#looks like the finals will be rather lacking in diversity
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ozzgin · 1 year ago
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Do you only write Hannibal lecter or do you also write for NBC Hannibal?
Yandere! Hannibal x Reader: The Grand Meal
Gather around for a short story in the spirit of Thanksgiving. You have been invited by Hannibal Lecter to a celebratory dinner, although unexpectedly barren of other guests. He will be entertaining you this evening, carefully describing each dish as he battles his own inner turmoil. (For extra immersion, I suggest listening to Bach's 'Sheep May Safely Graze')
Warning: Cannibalism and detailed gore. I'd advise against reading if you're squeamish. 
[Horror Masterlist]
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He politely aids you in removing your coat, folds it over his forearm, and steps aside, expectantly. You glance at him, somewhat confused.
"Your bag, if I may."
"Oh, I...I was planning to bring it with me. I have my phone in it and all the essentials." you stutter, unsure.
Uh huh. Your etiquette seems to be lacking in certain areas. Nothing that cannot be chiseled. 
"You won't be needing it, I assure you." he extends his hand out, waiting. 
You hesitantly place the dark leather Pochette into his fingers. Hannibal has always been rather particular when it comes to decorum. You wouldn't want to upset him, especially given his generous invite to his Thanksgiving celebration. He'd heard your complaint of being alone during the holidays and he encouraged you to join him instead.
As you hurry behind him down the spacious hallway, you quietly marvel at the expensive, tasteful paintings sporadically adorning the walls. 
"I suspected they might be to your liking." He briefly peeks back at you with a faint smile on his lips. 
The heavy wooden doors creak open and your nostrils are quickly overwhelmed by the tempting smell of intricate dishes. You narrow your eyes, taking in the flavors. Once you finally look ahead, you notice that the table, although neatly decorated, consists only of two seats that have been prepared for dining. Two opposing seats, causing the whole setup to seem of ridiculous length. 
"Pardon my intrusion, but is anyone else attending?" You cannot contain your curiosity.
"Oh, no.  Not really." Hannibal pulls your chair outwards before departing to his own designated place. "It's you and me. Does that bother you?"
"I suppose it's cozier this way." You brush it aside with a chuckle. Better than being alone, you tell yourself.
He nods in agreement before settling down. He takes a moment to examine the table, confirming that everything is indeed in its proper place. A final, satisfied incline of his head.
"Allow me to introduce today's dishes. I don't want to keep you waiting for too long." He says as he remembers your earlier little gesture of delight. "It's a little bit of a scattered theme, if I am to be honest with you. I've drawn my inspiration from varied cuisines."
"I can see. How exciting!" You swiftly scan over the diverse plates, enthusiastic and hungry.
"The main course is over there. Balsamic-glazed oven baked ribs. I recommend a drizzle of cranberry sauce to go with it."
As he points to the dish, he can almost hear the dry crack of the bone. Abruptly, he's been taken back to the previous night, to his humble slaughter room - the meat needs to be fresh after all. Shears cut through the ribs with little resistance. The blades go around the thoracic cavity, contouring the ribcage. Once a proper opening has been made, he firmly grasps each side of the ribcage and nonchalantly lifts the bone flap, resting it over the face. 
Wait. He quickly digs through the skin and fat that had been shoved aside with the carcass, searching for the face of the victim. It's you. How delectable and surprising that you've wandered into such a recollection. Well, not quite a surprise that you've invaded his memories; from the very moment he met you he's been plagued by this indecent idea: How would you look on the dissecting table?
His musings are interrupted by the sizzle of the sparkling wine he's currently pouring in your glass. He finds himself back at the dining table, together with his favorite guest. You graciously thank him, and as he gazes over your features, he can't help but continue this game of imagination he's just spontaneously devised. Whoever had been carefully served for this occasion will be temporarily replaced during the theatrical retelling by you. And what a fine actor you'll be, even though you're not aware of it.
Alright, one must start from the beginning. He traces the edge of the autopsy table and inspects the drain just below your feet. He wouldn't want an incident. Would you be mortified if you'd learn your secretions and discharges leaked and clotted against the sieve? Don't worry, you'll be spared of such scenarios. He'd never willingly embarrass you like that. He softly presses the scalpel against your bare skin, going under each breast and stopping at the pubic bone. Now to trim the thick layers of fat sticking to the dermis. You're not making much of a mess, but then again it's a dream within his idle mind. A mischievous grin takes over his expression once he witnesses his clean work. The segments of skin detach smoothly, revealing your glistening, bloated organs. 
He already went over the ribs. That part has been covered. What comes next? His eyes rest on the most obvious: your intestines. Which reminds him...
"This one is a Middle Eastern dish. Stuffed intestines. You gently cut the membrane, like this." He demonstrates on a separate plate. "Don't worry about seeing some additional blood. Naturally there are many capillaries irrigating the walls, so you might open them up in the process. It quickly seeps into the mixture and adds a bit of a stagnant flavor to it, but it's merely noticeable."
You swallow dryly.
Back to the original matters. He searches for his scissors and cuts along the attachment tissue smoothly. Once the bowels have been freed, he fondles them into his hands, cupping them into place, and hurries to the nearby counter. The entrails collapse and spread onto the marble surface, like mischievous tentacles. He languidly eyes them. Do organs resemble their owner? Absurd question, really. Do they reflect one's health - that much is indubitable. Yet he can't help feeling that if presented with an endless row of viscera, he could, without hesitation, point and state which ones are yours. It's a mysterious confidence whose source he cannot pinpoint. You've always captivated him. Just when he thinks he's had you like an open book, you slip and slither between his fingers. Fitting.
What is it about you that preoccupies his mind to such degree? He turns back to the table and scans the remaining options. Your intelligence? The tool drawer opens and his fingers linger over the saw and skull chisel. Perhaps. But there's more to it, really. His analytical, rational self craves for more than what it can grasp. And what it lacks, well...
He pinches the visceral fascia and lifts the translucent membrane, with the same delicacy of unveiling a young bride, and reveals your heart, cold and still. There it is, the answer to everything. A transect to the vena cava near the diaphragm and the organ has been separated from the rest of the body. An angel with clipped wings. Holding it like this, he can almost discern the faintest throb, the fibrous muscle pressing into his skin. 
"And this?"
He purses his lips, taken aback by his own rudeness. Has he been zoning out in plain sight?
"I'm afraid I don't follow."
"The dish, I mean."
He follows the direction of your stretched out index. Ah.
"Heart stuffed with mushroom duxelle. Old English classic with a twist." 
"You sound like a professional chef", you respond as you laugh. "Is there anything you can't do?"
Is there? He considers it. Right before his revelation was discontinued by your inquiry - absolutely not your fault, the ill manners were his - he was wondering if he possesses the capacity to love you. He definitely prefers you over all of the people he's encountered in his life, and your behavior and way of thinking never ceases to make him curious. Yet love is a conclusion he cannot asses with certainty. 
He had hoped a vivisectionist approach would offer him concrete data, palpable reasoning, but his journey only reinforced that some concepts must be tested outside of pure introspection. Or, as one would describe it colloquially, he has to take the bull by its horns. 
"By the way, what meat is this?" You have arranged yourself a platter with a little bit of everything, and just finished chewing a hearty bite. "Ox or something? It's very tender."
If Hannibal is to embark on his expedition of human feelings, he needs to reflect on his choices carefully. Or does he? Hmm. His methodical tactics are what caused this impasse in the first place. 
One can afford to give in, every now and then. How will you react to his self indulgence? He rests his head on the back of his intertwined hands and stares at you with a determined look. 
"Human."
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theladyofshalott1989 · 2 months ago
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On Representation (in Fandom Spaces)
I finished reading an incredible novel last week (Wellness by Nathan Hill) and there's a passage fairly early on that hit me hard. So much so that it made me cry. At the time, I didn't quite understand why it affected me so much, but it finally dawned on me this morning. My analysis will be after the cut. Here's the passage (from pages 208-209): "It's a lecture Jack gives to his Intro to Art class, during the chapter on American landscapes, how painters educated in the European tradition saw the endless tallgrass prairie of the Midwest and literally did not know what to do with it. They had no training that might have prepared them to depict something so monolithic. They were accustomed to scenes with easy scope and dimension: trees in the middle distance for perspective, rivers and valleys that made for convenient vanishing points, mountains on the horizon as an anchoring weight, all of it evocatively defined in light and shadow. But what do you do with a tallgrass prairie, where the middle distance and the far distance and the near distance are all flat and featureless and identical? What these artists did, mostly, was ignore it. They kept traveling west until they reached the Rockies and were rewarded with landscapes that matched their schooling, which is why, in the canon of American landscape art, the prairie is so underrepresented. It's not because the prairie wasn't beautiful—most of the painters acknowledged, in letters and diaries, that it was very pretty indeed—but rather that the prairie did not accord with the traditional standards of what was specifically beautiful in landscape art. These painters came looking for the things they knew how to depict—forests and mountains and beaches—and when they found none of these, they declared the landscape 'empty.' They did not see what was there. Instead, they saw what wasn't.
Jack means it to be a lesson on the difference between reality and the representation of reality. Beauty, he tells his students, is a constructed, not intrinsic, condition. The things we think are beautiful are only the things that have been depicted beautifully. And if it's not depicted, it's not seen. It never enters the imagination. It becomes a nothing.
Which is why the west got Yellowstone, and the prairie got destroyed."
I like to remain a positive space in this fandom for everyone, but I am human and I have my down days. Today is one of those days, so I thought I would (respectfully) wax on about this passage in the context of LGBTQIA+ representation in fandom spaces like Hogwarts: Legacy.
Despite a growing number of creators depicting diverse, queer narratives, there is often a noticeable lack of engagement with these works on platforms like AO3. I sometimes come across comments from users—which I don't think are made with ill intent—about only reading works by popular creators. While I understand this to some extent, as both a writer and a dedicated reader in this fandom, when I come across this sentiment in the wild, it's like a punch to the gut. I know and support many beautiful works that, if you were to sort by hits, kudos, or bookmarks, wouldn’t be considered “popular,” but are spectacularly written with wonderfully fleshed-out characters, and these stories deserve just as much recognition.
Suffice it to say, these stories—more often than not—do not center on heterosexual relationships or cisgender perspectives.
When queer stories are not engaged with, they risk being rendered "invisible" in fandom culture. This doesn’t mean they lack value or beauty, but simply that they fall outside the established norms, just as the prairie did in the eyes of the artists in the shared passage. This lack of visibility isn’t due to an absence of effort or talent but reflects a broader issue where what is unfamiliar or different struggles to be recognized and celebrated.
In this context, it's disheartening to see the potential for LGBTQIA+ stories to expand the landscape of fandom, only for them to often be overlooked. We deserve to see a fandom where all perspectives—like all landscapes—are equally appreciated and supported.
To those of you who do write LGBTQIA+ stories, you are seen and appreciated. Please do not stop writing. I know it can be very difficult to seemingly write into the void. Don't give up. You are doing the world a service. To those of you who are willing to expand your worldview, go out there and read outside of your comfort zone. You may find a new appreciation for an underrated pairing or genre.
Ultimately, I know this uncomfy feeling of mine will pass. It always does. But if you made it all the way to the end of this, thank you, and perhaps do me a favor. Think of a pairing (or even a story that doesn't have a pairing!) that you haven't explored yet in this fandom. Don't sort by hits, kudos, or bookmarks, as it's likely there aren't many stories yet to shuffle through. Browse the summaries. Does one stand out to you? Give it a try! If you enjoy it, give that author a kudo, maybe even a comment. You'll make their month, I guarantee it.
I suppose that's all besides I love y'all. Yes, all of y'all. <3
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jacquesthepigeon · 2 months ago
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Watching a video talking about the portrayal (or lack of) of economic class in Emily in Paris and she makes a good point about escapism and why it’s understandable for the creators to gloss over certain aspects of parisian life in order to achieve this, much like how Bridgerton took a colorblind approach, and since I’m in a posting mood I’m going to make it about ML again
Looking at a series from the context of what it’s trying to provide for the audience is important and, while it should always be open to criticism, I do think we should adjust our standards accordingly when critiquing
However, in ML’s case, you can’t really make the argument that the series is meant to be unserious mindless entertainment with no interest in making any political statements or including serious messages
To begin with, the entire concept of the show revolves around mental health and how difficult situations can sometimes turn you into something you’re not, with some of the promotional interviews explicitly stating their intent to help kids cope
Okay the “mindless fun” defense failed before it even got to the door
From the very first season, class, race, political corruption, and abuse of power is used to push the plot of the day forward
At the same time, the creator of the series is showing off his whole bare ass on the internet (figuratively, not literally) patting himself on the back for being such a great ally to every minority group under the sun for making such a diverse cast of characters
S1 ends and the company decides to ride the hype train by promising greater stakes and social commentary
The crew’s blatant sexism and refusal to acknowledge abuse becomes undeniable, racist stereotypes galore, blind weapon master trope with weird vibes bc lbr at this point most of what they’re doing is starting to feel off, etc etc
By this point that guy is all in on the “most groundbreaking piece of media in decades” claims and responding to any critiques from the demographics he claims to be lifting up in the absolute worst way possible, obviously prioritizing his own ego over any goodwill he had towards these groups
Over time, every already existing problematic aspect is turned up to 100, now POC are responsible for the police brutality they face, dark skinned characters are getting white washed as soon as they become superheroes, n*z* imagery is presented as neutral and defended, almost every single “message” the show is sending feels very strongly based on spite rather than good intentions so on and so forth
The crew and marketing continues pushing this narrative that the series is so diverse and inclusive and #girlpower
Then S5 comes out and is almost entirely composed of a crappy white man’s wet dream of absolution from responsibility and accountability and finally getting all the praise and recognition they “deserve” bc nothing is ever their fault and every horror they commit is actually a service to humanity
So yeah. You could argue that the crew has no obligation to promote certain kinds of messages or to go out of their way to make a meaningful impact on young children’s lives bc it’s just a dumb kid’s show, but when so much of both the official marketing and the crew’s independent promotion on social media relies heavily on supporting progressive political and social goals, it’s completely normal to expect them to keep their word.
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"Halloween at the Theme Park" pt. 1 Scarecrow Edition
Howdy hey :) Did you guys miss me? Sorry it took me some time to come back around BUT I'M HERE FOR THE SPOOKY SEASON. We're going to do a series of asks based on the same prompt of going to a theme park that does horror mazes in halloween (see: HHN at Universal Studio, Knotts Scary Farm, Fright Fest at Six Flags, etc). I'm going to do Scarecrows, then Rogue Party and finally Wolverine and Deadpool :). Other asks can delve into this prompt more if so wished.
TW: horror, horror mazes, theme parks, villain behavior, drugs, some suggestive content
General
He's an old man. Doesn't this seem to be a night for someone a bit... younger? The idea of gallivanting around a theme park with drunken 20 somethings looking for a thrill at 2 am... Of course he's normally awake at that time, it's more the principle of it. Genuinely he'll be surprised at the diversity of people that go and will cave if you ask sweetly enough.
Absolute curmudgeon about theme park pricing on food and merchandise. If you warned him at all ahead of time, he has wrapped and packed sandwiches he hid on his person. What, you think he's been a criminal this long in his life and he can't fool some minimum wage security guard looking for booze or weapons? Please, give him some credit. Eat your sandwich. Will not buy a souvenir unless it's something he noticed you were PARTICULARLY attached to.
Most places will give him a disability fast pass for mazes on account of him very obviously using a cane. Bum legs and long lines not mixing well and all that. This is a bonus for you given you're his plus one. If anyone has anything to say about him using a cane or in general being rude to either of you... The cane has a multi function of taking out knees. Which he will absolutely put on a routine of just being a clumsy old man to get out of it.
As for the actual horror of the horror attraction... He likes finding a good place to sit and watch the interactions people have with the scare actors. He wants to feel in the moment, listening to the banter and screams in the night. If any jump at him, he's much more likely to "talk" to their characters and interact than he is to jump or show much reaction. At most he gives a pleasant, knowing smile that nothing this person could do could ever compare to the horrors he's inflicted upon the citizens of Gotham.
He'll hold onto you when you go through mazes as some tend to be disorienting with lights (whether effects of a lack of). Tends to like mazes with a strong concept that you can follow the story throughout the attraction. No real preference for themes other than "oh god, not another clown." He's had enough of those in his career.
BTAS
You don't have to do a lot of convincing. Considering his field of study in fears and phobias when he was a professor, he finds horror mazes to be an interesting intersection of your interests and his. It's rather like running an interactive experiment as he's experiencing it himself. He likes to watch and gauge how much is being startled from a jumpscare vs. a true sensation of fear. You can practically see him taking notes in his head. Some of these might be good ideas to play off of for later...
He tends to scoff at the prices for any of it, from the spooky themed food to the merchandise around every corner- He still buys it, though. In his mind, this is a special thing for the two of you and he put money to the side exclusively for it. Seeing you get excited over any of the things he might buy you makes it worth it.
He gets a delighted sort of chuckle when a scare actor can manage to "get" him. For the most part he doesn't react strongly so someone getting his heart rate up is exciting! It makes him feel young again. Seeing you react gives him a bit of glee as well. He likes the feeling of you grabbing him in reaction. It's rather... well. He was never made to feel like a strong man in his life given his physique. It's comforting.
Traumatized from his time at Arkham Asylum and therefore will not want to do any mazes that are hospital or asylum themed. He finds them tasteless given the abuses many patients suffered historically and, in the case of Gotham, currently. And nothing with bats! No bat mazes! Shockingly, if there are mazes based on specific phobias, he's very excited.
He has a very small bottle of what appears to be spray sunscreen on his person, which is a very strange thing to carry since most of these events are at night. You might even wonder why until you see another guest being incredibly rude to a scare actor and security for simply doing their job. Then you see Jonathan spritzing the rude person with "sunscreen" as you walk by. It doesn't take long for the fear toxin to kick in.
Arkham games
He's unsure at first. It's not because he won't enjoy any of it, he's just positive he could do it better. What if it's disappointing because he's seen the city of Gotham bow their knees in terror to the master of fear? People going to this place for kicks? You and he should be the ones getting the only real fun out of other people being scared. (He will not admit that it's because he horribly dislikes being scared himself)
He'll say how expensive everything is but the moment there is a crow or a little scarecrow, there is a significant chance he's going to purchase it. It's for you, of course. He can rag on Edward for narcissism all day, but he can have his moments. It's cute, right? If you really didn't like it, he wouldn't. However, if you do, you have a new little friend. As for food... he might try to sneak something in. Either that, or he's scouring the park for the cheapest thing he can find.
Genuinely a little sore if any of the actors manages to spook him. It's so cheap, you know, just jumping at someone to elicit a surprise response (as if he has any place to talk). He could do it better. He could make this entire PARK QUAKE with fear- and you have to sort of put him back on topic this is fun. Is he having fun? Yes, he admits despite being embarrassed, it's fun.
It's when another guest is rude, bumping into you and laughing it off out of drunkenness. That's when it stops being fun. He couldn't exactly bring his glove set up to the park without raising many questions to security. He's also not ready to get his ass kicked by trying to hit the nitwit while he's unarmed. Yet you see him dig within his pockets and produce a small white bundle. Barely the size of a teardrop pinched between his fingers. Then he tosses it. It makes a loud crack on the ground behind the guest and sizzles a sickly green, releasing just enough fear toxin as the person turns around to give them a deep inhale. The two of you slip out into the crowd as they begin to have a panic attack.
In contrast to BTAS, will be a sucker for a maze that's set in a hospital given his own adventures that night in Arkham Asylum. Gives him all kinds of happy feelings seeing the ideals of that place twisted at the beck and call to fear. Sure, some might find it distasteful, but he finds it thrilling.
BTAA
You don't have to approach him, he already checked your schedule and bought the tickets. Likely to several parks. There is a faint chance he might be more excited to do this than you are. Absolutely offers you "product" to heighten the experience but isn't put out if you don't want anything. Oh, so you want to feel all of it raw and with clarity, hm? Sure, he wouldn't deny you that.
He can and will drop stupid bank on expensive souvenirs if either of you likes it. Talking about the kind of money he makes is so... gauche, so distasteful- But he's definitely making that kind of money so he'll tell you not to worry about it. In addition, being the weirdo gourmand he is, he's going to be trying themed food if there is any. Some kind of pumpkin concoction with fake eyeballs? He's on it.
Giggly when someone jumps at him. You can't tell if he's actually startled or overjoyed, or a combination of both. Either way, he's certainly having a good time. He'll absolutely try to get you in a situation where you get startled, whether it's by an actor or by himself. Hearing you shriek or gasp, oh it's delicious. There is going to be some very sneaky fondling there in the dark. There is a fair chance he'd have you there within some hidden spot in the mazes if he thought he could get away with it.
There's a group of young 20-somethings that cuts fast in front of you while you walk. You almost trip and one of them makes a smart comment to watch where you're going. It's annoying, but before you can say anything else, your partner tells you to wait back for a second while he talks to them. He speaks to the rude group and it looks like it's all smiles for a moment. You can't make out exactly what it is Jonathan is saying to them. Yet you can see their reactions turn from smug grins to uncomfortable and perturbed frowns. All while Jonathan continues to look so pleased with himself. It doesn't take long for the small group to disperse. He doesn't tell you what he said to them.
To be fair, he's going to like most horror mazes unless they don't meet his standards of story, sets, actors, scares, etc. HOWEVER, he will have a fondness for anything that has the hint or whiff of classic horror. It's a little too obvious to say he'd be thrilled at an interpretation of Basil Karlo's films in a maze format, but it's the truth. Unless it's done poorly of course, and then you'll hear about it for the rest of the ride home where he nitpicks the entire thing. Anything 80's slasher themed will also have him pick up TREMENDOUSLY. He's a little too excited. Expect a make out session afterwards.
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mysteriousbp · 2 months ago
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It looks like we got a general idea on what the kids' journey in the underground except for Green and Purple, so how was there journey.
This is going to be interesting.
So you guys know how each human has a main group of monsters that they befriend.
Frisk has Papyrus, Undyne, Alphys (etc.).
Clover has Dalv, Matlet. Starlo (etc)
Lila has the old canine unit and other monsters.
Tom has QC
Meanwhile, Hope and Sunny... Other than Toriel, they didn't have anyone. 
Yeah. They were pretty much on their own in their journeys.
(I made it that way because usually in Undertale-style games the main character gets pulled into the main cast problems and dramas. I just wanted to break that norm with two souls that were on their own journey without interroptions or diversions. Just to focus more of the children themselves.)
So let's start with Hope. After she left the Ruins she started to look for the others. She asked the locals if they had seen Lila, Tom, and Melody by describing them in a way that didn't say that they were humans. Hope also tries to learn everything about monsters so maybe she could have a better shot surviving. By reading the books in the library and the signs with monster history in Waterfall and taking notes in her notebook.
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And I can finally reveal something about Hope. The hoodie that she wears during her time underground is a cat hoodie!
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Yeah. Before anything. Hope didn't own that hoodie because she was into cats or something. Has some of you may remember I said a long time ago that the children when they were in the orphanage they had small allowances, right? Well, this hoodie was bought in a second-hand shop for Melody because she was getting too big for her clothes, and this was the only thing they could afford that fit her. And yes. This was originally Melody's hoodie. Hope started to wear it after she grew up and she couldn't fit in her old clothes. That's why, after the barrier broke, Melody started to wear a hoodie. Because hoodies are more her style and not Hope's.
Actually. Despite the cat hoodie being a thing bought because they didn't have another option. It did help Hope a lot. By this time, Doggo, Greater Dog, Dogamy, and Dogaressa are the current canine unit. And because Hope had her hood up because of the cold, she ended up tricking Doggo by accident because he thought she was a cat monster. After realizing that, she started to pretend to be a cat monster, and she was able to trick almost every monster she ran into, execpt Gerson and another one.
I decided to go this route with Hope because of her items.
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Despite being mid game items, the Torn Notebook and Cloudy Glasses are the third weakness items, with 2 at (it hits two times, so 4 at) and 5 def. The thing is that they increase INV (invincibility frames) by 6 and 9, respectively. So based on that, I wanted to make Hope a character that isn't a smart character that tries to outsmart an enemy in battle. But a character that thinks of ways to avoid battleing because she's weak, so she tries to avoid being hit more than the others. (That's why when she's adopted by Alphys and Undyne, she really wants to train with Undyne to become stronger.)
Now for Sunny. After she left the ruins, she also started to look for the others. But through her travels, she found monsters with some troubles, and she decided to help (for context. She didn't need to help any of these monsters to proceed in her journey. Most of the time, she didn't receive an item in return. She just helped out of kindness.). And those monsters were like Slurpy. Just random monsters, not big important type of monsters like the main gang of UT or UTY.
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Like giving the Snowman a nose or helping a lost Temmie return to Temmie Village. Just simple problems and not like "Help save my daughter" type of problems. Just focusing more on NPC's since the lack of a main cast in Sunny's journey. Exploring more the everyday struggles living on the underground rather than being told in text and barelly being shown how problematic the life can be down in the underground.
I just really wanted to use Hope and Sunny to explore more of the underground with the focus on talking and helping NPC's without having a main cast overshadowing everyone.
Also, here's a fun fact about Sunny:
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She's been wearing a sweater this whole time. That's why I always drew her with big sleeves. Because they were rolled up this whole time.
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fragolar · 5 months ago
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A new promise || Geralt Of Rivia - The Witcher
Hello to everyone, new and old! As you may have noticed, I'm a slow and lazy writer. I write for fun and to keep my mind busy rather than wasting time on social media. To those who enjoy my light-hearted stories, thank you! You keep me smiling all day long. Previous part. Summary: Lexa challenged Geralt's belief in destiny, expressing frustration over her lack of freedom. Geralt explained his quest to find Ciri as his purpose. The result of their diversities but similarities results in an explosion of emotions.
Warning: Strong language and depiction of carnal desires, nothing too explicit.
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The next day brought little change. The Princess was awake early for her usual morning walk in the garden, while the Witcher meditated under the gentle sunlight.
A bench was nearby, yet Geralt preferred to sit on the green grass, where, if the botanists saw him, they would try to behead him. Lexa found his provocation rather amusing.
Geralt didn’t seem to care about royal statuses, and frankly, neither did Lexa. The thing is, she couldn’t show it. She had an etiquette to follow.
“Your eyes are more piercing than the sun,” Geralt’s low, raspy voice finally spoke after she had been seated on the bench for half an hour, her elbow on the edge of the armrest, staring at him.
“You were meditating. I didn’t want to disturb.”
“I doubt that.”
Lexa rolled her eyes, amused. “Must I ask for consent to observe my guest’s unique behaviors?”
His eyes slowly opened, revealing that yellow color they held, golden under the sunlight. They were beautiful, Lexa thought.
“I’m not plucking your roses—”
“But you’re crushing my grass with your—”
“Your etiquette, Princess.” Geralt smirked at her, putting her back in her place as she huffed, less joyfully now. “I admire your dedication to get a reaction from me, to anger me, but I’m a man of great patience. It will take more than that to break me.”
Lexa’s eyes diverted. The Witcher was smart. He had caught on to her little teasing to make him snap and give her a reason to lock him behind bars. For a reason she wasn’t aware of herself, she enjoyed his company. Which could be explained because she usually didn’t have visitors, so now that she did—
“You could just ask me to prolong my stay instead of trying to trick me like a child. But I’d have to decline the generous offer. Not because I don’t appreciate your hospitality but because I am searching for her,” Geralt reminded her.
“Do you have at least a path to follow?” Silence. It was clear Geralt was navigating blindly. Lexa tore her eyes from him, straightening her body on the bench and crossing her legs under her dress. Her eyes looked ahead at the gardens.
Full of life and color, yet they felt like mere decorations. All these years she felt like nature was her home; now it felt like an illusion of control. She was trapped inside her own castle by her father, who had denied her permission to be free. She despised him.
“It’s not that easy,” Geralt finally spoke back. “But it’s what my destiny is.”
“Destiny this, destiny that. Fuck that.” Lexa suddenly said, mad, making Geralt open his eyes to look at her, confused. However, he was met by her back. “You can decide your own path because of your actions. Nothing happens for a reason. We give it reason. If there’s a reason behind everything, why the fuck are there so many wars, so much injustice?”
Geralt sighed, considering her words. “You’re not wrong,” he said quietly. “I’ve seen my share of horrors, and I know that destiny can be a convenient excuse for the chaos in the world.” He paused, his voice softening. “But I’ve also seen things I can’t explain. People whose lives have crossed mine in ways that feel… fated. Ciri is one of them. I can’t ignore that. Maybe destiny is just a word we use to make sense of the chaos. Or maybe it’s real, and we’re all just trying to navigate it the best we can. But in the end, I have to find her. For my sake as much as hers.”
He studied her for a moment, searching for a response. “We give things meaning because we have to. It’s what keeps us going. And right now, finding Ciri is what gives my life meaning.”
“Take me with you.” Lexa turned around to look at him, her determination showing through her expression. Once again, Geralt was slightly surprised by her reactions.
“The road I walk upon is not an easy—”
“The road you walk upon is better than being a Princess with no crown or kingdom to rule.” She stood up from the bench, hovering over him as he was still on his knees. “A better road than me being a mere ghost presence in a place where I’m no one. What? You’re scared I can’t stand up for myself?”
Geralt grunted softly as he stood up and looked down at her, standing much taller and much closer to her as well. “I’m not scared, and I know you can stand up for yourself, but you can’t wield a sword. A sharp tongue is not enough to keep you alive day and night in the woods. If you think it’s so easy to survive in the wild, I question why you haven’t escaped already if staying inside these four walls because your father said so is so unbearable.”
Lexa wanted to slap him, her hands trembling with anger as she stood up against him. He had gotten so close she could feel his breath on her face, his voice growling, angrier at her. Complex emotions overwhelmed her, not knowing how to handle them properly.
“You’re stepping on the roses, Lexa,” Geralt’s rough voice grounded her, making her frown and look down at her feet. She had stepped on the grass and flowers, her rage having clouded her.
“And you’re—” Her head raised to look at him, to try and be spiteful towards him, to insult him.
“Lexa, I’m not that gentle—”
“Well maybe I don’t want you to be—”
Geralt’s lips crashed against hers, making her moan in frustration as she kissed him back. She felt her body burn with desire, with a need to be satiated. Something she had never experienced despite all of her lovers, women or men. And the way his roughness consumed her, she wondered if she’d ever be able to kiss another after this. She wanted more, whining against his lips as her hands went to grab his shirt, but he pulled away from her, a heavy breath making his chest rise and fall rapidly, just like hers. Lexa frowned at the rejection, looking into his eyes for an answer.
Geralt’s intense gaze met Lexa’s as he took a step back, trying to regain his composure. His breath was still heavy, and he could see the confusion and frustration in her eyes. He knew he had crossed a line, but there was something about her that made it impossible to resist.
“You make everything so frustrating…” Her tone calmed down, steadier compared to her angered state. “Teach me then, teach me how to survive out there.”
“Lexa—“
“Geralt, please…” She brushed her nose against his, her heart stammering. Lexa was out of her mind. Maybe he wanted to fuck her, maybe she could use her body to convince him to—
“Lexa, I kissed you because you wouldn’t listen to me.”
Oh. Her stomach dropped.
“I need you to sit down and ponder what you desire truthfully. My path is a dark one. I kill monsters and men worse than monsters. I won’t be able to defend you if you’re danger. Here you’re safe, isolated, but safe.”
“Not from myself.”
Geralt’s eyes turned to look at her, a sympathetic expression on his face formed before he cursed lowly under his breath. “Shit.” He shook his head and then back at her. “We’re leaving at dawn.”
“What?! Really?” Lexa’s eyes widened enthusiastically before she grinned. She couldn’t hold her excitement and threw herself in Geralt’s arms, clinging her body against his. Feeling an immense warmth wrap around her, his strong arms around her waist.
“Lex—“ Geralt’s balance was compromised as he tried to step back but the spot of ground was softer, making him lose and fall down with Lexa in top. He grunted from the impact and his eyes slowly opened to a pair of green eyes full with playfulness. She was excited, happy. “Lesson number one: don’t get so excited, your attention lowers.”
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cyllres · 4 months ago
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Devil | JJK x Makima! Reader
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Chapter 04
You sat on the swing of the empty park. Ever since that day , the park- while abandoned and littered by curses became your safe space, plus it's empty making it the perfect place for you to train at.
"Y/n-chan, good afternoon." You turned you head to the side, seeing the monk approaching you.
"Getou-sensei." You acknowledge. "Good afternoon, another mission you refused to bring me with?" You asked.
The park, also became the place where that Monk-Getou, coincidentally meets you at. His arrival is always heralded by the sight of his big, stupid bird, a comically large creature that he uses as transportation. Its feathers shimmer in the sunlight, casting an almost ethereal glow as it descends from the sky. Getou's visits are irregular, yet they've become a part of your routine, an unexpected intersection of your world and his.
Sometimes, Getou brings his daughters along, introducing you three with a gentle, almost paternal warmth. Nanako and Mimiko, with their wide eyes and innocent curiosity, are a breath of fresh air in your otherwise solitary existence. Their laughter is infectious, their games simple yet delightful. You find yourself looking forward to these encounters, where the weight of your responsibilities momentarily lifts, replaced by the lightness of childhood play. The three of you chase each other around the park, inventing stories and adventures that transport you far from the realm of curses.
You don't mind him visiting with his daughters. In fact, you like the change in dynamics they bring, a welcome diversion from the intensity of your usual activities. Nanako and Mimiko are endearing playmates, their presence a reminder of the innocence you rarely get to indulge in. They ask you about your brother, Yuuji, and you share stories of your adventures with him, feeling a rare sense of normalcy in these interactions. These moments are precious, a rare opportunity to connect with others your age in a setting free from the burdens of your life.
However, what you do mind is when Getou visits alone, under the guise of having just returned from a dangerous mission. He claims to have been nearby, perhaps having absorbed another curse in the vicinity, and decided to swing by. His explanations are always vague, shrouded in half-truths and deflections that only heighten your curiosity and frustration. You've asked him several times to bring you along on these missions, after all- you're capable and he knows that. He's the ones training you after all! Ever since that day he became your unofficial- official teacher. (And as much as you hate to admit it, you need his guidance, after all- you're dealing with curses not devils). You want to witness the process firsthand, to see how he navigates the dangers and absorbs curses with such apparent ease. Each time, he refuses, his reasoning infuriatingly condescending.
"You're still a child," he says with a dismissive wave of his hand as he push the swing you're sitting at, his tone carrying an air of finality that brooks no argument. "These missions are too dangerous for someone your age."
Oh, how infuriating that is! The idea that your age somehow diminishes your capability is a constant source of irritation. You've proven yourself time and again, mastering your techniques and controlling powerful curses with a skill that belies your years. Yet, in his eyes, you remain a child-an apprentice who needs to be protected rather than an equal who deserves to learn.
"You know that I am not a child." You answered, making Getou pause.
"Then you're a devil stuck in a child's body," Getou said gently, his tone carrying a hint of concern that softened the edges of his words. "But it seems like you lack that much control over the body your possessing with because I can clearly see you snap from time to time." He added, referring to the rare moments where a hint of frustration litter your calm smiling face, moments where your emotions take brief control over you.
His gaze softened, the sternness in his eyes giving way to a flicker of empathy. There was a subtle shift in his demeanor, as if he was speaking not just as a mentor but as someone who genuinely cared about your well-being.
"And therefore, you are a child," he insisted, the emphasis on the word "child" carrying a weight of unspoken implications. To Getou, he was gently nudging you to embrace the innocence and vulnerability that came with your age, to let go of the burdensome expectations you placed on yourself. But you are also a stubborn child.
"You're strong, no doubt about it," he continued, his voice softening even further. "But strength alone isn't enough. True control requires more than just power-it demands mastery over your emotions, your impulses. And that's something you still need to learn."
There was a subtle undercurrent of reassurance in his words, a tacit acknowledgment that it was okay to still be learning, to still be figuring things out. It was as if he was gently guiding you back to the simple joys of childhood, where mistakes were forgiven, and growth was celebrated.
Despite Getou's genuine concern, a cloud of suspicion hung over you, obscuring your ability to fully trust his intentions. His words, though spoken with a sincerity that bordered on paternal care, failed to penetrate the armor of distrust you had built around yourself.
Deep down, you don't know what people's intentions are, you never do. He had shown you kindness, offered guidance, and shared his knowledge with an openness that spoke of genuine care. Yet, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to his motives than met the eye.
It wasn't that you doubted his sincerity; it was that you doubted your own ability to discern truth from deception. In a world where everyone had an agenda and alliances shifted like the sands of the desert, trust was a luxury you couldn't afford.
You had learned the hard way that vulnerability was a weakness to be exploited, and you refused to let down your guard, even in the face of Getou's seemingly kind gestures. Every kind word, every gentle touch, felt like a carefully crafted facade, designed to lull you into a false sense of security.
Getou's intentions are multifaceted, driven by a mix of genuine concern and a desire to protect you from the dangers lurking within the Jujutsu Sorcerers' society. He sees in you a raw potential, a talent waiting to be honed, and his lessons are a testament to his commitment to help you reach your full capabilities. Each session is filled with invaluable insights and strategies, aimed at enhancing your control over cursed energy and preparing you for the challenges ahead.
Yet, beneath the surface of his mentorship lies a deeper motive-a desire to shield you from the manipulative schemes of the sorcerers' world. Getou knows all too well the pitfalls that await those who possess great power, and he is determined to spare you from suffering the same fate he endured.
His visits, though rigorous, serve as both a test of your abilities and a means of keeping you away from the prying eyes of the sorcerers' society. He fears that they will see you not as a person, but as a weapon to be exploited for their own ends. And so, he trains you in secret, away from their grasp, hoping to instill in you the strength and resilience to resist their influence.
If only you'd allow him to take you with him, under his care he'd ensure that you grew up as a child, not as a weapon. Getou's earnest desire to shield you from the harsh realities of the sorcerer's world is clear in every interaction. He sees in you the potential for greatness, but more importantly, he sees a child deserving of a childhood-a life free from the burdens of power and manipulation. But alas- you trust no one and perhaps, this nature of yours would protect you from them.
"Y/n-chan" He called out making you look up at him. "Do you want to try controlling a special curse? You get to keep it if you can."
-
Kape?
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dailycharacteroption · 6 months ago
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Leshy Caller (Summoner Archetype)
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(art by AlectorFencer on DeviantArt)
I’ve said this before on the blog, but despite some lamenting them not being very mythos-accurate, I do love the leshies of Pathfinder, just cute little guys created by nature spirits inhabiting cultivated plant bodies. What they lack in overall power they make up in their unique abilities and impeccable designs. (and hey, if you prefer a more traditional “green nature man”, the Green Men monsters are also called Leshy Kings, being connected to them lore-wise. It’s a win-win!)
Leshies got pretty popular though, with not just archetypes related to them, but even expanding the concept of vine leshies into a much more robust and diverse ancestry in Second Edition. (and First if you use my homebrew alternate heritages).
But on the subject of leshy-themed archetypes, we’ve covered a few here and there, but now it’s time to tap into leshies through the lens of the summoner class!
Indeed, these so-called Leshy Callers bond with an eidolon that takes a leshy-like form. This eidolon might be part of an extremely powerful nature spirit, a smaller, more individual spirit, or something else. Either way, they sport-a plantlike form and a generally leshy-like personality.
Such a bond can happen many different ways, just like other eidolons, but the goals of such beings, and presumably that of their summoners, differ a bit, even from wild caller summoners that conjure their own plant-like eidolons.
On a side note, it’s worth mentioning how one can justify how 2e summoners can vary in casting traditions with archetypes like these, though admittedly mechanically they still are arcane casters.
In any case, this archetype offers plenty of planty fun with a leshy twist!
As mentioned above, the eidolons of these summoners are composed of extraplanar plant matter and a natural animating spirit, making them very similar to plants, particularly for unchained summoners.
Their base forms, however, are based on various form of leshy, ranging from cactus,conifer, fungus, leaf, and seaweed, having mostly the core set of forms from the original introduction with the exception of gourd leshy.
Don’t think that leaves the summoner left out, however. Instead of extraplanar monster, they learn to summon natural ones instead, and add several leshies to their list of summons!
While the archetype itself is rather simple, the leshy eidolons can be quite fun and useful, especially when upgraded with evolutions! Aside from having a less utility-driven set of summons, however, there’s not much mechanically that sets them apart from other summoners, so build them as you see fit!
Two important things to remember about these summoners and their eidolons is that while they may not have the exact same powers as their counterparts, these are still the same sort of nature spirits as normal leshies, albeit with extraplanar bodies and a bond with their summoner. With that in mind, try looking up info on leshies of that type and see what resonates when coming up with their persona. The other thing is that while they are leshies, their bodies are much larger and stronger, built for more direct combat over the typically debilitations, stealth, and trickery of their kin, which also might affect their characterization.
Finally, the base forms for the leshy eidolons are actually super simple, so feel free to use them as a template for homebrewing your own to get the other leshy types available, as well as potentially completely unique ones.
Ten years ago, Vana of Woodstone held the guardian of her village, a leshy named Quickening Seed, in her arms as they succumbed to their wounds. Since that day, she has trained to become such a guardian herself, the human developing the magic to summon forth leshies to aid her. Sometimes, she thinks she even feels Quickening’s presence in her eidolon as well.
They say that the Garden of the Ancients is a hidden valley, one where strange creatures such as wolpertingers and other curious beings both benign and dangerous can be found. It is said that nature spirits are born there, and the locals learn to summon them forth when their need is great, and they do, especially when strangers come looking for plunder and lost secrets.
Splitriver the Leshy Gardener bears his title with pride, the brambly-old leshy having watched over and cultivated the creation of more of his kind for generations. Though he doesn’t often take fleshy students, those that do can learn a lot about bridging the gap between the arcane and the primal, as well as how to summon his kind to fight.
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skylermadness · 1 year ago
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Welcome to the Rider Side (Iskandar TF)
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(Original Date of Upload: July 8, 2023)
Original Description:
I was going to upload this yesterday but forgot to. I know next to nothing about the Fate series, and honestly it seems like it has too many pieces to put together to really be able to get into it safely. Nonetheless, I wrote this while I was bored one set of days and in the mood for Iskandar, who is honestly my only Fate-related mood. What can I say, I like fiery redheads. I tend not to deal with lack of MC in works but I wanted to try something unique and different. Same with the goo trigger here, although I've done quite a few goo triggers so that doesn't really count. Either way, this was a fun story to write and a nice diversion from the usual that I work on! Rated Mature for bulge and implied masturbation.
   Cosplay was an unfamiliar endeavor for Rufus, to say the least. This was both in terms of how it functions and how expensive such a thing can be. But with a convention coming up in his hometown, Rufus had been rather antsy in regards to doing it. It was something new, it was something interesting! He's never tried something like this before, and that only fueled the desire to jump the shark and attempt something like cosplaying. No matter how complicated it may be!
   …then again, that doesn't really bar the fact that he chose what may have been the most complex character possible to try such a thing with, and that was the character Iskandar from the Fate series.
   There were quite a few reasons why such a choice was absurd. First was the fact that he chose a character that was predominantly armored. Second was that he chose a character whose armor pieces were… unique to say the least. So much so that the only way to procure them would be through custom means. And with there being only a month until the convention. But he also really liked the character, so much so that he was willing to do everything in his power to attempt to do this… right?
   Rufus sighed, his foot pressing on the brake of his car as he drove up to an intersection. Eyes lingered for a couple seconds, keeping track of the intersection before his vision drifted to the block ahead. He caught sight of a small building, wooden in material in contrast to the predominantly concrete, stone, and brick of the buildings surrounding it. The sight caused him to perk up a bit.
   He was lucky for a single thing, and that was locating a replica of Iskandar's blade. One that ran for a cheap price. It did have to be procured locally, but that was fine since the store was near his apartment.
   Once past the intersection he drove for a couple more seconds before pulling over to the side in front of the building. Doing all the usual procedures he left his car and locked it before turning to look at the building itself, evidently being a small store judging by the shelves that were noticeably visible through the window. His sight trailed upwards for a moment, catching the store's name that was displayed atop it. 
   Maurice's Exceptional Cosplay Collectibles…
   Although only the name Maurice seemed to be written properly. Everything else after it was rather crude in writing, alongside being written above something that was scribbled out. Peculiar, but not the most worrying thing. Probably a rebrand when this store took over whatever the previous one was.
   Finishing up his gawking, Rufus finally took the plunge and stepped into the store. A small bell rang above him as he stepped through the door, his arrival being signaled throughout the almost shack-like shop. Although the only acknowledgement of his existence after that was from who he presumed to be the manager, a rotund man with a thick beard and a balding head. The store's titular Maurice, Rufus had presumed.
   "'ey. Ruf's, right?" the man said, his voice deep and gravelly. 
   With a nod Rufus responded with an, "Er, yeah."
   He wasn't surprised that the storekeeper was anticipating his arrival. The site where Rufus found the replica sword just happened to have a section for item reservations. 
   Maurice nodded, then bent down to rummage beneath the counter. After a couple seconds he arose with a rather long and thin box in hand and set it upon the counter. "Take a look-see," he said with a smile. "Rather impress'ly designed!"
   Curious, Rufus stepped up to the counter and opened the box. The object within it was wrapped in red cloth, which he undid in order to look at the object itself. His eyes then widened in surprise. "It's made of metal…?"
   "Yup! An authentic sword ya' gettin' 'ere!"
   Authentic felt like an understatement. Rufus was expecting some plastic mock-up, but this appeared to be a legitimate spatha-type sword. Metallic blade, equally metallic handle and pommel. And yet it had all the makings of Iskandar's blade. Golden emblem on the cross-guard, a lion's head at the pommel's end. 
   "Did… did you make this or something…?" he asked, dumbfounded.
   "Eh, ya could say that."
   And all of this for twenty dollars. It felt practically farcical to him. "Is this like some kind of rental thing, or…?"
   "Nah. We jus' get a lot're items than we know what t' do with."
   Rufus opened his mouth to respond, but was unable to think of one.
��  "'s a good sword though. Heard it's owner was quite the beaut as well!"
   "I uh, yeah…" he responded, unsure how to take all of this. This experience was getting more surreal by the second. "I'll just make my payment and be on my way then," Rufus said, beginning to fish out his wallet.
   His eyes still lingered on the spatha. There was something that felt off, but he just couldn't pinpoint it yet…
                                        ----------------------------------------------------------
   It's been roughly ten minutes now since Rufus had arrived back to his apartment. He was originally planning on making himself some lunch before resuming his plans to find a suitable way to complete his cosplay, but those plans were thrown out the window rather quickly.
   He sits on the couch, and in front of him is a small table. The sword is splayed atop the table's glass counter, the box it came in disregarding to the side with the cloth it was wrapped in laying beneath it. The man was still awestruck at the realism of the object. He was half convinced that if he poked the tip he'd accidentally cut himself and draw blood. 
   Reaching out a hand he hesitantly grasped the dark blue grip of the blade and picked it up. With both hands he held the blade up to his face as if he were inspecting it. The object was rather lightweight which made picking it up not very challenging. The only real concern was his lack of knowledge when it came to sword etiquette. How do you hold it? Do you have to clean it or something? Where do you even put it once you're finished with it?? 
   "Oh, what will I do with you…" Rufus questioned the blade, not expecting much of an answer. 
   He had slowly come to the realization that there was a small issue now in regards to having such a realistic object. It would likely not work well together with whatever other pieces of the cosplay he'd scope out. He'd have a set of faux armor and whatnot and be wielding some hyperrealistic blade that could probably get him arrested. And it definitely wouldn't fit with the cheaper option of going for a more casual fit.
   He sighed, beginning to mutter to himself. "I did not think this thought much, did I?" There was also a very vocal thought in the forefront of his mind: he really wanted an easier way to complete this cosplay.
   His peripherals then caught onto a glowing below him. Turning his head downwards his gaze caught onto the golden emblem within the middle of the sword's cross-guard. The emblem was looking to be glowing brightly now. "Wha…?"
   He didn't have much time to process it though. He was suddenly startled as a strange fluid-like substance poured down from the emblem and onto his hands, which had then prompted Rufus to panic for a moment and let go of the blade. Luckily, it only fell beside his feet and stabbed into the rug.
   Rufus didn't think much of it though. He was preoccupied, looking down to inspect his hands. Gobs of reddish-brown goo of some kind had found their way onto his hands somehow, flecks of it slowly moving up and towards his arms. "Uhhhh-"
   That wasn't the only weird occurrence either. Rufus felt the fingers of both hands twitching just ever so slightly, this feeling being accompanied by a far stranger sight. A thickness was entering the man's hands, fingers steadily growing larger and denser. His hands were increasing in size as well with both of them appearing to stretch out larger, bulkier. Palms were looking to be swelling and gaining a meatiness to them, and the increase in size to both parts of his body just looked like they had at the very least less than doubled in size.
   The mysterious goo continued to progress its way up and around Rufus' arms. The young man could only watch in a mix of awe and confusion, unable to articulate his feelings. A massive chunk of it was encapsulating his wrists, lengthening further upwards to fully wrap around his forearms. It felt as if the region was being encased in a rubber-like substance, and ementating from that substance was an odd feeling of warmth that coursed through the veins of his lower arms. Much like his hands, the size of both forearms was steadily growing. However, this time it appeared they were accruing muscle mass. The softness that they had originally possessed was being sloughed away and replaced by hard, beefy, and warm muscle. It had even come with a surge of strength that was only progressing further into his body.
   While the rubbery cuffs remained on his forearms, strands and gobs of goo broke from it and trickled up his arms more. This didn't seem to lessen the mass of the arm cuffs, as if all laws of physics did not apply to this substance. As the strands of strange substance inches across his upper arms, the surge of power coursing through himself was moving into the region as well. Thick muscle was packing into the area, arms hardening with it as it formed quickly. Biceps bulged out of them while triceps transformed and matured rapidly. All the softness his arms originally possessed was getting erased, melting away into a firm new form. Heat had filled his arms as they were granted an instant workout, and he could feel the short sleeves of his t-shirt attempt to stretch over his thickening appendages while the goo began moving beneath them and towards his torso. The fabric got filled with creases as his muscles pushed up against them, the thick crevices that divided his newfound musculature  practically etching into the gray cotton. This only got more prominent as his shoulder muscles started to change and his deltoids expanded, the overall region broadening as things were moving up and past his arms.
   With his shoulders bulking out, Rufus could feel his form start to widen out while his skin was stimulated by the rubbery texture of the goo. It was practically phantasmagorical as to how this all felt. Unrealistic, bizarre. He couldn't help but take a moment to snap out his daze and curiously paw at the cuffs encapsulating his forearms. The liquid consistency seemed to have hardened, the marbled reddish-brown having become some kind of long latex-like 'wrist'band that even with his newfound strength he'd be unable to pull off. But then again, this substance was somehow making him muscular…
   He stopped pulling at the cuffs, instead raising an arm up and giving it a good flex. The act as a whole caused the associated sleeve to split across his bicep, unable to contain the now muscled limb. "Woah…" he vocalized in awe. He would be lying if he said he didn't like this feeling of power that was steadily coursing through his entire being.
   Concern was fading into curiosity. He moved his attention downwards, eyes staring at his torso as he felt the transformative substance travel from the left and right sides of his body. It was steadily moving towards the middle of his body, and as it did so it was only inciting more changes. He could feel his very core heat up like some kind of furnace, an almost exponentially enhancing sense of might emanating within his chest.
   Rufus had possessed a rather pudgy build. Soft, fatty, some would even call it a little schlubby. But something, or rather everything about that, was changing. As the goo moved across his chest towards the middle of his body, a firmness was entering the area rather rapidly. The softness of his pecs was hardening, getting packed with powerful muscles. His shirt steadily filled out as his musculature was increased, pectorals pushing forward more and more as they grew and expanded. He was garnering two massive slabs of raw meat on his chest. It was getting so prominent that the newly developing cleavage was indenting into his shirt's fabric. 
   Beneath his shirt the substance that was infusing him with this power continued its coverage of his form. Once it converged beneath the middle of his chest it began to expand outwards again. A portion of it arose, rubber-like goo steadily raising to cup Rufus' thick pecs. A sizable portion in the middle remained visible however, the goo seeming to avoid covering his cleavage. It would eventually rise until it nestled beneath the man's collarbone, which itself still seemed to be widening out. Between the goo and his broadening size, Rufus' t-shirt was just struggling to contain his massive form. And it was evident his form was only going to become even larger.
   The marbled browns and reds of the supposed fluid had also been making its way downwards, the territory it was claiming around his abdominal region being a lot larger than it was on his chest. It has first stretched over his belly, a soft squeezing ensuing as it did so. The fat within his belly was being pressed down into his body, being flattened and molded into a more muscular form instead. Abdominal muscles were being pressed out of his gut, bubbling forward as three rows were being forced to materialize into a six-pack of abs.
   His sides were increasing with heat as his obliques rippled, the lower half of Rufus' torso continuing to get pressurized as the goo started to surround it now. A burning strength being filled in the region, power pushing forward throughout the form as new muscles continued to get molded into him from the mysterious substance. It wasn't long until it went into his back as well, the goo entering the region and closing in on his spinal cord. As it did so, wide portions of goo were beginning to extend from the top of the chest portion of this weird rubbery chest plate of his. It stretched out, snaking over his shoulders and moving onto his upper back. Both segments of substance would meet at the midline, in between his trapeziuses, and then run downwards in a single thick line to converge with the portion of gooey plating that surrounded his lower body. All the while his spine was being massaged by the substance, another soft warmth emanating across his back as inches were now being added to the young man's height.
   The changes in height were getting slightly evident now as Rufus caught onto his shirt riding up his now muscular abdomen. His six-pack was just etched into the gray fabric perfectly, and the shirt's hem was steadily moving towards said six-pack. But he was quickly growing more preoccupied with his chest. His thick pectorals. He couldn't help but slowly bring up a hand and poke a chunky finger into his cleavage. Although the very act of moving a limb seemed to be taboo to the shirt at this point, rips echoing from behind him as his back and shoulder muscles were moved. And somehow this initiated a chain reaction as tears formed down the sides of the tee, and a few finally formed within the front. One especially noticeable rip was right over his pecs, giving Rufus a clear view of the rubber chestplate and the middle of his pecs.
   "Hooh…" he felt warm at that. Everything about this was warming but that very sight moreso. So, so much strength is piled onto him. It was so immense, so powerful. He just couldn't resist going from poking to groping as he cupped a pec with a hand. It was so… stimulating feeling that rubber press up against his flesh, and he could still feel the slight softness that his pectorals possessed. The feeling just made his blood pump faster than before, so much faster.
   He was… enjoying this, wasn't he?
   His thoughts were then broken as he heard another portion of his clothing break, this time with his legwear. Looking down he saw that the button holding his jeans together had snapped open, and in general his jeans were starting to feel tighter. But the tightness in his jeans was the least of his problems as… so much began happening at once.
   The goo had already moved well past the waistline, now beginning to encapsulate Rufus' pelvis and the area beneath that. It was perhaps the most sensual part of the entire change as he could feel the substance squeeze up against his more sensitive areas. He couldn't help but stand up from the couch now, the man feeling a considerable heat erupting in his rear as the region was consumed by the gooey substance. The area was getting so much thicker, becoming round and plump as his glute muscles became even larger. And with his waist already getting wider, this addition to size caused the seat of his pants to just split open, that very sound causing Rufus to moan a bit as his cheeks flushed with red.
   Then he felt his groin stir, and his cheeks flushed even redder.
   A massive hand was moving down to the area as Rufus started to feel an immense, almost erotic emotion well up in him. Sweat was beading on his forehead while he looked down, the zipper of his pants splitting open more and more as he saw his undergarments bulge out more with each passing second. All the while the rubber was stimulating every nerve within his growing groin. Blood was practically shooting down there as he couldn't help but hover his hand above the area for a moment before cupping it. "O-ohhh…" he moaned out again, his voice sounding a bit deeper, but his brain was swimming in erotic ecstasy to care.
   With all this pleasure overtaking Rufus' mind, he was too preoccupied to take full notice of more changes, now continuing to press further down his legs. His thighs were practically burning with heat as they were encapsulated with brownish-red goo, hamstrings and quads being packed with substantial muscle much like his arms were minutes prior. Tears echoed through the air as the stitching on the sides of his jeans was being split open by his thickening legs, and the denim in general was getting creased with his new musculature engraving into it. 
   The goo seemed to end halfway down his thighs however, globs of it instead trickling downwards as it moved past his knees as onto the crus of his legs. Once it reached the mentioned region, it went back to expanding in surface area. Although this time it seemed to be doing so like it did his forearms; circling around his lower legs to form one large rubber bracer. This was especially noticeable with the bottoms of his jeans running up his legs, his height growing yet again with another set of inches being placed into his legs. And while it did so, his calves steadily ballooned, now being grown out into massive bulging muscles that continued to vy for his legwear's attention and rip them up further with each passing moment.
   As Rufus continued rubbing his bulge, he widened his stance a bit. The substance had also finally run beneath his footwear, now having reached the man's feet. The tongue's of his shoes were pressed up as the rubbery material cascaded down the bridge of both feet, the size of his feet seemingly getting stimulated by this and beginning to grow. His footwear was quick in becoming undersized; his heels practically dug into the backs of each shoe while the sides pressed the cloth that was containing them outwards more and more. The toecap of the shoe was beginning to bulge as his toes pressed up against it, the side of the bulging growing even more prominent as his toes got thicker. The overall meatiness of his feet was just increasing rapidly, and it wasn't long until his shoes finally began splitting apart to reveal them. And while his feet grew, the rest of the rubbery goo completed what it set out to do. A small bit of it slipped in between his big toe and the adjacent one before running beneath the soles of his feet. It was at this point that his original footwear finally just burst open.
   Rufus shuddered a bit, hesitantly unclasping his bulge as he let out a rather deep sigh. All of his senses steadily came back to him as the ecstasy slowly wore off. 
   He swallowed a forming lump in his throat, the man feeling his neck thicken in size. "I-I should probably leave that for…"
   His sentence trailed off as he caught note of his voice, realizing the deepness crawling into it with each passing word. It was sounding so commanding, so boisterous! And familiar as well…
   "Woah- I sound exactly like…" his eyes trailed back downwards. The way the rubber had plated his body, especially his torso, was also… "Iskandar…"
   With that very realization, a large grin formed on the man's face. That sword, it was making him a splitting image of its wielder? How was that possible? Why was it possible? Did that weird storekeeper know or-
   "O-ough, itchy…" Rufus' thoughts broke as he felt an itchiness on his face. No doubt a sign of the final physical changes to his body finally ensuing.
   He raised up a hand and casually scratched at the itching, the feeling mainly isolated around his chin. He had already possessed a bit of a beard around the region, but the brown coloration of it was noticeably changing. Starting at the roots, a soft red was steadily expanding across his beard. Alongside that the thickness of it was increasing, the hairs growing thicker and more connected as the visible style of his facial hair looked almost spiky. This look was only exacerbated as a spiky-like stylization was forming from where the hairs met his face. And his beard only moved further to perfection, a well-kempt lustrousness entering into the very hairs. More and more red continued to consume the follicles, dull brown becoming brighter and brighter by the second. The ends of the beard moved up the sides of his jaw to meet his sideburns, and from there the bright red was starting to enter his hair.
   While his beard changed his face was altering at the exact same time. A broadness entered his jawline, chiseled it out more as the softness of his face was getting hardened. His facial structure was being altered, skull shape shifting due to the roundness of it was being lost, becoming a bit more square with the steady widening of it all. The youthful look his young adult face had was also fading, bits of age setting into it with wrinkles etching around his eyes. Although perhaps the most prominent changes occurred within his facial features; his slight mustache sinking into his skin, his eyes getting slightly larger while the irises gained a bright red coloration to them, and his ears pushed out slightly. There was also a change in his nose, it getting larger and the bridge getting wider in size as the broadness of his nose seemed to become an almost defining feature of his face. Lastly were his eyebrows, getting bushier while the bright red coloration formed within them as they did so.
   The final bits of changes came to the rest of his hair. As the flaming red swept across his, the overall style was being altered drastically. While it had originally possessed an almost medium length to it, that length was shortening rather rapidly. This was further proven by his forehead getting more visible as the part of hair flipped over was shrinking into his scalp. After a few seconds it also seemed the way his hair was directed was altering, the centralization of it all being swept back and changed to all of his hair being pushed backwards. A wild, untameness was forming within it as well with bits and pieces spiking out as if the hair were actually lit aflame. Despite it all, with the shortening concluding, his hair had garnered a noticeable denseness to it that it didn't possess in its prior state.
   With that all the strange warmths and newfound power surges started to die down, as if Rufus' body was already getting used to it. A sign that the physical changes seemed to have concluded. Although Rufus felt a bit too preoccupied scratching his beard. Not because it was still itching though, it just felt nice to run his fingers through the dense hairs. "Ooh, that feels good…"
   All of this felt good actually. This thick musculature, this masculine physique. Hearing his deep voice resonate through his ears, just feeling his own strong presence within the room. It was exhilarating! Although his scritching slowly came to a halt as he realized something. His head turned back downwards, eyeing the strange rubbery substance that still clinged to his body. 
   "Are you gonna melt off or something…?" he muttered. He wasn't sure what it had left to change. But after a couple seconds a change in texture drew his attention to his arm. Why did he feel something furry? Wait…
   His eyes now laying upon it, Rufus found that the rubber cuff that encapsulated his forearm was shifting. The top and bottom ends were fluffing up with a soft, white, and dense furry fringe. Meanwhile the material of the rubber itself was shifting to a cold and hard metal that he could feel graze his skin. The featurelessness was lost as crescent-like and ellipsoid shapes formed within the back of the newly changed metal.
   It wasn't the only part that was changing either. His already filled out shirt seemed to fill out more, tears further splitting it as the rubber that divided the fabric from his skin got bulkier. Metal spread amongst the mysterious substance's entirety, the reddish-brown marbling changing to a pure brown while a soft golden coloration formed to outline where his pectorals and abs were. A bronze chestplate seemed to be what it was becoming. Meanwhile the Y-shaped segment of goo that stretched across his back changed to a separate more flexible material that made it more like a set of straps, those straps held together by a triangular buckle on the middle of his back.
   It was at this point that the remainder of his shirt seemed about ready to tear off, much of it seeming to almost burn itself away. But a portion of it around his shoulders and back remained, shifting into something drastically different. A thick white fur emerged from the collar, growing thicker and thicker by the second, while the back portion of the shirt extended and turned from gray to bright red. The furriness of the collar continued to thicken, and a golden design was arising from the bottom of the lengthening back. It wasn't long until the former shirt was the densely furred caped mantle that sat upon Iskandar's shoulders, held there by a single blue leather strap around his chest.
   At the same time, the rubber that was around his thighs shifted to a deep blue, hardening into some kind of short legged under armor. But his jeans still seemed to fill out, a separate layer of fabric seeming to emerge from under the materializing belt that was beneath the first layer of legwear's waistline. This layer of fabric continued to push itself downwards, reds and golds noticeable through the tears in the denim of his jeans. It wasn't long until his former legwear would follow in what his shirt did by mimicking a fire starting and blazing itself away while segments of it were changing, hardening to a bronze like his chestplate possessed. It seemed his jeans were becoming a set of lengthy tassets that stretched down to the length of his knees. All while a golden buckle appeared in front of them, clasped onto Rufus' waist, and manifested a triad of blue straps that snaked around his waist. A sizable weight formed within one of these straps, a scabbard for the very trigger of his transformation appearing from mere nothing.
   The last portion of rubber was on the crus of his legs and his feet. Like the segment around his forearms, fringes of fur grew from the top and bottom portions of the greaves while the rubberiness was hardened to metal. A layered metallicness was also formed within the substance that has covered the bridge of his foot. Meanwhile the portions that had gone between his toes and under his feet became a more leathery consistency instead, his new pair of footwear seeming to be rather sandal-like. 
   Rufus ran a hand above the flat bronze of his chestplate, a sense of finally dawning on the transformed man. This was real armor that had finally graced the man's skin. Authentic, perfect. He could feel every chunk of metal, every bit of fur, even the fabric of his cape grazing the back of his legs.
   His eyes then laid on the sword, the catalyst to this all, currently stabbed in the rug of his apartment. He effortlessly picked the object up, Rufus reveling in hearing the soft shing of the weapon reverberate through his ears as he placed it into his scabbard. 
   "I guess you did give me the perfect cosplay that'd fit you, huh?" Rufus said while patting the scabbard. He then followed the statement up with a deep laugh, letting himself just swim in the pure boisterousness that this form exuded. It just felt so good.
   Quieting down a bit, his gaze then trailed to his arm. Casually raising it, Rufus gave the arm a good flex! Feeling all that raw strength and power coarse through his veins.
   "I am definitely ready for that convention now!~"
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pumpkinpot · 3 days ago
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Dilf Sebastian pt. 3 Christmas drabble (stand alone but the series is cute)
Pt. 1 Pt. 2
A/N: I gave youngin a name.. or rather a nickname? Ro. so when you see it that's why. No beta.
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Sebastian wasn't really a Christmas creature. He found the whole event terribly troublesome and what reprieve there was to be found did not make up for the nuisance of it all.
Thankfully, you were simple. You'd found joy in the mundanity. He sometimes wondered if you did it for his sake but it wasn't his place to ask. Or maybe he didn't want to.
The season had officially exploded onto society. Not a single place could be seen without Santa impersonators or twinkling lights which meant it was soon to creep its way into your home.
Even so there was a level of decorum that was preserved in the home you'd built. where there would usually be string lights there was candles. where there was excess sugar was the in season fruits and warm ciders.
where there was belief in Santa there was myth books and fables. You'd never told Ro that Santa was or wasn't real but allowed them to view things through the means literature. Saint Nick, Joulupukki, Gryla and Krampus.
Ro had gotten in trouble for bringing a book about Krampus, their favorite Christmas figure into class for show and tell.
A qualm Sebastian quelled with a reaming of the school board for the lack of diverse winter holiday representation in school. They compromised by dropping Ro's suspension in favor that they not speak of the matter again and they be allowed to share their books at will.
If there were more complaints there was never any word of it.
Tonight's activity was one you loved most. Drying Oranges and cinnamon for garland. you'd spent near a half hour picking the perfect oranges and a bag of cinnamon sticks.
Sebastian was appalled when you'd put the cinnamon pinecones in the shopping cart. He took them out promptly.
Suddenly what was meant to be an hour project became a days side quest.
He drove you both out of the city right then. You had no idea where he was taking you, but it was usually best not to question his determined brow.
The roads became windy and buildings sparce. Trees rushed by in a blur or browns and greens. When he finally did pull off there wasn't a sign of civilization to be seen.
He bundles Ro up in his scarf, wrapping it once around their head and again around their neck. Next he stripes his coat drapping it over your shoulders.
The forest was too thick for the inches of snowfall, except in small patches but ice and chill still nipped at you.
"won't you get cold?" Ro asks.
"Are birds often cold in the winter?" He retorts, mostly kidding.
It was meant to bring back the conversation they'd had as a family when Ro revealed they knew he was a "Crow." but when he turned he wasn't met with the excited wonder and curiosity but inquisition and sadness.
"I don't know," they say, looking up into the trees. "I hope not."
Sebastian paused. What was it like in a body filled to the brim with empathy? it seemed so harrowing to experience. He couldn't even say that he knew if birds got cold because he hadn't ever wondered about the creatures.
"Birds that don't migrate in the winter puff out their feathers and store fat to keep themselves warm," you read from the google page on your phone.
"Sort of like bears," they ask.
"Sort of like bears," you agree.
The answer seems to satisfy them because they wander off immediately.
"Thank you," Sebastian whispers.
You hum. "birds might not get cold, but I do. What are we doing out here?"
He looks up at the trees. "we're collecting pinecones for the garland."
He showed you and Ro which were preferred and you all searched.
within the hour you had two bags of pinecones. Enough to conclude the search. On the way back to the car Ro darted between trees a flash of red from Sebastians scarf zooming around.
"Look!" Ro shouts, pointing just out of your sight.
As you and Sebastian get close Ro sprints to a pine tree just the size of themselves.
"It's me sized." Ro says.
"It is," you say with a sniff. both yours and Ro's nose had become bright and runny.
"can this be our Christmas tree?"
"No" you say just as Sebatian says. "I don't see why not."
the two of you look at one another. "we don't have a saw or a way to get it home."
He smiles. "Let me worry about that, here you take these pinecones and I'll meet you home."
you drive carefully home and when you pull into the driveway Sebastian opens the front door welcoming you back.
"How did you beat us here?" you ask.
"He flew here obviously." Ro says finitely.
There was nothing else to be said. you knew better than to press for a better explanation and Ro's was likely the closest there would be to one.
Inside was the tree you'd just seen in the woods, positioned perfectly on the corner of the living room.
Ro struts to it none the wiser of how amazing its appearance is. "It's perfect!" they say.
"You really are incredibly, you know that?" you whisper to him.
It was only in this decade could he be seen doing acts like this and be called incredible and not "Demon or witch."
He'd felt affection more in the last eight years than he had in the previous thousand. It overwhelmed him in uncomfortable ways so he hummed and took back his scarf and coat to hang next to the door.
The night was further spent with Sebastian teaching you and Ro how to make cinnamon pinecones and how to harvest pine nuts.
the tree was decorated with dried oranges, roasted cinnamon sticks and little white candles.
before bed during the nightly wind down you all made pesto flat bread with the aforementioned pine nuts and re read Ro's favorite version of the Krampus tale.
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Hey if you like this content there is more on my Master List
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surplus-of-sarcasm · 2 years ago
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Intertwined and Worlds Apart
Note: This is probably going to be a series. Alien x human to be specific, a little different from my usual hero x villain. Doesn't mean I'll stop doing hxv though!
TW: Blood, some gore, dismemberment, death mentioned, gross fantasy monster is described, weapon usage, violence (i swear it's not too horrible)
When Human had first joined the Intergalactic Crew, they were everyone's new favourite topic of conversation.
It wasn't about them being a different species; the teams prided themselves on harbouring a vast and diverse array of species. But none, not even the most powerful of said species even had half the formidable reputation that humans did. They were the stuff of legends, defying limits the others had deemed inevitably unbreakable and turning what most saw as a literal hellscape into their home.
So naturally, when one arrived, most, if not all of the Station's inhabitants were itching to get a good look at them.
Supposedly, Human was tall and well-muscled for their species, in spite of their somewhat overall slender frame. Some of the aliens were easily taller and much larger, but that only served to increase both the fear and awe factors. If this being, with a measly total of four appendages, that wasn't the biggest around and had a significant lack of a tail, quills or any logical defense mechanism was still capable of dealing out all that damage, then they were truly a force to be reckoned with.
Strangely enough, Human's allure quickly faded, revealing what most of the crew considered a rather lacklustre image. They completed the basic training, and they all soon got used to their ability to consume poisons everyday for breakfast. Something they called "coffee" that they claimed to "be a zombie without." Whatever a zombie was.
The human was fairly quiet and kept to themselves, never speaking unless addressed, rapidly earning them the reputation of a snob. They were expecting some kind of mythical hero, something to do justice to the epic tales woven about Earth's fearsome inhabitants. Ironically, no one was interested in Human anymore.
No one except Alien.
Their colleagues and friends would continuously make light-hearted jabs about Alien being infatuated with Human, but they'd just wave them off. They certainly were intrigued by the foreigner, but they honestly didn't know if they felt anything more than that for them. Love amongst aliens, specifically the romantic kind, although not non-existant, was somewhat a rarity. Marriage was usually for convenience, whether to start a family, (as in the case of Alien's parents), a union between two races or just marriage for the sake of it. It explained why they lasted longer, and if the relationships came to an end it was usually respectful and clean-cut.
But Alien had heard that with humans, it was a whole different story. Love for them had a powerful, iron-like grip only attributed to a force of nature. It started wars, it ended them. It pushed people into trance-like states of madness. It was a lot like fire, beautiful and mesmerizing, but also destructive and untamable when allowed to be out of control.
Their curiosity had finally overcame their shy nature, and they decided to go talk to Human about a week ago. They'd been told that they were just a snob, but that's exactly how Alien was labelled before others discovered that they were just an introvert by nature, and it had taken them years to make friends. Maybe Human was like that too.
Their heart hammered in their chest so rapidly, they thought their heartstrings would get ripped apart from the effort. They were grateful that their clothes covered the stripes along their arms that changed colour based on their mood. They didn't need Human to know that they were scared out of their wits.
"Hi. It was Human, right?"
The human looked up from their food, seemingly a little taken aback. They cleared their throat, "Yes, I'm Human. Is there something required of me?"
"I just wanted to talk to you. Not about anything in particular." They bit their lip nervously.
"Oh." Human shifted in their seat, fidgeting with the straps of their dark hoodie.
"It's okay if you're not interested." Alien's voice is laced with just the tiniest bit of disappointment.
"Wait! It's just that no one here was ever interested in talking to me after the first two weeks. I seem to have disappointed them somehow."
Alien whipped around, gesturing to the bench in front of the table Human was sitting behind, and the newest Crew member nodded their approval. They sit down, surveying the human with an almost inquisitive gaze. "Do you like it here?"
Taking small sips from their drink, the human shrugs. "I mean, I like being in space, I'm passionate about my job. Maybe it's not ideal that everyone thinks I'm too haughty to talk to them, but I'm used to it. It's a lot like that on Earth too. I don't fit the basic "cute" description of an introvert."
Alien's teal eyes widened, a little confused by Human's statement which earned them a light laugh from their companion. For some reason, they decided that they rather liked the soft, musical sound.
They gesture to their figure. "I know this might not be a big deal here, but on Earth, this is considered intimidating enough. And this doesn't help either." They traced one, long finger along a jagged, pink scar drawn across their left cheekbone.
"I do not think it is scary," Alien stated rather bluntly. Always honest about everything was how their friends would describe them.
"Do you?"Human laughed again, but it was much softer and shorter than the first time.
"Yes I do?" Did Human not think they were being sincere?
Human did not laugh this time, instead choosing to let the corner of their lip twitch up. A smile. They had been told it was horrendously scary, but instead it just looked nice? Even when their sharp fangs were bared, it didn't look at all predatorial.
"That was a rhetorical question. Meaning a question you don't expect an answer to. It's just sort of there for effect. Ugh, I'm crap at articulating my thoughts into words," they groaned, taking their head into their hands.
"I apologise." Alien's clothes come to their rescue once again hiding their stripes that they were sure were glowing a bold, embarrassed crimson.
"It's fine. Culture gap between species. I'm sure I've got a lot to learn too."
Human and Alien conversed almost everyday when they got the chance. Alien grew to find that the human had one too many things in common with them; introversion, a love of astronomy and a sweet tooth just to name a few.
But in the process, Alien keeps experiencing a set of strange, nonsensical symptoms, especially when they were around Human. A racing heartbeat, a fluttery feeling in their digestive tract, a warm flush through their body and the strange sensation that they're in a trance, Human being the only thing that wasn't foggy in their mind.
"There is nothing wrong with you," the medic reassured. "Physiologically. Your vitals are fine and you appear to be in excellent health. There is, however, a rise in neurotransmitter levels. It could just be stress. If so, then try your best to calm down. If the symptoms persist, then it may be time to ask the Captain for a few days off maybe?"
The alien thanks the doctor, but they're not exactly sure they're stressed. What they do know is that they catch themselves thinking of Human unprompted. Was all this some sort of bizarre side-effect of being in contact with a human for one lunar rotation? They'd never know. . .
Speaking of Human, the foreigner taps them lightly on the shoulder. "Hey!" they chirp with a smile. They hand them a small, glossy, royal blue box with a sliver lid and a matching blue ribbon.
"Go on, open it!"
Inspecting it carefully, Alien slowly slides the lid off with their long, slender fingers. Inside, there is a hard sort of mineral with a smooth surface in all the colours of the galaxy, striking shades of blue, violet, pink, turquoise and even black all woven together on one stone in a sparkling array of beauty, much like a painting on a canvas. The mineral hung on a polished metal chain.
"It's for you to wear around your neck. It's a geode from Earth. Mineral formation. Oh, and happy birthday! I don't know if you celebrate in your culture, but us humans do. I hope this isn't too presumptuous."
"How did you know about the day I was born?" Alien's voice is barely above a whisper, too surprised to be able to speak clearly.
The human shrugs. "I asked the Captain. Is this offending you?"
"No! Quite the opposite. Thank you, Human. This is beautiful. I promise to take wonderful care of it." Alien's heartbeat accelerates dramatically, and their whole world seems to have come to a halt. How is Human so effortlessly thoughtful? They'd known Alien for such a short time and were already keen on finding out about their birthday and getting them a gift. Whatever they feel for Human just keeps getting more intense.
*
There were no alarms sounding or a rumbling of the ground or any warnings of the like. The Silent Wraith hadn't gotten its infamous nickname without reason. So no one knew it was among them until deafening screams filled the Station, and the once pristine floors were slick with blood.
"Everyone, cover your mouth, nose and skin if you breathe through it and evacuate! The Wraith produces deadly gas and can easily rip the strongest of you to shreds," the Captain yelled over the alarmed screeching.
The monster, with its many, many limbs and horrendous-looking maw, stacked with rows upon rows of sharp, yellowing fangs, now covered in blood attacks without mercy, creeping up on its unfortunate victim and leaving them nothing but a mess of bloodied flesh, scales, wings and bones. It thrashes around with its tail, covered in sharp spikes that released the toxin into the air, choking some of the Crew members.
They all try to flee from it. All except for Human.
"Human! Have you lost your mind? The Silent Wraith is no laughing matter!" Alien cries, voice breaking with desperation.
"You wanted to know where all those legends about my kind came from? Well, let me show you!"
The alien's desperate pleas fall on deaf ears. Human completely ignores them and saunters forward. They pick up a long chain from their locker and jump atop one of the tables and use it as a makeshift springboard to throw themselves off of and they successfully land on top of the creature's back. They wrap the chain around its neck, puling hard, obviously straining with the effort.
It seems to work, until the chain snaps around the creature's neck. The human lets out a stream of profanities as the creature throws them onto the ground. They pull out a knife and try their hardest to jab it into the beast's thick hide near its chest but to no avail. It's too fast. It scratches Human's shoulder with its metre-long sharp claws, making them hiss in pain.
Alien, no matter how terrified they are right now, can't just leave Human like that for dead. They rush forward, paying no regard to the warnings screamed at them by others. They attempt to distract the Wraith, to divert their attention away from the human and to try and use one of the quills rolled up in their back to attack the creature. But instead, the beast sinks its fangs into the alien's leg viciously.
It burns like fire and acid mixed into one to deal out a harrowing sensation of absolute torture climbing up Alien's leg. They can barely move themselves away from the creature as they cry out in pain.
If Human was wild a few moments prior, currently they are feral.
They scream, running up to the beast and swiftly tear one of its fangs straight out of its mouth. They use it as a makeshift blade, stabbing it into its hide so many times, they lose count. The creature in turn mars the human with its own attacks; riddling their body with scratches and burns and trying to gas them.
None of that deters the human. Fueled by some kind of ferocious rage, they ruthlessly attack the beast, finally tearing off its tail with its own fang.
The Silent Wraith was dead at the hands of a single human.
"Human? How did you do that?' Alien asks weakly.
"It hurt you. That's all I could think of. The rest was hysterical strength. Are you alright?"
"I'm fine, it's only my leg that's been hurt."
When everyone else shuffles back in, seeing the Wraith's corpse and dismembered tail and the human's bloodied hands, all they feel is a mixture of fear and awe.
Alien, on the other hand, is in a completely different world. Seeing Human with blood streaked across their cheekbones and jawline, their short, raven hair mussed up, clothes ripped to shreds, exposing battered skin, but also the human's taut muscles knocks the air out of the alien's lungs, but not in a bad way. The most entrancing of all is that fierce, passionate look in their stormy grey eyes. Human, in their disheveled state, has never been as alluring as they are now.
Gingerly, Human scoops them up, holding them against their chest. Alien's now completely exposed arm stripes glow a bold magenta, a colour they'd never seen before on their body.
And they are certain, more than ever in their life that they are in love with Human, their heart alight with the bright flames that this ultimately consuming feeling brought.
Notes: I am going to be honest. I am exhausted. This is not edited because I finished it late at night and I still have homework to do. Also, I apologise for the horrendously written fight scene you had to bear through. Sorry for not posting for so long, I blame high school. Anyway, I really hope you enjoyed reading this ridiculously long fic. Love you guys! 💙💙
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beeseverywhen · 5 months ago
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Original post is gone so I'm making a new one with my breakdown of working class/middle class
Look. The thing with class is these categories were written in a different time. Ppl were doing different jobs and had WAY less buying power. Things are very commercialised now and new products are avaliable to a much wider number of people. So we've gotta apply a bit of leeway. But you guys are applying WAY too much leeway which conveniently keeps the lower classes busy fighting each other and never actually looking at the real disparities of wealth.
Now one problem is that people have a rather simplistic view of class and just look at it in terms of income and buying power and job title. It's also to do with culture, how people live their lives and traditionally, what jobs they do.
Now the job thing is a trap. People look at 'white collar' and 'blue collar' jobs when realistically, in 2024 an experienced self employed electrician doing well paying work is higher up the scale than a call centre office worker on minimum wage. If we want to look at what a modem day working class job looks like, in a world where many traditional jobs no longer exist and many common jobs are new, we need to break it down. What does a working class job look like?
A cornerstone of working class jobs is a power imbalance. In most working class jobs you find a lack of choice, especially at the bottom (there are different levels to working class, we'll get to that). You take whats avaliable because you need a job. If the boss treats you poorly, if they break employment laws, If the job begins to break your body (or mind) you'll struggle to leave. You can't just quit and find a new one, you NEED that job. That's why unions are so important (and why its handy to convince call centre workers they arent working class and dont need a union.)
They are jobs you learn on the job. They are entry level. You don't study to get in to these jobs, you don't dream of one day getting in to one. You simply take what you can get. Often it'll be the same job your parents or family members do.
Another key indicator is how much work you do. Are you expected to clock in and work for your entire shift? If you've finished the work you're expected to do, can you rest? Or are you expected to always look busy? Is there a focus on efficiency, getting the most from every worker. Were you employed for what YOU can do? As an individual? Or are you just another worker? Slogging away at a shared pool of work that never seems to diminish?
We also need to look at responsibilities. Is your job about overlooking other people working? Or are you on the bottom of the ladder doing the work (be that making something, taking calls, recording information, cleaning something, moving things, watching people or cctv, and on and on) Now this isn't to say that a supermarket supervisor isn't a working class job, as I mentioned earlier there are different levels of working class.
The final thing I consider to be important is the ability to work your way up. Traditionally, this was much more common and so jobs that once may have been acceptable for the middle classes, are now working class jobs. These are your dead end jobs. Any progression is for the lucky few and is entirely limited to those few levels in the job hierarchy above you. You will not get any higher, no matter how hard you work. In fact, at many jobs, working as hard as possible in a entry level position is a reason for you NOT to be promoted. You'll see this in retail and service jobs. It happens in high street banks, call centres, supermarkets and restaurants. The corporate jobs overseeing the work on the ground are generally restricted to people coming in to the company, often through graduate programs or old school tie networks
Working class jobs in the 2020s are diverse. And many of them are jobs that have not traditionally been working class. An increase in efficiency thanks to new technology has lead to companies being able to replace higher paid workers, with non specialised low paid workers. It has allowed them to condense their workforce, with traditionally low paid roles being condensed with 1 worker taking on the job responsibilities of 5.
You will note I have avoided calling these jobs low skilled, though that is what they are often called. They are not low skilled. They are recruited as non specialised jobs, people get in to them without experience or education in that area, but they learn on the job. Many workers in these jobs are incredibly skilled, especially when they have been in them a few years. They are expected to take on incredibly large workloads and to constantly take on new responsibilities. It is common for companies to 'upskill' these workers by training them to know the processes and tiny details of what would have previously been considered multiple different roles. And it is never ending. You never reach the top in these jobs. There is always more to learn and another responsibility to take on and more efficiency to squeeze out of you.
Examples of middle class jobs: laywer, doctor, some business or banking jobs, some business owners. Often they hold jobs that they (or someone else) planned for them to get in to. They got their job often through the help of connections (be those knowing someone in the business, knowing how that sector works thanks to parents/ family friends in the sector, loans to start businesses) or graduate entry. There's a difference.
1/4
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dorkasdaydreams · 6 months ago
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In the last art post I made, I mentioned wanting to shade the designs I had made for Ben and Ally that I'm using for my Ben 10 fan-project (which I will reveal the title for at a later date). However, I recently watched a Ben 10 redesign video by @crystal-moon-101 and was inspired to make some tweaks to Ben and Ally's designs.
The key difference is that I drew more in my style rather than trying to replicate Omniverse. After all, Ben 10 has never really had a consistent art style anyway.
Other than that, the changes I made to the designs weren't major, but they're still noticeable. Here are all the changes I made in the sketches:
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The first thing I changed about Ben's design was his hair, which was actually inspired by Crystal's design for Ben. I also added the ahoges from Omniverse (and made them longer lol) and made the numbers on his hoodie look digital (can you guess why?). In addition, there will be a pocket on his shirt with the number 10 on it (it's not visible yet, I'll draw it later). As for the Omnitrix, I tried making a new design for it that was more gaunlet-like (shown in the image), but I later decided to use the Omniverse design for it instead (at least for now). Finally, I changed the design of his shoes a bit.
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Next is Ally. One advantage to using my own art style for these designs is being able to better portray diverse body types, something the official Ben 10 art styles seem to lack (especially with the most notable characters). Ally used to have a body type similar to Gwen, Julie, and several other prominent female characters within the Ben 10 franchise. However, for the sake of diversifying the character designs, I tried to make her slightly heavier-set. For her hair, I had used Emmy Altava from the Professor Layton series as a reference point. Unfortunately, Ally's hair ended up looking too much like Emmy's, so I loosened her curls a bit.
I left her tank top and necklace the same, but I made some small adjustments to the rest of her outfit: I made her crop top more ruffled, flared out the hems of her pants, removed the Omnitrix symbol from her shoes, removed the music note patch (which was barely visible anyway) from her beanie, and turned one of her gold circle buttons into a music note button to replace the patch.
This post is getting long, so I'll post the next designs later. For now, let me know if there's anything I can improve about the designs.
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psychewritesbs · 2 years ago
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Chapter 211: Ripen—Megumi, on the power of suffering + a bunch of other stuff
Happy JJK Sunday! Gege is a sadistic cat and is going to “punish” Megumi. In case it wasn’t obvious... my favorite mangaka are always sadistic to their creations--I’m looking at you CLAMP’s Okawa Nanase.
So this chapter made me feel like Tomoyo and her adorkable obsession with Sakura...
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There’s just something so cathartic about seeing a blorbo be put to the wringer for the sake of character development. And now, my favorite cursed cat is going to pull some machiuvelical, Greek Tragedy, Mexican telenovela style, twist on us. yesssssssssssssss!
I have a nasty migraine so... don’t expect much intelligence underneath the cut. 
Also, did I ever publicly mention that this particular scenario is one of my favorite self-indulgent head canons? You know... Tsumiki turning out to be at the crux of Megumi’s conflict because she’s up to no “good”?
Like just imagine the shock to Megumi’s schema of the world, the pattern interrupt to his logic, but more importantly, his inability to exert his will upon another being’s free will.
THE DRAMA... 
Sea-Urchin-Head
I wasn’t going to write anything for this chapter... 
So my plan was to just be a troll and write about the evolution of Megumi’s hair and how it went from this...
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to full on epic sea-urchin-headness proportions.
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But like... how to bring up the evolution of Megumi’s hair without also addressing the evolution of the art style and how much Gege has improved over the last 5 years?
And it’s not just the art that has improved from an aesthetic perspective, but the way he draws brings the characters to life on a new level. The characters aren’t static 2-dimensional figures on a 2-dimensional surface any longer...
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Rather, the characters reflect their character development and multi-dimensionality in that Gege has also improved at showing emotion...
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And how characters express their unique and diverse emotional landscape.
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Just look at the sheer terror on his face... have we ever seen Megumi drop the poker face and betray his emotional state THIS MUCH?
This is like the worst chapter reaction liveblog I have ever written...
Megumi, on the power of suffering
If you’ve been reading my rambles for a while, then you know Megumi shares the #1 spot for my favorite animanga character with Sumeragi Subaru (who, interestingly enough, shares a lot of interesting similarities with Megumi). 
I LOVE Megumi and I ADORE the way Megumi is written.
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Megumi is, true to his name, a bright light in the midst of darkness. His voice, the voice of conscience trying to find its way in the dark. 
If Gege is a genius at writing poetic justice, then Megumi is poetry in action. 
I’ve written before about how he got off “easy” after Shibuya and how that could mean his moment to shine and have his ego brutally destroyed is coming.
IT’s HERE! FINALLY! 
It’s not that I’m excited to see him suffer... it’s that I know that the suffering will be like turning lead into gold. ok yes I want to see him suffer because fck yeah catharsis my beloved!
Whatever the case, however Gege executes, Megumi is about to have another “come to Jesus moment” like or much more impactful than the one he had during The Origin of Obedience arc.
Anyways. Shipping dynamics aside, whether Tsumiki has been corrupted or is a vessel to a sorcerer from the past, the fact that she is turning “against” (for lack of a better word, don’t hate me, no nuance to be found in my brain today I have a damn migraine) Megumi isn’t just Reggie’s curse activating... it’s a reversal on Remi’s situation with Reggie. 
It’s a reversal on Megumi looking down on Remi for her unwillingness to see Reggie for what he was.
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What an asshole! I love him your honor!!!
Perhaps even a reversal on Megumi looking down on Remi for becoming Reggie’s puppet?
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You know... just following down daddy’s steps...
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Regardless of what happens...
OH, THE DRAMA!!!! 
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Like... The implications for how events can unfold are so juicy!!!!!! 
Let’s see where Gege takes it from here.
Hana
Me before Gege finally introduced Kurusu Hana: she’s poison! Don’t trust her! She’s not to be trusted! She’s probably a horrible person!!!!!
Meanwhile Hana:
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Also me: Dammit I love her... my symbol analysis was trash looool (or is it?!!!!! we still don’t know what’s Angel’s deal).
Ripen
Just a reminder that the kanji that Gege uses for the word “fate” includes the kanji for “fruit”. 
The timeline has been super confusing so let’s see how Gege executes and brings it all together.
Allright. Thank you migraine. I’m done. I'm over it. Not even proofreading before publishing.
Thanks for reading to all 10 people who usually read lol. Don’t hesitate to say hi or share your own reactions! 
Happy JJK Sunday.
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tinseltine · 1 year ago
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I realized this is JLaw‘s first official comedy – “Silver Linings Playbook” and “Joy” are each a dramedy. “Don’t Look Up” is funny, but its genre would be cautionary/Scifi. Lawrence was the comic relief in “American Hustle”, but again, a satire, not a broad comedy.  I’m glad she finally found herself here. 
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The Blackening’s got the feel of Bodies Bodies Bodies, just not as clever.  You can see the twist ending coming from a mile away. But as someone whose black card is always in threat of being revoked, due to having grown up on a constant diet of corny, white fare; I liked the irony of a board game of actual black cards, where each character has to answer culturally black trivia in order to stay alive!  And yup, if I were playing, my black card would once again have been in jeopardy, cause for a number of the questions, I’d have been about as much help as I’d be in an escape room requiring math. 
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Overall I enjoyed the film and thought this fresh take on the Flashpoint event was creative. Just not as creative as the 2013 film, which still had meta-humans and heroes, with each of them in different roles than what they are in the traditional DC’s Earth-Prime version. For instance, Bruce Wayne was killed in the alley that famous night instead of his parents; turning his father into Batman and his mother into the Joker. Superman is captured and nowhere to be found. Cyborg is a resistance leader, giving America a fighting chance within a war between Aquaman’s Atlanteans and Wonder Woman’s Amazonians. Aquaman cheated on his wife Mera with Diana and it led to this major war.
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Vibrant all the way around, story, visuals, characters! Although, I’ll admit, I got a little sleepy a few moments before we meet the super cool Spider-man named Hobie Brown, aka Spider-Punk voiced by Daniel Kaluuya, but that could have been due to the heaping portion of Chinese food I ate at the beginning of the movie. This Spider-Punk was my favorite spidey. Kauuya says he: put a lot of emphasis on what matters to the fans when it came to finding his superhero’s voice, so much so that when he first took on the role of Spider-Punk he listened to fan-made playlists dedicated to the character to understand how they saw him rather than choose to base him on any punk rock icons of the past.
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Me and my sister came out of Disney’s Live Action The Little Mermaid smiling from ear to ear feeling as though it managed to capture and hold true to everything we loved about the animated original and at the same time, embracing the world of today with beautiful diversity. But then I read The New York Times review by Wesley Morris and he just makes me feel stupid for enjoying the movie. I suppose he has some salient points like “This new flesh-and-blood version is about a girl who’d like to withdraw her color from the family rainbow and sail off into “uncharted waters” with her white prince.” Also, although I loved Halle Bailey’s interpretation of Ariel, his review now makes me question, does she imbue varied enough facial expressions while mute?
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The Mother explores themes of family, redemption and identity, as Lopez’s character (with no name) struggles to reconcile her past and present. It’s not a groundbreaking or original movie by any means. It borrows heavily from other action movies like “Taken”, “Salt” and “Atomic Blonde”. The plot is predictable, the villains are one-dimensional and the moments of warmth aren’t very moving. But it’s entertaining, and it’s JLo, so stream it!
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I definitely feel GOTG3 has stronger beats than Ant-man Quantumania, but it’s still a little long and lacking a certain spark had by the prior 2 movies of this MCU franchise. I think we need to go back to keeping the films just under 2 hours. Infinity War and End Game each needed to be nearly 3 hours because of so many characters and major story arcs, but with these sequels, no matter how beloved the characters, there’s not enough to fill them. I love superhero movies and particularly the MCU, but lately I can always feel the point in which they should be wrapping up, yet there’s 40-45 minutes still to go. 
THIS WAS TINSEL & TINE'S #MINIMOVIEREVIEW EXTRAVAGANZA #14 for complete content - https://tinseltine.com/minimoviereviewextravaganza14/
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bikepackinguk · 1 year ago
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Day Twenty
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Another day and another set of miles down!
Allowed myself a small lie in because why not, so after breaking camp and a good cuppa, we're back on the road by Longniddry for just before 9am.
The route from here is downhill all the way to the sea by Port Seton, where we get a nice view of the Fife coast across the bay, and have a nice ride along the coast including a stop off for water and some much needed fresh fruit!
Past Prestonpans and into Musselburgh the pathing and aignposts do get a bit of a mess, and ended up riding around the racecourse for a time as golf balls flew overhead, but some judicious map checking and rerouting took us past the River Esk and along into Edinburgh.
Once back to the main cycle route there was some lovely off-traffic riding past Holyrood Park and a long fun tunnel, before heading into Edinburgh cuty centre.
I'd been advised by some other riders that the route through was beat avoided as the signposting was poor and cobbled roads aboundes, but I suspect they had been on an alternate route as I found the signage pretty decent and had no real difficulty riding through, and stopping for an early lunch in The Meadows.
At this point, the run of sunny days finally came to an end and the rain finally caught up. Thankfully I'd been keeping an eye on the forecast and was already sheltered under a nice tree when the rain set in, and as I'm well used to riding in the UK it was time to break out the waterproofs.
They were sorely needed, as the heavens truly opened and a torrential downpour began for a couple of hours. So whilst I did enjoy a very wet ride past some of Edinburgh's beautiful monuments and highlights, I'm afraid there is a bit of a lack of pictures of them!
After heading down Princes Street past the castle, rather than keep diverting onto the side paths I decided on a straight run down the busy Queensferry road, which had partially turned into a river and featured being sprayed by passing motorists with waves of water over head height at times.
Once a few miles along and across the River Almond the bike path picks up proper again and I could finally get out of the traffic and continue on to arrive at the Forth Bridge Visitor Centre, when the rain finally eased off.
Had a good break here for a nice hot coffee and chat with some other visitors, and checking the waterproofs it looked like they jad succeeded in their job - whilst I was a little soggy underneath, it appeared predominantly to just be sweat.
Onwards! Across the impressive Forth Road Bridge! I had some nice nostalgia crossing here as the last time I rode over it was when riding Lands End to John O'Groates. At that time the newer Queensferry Crossing Bridge was still under construction, and the road bridge was bouncing quite significantly from all the heavy traffic. With this now routed across the new bridge, the journey over this time was far calmer and ideal for enjoying the ride.
Heading down the other side, it's a right turn past the junctions into Iverkeithling on route 76, and almost immediately there's some gorgeous views around the waterside past Saint Davids and Dalgety Bay. The path carries on hugging the Fife coast for a good while granting more beautiful views of the opposite shore.
The clouds had eased off at this point and the sun had returned anew, which swiftly dried off the soggier bits and returned us to a lovely afternoon's weather.
There were some more interesting points of course, including a diversion to avoid a larger road along an alternative path that turned out to be very thoroughly overgrown with nettles and thorns. After a little way I wondered if I'd made a significant mistake, especially as it was too narrow to turn around, but the path finally opened up to a beautiful ride right next to the water, with a forested cliff to the left that even featured a few waterfalls. I count that as worth a few stings!
Continuing along the shore past Burntisland, there was a very conveniently placed bench with some shelter from the wind to allow me to cook up some dinner and savour more of the views across the water.
I cut out an inland division of the trail by Kinghorn to keep heading round the coast to Kirkcaldy, before realising it was getting a little late and I should find a spot to sleep. I had underestimated the oength of the urban stretch here, but fortunately not having to be up the crack of dawn means I was still able to cruise out the other side of town and find some nice forested areas to set up for the night.
Not too bad a day's work all told! Whilst the NCN routes cut north at Kirkcaldy and miss the rest of the coast up to St Andrews, there are still plenty of local paths in place, so hopefully tomorrow I can continue along and not be stuck with roo much in-traffic riding as we work back around to link up eith the main route again.
G'night!
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