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soundofez · 4 years ago

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for @mastar-week 2020, day 3// legacy

yet another star-centric side story to We Fill the Skies, set as always in the Leagues & Legends universe. i have a lot of emotions for both max albarn and sebastian black and i need to compensate for how little screen time they had.

(slight spoilers to we fill the skies, btw, but who cares about that when you can have Feelings.)

—

Max Albarn was usually all wiry strength and indomitable pride, a ramrod straight spine and perfect square posture, but now his back was bowed, his shoulders quietly sloped. Oscar had never realized before how thin his classmate was, how small and fragile. It looked wrong.

He turned back to his paper. They weren't friends, he reminded himself. And Albarn had plenty, anyway, if he needed a shoulder to cry on.

- We Fill the Skies, Chapter 2: Promises to Keep

—

Sebastian Black was tired.

It wasn’t the exhaustion of travelling for two weeks— travelling didn’t tire Seb like that. Seb didn’t get tired, usually, except from Elsewhere storms, and that wasn’t exhaustion so much as it was nauseated sickness, brought on by the feeling of magic trying to escape from his body to that mysterious other plane via fishhoks in his gut.

Seb didn’t get tired, except that now he was.

He hadn’t seen the note when he’d gotten back— it had been late, and he hadn’t want to wake the roommate he’d thought asleep in the next room. Instead, he’d crashed straight into his bed and gone to sleep himself, already looking forward to catching up in the morning.

Now, the desert sun was shining through the kitchen window, promising a hot day. Seb stood at the kitchen table, note in hand, and he was tired.

Papa died, the note read. I’m taking his ashes back to the Forest. Be back a week before classes start.

—

Seb was the only University affiliate to come home from the expedition. He didn’t like thinking about that, about how his professor and his classmate had gone missing, about how the other three students had all stayed behind while he’d gone home like a coward.

They hadn’t told him, either. That’s what hurt the most, if he thought too hard: that they’d simply agreed without him. And maybe Seb hadn’t talked to Ford much, but he’d spent every day with Kilik and Casper, and still they’d said nothing. They’d waited until the last second to tell him, too late for him to do anything, when even the Academy people had seemed to know what they were up to. They hadn’t given him a choice.

Max hadn’t told him, either, back before they’d even left on the expedition. Max had been chosen, not Ford, and yet when Seb had first arrived at the announced point of departure, he’d found Ford waiting there instead.

“What are you doing here?” Seb had asked.

“He didn’t tell you?” Ford had replied. “He gave me his place on the expedition.”

Max hadn’t told him. Seb hadn’t admitted that to Ford, had ignored Ford’s silent pity. It wasn’t Ford’s business.

And Ford had seemed to agree. They’d talked on the expedition— the group was too small for them not to— but Seb had kept him at a steady distance, even as he’d listened with rapt attention to Ford’s many stories.

Maybe he shouldn’t have kept that distance. Maybe Ford would have said something if he had.

Seb didn’t do regret. The concept was anathema to him. You couldn’t change the past: your only option was to do your best in the present. He got frustrated with Max, sometimes, because Max seemed to regret everything.

Seb didn’t do regret, and he wasn’t about to start. He stuffed some coin into his pocket and left the empty apartment to find some food.

—

Ford wrote to him first.

Seb was surprised. He wasn’t much for letters, preferring action instead. (Max scolded him for this all the time, but Seb was vaguely aware of the hypocrisy. Seb wasn’t the one who furiously applied twice to the University with different genders to prove a point, and then had to scramble for housing when the point was proved.)

Seb wasn’t stupid. He knew he wasn’t normal, not just because his already-rare gift for magic was especially strong, but because his mind ran on different tracks from everyone else. His classmates teased him for asking dumb questions in class, but Seb had some of the best grades in the University, and it was only a little bit because Max helped him study. (You’re an auditory learner, Max had once told him. There’s nothing wrong with that.)

Point being, Seb could read, he just didn’t like to because it took so much effort. It was with some surprise that he found his eyes on Ford’s neat signature, having devoured the rest of the letter. He’d enjoyed listening to Ford’s stories during the expedition, but he hadn’t expected the enjoyment to transfer to Ford’s writing.

His eyes dropped to the last line, tucked plainly under the signature:

P.S. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.

Seb read the postscript several times. It would be just like Ford to get it, the creep. He shook his head, but he grabbed a pen and paper from the kitchen’s junk drawer and sat down to write a reply.

When he was done with Ford’s letter, he grabbed more paper and started another.

—

Max’s letter came a day before Max did. It sounded almost normal, filled with their usual banter (You picked up a pen without me? Is there someone you want to tell me about?), but it also told Seb when Max would be home.

Seb spent the entire day at home doing chores. When he heard Max’s familiar footsteps on the stairs outside, he immediately positioned himself at the front door.

It worked. Max opened the door and walked directly into Seb’s open arms.

“You should have told me,” Seb grumbled into Max’s hair. It had grown since he’d last seen her. Underneath the smell of sweat and desert sand and sun was a hint of green earth. “I would’ve stayed.”

“I didn’t want you to,” Max mumbled, and burst into tears. “Damn it. Damn it.”

Seb hugged her tighter, rocking gently on his feet. “They didn’t wring you out in the Forest, did they?” he teases gently. “Amateurs.”

They didn’t bother untangling themselves as they sank onto the couch of their tiny living room. Seb shared memories of cool mountain air, of red dust seeping into his boots and staining his clothes, his chin knocking against the top of Max’s head. Max returned the favor, recalling the damp shade of the Forest’s enormous trees, the looming closeness of the canopy as it blocked out the stars, her breath warm against his collar.

When their stomachs growled, Seb shooed Max away to clean up while Seb toasted some bread with the Elsewhere’s fire. They settled around the kitchen table for a simple meal of buttered bread and a wedge of cheese, and this time Max asked after Ford.

Seb snorted. “Why do you care about that creep?”

Max shrugged. “He knows what he’s doing. After me, he’s the obvious choice.” She scowled. “And I want to make sure he didn’t mess around too much. I recommended him, so his performance affects me, too.”

“He stayed.”

Max looked up. “What?”

Seb’s throat was unexpectedly tight. He tore off a mouthful of bread, chewed slowly, swallowed. “It went wrong. The expedition.”

Max looked livid. “What did he do.”

Seb shook his head. “No, it wasn’t Ford’s fault, it was Kim.” He made a face.

Max’s anger didn’t complete subside, but she still snorted. “I should’ve known.”

Seb grinned at her, but the expression died quickly. “The expedition went wrong,” he repeated. “Everyone else... stayed in the mountains.”

Finally, Max seemed to sense his emotions. “What happened?” she asked.

Seb exploded, suddenly frustrated. “Nobody told me!” he snapped. “First Jack and Kim go missing, then Professor Montero disappears— they say he’s dead! And then we just— kept researching with Professor Yumi, and I thought maybe that was it, because what the hell was anyone supposed to do?

“Then, as we’re leaving, Kilik and Casper and Ford all say they’re staying, they have ‘relatives’ or something—” he adorned the words with finger quotes— “but I know they’re looking into it! And they didn’t tell me— they’d all let the University know, or something, but not me.

“Professor Yumi escorted me home. Just me!” He looked at his hands, dragged his fingers like claws through the air, yanking at the magic that hung there and everywhere else. Gold fire pooled into his palms. “Because I’m a mage. Because I’m powerful, but that puts me in danger up there, or something. But hey, Kilik got to stay, and he’s a better mage than me!” He ripped more and more gold from the air, snarled, “Stupid Sebastian doesn’t know anything, so why bother telling him?”

He quieted when Max wrapped her hands around his fingers. He was shaking, he noticed dimly. His vision was a golden blur. His lungs heaved with the effort of drawing so much raw magic.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I know I should have told you. I just— I couldn’t. Not then. I c-couldn’t say anything about Papa, not then, so I just... didn’t.”

Seb didn’t get it, not really. It felt like their differences surrounding regret: he simply didn’t look at the past, but Max overflowed with what-ifs and if-onlys. He sensed it now, something fundamentally different about them, that while he sought company to relieve his pain, Max retreated from people to... to drown in it, maybe. (To digest, Max would tell him later.)

Seb didn’t get it, but this wasn’t the first time he didn’t get something. At least he knew how to ask.

He breathed, and slowly the gold faded from his vision. All the remained was just Max, just Maka, his oldest friend.

“What happened?” he asked her, and this time she told him.

The bustle of the Albarn clan had felt so much like her Papa, yet not. Maka hadn’t grown up in the Forest, and Spirit Albarn hadn’t spoken of his family, only of his beloved wife, Maka’s mother. The Albarns had loved Maka, but she hadn’t been family like Spirit was. It had hurt, so much, to see her Papa’s smothering affection directed at everyone but her.

“I would have gone with you,” Seb said. (I would have smothered you, if only you’d told me to, he would have said, if only he could find the words.)

“I know,” Maka replied, and smiled sadly. “But it wouldn’t be the same.” But she let him hug her anyway, and instead of going to their separate rooms they curled up on the couch together and fell asleep catching up.

#soul eater #mastar week 2020 #mastar week #mastar #maka albarn x black star #fez scribbles #fez writes #guess! who! made themself cry again!!!#that's right it's this dumbass #i... don't know if this has any relevance to the prompt?? whoops #if anything this is all ox's legacy lmaooooo #speaking of!!! godDAMN do i love bashing ox now that i'm not stuck in his perspective #like. he is a Good Boy and i love him very much #but he is also Weird AF and i also love being able to Say It #we fill the skies #four fools and a fire

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hopeless-island · 5 years ago

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Dying Dream Cast Directory

A helpful guide to remind you about the main crew of the Hopeless Pirates and their basic info stuffs. Keep in mind, names are done the Japanese way. So, Last name/middle initial/ first name

Also, there are spoilers in here for all people who are not caught up with the story. Read at your own risk.

Captain:

Gol D. Maven

Nickname/known as: Maven/ Usurper Maven/ “Momma Maven”/ Big Sis Maven

Age: 20 (at the beginning of Canon)

Disease: Usurper’s Syndrome. A terminal illness that is continual, and progressively aggressive, muscle degradation. Combats this disease by building muscle faster than it can degrade, leading to painfully slow increase in strength and low muscle mass on her body.

Appearance: Like a gender-swapped Ace essentially. Small chest, much wider waist than typical for OP characters. Clearly defined abs, lithe but defined muscles on arms and legs. She is not thickly built, her disease keeping her from being “bulky” and making her body remain rather lanky despite the strength on it. About 6′1″, long wavy black hair that goes down to her butt and is extremely wild and untamed. Freckles on her face that add a slight childish appearance to her face, and sleepy looking gray eyes. Always carries Stormfall, a large battle axe/halberd with a purple metal butterfly-winged blade. Stormfall is over six and a half feet tall, so the blade is always poking above Maven’s head a bit.

First Mate:

Nymph Katylan

Nickname/Known as: Katie/ Dark Nymph Katylan

Age: two years younger than Maven.

Disease: Unnamed terminal immunodeficiency, alluded to being like AIDS.

Appearance: Stereotypical blond rich-girl appearance. Classic OP-girl physique, with large bust and small waist. Straight gold-blond hair that falls a few inches past her shoulders, and large sapphire-blue eyes. Commonly wears light colored sundresses with exercise shorts underneath just incase she fights, so there is never an indecent moment. She is also the Helmsman and Archer for the crew, and uses an ivory-white recurve bow made by Kilik.The center of the bow can change lengths, controlling the strength and range of the bow. Average female height of about 5′7″

Navigator (Original):

Linral

Nickname/Known as: Rabid Linral/ Lin

Age: 18 at death

Disease: Unnamed cancer, alluded to being more than just one type as it is “everywhere.”

Appearance: Short tomboy, but with classic OP-girl body. She had short silver-white hair cut in a boyish pixie cut, and bright emerald-green eyes that she took pride in. Her body was littered with small scars, though not so many as to keep guys from blatantly trying to flirt with her. As stated earlier, she was very short-- just barely over five feet tall. Primarily a brawler, she had slightly more defined muscles than even Maven, considering Lin’s own disease didn't effect her muscle mass. Usually wore boy’s sports shorts and a grey or black tank top.

Weaponsmith (Original):

Kilik

Nickname/Known as: Kilik/ (I couldn’t remember/find his pirate name, so I made a new one up) Killing Steel Kilik

Age: 21 at death

Disease: Due to being unwillingly experimented on, his body developed the ability to produce its own organic poison straight into his own bloodstream. It never stopped his production, and production sped up over time. Too high of a concentration, and it would be fatal.

Appearance: About 5′10″, with fluffy cinnamon-brown hair that is on the long side, almost brushing his shoulders, and chocolate brown eyes. He is somewhat lanky, not muscular but with his own brand of lithe strength. Overall boyish, with most of his muscle mass being centered in his arms without being bulky, because of his occupation as a blacksmith. Also a swordsman. Known for creating a bunch of really wacky, weirdly-designed “swords” and other weapons in an attempt to find his own unique sword style. He finally did, after making round “swords” in the shape of clocks. Usually wore a simple black or mustard-yellow t-shirt and dark jeans with brown or denim overalls.

Doctor:

Razdall

Nickname/Known as: Raz/ Misery’s Herbalist Razdall

Age: 24 at the start of Canon

Disease: Unnamed heart condition, makes him extremely susceptible to spikes in blood pressure and heart rate. Weak heart.

Appearance: About 6′0, with short but messy purple hair. Gray eyes the same shade as Maven’s, but instead of having narrow eyes like she does his just look perpetually bored. His body is pretty lanky, and since he isn’t a fighter he doesn’t have much muscle mass at all. he has a slight, perpetual slouch and usually wears a black or dark purple turtleneck with black, slightly baggy pants and a lab coat with the Hopeless Pirate jolly roger on the back. Never seen without a utility belt laden with different pouches, orbs, and syringes full of his battle-ready herbal concoctions.

Seamstress:

Yalla

Nickname/Known as: Yalla/ Pretty Ninja Yalla (at least I think that’s what I went with as her pirate name... I can’t remember/ find it >.<)

Age: 15 at the start of Canon

Disease: Assassin’s syndrome. Similar to Usurper’s, but instead of muscle it is a constant degradation of organs in the body.

Appearance: A cutsey girly-girl, she has bubblegum-pink hair and bright golden yellow eyes. Originally she wore her hair up in constant long pigtails, but she started to wear it down after Kilik’s death. It reaches her knees when left down. She usually wears a frilly pink, gold, and black kimono that is cropped around the knee with sunflower-yellow boy shorts underneath incase any incidents occur. The kimono has three-quarter sleeves instead of the traditional long sleeves. She pairs it with flip-flops or goes barefoot. Still growing, she is relatively short at about 5′4″. She ate the Ribbon-Ribbon fruit and grew up as an acrobat in a circus, so she is not only very nimble and usually fights aerially, but she can turn her body into ribbons.

Shipwright:

Gino

Nickname/Known as: Gino/ Black Thorn Gino

Age: mid-thirties by Canon

Disease: Akui Hanahaki. Like the Hanahaki in other stories, this disease grows flowers in and off of the victim’s lungs, causing them to hack up flowers and leaves from it as the disease progresses. Unlike the normal mythical disease, this one is caused by hatred from a loved one rather than unrequited love. The only cure is being forgiven, but the person whose hatred caused Gino’ s illness is dead so it is officially terminal for him. He coughs up black roses.

Appearance: A large tiger-shark fishman, he clocks in at about 7′7″ and has greyish-blue skin with subtle grey stripes down his back and the back of his bald head, and partially over his shoulders and the back of his upper arms. Usually wears a black or dark grey tank top and black cargo pants or cargo shorts. He fights with spiked iron knuckles, and (spoiler alert) gets them upgraded to Seastone spiked knuckles after the Magician arc. He is very bulky, unlike the majority of the crew. Classic body of a thug/body builder type, with bulging biceps, very well-muscled chest/torso, and several tattoos.

Dancer:

Synalla

Nickname/Known as: Synalla/ “Crew Grandma”/ Slice-Dancer Synalla

Age: Late twenties by Canon. About 28 or 29..?

Disease: Unnamed lung disease. Fashioned a bit after Cystic Fibrosis, but obviously made into a fantasy terminal illness.

Appearance: She is a Snakeneck, and from her feet to the top of her head she is about 11′4″, with her neck by itself taking up almost half of that. Her body, like with most Snakenecks, is naturally lithe and lanky. Her hair is jet black, and goes down the entirety of her over-four-foot neck in sharp zig-zags that for some reason never lose shape. She dresses like a tango dancer almost constantly, in long brightly colored Mexican-styled dresses that end at her ankle and matching flats. She fights with tessen, or bladed war fans. She dances with them, too. She is naturally maternal and tends to mother hen, earning herself the nickname “Granny” or “Grandma” within the crew.

Scout/ Navigator (new):

Cala

Nickname/Known as: Cala/ Lynx Cala

Age: about 26 by the start of Canon

Disease: Nature’s wrath syndrome, another disease similar to Usurper’s and Assassin’s syndrome. This version is constant degradation of the bones and severe calcium deficiency/the body burns through calcium at a really fast rate.

Appearance: Is it even a surprise by now? Cala is lanky, as apparently most of the rest of the crew omfg where is my originality at? But to the point of being almost bony. He has very short-cropped blue hair, buzzed but not shaved. He ate the cat-cat model: Lynx fruit, and can change into a lynx. He is incredibly frail because of his disease and tends to stay out of fights unless absolutely necessary (I have bones of glass, and paper skin...) But he makes an excellent scout and spy with his enhanced senses from his Zoan fruit. He, uh. honestly I haven’t put much thought into his wardobe. He’s a bony cat dude. Probably wears long blue basketball shorts and goes shirtless half the time honestly, idk.

Crew Hypnotist..? I honestly don't know this guy’s role, I think he’s just a combatant/ bums out on the Dream honestly.

Dyan

Nickname/Known as: Dyan/ King Dyan/ Deranged Prince Dyan (Pirate nickname)

Age: idk if I put a solid age for him, but he’d be about 40 by the start of Canon

Disease: Similar to Kilik, Dyan’s blood itself is mutating and becoming toxic to itself. There is no known cure.

Appearance: He ate the child-child fruit, so he looks to be about 10 years old instead of his true age. He has spiky dark green hair, and is about 4′3″. He has a child’s body, so no real visible muscle mass or anything. He did used to be the King of the Ceres kingdom though, so he is constantly dressed in high quality clothes and somehow always looks like a stereotypical child prince/ rich brat. His devil fruit hypnotizes people along with making him stay in a child’s body, but you can read more about his devil fruit in the story itself.

Magician

Azalea

Nickname/Known as: Azalea/ Scarlet Magician Azalea

Age: I don’t remember if I gave her an exact age, but we’ll say 23 by Canon

Disease: Cancer (sound familiar? (;) Cured by Trafalgar Law.

Appearance: about 5′9″, with bright, vibrant red hair in an asymmetrical pixie cut that she is just now beginning to grow out. Classic OP-girl body, but with muscular legs that most people seem to not notice. She is a magician, and as such is always wearing a maroon suit jacket, black slacks, and a bowtie. She has a flair for the dramatic. whatever she wears, she is always stylish. She does, in fact, have a magic wand that she uses occasionally. sporty-cute-girl. OH yeah, she has the feel-feel fruit and can sense everyone’s emotions and shit

I think that’s it for the Dying Dream crew. Whoo that took a while. There ya go!

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tk-duveraun · 6 years ago

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Kintsugi 1/?

Title: Kintsugi Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic Rating: PG-13 Genre: Drama, Family, Romance Summary: Rhiannon cracked her skull open during the Sacking of Coruscant. After the Jedi rebuilt her brain and right eye, they felt she owed them her service as an initiate, a padawan and later a knight. She disagreed. Notes: This is an AU of “Splintered Legacies” which itself is an AU of “Legacies.” It can be read separately, though those stories can provide both insight and confusion relating to this one.

“Rhiannon.”

“Yes, Master?” she said because she’d forgotten their name. She knew their pronouns, which shouldn’t have been an achievement, but they were a twi’lek with cones and not ears and that was hard to ignore.

“You seem distracted. Is everything alright?”

No, it wasn’t. She hated the Jedi, but Jedi weren’t allowed to hate. Ria touched the bottom edge of the vertical scar that split her face. “Yes. Just my head. You know.”

“Is the pain back? We can delay your Trials if you need healing.” The master bowed their head, their yellow lekku slipping around their shoulders to fall to the front. They wore combat robes, which could mean that they would proctor the Trial of Skill, but could mean nothing at all.

Ria shook her head, her padawan braid slapping her mouth and the back of her neck. “No, I would like to start now.” Once she was a knight, she’d never have see Master Breda again or drink her horrific flower tisanes. Once she was a knight, she could leave Tython and never return. Once she was a knight, she’d be free.

“As you like.” The master pressed a code into a keypad: aurek, three, four, dorne, zero, six. The door opened with a hiss, but the chamber on the other side was dark and illusioned so she could not see inside. Passing into the chamber could be part of the test itself.

Ria closed her eyes and let the feel of the Force take over her senses. Force energy leaked out of the walls and the ground and from the very core of the planet that soaked up millenia of Force techniques. It flowed through her like so much water until only the dregs remained. The dregs being whatever stupid techniques were used on the room to obscure the contents. With claws of will, she tore through the spell.

When she opened her eyes, the room was still only lit by the light from the hallway, but she could see a few steps in. Intuition gave her no warnings, so Ria stepped inside. The door slid shut behind her. Her boots scraped loudly against the floor tiles, but the sound was wrong. The vibrations bounced off something she couldn’t see or Sense. She slipped a black, kilik silk eyepatch over her rebuilt eye and then cupped her hands. They siphoned ambient Force out of the air until she had a glowing pool of energy between her palms.

She threw the energy deeper into the room where it splashed against the walls and floor before settling like bioluminescent gel. Nothing revealed itself. She sang a note; well, she tried to. It warbled and fluttered like a fletchling making its first tenuous flight, but that was thanks to her own inability to sing rather than whatever remained hidden from her. Like the footsteps, the discordant notes bounced wrong. Her ears warred with her eyes, insisting there was some kind of dampener or sound-proofing directly ahead.

The first dispel had already failed, so what options did she have left? Walking into it face-first seemed like a bad idea. She could try going around it, but her hearing wasn’t especially sensitive. Whatever it was hadn’t responded to her poor attempt at a solid note, which suggested talking to it wouldn’t help, but it might. What she really wanted to do was strike with her vibrosword, but she suspected that was a one-way trip to reeducation, along with using the Force to choke the air out of the area. Without taking her eye off the empty space, Ria knelt and felt around the floor tiles for a pebble or something else she could throw.

Her groping fingers found something metallic. She felt around it with both hands, trying to identify the item without sight. A battery pack. Her forehead wrinkled as she narrowed her eyes, the right one still under the eyepatch. She could throw the battery. Or she could use her brain and figure out what stupidly obvious device had been left in the room for her to power. The only thing that kept her from saying “Hur, dur, I’m a Jedi why do I need electronics” was the high probability that she was being recorded. Like a shaclaw, she walked sideways to the wall and patted it down for something in need of power. She made it three quarters of the way around the room before finding a wall sconce.

The battery pack slid up through a slit in the bottom and activated a blue, polarizing light. It revealed Master Shakyu kneeling in a meditation posture, his yellow eyes with their slit pupils trained on her. He rose to his feet and nodded. “Well done. You have passed the Trial of Insight.”

Ria gestured around the room, where her Force gel or whatever had nearly dissipated. “Can you even make polarized light with the Force?”

“Some can, but you’re right to assume it’s difficult.” He pointed to the lamp. “And your energy is much better served turning on a light.”

“Does this turn into the Trial of Spirit if they don’t figure it out, or is it just a straight failure?” She pulled off the eyepatch and blinked as her eye adjusted to the light. She stuck her thumbs under the sash tying her over robe together.

“If a padawan assumes it is the Trial of Spirit and begins to meditate, yes. If they guess correctly it is the Trial of Insight, but fail to find a solution, it is a failure.”

That was stupid. Being completely wrong was rewarded, while realizing the problem and then that the challenge was beyond them was a failure. A sneer fought against the placid expression on Ria’s face. She could lambaste the idiocy at the top of her lungs once she was free. “I see.”

Master Shakyu nodded to her and then placed his furred hand flat against the wall behind where he’d sat. An invisible scanner beeped and the wall opened to reveal a small hallway with a sharp left turn cutting out line of sight. “You may continue forward.”

#swtor #swtor fic #legacies au au #my writing #wow tk hates jedi #kintsugi fic

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livelaughloveleorio · 1 month ago

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my fanart plus a shitty tiktok of my process

#kilik rung #kilik lung #kilik lunge #kirikou #pot of fire #pot of thunder #fire #thunder #soul eater #se #artists on tumblr #illustration #kilik

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ouchmaster6000 · 2 years ago

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Though 78-88% is more than I expected, its still not 90%. And that was 13 years ago, so chances are those statistics would look different now.

I'm also curious what their definition of "regular character" is. Or how those statistics might differ if they didn't just cover the most popular shows.

And even saying black people tend to be disproportionately portrayed as stupid stereotypes or villains is frankly wrong.

If anything the ignorant white hillbilly is a way more common sterotype of a moron than any of the black stereotypes.

I also can name way more black heroes off the top of my head black villains

Here are just the black heroes I can think of from Movies and TV shows that I've personally watched / remember well: Black Panther, Blade, Storm, Cyborg, Bumblebee, Bishop, Cloak, Falcon, War Machine, Shuri, Sunspot, Static Shock, Firestorm, Spyke, Jericho, Alex Wilder, Miles Morales, Robbie Robertson, Lucius Fox, Max Gibson, Charles Gunn, Principal Wood, Martha Jones, Mickey Smith, Bill Potts, Ryan Sinclair, Geordi LaForge, Guinan, Nyoto Uhura, Tuvok, Benjamin Sisko, Shepard Book, James Doakes, Mr. X (x-files), Agent Jay, Byron Williams, General Casey (Mars Attacks), Frank Armitage, Morpheus, Lando Calrissian, Tommy Webber, Finn (Star Wars), Childs (The Thing), Dennis Parker, Captain Miller (Event Horizon), Cooper (Event Horizon), Bubba Brownlee, Holden McCrea, Jerso (Fullmetal Alchemist), Kilik Lunge, Sid Barrett, Nygus (Soul Eater), Ogun Montgomery, Garterbelt (Panty & Stocking) Numbuh 5, Irwin (Billy & Mandy), Libby Folfax, Maurice (KND), AJ (Fairly Odd parents) Jermaine (Xiaolin Showdown), Jefferson Twilight, Sky Pilot (Venture Bros), The Chief (Kablam!), Tucker Fowley, Wybie Lovat

Here are all the black villains I can think of: Geoffrey Wilder, Katherine Wilder, Tombstone (albino, but is still African American), Prowler, Black Manta, Bronze Tiger, Bloodsport, Killmonger, Seemore (Teen Titans), Fish Mooney, Mr. Trick (from Buffy), Boyd Langton, Sister Krone, General Klemin (FMA), Charon (Fire Force), Pope (World's End Harem), Cree Lincoln, Lenny (KND), The Operative (Serenity)

And that's it.

Mind you, I'm not including blackwashed characters (defeats the purpose of pointing out it's not necessary) characters who only appear in one episode of a TV show (would take too long to list) and characters that never do anything heroic or villainous or are too morally grey to fall in either category.

But anyway, I can think of WAY more black heroes than black villains and most of the villains are either extremely sympathetic or very minor characters anyway.

Maybe your just watching the wrong shows / movies?

- Man, you really don’t grasp the concept of “exceptions to the rule”, don’t you?

I'm not sure if your trying to imply the racists are the exception or if non-racists are.

But I made it clear the actual racists are a very tiny minority and most people complaining about blackwashing also don't like white washing.

And even then, the racist ones aren't wrong about black washing being bad. You realize it's possible for someone to be right about something for the wrong reasons.

Also saying stuff like "you lose by default" and "you haven't answered so I'll decide for you" makes you sound incredibly childish and immature.

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phoenixlionme · 7 months ago

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#soul eater #kilik lunge #fire force #ogun montgomery #blackexcellence #powers #myvs #vs #my posts #polls #mypolls

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neg-im · 5 months ago

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Help

#soul eater #death the kid #blackstar #kilik lung #kilikkidstar #nsfwish?#like you can see anything

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the-yandere-cryptid · 6 years ago

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“ I saw you write something before about Reinhardt always breaking down the door when you lock it. Do you think you could write something about that? “

Oh of course I can do that. (Gender N Reader, SFW)

Watchpoint: Ankara was in complete chaos. Alarms echoed down every corridor. People scrambled in all directions, allowing you to easily duck and weave around in the cover of a crowd. Responding to a threat that was quickly becoming a massive internal emergency. Thunder shook the ground beneath your feet. Sometimes close and other times further away, like the source of the noise was following you. It probably was.

You turned down a hallway, and suddenly there was no traffic in your direction. Every soldier was trying to push past you, some urging you to evacuate the base as you passed by. Despite their warnings, every one seemed a bit too busy to try stopping you. Once you broke free of the ranks, the soldiers rounded the corner and you were alone. But that didn't necessarily mean safe.

You continued down the tile hallway, making a sharp right and coming across a massive vault door, slightly ajar. You couldn't think of a better place to hide if you tried.

The door was controlled by a panel, and that panel still held the keycard from whoever had last used it. You pressed open, watching the door swing slowly on massive creaking hinges. Then, you pressed close, and snatched the card. The door began to creak shut, and you slid through the sizable gap with plenty of time to spare before it closed. Each click of an automatic lock brought joy to your ears, the sound of pressurizing air elating your lungs. Once the system locked into place, you turned and realized immediately where you had locked yourself.

The Overwatch Armory.

Home to more than just an assortment of guns. All the latest tech--some not even revealed to the public--lined each and every shelf. If those soldiers came from that hallway, that meant they had armed themselves from this same vault, carrying some weapon of doom to finish off the man destroying the base. All the better. You could let those soldiers do their job, and you would do yours: Figuring out how to escape.

The floor shook again, the sound deafened from behind the soundproofed walls. You couldn't believe it was all the work of one man. One massive, terrifying beast of a man. So powerful that you felt safer locked in a tiny vault than out there with him.

But you couldn’t stay here forever. The entrances were on lockdown, and you needed an Overwatch ID to escape the evacuation entrance, which you didn’t have. So he knew you were still in the base, and unless you found another method of escape, he’d tear every wall down looking for you. You weren’t going to wait around to find out whether he breaks into the vault or you starve to death first.

You turned and began gauging the size of the armory. You couldn’t feel a breeze, but this room was definitely a scale colder than the rest of the base, meaning there had to be some form of air conditioning. That meant a vent. Weaving between looming metal shelves, you started scanning the walls for anything resembling a grate.

---

Kilik had never believe the whole "life flashing before your eyes" thing, and he certainly wasn't getting any flashes of his childhood now. Perhaps the taste of the blood he was choking on was distracting him from his fond memories.

But no, he wasn't going to die. That psychopath was focused on someone else now, interrogating some other soon-to-be-cadaver on the floor, and there was an elevator right across the hallway. If he stayed quiet, if he crawled, he could get somewhere, get help. Sucking in a breath, he started to drag his numb lower body across the tile.

"You there." Kilik froze, eyes stuck on the elevator. Massive footsteps trodded his way, an equally massive hand grabbing him by his kevlar vest, and it made Kilik release a very massive squeak. At least he was grateful that the man wore a helmet--he didn't like the idea of looking into his killers eyes.

"Did you see someone in a gray shirt and sweatpants?" Kilik's eyes widened. He did see that person. God, it felt like days since that had happened. His eyes glazed over the man’s shoulder to a cracked clock on the wall. It'd only been 10 minutes since they dispatched from the armory.

"Y-Yes," he gurgled.

"Did they look afraid?"

Kilik scrunched his brows together. He tried to recall the face from that long distant memory. He supposed he didn't notice, considering everyone was in a panic. "Yeah."

The armor-clad man nodded slowly, his orange visor dimming. "Where?"

All the grates you found were no bigger than your foot. No human-sized vents. That made sense, high security vault and all, but fuck, whatever happened to contingency? What if someone got locked in here?

...Well, to be fair, you would probably be the only one stupid enough--or rather, desperate enough--to lock yourself in here in the first place. So, you only had one more choice: Grab something that could kill a man and wait it out until the base was in the clear again. You weren't going to be lax, couldn't feel safe even behind concrete walls and a metal door. You would only feel safe with two thousand miles of distance between you and that man.

A bang. You whipped around, grabbing the first thing you could reach off of the shelf and pointing it at the door. The now-misshapen door. You lowered the laser pistol, eye trailing over the massive protrusion of metal that poked into the vault. That door was at least 6 inches of solid steel.

And yet, he pushed through it like clay. “Hide,” you thought to yourself. “Run.”

But you could bring your stiff muscles to do nothing but gawk as he smashed into it again. The metal lightened as it started to give, then, with a metallic squeal that shook your eardrums, the metal split open. And in came Reinhardt.

His armor was dented with hundreds of bullets, but you didn't have to look to know that none had penetrated. All the blood on his hands, and you'd bet that none of it was his. The pistol fell out of your trembling hand. Why try? If whatever Overwatch had taken to stop him didn't work, what chance did you have?

"Mein leib," he growled, ripping his helmet off of his head. His single blue eye shone wildly, teeth bared in an wild scowl. "This game is over."

#reinhardt wilhelm #overwatch #yandere #sfw #yandere scribbles

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