#obviously it's more complicated than that

[honourablejester]

I don't think that you are a troll or stupid, but I do think that you spent too much time thinking about watsonian explanation and forget that in real life symbols mean things

Well. Thank you for clarifying.

It’s not that I’ve spent too much time on the Watsonian explanation, it’s that I don’t think the Doylist explanation is that fantasy writers universally (and specifically in this instance Pathfinder writers) want people to believe that the real world crusades were good and/or want to convert readers/players to a fascist cult. Which would appear to be what people in this thread are saying any fantasy depiction of a crusade against an actual supernatural threat would be intended to do.

Symbols do mean things, but so does context. It’s why, to use an equally fraught example, the swastika means something very different in India than it does in Europe. Now, obviously, that’s not directly comparable, as that symbol’s religious use came first, and its appropriation by a completely foreign fascist regime came later, but still. Context alters meaning. It’s why so many fantasy allegories break down. The physical realities as presented in the world of the story alter the interpretation of the real world symbol. Marvel’s mutants as an allegory for any number of discriminated-against peoples, for example, when there are mutants in the story that are a genuine and active genocidal threat – the existence of characters like Magneto make the discussions of the theme/allegory at the very least more complicated. That works exactly the same in the other direction. So a context where the threat is supernatural and is real genuinely can alter the interpretation.

If, granted, you are willing to give it more than surface thought. And here I’m going to put two of your other points together:

We live in a real world and in a real world crusades are a political symbol, and portraying "this time justified" crusade is giving credibility to real-life fanboys of templars and potentially signaling to them that you are on their side. You yourself say that allegory is a tool of fantasy, and fash very much can and do use it to obfuscate the fact that they mean people.

And:

having fantasies of being a bigot only indicates that people who have them are already bigoted.

The people who are going to interpret the fantasy crusade against actual literal demons as ‘proof’ that the real world crusades were also justified are the people who were already going to do that, regardless of context or internal cues within the story. The people who hold the real world crusades as a political symbol are already the people who don’t care about the crusades as anything but that symbol. They don’t care about the historical context of the real crusades any more than they care about the fictional context of the fantasy ones either.

I don’t agree that those people just get to claim a vast swathe of extremely complicated human history, as well as lock off a huge theme for fiction to explore in relation to that history, for fear that examining that symbol will ‘signal’ to a bunch of fuckheads that you might agree with them.

Because, the thing is, the fantasy of this game is not to play a bigot, unless you were already planning to. It does examine the morality of the crusade, even in a context where the enemy is a literal supernatural force of evil, and it also examines whether they are. One of your companion characters explicitly rejects the holy justification of the crusade and believes that even demons can be more than pure evil and should be given a chance to show it, and she can be proved right. And, in the canon result of the crusade beyond the game itself, was. Several of the characters on your side would also give the worst demons a run for their money. However, a country has still been invaded and its population slaughtered, so you also still have to do something about that.  

The fantasy of the game is, I would say, for most people, a fantasy of facing and fighting an overwhelming force of evil. Which is not too far away from the much more politically acceptable fantasy of, say, punching a nazi in the face.

Because yes, if we are exploring which portrayals of violence are good and which are not, we do have to discuss the ethics of war.

Yes, there are very much people who want to play a ‘crusader’ so they can act out murdering people different from them and being lauded for it. But there are also people who want to play out the gothic horror tropes of fighting supernatural foes, or examine the morality of religion in a context where the gods are, in fact, very much real, or who want to play the knight errant of Arthurian myth as if the heroic image of them was real instead of significantly more complicated than that.

I just don’t think it’s useful to say things like ‘all fantasy writers are secretly fascists’ or ‘all paladin players are secretly fascists’ or ‘you can never show this symbol in a positive light no matter what the context’, because all of that is just reductive, and stops people examining the stories we tell (and the symbols we hold) on anything more than a surface level.

And ourselves, maybe, from examining what biases we might be bringing to the story.

Further, fantasy does make supernatural physical reality, but even then it doesn't justify religious wars. Physical gods of fantasy are like real-life kings, and killing someone for not serving your king is still inexcusable.

So, yes. Very much an atheist point of view, then?

Also, like. That’s all of human history? We’re back to the ethics of war. Either killing someone for any reason is inexcusable, or we’re just picking and choosing what causes we’re willing to make exceptions for. Again, if you have a fantasy about killing a nazi, how is that different from a fantasy about killing a demon?

I’m not saying don’t examine every story and see what parts of it hold up and what parts of it don’t, or poke at what unrealised biases the writers might have, I’m saying maybe don’t make blanket statements like ‘fantasy as a genre thinks the crusades were morally good’ and ‘anyone who portrays a crusader as a good person is secretly a fascist and wants to kill people’. Because I’m pretty sure that’s not true, and I’m also pretty sure it doesn’t help to say it’s true. And I also don’t think locking off an entire period of history behind ‘this is evil and ever choosing to portray it is also evil’ is helpful either.

And, with all of that said ... Pathfinder as a setting genuinely does have some ... interesting worldbuilding in relation to real world ... There are a lot of real world conspiracy theories of less-than-laudable origin that Pathfinder uses their fantasy world to examine 'what if something like this was true in the context of another planet'. Since you mentioned the evil lizard people. Golarion straight has the evil serpent empires who ruled the world before man. It has the ancient super empire of Atlantis ('Azlant'), which was destroyed by Cthulhu monsters who telepathically infiltrated humanity, and said Atlantean empire was the origin of the human-turned-god who basically inspired every human empire in the history of the European-analogue of this world to go on an expansion spree. Part of Pathfinder's whole vibe is 'what might it look like if all the crackpot conspiracy theories of our world were actually true on a fantasy planet', as well as 'what would some of the worst and most complicated periods of our history look like if played out in a fantasy world with magic and gods'. 'What if the crusades but with actual demons' is only scratching the surface of what Pathfinder's setting decided to tangle with. And I get that how successful they have been, both on a case by case basis and overall, is very much a 'your mileage may vary' sort of situation. I also get that for some people, the fact that they do this at all, and also consistently, is very much grounds to write the setting off immediately.

Personally, I'm not opposed to using a fantasy world to essentially play out human beliefs and lies to see what might happen if they were true, as pretty much this entire post will show. But I do also understand if other people don't want to engage with it.

I just don't agree with writing off anyone who does choose to engage with it as 'automatically a fascist'. As, well. This post should also show.

kind of concerning how married the fantasy genre is to "crusades as a basically good thing"

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

is there any hope for kook ford being rehabilitated? (<- angst enjoyer but also sensitive bean who cries so so much at tragedy and sad endings and even bittersweet endings but also respects the authors vision and intent)

Good news: Ford does get better! Although, I suppose that depends on what you would consider better, I suppose. Mentally speaking, he won’t ever really be able to return to the same level of cognitive skills as he once had before his injury, at least, not instantly. He did suffer through a traumatic brain injury for 30 years with little to no treatment or anything to help him. It’ll take a lot of time and effort on reworking his brain and rebuilding some bases before he can start tanking super complicated science tomes again, and even then it might end up being less than what he used to be capable of. But nonetheless, better is still better, and his thoughts will begin to restitch itself back together gradually into something more coherent, and his memories will return clearer. He’ll be happy to be able to communicate better, and make himself understood - to make his behaviour and speech understood - without others writing him off as a crazy old kook.

Physically, obviously, he’ll be off the streets so that’s definitely an improvement. His head wound would be a little hard to deal with, since it has been 30 years, and by now it’s already scarred and healed. Ultimately, it’s left alone, along with the metal in his skull, since it’s deemed to probably do more damage than good to remove it now of all times, already far past the prime time to remove it.

So yeah, he does get better! Fiddleford will definitely help when he eventually returns from his multiverse escapade, but so will the others such as Stan and the twins. There’s no way of making Ford just magically better, but he works on it with the support of the others :)

[dyingswanpavlova]

Your ghostly lover

Chapter 1

Pairing: Jaime Lannister × Targaryen!Reader × Aemond Targaryen

Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Mentions of Violence and Murder, Mentions of Forced Marriage, Threatening, Isolation, Loneliness, Ghosts and Spirits, Joffrey being Joffrey and butchering some rats

Author's note: This is a House of the Dragon/Game of Thrones-Crossover. The first chapter takes place in the past. The wedding doesn't take place until the Reader is 19.

You're one of the last two living Targaryens. While your sister Daenerys roams free across the Narrow Sea, you're being forced to marry the man who once killed your father. The Kingslayer has yet to find out about the spirit that lives in your mirror and his evil plans.

Six Years Ago

Life was a terrible thing.

In your book, things were going pretty roughly. Was it destiny? Fate? Or maybe you were made to suffer, because of the mistakes you made in your past life. Another theory you had was that you had to pay for the terrible things your ancestors did. Your father, for a start, had been a terrible person. That much was out of question.

Your sister was on her best way to destroy the rest of the world.

Your brothers, they were more complicated. Viserys had been a lost cause, ever since he had been forced to flee. Of course life had taken a toll on him, but did that really make up for all the terrible things he did?

Rhaegar. Rhaegar had been…good, or so you thought. So you had heard.

You missed him. Actually, you missed them all. Without even knowing them.

You were the youngest, the babe of the family, if so you wish. But that didn’t help you much back in the day.

As problems come, this one came fast and unexpected. Your eldest brother died in battle, while your father got murdered by the man who swore to protect him. The same man you were now forced to wed.

Poor, little you. Too tiny and helpless, nothing more than a bundle of joy and youthfulness, when life took its toll on your family. Everyone else either made it out or got butchered.

Daenerys and Viserys were gone. Viserys made sure of it. And of course, he tried his best to keep you safe as well. But to take care of two little babes at once? When he, himself, was no more than a boy?

He set you down for no longer than a minute, desperate to find a way to get out of this godforsaken place. He only had two arms, and yet two little bundles to carry. Three mouths to feed. No milk in sight.

And when the men with the golden colored cloaks came, he had no choice.

It was too late for you anyway. And at least, you wouldn’t know what was going on. You were tiny and helpless. They would make it quick, right?

So, your brother scurried off, your sister in his arm, while you stayed on the concrete, writhing and crying, all cold and alone.

Poor, little you.

And even more so, because it was the Kingslayer himself who found you. They all had the same specific order.

Kill them all.

No matter the age, the size, the gender or how tiny and helpless they were.

He was supposed to kill you.

But when he picked your tiny form up, amethyst eyes full of tears and your little fists swinging through the air, he felt himself smile a sad smile.

A stubborn one. So fierce.

And in the end, he couldn’t do it. He knew, obviously, it might cost him his head. But no matter what or who he was, he wasn’t that.

He was not the right man to butcher a babe. And so he didn’t.

Sooner than later, you found yourself in the arms of the new king. Whatever it was that you possessed – maybe the fire in your big eyes? The innocence? – it gave him pause. To everyone’s great surprise, the new named king didn’t kill you.

If only he did. It would have spared you such heartbreak.

The next few years, you grew up in the Red Keep. Of course you were no one’s child. Expect for your hair color and the amethyst glint in your eyes, there was nothing Targaryen about you.

Aside from your stupid pride and your stubbornness.

You spent your days reading and watching the knights fight in the training yard. Your best chance for some company was your governess, but even that was an old woman, devoid of any emotion.

You were no one’s child.

And you name was given.

The king came from time to time to see how things were going. How you settled in in a world in which you didn’t belong. His children and his gruesome wife eyed you with disdain.

No, that was not true. The eldest one did, and the mother for sure.

The girl was curious and the boy was rather frightened. You loved to make a habit of scaring him. He was like a lost pup and for some reason you found it rather delightful how big his eyes got, whenever you attempted to lunge at him and stopped the last second.

The witch, how you liked to call her, would scold you and threaten you with all kinds of vile crimes, until her tiny, little brother came by and stopped her.

You hated her. You hated everyone.

And what you hated most was how no one spoke to you.

You were no one’s child and you were no one’s responsibility. In court, you saw children with their mothers. They picked them up and cradled them close, when they were weeping.

Weaklings, you thought. But it was not your heart that spoke there. It was your wounded pride and your loneliness.

Oh, how you wished to have a mother. A father. A sibling even. Someone to banter and to argue with, someone who wasn’t Joffrey. He was a twisted little rodent. Someone who cut open living rats, just to see their blood flow and the life leave their eyes as they hissed and cried. Someone who yanked on your hair and cried to his mother when you yanked at his.

Until the witch finally got her will. And you weren’t allowed near anyone. No one spoke to you, unless Tyrion came to fetch you some books. He pitied you, you could tell. How sad was that? Being pitied by the most pitied person in Westeros. Maybe that was the reason, you thought. He knew how it felt. But at least he was someone. You were no-one.

So you read. And you watched. Observed. Listened. But you never spoke.

Everyone was going about their own business, ignoring your existence as good as they could.

Sandor would glance at you with disdain whenever you threw a tantrum, and yet he’d be the one to pull you back, whenever you got into too much trouble.

There was that one time when you were in an especially bad mood. You felt there was no one the world who cared about you and what was far worse, you didn’t care about anyone either. What was there to live for in this godforsaken place?

You mustered up some courage, which wasn’t all too hard. You were a stubborn little wench.

Once the castle got surrounded by darkness, you snuck out of your chambers and blindly stepped your way through the halls. You knew the walls and every stone on the way, because all you did was observe. It wasn’t like you had other children around you to play with. All you had were your books and all the adults you had grown to despise. One more than the other and so on.

So that particular night, you were ready to leave this all behind, cornering the next hallway, when a firm voice stopped you. You froze instantly.

He was that one person you couldn’t quite decipher. You were almost sure, he had never spoken a single word to you. When you caught sight of him, he looked away immediately. It was like there was an invisible wall. And whenever you got too close to it, he pushed you back with all the fervor his constant ignorance and disdain could muster.

“Where do you think you are going?”

With the softest sigh, you turned back around. Your hair was a mess from all the tossing and turning and your eyes glassy by the way you hated life. This one, at least.

“I-“

“No, forget it. Follow me.”

You sighed again and with slow, hesitant steps followed the Kingslayer back to your chambers. He held the door open and ushered you inside. The guards nearby got the scolding of their life, but you? He didn’t regard with yet another glance. He disappeared back into the night and left you alone with your sadness.

You didn’t truly mind. You found, there was something unsettling about him. Of course you knew the rumors about him and his sister, the witch of Westeros. And if one paid close attention, you could see the lewd glanced they’d share from time to time.

It wasn’t that you cared about that per say. It was more that you couldn’t understand how anyone ever managed to love that heartless hag. Not even him. The knight who held no soul.

You were clever enough never to let anyone see your sadness outright. When it came to these people, the ones who fiercely ignored you, you had no feelings but anger and no traits but stubbornness.

It wasn’t until another night, few years later, when someone was kind to you. You couldn’t quite tell who it was, you just knew she was old, but her eyes were gentle. Much different from your governess’ or the dark lord who owned Casterly Rock and half of Westeros.

“Dear child. Forgive me the intrusion.”

You had eyed her suspiciously, half-expecting her to set your hair on fire by Cersei’s order. You had been no older than ten and three, when the old man approached your chambers.

“I used to work for your mother, you see.”

Now, that caught your interest.

“My mother? What do you know about my mother?”

The warmth in her smile had been enough to make you feel wistful and even more lonely.

“I know that she loved you very much. Which was also the reason, why she gave birth to you, despite all the high risks. She knew she would not make it, child. But she still had you.”

A low, sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach later, she added: “I have something of hers. And I think you should have it, instead.”

Her visit had been short-lived, but her presence stayed with you. It changed the entire course of your life and probably, the whole future of Westeros.

It was a mirror. A pretty one, indeed, but simply a mirror. It felt odd in your hand. No one ever gave you any presents, except for Tyrion and his countless books. But this, it was different. The weight of the mirror in your hand made you feel somewhat comforted. It was your mothers. Your mothers.

She had loved you.

Someone had loved you.

Even if no one did now, it gave you endless comfort to know, that there once been someone who did.

After holding onto the mirror tightly for what felt like an eternity, you finally set it down and choked back your own tears. Was this how life was supposed to make you feel?

The next thing you remembered varied in your mind. It had been too much and too overwhelming to remember it clearly. It was just too odd. Your mind couldn’t comprehend and so it made up new scenarios and details whenever you thought back to it.

In some versions of the memory, you heard his voice first.

In other versions, you saw the soft glow that gleamed around the handle first, slowly stretching out over the cold surface.

Whatever it was, it was.

And suddenly you weren’t alone anymore.

“Princess.”

A voice so soft-spoken that you hardly recognized it. No, you were sure you were making up things. Maybe the mirror was indeed a cruel jest Cersei pulled on you. Maybe it was tinged in something, some substance, that made you lose your mind.

“Princess.” You heard again. Soft and gentle, like a caress.

You had no idea what a caress felt like.

When you heard him a third time, you were suddenly certain. It was indeed real. You stiffened when you realized the sound came from the mirror.

There was a tight knot in your stomach, as well as your throat.

“What?” You murmured. “What is this-“

You sat up carefully and glanced down to where the mirror was set, only to realize it wasn’t your own reflection you were seeing.

With a soft shriek, you recoiled and scurried over the bed, nearly falling to the ground. This wasn’t a trick, but you wished it was.

He had long, straight hair that looked like it was made of silk, in the same color your own hair was tinged. His expression was soft, but there was something so off about him. His one eye was amethyst-colored like your own were, but the other one, you couldn’t tell. It was covered by a black eye-patch, his lips pressed into a straight line.

He was a pretty sight, indeed. Beautiful even. More handsome than any man, any knight you had ever seen.

But why was he there? Why was he at all?

“I can hear your breathing, princess.” God, his voice felt like a thousand little stabs, caused by the gentleness of a cloud. “Fear not. I wish to see you. ‘tis me, princess. I am your blood.”

After what felt like forever you slowly crawled back over the bed, but not yet enough to face him fully.

“What are you?” You heard yourself whisper in a voice that was your hardly your own.

What then happened was even more strange. His lips curved into a smile and it lit up his entire face. The dark, gloomy prince, who missed an eye, suddenly became something kind and gentle. It made you swallow.

“Not what, princess. Who. ‘tis me, your blood.” He repeated. “You may have heard of me. Aemond. Aemond Targaryen.”

That made you pause. And suddenly you felt nauseous.

Aemond Targaryen? The prince? The same prince who had died so long ago?

“What? You cannot be. Aemond Targaryen died and I am talking to a mirror, for the Gods’ sake! You can tell Cersei-“

“I am not sent by Cersei, princess.”

“Then who sent you?!” Your disbelief slowly turned into anger. Whatever trick this was, it felt cruel to you. You had no one after all. And to make fun of your parentage like this? It was simply cruel.

“No one sent me.” He sighed in a way that made you feel calmer than before, but also tired. “Let me see you, princess. I promise you, I will bring no harm your way.”

You fought and argued with yourself in your head. The clever thing would have been to discard the mirror and inform…Who would you even inform? No one spoke to you and no one would believe you. You would end up the mad girl. So, with a soft sigh of your own, you picked up the mirror, but you held it as far away from your body as you could. And then you faced him, very carefully.

He observed your reaction and his lip twitched in amusement.

“Look at that. The princess is fearless.”

You frowned at that. “I am no princess.”

His good eye shot open. “They poisoned your mind.” He murmured.

Your frown deepened. “Who?”

“The bad people.” He hummed softly. Everything about him was so…calm. “The lions.”

After a beat, he quietly asked: “Do you even know who you are?”

You had a rough idea about it, but you weren’t entirely sure. You knew your parentage held some kind of importance to some people, but that was in the past. You were left to fend for yourself, in a pit filled with lions, but no dragons in sight.

“I…”

He tsked softly.

“My darling, darling girl. It is about time your fire returned. And I will make sure it does.”

[mandalhoerian]

okay, so, this is a very layered scenario right here. like yes unrequited love, what tragedy, boo sylus for waiting and for his interactions with mc, but the more i read this, the more this situation is making sense to me -- at least from sylus's side.

1- the reader is katniss everdeen levels of unreliable narrator, and is so caught up in her own perspective that even sylus's offer to take her to her room that was OBVIOUSLY him making a subtle move didn't register. it was like him testing the waters with her in my opinion. not too on the nose, but still there, take it or leave it.

2- which brings me to his subtlety. this is STILL a boss-employee relationship. sylus has so much power over the reader, who, isn't the most stable of people and obviously owes sylus for getting her out of a slump. and she's not a normal employee either. she's a femme fatale type who uses her body to get people and is very much sexualized. this element puts such a delicate layer into the situation. sylus would NOT want to come across as wanting her for sex, he's already benefiting from honey trapping with her for assassination purposes and just saying it out loud could leave a stale taste in the mouths of many. not only would he not want to cross boundaries, he'd also give the choice/power to her in whatever happens between them, or if it happens at all. sylus is a gentleman and he has class, so i believe most of what he does is observing her for a SLIVER of a signal. he's also aware of the power imbalance, so i believe he's acting very accordingly here not to force her into anything. what's "he had four years to make me his" to the reader is much more complicated for sylus. or. i'm just reading too much into this 😭

3- in accordance with not forcing her into anything, just observing her and looking out for her, sylus shows king behavior and lets her do whatever she wants. i'm sure it's not easy for him to watch her go be with someone else, he also doesn't have the right to do anything about it. but he makes sure she's safe, you know?

4- what the reader has been doing to sylus is avoiding him. we're in her head too much to clock it on the spot, but she's very distant. we're at like what, chapter three? and she's had like a handful of interactions with him. we've seen her with mc more than we saw her with sylus. she's being distand with him. i'm not sure if he's aware of her pushing the mc onto him and acting weird in general while she thinks she's being slick, but i could see his natural reaction to be observing to see if he's right or to figure out what's up with the reader since he probably thinks he won't be able to get a straight answer out of her.

5- do we know this brown hair brown eye individual? i'm CURIOUS

anyway sorry for yapping, i really just have to continue reading lmfao

carpe noctem [ rising action ] | sylus

— summary: you’ve convinced yourself that this is normal. routine. that you’re used to this, sitting like a fly on the wall while their relationship blossoms like a flower turned towards the sun before you. so why does it still hurt? — cw: reader is not mc, reader implied to be femme, assassin!reader, unrequited feelings, mentions of blood & injuries, jealousy, profanity, sexual content, fade-to-black, self-destructive behavior, somewhat of a slow burn, mdni — notes: thank you so much for reading! [ part 1 | part 2 | part 4 ] — now playing: bmf - sza

Breakfast is uncharacteristically quiet. 

At least, for the three of you, it is. The silence makes way for the lazy swish of cars on the road, the clatter of cutlery against plates, and the idle chatter of the cafe’s other patrons. 

It’s balmy outside. The type of weather that pastes your blouse to your skin and creates a fine film of sweat on the back of your neck. The kind that welcomes mosquitos and makes showering beforehand pointless. And it’s so obnoxiously bright out, nary a cloud in the sky. But you figure you're being unreasonably antsy because you’re hungover and still a little tired. 

Despite the climate, your ragtag team is seated beneath a cafe’s awning, scarfing down food to battle the effects of your collective hangovers before jetting back to Linkon.

Typically, Ms. Hunter would be on about something, filling the space with her animated talk, with you and Sylus occasionally chiming in to tease her or exchange covert words concerning upcoming missions. But she’s still a little worse for wear, with dark lenses perched on her nose and a wrinkle between her brows as she pushes food around her plate.

You snort around a mouthful of eggs at her plight, tucking your amusement behind your hand. Decide to incite a little mischief to distract yourself from the weather and the creeping feeling of unease brewing in your gut. 

“Someone had a rough night,” you tease, reaching for your orange juice.

She glowers at you. Sticks out her tongue, flipping you the bird. You snort into your drink, nearly sending pulp flying every which way.

“Not my fault you have the tolerance of a three-year-old.”

Your eyes crease at the corners whilst you watch her work up to a retort, mouth hanging open like a fish out of water. But before she can get a word out—

“Ladies,” Sylus interjects like a distant clap of thunder pushing across a dark horizon. He’s seated between you at the round, iron-wrought table, arms crossed over a broad chest. Sunglasses shroud scarlet intentions, but you don’t miss the twitch of a silver brow nor the humor meddling with his voice. “Play nice.” 

There’s finality there. He speaks to you like a referee. Like a father who’s caught his children roughhousing, and you both shrink beneath his mock disappointment. 

“Besides,” Sylus continues, casting his amused gaze on you. “You weren’t in the best of shape yourself last night. Are you really in any position to talk?” 

A hot rush of mortification wades over you. You're unsure of its source, whether at your memories of last night or how quickly he came to her defense. 

And so what if you stumbled a bit down the hall, searching for your room? 

You didn’t think he noticed after your exchange. Figured he retreated into his room, or worse—slipped across the hall to keep his hunter friend company into the wee hours of the morning while you tossed and turned, driven to hell by thoughts of them doing everything besides sleeping. 

The recollection makes you bristle, and you turn a scowl down to your food. Grumbling, you plop a slice of toast onto the hunter’s plate. She glances at you, confusion pulling her lips down. 

“Eat,” you order. “Feed a hangover, starve a cold.”

“I don’t think that’s how that goes,” she counters, a pout evident in her voice. But she doesn’t protest, sitting up in her seat to nibble on your peace offering.

You resist an impulse to pat her head, your ire sloughing off, traded for something like fondness. You want to ruffle locks of silken ebony because she’s effortlessly adorable, pulling at those little heartstrings you’d worked so hard to conceal. 

Sylus beats you to the punch, leaning forward to mold long fingers around the round of her head. The world slows, casting a special spotlight on the pair of them. 

You ignore how your chest tightens at the scene. At the affectionate little tug of his lips as Ms. Hunter cants her face towards him, cheeks full and expression doe-like. You try to pretend like it doesn’t make you sick with resentment. Once upon a time, he used to look at you like that. 

Fuck. 

What are you thinking? He is your boss, and she is your charge—your friend. There’s no reason to feel like this, especially considering you practically shoved Sylus into her arms, reasoning you never stood a chance in hell with him. 

You snap back to the present, and suddenly, breakfast isn’t so appetizing. You push around your cold eggs as Sylus and Ms. Hunter slide into easy conversation. You feel like a husk of yourself amid them. Like you’re impeding on something intimate, and your stomach lurches when they draw you into their chat every so often as if pitying you.

You’ve convinced yourself that this is normal. Routine. That you’re used to this, sitting like a fly on the wall while their relationship blossoms like a flower turned towards the sun. And yet, you’ve never been more eager to return to the N109 Zone. To leave these green-eyed thoughts on this island and get back to your distracting life, luring terrible people to their demise and wiping the scourge of man off the face of the planet. 

You suddenly straighten, clearing the phlegm from your throat. Your silverware clatters against your plate as you shove it away, eyes regretfully shifting between them.

“So, what time do we leave?” There’s a whisper of exasperation in your tone, but you quickly conceal it with that playful arrogance you’re known for. 

Sylus and the hunter trade looks of confusion and humor, blind to the turmoil of your mind slowly creeping through the folds and staining your pride like ink spilled into water.

“Eager to get back to work, aren’t you?”

You scoff, taking up your fork, clueless to scarlet eyes studying the crown of your head, narrowing at the apprehensive slope of your voice. “You have no idea.”

—

It’s a pleasure to dance. Of course, it always is. It’s one of the few times you feel desired. Wanted. Useful when your hands aren’t speckled with blood and your knuckles aren’t purpling from bashing someone’s face in for taunting The Devil. 

Dancing is a versatile skill you’ve acquired with time and practice. It's one of the few pleasures you’ve drawn from this fickle life. One of the few things you kept from a past veiled in darkness, the rest tucked away in the hulls of your psyche.  

All eyes are on you. Gazes burning with assorted degrees of desire, envy, and awe beneath the tawny glow of the stage lights. The attention makes you warm and tingly, and your lips salaciously curve as you move your body in time with the music, casting an inadvertent spell on all who dare to watch. 

You’re the center of attention without trying to be and without the influence of your Evol. Of course, you usually are. He’s even told you so. Customers often flock to Sylus’ nightclubs to see you dance, hoping to one day have your affections. 

Or to fuck you. 

You rarely entertain these people. Not unless you have to. Not unless Sylus sicks you on them to further his goals or take down his competition. You’re ever the faithful lapdog, tuned to your boss’ every command, and it makes you sick with how loyal you are to him sometimes. A part of you feels you owe him for this life you lead. He’d snatched you from an impenetrable darkness. Renewed your sense of purpose and redirected your desire for revenge. 

For now, you have this. The recognition of others despite how misplaced it is. They want you for your body, for the promise of what your facade offers. Deep down, you crave something more, something real. But you tamp down those feelings as you bite your lip, putting on a good show, hands smoothing over the surge of your hips. And you’re spurred by the whoops and whistles and shouts of your name as the lights dim, signaling the conclusion of your performance.

Your chest heaves with the effort of breathing, and your cheeks ache with a smile as you pose. The crowd's cheers dampen the violent thrum of your heartbeat—chase away the cacophony of your mind, adrenaline spuming through you like an erupting geyser. 

You look over your shoulder towards the ceiling, catching scarlet-spun eyes from the upper floor’s rail, and your grin twitches the slightest bit. It’s a rush, having the attention of strangers. Having their desire, their yearning. But his attention is much more addicting like Nicotine furling between your teeth. For a moment, you feel seen. Like you’re the center of his universe, and not the pretty, bright-eyed damsel with enough room in her heart to house the galaxy.

Something flashes in his eyes, and the world fades. You mistake it for tenderness. Just wishful thinking. He would never choose you. He’s had four years to make you his. 

Why would he suddenly choose to acknowledge you now?

—

Once the adrenaline ebbs and clubbers flood the dance floor, you’re nestled behind the crowd, leaning against the sticky countertop of the bar, clutching a glass of something acrid and glacial between your fingers—something to take the edge off. To mute the insistent pulse of your nerves.

The music thumps beneath your feet, accompanied by the sparkling chatter of the club’s other clients. Yet you still hear him amid the chaos—the familiar curl of a voice around the vowels of your name. You fix him with an amused, sultry look beneath Lux’s customary red hue. 

“When are you gonna let me take you out on a date?” he asks, worn knuckles easing down the slope of your arm. You track his audacity with your eyes, jerking away from his unwarranted attention, ignoring the goosebumps igniting across your skin.

This, too, is routine—one of Lux’s regulars throwing himself at your feet, begging for an opportunity to court you.  He’s been on like this for months, entertaining your game of cat and mouse. Maybe you’ve given him a false sense of hope because he’s yet to let up. In fact, he’s grown bolder with his advances lately, often popping up when you least expect him, vying for your heart.

It’s endearing, really, having someone who genuinely wants you. Or maybe he doesn’t, but you convince yourself otherwise. Play a sick little game with yourself, fooling yourself into thinking that maybe there’s more to you than your reputation builds you up to be.

You turn towards him, crossing your legs, the leather barstool sticky beneath your thighs. You lean into your knuckles, studying dark brows, whiskey-infused eyes, and full lips. You end your excursion at the thick of his throat, excitement prickling like static in your chest. He’s easy on the eyes, tone velvet smooth. Had you not been a femme fatale, you might’ve given him the time of day.

But for now—

“You couldn’t handle me,” you counter, reveling in how the smugness melts from his face.

He chuckles at your cheekiness, sweeping the tails of his blazer back and stuffing his hands into his pockets. Squares his shoulders, standing akimbo like he’s preparing for a fight, though he might as well be, stepping to you like this.

“Still holding out for that old man, I see.”

It is your turn to wear a wavering smile. Your turn to look silly, the proverbial knife driven into your stomach and twisted. 

You scoff with a sneer, dumping the last vestiges of your drink down your throat. You tear yourself from your seat, reaching past the gentleman to snatch your coat from the counter, pinning him with a haughty look. 

“I’m not holding out for anyone, fucker. And even if I were, it wouldn't be your slow ass.”

With a huff, you brush past him, wending through the crowd gathered on the dance floor to retreat into your dressing room. 

You try vainly to contain a scowl, knowing you’ve been read like the deckled pages of a book deep down. 

Maybe you refuse to move on because you feel like you’d betray Sylus if you did. How, exactly, you’re unsure. He’s had no problem betraying you, quietly shoving you out of the picture in favor of someone who’s hardly seen him bleed. 

—

“Do you like anybody?” Ms. Hunter asks above the steady purr of the SUV’s engine.

Her question nearly floors you. Your grip on the steering wheel tightens slightly, and you almost choke on your spittle. 

You’re stuck in traffic together. 

Knowing the holidays loomed around the bend, someone decided it would be an ideal day to go to the mall. Of course, you weren’t the only people out on the road. 

So naturally, she’s bored, unused to the silence stretching between you. The low croon of the music spilling from the speakers does nothing to ease the tension.

You glance at her, and she’s wearing a Cheshire Cat-like grin, studying you from the passenger seat. You swallow thickly, adjusting your shades on your face, staring at the cars sluggishly easing up beyond the windshield. “I don’t like very many people.”

An exasperated sigh later.

“C’mon! There’s gotta be someone you like. Ya’ know.” She pitches herself closer, her mischievous grin curling in your periphery, and she pokes your side with a pointed finger to get a rise out of you. 

“Someone that gets your heart racing. Someone who makes your face all hot. Makes butterflies swarm in your tummy.” 

You know exactly where this is going. Had you not valued your friendship—or whatever you call this complicated mashup between you—you would reveal the inner workings of your mind. But how insane would you sound, telling the hunter the person who gets your blood racing is the very same man she has tucked in her back pocket?

So, you deflect. With a sardonic smirk, you jest, “You get my heart racing when you fuck up our meetings.”

You squint and flinch away with a laugh in your throat as she swats you, whining at your cruelty. 

“You suck,” pouts Ms. Hunter, falling back into her seat with crossed arms. “Bet it’s that guy who always stalks you at Lux.”

You side-eye her in the rearview, placatingly patting her head. “I like you, stupid. Isn’t that good enough?”

Maybe one day. 

One day, you’ll have the intestinal fortitude to tell her the truth—to tell them both the truth. How you’re falling apart at the stitching, the world you know falling away from beneath your feet.

—

You’re not as strong as you let on. You’re human beneath that flirtatious exterior—still a woman with wants and needs, not immune to the temptations of the flesh. Which is why you find yourself at his doorstep, a glacial, errant breeze ruffling the tails of your coat as the silvery moon haloes your silhouette.

He leans against the doorframe, brown eyes simmering with intrigue as he takes you in. Dark hair sweeps over raised brows. “What made you change your mind?”

You shrug, hands stuffed in your pockets, a quirk to your lips. “Maybe I just need a friend.”

He chuckles low, arms crossed. “A friend, huh?” 

“Yeah.”

There’s no mistaking the pitch of your voice. The air charges with something amorous as he ushers you into his apartment. You brush past him, tamping down your dignity as you disappear into the warm sanctity of his home, his hand reassuring at the small of your back.

Had you taken the time to survey your surroundings, you would’ve noticed a set of beady, crimson eyes peering through the inky night, watching you from their perch atop a powerline.

And had you further investigated, you would’ve heard the familiar whirr of machinery as the iridescent outline of sleek feathers recorded your every move.

conflict | masterlist | climax

[cocogum]

The Great Wave - Chapter 13 Review

‼️SPOILERS FOR THE CHAPTER‼️

We end up in a completely different place in the midde of...nowhere?

This floating rock is just chilling in the middle of the ocean, okay. Yeah that's fine. Just don't let any fishermen or adventurers notice you at all.

Oh! Maybe the reason why it's got nothing to worry about is because it's surrounded by a magic invisible barrier that doesn't let people outside notice it. Kinda like how Grougaloragran used the same method for Oma Island and how Phaerys used it at Yugo and Adamai's birthday party in the manga between season 2 and the ovas.

Uuuuhhh....

Uuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhh......!!!

UUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHH!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

IS THAT DARDONDAKAL!?!?!?!

I thought seeing Grougalorasalar was going to be enough for the Great Wave, but apparently, we're having another primordial dragon here! Nice ✨️✨️

For those who don't know, this new guy is Dardondakal, one of the six primordial dragons of the World of Twelve, which means he's also Grougalorasalar's brother.

In case we might see the other primordial dragons, here's a helpful reminder that shows you each of their names, dragon forms, and which dofus they originated from.

(You have no idea how helpful this image helped me through the years whenever I had to remember one of their names for an explanation. Only Aguabrial's name was the easiest to remember, and now Grougalorasalar's name became just as easy too. I feel like when we get a proper introduction for each dragon, it tends to become a lot easier to remember their names.)

Dardondakal actually looks nice in his human form, but I don't know who the dragon he's worryingly looking at is. But it's definitely another one of Dardondakal and Grougalorasalar's primordial brothers though (man so many dragon names are tiring my tongue out why are they so complicated to write and say??) so I'm betting my money on Terrakourial for being that possibility.

Awww???

Dardondakal has beef with Julith lol

You'd think it'd be awkward to face the wife of your deceased guardian who had also gotten falsely accused of killing said guardian 🥰🥰 but nope Dardondakal at least knows the truth but he's still mad that she's here and almost beat his ass.

Yeah, Jahash (a bontarian huppermage and the past leader of Bonta's army) is Dardondakal's guardian. You gotta watch the Dofus movie for that.

Bro's just standing there not even looking 😭😭 Also what is up with everyone choking people in this manga?? First it's Amalia getting choked in a dream, then It's Aurora choking Amalia, and now it's Julith getting choked by Dardondakal.

Like damn, twelvian people really love necks.

Back in the last chapter, I was unsure if Julith was wearing clothes underneath her cloak but now that she's moving more, I can safely say that she won't catch hypothermia any soon. But it is weird that she's still isn't seen talking...Like what is up with that?

Also even though I never expected Dardondakal to have been much softer than I realized, it makes some sense. The Dofus movie depicted Dardondakal and Grougalorasalar as opposites in every way. Even their colors are the opposite of each other. So I guess acting like the opposite of your brother was planned ever since the movie.

Dardondakal almost getting his ass beat by Julith seriously makes me wonder what he might've thought of her and his own guardian getting married together.

Like he obviously doesn't like her in the slightest and thinks she's way too rough and barbaric so just imagine how he might've reacted when he saw her and Jahash getting married and having Joris lol

...oh yeah uhhhh...Don't go to Brakmar rn Julith....Toross fucked it up. I wonder if we'll ever see its state in upcoming chapters or even in season 5...

But even when Dardondakal doesn't agree with Grougalorasalar's methods, he's still stubborn and doesn't change his ideas even when his brother tells him that it's kinda messed up.

Do you realize how far gone he is with his plans when even one of his brothers can't get to him??

I seriously wonder how the encounter with Yugo could've gone out if Dardondakal had been there with Grougalorasalar.

Either Yugo would only attack Grougalorasalar, or there would've been NO POISON AT ALL.

But wait...if the belladone poison never happened, then Amalia wouldn't have kicked the two useless royal osamodas out...

Okay you know what? It's actually a good thing that it was only Grougalorasalar and Julith who came. Because they unknowingly made Amalia push herself to kick the useless turds away.

And while I'm still thinking about it, I don't think Dardondakal, despite being the softer one between him and his brother, could've kept his cool better than him. He literally lunged at Julith's neck for being the reason why so many lives lost. And she wasn't even the one who initiated the sacrifice! It was Grougalorasalar! AND BRO KNEW THAT!

Everyone's a hypocrite in this family 😍

But even when I thought that Grougalorasalar would've revived Julith to assist his fights, I never would've imagined that he would have brought her back for 'non-combat' reasons. Like what is that supposed to mean??

Julith was called the butcher of Brakmar for a reason because she literally perfects in fighting. So telling Dardondakal that that's not what she's here for makes me wonder if she won't be there to manipulate a certain little blue-cloaked guy....

Oh god....

Is this why we can see Joris in a later chapter cover???

Is that why Julith is even there? To make sure that Joris meets her once more and they talk one on one??? For what reason?? To bring him to her side??? In the Dofus movie, younger Joris was with her during some of the events transpiring and he had legitimately thought that she would be good for some time but NOPE!

Joris won't get fooled twice. He was a kid back then. The thought of seeing his mother once more will obviously shock him because he knows she died back then. But there's no way he'll willingly come to her side.

It's time like these where you know no one knows what the hell they're doing 🥰🥰

I do agree on one thing with Grougalorasalar in this chapter: even if you think your ways are brutal and forceful, you'll have to apply them with the utmost confidence. You cannot be seen doubting yourself or look soft when you act. It'll just make you look like a wimp and especially someone who doesn't know what they're doing.

Also uhhh....Is something happening to their other brothers? The dragon we saw in the beginning was clearly one of them, which is why Dardondakal was seen shedding a slight tear. This entire cavernous room might as well be that very same dragon's lair, and Dardondakal just came to visit.

Grougalorasalar....Clean whatever shit your bothers are in BEFORE dealing with Yugo.

Like that is basic knowledge 101. You HAVE to deal with your own problems before messing with other people's problems.

Everyone here should go to therapy at this point.

I wonder what Joris will think about all this.

[bonbonrobespierre]

who's your favorite sibling (if you REALLY had to choose)

for research purposes 🥰

Hmmm.. well… Henriette was fun—sweet, kind.

Charlotte? Ah, Charlotte is… complicated. She’s smart, capable, overbe—protective, but we could’ve had a better relationship, you know? With all the things she’s done—well, let’s not digress (yet). She means well, but we could’ve had a slightly better relationship.

But Maximilien. Oh, Maximilien. My brilliant, unwavering, virtuous, magnificent older brother. A man of principle, of intellect, of unmatched integrity. the most unfaltering, dedicated, principled man to ever grace this wretched Earth. There is no one like him. I admire him, I revere him. I would follow him to the ends of the earth without question, without hesitation. His mind is unparalleled, his heart—despite what his detractors say—so immensely full of love for the Republic, for virtue, for justice. I trust him more than I trust myself, and if the world were a better place, everyone else would see what I see. Because anyone who says otherwise simply does not understand the magnitude of his greatness.

…But of course, I don’t have a favorite sibling. That would be absurd. Completely unreasonable. Unthinkable. Obviously.

[suzukiblu]

Thank-you sentences for Drakel behind the cut; "matchbox pockets". content warnings: Still dunno if this WIP is gonna be endgame clonecest but it is at least "the two people involved in this situationship literally do not know the difference between familial/romantic/platonic feelings" clonecest, so obvi we're still tagging for it. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

But he doesn't–where the fuck even is he, though? Where the fuck are–they, he guesses. He guesses now it's “they”, so . . . 

Superboy feels a lot of very weird and complicated things, having that thought. A lot of very weird and complicated things about being part of a . . . “they”, maybe.

He–isn’t that, very often. Like . . . just not that often. 

Pretty much fucking never, in fact. 

Pretty much definitely never, yeah.

“Don’t suppose you could, like, tell me where the fuck I am, huh?” Superboy asks the Pocket in an under-his-breath mutter as he tries to look a little closer around the room. He knows the little guy can’t tell him shit about shit, obviously, but just . . . it’s kinda . . . 

It’s definitely a cell or an exam room. Definitely not just, like, a fucking hospital. He’s almost never been in an actual hospital, and it was just to visit other people when he was. Not, like–for himself or anything. 

Like, obviously. Every time he’s ever needed any serious medical shit, it needed a fuckin’ geneticist involved. That’s–

The Pocket makes a very quiet sound Superboy’s never heard a Pocket make before. Never heard anyone make before. 

Except himself, he means. 

It’s small and melodic and–round, kind of, or . . . full, maybe is the word. He doesn’t really know how else to describe it. It’s–weird, he knows. Weird, so he doesn’t make it himself anymore. 

He snaps his eyes to the Pocket reflexively, feeling weirdly–alert, suddenly. The Pocket’s expression is blank, and he’s pointing at . . . his chest? His own chest, Superboy means, not his chest. Which . . . 

No, Superboy realizes. The Pocket’s pointing at the weird little tiny tattoo on his chest. 

. . . it’s a logo, isn’t it, Superboy realizes. It’s–it’s like a production label. 

Fuck. 

He doesn’t know it, though. Like–it’s obviously some lab’s logo, but not any lab he recognizes. Definitely not Cadmus or S.T.A.R. or Ivo Labs or LexCorp or hell, even friggin’ Ironworks. 

Well, the little guy’s told him more than he expected, either way. 

[apathetik12]

Okay, I’m going to explain what I mean a bit better.

Obviously, it doesn’t make sense on a surface level. They seem completely different. What I meant is, you need to look at their dynamics on a baseline level. Okay? Just try and understand my ramblings, please.

On a base level, they match each other’s freak. They’re both fucking crazy and instead of backing away, they get closer. Sure, there’s more to their dynamics and why one is more popular than the other, that was my b for not giving any context, but I mean it when I say that if Stone and Robotnik got just a little bit of emotional intelligence and settled down together, their relationship would be a lot like Tom and Maddie and if Tom and Maddie were to become evil, they’d both go to the ends of the Earth for both their goals and each other. Tom and Maddie are crazy (both for each other and what they believe in) and if they got a bit more unhinged, they’d prolly be just as/if not more destructive than everyone’s favorite evil situationship. If Stobotnik chilled tf out, they’d be in a similar situation to Tom and Maddie.

Tom put away everything for an alien hedgehog he just met and Maddie rolled with it. There was barely any questions or pushback, just understandable confusion. Even though these two are completely different characters than Stone and Robotnik, they share the fact that the other’s flaws and problems are a big part of what draws them in. Maddie was willing to be an accessory for treason for Tom, Stone was ready to throw away his job as a government official for the man that very government was trying to say didn’t exist. Tom’s first thought when there’s something he can’t handle is to go to Maddie, Robotnik goes to Stone when he needs something done for him (normally it’s coffee, but you can assume there’s more). Maddie was willing to die by Tom’s side for a blue hedgehog(who she trusted because he did), Robotnik was ready to die in an explosion to save Stone. Maddie was ready to move away from Green Hills so Tom could live out his dream, Stone took over a whole coffee shop so he could give Robotnik what he wanted. You need to realize that these characters have such complicated dynamics that boil down to “they might be crazy, but I’m crazier” and people only recognize it for Stobotnik.

Obviously there’s more to both relationships. What I meant when I said that people like Stobotnik more because it’s gay is not to push away the fact that they’re also liked because they’re villains (cause that is a big part of it). I’m just saying that if it wasn’t or if Tom and Maddie were also homos, I feel like the ship would get more recognition. (Plus, to point out another reblog while I’m at it: I get the doomed part is a good chunk of why it’s so popular, but I’m also including before the third movie and the fact that Tom and Maddie is how I envision Stobotnik if they were happy for once in their lives)

Hot Take: Tom and Maddie are just Stobotnik if they weren’t evil and were instead domestically married.

People just don’t like them as much because they aren’t gay.

[awakefor48hours]

You ever just think about the fact that being a momma's boy is the reason why Mark can help save the universe from Viltrumite take-over

[wiisagi-maiingan]

I am actually a Native person who has always gone by animal names, both my deadname and every name I've used as a trans person, and I think if you have a Native character who you feel would have a nature name (because of hippy parents or because they're trans or whatever), then you can avoid stereotypes by having ~more than one Native character~

I know, it's a shocking concept, but it's actually pretty easy to avoid contributing to stereotypes in your works when you remember that you are allowed to have more than one character from the same ethnic and/or racial group. Just have a different Native character with a "normal" name. Problem solved. Have fun.

[musicalsilence]

I've seen people make this claim before, and I have to say that I think you all are fundamentally misunderstanding what an NFT is.

First of all, NFTs have absolutely nothing to do with AI, 0 things in common except that when people started getting mad at AI they decided to start pretending that it was somehow the same thing as NFTs.

Second of all, the problem with NFTs was never that they were useless and ugly. The problem was that they were a foot in the door to expand usage of the blockchain.

I won't get into all the details here, but suffice it to say that crypto nerds tried to make a system that was immune to fraud as a part of their libertarian master plan to get rid of all regulations. However, libertarians are not that smart, and fundamentally misunderstood where fraud was coming from. So instead of making a system that was immune to fraud, they created a system that had *no recourse* to fraud. Once you got scammed, there was no way for you to get un-scammed. No way to give you your money or your NFTs back without *every single user* consenting to a chain wide rollback. And obviously that would never happen.

And so NFTs and crypto became synonymous with a community based around fraud and scamming idiots out of their money. That's the issue with NFTs. Not some vague "technology is bad" sentiment.

Another thing about people being dumb about ai, it's like, hey, maybe we were too hard on nfts? It's the same people complaining, just saying. Idk why we were getting so mad about *checks notes* people selling pictures that were king of ugly

idk i think nfts deserved the hate. it's true that their environmental impact was wildly overstated but they were, like, a scam. whatever you think of chatgpt or midjourney, they are, in fact, functional products that do something. nfts were a ponzi scheme with extra steps

[mollysunder]

I think it was a mistake for s2 of Arcane to gloss over the implications of Amara and the Black Rose's deception in Mel's story because it fundamentally unmoors her perspective. Mel believed that violence like war could be avoided through diplomacy, and she applies that philosophy by maintaining the complex political environment in Piltover where every house is in some way content.

In the face of the nobility's discontent with Jayce's anti-corruption measures, Mel sought to appease them to stave off retaliation. Through her lesson to Jayce, Mell didn't just help potentially enrich her colleagues but also the woman and by extension the organization that KILLED HER BROTHER AND STOLE HER FAMILY'S ASSETS.

Can you imagine the horror and disgust she would feel at having trusted Piltover to be different? Mel thought she understood the game but she wildly underestimated the machinations of the nobility in Piltover. Mel accepted Piltover's corruption as a means to avoid violent conflict, only to indirectly enable the recent violence harped upon her own family. And the worst irony is that even though politics and corruption have largely been viewed as a cynicism game, for Mel this was an avenue she genuinely believed conflict could be avoided but in fact it was just more insidious.

The opera scene was a lesson for Jayce in politics, but the effects should be the real education for Mel as she heads to Noxus. From what I can tell Noxus is in its pre-Trifarix but post-First Invasion of Ionia, which means Swain has his demon powers but he hasn't overthrown the emperor yet. She will probably ally with him as they're both opporpsed to the Black Rose's existence, however once he's in power he will alienate a large portion of the nobility as they root out the Black Rose's influence.

The challenge for Mel (possibly as Guile) is to deal with these disgruntled nobles because as Piltover proved, you can appease them through corruption all you want, but once their ideology is truly set against you, diplomacy becomes a far more complicated balancing act.

[sooz-again]

I'm just going to make a quick sketch, I said. It's going to be simple and fun and chill, I said, completely forgetting I have no chill.

[rystiel]

what’s kinda crazy is that, had filbrick been a better father and raised them in a loving home, the twins probably could’ve actually made a lot of money for the family… stan was never accommodated for while growing up so he never got to demonstrate his smarts (and he is very smart, he taught himself advanced math and shit while building a long-lasting business from scratch, man), and instead he was made to feel more and more worthless, like he had nothing to contribute to the world—the only purpose he was able to find was to always be there for his brother. what was he if he didn’t have a brother to be there for anymore? of course he would eventually lash out over losing ford (and accidentally ruin ford’s project in the process). on the other hand, ford had so much pressure on him that he pushed himself too hard to prove just how smart he was. to prove that he was the best. he needed to hear how smart he was, because what was he if he wasn’t a genius? of course bill’s manipulation worked on him. of course he wanted to make something that could change the world despite the potentially dangerous nature of it, something that would put his name in the history books. his only value was to bring success to his family, and this was how he was going to do it. if stan had been encouraged and supported, he could have used his skills to find success. if ford hadn’t been put under so much pressure, he wouldn’t have needed to turn to a literal demon so he could prove himself. he could’ve focused on the other groundbreaking research he already had in gravity falls. stan probably never would have broken that project in the first place and ford would’ve made it to his dream school, just like filbrick wanted.

[beneath-themilkytwilight]

"wow I can't believe the doctor went from being Clara's boyfriend to her father when he regenerated!!" INCORRECT the doctor went from being her boyfriend to her OLDER BOYFRIEND

[anxiousapplepie]

What's the most interesting aspect of magic you can talk about without spoilers.

OKAY so the thing I find most interesting isn't spoilers, but it's gonna foreshadow a bunch of character arcs! So bear with me for a sec! >:3 Most Roses are born with white hair, and while growing up and gaining their first real sense of "Self and personality" their hair will change color to match that. Anywhere between the ages of 3-18 is when a Rose can start getting their first color, and their magic develops with that color! However, after the age of 18 there's a split in Rose Culture about how flexible you're supposed to be with your hair color. Wild Roses think it's normal and expected to go through multiple colors over the course of your life, while City Roses think the first color you get is the color you're supposed to develop and strengthen for the rest of your life. Any deviations from your "first color" is seen like breaking an oath or doubting yourself, and the social expectations to live up to your color's stereotype and magical strengths is something I'm gonna be exploring in both the worldbuilding and character arcs in the RK story.