#this is extra hateful so tagging this with

[bunny-jpeg]

sinful sentences (twelve)

mark webber - "tell me exactly what you want."

tags: smut/pwp, porn au, pornstar!mark & reader, daddy kink, age gap (mid-20s/late-40s), dom!mark, sub!reader, filming, aftercare, doggy style, dirty talk/degrading language, intense bdsm (there is a safe-word)

sinful sentences catalogue

"chin up, beautiful." mark's words were in your head as your gae was leveled with the camera in your face. you stuck out your chest a little more and stuck out your bottom lip in a pout.

the audience ate it up. a little starlet in the amateur porn scene with your lover, mark webber. both of you starring in hits such as "bad girl finally meets her match" and "bratty bottom finally gets the daddy she asked for". both played up your size and age differences. you in your mid-twenties and mark pushing fifty. he even let the greys come in a little to make the differences more striking.

younger woman who gets fucked silly by an older man with a dirty talk that would make anyone watching blush. and despite most of your fucking being on camera, mark was proud that you were all his.

he roughly patted your cheek and said, "tell me exactly what you want. tell the lovely people at home too. i'm sure they want to know what whorish thing you want tonight." he made a small 'tsk' noise and pinched your cheek, "answer me, baby. hate to put you over my knee tonight. still bruised from last night."

your ass was still marked purple, with mark's hand print seen at a certain light. he made quite the mess of you the night prior. your sex was intense, mark liked to bite you, mark you. the time he wore his name across your chest and had you bounce on his cock till he finished inside of you. he liked to bind you, gag you, blindfold you. he had a collection of toys that your gummy little pussy was quite familiar with.

it was filth, the kind of porn that would make the deepest pervert blush. mark held your face and made you look at the camera, his thumb trailed across your bottom lip before he sank it into your plush mouth. and you obeyed and sucked on it like you would his cock.

"dirty little thing, aren't ya? so cute. look at you. daddy's little stupid whore. i'm glad i got you out of whatever small town hell you came from, probably would've been the town slut by now. legs more open than a mcdonalds." he chuckled lightly. he took his thumb out and petted your hair roughly, "but instead you're allowed to be a total whore in my home. was worried an old man like me wouldn't be able to keep up with you. but i think i make it work. don't you think?"

and you nodded, there was heavy heat in your cheeks while you remained on your knees. your hands in your lap, obscuring your pussy from the cold gaze of the camera. you were certain your audience could identify you from your pussy alone.

"good girl. good girl." mark purred, "keep daddy happy, huh? trained you just right. if you tried to fuck another man you'd be lost. but you don't want to run off do you?" he pulled his hand away to grope and the hard-on in his jeans, "daddy won't let that happen. you'd be a lost little puppy out on the streets. have to put up posters to bring you home."

you felt your core tense, you were soaked and it excited you. his words were like extra spicy honey, it burned as it soaked into your mind. it left your stomach in knots as you anticipated for what was to come next. you'd take it eagerly.

"pretty thing, huh? look at you. always perfect for the cameras. i bet so many perverts online jerk off to you every day. wishing they were in my spot right now. too bad for them, because only i get to ruin you, right?"

you nodded and replied, "yes, daddy."

"good girl, not use the last of that brain of yours to get on the bed before i fuck it out of you. and don't you dare touch yourself. that's my property." his voice was low and radiated through you. it made you only more wet. your slick dampened your inner thighs as you got up and headed to the bedroom.

the video stopped and mark only resumed it now on a tripod with the both of you stark naked. the viewer could see the crudely writing on your upper thigh, "belongs to mark. don't touch." a possessive warning in sharpie. you knelt on the bed facing the camera. a full display of your slutty body.

mark was behind you, his large hands on your form. he felt you up while he kissed your neck. occasionally he glanced at the camera and would smirk at it. he loved to record and post videos of you two fucking like animals, but he still had a throb of jealousy in his soul that was only cured by plunging his cock deep inside of you.

"tell the people at home how it feels. i bet they'd love to reach through the screen and feel how soft you are. cute little thing aren't you? obedient like a bitch. a fucking dog." he purred.

you swallowed, "daddy."

"shh, shh. don't talk. good girls don't talk, they listen. no need to run that mouth of yours or else i might find something better to fill it with. keep you gagging on something to shut you up." he said as he played with your nipples which made you squeeze your thighs together, "because you're a whore, right? sell videos of me fucking you. disgusting."

you whimpered, "please, daddy. i am a good girl."

mark chuckled lowly, "not too sure about that. you like being degraded. you like being marked up, you love being used by me. should write 'cum dump' on you next time. show everyone how much of a slut you are. owned piece of ass." he patted your thigh where the writing was.

you yelped as your face collided with the bed with your bare ass up. it was leveled with his heavy cock, he was thick to the point that you had to be soaked to take him. thankfully tonight he was able to sink into you without any issues.

your pussy like a vice around his cock as he shoved your face into the covers. you let him use your body as he so desired. he rocked up into you and yanked your hair to face the camera.

"give them a show, angel. or else they might turn off." he said as he held onto your head while he fucked up into your sweet little cunt. it was soaked. your dirty kink was that you got off to it being rough. you loved mark's rough hands on your skin as he worked his cock into you.

you whimpered as he fucked you, you tried to keep your eyes open but the pleasure made them flutter closed. mark felt like he was shifting things in your body, bruising your insides in a way that made you shudder.

"take it, fuck. that's right, angel. give our viewers something to get off to. that's all your good for. stupid girl who only thinks about cock and how to get it. must be why i have a collar and a short leash to keep you on."

you panted, your mouth open as you tried to get as much air as you could into your lungs. you held onto the covers and arched your back as he battered your insides. it was intense, the kind of intensity that made your toes curled.

but what made your core throb even more was when mark leaned in to you and said softly, "remember, rose. if it all gets too much, remember our safe word." rose. all that needed to said in order to end the scene. his voice was low enough that the camera didn't pick it up.

you nodded and kept your head up as he fucked you deeply. his cock brushed up against all the right places. it felt like a tight fit as he worked himself against you. it made your brain buzzed from the strong thrusts he moved against you.

"look at yourself, baby. can you see that in the viewfinder? the way you shake when i fuck you. like you were made for this. the entire internet has see your fat tits and your pretty pussy. but none of them will ever taste you. right? because you're mine, you belong to daddy."

"yes." you whimpered.

"say it, angel. c'mon, use those big girl words of yours." he smacked your ass as he pushed your face right into the covers, he held you by the back of your neck as he fucked you feverishly.

you whimpered, not even able to be heard. your voice muffled by the covers. mark already knew the answer, you were his. you belonged to him and only him. he was being generous and sharing with the public every curve, every mole and dimple on your bare skin. he made a mess of you for the camera because he allowed it. he could be quite the giving man.

the pleasure was a buzz in your brain, it was heat in your blood. it made your head spin as you panted pathetically onto the bed. everything washed over you.

"cum for me, baby. i can feel you. you feel good." he purred as he yanked your hair once more, "come on, angel. cum for the camera." his hips worked against you, his cock throbbed inside of your achy cunt as he pulled an orgasm out of you. he heard your sweet noises as you climaxed which only made him move faster.

his cock ached inside of you, he fucked you quickly. he held your face towards the camera and made you that all the viewers were focused on how good he made you feel.

"look at you. internet's favourite whore. my favourite whore." he bounced you up against his cock quickly. he tensed up for a moment as he felt the pleasure swirl in his brain. he gave a few more rough strokes before he finished inside of you.

you moaned once more before the scene ended. you felt distant as pleasure filled your core. you felt mark pull out then work to end the video to edited later.

the porn personas faded away as mark said to you softly, "are you okay, honey?" you looked up at him through bleary eyes and gave him a thumbs up. he ruffled your hair and said, "let's get you cleaned up."

-

"can you get me some more ice cream? this is really good." you stayed curled up with your lover in bed, you were dressed in a fluffy white robe and your hair was wet from a steamy bath. you were both seated up but you had your bare legs across his lap. in your hands was a pint of ice cream.

mark took you gently my the head and kissed the top of your head, "sorry, pumpkin, that's it till we go grocery shopping tomorrow. plus, it's late. i don't want you having a stomach ache."

"but honey." you pouted at him.

he shook his head and took you by the cheeks to kiss you on the lips, "don't wanna hear it, angel. finish up then brush your teeth. if you feel any aches tomorrow, i'll run you a bath."

that was what you liked about mark. no matter how intense the scene was. how much he put you through, he would make sure that you were okay after filming. a good dominant never left his submissive out to dry after a scene.

he could degrade you, smack you, spit on you, ruin you in every way as long as you didn't use the safe word or signal. and then always afterwards he spoiled you. because you may be a raunchy star, but you'd always be mark's good girl. <3

[burningcheese-merchant]

If any of you think I'm going to let this blatant disrespect go unpunished then I have dreadful news to share with you

Writer's cap is coming back on. Good thing my writing prompt list is 20+ items long. Fuckle your damn seatbelts, I am correcting this fatal mistake with extreme prejudice

[pigeonstab]

Actually scary the feeling of having your art tagged as ship when it isn't. I'm being brave about it

[kittycatred]

hey. hey, deep breaths, calm down a bit, you can do this. it's one skeleton. get that thing slaughtered and run. it's gonna hurt, but it's worth it. do it for them.

[ ⚠ WARNING FOR HIGH PITCHED RINING SFX & RAPID HEARTBEAT SFX ⚠ ]

............................

[ full drawing of the 2nd image under the cut !! :) the first one is already in the post prior ]

[hellfiresky]

Written in Red: Embedded

Contribution to @clonexocweek | Theme: Introduction

This is Chapter 3 of my longfic, Written in Red, written with this event and theme (Introduction) in mind. However, this chapter works as a standalone! I just released it on AO3 as well, so if you’d like some extra background, feel free to check out the previous chapters!

Please find the full fic here.

Summary: Tavi Drezz is an independent war correspondent embedded on the frontlines of the Clone Wars. Commander Wolffe leads the 104th Battalion, a unit specialising in high-risk extractions, reconnaissance, and special operations. When their paths cross in the dusty war room of the 104th, few hours before a rescue mission on Vanqor, it marks the beginning of an unlikely partnership. This is their story.

Prelude from Chapter 1:

In war, nothing stays still.

If you were born under the Republic, you’d grow up believing it’s the beacon of democracy, the one thing holding the galaxy together. But if you were raised on Confederacy values, you’d see the Republic for what it really is: a bloated corpse propped up by greed, a machine devouring its own soldiers to keep the senators fed. And you’d be right.

The truth was, both sides were corrupt. Not in the big, obvious way. Though there’s plenty of that, but in the quiet moments. The way the deals were handed to the same three corporations. The way the Senate Building was filled with arguments that sounded important but meant nothing. Sure, some senators were in it for the right reasons. There was always one or two, driven by ideals instead of credits. But that’s just it, isn’t it? That’s the thing about war, it gives everyone a reason to want something. Freedom. Victory. Power. Maybe even peace, though that one felt like the longest con of them all.

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x Tavi Drezz (F!OC - War journalist and holographer) Word count: 4861 Tags and Warnings: Swear words, lots of political commentaries mirroring real life issues, graphic depictions of violence, canon typical violence, author is a photojournalist, sets in the same universe as Seeing Red

Taglist: @msmeredithrose @orangez3st

Playing this song as a soundtrack is recommended!

Journalism in wartime was a strange thing. On paper, it was always about truth - bringing clarity to confusion, giving a voice to the voiceless. Hell, she hated that term, voiceless. Everyone had a voice; it was just that some weren’t being heard. Her job wasn’t to give them a voice - that would be presumptuous, intrusive even. Her job was to amplify what they were already saying, leveraging the truths they were desperate for someone to hear. But in practice, it often felt like a compromise. Between access and independence, between reporting the facts and navigating the agendas of the powerful. Tavi knew the game well enough; the Republic needed stories to bolster morale, to frame its war effort as just, heroic. And journalists? They needed the Republic’s permission to get close enough to see anything at all. And if they’re lucky, to publish the article with minimum Senate-approved cosmetics. 

The war room of the 104th Battalion at the Republic Military Base was, unsurprisingly, dusty. Tavi had read through the infopack Chiko sent her the day before: the 104th specialised in search and rescue missions, spec ops, negotiations, peacekeeping, and commando raids. It also mentioned they’d lost a significant number of their men during the Battle of Abregado. She’d been in a few war rooms before - GAR bases in the Mid and Outer Rim - but never one as massive as this. Once, she’d attended a press conference about the Zillo Beast, held in one of the Coruscant Guard’s war rooms. That had felt oddly comfortable, probably because it looked lived in by the Corries. This one was different.

Almost twenty minutes had passed since she arrived, seated beside Chiko, who was busy flipping through her datapad. Every now and then, Chiko would glance at Tavi, as if measuring how much of this felt familiar to her.

“They always do this,” Chiko muttered, breaking the silence.

“Late?” Tavi resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

Chiko chuckled quietly. “Well, no one prioritises the Comms Bureau. But also, Wolfpack doesn’t get a lot of journalists. Most of them are from the Republic Press Corps. You know the type - ready-made pieces for the Republic’s site on the holonet. Independents like you?” She paused, scrolling through another page on her datapad. “Haven’t had one embedded in a while.”

“No kidding,” Tavi mirrored her chuckle. “Been there, done that. Worked in comms briefly for the Core Development Programme.”

Chiko raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Ah, you should’ve started with that the other day. I actually handled their—”

The hissing of the door cut her off.

A clone trooper with a cybernetic eye stepped into the room, followed by two others, neither of whom were wearing helmets. Chiko instinctively set her datapad down, and brushed her hands against her trousers. “Commander Wolffe,” she extended a hand towards the trooper with the cybernetic eye. “Sergeant Sinker, Corporal Comet. Good to see you again.”

“Chiko.” He shook Chiko’s hand firmly before looking at Tavi from head-to-toe. She’d grown used to this behaviour from soldiers - the sizing up, the scepticism. If she had a credit for every time one of them questioned her presence, her wealthy parents might finally be proud of her for doing something “lucrative” with her degrees. But then, if she cared about that, she wouldn’t be sitting here.

“Tavi Drezz. Independent journalist.” She extended her hand, offering him the same professional courtesy Chiko had demonstrated earlier. Wolffe didn’t take it right away, he continued scanning her down. Down to her boots, the holocamera bag resting on the table, the datapad in her hand.

There was nothing welcoming about him, no warmth, no veneer of politeness, no forced 'career smile', nothing. Again, it wasn’t unexpected - she’d seen it before. Soldiers didn’t like questions, and journalists were nothing but questions. She could almost see him calculating the possibility that she was some kind of plant by the Confederacy - or worse, a waste of time.

Finally, he took her hand. “Independent, huh? Means you don’t answer to anyone.”

“Define anyone.”

Wolffe’s grip lingered just long enough for her to internally question his motive, then released. The commander stepped back, arms crossed, still closely observing. Judging. But it wasn’t just suspicion and judgement she felt radiating off him. It was fatigue. The one that settles into your bones when you’ve fought too many battles and buried too many comrades. The kind of exhaustion that didn’t leave room for niceties or patience for people like her.

“I’ve read the comms briefing,” Wolffe said flatly. “You’re embedding with us on Vanqor. We received a distress order last night. Departure is set for two hours.” He turned to Chiko without waiting for acknowledgement. “I assume she’s cleared all health requirements - immunizations, standard field readiness checks? Signed off on the non-liability agreement, the operational security clearance, and the embed conduct protocol? And she’s been briefed on rules of engagement for civilians in a warzone?” Chiko flipped through her datapad to confirm. “All signed, sealed, and logged. I also attached a recommendation memo from Commander Fox and Lieutenant Torch from the Coruscant Guard. She’s fully cleared for deployment.”

Wolffe didn’t wait for further confirmation before focusing back to Tavi. “So they vouched for you. I’ll give you this much: stay close, follow orders, and don’t slow us down. My men don’t need distractions out there.”

Tavi opened her mouth to reply, but he interrupted. “Two hours. Be ready.”

“Two hours?” she choked out. Wolffe raised an eyebrow. “What? You got a problem with that?”

“No. Just… wasn’t expecting to move that fast.” Tavi quickly regained her composure. She signed up for this. She had survived worse places with minimum protection and zero insurance.  “Good.” Wolffe raised both eyebrows, then dropped them just as quickly. “You’ll learn fast that the field doesn’t wait for anyone. Pack light, Drezz. We don’t have room for dead weight.”

He turned to Sinker and Comet. “Get the squad prepped. I want everyone on the landing pad in ninety. Notify the General that we’re ready to depart.”

The two clones saluted and left the room. Without another word, Wolffe followed after them, leaving Tavi standing by the table.

“This is a search and rescue mission, as outlined in your infopack,” Chiko tried to reassure Tavi. She closed her datapad and beckoned for Tavi to follow her. “Thought it’d be better for you to start here, in planning and prep, instead of being thrown into an active battlefield. General Plo Koon and Commander Ahsoka Tano will lead the operation. I’ll introduce you in a bit.”

“The travel to the Outer Rim will take approximately five hours,” Chiko continued as they walked down the corridor. “Plenty of time to review your notes, rest, and, hopefully, eat. You did pack, right?”

“Enough to keep me going.” Tavi mentally ran through her packing list. At least she hadn’t been completely unprepared. She knew she was being sent somewhere, but Chiko’s message hadn’t exactly come with a detailed itinerary.

Her email had been blunt, almost clinical:

Your embed request has been approved. Report to the 104th HQ at the Republic Military Base by 0600 for further briefing. Pack accordingly—field conditions apply.

No mention of immediate deployment. No confirmation of where she’d actually be going. Just a line about “field conditions” that, in retrospect, should’ve been a bigger clue. Good thing she had charged the batteries for her holocamera last night and packed extra data chips. She’d also brought her satellite comlink - standard precaution, one she’d insisted on for herself ever since going professional. The GAR might grant her access, but she never fully trusted anyone else’s comms, not when stories had a habit of disappearing if they weren’t backed up properly.

She fixed the weight of her bag on her shoulder. “I’d have packed differently if you told me I was shipping out in less than a day.”

“Wouldn’t have made a difference. Wolfpack moves fast. You’ll get used to it.” Chiko smirked. 

Three space gunships sat prepped in the hangar, their weathered hulls gleaming under the overhead lights. Not standard LAATs - these had been modified for vacuum operations, their heavy plating and sealed interiors built for search-and-rescue in hostile conditions. The air inside the hangar carried the distinct scent of fuel and exhaust, complete with the chatter of pre-flight checks filling the space. Mechanics moved between the ships, running diagnostics, sealing compartments, loading supply crates.

Near the closest gunship, a towering Kel Dor Jedi stood with his hands clasped behind his back. The polished metal of his rebreather subtly reflected the surrounding floodlights. Beside him, a Togruta in a battle-worn leather cuirass shifted her weight from foot to foot, arms crossed as she spoke with the clone commander in front of them. 

And then there was Wolffe.

Same stance as he had in the war room, arms folded tight across his chest, spine locked. Everything about him felt charged, the kind of barely restrained tension that came from someone forcing themselves into stillness. Deliberate. Controlled. Like a coiled wire, wound tight enough to snap at a moment’s notice.

Tavi slowed her pace, absorbing the way they carried themselves. This wasn’t politics, not the calculated speeches and practiced smiles of the Senate hearings she covered. This was war, raw and unscripted. But not the kind of war she had covered. Of course, she had been in war zones before. Literal war zones, not just conflict areas. Ducked under crumbling buildings whilst blaster fire ripped through city streets, crouched in makeshift shelters with displaced families as they whispered about the Republic and the Separatists in the same exhausted breath. She had sat across from clone troopers after the fighting was over, recording the hollowed-out tone in their voices as they spoke about the men they’d lost, the orders they had followed, the locals who had either helped them or turned against them.

This was different. 

These weren’t the ones caught in the aftermath. These were the people making the calls before the chaos hit. The ones who decided where the troopers would be deployed, which villages would be secured, which risks were worth taking. This was the part of war she had never been privy to. And she was about to see it up close.

Chiko didn’t stop. “They were briefed last night. The Jedi,” she muttered, keeping her voice low as they neared. “Wolffe confirmed your involvement minutes ago.”

The Jedi turned at their approach, and the sheer weight of Plo Koon’s attention landed on her like a quiet force of nature. Even through the mask, something in the way he regarded her carried depth - like he wasn’t just seeing her, but seeing through her. Measuring. Calculating thoroughly. The younger one, Ahsoka Tano, nodded and smiled, studying Tavi with a more open curiosity. 

“General, Commander,” Chiko greeted them with a nod, slipping into the kind of professionalism that had been drilled into her for years. “This is Tavi Drezz, the independent journalist embedded for this mission. Communications Bureau cleared her yesterday. She’s here to document Republic humanitarian and recovery efforts.”

That last part had the polished ring of PR work. Tavi almost shook her head.

Plo Koon held her gaze. “Your work precedes you, Miss Drezz.”

“You’ve read my reports?”

Ahsoka’s arms dropped to her sides. “I think he means he’s heard about you.”

No confirmation, no denial. Tavi stole a quick glance at Chiko, who barely moved. The Jedi had access to everything - if they wanted information, they had it. The idea of being known before even speaking wasn’t new to her, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable either.

“Your role on this mission is strictly non-combative. Your safety, and that of the team, remains the priority.” Plo Koon spoke again. Before Tavi could reply, Wolffe exhaled sharply. “She’s had the full protocol briefing,” he muttered, half to Plo Koon, half to himself. “She’ll follow the team and stay out of the way.”

Ahsoka’s eyes flicked back and forth between them, her expression hardening. “You ever been in a combat zone before?”

The answer came easily. “Yes.”

Poof. There it was. A beat of silence.

“Ever been in one where we don’t know what we’re walking into?”

A smirk tugged at the corner of Tavi’s lips. “I think that describes every war zone I’ve covered.” Ahsoka huffed and crossed her arms again. “Fair enough.”

Plo Koon nodded once. “Then we are in agreement. Commander, ensure she has what she needs.”

“Copy that.” Wolffe saluted sharply before turning on his heel, motioning for Tavi to follow. She hesitated for half a second, looking at Chiko, who only mouthed good luck before pivoting and striding away. No further instructions, no last-minute reassurances - she was officially on her own.

The gunship was nothing like the sleek transport vessels that ferried diplomats and senators across the galaxy. No separate compartments, no assigned seating, just a hollow space lined with handgrips hanging from the ceiling, a few crates stacked against the walls, and the narrow entrance leading to the aircrew and gunners. It smelled like fuel, hot metal, and something acrid that she couldn’t quite place - maybe from the residual charge of weapons locked in racks near the cockpit. Tavi stepped inside, fingers brushing against the familiar weight of her holocamera as she started to pull it free from its bag. She wanted to capture this, the quiet before the storm, but before she could do anything, a firm grip landed on her shoulder. She barely had time to register it before she was pressed down onto one of the crates.

“Sit,” Wolffe ordered, barely sparing her a glance as he moved past.

Tavi’s brows knit together, processing. “I’m not—”

“Doesn’t matter,” he cut her off. “This isn’t a civ transport. You don’t stand unless you’re us, or, you have to.”

She let out a sigh, making sure her bag was secured behind her as a makeshift cushion whilst taking off the lens caps of her holocamera. Fine. She could work with that. But already, the contrast was setting in. This was it. No distance, no neutral ground. No hovering in the relative safety of the aftermath, documenting war from the periphery like she had on Ryloth or Ord Mantell. This was stepping into the story as it unfolded, not knowing which way the ground would shift beneath her. No time to contextualise, no space to analyse, just the raw mechanics of war unfolding in real-time. And instead of recording the aftermath, she was going to be right in the middle of it.

She started checking the settings of her holocamera, fingers moving over the controls in autopilot. She wasn’t going to waste the opportunity, if she was here, she was going to document every moment, every decision, every little hesitation in the faces around her.

Across the gunship, Wolffe secured his helmet - just before it fully settled into place.

Click.

Through the lens, she caught it. The brief, in-between moment where the man and the soldier existed at once. Half his face still exposed, jaw clenched. The other half already swallowed by the T-shaped visor, the impassive mask of command sliding into place. Then he turned. The gaze obscured by the visor locked onto her.

“Hold on to something when we lift off,” he said. “This ride’s not going to be smooth.”

No, it wasn’t. But then again, nothing about war ever was.

Tavi gripped her holocamera tighter, a habit she had developed, as if it would anchor her to the ground or whatever solid element beneath her. Troopers filed in, securing their gear, locking in weapons, taking their places like they had done this a hundred times before - because, of course, they had. She looked up as Plo Koon stepped into the ship, and settled in near the aircrew entrance, holding on to a stray handgrip above him. Ahsoka followed close behind. She stepped into position exactly in front of her - turned to land her gaze on Tavi, and then she smiled.

Not forced. Not out of politeness. Just a quick, genuine thing, barely there before she focused elsewhere. Okay, Tavi decided. She liked the kid.

Outside, the gunship’s ramp began to rise. The metal clanked into place, sealing them in. A low voice from the cockpit confirmed their final checks.

Then, with a sharp lurch, they lifted off.

Five hours in a space gunship was an experience. Not the worst ride she’d been on, but certainly one of the more unique ones. The constant vibration of the engines, the low thrum of hyperspace humming through the hull, it all blended into the background after a while. What she hadn’t expected was the music.

Somewhere between hour two and three, one of the troopers had hooked into the comm system and started playing rock music in Huttese. It wasn’t loud, just enough to fill the space without overpowering conversation, but it set the tone. At first, she thought it was a one-off. Some kind of inside joke, maybe. But no - track after track rolled in, a carefully curated selection that was clearly meant to serve a purpose. Stress relief? Maybe. A way to cut through the monotony of waiting? Likely. An adrenaline booster for what was coming next? Absolutely.

Tavi craned her neck to peek past Ahsoka who was busy talking to one of the troopers, Boost, exactly in front of her, to catch sight of Wolffe across the cabin. She waved her holocamera to catch his attention. Can I? She didn’t speak, just mouthed the words in his direction. Wolffe’s gaze locked into hers, then he shrugged, giving her a quick OK sign.

Permission granted.

Click.

Another moment captured - one of the small, in-between moments that defined war that rarely made it into history holobooks but stayed burned into the minds of those who lived through it. Tavi had to angle the shot from below, forced to stay seated whilst the others stood around her. The framing was different from her usual work - looking up rather than at - but it worked. The way the troopers loomed above, the curve of their helmets catching the dim light of the interior, the slight lean of Ahsoka’s stance as she was engaging Boost in conversation.

Click.

She wasn’t sure how many more of these she’d get before they hit the ground, but she’d take what she could.

Five hours passed before a voice crackled through the overhead comms. “ETA to Vanqor, ten minutes. Prepare for turbulence on descent. We’ll be running low-altitude scans before we drop a beacon - expect rough air.”

Ahsoka, still standing in front of Tavi, turned to face her. “Rough might be an understatement,” she said, adjusting the leather vambraces on her arms. “We’re not landing, not yet. The pilots will sweep around the wreckage of the Endurance first, see if we can pinpoint Anakin and Master Windu’s last known location.” Tavi noticed a subtle change in pitch as the engines adjusted for atmospheric entry. Around her, the troopers started double-checking their gear, securing weapons, tightening straps. Ahsoka exhaled through her nose, rolling her shoulders like she was already bracing for impact.

“Hope you’re not afraid of a little turbulence.”

Turbulence didn’t scare her. She’d been through worse. Hostile environment training, emergency crash simulations, rapid decompression drills - she had the certifications to prove it. She had sat through flights so rough they felt like they were being rattled apart mid-air, had deployed into zones where the ground was still smoldering from orbital bombardment.

But if she was being honest, she wasn’t thinking about herself right now. She eyed the young Jedi standing in front of her. Ahsoka’s stance was solid, confidence rolling off her in that way only Jedi carried themselves. But the thin leather cuirass strapped over her chest wouldn’t be enough to stop a blaster bolt, would it? And Beneath it? A simple bandeau, bare shoulders, exposed arms. The leather cuirass didn’t match her usual outfit, either. The only thing it seemed to coordinate with was the grey markings of the 104th.

That wasn’t an accident. The Wolfpack must’ve insisted she wear it - probably the best compromise they could convince her to accept. Ahsoka Tano was a Jedi, sure, but she was still a kid, and these troopers had fought beside her long enough to know just how much of a risk she took every time she jumped into battle.

“Not worried,” Tavi said finally, shutting off the holocamera to save its battery life. “Just calculating what to do when you find your colleagues and I need to take pictures.”

Ahsoka’s brow lifted, the corner of her mouth moving upwards like she was about to shoot back a response - but before she could, Wolffe’s voice cut in from behind the girl. “Stick to Wildfire.” A sharp jab over his shoulder towards the trooper standing at his left. “I’ll be doing the rescuing,” he continued. “So I can’t be responsible if you plummet yourself out of the ship because you want to take pictures.”

Tavi exhaled through her mouth. “Damn,” she adjusted the lens on her holocamera. “You make it sound like I’m about to throw myself into a Sarlacc pit.” Wolffe didn’t dignify that with a response. He simply glared his visor onto her longer than necessary before turning back towards the rest of the men.

The pressurised LAAT staggered hard as it broke through Vanqor’s upper atmosphere. The change in gravity pressed against Tavi’s ribs, a hollow, stomach-dropping sensation that sent adrenaline sparking through her limbs. 

Outside the open hatch, a dead war machine dominated the horizon. The wreckage of the Endurance sprawled across the jagged terrain below, its massive form a carcass of metal and ruin, semi-buried in the planet’s rocky surface. Smoke still curled from sections of its torn hull, vents and broken conduits spilling eerie glow where power flickered in its dying systems. The ship had once been a monster, a Venator-class Star Destroyer that had torn through Separatists fleets with its cannons. Now, it lay broken and silent.

Ahsoka moved to the edge of the open hatch, gripping one of the handgrips closer to the hatch as the gunship rocked against the turbulence. Tavi followed instinctively, trying to lean past her to get a better view. The wind resistance was brutal, the force of it whipping against her face, but she barely registered it. She had seen images of Venator-class Star Destroyers before - holonet broadcasts, Senate reports, recruitment posters that framed them as symbols of the Republic’s power. But she had never seen one in person. And certainly never like this.

Tavi gripped her holocamera tighter, her pulse picking up. She needed this shot. She adjusted herself, trying to find a good angle without breaking her grip on the support bar. The gunship rocked again, and Wildfire’s hand clamped onto her arm. “Careful,” he muttered, barely audible over the wind. “Wolffe’ll toss you out if you get any closer.”

Tavi barely heard him. The framing was perfect.

The Endurance sprawled beneath them, a monument to destruction, whilst the other two gunmetal LAATs of the 104th combed through its remains. The shot practically framed itself; Republic search-and-rescue forces navigating through the wreckage of a once-feared fleet, searching for their missing Jedi.

She adjusted the settings using one hand on instinct, regulating her breath. 

Another. Click.

The red targeting scanners of the gunships swept across the surface, methodically scanning for life signatures. A voice crackled through the static of the onboard comms. “No sign of the Generals yet. Scanners picking up debris, still sifting through interference from the ship’s reactor.”

War had a way of distorting perspective. From the Senate floors, it was endless debates and statistics - how many fleets were lost, how many credits were needed to sustain the next campaign. From the outer rim, it was evacuations and aftermaths, burning cities, displaced civilians, silenced confessions from people who had lost too much to care who won. But here, inside the war machine itself, it was another beast.

No grand speeches. No declarations of righteousness. Just men in armour combing through wreckage, trying to pull their own from the ruins. She looked up to her left, catching Wolffe’s helmeted gaze as he turned his head towards her.

Click.

An audible gasp from Ahsoka - then, “There! The bridge! I can see them!” She pointed through the open hatch. Excited beeps followed from an astromech unit, blue and white, standing behind her. Tavi blinked. Had the R2 unit always been there? She had been too focused on the troopers, the wreckage, the shots she needed to capture, but now the little droid whistled insistently.

Plo Koon, standing just behind Ahsoka, turned towards her. “Ahsoka, hold the ship steady.” Without hesitation, the young Jedi threw her arms forward together with the Jedi master. Palms up, fingers splayed, and the gunship was immediately steadied by some invisible magnetic pull. Tavi stumbled back a step as the ship adjusted mid-air, the force of the movement knocking her closer to where Wildfire stood, making Wolffe now directly in front of her. She barely had time to react before Boost, Comet, Sinker, and another trooper - Corvis, she thought - moved into position to shoot ascension cables. The cables flew across the gap before they tethered the gunship into place.

Click.

Two troopers moved in unison, lowering their blasters they used to fire the ascension cables. Tavi barely registered which ones. Close to her, Wolffe’s voice snapped her from her awe.

“Comet, let’s go!”

Before she could process it, two troopers leaped out of the gunship. They landed hard on the bridge, kicking up dust and debris as they sprinted forward, dodging the unstable metal beneath them. Instinct had Tavi stepping forward, trying to get closer to the open hatch, camera already raised.

A hand caught her forearm, again. “Don’t get too close!” Wildfire snapped. She barely nodded, still focusing on the chaos unfolding below.

“Hurry, Commander Wolffe.” Plo Koon commanded with urgency. Down on the bridge, Wolffe and Comet worked fast, pulling at debris, pushing aside slabs of metal. Beneath them, the structure groaned - a deep, ominous sound. This wreck wasn’t going to hold much longer.

Then, Tavi caught a distant movement. Mace Windu and Anakin Skywalker - alive, pinned beneath collapsed durasteel plating, obscured by the dust. Her breath caught as the clones braced, pushed, heaved the weight off the Jedi, working as fast as they could. The cables groaned, the bridge sinking by inches.

“We’re leaving in ten!” The pilot’s voice crackled again, filling the cabin. The gunship dropped lower, hovering dangerously close to the bridge’s edge. The gravity pull was brutal, Tavi felt it dragging her stomach downward as she clutched onto the nearest handgrips. Wildfire’s grip didn’t loosen. Her arm was probably bruised by now.

Above them, four figures moved towards the edge - Wolffe, Comet, Skywalker, Windu. They were so close, too close, to the point where one misstep would send them all plummeting into the wreckage below.

Click.

“JUMP!” Sinker yelled at them, and the four figures leaped. Armour and robes silhouetted against the wreckage as they jumped straight into the gunship. Plo Koon immediately yelled out his next command, “Cut the lines.”

Ahsoka’s lightsaber ignited to life. A sizzling green blur sliced through the ascension cables in one motion, the burning edges hissing as the cut pieces snapped back towards the collapsing bridge. Tavi barely had a second to process it before the gunship banked hard.

The floor lurched beneath her, and of course, she forgot to hold on. The sudden movement of the gunship knocked her backwards. An arm caught her waist. Tavi jerked back just in time to see the Endurance's bridge collapse into itself, swallowed by a gut-wrenching groan of metal as it vanished into dust and ruin.

That was close. Too close.

All she could think was Wildfire‘s now comforting grip. No - wait. Not Wildfire. Wildfire and Corvis were tending to Windu and Skywalker near the entrance of the cockpit. The grip tightened, securing her as the gunship lifted higher. “I told you to hold on,” Wolffe groaned, his modulated voice was close enough that she felt the rumble of it against her shoulder. She swallowed as she tried to reach for the handgrips above, but Wolffe hadn’t let go. 

The gunships jettisoned from the wreckage. Tavi barely registered the motion of it, instinctively raising her holocamera. She twisted her body in Wolffe’s grasp just enough to frame the shot --

Click.

Behind them, the Endurance exploded. A detonation of fire and wreckage split the horizon, the collapsing Star Destroyer consumed by its own destruction. Through the viewfinder, Tavi framed her final shot. One of the other two LAAT gunships tilted sideways in the foreground, caught as it veered away from the collapsing wreck. The fiery glow of the explosion behind it illuminating the falling shards of metal scattering across the hellfire sky.

Wolffe was still holding her steady.

[forgetme-eternally-blissfully]

^Tags by @fictionalcreator

OOOHH my god I love this. The paranoia about silence? Listening for Brother's footsteps? The irrational, itching feeling that Brother is going to catch him. Whether that's escaping the tower or him being in an entirely different body... if it's Brother, maybe he can. Because it's Brother- maybe it's only a matter of when. It's GENIUS!!

We can go even further too- what if we give him a fear of heights? He isn't afraid of falling- he's afraid of not being able to get down. Of being trapped again. He could be nowhere near the edge and with open air all around him, but he'll still get claustrophobic. People wonder if it's irrational, or if he learned it from somewhere.

I also believe that Brother will definitely give him a good scare at some point. He asks for something like a knife- a knife that could cut hair, Brother thinks- and Brother grabs Cale's face and tells him that he's going to sever the tendons in Cale's ankles and cut open his heels if he asks for one more thing. Cale doesn't ask again. He can't seem to fall asleep that night, and Brother's voice is loud as it continually repeats in his mind.

I actually disagree that Cale would be particularly against Park Jin Tae! Though it could go either way because trauma isn't rational in the first place. For Park Jin Tae, he doesn't try to emotionally manipulate Kim Rok Soo, for one. He beats him up when he's out of line- but Brother never beat Cale. He did worse, sometimes. Cale would hate him, for sure, but Cale prefers biting words and fists to tenderness. Because tenderness is like Brother. Sweet as honeyed milk until it sours and curdles, leaving you so sick that you can't help but vomit then keep it inside, heaving even when it's all gone because it makes you sick.

Him being more familiar with KRS's world than his own is so sad- my heart- but you're right. Cale would sleep constantly, day and night. If he wasn't sleeping, he was distracting himself with books. He didn't care about the lights outside the window- he cared about KRS, who told him to hurry and come back so they could watch the firework show in his world together.

I actually had that thought about Cale's body being weak when I was making this idea!! Once they make the switch- in one way or the other- krs is weak. Especially with all the extra hair he has now. At first people see him as that classy, languid young master, who must be very well off to be so relaxed, but his friends start to get close and see that he's just exhausted. The first meeting with Choi Han is when krs is trying to lower himself down and can't hold onto his own hair. Choi Han... probably catches him. And catches all his hair with his face, too.

Your ideas are fucking AWESOME and thank you for sharing

Rapunzel AU!

Cale has been inside of the tower for his entire life. His hair is long, much longer than his brother's. His brother doesn't have a name. Cale knows they're brothers though- because they both have red hair, even if Brother has short hair and Cale does not.

Ever since Cale was 12, he'd been dreaming of a different world. He went to sleep and woke up as someone named Kim Roksu. This Kim Roksu was not in a similar situation as he was- Kim Roksu wandered the streets and ate food from the floor and hid in the small cabinet in his uncle's house. Kim Roksu was weak and strong.

Kim Roksu is a friend to Cale. When Cale wants to see the outside, he sleeps, and he dreams.

Kim Roksu figured out how to communicate with Cale after several years of simple body swapping.

Somehow, they are similar! They both agree that being trash is the best. Kim Roksu because it's easier being a bad person than a good person, and Cale because Brother won't let him be trashy and he wishes he could throw a fit without Brother punishing him.

"Your brother keeps you in a tower?" Roksu asks when he learns.

"Yeah. Is that weird?"

"Well, I don't know anyone who stays in a tower." Cale kicks a rock on the sidewalk with his barefoot, sending it skidding across the dirt road. "Ow, my toe." Roksu complains blandly.

Sharing a body, they also share the same sensations.

"You barely felt that and you know it."

"Shut up."

"You shut up." Cale retorts. He wants to say more, but he swallows those words and tucks them into his chest.

'The bruise over your eye hurts more but you don't complain about that.'

He bites his lip and looks down.

"Do you think," he asks quietly, "if I asked Brother to let me out, he would?"

Roksu, disembodied and floating over his body, frowns. "You haven't asked before?"

Cale smiles bitterly in Roksu's body. "... I did, once." After, Brother said he was going to be leaving for two weeks, and told Cale to ration his food well. Cale knew better than to think it was a coincidence. He didn't have Roksu yet. It was very lonely for a long time.

Roksu doesn't say anything.

"If," his voice trembles, "If I got out. If I left..."

"Cale." Roksu stops him. Cale winces, expecting to be reprimanded.

"You are trash. Trash does whatever they want, no matter what anyone says. If you want to leave, then leave." Roksu's translucent body floats over to stand in front of Cale. Sternly, he says, "Don't worry about useless things. Worry about making a plan and executing it."

Then, abruptly, Roksu turns and ignores him. Cale laughs and folds in half, a childish grin splitting his malnourished cheeks. How can someone be so blunt but so shy? Kim Roksu frowns, but it looks like a pout. Cale rubs away a tear and looks up at the back of his friend. No, the person who sometimes feels more like a brother to him than his real brother.

"And will you help me?"

Roksu rolls his eyes. "Don't ask something so obvious."

Cale smiles and looks down. "Right. Obvious, isn't it?"

Something like receiving help wasn't obvious to either of them. Yet, when it came to the two of them together, it was the most obvious thing in the world. It wasn't obvious with Brother, who he shared blood with. But Kim Roksu, who was abused and beaten down at every turn, chose to welcome a wandering soul into his body and share everything with him.

'You're the one who shouldn't want to be here,' Kim Roksu said when they first started talking and Cale asked why he didn't try to force Cale out. 'When you're in control, I can relax. Why would I want you to leave? That's so difficult.'

They learned that Kim Roksu really could force Cale out when his uncle kicked Cale, sending Kim Roksu's body sprawling onto the floor, then stomped on his arm so hard they heard a clear snap. For Cale it only hurt for a short moment. Roksu threw him out so fast you could imagine that he had practiced beforehand.

Every day and night, Cale slept to try and enter Roksu's body, check on him, share the pain, but Roksu kicked him out every time. It wasn't until four weeks later that Roksu let Cale back in.

Even that much pain was a lot for being four weeks after the incident, but while Cale was struggling to keep his cool, Roksu floated around him and spoke as if nothing was wrong. When Cale started sweating a few hours later Roksu kicked him out again.

'Don't be stubborn,' he said when Cale returned the next night. 'Just say that it hurts. If you still want to stay after you admit that it hurts then I won't kick you out.'

It was a very Kim Roksu thing to do.

"Brother," Cale asks one day at 15, impatiently brushing his hair. He gets scolded lightly, and Brother takes the brush from him. "I read in a book about something called a phone. Do you have one?"

Brother gives him a blank look. Then, as if it had been a lie, his expression changes into something kind and gentle. "Fone? Can you show me the book?"

Cale and Brother roughly root around in every book for anything like the so-called 'Fone,' coming up short.

"Maybe it was a dream," Cale excuses it like that, rubbing his neck. Brother looks at him, worried.

"It must have been. Get some rest, Cale." A kiss to the top of Cale's head, Brother hugs him and promises to bring him more paint. "I'll be gone for a few days this time. Do you want something?"

"Ah," Cale smiles, pressing his face into his Brothers neck to hide his face. "Could you bring me -------?" Brother freezes.

"... you-"

"I learned it from the books! This time I really did, Brother. Please?"

Slowly, Brother releases the tension in his body. "... If that's what you want. But you have to close the window if you're going to mess around with alcohol."

"Yes!" Cale jumps with joy. Then he suddenly runs to a bookshelf, changing the topic by talking about a book Brother brought to him last time. "-and I'd like to know if the sequel is out yet."

"I'll do that." Brother smiles. "You've been asking for more things recently, Cale." Brother settles a hand on his head, stroking his hair.

"It's because of my reliable older brother!" He grabs onto that hand, keeping it there, resembling a naive little brother who only has his role model in his eyes.

He sends his brother down the tower using his hair, and watches that spot of red disappear in the distance.

His face drops.

"... Bastard."

Cale turns on his foot. It's time to see Roksu.

[schnees-and-schnugs]

I just want to say. I voted for Yang "protecting" Blake from Ruby. Out of character for me? Yeah. But consider:

Weiss sticking her weapon in Whitley's face, despite all the outrage, was a just a gag. And we all know crwby are just shit at writing comedy post v3. Their brains got infested with terminal unfunny brainworms that sucked out the ability to make a good joke from their system. They couldn't make edgy jokes anymore because they realized they had to pretend to be a progressive company, but that inclination to be meanspirited as fuck is still actually there inside their souls it just shows itself in a different way. And honestly listening to Kerry Shawcross trying to squirm his way through an explanation for it was much funnier than the joke itself so I'll give them that. Yeah sticking a gun sword in the face of a 14 year old is totally character development material I definitely can tell you went to a very professional and important school for writing Kerry (and he did which is also much funnier than the original gag also). Did it mess up Weiss' character? Not really she's always been a bit of a self centered trigger happy bitch. Slay ig!

Yang protecting Blake from Ruby? One moment that destroyed like... 2 characters. Blake for being the pussiest ass bitch and Yang for being herself post v4. "But you just don't understand abuse victims!!!" Yeah maybe but Blake was introduced to us as someone who could 100% hold her own. She didn't need to be reduced down to someone who needed to be protected from scawwy angwy Ruby. Imagine v1-v3 Blake in your head and imagine Ruby yelling at her, could you imagine she would have reacted the same way? I don't even need to explain Yang like truly what kind of behavior is she exhibiting where she implicitly choses protecting Blake from literally nothing over her little sister. Um !

Now look... It's common to reduce a ship down to the "soft uwu baby who needs to be protected" guy and the "I will protect you" guy in fanon. We've all done it. In our heads. We've all blurred canon so hard for a ship we enjoyed. Ever read one of those middle aged woman eroticas or just any fic on ao3? It's normal. But when canon starts doing that that's when you know youre fucked, son. MKEK are so bad at writing romance all they did was take the common woobification of a couple that fandoms do everyday and made it canon. They literally just made fanon canon.

Also the abuse victims excuse is dumb as hell they wanted us to laugh at Weiss threatening her abuse victims brother with physical violence (when we know canonically Jacques was not above threatening his children and hitting them if he was pushed to that point <3) but now I've got to sit here and act like crwby gives a fuck about portraying victims just because of a ship. Booo.

They didnt do this with Weiss' character btw. We see her get uncomfortable around conflict but never to the extent of what they did with Blake. The difference? Weiss isn't a part of a popular fandoms ship.

[monofazz]

Shattered Glass makes me violent and sick actually.

inspired by zorangezest and this set of tags in the reblogs in particular

[punnifullife]

Please share that Vampire Robstar art 🙏

by very, very VERY popular demand.... here is the rest of the vamp story but i clearly lost mojo by the end.

bonus: bb rae and cy deal with it too.

[sapphiresaphics]

So these are called confirmation biases. This is when someone dislikes something so they go out searching for information on why they dislike something and get it confirmed through whatever means are necessary.

The accusation that “all the talented writers left” is a good example. Yes, we know that a large number of writers left between Season 1 and Season 2. HOWEVER there are a number of key components we need to consider, such as the fact that the first pass of Arcane was SO BAD that Amanda Overton was brought on to FIX it. And she STAYED with the team between seasons. From THAT perspective I don’t see the loss of these extra writers as them losing talent, but rather them cleaning house of the people who weren’t doing a good job writing.

The criticism of Isha not having a backstory makes NO SENSE to me. You don’t need a backstory to be good characters, and Isha is a good character with her own agency and personality. But also… we DO know about her backstory somewhat? She’s a kid who escaped from the Chem Baron child enslavement in the mines. As Jikx is walking through the city during the montage we see many Chem Baron goons grabbing kids and dragging them into work places. The helmet Isha wears is the same kind Jinx and VI’s parents wore in the mines. So we can put two and two together and gather she’s an orphan who tried to escape child slavery. Is that not enough of a backstory for you? That’s more than we ever got for Sevika and she’s a prominent side character!

And yes, I definitely CAN generalize by tag, because no one in the “Arcane Critical” hashtag is being genuine about their supposed criticism. I’ve been debating these idiots for months now and it’s very clear they are ONLY using the tag to hate post. I’ve been told as much by many of them.

A legitimate criticism is “I felt like they could’ve used a few more minutes to flesh out some scenes more.” A non-legitimate criticism is saying “they fired all the competent writers and as such everything is inconsistent.” And that’s just being tame… do you really wanna hear some of the absolute BAT SHIT CRAZY stuff I’ve seen in the “arcane critical” hashtag here? It’s beyond criticism, it’s full blown conspiracy theory nonsense.

Arcane is an AMAZING show with AMAZING visuals and is one of the highest rated Netflix shows ever made. It’s won every Annie award it was nominated for (I think 16 in total) and features fantastic animation and nuanced representation. You can have criticisms against the show, of course. All art is subjective. BUT I find that most of the criticism is either lazy, inconsistent, misleading, or intentionally nitpicky to the point of insanity.

I would LOVE to have serious discussions about the ways in which the show depicts trauma or how systemic issues are shown in the show… but I CAN’T because I’m having to constantly debunk some of the most ludicrous accusations I’ve ever seen lobbed at a show ever. No other award winning animated show has had THIS much disingenuous nitpicking and hate thrown its way.

Seriously why are some people defending Arcane S2 like their life depended on it. The music was top tier, some parts were good, Fortiche has topped their game. Marvelous job by Fortiche. While acknowledging the good we also must acknowledge the bad just to be real and so Riot can improve upon their future seasons. Incoherent writers, shitty plot, so many loose ends, the lack of showtime, Cait? Caitvi? Vi??? All the random undeveloped characters (this did not happen in s1)? The discontinuation from season 1?? Using parallels just for the sake of it without much meaning? ...

This is like a flip side to defending Rachel Amber all over again... See both sides of the coin people 😪

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The Quest Continues...

(part 1- part 2)

[maddymoreau]

Thinking about how Diavolo’s feelings transcend time and how in the Nightbringer UR+ card Demon Lord’s Castle Tour this conversation happens.

When asked, “Do you wish to see your father?”

Diavolo responds:

“I suppose I do . . .” isn’t the typical reaction to how a child would feel about wanting to see their parent. Especially when said parent has essentially been in a coma for a year.

Along with how Diavolo describe his father.

It makes more sense why when you learn in Lesson 56 how Diavolo was treated by him growing up.

Diavolo can tell when others are lying but is unable to understand his father’s intentions.

Diavolo mentions that he lived a very sheltered life growing up. That from a young age his father never allowed him a chance to talk to anyone outside the castle.

His childhood friend was Mephistopheles. A demon literally RAISED to be his friend. Putting a barrier between the two because Mephistopheles would put Diavolo on a pedestal.

The isolating childhood he experienced riddled with his strict father constantly scolding him.

Despite everything MC is so important to him he wants to see his father again so we can meet.

[oneshotprincess]

its kinda crazy how the last episode of season 2 tries to paint viktor's fatal flaw as being a perfectionist and supposedly ableist towards himself when his fatal flaw was actually being a not-wanting-to-die-of-super-cancer-ist. 

[greghatecrimes]

Thirteen.exe has stopped responding

(warning for slight flashing)

[extraemopossum]

Something something carrying around the soul of a dead man who came back without one

[quiescentem-puella]

Till's expressing himself through clothing – a rant

today's sad alnst thought of the day is that no matter how you view round 6, I think it's undeniable that ivan was able to give back to till a piece of himself that he lost after witnessing round 5

and i'm talking about this

I think Till outfits are important when it comes to discerning his mental state/attitude, both because of plot-related reasons (imo Till has a degree of power over deciding or at least selecting his clothes) and also character design (in a media like alnst, where most things are said by showing them, it's clear that vivimeng put lots of thought behind the visuals). We know nothing about the behind-the-scenes between r6 and r7, so we can just LOOK at Till to see if something changed

I said that Till has some power over his outfit choices because he's the only one who personalizes them, or so it looks like. It's very much in Till's rebellious nature to vandalize his outfits and I think both the r2 outfit (the spray-painted t-shirt, the patch hiding his branding, the lack of shoes) and the scene we see in the top 3 video (with graffiti all over the room and paint all over him) are proof of that. He's always shown drawing and doodling, so i think it's a fair assumption that when we see that on his clothing, it's his handiwork.

And that... disappears in round 6. Whether we look at his outfit in the actual round or when he's entertaining segyeins, he's dressed in muted, dark clothing. Very put together for his previous standards, almost elegant with his delicate, silver accessories (thin chains and tasteful earrings)

Gone is the asymmetry and the rage. Till is mourning and so he dresses for a funeral... either for Mizi (who's gone and presumed(?) dead) or for himself (without Mizi, he has no reason to keep going. he entered alien stage and stayed in anakt for her). Whether he 1) chose his outfits before and let the aliens take over in his grief or 2) fought the aliens on previous outfits to personalize them and stopped after r5, i think in both cases his clothes show how much he has given up

and then we have round 7

First of all, the color is back. Acid green and white pants. The tech gear too, in place of delicate chains. The hair is slicked back, similar to the scene out of stage in r6, but it doesn't feel as tamed

and i apologize in advance for the frame i'm about to use to prove this point (only scene we see till full figure in r7) but

THE SPRAY PAINTING CAME BACK!! on the pants!! Personally I think both the red and the two stripes are Till's addition, you could argue that the blood isn't bc it's just the pants done like this but it looks handmade to me, splotchy. Very likely to be Till's hand.

So going back to my initial point: something has changed between r6 and r7. In r7, Till FIGHTS with everything he has. He doesn't let Luka speak over him, he tries his best. He falters, but he enters the stage with a spark, a determination that was notably absent in r6

I think it's significant that we get this in Mizi's pov

because Mizi RECOGNIZES Till. Not in the sense that she didn't know it was him, but in the sense that it's the Till she knew from anakt: wild, rebellious, hateful towards the system. He's raging and screaming, putting on a wild performance.

And Ivan's sacrifice is what gets him like this. It allowed him to live, of course, but if we read deeper there's also something else. In r6, it's the first time we see Ivan openly defying the segyeins. It's pretty obvious that he didn't have the love Mizi had for them and he disobeyed multiple times (running away with Till is the prime example), but he put on a façade all the time. I would say it's exactly what allows him to get away with so much: he's so well-behaved that no one suspects him. He has no leash because, in the segyeins' eyes, he never tried to escape (and he never will, bc just like Till will choose to go back to Mizi every time, Ivan will stay for Till as well).

The only times we see him rebelling is: 1) the scene on the rooftop when he was still in the slums; 2) in r6, when he defies all expectations and "cheats" so that Till wins

Ivan fell in love with Till after seeing how defiant he was. And Till regains his spark, his will to rebel, after Ivan's sacrifice, when he chooses to publicly go against the aliens for the first time since he was a child.

i've seen a lot of talk about how Ivan was Till's downfall: because Till cared much more than Ivan thought, because Luka used that moment with Ivan (and not Mizi) to bring him down. It's all true and very tragic, but I think it's really important to note something else too

Till was able to be himself again (even if just for the span of a single song) because of what Ivan did. Ivan's act of love wasn't wasted.