#street fighter solo

[dontunderestimatemypoison]

Happy Nation

It’s taking a bit longer for Bison to recover than it normally does. Any opposing powers that want Bison gone try to take him out. Ada’s too paranoid. However paranoid Bison thinks he is, his adopted daughter is more so. Security is ramped up.

The few that make it close enough to the base are captured. They realize that they won’t be dancing with the devil, they will be dancing with the devil’s daughter. They learn of her ruthlessness. She personally tortures each one. The finale of each torture is her sending the head back to the respective cartel with a personal note.

Newspapers worldwide have headlines speaking of “Shadaloo’s New Red Devil of Terror.” Bison smiles some seeing the headlines. He’s taught her to fight and protect. He’s taught her of devotion. Much like F.A.N.G, Ada moves with an odd grace. While F.A.N.G’s grace is more Geisha like; Ada’s is more like a river, calm but has potential to become an angry torrent.

MI6 studies her picture and profile. A candid picture. Her in a red dress and oddly enough with shoes on for once. She’s at an event with Balrog and is whispering something to him in the photo.

Name: Ada Bison

Age: 24

Birthdate: April ??, 2000.

Birthplace: Appalachian mountains, East Tennessee

Powers: attempt was made to fuse Psycho Power into her. It did not take. The end result is a Berserk Mode during fights. She also was gifted the ability of mental projection by projecting thoughts and imagery from her mind to another’s mind.

Additional Info: Joined Shadaloo around twenty two years of age through F.A.N.G. Unsure of how they met. Knows at least two forms of martial arts, trained in fencing and boxing. Self taught in prepping. Uses a bow and arrow. Practices mountain magic. Knows at least three other languages, besides her native English, well enough to communicate conversationally. Normally calm and polite until she deems said person or group a threat. Uses some of her adopted father’s techniques but with her own twist. Also tends to favor the Hide and Ambush technique. Favors hidden traps. It’s not advisable to rush headlong into her area because of her techniques. Her finishing move is sending the head of anyone who ambushes her or Shadaloo back to their cartel or family.

“Ada, you need to keep an eye open for MI6,” F.A.N.G says.

“I am… They’re mainly wanting Papa. If that’s what they want, they can’t have him,” she says.

F.A.N.G smiles some. MI6 will have their hands full if they want to attack. He knows Ada will fight tooth and nail. By now, she has earned more respect amongst the ranks of Shadaloo. She fights along with them.

Two months later, Cammy White of MI6’s Delta Red is back near the Shadaloo base… the last place she wants to be after her time as one of Bison’s Dolls. She moves quietly. Dark green eyes are watching Cammy. Long, slender fingers line up an arrow in the bow and draws back. Aim is taken. The arrow whizzes through the air and pierces Cammy’s thigh.

Cammy attempts to stifle a cry. She tries to pull it out. Three more arrows whiz through the air and gets close to the first arrow. She struggles. There’s a soft crunch of leaves. All Cammy sees is a rectangle of pale skin and green eyes. Ada…

When a cloud passes over the sun, the Thai jungle darkens enough to obscure what little of Ada that Cammy can see. She knows any noise Ada made was intentional, a warning of her presence. Ada hides and attacks at random from a distance. Cammy finally gets the arrows worked out.

Eventually the two are face to face. Ada is relentless. Every action, every movement makes sense yet at the same time has no rhyme or reason. Despite this, Cammy was a former member of the Dolls. One of Ada’s group. She has some idea of how Ada functions.

Finally, Cammy strikes one side of Ada’s ribs. Her gauntlet’s knuckles make a sickening crunch. Ada clutches her side and yells. Those green eyes are nothing but rage filled. Despite the pain, Ada rushes forward. Any etiquette she’s been taught is gone. It’s been gone. She tackles Cammy. Bare knuckles hit anything possible on Cammy. Ada’s breathing is labored between the two broke ribs and all the moving she’s doing. An upper cut catches Cammy’s chin. It’s a knock out.

Balrog finds Ada and prevents her from bringing Cammy back, beheading her, and sending it to MI6’s Delta Red. Ada struggles. She yells in a mix of frustration and pain.

Back at the palace, Bison is furious. He’s upset she’s been injured. By now, her Berserker Mode has worn off. Things are kept quiet to the outside world about how the new leader is injured. They will see it as a weakness to see Shadaloo with two injured leaders.

“Ada, you keep quiet… no sending them a message! MI6 will be at our doors and have us surrounded on all sides,” Bison tells her. “We don’t need a war.”

A dark brown eyebrow raises.

“Ada,” he says firmly.

She holds her hands up.

“I’m tightening up security more though,” She rebuttals.

“As you need,” he says.

Ada works on ideas. She sets them into motion. She sends word to Fang and Bee to be more secure. She sends a couple of discreet guards to stay in front of and behind the building just to be safe. She’s not losing two loved ones. She’s leaving nothing to chance.

She hates having two broken ribs. Every move hurts. She does her best to rest. She’s used to moving and training and working. For the following three months, she heals.

In time, Shadaloo is more functional. Ada and Bison both have healed. Bison resumes his position at the leader of Shadaloo. Fang slowly resumes his place as Bison’s second in command.

Eventually, the UN wants to meet with Shadaloo. Ada goes as spokesperson. Instead of the red clothing she’s adopted or the navy blue she started out with, she now dons white and orange. A nod to the Volunteers and her stepping into power during a time of need. Her pants suit resembles an orange and white version of Boss Hogg’s.

The UN members fall silent seeing her. Orange and white heels click and clack in the now silent but crowded room. All eyes are on her. At the podium, she removes her hat and puts it in front of her on the podium. Dark green eyes stare around the room for several long seconds.

“What we've got here is failure to communicate. Some men, you just can't reach. So you get what we had here last week. Which is the way you want it. Well, you get it and I don't like it any more than the others,” she starts. “MI6’s Delta Red attacked Shadaloo at its lowest point, a point where our leader, my adopted father, was recovering and while our men had minimal supplies and weapons, while my father’s second in command was trying to pull Shadaloo up by the boot straps.”

“Your father is a tyrant,” one calls out.

Ada points to him.

“Delta Red attacked Shadaloo when we have done nothing wrong,” she rebuttals. “So who’s the real tyrant?”

“Potential threat to national and international security… Also, Madame Bison, what of the heads of rival leaders you’ve sent to their cartels? Your rivals?”

“They attacked my group when we could barely defend ourselves. I defended my group to the best of my abilities given the circumstances and limited supplies at the time and sent them a message,” she quips.

“What of the people who’s joined Shadaloo?”

“They’re people looking for a place to belong,” she states.

For five hours, questions are fired off and answered. They’re trying to wear her down. She’s been through Hell and back so she won’t give in easily. She uses all the loopholes in the Geneva Convention against MI6’s Delta Red. There’s security footage of rival groups attacking. Of Cammy trespassing to attack.

The UN warily admits Shadaloo is in the clear. Ada keeps a neutral expression until she gets in the limousine. A faint smile forms on her lips. For once, Shadaloo isn’t the Bad Guy. They aren’t deemed a threat… for the moment.

You can persecute us… You can even kill us… but we shall never capitulate…

[krizeros]

Shin Goku Satsu, The Raging Impa of Hyrule

[toonabby]

Happy 25th birthday, Aleks Le!

(Updated age/birth year)

[codedred]

        ❛  I  know,  it’s  a  lot  to  ask  .  .  .  but  .  .  .  it  would  have  been  weird  as  hell  to  ask  my  boss,  so  the  only  other  person  I  could  ask  that  I  trust  is  you.  i’ll  be  okay,  I  just  cannot  see  them  just  yet  until  I  do  what  I  need  to  do.  my  parents  haven’t  seen  me  since  I  was  sixteen,  so  it’s  going  to  be  alot  either  way,  I  just  need  to  get  this  one  thing  off  of  my  back  before  I  do.  ❜   you  can  still  see  it   :   the  missing  posters,  the  newspaper  clippings,  your  parents  crying  on  television.  you  found  out  they  were  willing  to  give  a  cash  reward  of  five-hundred-thousand  dollars  for  your  return.  that  damned  bison  ––  you  are  certain  he  knew  all  of  this,  he  just  didn’t  care.

they  all  had  to  die.  all  of  them.

❛  try  not  to  miss  me  too  much,  people  will  start  thinking  you’re  simping  over  me.  ~  ❜  you  try  to  make  the  vibe  more  light-hearted,  but  the  pain  just  seemed  to  be  too  heavy  to  bear.

@teslagravity / continuation from here!

[vanityangel]

Roman Reigns and The Usos have only themselves to blame for the Solo Sikoa that exists now. Before Solo even came up to The Bloodline he spoke of already feeling abandoned by his brothers and then when he did come up to join them Roman isolated him further from them. The Usos planted it in his head before The Bloodline Civil War at Money In The Bank that they had no desire to be the next Tribal Chief, but that Solo had both their vote to be. Then, Roman went and crowned him the Tribal Heir. They built this monster. Anyway, Solo Sikoa has never done anything wrong in his life and they should have saved him some of that mahi-mahi.

[lokisasylum]

[realwizardshit]

I got JJBA ASB but the problem is I am not good at fighters

[notestyy]

Commission are OPEN! You can check all basic info and prices HERE Just DM me if you'd like to grab one. Here's a little Juri in Lilith outfit as a cellshaded type commission sample.

[graphicpolicy]

UniVersus reveals Solo Leveling, Attack on Titan, TMNT, Street Fight, and more for 2025

UniVersus reveals Solo Leveling, Attack on Titan, TMNT, Street Fight, and more for 2025 #tmnt #sololeveling #streetfighter

UniVersus has revealed its road map for 2025 and it’s looking like it’s going to be one hell of a year. The collectible card game has an impressive amount of properties that you can mix and match to play with and 2025 is bringing even more! Not only that, but new “groundbreaking mechanics” and revisiting “classic roots with multiple fighting games” are mentioned in the announcement. Solo…

[bobowizard]

[captain-astors]

Finished my reference sheets for @tokyoghoulartfight2024 at long last! (Note: I removed Aoki’s gold earring because it looked weird)

Individual profiles

Shizuya Kei: Quinx, Blood Type AB+, 5'10. 28.

A solo-operating First-class investigator who underwent the Quinx surgery with a Bikaku kagune from an ghoul known as Kelpie. Prior to meeting Aoki he was almost completely apathetic, but as the two have collaborated, Aoki's requests have rejuvenated a desire for life in him. Also, his vision is awful. He sees blurs of color at best.

Aoki: Ghoul, Blood Type A-, 5'3. 24.

The infamous S~ rank Kakuja, codenamed "Kelpie", currently imprisoned in Cochlea; the grey oversized clothing is his prison attire. However, as opposed to being forced there, Aoki is there by choice, comfortably living in safety from his fellow ghouls as he directs Shizuya to eliminate various ghouls and gives him the advice needed to do so. (Note: I accidentally switched his earrings around for the Kakuja form, the base ref has them right) DO:

Draw them in ships, they have a weird gay thing going on with each other but they can absolutely be weird with another person, just know they're a package deal. If one of them is dating a character the other one either will be too or will be third wheeling.

Draw them interacting with canon characters/your OCs

Change their outfits/hair/whatever as long as they're them, Aoki's markings are just little patterns he he's taught himself to make on his skin with RC cells out of boredom in Cochlea so they can take just about any shape.

Blood/gore/angst

Ask me any additional questions about them!

DO NOT:

Draw NSFW of them

lighten Aoki's skin (lighting and stuff affects it of course but he's not pale)

Mutual Story (under the cut for length but I strongly encourage anyone interested to read it!)

Shizuya grew up in an entirely unremarkable lower-middle-class family with even less remarkable grades; he was never really expected to go far by anyone, so when he was accepted into the CCG training school he believed it might finally be his time. In reality he just had an aptitude for fighting, and by looking at his records V determined that if he were to die in action his body would not be highly sought after and therefore make suitable food for the garden.

Though he doesn't know the latter, he managed to figure out the prior by the time he graduated, but continued as a rank 3 investigator on the principle that he simply didn't have anywhere else to go. Despite being a talented fighter, he was so severely dispassionate and depressed that he never rose through the ranks and amassed scars from simply being careless in fights. The only thing that really interested him was joining his coworkers at bars and such after their shift, but Shizuya didn't know how to start up a conversation and mostly just ended up listening silently as they chattered and feeling emptier than before.

Aoki, meanwhile, grew up on the streets with a burning resentment towards just about everyone. Despite being claimed as part of a "pack" of ghouls, they abandoned him and his mother when they were cornered by Investigators, and his mom, who had been sharing her food with Aoki, didn't have the strength to outrun them. Instead she hid him as best she could in an alleyway, covering him in tattered blankets as she was cornered. Aoki watched, horrified and powerless to help as they killed her and called ghouls heartless beasts.

Aoki has never been able to forgive the ghouls that abandoned him, nor himself for not trying to help her, even if at such a young age couldn't have done a thing regardless, so he channeled his self-loathing into external hatred of his own species. He almost strictly consumed ghouls, eventually developing his Kakuja.

The "Kelpie" name is more fitting than just aesthetics, as one of his main strategies was to use his day job as a dancer to lure fellow ghouls to his home under the guise of kinship, just to devour them. However, this worked progressively less as he developed a reputation among ghouls and the CCG alike, and counterattacks became increasingly threatening in spite of his strength.

Their meeting was little more than coincidence. Shizuya was assigned to dispatch some ghouls that had been causing trouble in the 10th district, and Aoki happened to be attacking the same group. Shizuya got to them first, while Aoki watched from a distance, undetected. Aoki was overcome with an idea as he saw Shizuya dispatch these ghouls without a single spark of the hatred that he'd seen in the investigators that killed his mother, just melancholy.

Aoki attacked Shizuya, fully covered in his Kakuja. Aoki slashed his face, and Shizuya realized rather starkly that this wasn't like his other fights, where he was injured out of a lack of caring; Aoki was fully capable of overpowering him. However, as the two fought, Aoki managed to pin him to the ground and have a conversation with the Investigator. Shizuya admitted he felt aimless, and Aoki promised to give him purpose if he guaranteed the latter's safety. Shizuya, who, as predicted had no real allegiance to humanity or morals and just wanted to feel wanted, agreed. Their "fight" then proceeded, and Shizuya, under Aoki's direction, gouged one of his Kakuhou out of his back.

The first Kakuhou he took from Aoki was turned into his harpoon-like quinque, and shortly thereafter when the primary Kakuhou had heald, it was extracted and placed within Shizuya. The concept was to leave the ghoul alive and regularly transfer RC cells from the original host so that the Kagune would acclimate and be controlled with much more ease and less risk; and all the while Shizuya was supposedly torturing Aoki for intel and compliance.

However, this was really anything but the case. Aoki allowed this all for the technical protection of Cochlea, specifically entrusting Shizuya with his Kagune. With the publicity disaster with Shiki Kijima shortly before Aoki was taken into custody, Shizuya managed to arrange for all monitoring of the room to be shut down while he was "interrogating" Aoki, so that the public would never get the chance to form empathy for a mistreated ghoul. In reality though, Shizuya merely uses this time to deepen his relationship with Aoki, and seek his direction in which ghouls must be killed, and which investigators might be lost along the way. Their path is one of mutually assured destruction.

Though before Shizuya had no particular love for anything, now, as long as he's killing under Aoki's request, he does so with a deeply unnerving bloodlust, but it is nonetheless a passion.

Aoki is a surprisingly capable emotional support, (he just willfully ignores his own problems), and tenderly caring for Shizuya's wellbeing has actually done wonders for the deeply hateful worldview he's surrounded himself ever since the death of his mother.

They're anchored by each other, and their time together in Aoki's cell is usually just embracing and consoling each other in a weirdly tender way as Shizuya tells Aoki about anyone he's killed for him, and Aoki advises Shizuya about using his Kagune or who to hunt.

Shizuya keeps Aoki safe, Aoki keeps Shizuya sane.

Also they kiss, I'm not really sure where to mention that, there's not an exact label on their relationship it's just desperate attachment and fondness, "dating" doesn't exactly cover it.

Other facts:

Their rings are a sign of promise to eachother, Shizuya usually hides his under a glove but he deeply enjoys wearing it visibly when he can.

Shizuya regularly delivers meat to Aoki, so that if needed Aoki can always break out. It's not foolproof but it's better than nothing. He also makes sure Aoki's administered RC suppressant dosage is way too low.

Aoki doesn't technically have a last name but between them he is Aoki Shizuya, Shizuya said something about "sharing his" and it stuck.

[anglingforlevels]

Yours (Reader x Platonic Yandere!Imposter)

I can't walk on my knee, and apparently, knee-pain is the best motivator to write because I sat down and wrote this. Not sure if it makes sense, but alas.

CW: Yandere, monsterfuckery, reader has a brother, mental anguish, straight up no one has a good time in this story, not proofread, dead dove

Minors DNI

Today was an important day.

You hadn’t slept very well, still exhausted to the bone. Nonetheless, you had dressed up nicely for the occasion. A certain anxiety flittering and forcing you to fiddle around with trinkets and empty frames. You really should find a picture for that frame, then again, pictures was always more your brother’s thing.

The unrest culminated in said empty frame receiving a crash course in gravity, repaying the favor by glass shattering across the floor.

Damnit.

“Breaking the apartment?”

You were immediately faced with that question when you sheepishly emerged from your room to search for a broom. Asked by none other than your brother, James, who was lounging comfortably on the sofa, flipping through a magazine, he made a hand motion urging you to come sit too.

“Not yet. I dropped something, alas, my hands must be as smooth as marble, it just rolled right out of them.” You sighed and shrugged, awaiting the usual punchline expectantly. James made the grand sacrifice of looking away from the pages of his magazine to direct a raised eyebrow at you.

“Smooth as what now?” He asked, and your arms dropped, for a moment your expression did too, caught off guard. You collected yourself quickly though.

“Marble. It’s either this lame joke or self-deprecation.” At this, you dramatically sighed and lifted your hand to your forehead, “Oh, it seems even picture frames flees from my touch.”

James wrinkled his nose at this. “Ugh, no, I’d rather have Mx. Marble Hands back then.”

“I’m afraid they’ve perished. Marbled to death. Investigations still ongoing, my money’s on the picture frame.”

“Well, then they kinda had it coming, don’t you think?”

You gasped at this. “Vengeance is never the answer, haven’t you watched any children’s cartoons?”

“Not a child, so no.” He answered dryly. He had been a child at some point, so you weren’t sure what to make of the answer, feeling a bit at a loss, but you powered through.

“Mx. Marble hands deserved better than this. I’d hate to be them right now.”

“I’d hate to be them anytime. Now, please shut up about it and come sit down.”

“Despite how politely you asked, I can’t. Believe it or not – some of us actually have plans.” You said with a joking “hmpf”.

“Whaat, plans? No way.”

“Wha- what’s with the immediate disbelief? Today is an important day. Today’s… It’s…” You furrowed your brow as you faltered, not noticing the way James’ attention sharply focused on you. “…Today is important, isn’t it?”

But why? What was happening today?

“Oh, probably some kind of fight day or independence day? You were always sappy for those.” James laughed, and your expression relaxed as you rolled your eyes at him.

“It’s important to celebrate that kind of stuff.” You laughed, even though it still felt wrong. Feeling restless once more but without knowing what your plans were, you settled on the sofa next to James who abandoned his magazine in an attempt to convince you to play Street Fighter together, though at your continued rejection, he dejectedly played solo, shifting, and settling up against you as he played quietly.

Relishing the comfortable familiarity and domestic bliss, you closed your eyes with a sigh, enjoying the ache of your tired limbs coming to a rest, and most of all, enjoying the quiet. You liked it much better when he didn’t speak. And then, you felt startled at the thought, how mean it felt. You didn’t like the fact you had thought it at all, so you focused on something else.

You glanced at the sole item on the empty wall: The calendar. It was tacky and ugly, but you had some fondness for it, it was the first item you bought when you moved out to live on your own.

No, you didn’t live alone, you lived with James. Right, the first item for when you and James moved out.

You kept glancing though the date felt significant, it didn’t invoke memories of why, and you felt an odd sense of distanced anxiety at this, worried if you were possibly late for whatever your plans was, yet not feeling anywhere enough panic either, settled into lukewarm worry instead.

“You trying to make time fly faster or something?” James asked, not looking away from the video game he was playing (and losing). You looked away from the calendar at that.

“Maybe it’s just that painful to see you repeatedly lose Street Fighter. You know, you can crouch and kick on repeat, right?”

“I have something called integrity and honor.”

You glanced one last time at the calendar, the date keeping captive the corners of your mind, the ones that felt fuzzy and blurry – just out of reach from what you could comprehend. As you finally gave up on the calendar, you noticed the wall.

Had it always been this empty?

Somehow, the sight made you feel uneasy. “Hey James, why don’t we take some pictures?”

“…I really don’t like that kinda stuff. I’ve never understood the craze about phones and cameras.”

“Oh, I get why you’re bad at games now. You’re actually an old man.”

“Aw, shut up.”

You didn’t take notice of the way James looked at you, your own gaze fixed on nothing at all, an ambiguous expression on your face, as if unable to settle on an emotion among your conflicted, confused state. It was a buzzing, prickling sensation, like when regaining feeling in a numb limb, and it felt like you could unearth what these emotions were, if you just, held on a moment longer, if you let the numbness subsize just a little m-

“How about playing a song on the piano?”

“Oh? Uh, I don’t play the piano.” You said, disorientated, the numbness spreading again. James’ face dropped briefly.

“Then why don’t we watch a movie?”

“Yeah. Of course, sure. Can it be Beauty Squad” You answered almost reflexively. Happy for a distraction, you clung onto the suggestion, as if drowning your own senses in familiarity. James’ resigned compliance to your usual movie-choice felt like a warm blanket, a blissful cover.

The fatigue sitting in your bones made you give in to its warm embrace, how long had you been awake? It was hard to tell when being conscious and unconscious all felt the same.

Familiar tones played out, familiar lines, familiar antics. You thought James wouldn’t like you to rest your head in his lap, but he hadn’t said a thing in protest, silently letting you. Only the sounds of the movie filled the room as James absent-mindedly played with strands of your hair.

If this moment could last forever, then maybe everything would be okay. You could close your eyes to this moment and…

The music became chaotic and fast as the main character crashed down into their own graduation ceremony, saying a corny punchline before the cartoonish chase resumed.

“Pfft,” Your laugh caught James’ attention, and of course, he demanded to know what you were laughing at. “Ah, nothing, nothing. It’s just, this scene is just like when you accidentally interrupted your own graduation ceremony to take pictures.”

“…” James didn’t respond for a moment. And you looked at him… Right, he was in high school right now, wasn’t he?

“It’s… It’s nothing.”

You tried not to look at the empty wall.

You stood up. “Hey, the movie’s still going, sit back down.”

It took you a moment to respond, your mouth felt so dry, and a wave of dizziness hit. “I… I just wanted a snack. I’ll be back in a moment.” James looked blankly at you for a moment, and for a moment it felt as if he was examining you, like standing before a judge, and then he nodded.

You walked, part of you protesting needing permission from him to leave, but your mind wasn’t made up either, stuck in the desire to stay but feeling drowned, as if being swallowed by a vastness. You had to leave. To move. Something. Anything.

Drowning in the dark thoughts of your mind, it felt as if it would burst. Part of you wanted it to, tempted to hit your hands against your temple, as if to make everything spill, splash across the floor and far away from you.

Instead, you walked to the kitchen. One step, then the next. You wondered, in these moments, if he knew how it felt to die while breathing, to drown while on land. One step, then the next. It was all you could do.

In the kitchen, you opened the fridge only to be greeted by empty rows. No one had gone grocery-shopping it seemed. Right, that was your job, wasn’t it? Who else could it be? James was… he was a teen, right. Yeah, that’s right, you were alone.

No. Not alone. James was here, just, you were the only adult here. That’s right.

…

Grocery shopping, right. How long had it been since you went grocery shopping? When had you last gone outside? You looked down at yourself. You were dressed nicely. Right. Today was an important day, wasn’t it?

You felt lost and dizzy, seeking something to support yourself, your hand landed on the wall. The empty wall. Why was this wall also so empty? All of them was empty.

You mistook desperation for determination as you began to look through drawers to find an instant camera. You knew James had one lying around here. Your James had so many cameras.

“But James doesn’t like cameras.” You repeated joylessly. Nonetheless, in your hands, an instant camera. On clumsy feet you began to sneak toward the living room. James, unaware of your presence, sat on the sofa, waiting.

Click.

Looking down at the picture. It hadn’t developed yet. You’d find tacks or something so you could hang it. The sofa creaked as James stood up. He had heard the click probably, and noticed you standing awkwardly in the doorway, clutching something to your chest, of course.

You think, in the back of your mind, that James said something, but you head felt light, as you looked at empty walls. Temporarily empty walls. It would be better now, if you could just fill them out, your life could return to normalcy, and you’d return to the ground.

You looked down at the photo in your hand. Shapes were slowly starting to form, making way for imagery. It was only a flash, barked, hollowed skin, wrongly bent joints, and a yellowly glow, then something grabbed tightly onto your wrist, the photo snatched from your hand before it finished developing.

It was James grasping your wrist tightly, pupils dilated and a tight expression on his face. Then he sighed. “Playing spy, are we?” He smiled but the smile felt sharp and tight, and his laugh felt forced and bitter.

“I… I think I need to lie down.”

“Alright.” He nodded, leading you toward the sofa, but you weakly pulled against his grip, shaking your head.

“In my bed.” You needed to get away, his presence felt cloying, and the empty walls felt as if they closed in on you. You needed a moment. He didn’t stop tugging you toward the sofa, your limbs felt too weak to put up any real resistance.

“Don’t be silly. I can watch over you better from the sofa.”

You pulled harshly at his grip. “No!” He stopped and looked at you for a moment. And you felt little under his glance, unable to explain yourself properly. He was trying to help, but it was wrong, something was wrong. The walls was empty, the fridge was empty, the apartment was… “I… Just a moment, I’ll be out in a moment.”

After a moment, he released your wrist. “Okay.”

You stumbled a bit, having unconsciously relied on the support of his grip. It was the same old sensation of falling, yet your feet never left the ground, was it a dive into nothingness, or a flight into something worse? You never learned because each time, like an anchor, you’d be pulled to the harshness of the ground by a hand on your shoulder and another distracting line, it pulled you back but never caught you in your fall.

You wondered where’d you land without an anchor.

You hurried to your room and was greeted with shattered glass. Right. From earlier, you had needed a broom, and you had to hurry because today was an important day. Your foot touched the broken frame.

The empty walls were left behind, but the room felt even smaller, and you felt tired. Too tired to push against the pressure building, letting it swallow and choke you. There had to be… a picture. Something to put in the frame. Why else would you have it?

Looking through bottom drawers and beneath your bed, it was hard to tell if you had dived onto your knee or if they had simply buckled beneath the weight of your own desperation, glass shards dug into skin as you looked through cloudy eyes.

And, in the corner under your bed, hidden away by pieces of cloth and scattered objects, was a little box. You pulled it out, your hands shook as you opened the little lock with practiced ease, as if you knew the box already.

In the box was carefully placed pictures, all wrinkled as if having been held often. On the roof of the box was a date scribbled, today’s date. You were in many of the pictures, sticking your tongue out at whoever was taking it. And some of them, there was another person, usually laughing together with you.

For a moment, you almost wanted to ask; Who’s that?

Something within you felt like it was going to burst. “James?”

This guy whose smile was entirely different, whose eyes were different, whose build was different – who was different. This was James, and for a moment, you had forgotten. Someone you loved and held so dear; you had forgotten until reminded.

Each time you looked away, it grew hazy once more, and it took just a second longer to recognize the picture again. It felt as if you’d break beneath it all.

“Oh, you want me to pause the movie?” James’ voice called out from the other room. No. Not James. Whoever that stranger was, it wasn’t James, they didn’t even bear a semblance. You wanted to scream and cry and ask, no, demand answers from this imposter.

“Hello, you hear me?” His head peeked through the door-opening, and every word died on your tongue as familiarity enveloped you. It wasn’t… It was not James. Your grip tightened on the picture, as if to remind yourself.

 “Hey,” he said, a concerned look. “Are you okay?”

You didn’t respond, didn’t know how to. But perhaps you didn’t need to as he saw the scattered photos among bloody glass shards. “Come out, I’ll bandage your wounds.” Was all he said.

“You’re not him. You’re not my brother.” It felt like pushing a boulder just to say that. The words felt foreign in your mouth, but you held onto the truth the best you could.

“What’s different about me?” he asked. You hadn’t been prepared for that question. Retaliation, denial, anything but that question.

“It’s… Different. You…”

He laughed. “You really do need to lie down; you must be half-asleep or something.”

No. For the first time today, you felt awake. “No. I know I’m right. You’re not…” You all-but flung the picture of your brother at him. The picture now in view, the person in front of you grew unfamiliar again.

“Does it really matter? If you need a picture to notice we’re different?” Before you had a chance to even respond, he leaned closer, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look away from the scattered photos. “Try it. Describe him.”

…You couldn’t.

“But when you look at me, you remember. Who cares if the memories are right?”

There was a temptation of giving into the sweetness that clung onto his words, the sweet lie feeling more welcome than a truth you feared facing. But you could still feel the photos beneath your fingers, feel the sting of the shards in your skin.

“I care!” Your voice raised and cracked, sharp and jagged like the shards.

Frustration slipped into his sigh. “For now. But as always, you’ll forget again. There’s no point in this tantrum. You don’t want to remember anyway, you’re too fragile for loss, so just-“

His words were interrupted as you nicked his cheek with one of the glass shards. At this he stepped back, releasing your chin. His expression’s thinly veiled exhaustion and annoyance gave way for clear resentment and frustration.

When he spoke, his voice was bitter and low, an almost malicious edge to it.

“Do you even comprehend how much I hold back not to kill you? Every moment, it’s as if your very being beckons me to consume it, that’s why I showed up to begin with. To feed. But I decided to stay, unlike everyone else, I’m staying, I’m here!

Anything you lack, anything you miss – I’ll be that. Your brother, your friends, your old stuffed animals, your childhood, yours. I’m yours. Why don’t you und-“He stopped his increasingly fast rant, sighing in tired frustration. “It doesn’t matter. In the end, it’ll be the same as always. You stay. You always stay with me, just like I always stay with you.”

Your breath was caught in your throat. But… Even though you didn’t remember, you remembered the feeling of flying so high and swimming so far, now you were stuck at the bottom of the ocean, unable to lift from the ground as you drowned, and you longed to remember the feeling of not hurting, in the face of that, fear meant nothing.

“You can’t become my brother; you can’t become anything.”

“I can. I do.” He insisted. He kneeled next to you, reaching out to you as if to comfort you, as you flinched, he let his hand fall again, and part of you wished he hadn’t, longing for the warmth. “Hidden wounds don’t need to heal. And someday, I’ll replace even the blood gushing from those very wounds.”

Nothing about his words was a comfort, somehow it felt as if he was comforting himself with them. You wanted to explode in anger, continue an assault, use glass shards or words, but anger was flames and passion and action and – and you were just too tired.

“Do you hate me this much, to torture me like this?”

“Not hate.” At this, he breached the invisible barrier, letting his hand cup your cheek. “Every time you remember a little less, question a little less, and I hide a little less. Bit by bit. One day you’ll look at my true body, hear my true voice, and think nothing of it. All you’ll see is your brother. And you’ll be right, your brother, me, not him. Not some wasted grief. I’ll make you happy.”

“This doesn’t feel like happy.” All you could manage was a broken whisper. “Why?”

He was silent for a moment before speaking,

“I’ve fed on countless people. I exist only in the scope of broken dreams and wasted chances. Regrets is the proof of life, and so I remove those regrets, and with that, their very lives, and humanity slowly corrodes. And I – I cannot even have that. That one, painful semblance of life, and yet I continue to live.”

His voice was an odd mix of gleeful and resentful. You thought, somewhere in the back of your mind, that maybe he was happy to just bare himself at all, another part of you wished he didn’t, as he grew more distant from what you knew with each word, but you didn’t believe this speech really was for you, it was for himself.

“Reasons, what reasons did I have for living or dying. I was devoid of it all yet forced to play part of it all the same, in make-believe fantasies. And even so, it was never for me to comfort or be comforted, never for me to share a meal, never for me to hold a hand, never for me to hear the sound of someone playing the piano for me, never for me to fight and make up with someone, never for me.

In this world I lacked even ones to hate. And yet, all I could do was hate. Stuck in the dirt, all I could do was look up into heaven, cursing every leaf picked by the wind, every bird that could fly, everything that could move where I could not. Love where I could not. I was in hell but forced to act out heaven.

Every time it’d be a new face, a new regret, a new deception. Never me. Always something there isn’t there. But you… You saw, you knew – for a moment, you knew. And yet, you stayed. You didn’t fight, didn’t run. You closed your eyes to it, and clung to my delusions, clung to me.”

“And yet, here you are, pretending to be my brother.” At this, the corners of his lips quirked down, his figure looming as it seemed to grow, crooked and spiny. You thought maybe this was just a little closer to his true form.

“One day, you’ll forget why you clung to me. And then you’ll cling to me all over again. I know it, you are my one thing, my one person, the one thing for me. You infuriate me, you bring me joy, regrets, hopes, all of it – I can obtain it with you, through you, if I just hold on long enough.

Even if my body decays under the weight of hunger, I’ll stay for you without fail.”

”But I want you to leave.” The words sounded fake and hollow, even in your ears.

At this, he laughed. “Leave? And then what, you’ll be left in this empty apartment? Staring at pictures, rewatching old home movies? You don’t really want that.”

“Shut up, you don’t know what I want. You don’t-“ your words were like sand in your throat, forcing it to close until nothing could come out but broken sobs. He took the silence as cue to move closer, wrapping his arms around you – you hated the comfort of this stranger but felt unable to push away its familiarity, clinging desperately unto it.

“I can leave. Simply say the words and you’ll be rid of me.” He said with such ease because he knew you couldn’t do it. In the end, the only thing crueler than this torture was its absence.

[askagamedev]

I’ve got two questions if you don’t mind:

1.) when making a game what’s the best place to start? (Story, character design, etc?)

2.) most have their brand/developer names, but do you need one to publish games?

Thanks in advance from a solo dev!

Sure, I can answer both.

1.) when making a game what’s the best place to start?

Always start with core gameplay. What will the player actually be doing? The player must be an active participant in whatever is happening in the game. If players are just going to sit and watch passively, they aren't playing a game at all - they're watching a show. What makes something a game is the active participation of one or more players to drive progress and make choices. In order to figure out how the player participates, you need to think about the various things the players will be doing and how those things are fun. A good rule of thumb is to list the actions as verbs. In a game like Call of Duty, the player verbs would be running, jumping, aiming, shooting, and throwing grenades. In a game like Street Fighter, the player verbs would be punching, kicking, jumping, blocking, crouching, throwing, walking, and performing special moves. Think about the actions player will be doing in your game and how you will build that out.

2.) most have their brand/developer names, but do you need one to publish games?

You don't absolutely need to have a separate brand or name to release a game - several solo devs have gone the route of full transparency. However, having a brand name does help to establish a separation of your work from you as a human being. That kind of association is pretty much permanent because the internet never forgets. Having the game, its community, and anything you post indelibly tied to any of your other public-facing actions on the internet (including personal social media posts) can be a double-edged sword. Having an intermediary name/entity be a shield can help a lot when you need it, and going 100% public is something that can't be taken back.

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[averagewriter-inthedark]

Rooster’s Ballerina 🩰 | Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw Headcanon

Link to my TGM Masterlist

Rooster dating a professional ballerina would look like:

Majoring in dance at UVA, you met Rooster when he and some of his buddies decided to attend the university’s annual ballet rendition of “The Nutcracker,” their senior year because his friend was dating a dance student. You played the Sugar Plum Fairy & to be honest, Rooster was close to falling asleep until it his eyes landed on you, captivating the future pilot during your solo. Rooster could not keep his eyes off of you, leaning toward is friend to ask, “who’s she?” His friend replied, “oh that’s, Y/n L/n. She’s a junior I believe—and word on the street is the New York City Ballet Company has their eyes on her for when she graduates.” Rooster didn’t have to be a dancer to know that was a big deal, just the way his friend said it was enough to figure out the company was the best of the best. Kinda like how Top Gun was the best of the best for fighter pilots.

Your talent for the art of ballet was evident right from the moment you stepped foot in a ballet studio. So much so that your parents homeschooled you up until high school so you could dedicate all your time and energy into ballet. At one point you got the chance to audition for Juliard, but an injury to your ankle resulted in you having to miss out. Thankfully UVA had sent a scout to your hometown after your instructor emailed a bunch of universities to come see you perform when you were healed, and they offered you a full ride under their program.

After the show ended, Rooster couldn’t get you out of his mind. Even when he left to his apartment and throughout winter break, he often thought of you and the way you glided across the stage. The sparkles of your outfit shined against the light, pulling in everyone’s attention. Smile bright and eyes glowing, you were like a siren luring him in, moving so effortlessly Rooster never wanted you to stop. He could watch you dance forever.

Spring semester came around and Rooster couldn’t believe his luck when you were standing behind him in the Starbucks early one morning. Feeling bold, he whispered to the cashier, “this is to cover the lady behind me,” handing over an extra $10 bill on top of the payment for his order. The cashier gave a knowing look, Bradley moving to the side to wait for his coffee and trying (but failing) to not watch your reaction. A smirk had already made its way onto his face when you strolled up, “i don’t know if I should feel flattered or offended that you payed for my drink, Mr…..” “Bradley Bradshaw.” “Well, Bradley, care to explain why over our cups of coffee?”

Basically Rooster came clean to you saying he was the friend of your classmates boyfriend and saw you perform at the winter recital. “I’m sorry if you find it weird, but when I recognized you in line….I felt drawn to you. I just would love to get to know you better if you’d let me.” Needless to say that unintentional coffee date was the beginning of your love story with Bradley. You two were inseparable after that, falling in love each day and knowing you two were each other’s soulmate.

You attended his graduation and commission ceremonies and Bradley went to every recital/show you were in. Sometimes he’d pick you up from practice and would just watch you with absolute awe, other times he’d ask to lift you just for the hell of it. Always bringing you snacks, Bradley would scold you if you missed a meal because you were in a hurry or had a busy day and forgot. “Babydoll you gotta be fed before you train otherwise you’ll be tired quicker and feeling like crap.” You weren’t on a diet or anything so sometimes he’d bring you fast food or pick up a sandwich/salad at a grocery store just so you has some food in you.

Bradley was so supportive of you, and you were of him. A difficult time in your relationship was having to be long distance for about three years after you graduated. Bradley was finished with flight school, now an active duty naval fighter pilot which had him bouncing between bases whenever an assignment came up. You were recruited to the New York City Ballet Company, a dream of yours since beginning ballet, and was not going to pass up the opportunity of a lifetime. That meant you would be living in New York, while Bradley could end up who knows where. Thankfully his first duty station was on the east coast so he got to visit you a lot. And Rooster never missed a show—especially when you were the lead role. He was your biggest fan, giving you a standing ovation when no else would. “You were incredible, babydoll. The best ballerina out there—I’m so proud of you.”

Rooster is the type of guy who would have your picture on his desk/nightstand. The one at work is you during your performance of Swan Lake, which he loves to brag about when coworkers point it out. “Oh that’s my ballerina. She’s amazing—the best in the country.” On his nightstand is a black and white photo of you during practice up on arabesque, smiling at the camera. It’s one of his favorites and also keeps it as his screensaver.

After doing some time with the NYC Ballet Company, you wanted to be closer to Rooster, satisfied you lived your dream of dancing with the best dance company in the country, and had the honor of being the lead in Swan Lake & Gisele, while also being the Sugar Plum Fairy and Snow Queen in The Nutcracker. There were plenty of other dance companies in the country, plus you always dreamed of opening your own dance studio—but that would come once Rooster retires and you two found a place to settle.

So, after you left the NYC Ballet Company you and Rooster got married after 5 years of dating and you followed him wherever he went. When he went to San Diego for Top Gun, you found a studio where the owner allowed you to practice free of charge if you helped teach the students. Of course you agreed and it just reaffirmed your dream of opening your own studio. The kids were so amazing and you loved sharing the art of ballet with them. Many asked for you to tell stories of your time in New York & asked you to dance for them after their lessons concluded. “What’s your favorite ballet, Miss. Y/n?” “Oh that is difficult to answer. I love all of them, but my absolute favorite of all time is Swan Lake.”

After several years of traveling with Rooster, he could tell you were longing to be part of a company again. So when the orders came he was assigned to the Strike Fighter Squadron 87 at NAS Oceana, he looked to the skies and thanked whoever above because it meant you could go back to New York & he would be in Virginia again. You nearly cried when he told you, especially when he encouraged to audition again, “really? You’re sure you wont mind? I know we talked about—.” “Baby, you’ve spent your whole life wanting to dance for them—you left once to support me, now i’m going to support you. We survived doing three years of it, we can do it again and I will be at every show cheering you on.”

Rooster kept his promise. You couldn’t believe the company accepted you back again, especially after so many years had passed and you weren’t 22-24 anymore. You were now pushing early thirties—but still danced like you did in college. A lot of the younger girls and guys looked up to you, asking for advice or a second opinion on where improvement was needed. Every Friday night Rooster was leaving Virginia for New York & would stay the entire weekend. You two would always explore, go on dates, and Rooster would even sit in on your afternoon practice—-which the younger girls would get flustered much to your amusement. “Your husband is very handsome, Y/n.” “I love how he’s so supportive of you. I wish my boyfriend was like that.” “Honey, if your man isn’t supportive of you and your career, then you deserve better.”

When Rooster was selected for the 2019 Top Gun special detachment, it had only been two years since you returned to NYC. Rooster encouraged you to stay, not wanting you to leave again after you’d been selected as the Sugar Plum Fairy once again for the upcoming performance of ‘The Nutcracker’. “It’s three weeks, Y/n. Before you know it I’ll be back. They wouldn’t have called me if they didn’t think I could get the job done.” “If they’re not telling you the details right now then it’s gotta be serious, Bradley. What if—what if I never you see you again. You’re my husband dammit—I’m not gonna sit here, on the other end of the country, worried out of my mind.”

In the end he won the argument, but on the condition he kept you updated with the details of the mission. FaceTimes were every night, with Rooster telling you on day one of training that Maverick was the instructor. You’d never met the man, meeting Bradley after their falling out, but had knowledge of all their history. When he told you Phoenix was there you had a sense of relief. Natasha was someone you could trust and would tell you if Rooster was hiding something. Worry filled you at the mention of Hangman being a candidate, well aware the pilot was a ‘every man for himself.’ You never formally met him, but the stories were enough for you to not trust him to have your husbands back.

Speaking of worry, you were worried to the point of throwing up when Rooster told you he was selected for the mission after confessing it was so high-risk, the higher up’s saw it as a suicide mission. Tears were shed over the phone, Rooster promising to come back to you. “I promise, baby, im gonna come home to you. I have to so I can watch you dance—I promised you all those years ago i would never miss a show.”

When he did return home, you nearly slapped him after he told you what he did. Disobeying orders to save Maverick and getting shot down. You were furious with him. “Were you out of your mind?! You could’ve fucking died, Bradley!!! What the hell were you thinking?!” “Mav told me not to think……”

A month later it was Christmas in New York. The night of the show you were backstage in your robe with hair and makeup done when the stage assistant said, “Mrs. Bradshaw, there’s some people here for you.” Following them out, your jaw dropped at the sight of the group standing in the backstage lounge. Rooster, Maverick and a group of gentleman—including Hangman—were dressed in their Dress Blues, each holding a red rose, and Phoenix wearing a gorgeous red gown. “Oh my gosh, what is this?!” You went to Rooster’s embrace, the man kissing your cheek to not mess up your lipstick. Taking the rose, you then greeted Nat—who also had a rose.

After the mission was a success, Rooster let it skip he was married when he said, “although I survived, I feel my wife is gonna kill me when I tell her what I did.” Immediately everyone—including Mav—was like, “Hold up, you got a wife?!” That then had an hour long monologue from Rooster basically telling y’all’s love story….and making it well known you were one of the best ballerinas in the country. “Damn, Bradshaw,” some said when he showed the program of the show you headlines. “Can I have some of that game you have?” The second he mentioned you had a performance coming up the squad was like, “looks like we��re going on a road-trip to see a ballet show.”

Introducing you to the squad, Bob, Fanboy, Hangman, Coyote, and Payback each shook your hand and presented the rose. You pretty much had a bouquet at that point with all of them together. “So nice to meet the lady who captured Bradshaw’s heart,” Hangman smiled, surprising you with how genuine he was. When you looked at Bradley, his nod signified he was cool with the pilot, so you welcomed Hangman with an open mind. Mav was really excited to meet you, shaking your hand while saying, “it’s an absolute pleasure to meet you, Y/n—.” You surprised the captain by pulling him into a hug, “thank you. Thank you for saving him.”

After some small talk and wishing you luck, you were called to dress and the audience was to take their seats. Rooster gave you a soft kiss, whispering, “you’re going to do amazing, baby. Good luck and dance your heart out.” Thanking him, you kissed him again and waved goodbye as the stage assistant ushered them to their seats.

Rooster wasn’t kidding when he told the squad you were one of best ballerinas in the country. You lived up to the reputation he had given you. Dancing to the music, the light bouncing off the sparkles of your outfit, they were captivated by you, just like Rooster was the first time he saw you dance. “Wow,” they all murmured during your solo. Hangman leaned into Coyote to whisper, “well there’s one thing for sure, if they have babies, they’re gonna be talented in whatever they do.”

It was deja vu for Rooster, coming full circle because once again he watched you as the Sugar Plum Fairy—only this time you were his wife and soulmate, not just the girl he admired and only knew by name. You were his ballerina.

……………..

TGM Tag list: @avaleineandafryingpan, @caitsymichelle13, @poppyalice2001

[wanderersrest]

An Abbreviated History of Mecha Part 3.2: Condition Green (1986-1990)

Welcome back to An Abbreviated History of Mecha! Last time, we covered the first half of the 80's with a bit too much of a focus on the works of one Ryousuke Takahashi. If you remember from the last post, I also covered one series in particular: Legend of the Galactic Heroes. I'm bringing it up here so that it'll be fresh in your head: Galactic Heroes would be one of many Original Video Animation (OVA) series that would be released in this time.

It should also be noted that, unlike last time, there would be a new medium for mecha stories to flourish in: video games! While video games existed at least since the late 70's, it would be in the 80's where they would become mainstream.

Anyways, let's get down to business. Now, before I throw each and every one of you into the bay!!

The Five Star Stories (1986)

Created by Mamoru Nagano, the Five Star Stories would be his first major solo project after leaving Sunrise due to the higher-ups constantly blue-balling him. Covering at least five books and a couple of OVAs, the Five Star Stories is one of the true classics of the canon of mecha.

Now if you want to get an inkling of what he did before the Five Star Stories? I'll cover that next time.

Metal Armor Dragonar (1987)

Coming off the heels of Mobile Suit Gundam ZZ, Sunrise was eager to fill in the void that Gundam left in its wake. And that's where Metal Armor Dragonar comes in. While I felt weird referring to Layzner as being Gundam-like, here I don't. Dragonnar was made first and foremost to fill in for Gundam, especially after the lackluster performance of ZZ.

Robocop (1987)

Also in 1987, we would see the release of Paul Verhoven's Robocop. Robocop is a part of that generation of 80's films where the original movie's deep scathing criticism would be watered down by corporate America's need to constantly make money off of each and every remotely popular series. And while that may be true, the original Robocop still holds up as a scathing criticism of American capitalism in the 80's.

Rockman/Megaman (1987)

(I just found this gif on Tenor. If anyone knows who to source it to, please let me know.)

1987 would also see the release of Capcom's Megaman, one of the icons of the halcyon days of gaming. Sporting his arm-mounted Mega Buster, Mega Man would run through multiple stages in an attempt to stop Doctor Wily and his army of Robot Masters. Megaman would become one of the more iconic of Capcom's roster of characters, though over time he'd be left behind in favor of other characters like Ryu from Street Fighter, Dante from Devil May Cry, and my personal favorite, Rathalos from Monster Hunter. Fortunately, the Blue Bomber would never truly be forgotten, especially with the surprise release of Mega Man 11 in 2018.

Warhammer 40,000 (1987)

Man, 1987 was a packed year for mecha, wasn't it.

In 1987, Games Workshop would release the first edition ruleset for Warhammer 40,000, the sci-fi spinoff to their popular Warhammer Fantasy setting. The grim dark future of the 41st millennium is filled to the brim with all sorts of mechanical monstrosities, from the hulking Imperial titans, to the crimson-robed tech priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus and the mechanical hordes of the Necron.

A fun thing to also note is that, due to both series having a big modelmaking scene, Warhammer 40k tends to see an overlap in fanbases with Mobile Suit Gundam. It certainly helps when both peddle in plastic crack, and as someone who is addicted to the Gundam variety, game respects game.

Patlabor (1988)

Created in 1988 by the collective known as Headgear (which includes famed director Mamoru Oshii among its ranks), I would consider Patlabor to be one of the greatest love letters to mecha ever created. Patlabor is a series where a lot of worldbuilding was added to justify the existence of the giant robots that the creators love so dearly. Something to take note of while watching Patlabor is the general optimism the series brings to the table, even though the series is often grouped together with shows like Armored Trooper VOTOMs.

Most of the series would release between the the end of the decade, but one entry in this franchise would release during a rather rough moment in Japanese history. I'll cover it at some point when I get around to the 90's. Let's just say that if you know what the phrase "Kill Wyvern" is, you'll probably recognize what it'll be.

Also, not to toot my own horn or anything, but I did a write about Patlabor back in the day. So feel free to check that out as well if you have the time.

Cyberpunk 2020 (1988)

(Footage from Cyberpunk 2077)

In 1988, Mike Pondsmith would release the first edition of the Cyberpunk 2020 ruleset, because this is the 80's and tabletop RPGs are kind of the thing (Satanic Panic notwithstanding). In a move that will surprise no one, this series would help to codify a lot of tropes associated with the cyberpunk genre, including at the very least the concept of cyber psychosis.

In 2012, former Internet darling company CD Projekt Red would announce that they would be working on a video game adaptation of Cyberpunk called Cyberpunk 2077. Let's just leave it at that, as I don't really have nice things to say about CD Projekt Red.

Dragon's Heaven (1988)

From mechanical designer Makoto Kobayashi comes 1988's Dragon's Heaven. This extremely stylish and artistically unique OVA is a product of what happens when you give someone who's career started with building garage kits the budget to make an OVA. You want to know where the budget went to? It went into making the models for the main mecha of the OVA. Don't take my word for it? Here's Kenny Lauderdale talking about exactly that.

And in case anyone's wondering, Makoto Kobayashi has, in fact, worked on Gundam before. He's the one who designed Zeta Gundam's Baund-Doc and The O.

Ghost in the Shell (1988)

Also releasing in 1988 is the manga Ghost in the Shell. Created by Masamune Shirow, Ghost in the Shell would become an important series in the worlds of cyberpunk and anime, especially with the film that would release in 1995 directed by Mamoru Oshii. Specifically, this movie along with Akira would be some of the first anime that would really show that people outside of Japan had an interest in anime. Ghost in the Shell would also come to be one of the more influential works out there, as it would be the basis for the Wachowski's iconic movie The Matrix.

Mobile Suit Gundam 0080: War in the Pocket (1989)

1989 would be greeted with the introduction of two (of many) culturally important mecha OVAs. The first is Mobile Suit Gundam 0080: War in the Pocket, which is also the first Gundam series to be directed by someone not named Yoshiyuki Tomino. War in the Pocket would be a great reminder of why Gundam works as a story, but it would also be one of the Gundam stories with, in my humble opinion, the strongest anti-war messages of the franchise.

Gunbuster (1989)

The other would be Studio Gainax's first official (meaning not the Daicon short) animated series, Gunbuster. Arguably one of the most hot-blooded mecha series out there, Gunbuster is a series that tries to ground itself with real world physics before going "eh," throwing it all in the waste paper basket, and deciding that all we need is HOT BLOOD. This would be the first of many of Gainax's hits, and it would be the first of what I'm going to be referring to from here on out as Gainax's Elite Four.

Conclusion

We've covered a lot of series, but you might be asking yourself things like: "What was going on with Nagano?"

Don't worry, my friends. We still have one more part for the 80's. And in case you're wondering why I saved this part for last, it's because Tomino's output in the 80's is pretty legendary due to how iconic pretty much every series is. Granted, not everyone talks about these series in this day and age, but anyone who's talked about mecha in any capacity will more than likely be able to recognize at least one of these series.

You will see the tears of time.

[dasbrummli]

Types of People: Humans I love(d).

The Little Sister: Flared pants and platform Doc Martens. Delicate gold earrings, perfect skin and bright eyes. Flat white coffee or matcha latte. Bagels. Techno music and poetic folk songs. Paris. Polaroids. Quick witted and humorous. Dachshund. Shabby sweatpants and runway fashion. Floppy ears. Massages. Banana bread.

The Little Brother: Street smarts. Perfect driving. Anything but resentful. Stained sweatshirt and Burberry Trenchcoat. Photography. Basketball. Chill. Humorous. Infuriating but so so lovable. Teacher. Surprisingly insightful. Advisor. Confident and cocky. Beer and Barbecue sauce. Coffee mugs. South Africa. Spontaneity. Arrogant.

The Father: Golden morning light. Expensive camera equipment and cheap gas station coffee. Model trains. Thick wool sweaters. Cologne and scratchy cheek kisses. Blankets of snow. Hares. Holly Cole and The Boss. Hilarious. Anything but an experimental eater. Spaghetti Bolognese and Stollen. Vibrant forest. Red wine and milk chocolate. The Musician.

The Mother: Crime novels. Warm soft hugs. Silent laughter, red cheeks, tears in eyes. Surprises. Book smarts. Perseverance. Organised and focused. Strong black tea and dark seedy bread. Elephant whisperer. Insomnia. Open mindedness and indignation. So supportive. Manners. Nice porcelain. Hydrangeas and roses. Plum jam. Perfect pedicures.

The Older Sister: Long walks. Control freak. Forests. Fantasy worlds. Diving head first into a swimming pool. Daydreaming. Curly hair. Pretentiousness. Everyday magic. Books. Tiny handwriting. Long wool coats. Mind all over the place. Excitement. Cold hands and warm sweaters. Hopeless romantic. Owls. Greek mythology. Trivia. Ink. Details. Cappuccino with cinnamon and cocoa.

The Musician: Delicate fingers plucking at Cello Strings. White chocolate. Knitting. Sarcasm, emotionally distant. Squirrels. Autumn walks, rain, graveyards. Audiobooks. Norway. Engineering, technical drawings, ballpoint pens. Morbid curiosity.

The Fighter: Clean and crisp white sheets. Determined. Cold brew coffee. Fragrant white Hyacinths blooming on a windowsill. Toned shoulders. Emotional intelligence. Brutal honesty. Philosophical books. Lab coats. Excellent listener. Pep talks and feminism. Triathlon. Anything to achieve your goals. Knowing smirks. Moscow mules. Reading not for pleasure but learning (or the pleasure of learning?)

The Scientist: Obscure inside jokes. Freckles. Dancer. Questionable cook, decent baker. Physics. The Smartest. Elegant movements. Thrifted knitted jumpers. Multicoloured nail polish. Poetry. Eccentric. Debating society. Entire page covered in the tiniest notes. Funky coffee mugs. Books picked off the street.

The Scout: Strong moral compass. Scouts honour. Massive Fantasy novels. Guffawing. Tie dye T-shirts and shining blue eyes. Ships. Camping. Adventure. Overwhelmingly talkative, but not in a bad way. Carefree. Trinkets and bonfires. Dunes and seafoam. Orange.

The Travel Companion: Political. Volunteering. Singing flatly but passionately. French patisserie. Colourful felt. Opinionated. Exuding coolness on the dancefloor. Dark green. Finland, pine forests and smoked salmon. Tents. Virology. Hypochondriac. Experimental cooking. Mushrooms. Aromatic black tea.

The Oldest Friend: Books over books over books. Deep talks. Old friends. Yoga. Peppermint tea. Sky blue. Memories. Therapy. Snowboarding. Pixie cut. Relaxation, taking it easy. Veganism. Dog person. Gender Studies. Runner. Coming back stronger and gentler than ever. Gift exchange. Solo holidays. Empathy.

The Exchange Student: Fast talking, Aussie accent. Oversized sweatshirts. Oat milk. Glowing skin. Sea foam. Pearls and silver. Fresh tulips. Warm summer days. Sunny side up eggs, drizzled with golden honey. Pool balls clicking. Hot chocolate. Belgian beer. Dog person. Silver rings, one on each finger. Tan lines.

The Designer: Linocut. Wide pants, black turtleneck. Oat milk. Creativity. Graphic design. Nose ring. Mullet. Enjoying and celebrating the beautiful things in life. Analogue photography. Coffee is a science. Patient. An artist. Berlin. Tortoiseshell glasses.

The Certified Badass: Bouldering. Fine line tattoos and silver ear piercings, too many to count. Black velvet. Remote island. Catto content. Road trips, lush forests, sea waves. Platinum hair. Strong. Blue eyes, white liner. Island. Thick knitwear and combat boots. Tarnished silver jewellery. Dune grass.