other while also entirely in sync, a perfect push and pull that Zoro knows instinctively he will never find anywhere else.

Which is both wonderful because he has it, and terrible because now Zoro knows that he wants even more; something he had successfully not been thinking about since the reunion on Sabaody until he mistimes a strike, allowing Sanji to get in a solid blow, and suddenly finds himself on his back with Sanji’s knee against his sternum. The cook leans down low, flushed with victory and grinning broadly as he declares—

“Looks like I win this one, marimo.”

His crooked smile is so close that if Zoro lifted his head just a little, he could close the gap between them. And he very nearly does, coming near enough that he can feel the warm puff of Sanji’s breath against his lips before reality comes crashing back in, and Zoro realizes—

I can’t.

Not like this. Not anymore.

His head drops back to the deck with a hard thunk. Sanji blinks, brow furrowing in confusion; Zoro’s not sure if it’s better or worse that he was clearly expecting Zoro to try and kiss him. 

“Look, twirly,” he says, speaking slowly around the sudden lump in his throat. “About the, um. Crewmates-with-benefits thing we had going on before we got separated.”

Sanji’s face turns bright, tomato red.

“Oh,” he says, gaze slipping to the side as he lifts his knee from Zoro’s chest and comes to standing. Zoro follows, brushing himself off and resheathing his swords as Sanji continues, “We’re, uh. We’re actually gonna talk about that?”

Zoro turns away so that Sanji doesn’t see his wince. “Just for a sec,” he says, glad that his voice manages to come out steady and determined. “Because I… I think we should call it quits. Permanently, I mean.”

There’s a solid five second pause before Sanji finally says, “Oh.”

Zoro hopes—prays, even—that that will be the end of it, but when he dares to look at Sanji, he finds the cook’s face twisted into a completely inscrutable expression. He pulls out a cigarette and lights it in one smooth, fluid motion before asking, “Any particular reason why?”

Because I’m in love with you, but you don’t love me back. And being with you when I know that would be sentencing myself to death by a thousand cuts, Zoro doesn’t say.

Instead he offers up, “It’s nothing personal, it’s just… Y’know. It’s been two years. Things change. I’ve changed. You’ve obviously changed too. And I just… Don’t feel like I need the outlet anymore.”

It’s the biggest lie Zoro’s ever told, and he feels vaguely sick saying it out loud. But it seems to work; Sanji eyes him curiously for another moment as he takes a long, thoughtful drag before blowing the smoke out in one short, sharp exhale.

“Alright,” he says, tapping the ash off the end of his cigarette. “If that’s what you want.”

What Zoro wants is to grab Sanji by his stupid lapels and kiss him senseless like they used to, back when Zoro was still dumb enough to believe the weird fluttering in his heart and stomach that happened every time he was around the cook was irritation and not the slow descent into a love that Zoro will never be rid of. But he’s not stupid; even if he was willing to fool around, at the end of the day Sanji has always wanted to be with a woman. His behavior around the mermaids is proof enough of that. Zoro might be a fun distraction, but he’ll never be able to give Sanji what he wants.

And that’s… Not fine. Not really, anyway. But it’s also not Sanji’s problem; it’s Zoro’s, for being stupid enough to fall in love with someone he never truly had a chance with. And it’s going to stay his problem, and his alone. Zoro might be a dick, but he’s not a complete asshole; he’s not going to burden Sanji with something that he can’t fix.

So Zoro swallows painfully around the shards of his broken heart and says, “Yeah. It is.”

[bonefall]

with how little relevance characters often have outside their introduction arc, its genuinely WEIRD how relevant tree constantly is. which is an odd criticism because characters should remain relevant after being established but in warriors it feels like blatant favoritism. i dont even dislike treee and i liked him a lot in tbc but its ODD

Mr. Gas Leak has a very distinct feeling (an odor, if you will) to me. It feels like he became so relevant because people were frustrated that he wasn't doing the Very Special Job they'd invented just for him back in AVoS, so the writing team tried to "respond to criticism" by making him show up all the time.

But like... that wasn't really the heart of the criticism. It wasn't a clamor to bring back Tree specifically. It was frustration that they would set up worldbuilding elements and then forget about them when they became inconvenient.

SkyClan's return, negotiator role, the border guard between the DF and StarClan, voting to oust a leader. We've gotten at least one (sometimes multiple) additions that threaten to shake up the status quo in every modern arc-- and then they're forgotten about or not used to their full potential.

In honesty though, the more he appears, the more I actively dislike him. I thought he was cool at first, I enjoyed the idea that SkyClan was going to bring some new dynamics to the politics at the lake. But every role he's had since his introduction has been insufferable.

I HATED how he absolutely refused to do his job in Squilf's Hope because of personal bias

I can't stand how the Sisters have been willing to help the Clans after their treatment in that book, and the constant narrative derision they get in spite of that

The fact everyone just forgot Tree existed in ASC until Nightheart said something was astonishingly bad writing. If I forgot about a major worldbuilding element like that I would be genuinely embarassed, not cutely lampshading it

Even the way he ended up "helping" when the narrative remembered him was annoying. Like, "Oh right! Having this role just grinds the action to a screeching halt! Instead of the Battle Cats doing Battles, they argue offscreen about things! Wow, this was a terrible idea to begin with!"

There are waaaay worse characters in WC, and I can't bring myself to hate him the same way I hate some others like Gray Wing. But boy, he has found his way down my list of "least liked WC characters."

[caspianalexander007]

What Does It Mean?

A Vi/Reader (OC) one-shot.

What happens when Vi finds the drawings of her in your sketchbook? What happens when you tell her what they mean?

Fluff/Comfort. Let's call it PG-13. For my reader fics, I prefer to write in first person, but the use of y/n feels a little clunky to me, so I will be using Ray as my OC that you can all vicariously live through. Ray will not have a specified gender! Hope you like it!

Caspian. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“No, I promise I won’t fall asleep!” Vi pleaded. I hated when she did that. Alright, “hate” is a strong word. It’s more like I found it terribly inconvenient. I found it difficult enough to deny Violet in her usual goofy and playful demeanor, however, the puppy dog eyes made it damn near impossible. She brought her curled fists to her chest and gave her lower lip the slightest push forward. I gritted my teeth and clenched my jaw, internally chiding myself - stand your ground, Ray. It was a battle I would not win, and I knew it  - I saw it in the way her powder blue eyes twinkled in the dim, warm glow of the fairy lights lighting my room. For all the strength and power of her fists, Vi’s most effective and debilitating weapons were her eyes, and I could feel the way they eroded at my already feeble determination. Her lips quivered just slightly, and her eyes seem to grow wider, the blue reflecting all the lights in the room and the pupils blow out, partly a natural reaction to the low lighting in the room, and partly her ability to be stupidly adorable. I was losing quickly. I could feel my willpower slipping through my fingers like sand, but we were two people equally matched in stubbornness, so I narrowed my own eyes and crossed my arms over my chest as I stood by the laptop propped up on my desk. 

The screen showed the Netflix home screen after we had finished watching a movie earlier in the afternoon. Well, I finished watching. Vi had fallen asleep twenty minutes in, despite the constant sounds of fighting and bullets firing that echoed in the small room. 

“That’s what you said earlier, and look how that turned out. We can just go to sleep, darling,” I said, going to close the laptop, but Vi whined and shook her head earnestly. 

“No no, I wanna watch another movie with you! You said you like these spy movie things, and they’re fun. I promise! Pretty please?” she whimpered and then - she did it. She did the thing she was strictly forbidden from doing because she knew it automatically won her just about any argument - she twitched her nose. I groaned as I felt my resolve crumble and my shoulders slump.

“Okay fine. But if you fall asleep, I will wake you up. Otherwise, we are never going to get through these Mission Impossible movies. We haven’t even made it to Rogue Nation! I think you’ll like Ilsa,” I said while looking for the movie and hitting play. The wall in front of the couch blinked as the projector showed the beginning credits. 

“I love it when you talk nerdy to me,” Vi flirted, her insufferable smirk on full display. I rolled my eyes, though I could feel the tips of my ears growing warmer. I avoided her gaze as I plopped down on the bed next to her. 

“Shush, you,” I grumbled, but she just laughed, which was very unhelpful for the whole “not-blushing” thing. Her laugh always made my heart flutter - the sound rich and melodic and accompanied with a particular kind of sparkle in her eyes. 

“But teasing you is so fun,” she quipped. The words had no bite though as she snuggled into me. The bed was big enough for us to lay side by side comfortably, but Vi preferred to sprawl out on top of me, her head laying on my chest and her arms tightly wrapped around my waist. 

I dropped a kiss on top of her head and motioned at the screen. “Watching movies with me is more fun, you know.” 

“Mmm, not really, but I like doing that too,” she said, snuggling farther into me. I could feel my heartbeat galloping away in my chest, each thud so harsh, I was sure the sound would ricochet off the walls of my room, but she didn’t mention it. She never did. 

I dimmed the lights a more and shifted down a bit so Vi’s neck wasn’t cranked at such a painful angle. She nuzzled into the crook of my neck, her right thumb tracing gentle circles on my back and her right hand bringing the blanket up to cover me better. I smiled shyly, though she couldn’t see. For someone so tough, Vi could be incredibly tender. My fingers wound themselves in the short pink locks of her hair, softly scratching at her scalp. A contented sigh fell from her lips, and I felt the warm breath ghost across my skin. I knew this particular snuggling position meant trouble for my sleepy girlfriend, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love holding Vi. She was a fighter, always had been, always would be, but in moments like these, I felt honoured that she let the fight soften into peace and trusted me to protect her. Violet protected the world with every fibre of her being, and I did too, except for me, the world was much smaller, small enough, I could wrap my arms around her and bury my nose in her soft hair. 

The danger of the position was proven approximately forty five minutes later when I felt Vi’s breathing deepen and the tiniest little spot of drool trickled onto my hoodie. I bit my lip to avoid chuckling and jostling the sleeping woman, though I knew I could probably drive a bulldozer through my bedroom wall and Vi wouldn’t so much as stir. I picked up the control from the bed and paused the movie before shutting off the projector. With another remote, I brightened the lights just a touch, just enough for me to see the way the light and the shadows played across Vi’s sleeping form. I wrapped my arms around her a little tighter and tucked the blanket under her chin before reaching for my phone. It was just a bit past six, so I decided to order some pizza seeing as my position was pretty much locked in for a while. 

After ordering the food, I put my phone back down on the side table and opened the little drawer. My sketchbook and pens were neatly arranged inside and I quietly picked them up. With a bit of slow maneuvering, I got myself into a position where I could draw, sort of using Vi as a table, but not applying enough pressure to wake her. 

I opened the book to a fresh page and let the pen brush against the white paper softly. The world grew quiet as I let myself fall into the moment with Vi. My hands worked slowly and delicately, devoted to having each line, each centimeter of ink show the exact beauty of their muse. My eyes drifted over every curve, every hill and valley of Vi’s body. Though I loved drawing her body, finding the way that shadows defined the lines of her muscles and the gentle curves of her hips enchanting, what I most loved drawing was her face. 

No matter where she was, Vi seemed to manipulate the light around her to highlight each of her features perfectly, whether strong contrasts emphasized the defined lines of her jaw and cheekbones or softer light, like the one in my room, showed the perfect balance of sharp and smooth. I loved drawing the dusting of freckles that spread across her nose and cheeks. Some of them were invisible unless I was just a few inches from her face, and those were particularly important for me to capture. They felt like a secret only I was privy to, a side of Vi only I could see. The scar on her lip had taken me a while to perfect over the six months we had known each other. It pulled the upper lip in a way that sometimes, if her features were hardened, it seemed like a snarl. However, sometimes, when she was asleep, or happy, or relaxed, the scar would pull in a way that seemed more like a playful smirk. 

Her eyes were the most complex, and I still found myself struggling to get them, and their many expressions, to be represented on paper with every ounce of genuineness they deserved. Part of it was the fact they changed colors so often. Even after spending countless hours on sleepless nights locked away in my little studio, tweaking hues of blues until I felt like I was drowning in it, I still couldn’t find one particular shade of blue for Vi. I think part of the issue came from the fact that I couldn’t quite pinpoint the emotion they held. I saw it sometimes when she looked at me, though she would often avert her gaze in these moments of opia. I had made a silent vow to get it right, and I could feel myself getting closer, but just never finding the exact shade. I found it a bit frustrating, but I quickly realized that if I had the opportunity of studying the many hues of Vi’s eyes for a lifetime, it would never be enough to satisfy me. 

Still, I had improved in capturing many of their moods - the stormy gray of her anger, the pale, despondent blue of her sadness, and my favorite - the electric sky tone of her joy.  

That’s what I found most mesmerizing about Vi - she contained worlds. While her hands showed the telltale signs of a life of fighting, tough calluses and a myriad of scars, they also showed her tenderness. Her fingers were strong, but slender, almost delicate when she was relaxed. Her hands were always warm - comforting and inviting. Her body often moved so confidently in the world, proud to take up space and unapologetically bold, but at times, it also moved shyly - unsure of each step, and those times were difficult. Vi only allowed such movement when her heart was broken. It’s as if she had lost the strength to hold herself in the way she always did. 

I hadn’t really noticed when, exactly, Vi became my muse, though I’m sure it wasn’t too late after meeting her, or rather, plowing into her on my way to my train. I thank whatever God hears me for the disruption of my routine that day. Anyways, it started slowly at first, just a couple quick sketches here and there after a date with her. I couldn’t get her out of my head, so I figured, I might as well get her on a piece of paper. The thing is, the more I fell for Vi, the more I wanted to capture every tiny little detail of her essence and hold it in whatever medium I could find. To me, it was a precious treasure. The more I wanted to capture her, to capture each moment I shared with her, the more I found tiny things to fall deeper in love with - the way she ducks her head when she’s feeling shy, the longer part of her hair hiding half her face. The way she moves when she’s happy, something akin to a puppy whose paws are still too big for their body - jovial and a bit clumsy. That debilitating smirk that made my blood run hot and my mind turn fuzzy. The soft scent of vanilla, cedar, and honey that clung to her skin. 

I hadn’t told her yet. I couldn’t find the courage or the strength, but every time I walked into my little studio, swallowed by a world of violets, pinks, and blues I felt the truth land in my chest with a thud - I was in love with Viin a way I had never known possible to love. 

A knock on the door jolted me out of my daydreaming. My hands stilled momentarily as I blinked myself out of the Violet-tinged trance I had fallen in. I looked down to see Vi completely unconscious; the sight made me laugh, though I kept it contained. After a couple seconds, I was able to place my sketchbook back on the nightstand and shimmy my way out of Vi’s embrace, though it was difficult. Even in deep sleep, she could feel me pull away, and her arms would tighten around my waist. 

My socked feet slid quickly on the hardwood floors and I managed to open the door just as the delivery guy was about to knock again. 

“Pizza for Ray?” he squeaked. He looked to be about fifteen, tall like a beanpole, features sharp and taut as boys who’ve hit a growth spurt and haven’t quite had the rest of their body catch up often had. He seemed nervous, the box of pizza in his hand shaking. 

“Yeah. You must be new. Haven’t seen you around yet,” I said while fishing in my wallet for a twenty dollar bill. He swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. 

“Yeah, f-first day, actually,” his voice broke around the second word. I gave him an encouraging smile and traded the box of pizza for the twenty dollar bill. 

“You’ll do fine. Thanks for the pizza, dude. Keep the change,” I said. He smiled awkwardly and scampered away much like a squirrel. I shook my head and locked the door. Poor kid, I thought. 

Quietly, I got a couple plates out and set them on the kitchen counter along with two glasses of water. I turned the oven on low, plopping the pizza inside. It was always a bit too cold when they delivered it, and I liked getting a little crisp on the crust. 

I walked into the bedroom with the intent of waking up the sleepy redhead, “Hey, Vi I - oh.” 

My feet stopped so suddenly I almost tripped over air. Vi was sitting on my bed with the thick leather-bound sketchbook in her lap. Her fingers gingerly hovered over the page that was open on her lap, tracing the lines of the image. She flipped to the last page. On the right was the almost finished drawing from today and on the left was the best one, I thought, yet. It was a drawing of Vi laughing. I had spent about three days pouring over every detail, pulling the memory of the moment from my mind so often, I dreamt about it every night. 

It had been a date about a month ago. We had spent the day at the fair on the pier, the scent of ocean spray and tooth-achingly sweet cotton candy intermixing in the air. We arrived late, which meant the crowd was mostly made up of other couples and a few rowdy drunk teenagers.. Vi had gotten a giant spiral of blue cotton candy - moments before it poured rain. The fluffy blue wisps of sugar started melting, and we ran to shelter, packed with most of the other fair goers under the cover of the food court. Unfortunately, we were barely under said cover, which meant that Vi and I had to eat the treat as fast as possible as it melted over Vi’s hands and created a blue, sticky puddle at our feet.

The moment was ridiculous, but Vi’s laughter was mesmerizing. She had thrown her head back slightly, her hair and skin dampened by the sudden rain, and just a tiny little spot of melted blue sugar stuck on her nose. Somehow, the little bit of sunshine that poked through the angry clouds ended up right behind her, giving her a heavenly halo and outlined the perfect line from her forehead, over her nose, down to her chin and around her jaw. It was the exact moment I realized I had fallen in love much like planets collide - slowly, until they catch each other’s gravity, and then an explosion so destructive, so massive - it’s the beginning of something new and beautiful. 

And Vi was holding that moment, that confession etched in ink but never spoken, in her hands. 

She looked up at me and my heart rattled around in my ribs like it was trying to break out and run away, possibly to die of embarrassment in a hole somewhere. I stood there and blinked repeatedly, my body feeling way too cold and too hot at the same time and sweat trickling down the back of my neck. 

“Ray, is this… is this how you see me..?” she asked in a dulcet, soft voice, each word hanging in the air thickly and leaving me lightheaded. What could I say? I’d never been a good liar, never cared to be either, but I was just as bad at telling truths like this - the ones that left me as exposed and vulnerable as a canvas next to an open flame, and by god, Vi had the power to set me aflame and leave nothing but ashes. 

I gulped. “Uh… pizza in the oven.” I could hear my voice, but it sounded far away and awkward, much like my hands felt. I shoved them in the pocket of my hoodie and dropped my gaze from Vi’s. It was too intense, too overwhelming, and I could not decide if I wanted to struggle to survive the deep blue of her eyes or if I wanted it to drag me down and hold me forever. 

I heard the bed squeak and, a moment later, I felt two strong, calloused hands holding my face, their warmth comforting. Vi tilted my head up and her gaze caught me again, this time, magnetic. I couldn’t look away no matter how hard I tried. Her eyes displayed so many shades of blue, I couldn’t fully focus on any one in particular. I could feel my heart in my throat and my chest tightening. What if it’s too soon? What if she doesn’t feel the same way? Oh, god. 

“Ray… is this how you see me?” She asked again, this time it was just as quiet, but I heard a new edge in her voice - it sounded almost desperate, like her only wish in life was the answer - my truth. I took a deep, shaky breath and looked at her - admired everything that Vi was, her beauty, of course, but everything else too - the fighter that I could see in the muscles of her arms, the delicate lover I could feel in the way she held me, the fierce and loyal warrior that would protect everyone she loved until her dying breath. Could I ever be one of them?

“Yes. I - I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to see those, I-” I tried to turn my head away, but Vi’s grip tightened just enough to keep my gaze on hers. Her eyes sparkled like I had never seen them do before. A thin layer of tears glossed over them, making the light in the room dance across them. 

“What does it mean?” she asked in a whisper, her breath falling hot across my face and I thought my knees would buckle then and there. I blinked a few times again. 

“Huh?” So eloquent, Ray. Vi smiled and her thumb caressed my lip. Is it quivering? 

“What does it mean, Ray,” she asked again, and I knew what she meant. Of course I did. She knew everything I painted or drew had meaning. It was one of her favorite things to ask me - what did my creations mean? This time she wasn’t asking me what it meant - she was asking me what I felt. The words fell from my lips without my permission, as if my heart took control of my body and shut down all self-defense mechanisms I’d spent over a decade perfecting. 

“I - I love you, Vi,” a whisper so quiet, if her face hadn’t been inches from mine, she wouldn’t have heard, but she did. I saw it in her lips first - a smile that would put the sun and stars to shame. Then I saw it in her eyes. 

There it is, I thought. The tone of blue that had eluded me for so long. 

“I love you, Ray,” she responded.

I only saw that shade of blue for a brief second. That was as long as Vi gave me before she pulled me into a bruising kiss. Her velvety, rose lips moved against mine with fervor, with a fierce fire that pulled the breath from my lungs and held it captive. I felt her finger splay, holding more of my jaw, pulling me in closer as her body pushed forward, her hips, stomach, and chest pressed firmly against mine, each curve slotting so perfectly against each other, I suddenly understood why soulmates were called each other’s second half. I felt thudding against my chest, but I couldn’t tell if it was my heart or hers. Then again, it didn’t matter - in that moment, they were the same. 

She tilted my head just slightly to the side and I felt her tongue brush across my lips, her breath hot. My right leg buckled slightly, which made Vi smile against my lips, and that small little movement unlocked me from my position. I couldn’t think, not really, but my body didn’t need me to. I brought my arms around Vi’s waist, holding her as close to my body as possible, and then brought my right hand to tangle in her hair. The softest little moan fell from her lips onto mine, the vibration of her voice shooting straight down my spine and moving my feet before I even had the chance to process what was happening. 

I pushed Vi back gently, and she let me, until the back of her knees hit the side of the bed. She pulled me back with her, her kiss still as intense and all-consuming, and we fell into each other. I had never been the kind of person to be bold, not in situations like this, but something about Vi brought to life a side of me I couldn’t quite control, something that felt hungry, famished, desperate, not just for her touch, but for everything - her laugh, her smile, her eyes, and most of all - her love. Every emotion I had carefully kept hidden between my heart and my endless canvases and pages came rushing out and I let them flow into the kiss. I pushed and she pulled, our lips locked into a dance of their own, fast, fierce, yet tender. I realized then, Vi loved the same way she fought - with everything. 

Delicately, I nipped on her lower lip, and she smiled again, this time, letting me explore what she was willing to offer me. Everything was warm and intoxicating, going to my head and making my breaths short and erratic, but I wouldn’t break the kiss - couldn’t. I felt her fingers move from my waist to my back, slipping under the hoodie and scratching from between my shoulder blades down to the small of my back. It stung just enough to make my arms weak and I crumbled onto Vi. She took the opportunity to press me against her body and flip us over, so she was straddling my lap, and I was looking up at her. She kissed me again and my hands went to her hips. My lungs screamed for a reprieve, for fresh air, but I happily let them starve of oxygen, too busy, too happy, too absolutely wrecked to do anything but love the woman in my arms. 

That is, until I heard beeping. I pulled back from Vi, which earned me a debilitating little whine from her as she pushed herself back. Her eyes were darker now, a deep azure, something like the tip of a flame. 

“Pizza -” I huffed and Vi blinked at me. Then I smelled a little bit of smoke, and my eyes widened. “Shit.” 

I gave Vi another ardent kiss, tugging on her hair slightly to guide her off of me, before throwing myself off the bed (with a willpower that only not burning down my house with Vi in it could instill) and running to the kitchen. I pulled the box of pizza out of the oven, and dropped it on the stove, fanning the box aggressively. Thankfully, the smoke alarm didn’t go off and it was just the box that had gotten a little toasty, despite the fact that the oven was just on warm. I took a breath and placed my hands on the kitchen island, facing the living room. Fire averted. 

Vi came padding into the room, her lips swollen and a dark magenta that almost matched her hair which stood up a bit in the back. Her eyes were still that particular shade of blue. I now knew what it meant - love. I took a mental picture of the image and etched it into my mind. 

“Heh. Dinner’s done,” I said shyly, scratching the back of my neck. Vi broke out laughing so hard, she bent over, arms crossed over her stomach. I felt my ears burn, but I knew she wasn’t poking fun at me. 

She walked over, her hands finding my hips. “I guess even I can’t get between you and pizza, huh?” 

I laughed at that too. “It was more me not wanting to burn the house down… I’d like to continue where we left off later.” 

Damn. When did I get so bold?! 

Vi smirked, and I considered letting the pizza turn as cold as it wanted. However, she gave me a sweet, chaste kiss on the lips and then one on my nose. 

“I like the sound of that, sweetheart,” she said, pulling me into a hug. “I love you.” 

“I love you, Vi. More than you can imagine,” I said, hugging her tightly to me and nuzzling her neck. 

“Mm. Maybe later you can show me,” she teased. I felt myself blush and gently pushed her away. 

“Just eat your pizza,” I mumbled, avoiding her eyes. She laughed, grabbed a couple slices of pizza, and sat down on the counter instead of the chair. I watched the moment carefully and made another mental note. My fingers itched to paint the last several moments I had captured, but that could wait. 

Somehow, I knew with certainty - I’d have a long time to paint this, and a thousand more moments like it, with Vi. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[askvectorprime]

what is the most horrible thing you have ever seen?

Dear Abomination Allured,

While I have seen many all-too-terrible things in my time, there is one that sticks in my memory banks… no matter how much I would wish to forget the sight.

During the long struggle against Unicron, I had grown weary. I had been fighting for so many eons that they blurred together, victory turning to defeat turning to victory turning to defeat. I wondered about the nature of the battle—how we could stand to fight such an impossibly overwhelming foe, whether we could ever triumph. Had our creation been a fool's errand?

This moment of weakness was answered by the Liege Maximo, who in a similar weary tone reminded me that I alone could answer these questions—by setting myself against the timestream’s flow, and visiting the distant past, to see how the universe was before our existence.

Liege had spoken flippantly, never expecting that I would take him at its word. But I did as he said, turning back the cycles, before even Primus’ own creation, to visit the stark nothingness that existed after the Primal Realms had been wholly devoured, that still and sparkless place: the Void.

I have felt the frayed edges of doomed timelines, watched entire universes cut down in their prime… I have met monsters the likes of which you cannot imagine, I have seen the Eye of Horus, witnessed the Hytherion’s impossible gyre, glimpsed unthinkable entities for which no name exists… I have visited scrapyard-worlds composed of corpses, I have seen stars and planets and all their life rendered down into fuel, I have stolen into torture chambers on the unmarked levels of vast underground complexes, and eavesdropped… time is a tsunami. And in a multiverse filled with overwhelming noise and abject suffering, it may seem foolish to say that the most horrifying thing in existence is nothing at all… but nothing compares, and I can promise you nothing scares me more.

The last light from the faintest stars has long since been swallowed up, every planet, every moon, every asteroid, everything… all swallowed up. There was no light to see by, nothing to see. No medium to transmit sound, nothing to hear. And without any referent, time itself ceased to hold meaning—nothing to happen, nothing to start, nothing to end. Having arrived in that timeless place, I found myself unable to leave—trapped, cut off from my own domain. Blind, deaf, powerless… I broke down.

In a way, it was a relief to realise I was being hunted. Having believed his hunger sated, Unicron was vexed to realise he had room for more. He stalked me through the Void, but ironically, it was his very presence which allowed me to evade him; some echo of relativity reasserted itself, and it was all I could do to keep the distance between us constant. I was still in denial, desperate to believe that surely some world had been missed, some crumb of life yet eked out an existence, an extremophile adapted for this most hostile of environments. And yet there was nothing. Just him.

I do not know how long I spent there; the question is non-applicable. All I know is that, eventually, I found a single molecule of hydrogen. I broke down once more, this time in joy. For if this one molecule could exist, so too could others like it. For through the period of its atomic orbital, the probabilistic behaviour of that single electron in relation to its proton giving rise to countless possible futures, I began to count the cycles once more. Perhaps that was when time began—and with time, as many untold eons as it might take, there came the possibility of change. Unicron would return to his slumber, and as he slept, these distant specks of matter would cross the gulf between them, and join together, to create a new universe. The Void would be filled with life once more. My future would come to pass. I watched the atom’s cycles, I counted on it, and then I was gone.

I returned, only moments after I had left. I was, if anything, more weary than I had been to start. But now I knew that even the smallest thing in existence could stand against Unicron, outwit him, defy him. And if it could, we could do no less. We would stop him, no matter the cost.

[duoatomica]

"An angel makes itself look scary to pry away evil."

Grimmel's nightmare

(and very much the reason he has avoided killing light furies in 40+ years and only hunts night furies)

"Bloodstain"

"Once a common light fury, now something terrible, oh the things that I've done and deeply regret, hunting this one is the top one.

As I've said, a common light fury despite its reddish tones, a contrast to the blue standard of the species, this should've been enough of a sign that the creature wasn't just a normal, ordinary dragon such as the ones I've hunted for years.

I found it in the forest, drinking some water, at that time I was only about twenty years old, I was young, careless and proud, I decided to use my dragons to attack him. Again, I was careless, I just wanted to kill as many of the strongest, biggest, most dangerous dragons out there and seek my village's praise.

My deathgrippers pounced, the white dragon screeched and fought back, bit and scratched, it was also young and weak, it couldn't escape, atleast not with a wing, its eyes and its left front paw.

The dragon flew away with what was rest of its left wing, it surprisingly managed to take off with that little nub of bones and membranes the Deathgrippers had left behind.

I cursed, spat harsh words at myself and did something I wish I had kept my mouth shut not to do.

I swore, to Odin and above, that we'd meet again, one day, didn't know when. But one day I surely would see the dragon once more.

Three years passed, I had evolved little, but enough to develop some hunting skills here and there, I studied like a damned man, I improved some of my weapons, felt like a new man.

I was once again in the forests with my eight dragons, controlled by no one other than me. So I stood by a berry bush, feeling hungry, I bent down to pick some.

Why did I do that, for Thor's sake.

I heard something approaching, quickly, before I could react I was under a mass of snow-white flesh, being stared at by those empty eye sockets, drooled at by that mouth full of sharp teeth. That demon, it was back. I swore it would come back. And it did, but not how I've expected it to.

I was attacked ferociously, oh, the agony, only I knew the pain of those sharp claws like blades tearing my skin, those teeth trying their best to split my neck in two. I screamed.

My deathgrippers, as loyal as they are, showed up in an instant and again jumped at the light fury, mangling it, but that dragon was no longer a little cub. The battle between one and the eight was fierce, surprisingly the white dragon managed to kill two of them, leaving only six for me to keep.

I almost died that night, my body so mangled it was bordering unrecognizable, I still have a lotta scars, some awful pains here and there.

From that day on, the one who swore we'd meet again was the dragon. This demon has been in my mind since then, in my dreams, terrifying me, making me fear even the slightest movement in the corner of my room.

This bastard knows, it knows very well where I am now, he always knew, all its attacks are very precise and cautious, therefore brutal. I have grown older, stronger and smarter, I have found ways to penetrate that creature's mind, I can also know where it is, but by the gods, the migraines after these little mind-connecting rituals are nearly deadly.

This has been causing me constant paranoia, I may not know if this light fury is right behind me right now.

I've just checked, it isn't.

Ah, the name? I know it doesn't make sense for a cloud-white dragon to be named Bloodstain, considering the crimson red left in many fabrics and anywhere slightly stainable.

But the fool is the one who thinks that the name refers to it, me as the self-centered person that I painfully admit to be, it is a reference to myself.

Me and the blood pools that formed around my body after the attack, the stains on my long discarded clothes, I remember them as I remember my mother's name.

I concluded a long time ago that this is more than a living being."

-Grimmel the Grisly.

[noneatnonedotcom]

i'm sick and bored!

so here's another celestial dojo jaune build but this time I gave myself 1000 character points to work with and one free random roll. there will be no further rolls on the celestial dojo all improvements will come from in universe abilities. AU the grimm do not exist, instead it is the darkness in the hearts of men that hunters must strive against, the world of remnant is a post great war world where the color revolution and faunas wars happened at the same time leading to the utter collapse of civilization. five kingdoms remain,

Vale: the last monarchy, a place where knighthood and chivalry still finds a home. the king is elected from one of the noble families every ten years, knights are trained warriors who preside over a single settlement, while new colonies are popping up banditry and harsh weather or bad harvests can and will wipe them out leading to only a few knightly houses remaining. still any who wish may take on huntsmen training and take up the noble calling of a knight after graduation.

Atlas: the industrial powerhouse of the world, it is a city state with mandatory military service for all people, it is in a constant guerrilla war with menagery. it's tech is quite literally a century ahead of everwhere else though. minstral: the land of mercenaries. the entire state is essentially made up of mercenary companies who fight against or for cartels sometimes at the same time. minstral itself is a neutral territory where discussions of business can happen without risk of death for the negotiators. as a result the city effectively controls the continent but has very little power. vaccuo: vale's southern neighbor is in an interregnum lacking a royal to sit on the throne constant wars between the nomadic tribes of the desert and the Shieks over water keep them from uniting as no one has the spare men to expand their influence. menagerie: recognized as a kingdom in it's own right the island nation does have to deal with terrible PR as pirates and the White fang a faunas supremacy group are pretty much all they're known for now. making international trade and alliance all but impossible. now the royal belladonas seek to remove the white fang and pirates seeing them as a relic of the past. this of course is not going down well. you'd think in a world with no grimm things would be safer but no, with aura still a thing all it takes is some random jerk with a strong semblance and everyone's trying to take over the world. bandits are common outside the city walls and only other aura users can stop them. in this world of bloody evolution can the flower of chivalry bloom? or has the world fallen too far?

jaune's traits:

Breathing Style (400 CP) "The bread and butter of a demon slayer, the breathing techniques. You may choose any breathing style you like for any level or you can create your own on the same level as described, they don’t need to be for swords either, and note that all the higher levels can be reached by training. Post-jump you don’t need to breathe in order to use them if you do not require air to survive.

Hashira: The highest position of a demon slayer, usually gained by killing at least 50 demons or killing one of the 12 moons as a kinoe(the highest normal rank of demon slayers). You have reached the pinnacle of what a normal human is capable of with your breathing style, able to easily cut through scores of demons easily and take out the lower ranked moons without much effort. Your body is much stronger than the previous option, so much so you could be faster than the eye could see, and you may have even developed techniques of your own that no one else knows, but the most notable change is in your stamina, being able to go through extremely harsh training for weeks or even months straight. " Hanma (300 cp) "A lineage genetically predisposed to excel in all matters of violence, growing stronger with each battle. The quintessential Hanma bears the title of “World’s Strongest Lifeform”. Monstrous beasts, modern armies, and even natural disasters kneel before his physical might.

Those of the Hanma blood tend to develop demonic imagery throughout their body, such as the skull, back muscles, and even the brain.

For 300cp, you are a true heir to the Hanma name. So long as you continue to challenge yourself, you may catch up to masters with decades of experience in a few years, and the Ogre’s power may very well be within reach."

Steel Trap Clarity (300 cp) "It's a sad fact, but traitors and spies are lurking everywhere. Their hands forced by blackmail, willingly becoming a double agent from bribery or falling to good old fashioned brain washing. Not you though, absolutely not. Upon purchase, you become excessively resistant to traditional forms of corruption, mystical forms of brainwashing and everything in between. Something with mind-boggling power may still be able to put you under its control. Most of the threats to your morals or sanity in this world are just out of luck. Additionally, you will always be able to keep a clear idea of your personal principles, meaning you won't stray off of your path on accident."

(Free roll) Blessed by the Sun God (600cp) You did not awaken with the Demon Slayer Mark, you were born with it. Ever since you were young you have been stronger than most, and you only grew stronger over time. Because the mark is so deeply engraved into your body, it has undergone a change from the normal version, making you even stronger than it would make others along with a great increase in talent. Your Transparent World has gotten to the point where you can see individual blood vessels and sickness in people while also slowing the world down even more along with your thought processing being even faster. Most importantly, your Red Blade is much more potent, not only causing wounds to heal at a snail's pace for those with extremely fast regeneration and taking even more energy, but the wounds will continue to burn long after they have been healed, which will always leave nasty scars. Finally, those you train with will slowly be able to awaken their own marks, though only the first version.

how would you write this version of jaune? here's my idea down below

jaune's family in this universe have an instinctive grasp of violence, one they bury under the laws of chivalry to be able to function in this world. while most simply use aura the arcs developed this bodies first only unlocking the aura of their children after they've mastered the breathing forms. the increase in strength and speed is about what you would get from unlocking your aura and their natural physicality makes them stronger than most low level huntsmen anyways. jaune was unique born with the sign of the rainbow on his back he's always gotten combat and an instinctive grasp of how the human body works. but as a result has been isolated from the common sense of this world, lacking any idea of what aura is or how it works. not knowing what a huntsman is in relation to a knight. (knights are assigned a territory to watch over huntsmen travel around) and not knowing about modern tech and who the players are in the world. (doesn't know about weiss or pyrrha) people tend to view him as a blunt instrument. in reality his mind is far sharper than any would give him credit for. he's just a purpose built item, a sword among axes and hammers. he asked to be sent to beacon not to learn to fight but to actually learn to be human outside the shadow of his family. but can he hold back the instinctive call for violence that runs through his veins?

how would you write this world? how would you write this version of jaune ignoring my idea for it just above. also any thoughts on how things like the silver eyes would adapt to having to handle human enemies? my thought was it visualizes aura helping the silver eyed warriors not only empathetically predict their enemies abilities and next attacks but also what their semblance is. as well as giving a strong boost to their aura when feeling strong positive emotions.

@howlingday @weatherman667 @heliosthegriffin just something i'm doing while i'm too sick to actually do anything. lemme know what you would do

[armoricaroyalty]

For some reason, when she kissed him, he thought of Theo.

Previous | Chapter Start | Beginning | Next

Transcript under the cut.

WOMAN 1 | ...for real, I've been like, completely obsessed. WOMAN 1 | Like, there was hardly any wedding coverage for Jacques and Vivi, right? And that was my first royal wedding! I thought it was normal! I didn't know I was missing out. WOMAN 2 | Right? It feels like everyone's been saving up all their hype. WOMAN 1 | Has anyone else been following the dress rumors? WOMAN 2 | [ sighs ] I just hope Emily's dress isn't as boring as Vivi's was. WOMAN 2 | Vivi's whole wardrobe is boring! She dresses like a toddler, it is so unflattering. WOMAN 1 | I know, right? She should ask Lady Em to take her shopping. WOMAN 3 | Lady Emily is soooo gorgeous. WOMAN 2 | She's too good for him. He's always been such a scrub. WOMAN 1 | Whatever! I'm just glad it's a real love story, not just a shotgun wedding. An office romance... [ dreamy sigh ] Like, it could have been me! THEO | [ scoffs ] [ The conversation died immediately, and the silence solidified into something like hostility. Theo turned to see five pale, contemptuous faces fixed on her back, and her heart jumped up into her throat. Fighting to keep her expression neutral and her voice even, she stood and announced to no one that she was going to lunch. They pretended not to hear her. ] WOMAN 1 | ...she is such a stuck-up b-word. WOMAN 2 | Did you know that she used to date Prince Frederick? WOMAN 1 | Oh my god. Her? WOMAN 2 | Yeah. That's how she got hired here after she got disbarred or whatever. WOMAN 3 | Yeah. And her mom dated the King before he married the Queen. WOMAN 1 | Oh my god. She's a second-generation royal girlfriend? Gross. WOMAN 2 | D'you think her daughter will actually land a prince? WOMAN 3 | Why not? [ giggles ] Third time's the charm! [ Even in the warmer months, the gardens at Yew Court Palace stood empty. In February, the fountains were dry and the ivy dormant. Fat crows stirred in the bare branches overhead. Somewhere nearby, muffled by hedges, came the low hum of passing traffic. ] [ It was a food place to be alone. ]

THEO: I am going to kill myself or my coworkers, havent decided yet FREDDY: Nooooo dont do that FREDDY: Id have noone to text if you were dead THEO: Aw, no friends? FREDDY: Nope :( THEO: Pobrecito FREDDY: O baby. Talk dirty to me THEO: Lmao THEO: For real though THEO: Gonna kill my coworkers THEO: Or myself FREDDY: What did they do this time THEO: They are just openly talking shit about me now THEO: IN FRONT OF ME FREDDY: Wtf???????? FREDDY: Want me to have them fired lol THEO: I can fight my own battles tyvm FREDDY: Whats your battle plan? Stapler in jello? Sign them up for boner pill emails? THEO: Find a new job and leave them here to choke on their own incompetence FREDDY: Love when you talk about choking :heart_eyes: THEO: LMAO perv FREDDY: Cant help myself lol FREDDY: Anyway…sorry about your terrible job. Mine kinda sucks rn too THEO: Isn’t your job rn wedding planning?? FREDDY: But it’s not it’s actually mediating between my mom and Emily THEO: Do they not get along? FREDDY: No they get along fine but it’s like. FREDDY: My mom clearly has Ideas (tm) about how the wedding should be and em clearly wants something completely diferent and it is just constant FREDDY: Theyre killing meeeeeee THEO: That sucks. Are you at least getting your own ideas in too? FREDDY: Not really…altho tbf if i was getting my way it’d be like. Courthouse wedding. In and out. THEO: My parents got married at city hall FREDDY: Dreams really do come true THEO: They sure do THEO: Okay this is going to sound weird but...I felt like the wedding plans didn’t really seem like you THEO: if that makes sense? THEO: Like I get that you're a prince but a huge formal wedding isn't your vibe at alllll FREDDY: You know me…my kind of party involves a lot more helicopters and blow THEO: LMAO I thought there was just the one helicopter FREDDY: See this is why we’re friends lol FREDDY: You keep me honest

[ soft knocking ] EMILY | Frederick? Are you okay in there? FREDERICK | [ muffled ] Be right out! EMILY | Are you alright? You were gone a while... FREDERICK | Aw, did you miss me? EMILY | Just making sure you didn't fall in.

[floatingcatacombs]

Zeta Gundam and Being Weird About Women

12 Days of Aniblogging 2024, Day 1

I watched the original Mobile Suit Gundam series last year and found it to be what the kids call “peak”. War and death and despair laundered through the aesthetics of a 70s children’s show remains an unmatched combination, and the slower parts only add to the overall atmosphere. The last ten episodes are masterful in that after a seemingly endless deluge of fights, something different is offered up. A dream of peace in space, manifested through child soldiers becoming so traumatized that they develop psionic hyperempathy towards one another. This dream is abruptly extinguished when Amuro kills Lalah Sune during a fight with Char that none of them really want to have. It leaves a real effect on the viewer after 30something episodes of extremely grounded and drawn-out hell war! And Zeta Gundam, at its core, is about recapturing this bitter feeling. Zeta Gundam is about the slow death of the future.

The vibes are off as soon as the show starts. Things have changed significantly in the eight years since the One Year War concluded with a Federation victory. The Feddies are being devoured from within by an elite and increasingly fascistic military wing, with most of the space colonies are already under de facto Titan rule. The atmosphere is bleak and hazy, as is the film transfer, which is not nearly as crisp as 0079’s gorgeous modern remaster. Protagonist Kamille Bidan’s parents are brutally killed within the first five episodes, but not before they’re both made out to be terrible people. Though this is ostensibly peacetime, the world has gotten much, more worse, and we must experience it through the narrative lens of an autistic child.

couldn't help myself from using this screencap

The faction Kamille reluctantly joins, the AEUG, is a ragtag operation that mostly uses salvaged and stolen mobile suits. They’re launching Gundams and Zeon-inflected designs in the same skirmishes! Meanwhile, the Titans are using classic Federation iconography but painting them Evil Colors, right alongside Zaku successors. Both factions have GMs! This can make skirmishes hard to keep tabs on while the show is still getting off the ground.

It's all a bit overambitious! Which makes for a double-edged sword, as the Gryps Conflict is a messy war. 0079's fog of war was a deliberate narrative decision, since the White Base was on the fringes of the conflict and being kept in the dark by their superiors. But here in Zeta we’re on the AEUG flagship. Also, is the AEUG… just a couple dozen guys? Or are there constant battles happening off-screen with other divisions? The scale is all over the place, but this becomes less of an issue as the show progresses and focuses more on character arcs and the goings-on of enemy factions. One of the trickier parts of Zeta is just how much cool stuff happens off-screen. There’s a lot of telling and not showing, with how the Titans came be, how Zeon is regrouping its forces, and why Char is fighting for the AEUG in the first place. Or how Anaheim Electronics absorbed Zeonic after the One Year War, but we’ll get to that one in another post. Some of these questions eventually have payoffs, but not others, relying on supplementary media to provide explanations.

But when Zeta hits, it hits. The relationship between Kamille and Four is this beautiful glimpse of a better world, taken away again and again. It’s about being abused and trying to grow past your circumstances. It’s about finding love on the battlefield and hoping that that’s enough. It’s about having blue hair and pronouns. The two of them develop a genuinely sweet dynamic, and that makes it so much worse. Four Murasame goes through hell in this series, getting tortured and drugged and brainwashed, and of course, dying horribly after throwing herself between two rivals. This forces Char and Amuro to give Kamille a “oh yeah that can just happen with the girl you love and it will haunt your life forever, sorry” talk. It’s as hilarious as it is bitter.

The villainous Paptimus Scirocco (perfect Tomino name) is another highlight, and has one of my favorite scenes in the entire show. It’s the first time he really shows his hand. He delivers a speech to a female Titans ace pilot he's trying to curry favor with about how humanity must free itself from the shackles of the Earth Sphere in order to reach its true potential. However, even if the Titans win the war, the Earth itself will be left in poverty and famine from all of the fighting. It will take a strong, sharp leader to rule during those troubled times, and who should it be? He’ll offer himself up, surely? “I believe the next ruler of Earth will be a woman.”

It’s a genius line, and one of Zeta's more interesting moments with regards to gender politics. What seems like it will be a power grab instead becomes Paptimus spelling out his worldview. He’s making an explicitly feminist statement to win the trust of a female subordinate, although the statement just as easily reads as contempt when you consider Scirocco’s earlier lines about souls being bound by gravity and wanting to move humanity beyond the Earth Sphere. Women are a tool to get that done, treating the Earth as tantamount to a hearth. It’s the words of feminism wielded as a weapon against women. Paptimus goes on to groom her and maybe three other women throughout the show, subtly pitting them against one another and dispensing just enough affection and agency to keep them trapped in his orbit until they eventually die terribly for him one by one. This is all very Akio Ohtori, and knowing that Ikuhara was a Tomino fan, I wouldn’t be surprised if Paptimus was something of an origin point. He’s even got the purple hair!

Unfortunately, Zeta Gundam itself also hates women. A comprehensive feminist analysis could easily fill another two essays, but in short, Tomino’s Madonna-whore complex is on full display here. This show has a surprisingly large female cast, but the vast majority of them get killed in particularly nasty ways, so zoomed out it comes across as this endless carousel of character introduction, narrative condemnation, and death.

The Titans have their fascist patriarchal obsession with power and dominance, so women in the system have either to assert masculine-coded authority, like Mouar, or defect, like Emma. It’s one of the reasons that Paptimus is so successful– he’s targeting vulnerable women by presenting an alternate values system within the Titans that pedestalizes, or at least accepts, their womanhood. On the other side of the war, the AEUG has a certain egalitarian nature, with women serving all the same as men. But as the show goes on you have more and more moments like Fa Yuiry getting forcibly reassigned from piloting to childcare duty, an irrational decision that essentially boils down to the purity complexes of the AEUG’s leadership. At least when Axis Zeon finally shows up midways through the show, they’re lead by certified girlboss Haman Karn. Tragically, this has to happen on the side that’s even more fashy than the space junta we’ve been dealing with up until now. And we’ve also got a lot of medical malpractice to get through.

This is the Gundam series that introduces Cyber Newtypes, but also decides that every single one of them is a BPD girlie. Sarah Zabiarov has fallen hook, line, and sinker for Paptimus’ game, and is willing to commit terrorism for scraps of his affection, and is subject to heartbreaking levels of being led on. As previously mentioned, Four is a great character, and a beacon of hope in this bleak setting as she wrestles with her purpose. Of course, we can’t have nice things. Four is killed in battle, but not before an extensive and excessive sequence of her getting tortured in the lab because that’s what they do to Cyber Newtypes. She’s narratively replaced by Rosamia Badam, a woman under even more psychological duress spending even more of her screentime getting brainwashed and medically examined, the lab rat to end all lab rats. Wait, is the purpose of Cyber Newtypes in Zeta just to appease someone’s women-torturing fetish?

It's deeply frustrating. This isn’t happening for some larger narrative reason, as Zeta doesn’t really have much interesting to say about women. The closest it gets is Reccoa Londe asserting that men and women are fundamentally incapable of understanding one another, right before defecting out of love and self-interest, an act which Zeta fans have been fundamentally incapable of understanding for decades. She’s a hated character, and the show sets her up to be hated, by handing her feelings that run perpendicular to the rest of the cast. And mecha fans are famously good about complicated and conflicted female characters. We don’t get much of her interiority until she’s essentially made up her mind, which only serves to widen the narrative gulf between men and women. Zeta is this frustrating mix of intentionally toxic gender politics and the writers being just plain bad about women, and untangling that knot is both worthwhile and infuriating. Sometimes it seems like Tomino is more scared of women than anything else, but it’s misogyny all the same.

I have no equivalent defense of Rosamia Badam. The last act of Zeta Gundam is an exciting time! The Gryps conflict has devolved into a three-way war, Haman Karn is #slaying and setting up tactical alliances with multiple factions, and Paptimus is engineering one last coup to let him assume control of the entire Titans fleet. It’s at this exact moment that someone on the staff holds Yoshiyuki Tomino hostage and forces him to indulge in their little sister fetish. That’s honestly the easiest explanation. There’s no good reason for Rosamia to be in this show at all, even less so in the final ten episodes! It’s downright embarrassing that we have to hit the brakes on the overarching plot to throw in a twentysomething woman who’s been brainwashed into thinking that she’s Kamille’s sister, and her subsequent psychosis spiral when this fantasy unravels. It’s just no good.

That being said, Zeta sticks the landing. The four-person shootout in the Axis theater, half of the cast dying in the last two episodes, Kamille casually trying to kill himself by taking off his helmet in space, Scirocco cursing Kamille with his final breath and breaking something in his mind…. it’s all great! Why was Rosamia here just five episodes ago?

I’ve somehow managed to get this far without talking about Amuro and Char Lieutenant Quattro Bajeena! They’re here, they’re good, and the Argama landing on Earth is when the show really starts to spread its wings. I love Char’s genuinely radical speech in Dakar and how he subsequently internalizes those themes in Char’s Counterattack because Amuro in Zeta basically tells him to die for his convictions. The two of them have plenty of iconic lines. But this is fundamentally a show about the women (and Kamille, who is not a woman, but the ease at which he can be grouped with the women is something that troubles him immensely).

So that’s Zeta Gundam. It’s not nearly as focused as 0079, but that’s a good thing in the broader scheme, as it set the stage for how different a mecha sequel can be while still being a major success. It felt like eating my vegetables at times, but its ambitious scope leads to some incredible moments and emotions. Great soundtrack too. As one of the most popular Gundam series, it’s a springboard for a ton of other works set around this period of the Universal Century. Like a sweet little visual novel I decided to read earlier this year...

And no, I don’t plan on watching ZZ.

[new-american-adult]

Here we fucking go.

I graduate in a little over a month and this cuck in a tie is starting the new great depression. Any and all tips on how to survive a recession are greatly appreciated (millennials help us please).

I was so prepared to leave the country in the days and weeks following the election. Now I just want to stay and build my life here, but I know better than to live in a place that is uninhabitable. I know better than to turn a blind eye to the reality of a nation that enacts laws that are antithetical to the human condition.

Recently I’ve been (attempting to) process the lingering resentment I feel for my parents about their financial choices. I’ve known that there was a problem since middle school, and ever since then I have pleaded with them for them to change their ways. They had ample resources with which to make and enact the right changes, but now it’s too late. They sold my childhood home to pay off half a million in credit card debt, and yet they still continued to accept the status quo of their own behavior, but I’ve seen where this was going from the beginning. Despite my hopes, they didn’t change until they were forced to by the threat of homelessness. I have beared the brunt of this. To watch your life fall apart around you, knowing how to stop it, and yet those with the power to change it do nothing, is incredibly demoralizing and enraging.

America is in a very similar situation right now. I feel similarly about america as I do about my parents, except I can at least understand where my parents were coming from. They come from flawed families and have battled terrible circumstances. Though they fell short in meeting their responsibility, every time I feel anger towards them I can’t help but remember that they were once children as I was. With our political situation, the people actually had a choice, and they chose wrong. Though the anger I feel towards conservatism in this country is constant, “liberation day,” as the dickwad himself calls it, has undoubtedly stoked its embers.

I can’t stand living in a small town right now. I want to participate in the political action that happens in a large city, but I can’t do that without traveling to one (which I can’t afford) or moving to one. The thought of putting in the effort to move my life to a new place and not simultaneously freeing myself from the american system feels like a waste of my time, energy, and future.

Any recommendations for good non-american animal biology graduate programs would also be greatly appreciated.

Until next time :)

[acesartemis]

eddietommy and something with dragons if you feel like it! 🧡

have a reverse swan princess but dragons au

Once upon a time there was a prince whose parents pissed off a witch, resulting in the pissed-off witch cursing their infant son.

The curse? Their son was enchanted into a dragon.

To make matters worse, the only people who knew about the cursed son were killed in a kingdom revolt.

The dragon-son was eventually found and relocated to a dragon rider academy, and for years he was tied up in a dark cave until he was mature enough to be trained for battle.

The dragon rider he's assigned to is a kind young man that actually speaks to him. “I am Edmundo, your rider. I will call you Thomas, after one of the greatest riders there ever was.”

Edmundo brings Thomas bits of bread and actual meat. He complains constantly about another rider, the dragon assumes, named Buck that is the rival in all his classes.

Thomas happily listens — what else can he do? — and preens under the gentle care that the rider gives him. Edmundo knows just where to scratch, just the right force he needs to pry a stubborn scale that Thomas can’t reach and spends hours in the cave with him.

The day finally comes, Edmundo beaming and bouncing, as he announces they are to take their first flight — out of the cave. Thomas can barely contain himself as he waits for Edmundo to release him and get properly situated in his holster before he’s sprinting clumsily out the cave opening and takes his first leap into the glorious blue sky.

Fresh air fills his lungs and his wings stop aching from the constant bend of being in the cave’s tight quarters.

This is what he was made for.

Once the initial euphoria of being out and flying wears thin, his new mission is to make Edmundo laugh as much as possible. He banks and rolls through the air, Edmundo whooping as he holds on.

They’ll at it for hours until the sky starts to darken and Edmundo pats him on each wing and then his neck to signal to land.

Thomas obeys, his heart sinking. He never wants to go back in that cave ever again.

Thankfully, Edmundo guides them to land by a thick of trees next to a small body of water. Suddenly, Thomas is overcome with thirst, and realizes he's free to drink his fill. Unfortunately, he forgets about Edmundo on his back and accidentally launches the man into the small pool in his haste. Edmundo comes up sputtering, but laughing, and Thomas feels a warmth flood through his chest and as he drinks.

The moonlight creeps over the duo as Edmundo floats in the water. “You’re a peculiar drag— man?”

Edmundo splashes, frantic, as Thomas finds himself falling face first into the water. There's water up his nose and his — tiny, useless — arms are pinwheeling. A flailing limb makes contact with Edmundo's face and Thomas croaks out a hoarse, “Sorry.”

Wait. Words. Out of his mouth? He can speak?

They both freeze, equally bewildered.

“You're a-a—”

Thomas nods.

“This whole time?”

Thomas nods again, standing up in the water.

“You’re— unclothed,” Edmundo reports in a whisper. He swallows. Blushes in the moonlight. Thomas thinks it's beautiful — he’s beautiful, like his laugh. Edmundo shakes himself out of it. “You must be terribly cold. Here,” Edmundo offers Thomas his cloak. “And we’re both sopping. I’ll create a fire.”

Thomas leaves the water to follow Edmundo a few feet away. He stares at his hands, flexing the finger joints as Edmundo gathers wood. He’s staring at his own feet when the crackle of flames pulls him back to the situation at hand.

“Sit, Thomas,” Edmundo invites, then his brows pinch together. “What are you called?”

“Thomas,” he tries. Likes the shape of it in his mouth, “is fine. If another exists for me I do not recall.”

Edmundo nods, reaching out towards the fire. Thomas mirrors him. The warmth seeping into his fingers is welcome. “I am quite positive… you have questions. Questions… I have myself.”

“You mean—”

“I do not have knowledge of how this is possible. I have been tied up in that cave for… I am not even certain.”

“We will not go back,” Edmundo announces with conviction.

Thomas gasps. “Ed-Edmundo, you must!”

“No. I will not see you treated like that again. It was inevitably my plan to leave once I were able. Most certainly not now that you are…”

“Do not throw your life away for—”

“We are to release all the dragons and travel far from here. You are welcome to refuse and we go our respective ways.”

Thomas cannot say no to him.

[corvidgames]

#7 DOOM: The Dark Ages

Doom The Dark ages was an incredibly fun entry to the series, with one small issue. It was entirely unplayable on PC.

I ended up playing the game on console after experiencing almost 10 hours of lost gameplay from crashes that happened every time I tried to play, despite my system exceeding the required hardware.

I will admit, outside of these issues, once I played on console, I absolutely had a great time, one that I would totally recommend to people ON CONSOLE, but with how terrible the launch was on PC for both NVIDIA and AMD cards, it's really hard to reccomend there.

It's a shame because, had I not had these issues my overall rating would have increased significantly for how many times I was stunned by just how cool this game was. But in it's current state, as rickety as it is, I just can't say that as my main point in good faith.

Rating Calculation

Story: 5/10

The story isn't exactly what people go for in a boomer shooter, but the story of Doom The Dark Ages was alright, regardless. It was a fun, dramatic story with a few twists that leant well into the gameplay. In particular, getting to crawl up and out of the dead, after being slain in battle near the end of the game, only to be summoned in a lake of blood by my comdrades in arms was awesome.

Character(s): 5/10

The characters can, similarly to the story, be taken or left. Everyone loves the slayer, myself included, he's just as angry and dedicated as ever in this entry, and the subtle moments of his facial expression thorugh the helmet visor were always impactful whenever they came.

The rest of the cast were kind of forgettable, I will admit. It wasn't what kept me going by any means.

Atmosphere: 8/10

It's DOOM, it's gory, its hellish, it's fast paced and full of action, what isn't there to love? With the combination of awesome graphics, great music, and smooth gameplay, the atmosphere of Doom is exactly what you'd expect it to be.

Style/Graphics: 7/10

Realistic and gritty, the art style of DOOM The Dark ages was immersive and kept me right in the drivers seat all throughout. There's not too much you can say about a game with graphics intended to look mostly realistic, especially when it succeeded. It's lighting and physics were superb on console, and I experienced very few issues with them there.

Sound Design: 8/10

The music, whilst a little different to the entires on the part of it having a different producer behind it (as far as I'm aware) is still just as weighty and awesome as ever. Running around bashing in the skulls of demons remains fun as all hell.

Parrying and melee have satisfyingly crunchy and poigniant sound design that makes every hit feel impactful, and it really helps add to the experience.

Mechanics: 7/10

Mechanically, Dark Ages felt different from the rest in that it introduced parrying as a constant mechanic. It's got a different feel to the raw bullet hell of other entries in the series, though I found that I really liked it.

Combat felt like a blend of OG Doom and Sekiro. As you progress further through the game, it's a LOT of parrying and poking with damage, which I can appreciate some people wouldn't like as much as the raw RIP AND TEAR of older entires, but I really liked it. I enjoy both forms of combat so it was nice to try something new in the series.

Performance/optimisation: 2/10

My main issue with Doom The Dark Ages was that it just Would Not Work on PC whatsoever. After downloading it at launch I tried endlessly to try and get the game to play without crashing to no avail. I was in contact with Bethesda support on and off for weeks trying to get the game to work, reinstalling, repairing and altering files and settings both in-game and on my PC, but at the end of it all, nothing worked. My play time was boosted so much thanks to the crashes on PC. If I had only played on console, as I ended up needing to at the end of the PC debacle, I would have likely finished somewhere in the mid 20 hours range, accounting for all the save data I lost in crashes.

On console I experienced very few issues, but PC was utterly unplayable, I'm glad I played through gamepass and didn't buy it ouright or I would have very quickly been demanding a refund.

(5 + 5 + 8 + 7 + 8 + 7 + 2) / 7 = 6 = 60%

Date of completion: 16/06/2025

Genre: Boomer Shooter

Time to beat: 32hrs 34mins

Level of completion: Main story + All side content

Trophies/Gamerscore: 28/28 1000G

1-100 rating: 60%

Platform: Xbox/PC

[primordialruin]

If over the next period I'm either super chatty, or super quiet (more than usual) it'll be due to high stress and anxiety.

My parents are unfortunately battling cancer. Dad's in remission and we're anxiously waiting to see if that continues to be the case soon. Mom's probably gonna start chemo next week or the week after. Lost a dear uncle (dad's brother) to cancer last year before my dad discovered he had it too and I nearly lost him to it. It was found that this is hereditary on both sides, so I can only hope my genes stay put and this stress doesn't start anything in me. I'll be doing the needed checkups on myself so fingers crossed everything is alright with me.

I don't know how I'll react in the foreseeable future. I'm sorry if I'll be either annoying with headcanons or radio silent. I might not read the room right because the stress manifests as brain fog and hyperfixations as a means to escape my reality. I'm genuinely just trying to figure out how to cope and be a positive influence for my family but it's not easy to keep it together. I get faint spells, terrible heart palpitations and my judgement feels quite impaired because I'm in constant survival mode. I feel very sick to my stomach and constantly on the verge of crying. Frankly, I'm feeling more like a kid than a nearly 30 year old adult by the day.

I am suffering.

Hug your loved ones. Make sure you show them that you appreciate them through your words and actions. And maybe keep my family and I in your kind thoughts and prayers if you believe that helps. ❤️

[blade-liger-4ever]

I can hardly believe I just did this, but...

Here's my take for Rhaego Targaryen, the Stallion Who Mounts the World, plus small ideas for a minor AU of sorts.

Warning, I'm putting a cut here because Tumblr is stupid and won't let me order the pictures side by side in the proper order.

So for this take - which is personally how I'd like to see an AU of Game of Thrones, give or take some details that are or aren't changed - I like to imagine that both Drogo and Rhaego lived, with Daenerys and Drogo teaming up to retake the Iron Throne, Daenerys acting as the great strategist/political powerhouse (while being backed by her three dragons, who keep their names and most of their personalities), while Drogo leads the troops and trains all the men Daenerys brings him through her alliances. I'd probably let it be done so that Daenerys, maybe through a dealing with the witch that, obviously, doesn't involve her husband and son's deaths, does leave her unable to bear more children. Regardless of whether or not that's a factor at all in this AU, Rhaego has no more biological siblings, but quickly grows to view Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion as his brothers, while the dragons in turn also view him as their youngest brother and protect him as fiercely as their mother and father (Drogo being their father - oldest boy is named for him, after all.)

Robb would also live, and I'd like to, personally, introduce a tribe of white tiger shape-shifters from "The Land of Always Winter". I'm....honestly wanting him to marry the tribe's princess, who can really kick butt, too. The reason for this is that I feel the Night King's home for the last few centuries is underdeveloped, and I feel Robb should marry someone with experience in warfare - that, and I really like white tigers. Additionally, I'd probably have White Tiger Princess sent to find the Starks and reveal to them their ties to House Targaryen, and organize an alliance with House Stark as they battle the frozen zombies (by the way, this revelation is achieved by prophetesses from their land, and all members of the tribe learn to fight and care for each other because of the constant threat of the Night King.)

So....hrm, let me think. I guess it otherwise goes according to canon, but they manage to fix enough things that when Daenerys and Drogo - who have practically reclaimed most of the Seven Kingdoms, I suppose - meet them and learn of their family ties, Robb and Jon come to an agreement with them: Daenerys will rule the Seven Kingdoms, with Jon acting as her Hand and ruling most of the North. House Stark is still intact, though Ned, Catelyn, and Rickon are still dead, and Robb marries the White Tiger Princess and unites the two lands through their marriage. Additionally, the white tiger tribe (which I'm terribly sorry I forgot to mention earlier) has access to ice dragons, allowing for the regrowth of the dragon presence in Westeros through crossbreeding the species, and giving Jon his own dragon so that he can embrace his Targaryen heritage.

Other bullet points that I want to leave here:

Rhaego rides Viserion, who is the only unclaimed of the three dragons (I feel Drogo should ride Rhaegal, who in this story, grows to be nearly as big as Drogon.) Viserion is also the fastest, earning him the nickname "The Pale Wind".

Grey Wind lives, and gets to remain by his master's side all through to the war's end.

Nymeria reunites with Arya, who perhaps returns to the North or chooses another future for herself.

The Hound lives, always accompanying Arya, regardless of her life choice.

Jaime lives, actually gets to redeem himself, and maybe marries or otherwise has a relationship with Brienne.

Cersei gets to die, hopefully horribly (I hate her, okay?)

Sansa...TBD, either by myself or anyone else who reads this and enjoys it.

Jorah lives, acting as Rhaego's guardian and teacher as he grows.

Jon marries either Ygritte or some other woman; I personally prefer Daenerys x Drogo.

And lastly, we would probably get an epilogue of sorts where we see a young adult Rhaego, having inherited his family legacy and trained Dothraki dragonriders, embarking on a conquest of Valyria, which I'd use as a Sequel Hook for a future series.

And that's it. If you like this, thank you for reading it. If you didn't, just skip this post; it's merely a way for me to kick out the ideas that have been rattling around in my brain for Heaven knows how long.

Also, if anyone wants to make a story out of this, you have my blessing to do so. I only ask you credit me for the source of the concepts and original inventions for this. I'm not a fan of Game of Thrones, nor have I really watched it - I just looked up the characters, found I liked them, and thought "what if?"

Have fun people, and take care.