#mini character studies

[python-nebula]

I will never not be devastated at the fact that Edwin, this (forever-)16-year-old who doesn't know how to fight like Charles, or use a weapon, or anything like that, can run so much faster than Charles, or anybody in the show for that matter. Because he's had to. He's had to for 70 years. And he's still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Crystal (in her 'past life') learnt to insult people because (it seems like) that was the only way people would listen to her (aka her parents).

Charles learnt to immediately go on the offensive (to protect others, not himself) because he can't let anyone else be hurt the way he was hurt by the person who was supposed to care for him.

Niko learnt to forgive people and take the kindest route because that was how her dad taught her to be, how he'd want her to be.

Jenny learnt to close herself off from people because she's been too open in the past, and she can't afford to be vulnerable again.

And Edwin learnt to run, because there was no point in fighting back, because the only way he wasn't going to have to watch his own corpse be horrifically murdered again and again was if he ran.

The final scene of the show is the first time he's stopped in one hundred and eight years.

[yawnderu]

I'm sorry but being with simon at the beginning of a relationship would be so awkward.💀

Like...

You can't take pics, you can't know about his routine, you can't know about his work and so goes on.

So or are you with him for the cock or because you have the syndrome of falling in love with strange men

>This turned into a mini character study. 😔🗣️

Good dick has taken you places you wouldn't even go to with a gun.

Simon is a kind man. Truly, he is. He's just... slightly strange. You don't know much about him other than the fact that he has served in the military— something he never even told you, you simply guessed by the dogtags he never takes off and the plethora of scars adorning his pale body, a privilege you didn't get until he realized he could trust you... for the most part.

For a man like Simon, vulnerability was nothing but a highly-desired privilege. Something he wouldn't allow himself to have ever again, hiding his face under different masks that caused the reactions he was looking for— intimidation and fear, the skulls doing nothing more than serving the purpose of representing all he was, a ghost. A man who died a long time ago, way before he was tortured by the greedy, cruel hands of Manuel Roba.

It's not that Simon doesn't love you, he simply doesn't know how to allow himself to be vulnerable. How to put down the walls he spent a lifetime building, serving as shelter from his father's abuse, nothing but a mere way of shielding the broken pieces of his soul, not allowing anyone to trample what little he had left.

... not until you came, at least. Sweet little thing, never moving away from his side even when Simon told you nothing good comes from men like him. Perhaps it's unfair, yet Simon only warned you once. Had a long chat with you about how you could do better— only for you to find yourself already tangled on his web, unable to leave even if you wanted to... and good for him, because the idea of leaving him never once crossed your mind no matter how difficult he could be.

For you, it was a test of patience and care, wanting to peel every single layer of the man Simon Riley is, yet for him, it's a new chance at life. The holy light, in a way, guiding him into a path he never found himself roaming, a path he never even thought he'd have the chance to see, not when he was such a tainted, dirty man, sins that would last him a lifetime easily forgotten the moment your arms wrap around him, holding him with such tenderness one would've thought he's made of expensive fine china rather than scar tissue and trauma.

It's not like Simon is a bad partner— quite the opposite, truly. He has a way with words, reassuring you that there'll be a time where he's able to reveal more about himself and what he does, having a scheduled delivery of flowers and food almost every day he's gone, wanting to keep you happy even when he's on the other side of the world, gaining more enemies by the day.

... And yet he is not afraid anymore. His enemies die with Ghost, by his punishing hand or that of an ally. The moment the mask comes off, he's your Simon. Yours and only yours, never even allowing himself to look at other women, he has the most gorgeous one by his side, one that loves him with all she has, making him feel like a proper lad for the first time in his life.

[skywalkr-nberrie]

It’s so cute that Anakin and Padmé have this couple-like motto between them from AOTC when Anakin tells her about his “aggressive negotiations” and Padmé echos that back to him in the Arena of Geonosis making it a sort of “inside joke” between them. It’s also so cute that Padmé mimics Anakin’s words, so much that it’s now something she just says in general. I remember there was a scene in the novel “Wild Space” where Bail mentioned how Padmé once used Anakin’s terminology with him and that just tells me that Anakin’s words became a normal part of Padmé’s word bank as well.

Psychology does claim that a person tends to mimic the acts of the one they love 💕

[dallasgallant]

Bob’s death leads Randy to become disillusioned, he cannot return to the way he once was and breaks out. In contrast, it makes Cherry reach past class lines but ultimately retreat back fully into the crowd.

In this essay I will…

[aquapolis]

can we talk the fact that when fujiko lost her memory her first observation about lupin was how he looked like a nice person and he reacted like that was the most painful, horrible thing he'd ever been told by a woman who's literally held him at gunpoint multiple times I'M DYING TO TALK ABOUT THE FACT TH

[changelingeyes]

good morning to autistic women with bewilderingly niche interests <3 <3 <3

[obamousse]

Suna has such a slim waist because he has his own sets of abs exercise, and do them along with the team's practice exercises. New team members question it, but the coach only says "Suna has a special exercise". Suna's mom even registered those special exercises for him with the coach.

Suna also does those exercises when he's at home, which his mom observes. Suna might be nonchalant to everything, even volleyball, but he pays attention to it a lot. So much so, even if his exercises are gruesome (his teammates tried it out once and they ended up with sore abs for weeks), he still did it on routine. As if it was routine for him, as if it was the norm. She asked him about it, to which he answered:

"It's routine mom."

But routine doesn't appear out of nowhere, doesn't it?

Even if Suna does not notice how passionate he is, his mom knows. She has brought her son up to be independent and responsible for himself, to take initiative for the things he cares for.

Even Kita is impressed by Suna's maturity.

Suna started volleyball when he was in middle school, at a low point in his life, his parents divorcing. He was recruited into his school team because he was tall, but only stayed for a year. He was the ace, until he had to move back to China with his mom, and volleyball became a memory.

Until he picked it up in the final years ofmiddle school and also became the ace. The prefecture seemed to lack volleyball players. For the first time, he saw people with incredible skills, wits, and perseverance fighting one another for victory. He fought too, using his intuition to block the spiders, twisting his body in all directions, but failed to catch up to new, complex moves and strategies. Those he never learned in Aichi, those his teammates were also baffled and gave up on decoding. Except Suna. Except the persistent, annoying middle blocker who gradually reduced his jumping time and corrected his blocking until he became an actual threat in the final moments of the match. The battle for individual points between him, and the strong, bullheaded spiker. Two bulls, locking horns with one another. He lost. The ball landed on his side, and the final point belonged to Yako Junior High.

He stared at the people, no, twins, with identical and symmetrical black hair, staring at him, panting. He was panting too. He had never thought of exerting this much effort. He starts slow, and even slacks off when their team gains a comfortable score, but at the end when his team has less points, he works. Hard, persistent, his strange analytical mind in full use, never backing down, never giving in to fate. As if giving in to fate kills him, taking ever scrap of chance to win. He gets tired easily, yet has incredible stamina, able to last through 5 sets. It has been so long since he rested. Those twins must be using tricks to make him work hard, overexert himself because they thought he is easily tired from his lack of movement. They were dead wrong, because he was willing to go for another jump, forcing them to go for another jump, exhausting them out while exhausting himself too.

One of the twins, the loud setter, said:

"This one's hard ta crack, Samu."

A compliment. Suna felt weak and numb in his legs.

He fell down, body embracing the floor, arms out. Breathing, unblinking eyes staring at the high, high floor of the gymnasium. And he smiled. Exhilarating. Battling like that is exhilarating. Thinking, strategizing, competing, working with every tether of his body, everything he had. The first time he saw people play volleyball at a new level. How challenging, how diverse the number of attacks. How they elegantly outsmarts him and he cannot help but admire. He forgot time, smiling like a dork, as the twins of Yako Junior High walked away. The quiet spiker stole a glance at him anyway, staring down at him limp on the floor, smiling for no reason.

He is a lazy kid. He never felt so much love for working himself hard until he collapses, as if what he is working for is a passion. A passion, and so he realized.

For the first time (not like in year three as everyone around him assumes to be), he fell in love with volleyball.

That he still remembers. In his being, in his mind he knows, even in his muscles and flesh.

[catchyhuh]

is there anything more insanely insane than the fact that lupin calls himself a hero repeatedly in an exaggerated jokey way to the point that there's even a fucking song about it that's assumedly sung from his pov and yet whenever someone asks him if he's a good person he goes. mm. well. hm. well no not really. in fact i'd be rather disturbed if you thought i was in all honesty!

[voltives]

finally, the behemoth that is my debut passion (1994) fic is complete, and is now available to be read. this will probably be relevant to approximately 7 people, but hey, it's done.

[iolypse]

no stroke of genius

There's an empty coffee mug on the desk.

The handle is chipped. A brownish stain smears the bottom ridge, brackish liquid pooled where the slight tilt of the wood demands it. His chair is tipped haphazardly against the wall, cushion torn open at the seams. Papers and pins and red strings scatter the floor, pieces of evidence either destroyed or outright missing. The lanterns have been left up with pinched out wicks. The room still smells faintly of ash and lighter fluid, his departure painfully raw. Somehow, this is what breaks him.

Cellbit is gone.

Forever walks through the remains of a genius and does not mourn. There is nothing to mourn, no such thing to reminisce. Traitors do not deserve this kindness, pray as he might that this is all another lie.

It has to be. He shakes his head, righting the chair to its proper placement. There are no prayers to be made. There is no but. This is all Cellbit's sick, twisted, genius design.

This is under control. This has to be under control. There is no other option.

Forever backs against the desk and feels more than sees the shattering of the mug as its leg breaks under his force. It resonates within the empty cavity of his chest, the lingering pitch electric through his fingers, tangy on the tip of his tongue. It tastes of cocoa and bile. His hair raises on the back of his neck.

A splinter digs into his hand. A shard pierces the bottom of his sandle. There is not a thing in the room left unbroken.

[skywalkr-nberrie]

I love the nuances people find in Padmé’s character, namely when we’re discussing the topic of her death, I love that we can make out parallels with Anakin and Padmé that reflect one another by saying Padmé feels partly responsible for the deaths and atrocities Anakin’s caused because they were all in her name, topped with the idea that she lost the will to live because she lost everything she loved so dearly for and worked for in just a few hours, or the idea that she simply couldn’t bare to live in a world without her Anakin.

The core idea that even Lucas backs up on Padmé’s death, and is supported by the EU that Padmé couldn’t handle the heartbreak of losing Anakin to the dark side, which GL states in Star Wars Archives (1999-2005) that Padmé lost heart the moment she took what Anakin did as him not trying to save her life, but to gain more power. It’s this idea that breaks her heart and is unendurable for her. Because Padmé could understand Anakin’s actions if they were out of pure love and fear of losing her, but not if it’s a gain to obtain more power. There’s honestly so much we can dissect of her character, on how she lived, also on how she died. I could go on and on talking about her and never get tired.

[cynameru]

hi what if i told you i'm no longer sane

[abenacomics]

Muscle studies

[marvus-xoloto]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @dalishthunder

Tagging @choccymilky and @happyabsence and also any other creative that sees this 😊

Thank you for thinking of me! I actually have mostly stopped writing these days, not out of disinterest but because I’m in the middle of moving cross country and it has been incredibly stressful and mind consuming. But I did start working on a novel a while back! I still need to take MSPAR out of my main character, and perhaps shift it into third person 😂 this is the last thing I wrote for it:

[orchideae]

Me over here: Yelan in her 20s? I can't warrant it. 31 is the go-to on this blog for madame.

[totaleclipse573]

I need Terios to look Doleon dead in the eyes, glare unbreaking, angrier than he’s ever been, and tell him just how much he hates him. How much he hates his father and everything he’s done to him. How much he hates him and all the lies he told, all the scars he left, the irreversible damage he did to Terios as a person for quite possibly the rest of his life. He needs to say it.

But he would just be lying, really. Because Terios can’t fully hate him, for some reason. No matter how hard he wants to, or should, with every reason he has, he can’t seem to do it. There isn’t exactly love there, but not exactly hatred either. He can’t understand it and it makes him sad. He knows he’ll never have it in him to really stand up to his father because of that.

Sometimes his brain tries to trick him, tells him “he was only doing it to make you stronger and better. You wouldn’t be where you are or who you are now if it weren’t for him. What happened was for the better.” Such strange thoughts, how could he possibly think them? He thinks about that sometimes…