#prime example of me yelling into the void

[saph-yells-into-the-void]

ive seen a lot of ppl say that masumi felt like queerbait bc of how she was implied to be a lesbian during the main series, but was shown married to a man in the epilogue.

and I just... think that's the wrong idea to have?

just because she married a guy doesn't mean she isn't queer. she IS. she likes woman and was into futaba, but now there's this question of her also being into men. it all depends on how you interpret the ending tbh but the way i look at it, if she is then that makes her bi. which is still queer?

at most it's misleading but considering this whole manga is about change, im not surprised that they pulled that masumi turned out to be into guys after all.

identity and sexuality is a weird thing. you can think you're not into one gender, and then later in life it turns out you are. besides, she was in HIGH SCHOOL. a lot changes from high school to be a grown ass adult.

masumi later realizing she's into men as well as women ties into the themes the ending was trying to portray. and that is that high school is such a small part of your life and that a lot can change after that. throughout life you are always going to be figuring yourself out, and that includes identity and sexuality

so idk it just pisses me off when ppl say that the end result for masumi's character was queerbait when it very clearly isnt.

at worst it's misleading but at best it's one of the best examples of the manga's core themes.

[tinyaibou]

sonic prime wishlist (predictions?)  🔮✨

I’ve already yelled about this on twitter I just like. I have some hopes for what Season 2 will bring 

SP s2 is a roadtrip show where Sonic and Shadow learn to get along through working together ( or maybe less get along and more...finally properly communicate with each other. let’s release the tension surrounding that “it’s complicated” aspect of their relationship. get some catharsis , maybe even a proper “flashback” to whatever caused the schism in their relationship in the first place...or whatever the fuck their deal is. Like already Shadow’s begun to put his trust in Sonic no matter how begrudging it is, so it’d be nice if they got closer just in general-- maybe crack open just a bit of Shadow’s hard outer shell. 

The alternate universe versions of Sonic’s friends are actually essential to getting the Paradox Prism pieces back together - I’m imagining since Sonic can’t physically touch the shards, but -- If I remember correctly: other character’s *can*. The goal then must be to convince whoever in each of the shatterspaces has possession of the shard to come with Sonic to the ghost “Home” shatterspace and arrange the crystals together

What are the consequences of putting the crystal back together - like does it mean that the whole shatterspace is destroyed? Some part of me hopes that even once the status quo is restored that these new friends can still be visited -- give some weight to the fact that they’re separate people from Sonic’s own friends.

Though another part of me feels like it should be a kind of...synching together type of effect: Everything got shattered so everybody and everything is a separate component of themselves....(and more obviously how they would be like without Sonic.). So the first shard in restores part of the appearance of the ghost Home world, make it feel more alive, make the hollow projections of Sonic’s friends more whole. 

alternatively it’s like.. For example, if Nine were involved he’d slowly gain more of Tails’ memories? 

Though again I don’t like that so much -- I do much prefer Nine’s own deal and personality or whatever to be retained and for him to be his own person. (pet peeve of mine stemming from the storybook series LOL) 

I NEED TO SEE WHATS UP WITH THE VOID 

this HAS to happen. 

plus it would be nice -- this episode already has lots of REALLY GOOD parallels between sonic and shadow so for the bookends here um I’m just saying it would be really good if Shadow had to save Sonic from THE VOID!!!!!

or you know. all his friends together. whatever. 

[amuseoffyre]

🦅

🦅 Do you outline fics or fly by the seat of your pants?

I'm a pantser through and through. Generally I write, I throw a chapter into the void, and I make up the next bit as I go, trusting the ol' noggin will do it's thing and work around what I've done already.

However, I have to confess I'm also familiar enough with the way my brain ticks that I can tell when I need to hold back a story in case it gets complicated.

Prime example of this is the difference between the way I wrote Turning Tides and then the follow-up. Turning Tides started life as a bunch of one-shot scenes that I wanted to write, but that picked up a plot along the way. I was almost done with it when my brain politely tapped me on the shoulder and pointed out all the breadcrumbs I'd been setting in place for a sequel I didn't know I was going to write.

Storm Surge is an entirely different animal. I thought I knew the general shape of how it would go, but halfway through chapter 1, I got the prickle of no, something else is happening, something bigger is happening here and I don't know what it is and if I post this now without finding out what it is, then I may shoot myself in the foot later.

So, against all my usual habits, I held it back and held it back and I'm so glad that I did because every. bloody. chapter. the characters were getting away from me and complicating things. The cunning plan I thought was very good would have been stymied by x character joining in, but then Y character joined in adding another variable. By the end of it, I had 5 different factions with clashing and/or overlapping plans and felt like I was juggling chainsaws.

And then when I finished it, I went back and read the two series back to back from start to finish and realised I'd set up the Big Dramatic Bit in Storm Surge in the very, very first scene I wrote :D

My brain keeps its secrets from me, but it just means that I get the reveal exactly the same way a reader does and yes, I do yell and almost yeet the laptop across the room when the plot twists happen because even though I write them, I don't see them coming.

[arts-and-drafts]

Linger (Hermit Tommy AU)

(A discussion about scars. This one has been in the bucket for a long time, and it's finally done! Enjoy!!)

TW: Permanent injury, bodily harm, scars, overdose mention

-

Tommy's in pain.

The hermits mistook his ever tense posture for wariness, his pinched expression seeming only a front to those Tommy distrusted. They hope it will ease with time, and they are patient.

They turn out to be right. Slowly, Tommy gets used to them, relaxes, smiles more and yells less.

But he's still tense, and his face still twists occasionally in what the hermits start to realize is hurt rather than intimidation after completing simple tasks like lifting shulker boxes.

It's False who notices Tommy's not right handed.

He's a damn good fighter, as dirty as his shots are and as rough his technique is. Tommy fights like his life depends on it, and in that situation there's no room for fancy footwork or skillful swordplay. But looking impressive is not a requirement for being good at PVP, and the scuffed up teenager is a prime example of that.

Tommy's scars are evidence that he just encountered someone better.

Besides his crude offensive, False notices he's also clumsy. Tommy always draws his weapon with his left, and yes, he switches to his right as soon as it's in his hand, but as sporadic as Tommy likes to be, that doesn't add up.

False sees him get jumped by a creeper, once, and in the miniscule time alloted to attack, Tommy drew and swung with his left. Instinctually.

False then sees him grimace when the creeper explodes, and he drops his weapon to knead his left shoulder. That is when it clicks.

"Tom." False tries to sound casual on break from sparring with the kid the next day, watching him carefully from her periphery while she feigns busying herself with her water bottle.

Tommy grunts in acknowledgment, and False takes a breath.

"How come you always switch to your right when you're fighting?" She treads carefully. Tommy doesn't like it when the hermits pry, and he definitely doesn't like it when they're as observant of him as False is.

Thankfully, it doesn't look like Tommy reads into the question too much. "I'm right handed." He says simply, and False knows it's a lie, but his nonchalance would absolutely fool her if she didn't know the truth.

Now is when False would normally nod, and change the subject. But Tommy's hurting, and a part of her just can't let that go.

"See, you're not." False says lightly, abandoning all pretense. Tommy tenses next to her, more than he already is.

"You draw with your left. You wouldn't do that if you were right handed. Why don't you fight like that?" False asks. She doesn't grill him on how he got hurt, or why he hides it. She's being risky enough as is with her flat-out asking, and she's not certain she'll get an answer from the kid if she pushes any further.

Tommy swallows, and his left hand flexes unconsciously. "It, uh. Hurts." Tommy says. False waits patiently.

"I got hit. There. By a Wither, y'know." Tommy continues, and False finally feels a different emotion than calm worry. Sympathy and slight horror twist in her chest, and she's thankful she doesn't need to speak so Tommy can keep talking.

But he doesn't talk, and instead pulls off his shirt in the most difficult way possible since he moves his left arm as little as he can. False's eyes widen as blackened skin is revealed, spreading over the poor kid's entire left shoulderblade and down his arm and chest, dangerously close to his heart. If False were to touch it, she'd know the skin would be cold and dead, barely hanging on to Tommy's body anymore.

False lets out a horrified breath instead, feeling as if the wind got knocked out of her lungs.

There is no cure for being withered, if you don't have milk on hand directly after a hit. Those marks stay with you for life.

But Tommy is 16. Tommy has barely started his life, and he's already bearing an injury that will last with him until the end of his time. False feels bile rise in her throat. Whether it's cause of grief or anger, she can't tell. All she knows is that Withers aren't made on accident. There is a story here.

A story she has no right to know.

"Gods, Tommy, I'm--I'm sorry." False utters helplessly, because she just doesn't know what else to say. Tommy stiffens.

"Not your fault." He says curtly, his words edged with a familiar tone of sharpness that he takes when he feels someone is taking pity on him. False scrambles to save the situation.

"Scar's had some run ins with a Wither. Impulse, too." False comments, and pretends not to see Tommy's face flicker in surprise.

"I'm sure they have some tips, if you're interested." False continues, holding back the desperation she feels with every drop of willpower she possesses to not scare Tommy off. "You'd be a much better fighter if you could use both hands." She adds gently, and a wave of relief crashes over her as Tommy's eyes light up with recognition of opportunity.

Tommy utters an eerily mischievous laugh that False can't help but smile at. "Ohhh-ho, I'm gonna be so fuckin' powerful--they call me dual blade Innit!! I'm gonna dual blade your ass!"

False laughs out loud at that, the icy horror in her chest loosening for only a moment. "Void help us." She comments sarcastically. "Go on then, see Scar first. He's got magic crystals that I hear are good to help pain."

Tommy's face flickers, so quickly that False barely sees it before it's gone. But the expression was bare exhaustion, a kind of weariness that False has never really seen before.

False could guess that Tommy's been in pain for most of his life. No wonder he's tired. No wonder he nearly overdosed on gapples for the absorption they provided when exposed to the hermit's infinite supply. No wonder he doesn't move quickly unless he has to.

Several things click into place as Tommy pulls his shirt back over his head, and the conclusion leaves a lead weight in False's gut.

It's not her business to know what happened to this boy barely old enough to attend MCC that gave him lifetimes of scars both inside and out. She knows her fellow hermits who have been her friends for years have secrets they will never share, and she's made her peace with that a long time ago. For Tommy, it's no different.

But as False watches him gingerly make his way down from the top of her base to the portal, she just wants to know why that fate was seemingly a deserving one for a child to bear.

END.

[nastybuckybarnes]

Monsters  -  Ten

Pairing: Dark!Bucky X Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes is a man who just wants to do better. But he can’t stop the monster from coming out every now and then. As a last and hopeless attempt at calming The Winter Soldier, SHIELD finds him something they figured would help. An innocent young woman with not a lot going for her. Or, The Winter Soldiers newest victim.

Warnings: Language, Violence, Injuries, Murder

Word Count: 2.8K

A/n: Here we go. The last part! Enjoy this. What a fucking ride. I will 100% answer any questions and write little blurbs if you guys want!!

THIS IS A DARK FIC WITH SEXUAL AND TRIGGERING CONTENT!!!

SORRY IF SOME TAGS ARE FORGOTTEN!!!!

Series Masterlist

~*~

“(Y/n)? Honey? You in here?” Bucky hesitantly pushes open the front door, senses on high alert in case you make a hostile move.

“James?”

He walks slowly into the living room, smiling softly when he sees you.

“Hey,” he whispers. You eye him warily and he sighs.

“I’m sorry,” he begins gently, sitting down next to you, “I know what I did was wrong, and I know it looks like I chose her over you, but I’m here for you now. And I’m gonna be here for you as long as you’ll have me.”

You stare at him for a moment longer before grinning.

“You need me,” you state. He looks at you, waiting for you to continue. “That’s why you came back,” you elaborate, “because you need me. Because you know that Natasha won’t be able to handle you the way I can.”

He swallows hard, thinking back to the way Nat was appalled by the video.

“You’re right.”

You giggle, shaking your head at him. “I know. I know I’m right. I’m the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to you! You’d be lost without me and you’re now realizing it, aren’t you?” His guard is up in an instant, your outburst making him uneasy.

You get up off the couch to stand in front of him, hands on your hips.

“You hurt my feelings, James.” He nods, reaching for your hands slowly. You allow him to take them and watch as he presses gentle kisses to your knuckles.

“I know. And I’m sorry. And you’re right again. I do need you. More than I’ve ever needed anybody and that scares me.” You ponder this for a moment, thinking about all the pictures he received.

“How long were you with her?” He sighs heavily and closes his eyes tightly.

“A month. Maybe longer. At first, she was just something for the soldier when you weren’t there but... I’m not sure why I kept going back. I care about you, I really do.” You hum, pushing his hands away and straddling his waist.

You lean down, lips brushing over his just gently before you smile again.

“I fucked Steve last night. Several times.” A growl rumbles deep in his chest and you pull away for a moment, grinning wickedly as you see his eyes glaze over slightly. His hands grip your hips tightly and he takes a deep breath.

“Your best friend fucked me. For hours. Because you were too busy picking that stupid fucking bitch over me. That’s a lesson for you. I can get whoever I want, whenever I want. You need me, not the other way around. Remember that.” You push yourself off of his lap and walk to the staircase.

“In time you can have me again. But not now. If the soldier needs me, he can have me, but not you, James. Not yet.” He sits panting on the couch, eyes trained on your backside as you leave him confused and aroused.

You close the door to your bedroom and plop yourself down on your bed, ignoring the nagging voice in the back of your mind, the one that’s begging you to leave him. He hurt you, but he’s back. He must care about you or else he wouldn’t have come back, right?

As you’re pondering this, the window slides open with a soft thud. You turn to the sound, anger coursing through your veins as you see the redhead climbing into your room.

“What are you doing here?” You demand, uncurling your legs and climbing off the bed. She closes the window silently and holds her hands up in surrender.

“I just want to talk. Please.” You eye her warily but stay seated at the edge of the bed.

“He came home to me. He chose me. So if you’re gonna try and convince me that he wants you, think again,” you snark, hoping to hurt her feelings before physically hurting her again.

She shakes her head, sitting down slowly on the floor a few feet in front of you, giving you the upper hand if you wanted to get physical.

“He doesn’t deserve you.” You furrow your brows in absolute confusion at her statement. You were expecting a lot of things; yelling, screaming, insults, violence. But this is the absolute opposite of what you had prepared yourself for.

“You don’t even know me,” you scoff, shaking your head at her.

She raises her eyebrows at that. “I know about your parents. Your dad, the paranoid schizophrenic who abused you because he thought he was doing what God wanted. And your mom, the Narcissist who neglected you.”

Your hands start trembling as she brings up people who you’ve fought to forget. The people who made you the way you are.

“You don’t know anything about them. Or me. You’re just-” “Just what? Telling you the truth? Reminding you of the fact that you were raised by them, yet you turned out to be a beautiful, smart, independent young woman?” You look at her, uncertain of where she’s going with this but still angry at the fact that she knows about your past.

“You may have been raised by them, you may have had a difficult childhood, and you may be dealing with something that very few other people can understand, but that doesn’t make you a bad person. You’re not a bad person. You’re hurting, and you’re scared, and I know deep down that you know this isn’t a healthy relationship. But it can stop. We can stop this.”

You look down at your hands, her words bouncing around in your brain. The rational part of you, the part that you spent years trying to bring to the surface, tells you to hear her out, to listen to what she has to say. The other part, the part that has been clawing at its cage for years, tells you to punch her in the throat for even speaking to you.

“I love him,” you say. The words sound forced, even to you. She shakes her head and crawls forward, taking your hands in hers and looking up at you with honest eyes.

“You’re lonely, and he fills that void.” You shake your head, sniffling then glaring at her and wrenching your hands out of her grasp.

“You’re just trying to get me to leave him so that you can have him all to yourself!” Natasha falls back a bit, shaking her head at you and trying to get you to understand.

“No, (Y/n). After what you showed me... I know I’m not strong enough to handle him... I could never endure what you have.” You glare at her, calming down slightly at her admission and at the fact that she realizes that you’re stronger than she is. Mentally, at least.

“So what do you want, then?” You ask.

“I want you to leave him. I want you to pack your things and leave. You deserve so much better than him. I’ll help you go off the grid, start a new life. You’ve done it once, you can do it again.”

You shake your head at her, taking a deep breath. “I can’t. It’s too hard. I don’t want to try anymore. At least now I don’t have to hide anything. I can just... exist.” She crawls forward and rests a hand on your knee.

“You deserve to do more than just exist. You deserve to live, to have a life. And not be afraid of the people around you.” You let out a shuddering breath and nod.

“Fine. What is it exactly that you’re offering? You say you want to help me. Why? Why do you want to help me so badly? And how do I know you’re not just doing this so you can have him?”

She scoffs, the very idea of having him making her feel uneasy. “After seeing the way he treated you, I don’t want him.”

“How do I know you’re not lying.”

“You don’t. But I wouldn’t be here, begging you to leave him and offering to help you escape if I was lying.” She takes your silence as an acceptance of her words and nods.

“I’ve got a safe house set up. No one knows about it. I can take you there tomorrow morning and-” She stops speaking abruptly, rising to her feet and hurrying to the window. She looks outside then curses.

Three black SUVs pull up in front of the house, Fury stepping out of the one in front while two tactile teams get out of the other ones.

“They know I’m here. They must have followed me.”

She turns back to you, her face unreadable.

“We need to leave, now. If they know I’m here then they know I’m talking to you, trying to convince you to leave. I don’t know what Fury has planned but I know it won’t end well for you. Especially not after you stabbing James.”

You rise to your feet quickly, turning to the door as you hear footsteps clomp up the stairs.

“Out the window, c’mon.” You follow her to the window and right as she’s opening it, the bedroom door bursts open.

“Agent Romanoff.” Natasha freezes, turning around and staring at Fury.

“Fury,” she says, voice lacking emotion.

“I think you know what needs to happen here,” he says. Steve and Bucky come up on either side of him, Steve with his arms crossed over his chest and Bucky with a blank look on his face.

“I’m not going to let you get away with this. We’re supposed to be better than HYDRA. Kidnapping an innocent woman and conditioning her to become a fucking sex slave? No! That’s not us!”

“Soldier.” Fury nods to the two of you and Bucky walks over, prying you away from Nat.

“No! Let her go!”

You’re roughly tossed to the ground in the middle of the room and the Soldier grabs Natasha’s flailing figure, stopping her from moving.

“Captain.” Steve grabs you by the arms and hoists you to your feet.

The situation feels like a setup and you glare at the four of them.

“This is your fault!” You snarl, glaring at Natasha. She shakes her head desperately.

“No, (Y/n)! I didn’t know they’d come, I swear!” You shake your head.

“You’re weak people. You’re weak fucking people! You act like you’re all high and mighty but you’re fucking cowards who can’t deal with the problems you’ve created!”

“Oh, we can deal with them. You’re a prime example of that.” You stop squirming to stare at him, eyes widening as he pulls a gun from his pocket.

“You’re a fucking coward! You’re a pathetic excuse of a man and you’re going to rot in hell for everything you’ve done! For the lives you’ve taken! You’re going to die a slow and painful death and you’ll suffer!”

You stomp on the captain’s foot and he jolts back a step, allowing you to slide out of his grasp and onto the floor.

The click of the gun has everyone freezing and you stare up at the man holding the gun to your head.

“Nick, don’t! You’ve got no reason to kill her! Let her go! We can start her up with a new life! A new home. No one will know! Just please, she’s done nothing wrong,” Nat pleads, wriggling in the Soldier’s hold. His eyes are hollow, nothing like the steely grey you’ve come to know.

“She stabbed one of my best men and kidnapped my best woman. Why shouldn’t I?”

Your heart pounds against your ribs, each beat shaking your skull. Your fingertips tremble and your palms are clammy as you stare at the one eye of the man who means to kill you.

“Because then we’re the monsters she thinks we are. She’s scared. She’s terrified of us. But we can show her we aren’t the bad guys. Please.”

Your chest heaves and you can feel tears prickling your eyes but you don’t let them fall. If this is your last moment, you won’t let it be one of weakness.

“We have a chance to prove that we’re the good guys. Don’t pass it up,” Natasha whispers.

Fury eyes you for a moment longer, then glances over to the redhead.

She’s pleading with her eyes. He doesn’t look away from her as he addresses you.

“Miss (Y/l/n), we thank you for all you’ve done for us and your sacrifice, but the position is being terminated. We are no longer in need of your services.”

Nat’s opening her mouth to protest but a gunshot rings out loud and clear, silencing her before she could say a word.

Your body collapses on the carpet, red spilling from the hole in your head.

Natasha’s scream of anguish makes Steve visibly flinch, and the fight returns to her body.

“You fucking monster!” She shrieks, tears blurring her vision as she struggles to escape the hold of the monster holding her.

“All of you! You’re all fucking monsters! She was good! She could’ve restarted her life! You’re all disgusting fucking people! How could you?!”

She sobs loudly, eyes on your lifeless body.

“Agent Romanoff, it seems you’ve lost your edge. I think it’s time we re-teach you some things from your past.”

Fury nods to the doorway and the Soldier carries the fighting redhead out of the bedroom, stepping over your lifeless body as if it means nothing.

Steve clenches his jaw, nodding at Fury despite the little voice in his head telling him ‘this is wrong’. That voice gets silenced quickly when Steve remembers what you did and what your purpose was.

The four people leave the house, the Soldier shoving Nat into the backseat of an SUV while Fury gets into the passenger’s seat, a little red book in his lap.

He’ll make this right. So right that no one will remember a thing.

[hibiscusangel15]

Phantasma

Okay, so I saw an interesting, angsty post by @cruelfeline​ that wondered if Hordak could feel himself hurting Entrapta when Horde Prime possessed his body. The initial idea then kinda wrapped into a vague idea I had about the Horde clone hive mind, so here’s this lol.

Summary: Hordak's body was not his own. It had always belonged to Horde Prime since the moment he'd been created.

Or, a look into the clone hive mind when Horde Prime possessed Hordak in Heart, Part 2.

Rating: Teen and Up

*Also crossposted to AO3 and FFN!

If you like my fic, please consider buying me a coffee!

Despite everything he'd been taught, he knew Horde Prime did not know all. He did not see all.

A blasphemous thought to hold, and yet, if Prime himself did not see it—did not know it by now—then what else could he not foresee? What else did he not know?

The clone had cradled other blasphemies once, too. A life outside of the hive mind. An army he dared to call his own. A name.

Memories of a time long past. A time where in his darkest heart of hearts, he had dared to wish that Prime would never find him.

And now time had caught up to him. Now the woman at the very center of his blasphemous thoughts was on her knees jeering at Horde Prime.

He clutched the crystal he'd scavenged the other day in his hand. It was the catalyst, the first spark of defiance. A treasure that he might call his own.

The hive mind was filled to the brim with love for Prime. None dared to question his rule, and so none ever suspected this single clone's treachery.

Not until he hesitated to silence the little rebel before him.

Thoughts that were not his own trawled along the edge of his mind.

What are you waiting for, brother?

Destroy her.

Millions of thoughts grasped intangibly around him, as if his brothers wished to take the cannon from his arm themselves. Ghost hands crept along his scalp, over his face, his chest, urging him to get it over with.

She is not worthy of basking in Prime's light.  Dispose of her already.

Not worthy of his light. They were right about one thing, at least.

Entrapta was a light all her own. She outshone everyone, even Prime himself.

Go on, brother.

Hurry before you anger Prime, brother.

Do it now, brother.

Brother!

He turned his cannon onto Horde Prime and opened fire with a cry. 

“I am not your brother.”

Confusion and outrage blistered in the hive mind. The ghost feeling of hundreds of hands, once so reassuring, relinquished its awful hold over him.

"You made me in your image, but I am more than that!"

The clone carried Horde Prime by the jaw, dangling him over the edge of an endless precipice. "I gave myself a name. I made a life of my own! I made...."

He looked back at Entrapta. The woman who mocked Horde Prime to his face. The woman who coordinated a strategic counterattack against the chipped Etherians. The woman who snuck into his sanctum and dared to call his imperfections beautiful.

"A friend."

Yet another blasphemy before Prime's light. But could friendship truly be blasphemy? Could love?

If it was, he'd rather be a sinner than exalted by a god.

“I am Hordak, and I defy your will!”

His fingers went slack, and Horde Prime was no more.

It was over. Entrapta was safe.

Right as he turned to free her, everything vanished. The ship was gone. Entrapta was gone. There was nothing but a pure white void all around him. Hundreds of hushed voices echoed through the very air of this space.

Hordak whirled around. The noise ceased.

A large screen gleamed before him. It showed the image of where he’d been standing not too long ago. He walked to it, swiping a curious hand down the screen as if it would open for him. Its texture was like that of hot gelatin. No residue came off on his hand, but he wiped the unpleasant feeling off on his leg anyway.

He heard Entrapta laugh and say something. The sound rippled around the space, distorting and warping until it became unrecognizable noise.

And then his brother’s laugh rang so distinct and clear, Hordak had to clap his hands over his ears.

No.

“Ah, little brother. So it’s true. You have been thoroughly corrupted.”

A dark mass writhed behind him. Green lights hovered in the space where its eyes should be. Four very familiar eyes burned with rage and scorn.

Horde Prime. Horde Prime had seized control of his body.

“So be it!”

The mass rushed at him, through him to the screen.

His breath caught when the screen moved towards Entrapta. On her face was an expression he’d never seen. No matter how many times he’d growled at her or snapped at her to leave him be, she never seemed threatened by him. Never feared him.

Her look of abject terror etched itself into his mind, and he slammed a fist against the screen.

“No! Entrapta! Get away!” he yelled.

Horde Prime tugged her off her feet by her hair. Her scream tore something within him. He was hurting her.

Hordak could feel each individual strand thrashing against his own hand, trying to pry his grip open. Her hair was being too gentle with him. Too subdued. She was strong enough to push him, if necessary. His defect would make it all too easy. So why couldn’t she do it?

“You have forced my hand. I will unleash the Heart, and so we shall die in cleansing flame together!” Prime’s voice echoed around him.

He could feel his mouth twist up into a wicked grin, feel as his own hand tightened its grip around Entrapta’s long hair.

It was so soft. Softer than he ever thought anything could be. He wished he could have told her that. But his mouth was no longer his own. Nor were his hands, his own mind.

Everything belonged to Prime. Everything was Prime.

“Entrapta!”

Hordak threw himself against the screen, ramming into it over and over again. It did not waver.

“Little brother.”

The voice came from behind him.

He whirled back, teeth bared in a snarl. “You…. You were supposed to die!”

“And you forget your place!” The shadow pulsated like living smoke. “You have committed the ultimate blasphemy. Given yourself a name. Dared to live as if you are your own creature! But you are nothing. One of thousands of clones that all bear the image of Prime! Without me, you would not exist!”

Hordak screamed as he lunged at the shadow of Horde Prime. His singular vision was his downfall. He did not realize it hovered right above a glowing green pit.

His feet caught the edge in the nick of time, and he sucked in a stunned breath when he saw what laid below.

Countless thousands of clones were embedded into the walls of the circular pit. Many were mere half-bodies jutting out like weeds. They all raised their hands up, worshipping the dark mass far above them. Their ruler. Their brother. The all-knowing, all-powerful Prime.

It took Hordak a second to realize that they were all decrying his very existence. They called him worthless. Defective. Unworthy. Forsaken.

Hordak tried to take a step back, only to find he could not move. Several pale hands sprouted from the ground to restrain his legs. They would not let him go no matter how hard he hit or scratched at them. Such was the resolve of a clone-brother’s devotion to Prime.

“Oh, little brother. Do you honestly think you could ever be equal to my own power? All because you came to care for some insignificant creature who pitied you? I would never let myself become so weak.”

The green lights of its eyes narrowed at him.

Hordak dared to glare right back. “Let Entrapta go! She has not done anything to deserve this!”

“On the contrary, brother. I have read your thoughts. I understand in intimate detail how much you have let her affect you. How far she has led you astray from my light. For that, she must be made an example of.”

“No!”

He strained against the many hands stacking over each other to hold him down, struggling desperately to reach the screen. “Entrapta!”

“Do you know why you could never hope to match my power, brother?”

The other clones’ cries ceased. All was silent and white save for the floating shadow enveloping itself around his wrists.

It leaned close to his ear, as if to impart some final secret. “It is because you would not be able to bear the weight of the hive mind.”

Prime pulled him forward. The bodiless hands let him go.

Hordak fell into the pit.

The clones immediately went into a frenzy, clawing and tearing and dragging him down, down and away from the pure light above. The shared thoughts of his brothers he'd heard before was a mere drop in an ocean of suffering. Now all their prayers, feelings, everything they were bore down on him. It was like no gravity he’d ever felt before.

For every clone he managed to fend off, more came to tug him into the fold. And even through all this, he could hear Entrapta crying for him. Feel as her hair squirmed in his own hand. Prime would torture him in every possible way before the end. They would die here together, and the last thing he would ever hear would be his only friend in the universe crying his name.

“Entrapta!” he screamed, reaching a hand up to the edge of the pit.

And then, the hands were gone. The clones vanished. A gentle presence guided Hordak to the top, placing him far from the pit. When he looked back, it slowly closed in on itself.

“Hordak.”

That voice. She-Ra.

The screen showed the edge of a cliff. He no longer felt Entrapta’s hair wriggling against his palm. Instead, there was the brush of grass, a warm breeze on his cheek.

Something glowed just beyond the crest of the cliff. It rose higher and higher until Hordak caught sight of She-Ra. A First Ones glyph shone on her chest, radiating power.

Prime's shadow hovered before the screen, flickering like a spark that refused to light. “Though all is reduced to rubble, Prime shall rise again. So it has been, and so it always shall be.”

Hordak knew it was futile. He felt that familiar ache in his shoulders, in his legs. His defect. Horde Prime had not anticipated inhabiting a broken body.

Even so, he no longer had any other body to return to. The hive mind had closed off. All was silent again.

Ah, Hordak realized, shutting his eyes, resigned. This body belongs to Horde Prime now. She-Ra will kill me to assure her victory.

“No! I will not fall!” Prime sputtered above him in a panic. “The hive mind will open to me! I am their ruler! Their god!”

“You are nothing more than a coward looking to escape your fate. Rejoice, brother. For you and I will both die in cleansing flame together, is that not so?” Hordak said wearily.

He did not wish to die. Not now. Not until he knew Entrapta was safe.

But this was his fate. To ensure the peace of the universe, Horde Prime needed to die.

“No, you’re wrong,” She-Ra said. “It’s time for you to go.”

He pressed his forehead against the screen and shut his eyes. He was ready.

Her hands cupped his face. Warmth emitted from her palms, steady and hopeful.

Hordak’s eyes snapped open. Suddenly, he could read her thoughts, and he knew she did not aim to destroy them both.

Prime's shadow spasmed against an unseen force ripping it away. It tried to grasp onto something, anything. It even reached out to Hordak with a smoking claw, so despondent in its desperation.

Hordak merely watched the mass purge from his body back into the nothingness from which it came.

                                                   *   *   *

The scenery changed in a flash of light. He stood in an empty field. Little more than grass and sharp crystals abound the place.

It did not look familiar to him. It seemed Horde Prime had yet to conquer this strange planet. Another dead end. His faulty portal had transported him somewhere even further away from Prime’s light.

The portal itself crackled and sparked. It was unstable. The communication device he brought with him did not even emit a trackable signal.

He threw the device to the ground in his frustration. It shattered into several pieces along the dirt.

A sharp cry pierced the air. He stood up straighter, startled.

There, lying bundled on top of a rock, was a baby.

Hordak squinted and caught sight of a woman running in the distance. The mother? Had she abandoned her child here?

The bundle squirmed, hands outstretched, searching.

He glanced back at the woman’s silhouette. For a moment, she stopped. Perhaps she would come to collect her child. Perhaps it had been a mistake.

Then the silhouette took off and vanished into the woods ahead.

Hordak turned back to the portal. He’d reconfigure the coordinates again and then—

The baby’s cries grew louder. He paused.

He stomped over to where the baby laid. It shifted in its blankets. Were it not for his quick reflexes, it would’ve wiggled its way off the rock.

He held it to his chest and stared. The child stared back. Its cries settled into small whimpers then silence.

“You have been abandoned,” he said, a pang in his chest. “Your creator did not want you.”

Of course he knew that the child would not understand him. It was not a guarantee that it even knew his language.

The baby settled in his arms, pressing its small cheek to his thumb. He could not leave this child here. Not after its own mother left it to die.

“Lord Hordak!” Shadow Weaver’s voice called out through the portal.

The portal’s frame warped. Sprinting towards it would be his only chance. He clutched the child tighter in his hands and ran.

                                                   *   *   *

Hordak gasped and found himself face-to-face with that same child. She regarded him with such kindness in her eyes that it brought that ghost pang back.

“I remember you,” he whispered. Her smile told him that she remembered him, too.

She-Ra helped him stand. No sooner than that, something small tackled him in a twirl of purple pigtails.

"Hordak!"

A laugh burst from his chest when he realized who it was. Entrapta was here. She was safe and alive and so warm. He could not ask for a better future.

“I’m so glad you’re here! Oh, we have so much to talk about!” she said and hugged him once more. “I missed you!”

Hordak smiled back at her. “I’ve missed you, too, Entrapta.”

Her hair reached up to caress his face. It was only then his smile fell.

He'd hurt her. It was not by his own will, but even so.

How could she stand to be near him after that? How could she trust he would not do so again?

The rest of her hair split off and wrapped gently around his hands. Not a single strand fought against him. Her hair willingly weaved around his open palms, his fingers.

"Stay with me. Please?"

Hordak shuddered. This felt too much like forgiveness. He was not worthy of it.

"Always," he whispered.

Without warning, Entrapta shot up and pressed her lips against his. The longer she ran her thumb up and down his jaw, the more scrambled his thoughts became.

Her eyes gleamed with pride when she pulled away. “You’re free now. You can be whoever you wanna be, Hordak.”

“I…. Yes.”

It was the best he could manage.

Entrapta laughed and pressed her forehead to his. He leaned into the touch. It was nice, knowing how soft a touch could really be. Knowing how much love could flow through a simple gesture.

Eventually, she wrapped her arms around his to lead him down the hill. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here!” she repeated. He could not help himself from laughing once more.

He made it back to her. Prime was gone. He was free, and he made it back to her.

Entrapta peered up at him with a smile. He returned it easily. 

Hordak knew then what he would do with this newfound freedom. He would spend it by Entrapta’s side. For as much as time would allow, he would spend it all with her.

A careful hand ran through her hair. He did not yet have the words to express how sorry he was for hurting her. How he should have fought harder against Prime's control.

He wanted to say so much to her. As soon as he started to speak, however, a strand of her hair pressed itself against his mouth. A gentle admonishment, one that was met with an amused smile.

Her hair curled itself around his fingers, guiding them down to cup her face. Hordak brushed away the small tears spilling down. It was not enough to repair all the damage he’d done. She must have known that.

Entrapta never cared about such matters. She never spoke about recompense, nor did she seem to desire it.

She seemed happy just to stay here like this, smiling at him even through her tears.

The warm breeze stirred leaves and stray bits of grass all around them. The planet was alive and thriving once more.

He took a deep breath in.

Entrapta was by his side. The sun felt good on his face.

He was Hordak, and he was finally free to live by his own will.

A/N: This was legit the fastest I’ve ever written something. I was struck by a sudden burst of inspiration, and I guess that’s where it all led.

Please let me know if anyone's in-character or not. I'm very new to writing for this fandom.

[asa-sauce]

“i know you don't know me, but...”

❀ asahi azumane x reader

flavor: honey mustard 

warnings: none!

a/n: hi! thank you for reading this if you do. this is my first haikyuu!! fanfic. i think i might make a part 2 of this, so let me know if you guys want one! also, request something! give me something to write! and don't worry, the ukai fic will come out tomorrow!!! (ps. reader is 18)

+ after getting kicked out of the house, you find yourself on a bus stop bench, talking to a tall stranger in the rain. 

What the hell am I gonna do?

The question ran marathons around your mind, racing faster each time the rain fell heavier. 

Just twenty minutes prior, after a heated argument with your mother, you found yourself face to face with the front door. She had kicked you out for something so stupid and minuscule—’forgetting’ to do the dishes. 

“If you’re not going to take care of this house, you’re not going to live here,” was one out of the many things she yelled at you. 

But it wasn’t your fault dance rehearsal was scheduled an hour earlier than usual on such late notice; you had no choice but to wash the other half of the dishes when you got back. You had hoped that, even with her quick temper and high expectations, she would’ve understood the situation. 

Boy, were you wrong. 

And now, the bus stop-bench is getting warmer the longer you sit on it. You have your feet up on the bench, knees against your chest and locked up by your arms around them. 

The only lucky thing about your situation was you changing. Still, your clothes slowly began to soak up the rain. 

The rain to you had always been soothing. You would always get excited when it would rain, and would dedicate wet days to sitting on the couch and looking out. The sound of it falling against the porch plants, the smell of it against concrete, even the mere sight of it had you smiling stupidly. 

The rain to you was a time to heal, a time to close your eyes and think, a time to be free of the vices in your life. 

But now, as the tiny icicles of rain shatter against the street around you, you can now acknowledge the sadness that the weather was famous for. 

What the hell am I going to do? You think again, this time as the first tear falls.

Just twenty feet away, the answer walks down the street. He has his head tilted down, as if he trying to keep the rain out of is face, but forgetting that the umbrella above him is already doing a mighty fine job at that. 

Yet he moves with outward steps, restless to get home and eat. He’s in the midst of fantasizing about it now: a bowl of tonkotsu ramen placed angelically in his calloused hands, the little bubbles in the broth dancing around each ingredient; the first bite of noddle and pork coming together in a matrimonial way; his nose teases him with a phantom of the savory smell.

But it’s enough to make him look up and check how far away he is, or more encouragingly, how close he is to fulfilling his food fantasizes. And that’s when, under the outdated light of a single street lamp, he sees you. 

Ever the subconscious samaritan, his eyebrows sew themselves together tightly  and the corners of his mouth dip down. His feet, full of earnest, slow in concern. HIs intentions shift too, from the glowing bowl of food to fixing the gloomy sight ahead of him. 

But what if she gets the wrong idea? Asahi remembers the days--though only two years ago--of high school, where even the teachers were sometimes afraid of him, and when every girl saw his pure-hearted smile an evil delinquent’s grin. 

No, that was high school, and this is the adult world. He’s respected now, and believed when he says he’s twenty years old. 

“What’s up?” (he goes for, finally approaching her. He tries to make it sound void of any scheme, and he’s thankful it comes out as such.)

You turn your head as fast as the raindrops fell from cloud to concrete, and see the man in front of you. It’s hard to clearly distinguish his features in the dim reservoir of light, but what you do make out is his question, and the gentle tone he speaks in. 

“I’m waitin’ for the bus,” You say it so casually, as if it is obvious; as if there are clear, sunny skies for miles around. Your chin returns to its comfy spot between your knees. 

You aren’t scared of the stranger’s presence. Really, you invite it. Even if the man kidnaps you, at least you would have a roof over your head. 

“I don't think the bus is coming anytime soon,” the man then says after a moment. You look up and turn your head left, then right, as if you are just realizing this now. “Where are you headed?”

You shrug your shoulders slowly, dragging out your uncertainty. You really didn’t know where to go. Well, there was one place that you could go to, but it wasn’t in your best interest. 

In the corner of your eye a light from an apartment window turns on, and the silhouette of a man appears. You glance up for a quick moment, then back down.

Like standing next to the sun, you can sense his gaze on you, or rather, you can feel his empathy. It radiates from him like a corona (not the virus) and bursts out in thick flares, emitting a warmth that can never burn you and a light that will never blind you. 

You sniffle. 

Then, there’s a shuffle. The man takes the satchel resting against his hip and tucks it between his legs. You watch as the leather straps barely touches the micro puddle in the street. Your concern for the strap getting wet distracts you from seeing the man take of his jacket, not noticing that he’s done so until it fills the space between you. 

“My place is just at the end of this block,” he began again, jerking his head and elbow out in the certain direction. “You’re going to get hypothermia if you stay out here all night,” then he eyes your trembling form, “and believe me, it’s not fun.”

You look down at yourself, and finally notice that yes, you are shivering. 

You take the coat and eagerly, without any propriety your dignity has left to offer, and swing the jacket over your drenched body.

It feels like grasping a hot cup of coffee with cold hands, and the jacket even has the same scent. As you zip up the jacket, the coffee runs down your throat, coating your insides with a feeling of absolute pleasure. It feels safe, something that has recently slipped away.

However, this is a new feeling of security, and you like it better than what it was before. 

You gaze up at the man--the light finally floods his face--and you begin to say thank you when he says,

“Do you—I mean, I know you don’t know me, but.... would you like...”

You don’t expect to be stifling a laugh that night, but you do, observing his struggle.

“How about we get you out of this rain, okay?”  

You know you shouldn’t accept his offer so easily. Everyone knows the classic “Stranger Danger,” and this situation could turn into a prime example. However, there is an element in that look he gave you—a something that said, Trust Me, Everything Will Be Alright.

And so, you nod your head, take the hand he then offers, and walk with him towards his apartment.

[annaraebananawriter]

Nothing, Then Too Much Everything

...It’s ironic that right after I asked for paitrings I started writing this oneshot...

But that’s fine. I read the pairings. 

And what I read...I liked. 

It’s all mostly pairings I haven’t written yet, so it might be a bit until I feel good enough to try it out. 

Anyways, I’ll make this short as I don’t want to waste any more of your time--this oneshot is...an expiriment. It has a new style that sort of just...happened...as I was writing it. If you don’t understand what happened after reading, then ask! I wouldn’t mind explaining and talking about it!

Hope you enjoy!

Fandom: Undertale, but specifically Dreamtale

Characters: Dream and mentioned-but-also-not Nightmare (Who belong to Joku)

Warnings: Implied Suicidal Thoughts, Self-Hate, Confusion, Implied Depression and...I think that’s it? Let me know!

Word Count: 1487

~oOo~

Imagine this: nothing.

Pure nothing, for as far as you can see. The nothing echoes back on itself, creating even more nothingness. It has no colour, and it's so boring to look at but you can’t see anything else but this nothing so you have no choice but to look. It burns, sometimes, how much nothing there is. Other times, the nothing blends with itself, creating images that you know aren’t real, but can’t help to believe because they’re the only other thing besides nothing you can look at.

(Nothing count, including variations: 7

Improvement or worsening? Remains to be seen.

Words excluded: void, absence, nihility and nullity.)

This would be…fine, if that was all he’d ever known, ever remembered. That way he wouldn’t grieve over something that he hasn’t seen in who knows how long, wouldn’t miss the blue of the sky, the green of the grass, or even the terrifying sound of thunder.

But Dream once knew everything.

And that makes the nothing worse.

(It has been 1 2 3 days hours weeks months minutes…something since the nothing happened.

It will be 0 0 0 0 0 ∞ days hours weeks years months…something until the everything returns.)

Everything was happy. It was good. Everything is what makes life worth living. It is the smell of dew after a night’s rain, the frost on your window, the flowers that keep you company in the spring and summer, the everythingness that is your existence. It’s everything around you. It’s bright and brilliant and some people hate it when really, they’ve been taken by the nothing and the nothing is clouding their vision and destroying the beauty that is everything.

(Everything count, including variations: 5

…Nothing count: 2

Worsening.

they’llbeangryhe’llbeangrythey’llbeangryhe’llbeangry

Words excluded: pivotal, help, paramount, me, compulsory, I, essential, hate, signifigant, nothing, and prime.)

Nothing is a curse.

Once, Dream was happy. Good. Essential Everything. He helped the villagers, helped Nightmare, helped anyone who called for him and needed his help. He loved to love and tried his best to make sure others knew that he loved them so that the nothing doesn’t take them too. People loved him back, though sometimes they were a bit…cruel malicious sadistic…forward in telling him that. Sometimes they scared hurt angered…played with him, which was bad nice of them.

But then that day happened and the nothing consumed him.

He couldn’t do anything. His senses were gone empty broken blocked—you never know how much you rely on them until they’re gone. Touch, taste, smell, those weren’t as bad to live without. Sight, hearing, speech, on the other hand, those posed a problem. But his magic was left in tact, and with it he could feel everything around him. Pain and suffering for so long that it all compiled into a stream of anguish that hurt saddened frightened was too much to feel at times. He didn’t have a choice but to feel it.

And that is the curse.

Dream feels everything outside the nothing, but he cannot help.

He is chained.

He doesn’t want to be chained.

(He deserves it, right?

It’s his fault, right?

He deserves it, right?

It’s his fault, right?)

The images were hard to ignore.

Anything is hard to ignore in the nothing.

But the images are the worst.

They appear so randomly that Dream is always surprised when they do. He has the initial reaction to jump back and prepare to defend himself, but then he remembers he can’t move and it’s just an image. He can’t predict anything about them. How close they’ll be, who they’ll be, what they’ll say. It’s nice once and mean often the next.

(But he deserves it, right?

It’s his fault, right?

He deserves it, right?

It’s his fault, right?)

The images usually appear as Nightmare.

It could be because they’re brothers and love each other more than anyone else. It could be because Nightmare’s the one who condemned him to this nothing in the first place. It could also be because it realizes that Nightmare is his weakness. It could also be that it realizes that Nightmare is the one who hurts the most.

No matter what, it always tells truths lies him something.

As an example:

“You know what I hate most about you?” Image Nightmare had said once, this time with a gaping wound in his chest that Dream could see the nothing through. It dripped an unknown substance. Drip, drop. “That you pretend.”

Image Nightmare always smiled, even if he was saying he hated Dream.

Always with a smile.

Drip, drop.

“You pretend to care, and you pretend to not care. I’ve cracked the code.” Drip, drop. “The villagers—they could’ve killed you and you would’ve been the one to say sorry. You pretended that that was fine and you were oblivious to all the damage they gave you. Neil—he kept you company when things were overwhelming, never pushing and never judging. You pretended that you liked the worrying, that it helped you.”

Image Nightmare also knew things that Actual Nightmare didn’t.

Like how Dream felt about the villagers, Neil, Actual Nightmare.

About everything.

…

The wound had suddenly stopped dripping for the next part, making Dream listen to every word and lock them in place, burning them into his mind.

“And Nightmare—sorry, me, your own other half. The one better than you are in every single way. He could yell and scream and you would do your best to help him, to calm him down, pretending you weren’t scared. He could run you in circles, manipulating you, and you would take it all with a smile and a little laugh pretending the words didn’t hurt.”

(Image Nightmare was always right, that’s the thing.

He always spoke the truth.)

“And Nightmare could outright hate you with every bone in his body, all of the energy that makes up his life, and you would do nothing to stop him, struggling between the hurt that it produces and the need to change it, pretending that it was fine and it was right.”

Nightmare could kill Dream, and he would pretend it was the right thing to do.

He would believe it with his entire heart.

(He deserved to die, didn’t he?

He deserved to do anything to make Nightmare happy again, didn’t he?

…

He deserved to die, didn’t he?

He deserved to hurt, didn’t he?)

Time was different in the nothing too.

Time was nothing in the nothing. It was nonexistent. It happened, or else the images wouldn’t be appearing so randomly yet so frequently. You could, probably, learn to tell the time with the images if you had paid attention from the beginning and kept track. Although, in doing so your condemning yourself to an even more excruciating existence as you them know how much time has passed since the nothing started but that doesn’t help you at all because you can’t get out.

(Time count: 4

…Nothing count: 3

Improving.

whydoesthismatter?whydoesthismatter?whydoesthis

Words excluded: …who cares anymore?)

Dream stayed in the nothing for so long he started to forget what the everything was like.

…

And if that wasn’t the saddest thing, he doesn’t know what is.

(Is the sky usually Red or Blue?

Is grass usually Alive or Dead?

Were Nightmare’s eyes always Teal or Purple?

Were Dream’s senses always Inactive or Active?)

…

He will always hate the nothing, he decided.

…

Because when you finally get out of it, everything is too much.

(TOO bright��

TOO loud—

TOO alive—

TOO present—)

The ground was too wet and too cold. The air was too cold and too light. The sky was too light and too pressing. The sounds were too pressing and too fast.

Breathing was hard, even though it should be welcomed.

(He didn’t need to breathe for so long, why start now?)

Everything was confusing. It wasn’t supposed to be, this Dream remembered clearly. It was supposed to be…happy? That seems right. And good. And everything. It’s supposed to be…small things that…you look at with…something…it’s supposed to be present and alive and you’re supposed to feel fuzzy and warm when you see it. You’re not supposed to be whatever Dream is.

Everything was too much and it almost made him wish the nothing would come back and snatch him, drown him again so all he has to worry about is Image Nightmare, not Actual Nightmare, and that he should be feeling something when all he feels is numbness.

…

Nothing is bad, but when you’re in the nothing for forever, everything is too much, so what option is really the best? Drowning in the nothing, your emotions and senses limited, yet you can feel everything from outside clearly? Or being overwhelmed by the everything, your emotions back and alive again, your senses back and working again, yet you can feel nothing but panic and longing for the nothing?

[dragonswithjetpacks]

I’m going to say this one time about Cullen and that’s it. And my opinion will be out there and done. This is not a negative post. But this is a long post so buckle up babes.

*warning for use of language because I swear like a sailor*

*also brief mention of rape*

Anyway, Cullen is a perfect example of poor planning in the gaming industry.

He is also a perfect example of fans thirsting so hard and wanting something so bad that the writers and developers change a character and even game elements to suite their needs. They didn’t even give him a book or a comic for redemption. You know what they did instead? They switched writers. Cullen has three writers. All of them with a different character in mind.

Cullen was a fucked up mess in Origins. He was meant to be creepy and sociopathic. I get that. The writer who basically created him had no idea he was even going to be not only a reoccurring character, but one that was going to be romance able in future games. She even apologized. Which wasn’t necessary. And so many people who played the game missed a big point about Cullen. He was never supposed to recover from Origins.

“The young templar Cullen never quite recovered from his ordeal. After months of attempting to convince his superiors that the tower was still a danger, he finally snapped and killed three apprentices before being stopped by his fellow templars. Eventually, Cullen escaped from prison, a madman and a threat to any mage he encountered.”

“Once the tower was rebuilt, Knight-Commander Greagoir stepped down from his post and retired to a life of private contemplation as a brother in the Chantry. His health failed over time, and after refusing treatment, he perished in his sleep. Knight-Commander Cullen was said to be more strict and less trusting of the mages even than Greagoir was. He ruled the Circle with fear.”

I’m sorry. But yeah. That’s the epilogue on two different choices involving the Circle’s fate in Origins. And it was ignored. I agree with that, too. But it wasn’t just Cullen that was ignored. It was the entire Circle at Kinloch Hold. If the mage warden sacrifices their own life, the Circle is supposedly free. Which... is not mentioned... ever again. And not to mention is impossible? Like okay thanks Anora or whoever but I don’t think you can just do that.

Poor writing.

I’d also like to mention for the record I did not like Cullen in Origins. I still don’t.

Now, I don’t know why exactly Cullen was brought back in DA2? I know his writer got bullied out of Bioware. I do not have an opinion on that. I mean the woman co-wrote my favorite part of Origins (Anvil of the Void). She also wrote Anders. Which I don’t think is a coincidence. People, men and women, often have this idea of fixing a broken person. It’s heavily romanticized. It’s called codependency. And you see it a lot in romance novels. But that’s another topic. It seems this writer implemented that in the game (along with some of her own personal things she had) without fully knowing Cullen would even be a romantic interest in Inquisition, but also still wanting to give him some sort reason to be desired. And all the while knowing Anders was fully romanceable. Even... a little forcefully... romanceable... if I may add... (I am uncomfortable) I also dislike some of Anders’ writing but that’s another post and I don’t want to compare the two. But Anders was the opposite side of Cullen that was done better because they had time to write it.

Regardless, Cullen seemed to hold some resemblance to his former character. But we do see a lot hesitance with him. He’s basically that “good” cop that doesn’t do anything when the bad cop is beating the shit out of everyone. Still not good, hence the quotes. Not a good guy. He has his meh he’s alright moments. And seems to generally disregard Hawke in every single way. But he’s still an ass hole for letting things happen the way that they did when he could very much so have put a stop to it. Maybe it was the writers’ intention to make it that way to show he was still suffering from trauma in Origins.

Again. Poor writing. BECAUSE WE DON’T KNOW. DIDN’T HE KILL THREE PEOPLE, BIOWARE? ISN’T HE SUPPOSED TO BE KNIGHT COMMANDER IN FERELDEN, B I O W A R E??? WHAT. HAPPENED. BIOWARE.

So here’s the next thing. They decided to slip him into Inquisition for whatever reason. His writing was fair enough in DA2. Could have been better. But these people are still thirsty. They want some Curly. At the last minute, they throw romance on him. Not a bad idea. But are we supposed to forget the man was basically raped by desire demons? Is he even ok to have a relationship? OH WAIT THAT’S RIGHT. We didn’t closure on that because they ignored it.

Anyway, Cullen in Inquisition seems to be different. But because they couldn’t just, oh I don’t know, write a different character with the same traits but better, they had to somehow put the events of the previous games and how it affected him into this new current game where he supposed to be... better? Ish? Which is where we get the stereo type soldier with PTSD and a substance abuse problem. Now, if you’re any good with imagining and writing fanfic, then you probably know or already have figured out a way to connect everything better than Bioware could. But hey. Last minute romance written in on a character who was already all over the charts? Count me in. I like a good writing challenge. Poor girl who took the job of writing Inquisition Cullen likes a challenge too, apparently. Because it was her first big project. And she didn’t do a bad job. But imagine working hard on trying to write a character half the fandom hates into someone somewhat likeable just for everyone to shit all over it.

The way I look at it.... we have three different characters. And he is not really a good example to look at analyze wise. He is inconsistent. And was molded for Inquisition for thirsty fan girls. And some boys (I see you). A good example for study would be Morrigan. Or even Alistair. And Alistair is in several of the comics and still remains pretty consistent. Leliana is a prime example of character development over a course of three games. And I highly recommend you fall in love with her good and bad side because she is written beautifully. Don’t @ me.

Cullen, and I mean Inquisition Cullen, has a lot to like. And a lot to dislike. Every character is flawed. I think a lot of hate that gets tagged onto Cullen is really from poor writing. They really got lazy with him. And it is a shame. I feel like he could have been redeemed way better. He could have had one hell of a redemption. Or possibly just skipped over all together. I see a lot of posts about putting Samson in his place and I often agree. It was never quite the character that made him appealing to me. It was the personality. And they could have easily done with anyone. They could have made Samson sexy, too. It didn’t have to be sexy Cullen. And let’s face it. With Cullen’s writing in Origins and even some of the writing in DA2, Cullen siding with Coryphedouche is way more fitting than Samson.

Basically, it is up to us to fill in the gaps. So I love seeing fanfic with Cullen backstory. Because it gives better insight than what the writers could accomplish. And I applaud you if you’ve done that. BUT the over sexualization of this character is a bit... wrong. It feels wrong. And that’s all I’ll say to that. Personally, I’ve been working on some Cullen romance fic for awhile and it’s been challenging trying to find a way to make him less douchey. One minute, he’s yelling at you about mages. And the next, he’s got this soft tone and nervous look. Like, yeah... you can tell it’s rushed. And awful. And even the dialogue is just... painful. It doesn’t fit. (you can check my Cullen tag in blog to see how I feel about that). I will say that even speaking to him on a personal note, asking him questions about life as a templar, he even says he does not agree with the Order. And he wants to change his thinking. But he still gets angry when you go to side with the mages. It feels like they wanted redeem him but they also needed someone to side with the templars to provide conflict at the war table.

So in my opinion, calling him controlling and abusive is a bit of a stretch. He was clearly used by the writers. It just seems ridiculous to put so much effort in bashing the character when clearly... he was not planned out... or put together... I just... I don’t get...

I know what you’re thinking at this point: Kay.... why do you like him then?

Beacause. I am weak for a man who gets nervous around girls he likes. His awkward mannerisms despite being a man of power makes me weak. The need to protect also makes me weak. But also the ability to admit vulnerability makes me suuuuuper weak. So like I said. There was a lot there. It just was not delivered correctly. You know what I would have done? If I had to put him in the Commander shoes, I would have made the whole Kirkwall thing a life changer for him. Maybe even give him a soul searching type situation before joining the Inquisition. And definitely tell him to keep his mouth shut about siding with the templars.

Long story short: Ya’ll thirsted over a weird dude in Origins and Bioware went hmmmm okay. But by the time they gave him to you on a silver plate, it was last minute. Like you just found out your crush Jared is going to Becky’s party but you’re already at Jessica’s house and have like nothing to wear so you have to just wing it. And your shoes look tacky, but Jessica’s shoes don’t fit. So you either have to wear shoes that don’t fit or just look like omg total garbage. And Bioware went with the shoes that don’t fit. And Jared totally likes them.

I’m also going to say the most controversial thing on this entire post by just... saying... by calling Cullen out as trash without realizing the writing, the directive, the lack of development, the rush on this character, and the complete absolute bullying this community does to it’s FANS AND WRITERS kind of feels like you didn’t really put any effort into understanding why and just jumped on a band wagon. And the fact that some of you make other people feel bad for liking this character is awful. Some of the most toxic shit I’ve seen. Like maybe they like this character from Inquisition because, I don’t know, maaaaaaybe he was written out almost like a new character with a last minute fantasy romance.. because he kind of was...

Now for my opinion on Greg Ellis.

FUCK THAT GUY.

And that’s it. Thanks for stopping by. If you agree cool, if not cool. I’m not here to argue with anyone or say your opinion is invalid. We all have reasons why we hate or love the color blue. So we can all disagree or agree and live in peace and still love a game.

You can always message me, too, guys. I have a lot of opinions. And reasons for my opinions. And theories. And just things in general. But I will not hate characters written in Dragon Age. Someone wrote them. Someone is out there working their ass off to deliver a character. And I refuse to hate someone fictional.

[mcalhenwrites]

“[Type of media] sucks these days, there’s no creativity!”  Just. Shut up. As much as you can possibly shut the FUCK UP. Just had to listen to a family member rant about remakes of movies while they spend their entire fucking free time planted in front of a TV, watching just about any kind of movie, past or present, that comes their way. Rentals, Prime, D*sney+, N*tflix, AND cable, and you’re fucking mad bc there’s remakes and retellings everywhere while you fucking watch them all. It hit a nerve, and I argued back. It was offensive, apparently, for me to fucking say, “Don’t watch them then.” I’m dealing with a Gen Xer who has the mentality of a Baby Boomer here, tbh, and he’s someone who got easily bored of my music selections because it was instrumental and had no fucking vocals, so I shouldn’t be surprised he says dumbass shit like this or dismisses my observations and research on this subject as a creator. But I’m fucking seeing creators left and right - even ones who break into the industry - struggle to have their ideas out there. There’s this formula that people eat up, and if you stray from it, you don’t make it big. You might honestly not make it at all. I might toss in that there is no such thing as “100% original” and all that, but I do see plenty of things that are a combination of many themes I haven’t seen together.  Example: “I’d like to see LGBT+ representation in stories that aren’t all just about coming out.” And while in recent years, I’ve seen more published outside of indie circles, I remember yelling, “THAT EXISTS SO SUPPORT IT.” And getting misunderstood because I didn’t see the point in yelling at M*rvel to give it to me. I still don’t see the point. Keep giving all your money to the people you get angry at for disappointing you, I guess? Like I get enjoying something but not being 100% happy, but when you’re constantly unhappy with something and screaming into the void about it, it might be time to check out of that and look elsewhere. And when people pretend there’s no elsewhere, that’s when I get pissed. THERE IS AN ELSEWHERE. LOTS OF ELSEWHERE.  CREATORS ARE CREATING EVEN WHEN YOU ARE NOT LOOKING AT THEM, YOU REALLY ARE NOT SO IMPORTANT THAT IT ONLY HAPPENS WITH YOUR EYES ON IT Anyway, I’m fucking tired of seeing creators - NOT just myself - struggle to get works out there. To get characters out there. To be held to incredibly high standards that D*sney and others never have to with less resources and feedback.  There is so much undervalued creativity in the world, it breaks my fucking heart to see how little regard most creators are given. Incredible stories are waiting to be told or have been told, and some creators give up because of this shitty attitude that “there’s no originality left but I’m going to use all my time and money to be constantly disappointed by the same company over and over again” since you clearly have no interest in consuming anything else.  General use of “you” here :) 

[absence-of-decomposing]

Demametamort

Have you ever heard of the term Demametamort? If so then this story might make sense to you. If not then please please refrain from looking it up in my personal dictionary and stick around till the end for an explanation. I will now begin his story. 

Imagine a light grey sky, like the ones that make rainy days feel emotionless. Then imagine an unofficial road that borders on a cliff. The cliff has a hard drop into the ocean and at that moment a car had been recently met with sharp rocks and the high-pressure water. The water surrounded the tan automobile in waves that hit the skin of investigators like knives. 

If you looked around a bit more you could see the face of a boy who had somehow survived the tragedy. As he stood emotionless and highlighted by red and blue he was led to dry off while his 6-year-old body was drenched in saltwater. His dark hair and green eyes accompanied by a police officer to the ambulance where most adults looked in awe at how torn up this child was, frantically moving to apply pressure in the right spots. No one could explain how he could have survived the impact and sharp rocks; if that didn't do him in the water would have. This is a prime moment we can look at as an example of how things always worked out in his favor, as long as he didn't bring attention to it he could avoid any consequence. 

The most shocking part, however, took its place in the unphased attitude of the child. Every adult at the scene was shocked he survived, shocked his parents had dragged him along for their suicide, shocked. Shock is what defined the atmosphere so they wrote off Luca’s behavior as him being in shock. 

Little did they know this boy genuinely didn't care. His parents were scared of him but he didn't know why so why should he care? All he did was draw on the walls. Sure it was with the neighbor’s pet mouse but no one seemed to miss it after he stole it at the end of his playdate with their 13-year-old daughter. They just got a new one. And sure, his babysitter didn't know he stole it but to him, the rodent would be much more useful being used as paint than in a cage where it sat in its own mess and made squeaking noises. 

Apparently, this was the last straw. His parents started to talk about how they “couldn't do this anymore!” and “At least it's not as bad as when he was 3.”. Luca doesn't remember what other things he's done but no punishment made his actions not worth it so he had little memory of anything that was deemed “bad”. His parents tried to punish him for his behavior they really did, but it was hard to punish him when he stopped showing his “art” to them. In the end, they considered getting Luca into therapy but this had his mother and father worried about being judged as parents so, in the minds of a couple of parents whose will was stretched too thin, suicide would probably sound like the only option. They loved their son so maybe that's why they brought him with, or maybe it was an attempt at stopping his actions. 

If we move on to the next event of his life you'd see a hospital room with white walls and a small window, where he stayed for a couple of weeks until a caseworker came to situate him into a foster home. You'd see his emerald eyes opening in the hospital bed and his small feet moving to pack up his pencils and toys before his hands where being held on either end by a perfect cookie-cutter family. You'd then see him staying in that home for many more years because the Bander family took a liking to his obedient behavior and witty humor, and as Luca grew in this privileged household he learned to accommodate to people's expectations because that meant he could keep practicing his illegal passions without losing the attention he received from others. The same kid who played football in high school was watching people bid on body parts on the dark web. The same kid who laughed and teased his friends about being stupid compared to his straight A’s was the same kid who was planning to kidnap a few of those same friends and turn their beings into soulless sculptures. He was pleased with how smoothly his plan worked, how the laws of not just humans but of karma has never touched him. He reveled in how simple everything was and how godlike he was compared to his peers who were always facing a misfortune and getting dragged for their underage drinking or for harassing a girl at school. It was when he made his first kidnapping, one so obviously tied to him that it would hurt the observing eye. That is if eyes were ever on him, despite the girl nailed to the walls of his basement being his girlfriend, no one ever questioned him. That is when he realized he was different, god must not know he exists. He's a ghost among men and as visible to every eye as he was not there. I think this is when he rationalized the idea of, “If God doesn't know I exist, then neither does death. Right?”

Today Luca is a couple of years out of high school, he lives in a studio apartment while on a break from college and has a body count of 7 and his work has been all over the news. As he sat on a leather couch and toyed with the volume of his Tv his frustrations grew and grew. 

“Stop ignoring my work! It took me ages to make that!” He whines in frustration to no one in particular as the screen flashed images of his sculpture made of a female body whose bones were exposed due to the skin and muscle being nailed apart like a dissected frog. It zoomed into the bone where he was mastered the art of carving into. After cleaning the bones and draining the blood of the body out, he drills away to create designs so beautiful it could be compared to Chinese ivory or jade sculptures. Beautiful waves of the sea that represented the girls' love for surfing, a few animals like tigers and rabbits also danced along the streams of her life. It was truly beautiful despite its canvas. Lucas carefully tanned skin started to shift over to the arm of the leather couch before placing his hand down for support and standing. He began to pace around, mumbling incoherently. He then made his way to a laptop that was propped up on the counter of a kitchenette. 

“I will make them see, they will worship me. People have begged for this! They loved being used, they cried in joy when the found out they had been chosen by ME!” he claimed. His shadowy whispers did hold some truth however, a few victims had fallen victim to love him and would do anything for his approval. 

However, Lucas fetish for attention was currently driving him mad as his fingers type away at the obsidian keys and made the finishing touches on a public Instagram. He began to upload image after image with his name and face next to countless bodies and gore that he had only ever shown in private forums. The next morning he woke up outrage on his phone and in the news. He had missed calls from his family and friends and he just smiled in glee as he picked up the phone and called his mom back.

He expected to be greeted with admiration like the last girl he carved but in his delusional mind that was realistic, I guess. He was greeted with screams and tears.

“Luca why! Tell me this isn't true? This is someone else framing you right baby?” she said with obvious distress.

“Mama I just made another sculpture, it's not a big deal.” He said, confused at her reaction.

“They have feelings, Luca! FEELINGS! And I am not your mom anymore. I'm calling the cops.” she said shakily before hanging up.

Luca didn't think she was being serious, I mean she knew he that would affect him, right? He put on his apron and gloves and had just picked up the head of a dog he had recently started to work on as a side project when a loud, sharp knock was made from outside his apartment. With head still in hand, he opens the door only to be tackled down by police forces and dragged outside in cuffs. Bright rays of light burned into his eyes as he yelled and laughed. His confusion apparent and his resistance futile. He had dropped the dog's head in the process and suddenly he began to cry out.

“Get off me! Its what they wanted! You know you can't kill me right?” he laughed. This was met by a shaky voice.

A woman was standing in the crowd with puffy eyes and sagging skin. Her auburn hair mirrored that of his last victim, and she held a gun. Without a moment's hesitation, she said,

“Want to bet?” before her shaky hands released the firm hold on the gun to pull the trigger. 

Lucas's life didn't flash before his eyes. His life didn't matter much to him but when he fell to the ground he looked at his reflection in the pooling blood coming from his throat. He recognized the look on his face and that similar to those when he was 6. He recognized shock and fear in his face before he was put into the black void of death.

Crippling and quiet black and was like white sound in a realm with no structure. No walls or floor yet his non-responding conscious was suspended in it. Time did not exist and although empty it was not peaceful. It wasn't a place that provided a feeling of tranquility nor did it scare. It was completely empty. That was until Luca's vision reappeared through opening slits. He could suddenly see a different and darker black, his hands could suddenly feel silky cushion on his hands and his mind was suddenly able to register these things. He was awake, but was he? How could one tell when he all he could see was darkness and the smell of wet soil encased his nose. One would have to define being alive and being dead, what requirements are there to be considered living? Is it the ability to crave and breathe air? To need it? Because Luca definitely craved air but no matter how much he gasped there was no oxygen to fill his lungs. Wheezing was barely possible and when his fingers moved to touch the scabbed hole in his throat, it explained why. Gasp after gasp he was brought back to nothingness and his suffocation was over. Until it wasn't.

He woke again and the events repeated.

Again.

And again. 

And again. 

So, do you think you can guess what a “Demametamort” is? If not I will let you in on it.

A Demametamort is someone who believes they are above, beyond, or better than death. They don't think they can die or can change death. And sometimes they can.

[solarianradiance]

It looks like you do descriptions for homestuck classpects, right? Im not 100% sure you do but it looks like it from your blog. If you do could i get a Bard of Breath description? (Maybe focusing just a bit in the romances.... maybe)

The Bard of Breath Destroys their aspect, or Invites Destruction Through their Aspect.

Bards are a deceptive class, as Bards are passive Destroyers of their aspects. Usually, the idea of a Bard invokes a musician, who travels around, singing tales and playing song for anyone who is willing to pay. But this travel entails a bit of danger, as wild animals or bandits might set upon you.

In the game of Dungeons & Dragons, Bards are often seen as the Jack of All Trades class, making them a critical fill in class that can serve as a stop gap for any other role, acting as a fallback for the party.

In real life, musicians were a key component on the battlefield, as they conveyed orders to troops through the yelling and shouting, and rouse the warriors into a frenzy.

Or they can send quakes of dread and fear among the ranks of the enemy, causing them to break and flee. Or even attack them directly with the power of sound itself, in a sonic rip!

Which is good, considering Bards have to be as much versatile people as they are entertainers, and they do far more than just sing songs, they also perform plays, filling various roles of said plays. They can play a Princely Noble Human that need to be herald, as well as a Thieving Greedy little Troll that needs to be slain when they need to.

CG: THATS RACIST YOU GOD DAMN PISS DRINKING FUCKASS!!!

As such, Bards very versatile party members, useful for just about anything as they can imitate other classes. So while they can act like a Sylph or pretend to be a Knight quite well, they are not those classes.

This means they are very much a class that is built upon deception and tool use, and utilizing their broad array of options. This gives them a massive advantage in that while they might not be overly specialized, a clever player can be whatever role they choose to be when are a Bard.

The Aspect of Breath is the aspect of Freedom and Willpower itself

It is an aspect of power and change by any means for any reason, and through it things shall be done as they are willed.

A Bard of Breath is a Bard of Freedom and Will. And since the Bard permits the destruction of their aspect, or invites destruction THROUGH their aspect, this means they are quite an interesting classpect to play indeed.

They can literally destroy freedom itself, or use freedom to destroy others. They undo the will that others exert, or use the will of other to their own devices for obliteration.

As it has been said, the Bard is deceptive with their title.

Eddie Riggs from Brutal Legend provides us with a good example of what a good Bard might be, as they are also a servant class, along with Pages and Maids. 

Eddie Riggs even serves an actual Prince in the game, leading armies, servicing them and bringing them freedom and victory in an actual battle of the bands. Bards in general can make for great Lieutenants, or even Captains to the party’s leader, as they can solve most problems by themselves, and have others help them in the issues they might have trouble with.

In fact, its best for the Bard to pair up with another class, particularly the Prince, for every Prince needs someone to hype them up for the adventures ahead. But Knights and Lords make for great partners too.

Jar Jar Binks provides us a prime example of what a Bard of Breath can be when they are not directly interacting, and instead, manipulating the situation to deceive and control the Wills of others to cause unwitting Destruction, as people can be played just as easily as any other instrument, if you know what you are doing.

What? You think Jar Jar Binks, one of the most hated characters in Star Wars, is nothing more than a fool?

WRONG

He was in fact, originally, the main central villain to the prequel trilogy, and was going to fill the roles Count Dooku and General Grievous filled… had there not been a huge backlash against him, and George Lucas caved into changing things… making the franchise weaker for it as a whole

If you dont believe me, enjoy this video, and learn how audiences were fooled so hard, that the creator changed the rest of the trilogy over it.

Personally, I believe its true as the character was a 3D animation, and everything was perfectly controlled, so everything you see is intentional.

In gameplay terms, the Bards of Breath have an average growth rate and a ton of choices on how to play, and can adapt quickly and easily to any situation. They can be good fighters, dealing out damage while taking a beating. Uncover information to use as they please, and have great support capabilities, providing buffs in the forms of auras invoked by instrumental use.

They are heavy tool users, and need to be decked out in good gear in order to make use of their good choice of utilities, such as cooking, healing, repairs, diplomacy, and even singing a song!

In fact, as a Bard of Breath, Wind, you have control over the elements of Air, and things related to Air.

This means your classpect is more in-tuned with itself that most other classpect combos, since air is how sound travels. Which means not only you can make music that is merely more powerful, you can create truly powerful songs that can shake the very foundations of whole worlds, possibly your entire game session!

𝖀𝖓𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖍 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖚𝖗𝖞 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖎𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖊 𝕲𝖔𝖉𝖑𝖞 𝖘𝖍𝖗𝖊𝖉𝖉𝖆𝖌𝖊!!!

GC: 𝑀𝒪𝒯𝐻𝟥𝑅𝐹𝒰𝒞𝒦𝟣𝒩𝒢 𝒟𝑅𝟦𝒢𝒪𝒩𝐹𝒪𝑅𝒞𝟥!!! >:𝒟

Overall, as a Bard of Breath, you might not be great at everything, but you are a versatile classpect indeed, with a lot of great options and ways to play! You can play however you want, and be useful all game so long as you have your team, good gear, and play it smartly as possible!

Once you hit God-tier, you truly will be a DragonForce to be reckoned with!

As for romance, this can be a tricky subject as every player is different, but I highly recommend going with Active players who are Space, Time, Void or Heart players, as they can compliment you quite well as classpects.

Otherwise I cant really help you much, Breath players are free to do as they will, and since every relationship is different you may have a good or hard time depending on the person.

Any relationship is possible, especially with Breath players.

[fukko]

briilliance: 

Kid.

There was that word again, that same tone he took on whenever one thing came out wrong in the vast void of successes Peter had accomplished over his short career as a superhero.

That look, a glance of worry and trouble that seemed to only be directed at him with confusion. Lips pressed into a thin line as if the man were fighting a scowl or a frown.

“Then why did you give me the suit?”

Looking up from his spot on the kitchen bar Peter moved towards the millionaire.

“Why did you offer me to be an Avenger? Why did you call me to go fight Captain America and everyone else? Do you even realize how much of a contradiction you are Mr. Stark?”

He valued this man, a man that saw something in him only one person in his life had done before.

“Am I just a kid when you see me get hurt and a soldier when you need me to fight? What’s the difference? Tell me why there’s a difference.”

    tony has tried for a long time to never feel old -- until he became iron man, before he learnt real responsibility, he was always drinking, always partying, always running from the weight of adulthood. then he became iron man, but he hadn’t been a hero yet ( iron man had been about revenge, about protection -- iron man had been about feeling unsafe in his own home because someone he trusted for years sold him out, came into his own home and ripped his heart out ). 

    but after that alien invasion in new york ( the first, rather ), iron man had become a hero. tony used to never care about public opinion before ( and he doesn’t, in certain ways ), but he did after new york. cared that his own protection seemed to make other people feel safe, he cared that little kids wanted to be him, and he knew even without pepper telling him that he should set a better example. 

    it’s not until he has peter in front of him, however, that he REALLY feels the weight of his age. tony’s hair is greying, he’s already fifty, already past the prime of his life ( or what would have been, really, if he hadn’t hit his prime in his early forties ). 

    peter is a good kid, such a good kid, a better kid than tony had ever been. hell, peter’s already a better person at fifteen than tony is now -- so optimistic, so bright, so openly kind. all peter has ever wanted to do is do good, and tony has never been good at feeling the weight of his sins on his back, and he does whenever he talks with peter. 

    ‘ because i know your type -- you’re not going to stop no matter what anyone says, and so the suit will give you more protection than your sweatshirt did. that’s why i gave you the suit. ’ tony could also keep a better watch out for him, be tuned in in real time by friday whenever peter was in real danger and not just stopping muggers. 

    pepper has joked in recent times that he’s getting old enough now that he’s adopting kids -- harley and peter -- but at least harley isn’t on the battlefield. 

    ( at least he didn’t turn harley into a soldier ). 

    ( “we’re not soldiers!” he remembers yelling to steve once, so many years ago, when this was new, when coulson died and he couldn’t handle it. he hadn’t known it then, but there wasn’t much difference between being a hero and being a soldier. ).

    ( and he helped turned this kid, this good kid, this kid who is going to suffer -- because that’s what hero life does to people, it makes them suffer -- into a soldier, and there the axe will fall. peter will get hurt on his watch. peter will die on his watch. and it’ll all be tony’s fault, another sin on his back, because he helped this happen. )

    when peter walks closer, when he shoves the sins harsher on tony’s back, tony walks closer too. he’s not trying to intimidate peter -- his body language isn’t aggressive, but he does lightly tap peter on the chest with his index finger, right where his heart is. 

    ‘ i gave you the suit because, unlike everyone else in this hero business except maybe captain america, you have a heart of gold. you’re not selfish, and you always want to do the right thing. do you know how rare that is in people ? hell, even in heroes ? you and cap and maybe thor ? that’s basically it. 

    ‘ but you’re young, and you are a kid. it’s not an insult -- you’re already a better hero at fifteen than i am now at fifty, but i’m still responsible for you. if you get hurt, if you die, that’s on me. that’s me dragging a kid into a fight that he shouldn’t have fought in until he was eighteen. 

    ‘ and i dragged you into the situation in germany because i thought you’d be on the sidelines, webbing them from afar. not going into battle, not helping to take down giant man or whatever the hell his name was. you went on the front lines in germany against my wishes, and you got hurt because of it, and that was your choice, but it would still be my fault, my responsibility, because i put you there.  ’

    tony doesn’t know how to do this, how to give these talks. the only people he’s ever opened up to before he became iron man had been pepper, rhodey, and jarvis ( both of them ). but he’s trying now, trying to find the right words, trying to make sure peter knows that he’s important too. 

    tony shakes his head, sighs a little as he continues. ‘ more than anything, i want you to be safe. if i could get you to hang up the webs, right here and right now, if i thought that would work, i would in a heartbeat. i tried that before, when i took away the suit, and you just shut me up and shut me down, beating the vulture, showing that i made a mistake and that you won’t stop no matter if you had my support or not.

     ‘ asking you to be an avenger after that was just a way for me, for others, to at least always be there, for you to get more back-up than just yourself, and it was my way of telling you that you can trust me again with your problems. ��� tony had also promised himself that he’d listen whenever peter came to him with a problem no matter what he was doing at the time, even if he couldn’t come help personally ( but he could always send someone else if he needed to, and he would ). 

    ‘ you’re important, peter. to me, to your aunt, to your friends. i want to make sure you stay safe, even if you’re fighting the dirty, nasty, terrible fight that is hero’s work. i don’t want you to be a soldier, i want you to be the best you that you can be, kid -- and, yeah, i am going to call you “kid.” you’re fifteen, peter, and i’m fifty, i’m old enough to be your dad. i’m not going to apologise for that or stop. ’

[specialtopicsgraphicnovel]

Maus by Art Spiegelman

“Maus” by Art Spiegelman is the retelling of a long and difficult journey that Art’s parents underwent as Jews in Hitler’s regime. It’s incredibly compelling as the readers get an in depth look at an individual’s life and story during that time, but it’s all the more difficult to read as readers know the history of WW2 and the carnage it produced. 

“Maus” replaces humans with animals, each race getting a different animal. This novel in particular relies more on words, as the artwork is fairly simple and does not leave much opportunity for exaggerated images. However, Spiegelman inserts one of his other original comics near the middle of the story, titled “Prisoner on the Hell Planet.” The panel above comes from this short insert, and is one of the prime examples of how image and text work together. 

It’s clear to see that Artie and his father, Vladek, have unresolved issues between one another as Vladek tells his story and Artie records it. Yet, the readers don’t often see the relationship between Artie and his mother, Anja. We know that Anja was a kind and sensitive woman who loved her children. Unfortunately, she struggled with her mental health and committed suicide at one point. In this insert, the readers have received another perspective of Artie’s relationship with another parent. This comic depicts the aftermath of Anja’s suicide and how Artie and his father dealt with it. It also gives an insight to Artie’s own emotional state. What’s impressive about the panel above, is how Artie is speaking on how his mother’s actions have left him with an unshakeable guilt and resentment towards her. He resents the way she smothered him, possibly a result of her losing her first child and much of her family. Yet, he feels guilty for resenting his mother and for possibly being the reason why her mental health declined so greatly (especially with his own mental health issues coming into play). He boldly claims “...You murdered me, Mommy, and you left me here to take the rap!!!” (Spiegelman 103). He blames her for his mental imprisonment, which is also amazingly shown by the literal prison he stands in. Spiegelman is seen standing in a dark cell, looking so very haunting and miserable as a prisoner. The cell rows are endless as he shouts into the void, only to be yelled at by another prisoner who doesn’t care about his misery. This physical prison shows how Art feels imprisoned by his guilt and mental health, and how he may feel helpless as no one is listening or caring about his struggle. 

[lia-nikiforov]

Fall 2017 Anime Watchlist

Blablabla school is kicking my butt blablabla I shouldn’t even be doing this blablabla THERE’S A LOT OF GOOD ANIME THIS SEASON

So naturally I’m gonna go back to my worst to best format for this list. Get the trash out first

Dropped

Dies Irae: Aren’t these villains named after actual historical Nazis who were directly involved with orchestrating the holocaust soooo cooooool , so interesting, such tortured profound souls that--- ugh, I just threw up in my mouth a little. I don’t care if the Nazis are the villains, making them into complex, appealing characters is unacceptable, less so given the times we live in.

(get it, it’s a real nazi getting punched in the face, aren’t you glad you follow me so I can provide you this quality content)

Yuki Yuna wa Yuusha de aru: Yuusha no Sho: Because I wasn’t a big fan of the first season, I thought this might make for decent hate-watch, but it’s just not bad enough to warrant it. It’s also criminally boring. And because part of what made the original so bad was the ending, and this being a prequel we already know how it ends, there’s no point to it imho. I enjoy screaming at the void about shows I find stupid, but this one isn’t even worth the time. Ballroom is all the hatewatch material I’ll ever need

Black Clover: I could say a lot about this show’s egregious lack of uniqueness and originality, or how poorly executed the whole thing is, but really the only thing you need to know about this and why it’s an insufferable watch is:

THE!!!! PROTAGONIST !!!!!NEVER!!!!! STOPS!!!!! YELLING!!!!!! 

Inuyashiki: My first problema with this show is the main dude is supposed to be 58 years old but he looks older than most 65+. It’s a dumb little thing, but it completely breaks my suspense of disbelief. Other than that, the writing is just so viscerally hateful it’s extremely uncomfortable to watch. What I’d understood from the synopsis was that the aliens had accidentally merged the old man and the young dude into a single robot body, but the way it is presented  -with the old guy as the hero and the young guy as the villain- the moral of the story seems to be basically “millennials are killing the diamond industry”, or, in terms of a more well-known -though perhaps too easy- meme:

Urahara: I really wanted to like this show and support these young female creators in an industry that tends to not give them any opportunities. It’s not like it’s bad at all, nor is it offensive, it’s just really boring. The visuals are adorable, but the characters feel completely unreal –three high school girls run their own shop in Harajuku?-, especially pigtail girl who delivers every line like she was trying super hard to sound like an ojousama archetype. The show is completely committed to its Harajuku kawaii culture aesthetic and attitude, which is commendable but also something that honestly make me a little uncomfortable for no particular reason. I also feel extremely robbed off actual transformation sequences in this magical girl show. In a less busy season I might hold on to see where this went, but as it is, I’d rather wait and see how it ends and then decide if I should spend time on it.

Utter trash that I’m still gonna watch because I hate myself or something

Ousama Game: I think it’s important to make a distinction between hate-watch and irony-watch. Hatewatch is something you do with a show that’s terrible and probably offensive, but it never touches so-bad-it’s-good territory.  You can pick the show apart for all of  its flaws, be it an ill-conceived plot, poor characterization, or, you know, being grossly mysoginistic. Examples of shows I’ve hatewatched include KADO, Sailor Moon Crystal and Super Lovers. An Irony-watch is a show that pretty much everyone can agree is a dumpster fire, and it succeeds so much in its terribleness it’s histerical. Hand Shakers and Neo Yokio are prime examples of quality irony-watch material. And so is Ousama Game. It’s not even worth pointing out its flaws because there’s just nowhere to start, there is not a single thing this show does right and it’s hysterical. Of course it has the squick factor of having some gross fetish with people’s tongues lolling out and their faces getting ridiculously contracted in gross fashion when they die, but other than that, it takes itself so seriously and mixed with its 2006 low budget aesthetic the whole thing is madly hilarious.

Welcome to the Ballroom: This is my choice for hatewatch show of the seaon. After the disgusting dung that was episode 15, I’ve lost all hopes of the show ever getting “better” as was repeatedly promised by fans of the manga once the queen lord and savior Chinatsu appeared. Lo and behold, Chinatsu’s character arc is to learn to be more “feminine” and to let herself be “controlled” by Tatara. Throw in some casual homophobia just for good measure. I really have to wonder why the mangaka set out to write a manga about a sport that necessarily requires a man and a woman in partnership if she hates women so much and can’t treat them as anything above second-class citizens-

(srsly show, why do you hate women so much)

Sengoku Night Blood: It’s been a while since we got a dumbass Sengoku bishonen show that wasn’t aggressively boring. This one though, still challenges my tolerance limits for being dumbass ridiculous with its premise of vampire/werewolf Sengoku daimyo. The costumes and character designs are super ridiculous yet strangely non-distinctive. I have a hard time figuring out who is who because most lack their historical counterparts most notable features, and there’s a lot of same-face-iness everywhere. The show is clearly not afraid of embracing its otoge origins, the “love event” moments are terribly transparent. I just wish either the female character was completely erased or that the guys would stop treating her so badly. I know she’s useless, but I don’t understand why the show has dudes saying things such as “it’s really bothersome that you’re here” and frame them as if they were suuuuper romantic.

(lmfao there are no gifs for this one, maybe I’m the only sucker watching it)

Juuni Taisen: To be honest I was ready to drop this one after confirming it was gonna be more Nisio Isin fake philosophical bullshit that is actually just otaku fanservice. Instead I got schlocky ultra violence garbage and it’s actually kinda fun? Look, I’m gonna come clean, I’m just watching it for the necromancer chip’n-dale rabbit with high heels and a huge fluffy tail, but if that’s not a good reason to watch a show, none is.

Not bad, but not quite good

Shoujo Shuumatsu Ryoukou: This was another one that wasn’t quite on my radar before the season began, I only checked it out because it got excellent reviews. It’s actually surprisingly charming, although the pacing is slow, the muted color palette can be tiring and nothing really seems to be happening. I honestly struggled to stay awake during episode 2. Although there is nothing inherently wrong with the show, I’m considering dropping it because I’m just watching too much stuff and don’t have time, but I’ll wait for episode 3 to make my final decision (I’ll probably watch it Monday)

Shokoku no Altair: After the really good Sultan arc, apparently we had to go through another speed course on how to acquire new members for the party. I’m pretty much resigned to this not being the epic historical drama Arslan also failed to be, but it’s still sad to see this one getting the crappy production values while Inuyashiki is a lavishly animated production about bitter old men hating youngsters. Anyway, as long as further arcs can replicate the level of excitement and intrigue of the sultanlu arc, I’ll be looking forward to it and how Mahmut’s story unfolds. 

Fate/Apocrypha: You can tell how trashy the summer season was that Fate, which was one of my favorite shows of the season, is barely in the middle of the pack of this crowded Fall season. It’s also worth noting that I’ve lost a lot of the goodwill I’d mustered for the show after the writers remembered Palurdo-kun was supposed to be the protagonist, so now that he’s taken the center stage (and become Astolfo’s Master, which is a travesty, Astolfo deserves so much better than satisfying otaku’s otokonoko fetiches orz) I find myself rolling my eyes more often than not. Still hope to get cool fights out of this one and more Astolfo and Mordred.

GARO Vanishing Line: MAPPA brings us a new iteration of the GARO franchise, this time with a modern setting that throws back to ultra macho 80s anime OVAs aesthetic –I wouldn’t know, never watched those-. The hero is a buff uber muscular dude that literally prays at women’s boobs and Zaruba is a giant motorcycle that thinks women stink. The production values are impressive, both fight scenes are incredibly cinematic and exciting. The hypermasculinity borders on the hilarious, but I wish it could do away with the sexist humor, which luckily hasn’t been abundant enough to be insufferable. It’s a little soon to judge because they’re barely introducing us to the characters, but I’m still hoping this won’t devolve into shit territory like Crimson Moon did.

Kino no Tabi: Full disclosure, I only watched the first season of Kino a few months ago, so I have it very fresh in my memory. Since I didn’t know that this new season was more a soft reboot rather than a sequel, I thought I needed to watch the first one to check this one out. Turns out it wasn’t necessary, but I’m still glad I did it because the first season is fantastic. Which is why I’m a little concerned about this one, because the reinterpretation of the Colisseum story was… not good. It rushed through the story and made Kino look like a psychopath. The first episode was good so I’m crossing my fingers that this won’t turn into a horrible mess, but so far I’m feeling cautious and worried. But even if this one turns out to be a good reboot, I’d 100% recommend you check out the original.

Anime is in Fact Good

Classicaloid: Another show that came back with a different director and that I worry will struggle to replicate what made the first season special. There are some tonal things that make the change very evident, but so far it has overall been pretty great nonetheless, Classicaloid insane business as usual. I must say “New character appears claiming to be X’s relative, X believes it and starts treating N better to the detriment of the established cast” is a trope I’m not too fond of, but I’m willing to give them some time purely because they have a Hippopotamus that can do Musik. Honestly watching anime makes one write the weirdest of sentences.

Hoozuki no Reitetsu. Something comedy shows have in their favor is that if they come back, even after a long time, it feels like they never left. Hoozuki’s the same old Hoozuki and it’s a load of fun. I’ve loved both episodes so far, I can’t even pick a favorite skit of the ones we’ve had so far because all of them were so good. There’s not really a lot to say, if you liked the first season you’ll like this one. As usual it’s only detriment is you may miss some of the jokes if you’re not familiar with Japanese folklore, but there’s a lot of fun to be had nonetheless. 

Recovery of an MMO Junkie: Honestly, I’m very quick to judge a book by its cover, or in this case, an anime by its title. In this case, I promptly dismissed this as yet another otaku oriented harem videogame fantasy or whatever without even reading the synopsis. Then I heard the positive reactions to it and decided to give it a shot and boy was I pleasantly surprised! Not only does it feature a woman in her thirties as a protagonist –which is insanely rare! But it also focuses on delightfully adorable romance that breaches the barriers of gender. And honestly, there’s that scene in episode two in which Moriko sends a text and then horrified realizes it’s 2:00 am and feels super ashamed about it and it was so relatable I was 100% sold.

Best of the season

(don’t mind the order, I’ve loved all of these equally

Kujira no Kora wa Sajou ni Utau: So I may have misunderstood what this was about. I rarely read plot synopsis, so for some reason –I guess at first I thought the title was Kujira wa Sora- I thought there would be flying whales. There aren’t, but that’s definitely not a detriment to this incredible fantasy dystopian world. The color palette and the watercolor texture of the backgrounds gives it a magical atmosphere that is just a delight to watch. Although there’s a lot of exposition, none has felt like a forced infodump. The pacing is overall fantastic, and although the characters are a mystery for the most part, they’re already very endearing. This season is ripe with enchanting fantasy worlds and I’m really hyped about it. 

Houseki no Kuni: I was concerned about the CG designs on this one, but they work surprisingly well! The plot is still a bit unclear, but they’ve done a really good job in building the characters through their relationships to one another. Even though we don’t know a lot about them, I felt a lot of empathy for Cinnabar and Diamond and Bort, and Phos is a pretty nice point of view character to follow around. I’m definitely intrigued by the concept, and the execution has been great so far.

Blood Blockade Battlefront & Beyond: I hadn’t realized how much I missed this show until I watched the first episode of this new season. The loss of Rie Matsumoto’s wonderful directorial vision is very noticeable in the straightforwardness of the storytelling, but otherwise the show is surprisingly still a load of bombastic fun with endearing characters and fascinating world building. I particularly liked the hospital episode. I’m not sure where this story is going, but I’m excited to go along for the ride.

The Ancient Magus Bride: It’s important to note that the first episode has a lot of questionable material (please, can Elias never ever call Chise a puppy ever again), but I have to commend a great production when I see it. Readers of the manga assure that the questionable content will be contextualized later on, so I’m hopeful, because I’m already really sold on this show and I really don’t want it to be gross. It’s hard to explain or describe, but it just has this fantasy magical charm and a beautiful production that got me hooked from start to finish. It has been hyped to hell and back and so far it has lived up to my expectations. I think, apart from the lovely production values, the characters feel very real and deep from start to finish. It’s hard to explain why I feel so drawn to this show that should have so many red alarms ringing in my head, but I can’t help feel completely charmed by it

How am I gonna survive such a busy season with so much homework? Will I die trying? Will Ballroom ever stop hating women and gay people? Stay tuned to find out! And let me know which shows you’re watching this season!

[kazealous]

the ultimate sacrifice

@luckcharm: 

“Here's a feelsy drabble idea, Midori witnessing Kaze's death in Birthright because he was married by that point and perhaps his final thoughts as he realizes/remembers she's there?”

How much more pointless bloodshed can we endure... The army had not even reached Nohr yet, and many innocent lives had already been taken-- some even by Kaze’s own hands. How cruel the Wolfskin’s fate had been; they had merely wanted to protect their most basic of possessions, the land they had been born and raised upon... Nonetheless, Corrin’s party had been left with no other option.

The army was exhausted, tired from the mental and physical strain of their last battle. The weight of their guilt weighed heavily upon the minds of all, but there was nothing they could do but push through the mountainous region. Within a day they would reach the land of Nohr, a country of which these Hoshidans had only heard harsh whispers and cruel rumors.

Kaze walked with his leader, moderately ahead of the group, doing his best to alleviate the strain on the Dragon Prince’s moral compass. Kaze knew that he could never carry this burden on Corrin’s shoulders, as much as he wished he could-- the weight of so many deaths must be crushing for one who has only lived so shortly in the world of deceit and murder. He could understand why Corrin needed to be away from the others, and he hoped he was not unwanted in this period of mourning.

A short glance towards the heart of the army showed Kaze his family: Kaze’s wife cared for Midori’s emotional wounds. They were two more hearts he wished he could protect from the harshness that was a Ninja’s gory world. The women were too pure for this life of battle; they deserved better than the cycle of fighting Kaze could offer them. They deserved a quiet, normal life. Midori should have had an ordinary child’s life; she could have had her own friends and gone to school, she could have studied medicine to cure the sickly, not the wounded.

At times, Kaze regretted conceiving Midori; he should have never been so lucky to have such a shining example of a daughter. Not when everything he touched turned to ash and ruin. He dreamed of a commonplace life-- perhaps he could give them that if this war were to pass.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a sudden state of alertness--- call it a sixth sense, call it intuition, something was wrong. An acute tremor in the earth-- had anybody else noticed it? Could it be that he was overreacting? His gaze shifted towards Corrin, but there he found only pain.

「Landslide! Watch out!」 a familiar feminine voice echoed out behind them, accompanied by the roar of stones tumbling down the steep mountain’s wall. Kaze immediately grabbed Corrin’s arm and pulled him away from the edge, where they would be safest.

However, Fate would not agree with that plan. A rolling boulder caught Corrin, pushing him out over the edge with Kaze his only lifeline. Suspended under the edge with only Kaze’s grip keeping him from tumbling into the deep ravine, his words of protest were nearly drowned out by the thunder of rubble. “You have to let go of me! We’ll both fall if you don’t!”, the prince yelled-- both knew that Kaze could not endure the torrent of stones for much longer. Kaze had to act quickly. 「Never! I couldn’t live with myself... I already owe you my life.」

A flash of white feathers slid into Kaze’s field of vision-- who dared to fly so close to the landslide? Hinoka announced herself with a panicked shout: 「Corrin! Kaze! Hold on!」

It was then that Kaze knew what he had to do. Finally, he could repay the debts he had dragged with him throughout his entire life... at last, his life’s mission could be fulfilled: he could atone for the sins he had committed.

Perhaps it was the resolve in Kaze’s eyes that had given him away; perhaps it had caused Corrin to beg for him to stop. “Kaze, no! Don’t do anything foolish!”

It would be the last order Kaze would ignore.

「It has been a pleasure serving you, Lord Corrin... Please forgive me-- I am only doing what is necessary.」

In two swings, he gave Corrin enough momentum towards Hinoka, releasing the Prince at the prime of his arc. He watched as the Prince was caught, satisfied that his plan had worked: Corrin could finish this war in his place, giving Kaze’s family the bright new world they deserved... but they would have to live in it without him.

If only his legs had not been crushed by the landslide... It could be added to the long list of wishful thinking Kaze had been doing all his life.

The intensifying torrent took Kaze along with it, pushing him over the blackness of the void. As he fell, he attempted to turn his body so that he could perhaps see his darling daughter and lovely wife one last time...

But he was denied even that.

Midori... You deserved better than I could ever give you. I’m sorry.