#very easy to tell which characters they are

[kirammanswifey]

how arcane characters would deal with mental disorders x fem reader

characters: viktor, jinx, vi, caitlyn, jayce, ekko, silco, mel and sevika.

writer's note: writing this felt like giving myself a warm hug, a comfort that i needed. if anyone reading this is going through or has gone through any of these disorders, i want to tell you that you are very brave because it is not an easy thing, so feel proud of yourself. i hope you liked this as much as i did. as i'm a psychology student, i felt very motivated and i hope that it was quite understandable and enjoyable. as you already know request are open ;)

P.S. i know the other option won in the poll on my profile, but i need more time to refine the ideas and make something high quality that everyone will love, which i’ll be posting tomorrow ;)

Viktor Depression

The world around you feels like a constant weight, a heavy blanket that wraps around you, not letting you breathe. You wake up each day with a sense of emptiness in your chest, as if a black hole is absorbing all your energy, your motivation, your ability to feel anything other than sadness and apathy.

It’s not that you don’t want to get out of bed; it’s that the simple act of moving a finger feels like a titanic task. Fatigue is your constant companion, a shadow that never leaves you. Things that once filled you with joy now seem distant, irrelevant, as if they belonged to a life that is no longer yours.

The dark thoughts are your constant whispers, reminding you that you’re not enough, that it’s all pointless, that there’s no way out. Sometimes, you cry without knowing why; other times, you want to cry, but even that you can’t do. You feel trapped in an invisible prison, with no strength to fight your way out.

Viktor watches you from the doorway of your room, his gaze soft and full of concern. He knows the weight of shadows well, although his are different. Silently, he approaches and sits on the edge of the bed, not invading your space, but close enough for you to feel his presence.

“I have a new project I’m working on,” he says in a quiet voice, trying not to break the fragile bubble of your world. “I thought maybe you could join me today. You don’t have to do anything, just be there. Your company always helps me think.”

He doesn’t pressure you. Viktor understands that words can be hard to find when your mind is clouded by depression. He knows that the solution isn’t to force you to feel better, but to be with you, to offer you a hand, a small step forward.

He gently rises and offers his hand, not expecting you to take it, but hoping that you’ll know he’s there, ready to support you when you’re ready. “The world can wait,” he murmurs. “But I’m here, whenever you want to come back.”

His patience is infinite, his understanding deep. Viktor doesn’t try to fix you, because he doesn’t see you as broken. He knows that depression is a battle you fight every day, and he’s willing to walk alongside you, every small step, every shared silence.

You look at his hand, then his face; he’s concerned even though he tries to hide it. You make a huge effort to get out of bed, and even though your body doesn’t cooperate at first, you manage. You take his hand and gently squeeze it; that’s the most affection you can give him right now, you’re exhausted.

“Let’s go,” you murmur, your voice hoarse and broken; it’s the first time you’ve spoken all day.

You’re sitting next to Viktor in his small workshop, surrounded by pieces of metal and unfinished prototypes. He’s explaining his latest invention, a spark of enthusiasm lighting up his eyes. You feel a little better, enough to enjoy his company, and for a moment, a laugh escapes your lips when you hear one of his stories.

“Did you really say that to Heimerdinger?” you laugh, your eyes shining with a spark of life. It’s a small moment, but for Viktor, it’s like seeing the sun rise after a storm.

He smiles, pleased to have made you laugh. “Yes, and his face... It was certainly indescribable,” he replies with a softness that reflects his pleasure at seeing you enjoy yourself, even if just for an instant.

But suddenly, without warning, the laughter turns into a lump in your throat. The spark of joy fades as quickly as it came, and you find yourself trapped in a wave of overwhelming sadness. The tears start rolling down your cheeks, and you can’t stop them. The confusion in your eyes is evident, as if your body has betrayed the fleeting happiness you just felt.

Viktor notices immediately. He leans toward you, his expression turning serious, but his eyes remain warm and full of understanding. He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t seek explanations that may be impossible to give. Instead, he moves a little closer, offering you his silent presence.

“It’s okay,” he says gently, his voice an anchor amidst your internal storm. “You don’t have to explain it. Just breathe.”

He offers you his hand, this time with more intent. You take it, feeling the warmth and firmness in his grip, a reminder that you’re not alone in this moment. You needed that contact. You needed to know that you could feel something other than sadness right now. Viktor doesn’t pull away, doesn’t feel uncomfortable. He knows that depression doesn’t follow rules, that it can strike at any moment, and he’s willing to stay with you, no matter how long it lasts.

“Do you want us to stay here?” he asks, his tone delicate. “Or we can walk a little, if that helps.”

His willingness to adapt to your needs wraps you in a sense of safety. Even though the tears keep falling, Viktor’s presence is a balm, a reminder that, even in the darkest moments, there’s someone who sees you, who understands you, and who’s willing to stay by your side.

“Just... stay here with me,” you say, letting yourself fall against his body, exhausted.

He caught you and wrapped you with care, it was a hug with the right amount of strength.

“Take your time, darling. I won’t go anywhere,” Viktor promised in a whisper, never stopping the caresses on your back.

And that was enough to make you feel less miserable.

Jinx Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)

The echo of the explosions still resonates in your mind, even though years have passed since that day when your world crumbled. The night everything you loved was consumed by flames in an attack on the Undercity. The night you lost your family and were left alone, with the screams and the smell of smoke forever etched in your memory.

As you walk beside Jinx through the bustling streets of Zaun, everything seems normal, almost calm, until an explosion in the distance makes your heart stop. It’s a dry, loud sound, far too similar to the one you heard that night. Without warning, your breath becomes shallow, your lungs struggle to take in air, and an overwhelming sense of absolute panic takes hold of you.

Your body freezes, and it feels as if the world around you disappears. The crowd, the lights, even Jinx—all fade away, leaving you alone in that dark place where time doesn’t move. The ground beneath your feet seems to give way, and you feel yourself falling again into that abyss of the past.

"Hey, hey!" Jinx’s voice cuts through the fog in your mind. Her hands grip your shoulders, and her gaze searches for yours with desperation. "You’re not there, do you hear me? You’re here, with me."

Her words feel distant, but the warmth of her hands somehow anchors you, reminding you that you’re not alone. "But... the sound..." you murmur, barely audible, as tears start to fall down your cheeks. "It was the same... the same as that night."

Jinx guides you to a quieter corner, away from the noise, holding your hand firmly. "Breathe, hon, like we always do," she says softly, her voice tinged with controlled urgency. "Fill up those lungs, okay? Like we’re balloons."

You try to follow her instructions, but every time you close your eyes to concentrate, the images of that night hit you with renewed force. "It’s not working," you whisper, trembling. "It’s always there. No matter how much I try, it doesn’t go away. It doesn’t go away!" You scream in panic, the fingers of your hands stiffening, making them immobile.

The worry in Jinx’s eyes softens a little, but there’s something else there, something you can only describe as recognition. "That explosion... it reminded me of something too," she says after a moment, her voice quieter, almost a whisper. "I’ve been there, in that fucked-up place, where the ghosts never stop screaming."

Her words are like a key that opens the door to a deeper understanding.

She falls silent for a moment, gazing into the distance before refocusing her attention on you. "When I have my attacks, you’re always there for me, and I remember I’m not alone. That helps me a lot," she admits, a small, almost sad smile curving her lips. "And you’re not alone either, hon. We’re not broken, just a little bent. And here we are, bent together."

The hug she offers you is warm and firm, a tangible reminder that you’re not alone. You feel her strength, her determination, and something else: her own fear, her own struggle. "You don’t have to fight alone," she whispers, her voice a promise. "If you ever feel like you’re going to fall, we’ll fall together. And then, we’ll rise. Always."

You cling to her like a lifeline, letting her warmth and her words anchor you to the present, if only for a moment. "Thank you, sweets," you whisper, allowing yourself, for the first time in a long time, to feel that it’s okay not to be okay.

Vi Anxiety Disorder

The night drags you into the abyss of your mind, but you find no respite. Instead of waking softly to the day, you're trapped in pure panic. Your chest burns, each breath a lost battle. Your heart gallops wildly, as if trying to escape your chest. You are drenched in sweat, the sheets sticking to your skin, becoming yet another prison.

Your eyes snap open, the darkness of the room seems to close in on you, and the silence is deafening. The sensation of suffocation consumes you. You try to gulp down air, but it's as though your lungs have forgotten how to function. Your hands search for something, anything, to anchor you to reality, but all they find is emptiness.

The door swings open abruptly, and Vi stands there, alert, her eyes filled with concern. She doesn't need to ask what’s wrong; she knows instantly. She moves swiftly but carefully, approaching you without frightening you further.

"Breathe with me," she says gently, her hands finding yours, steady yet comforting. "Inhale through your nose... like this... and exhale through your mouth."

You try to follow her, but your body won’t cooperate. Your breath is shallow, frantic, as though every breath disintegrates before it even reaches your lungs. Tears begin to streak down your cheeks, mixing with the sweat.

"Vi... I can’t... I can't... I’m scared," you stammer, your words broken by sobs. Your mind is caught in a loop of terror, every thought spiraling downward, taking you further away from calm.

Vi sits beside you on the bed, her voice low and constant. "Don’t be afraid. Listen to my voice. I’m here with you, and I won’t let anything bad happen to you." Her tone is firm, anchoring you in the present, pulling you out of the tide of your own fear.

"But it hurts... my chest... I can't breathe..." Your body trembles, and your hands clutch desperately at her grasp. The feeling of control slipping away is overwhelming, leaving you feeling helpless.

Vi pulls you into an embrace, holding you close, offering her calm, her strength. "This is temporary. It won’t last forever," she whispers in your ear. "Trust me. Focus on me."

Slowly, very slowly, her voice cuts through the fog of your mind. You begin to breathe more deeply, following her rhythm, feeling how her presence stabilizes you, like a lighthouse in the storm. The pain in your chest begins to lessen, the pressure relents just a little, and your body starts to remember how to breathe without fighting.

Vi continues to speak, her voice a soft murmur, calming you with every word. "You’re strong. You have control, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now."

The tears still flow, but now they are tears of relief, not fear. "Don’t leave... don’t leave. I need you here," you whisper, your voice broken but sincere.

Vi strokes your hair, her other hand gently squeezing yours. "I’m not going anywhere, little doe," she says affectionately, kissing your forehead, tasting the salty remnants of your sweat.

You remain in her arms a moment longer, allowing yourself to rest, letting her strength hold you as you regain your own. Gradually, the panic fades, leaving only exhaustion and the certainty that Vi will always be by your side, no matter how dark the nights may get.

Caitlyn Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD)

The silence in the apartment is deafening. The only sound that breaks the stillness is the relentless ticking of the wall clock, its rhythm echoing in your ears like a hammer. You’re in the kitchen, eyes fixed on the glasses you’ve meticulously arranged in the cupboard. Each glass must be perfectly spaced, each one aligned to the exact same level. Symmetry isn’t just a preference—it’s a necessity. If something is out of place, you feel as though the whole world could collapse.

Your breathing is uneven, your chest rising and falling in quick succession. "One, two, three..." you murmur to yourself, counting each movement. Your hands tremble, but you can’t stop. You can’t stop. If you do, something terrible will happen. You don’t know what, but the certainty that it will be catastrophic clings to you like a shadow.

Caitlyn enters the apartment after a long day at work. Her expression shifts instantly when she sees you in the kitchen, trapped in your own ritual. She stops in the doorway, watching you with a mix of concern and sadness. It’s not the first time she’s found you like this, but each time, it hurts her as though it were.

"Darling?" Her voice is soft, as if afraid to shatter you. She steps closer, carefully setting her hat down on the table. "What are you doing?"

You don’t answer at first, your eyes still fixed on the glasses. "Almost done... just a few more minutes," you whisper, your voice trembling. You can’t stop. Every glass moved, every small adjustment is a battle between reason and irrational fear.

Caitlyn stops beside you, her eyes scanning the scene, seeing the perfect pattern you’ve created. "You don’t have to do this," she says gently, yet firmly.

Your hands freeze for a moment, but the urge to continue is too strong. "You don’t understand... if I don’t do it right, if they’re not perfectly aligned, something bad is going to happen." Tears begin to well up in your eyes, the pressure in your chest intensifying. "I don’t want you to think I’m crazy, but it’s like my mind... it can’t stop."

Caitlyn takes a deep breath, her hand reaching out to touch your shoulder delicately. "You’re not crazy," she says, locking eyes with you. "I know this is hard, that your mind doesn’t give you peace. But you don’t have to face it alone. Let me help you."

You turn to look at her, your eyes filled with desperation. "I can’t stop, Cait. If I do, I feel like everything will fall apart. I can’t control what’s happening inside my head."

Caitlyn nods slowly, her gaze unwavering from yours. "I know, darling. And I know this won’t be fixed in a day. But I’m here, and I’m going to stay by your side. We’ll face it together."

Her words anchor you, a beacon in the storm that is your mind. Slowly, almost against your will, your hands begin to lower, moving away from the glasses. The fear is still there, a current running just beneath the surface, threatening to overwhelm you, but Caitlyn is beside you, her presence a reminder that you’re not alone.

"Breathe with me," she says, her voice soft and steady. "Inhale... exhale... together."

You follow her instructions, though your lungs seem to resist, full of anxiety. Caitlyn guides you, her hand never leaving your shoulder. "See? We’re doing it! You’re doing it!" She encourages, kissing your neck when she notices you’ve looked away from the glasses for five seconds. It was only five seconds, but Caitlyn knew it was a huge accomplishment, and she celebrated it.

You let out a small sigh, the tension in your muscles easing slightly. Your hands travel to Caitlyn’s waist, moving her so the glasses are no longer in your line of sight. You let your head fall against her chest, breathing in her scent. It’s so much better, especially when you start counting the beats of her heart.

"How brave my wonderful and glorious girlfriend is. I’m so proud of you," she whispered, her fingers weaving through your hair as she praised you.

"Cait, I love you so much. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me," you whisper against her warm chest, unwilling to leave that comforting refuge.

Caitlyn chuckles softly, and it feels like music to your ears.

"I feel the same way, darling," Caitlyn replied, gently swaying your bodies from side to side in a small rhythm.

You know that your compulsions won’t disappear, that the need for control will remain, but with Caitlyn, you feel like you can face it one day at a time.

Jayce Narcissistic Personality Disorder

The mirror in your room is your judge, jury, and executioner. Every imperfection is a sentence, every flaw a conviction. You spend hours in front of it, adjusting, retouching, trying to reach a perfection that always seems to slip through your fingers. Your heart beats fast, not from excitement, but from the constant fear that the world will see the cracks beneath your flawless facade.

Jayce enters quietly, his presence comforting and, at the same time, a threat. What will he think? Does he notice the imperfections you see? He steps closer, his gaze soft, but you feel the weight of his eyes as if he's scrutinizing every flaw.

"Love, it's late. Come to bed," he says in a calm voice, trying to distract you from your self-destructive spiral.

"Just one more moment," you reply without looking at him, your focus still on the mirror, searching for symmetry in your features, perfection in the unattainable.

Jayce sits on the edge of the bed, watching you. "You've been here for hours. You don't have to do this. You're beautiful just as you are."

His statement, though well-intentioned, feels like a white lie. "You don’t understand, Jayce," you murmur, your voice trembling with suppressed frustration. "If I’m not perfect, I’m nobody. I can’t let them see my flaws. I can't let… you see them."

Jayce stands, walking toward you carefully, as if approaching a flickering flame. "You don’t have to be perfect to be loved," he says, his words a whisper in the storm raging in your mind. "You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, least of all to me."

Your gaze finally meets his through the reflection. Tears fight their way out, but you can't allow such weakness. "It's not that simple," you whisper. "Every day, every look, every word, it’s all a test. And if I fail…"

Jayce places his hands on your shoulders, his eyes filled with compassion and infinite patience. "If you fail, I’ll be here to lift you up."

"And what if I’m not enough?" The question slips out before you can stop it, the insecurity behind your narcissism showing in all its rawness. "What if one day you realize you deserve something better?"

Jayce leans in, his forehead touching yours, a gesture so intimate it almost breaks you. "I deserve someone who loves me for who I am, not for what I pretend to be. And that’s exactly what you are to me. I don’t have impossible expectations of you. I just want you to be happy, to find peace in who you are."

The internal struggle within you is fierce. The fear of rejection, the desire for perfection, the need to be seen and admired, all mix together in a whirlwind that consumes you. But in Jayce's arms, for a moment, the noise silences. His love is not a chain, but a refuge, one that offers rest if only you can let yourself fall into it.

"How can you be so sure?" you ask, your voice broken but curious.

"Because I love you," he answers without hesitation. "And love isn’t about waiting for perfection. It’s about accepting every part of you, even the ones you think are flaws."

The tears finally make their way out, releasing something within you that has been held back for so long. Jayce holds you as you cry, whispering words of comfort, letting all the pressure, fear, and anguish flow out of you.

"You’re perfect," you whisper, your voice cracked but full of sincerity. In your mind, Jayce is the epitome of everything you don’t believe you are: strong, confident, unshakable.

Jayce smiles softly, his hand caressing your cheek, wiping away the tears still falling. "No, I’m just a man in love. A man who loves you madly." His voice is warm, filled with a tenderness that disarms you. "Why don’t you show me that precious smile of yours? Please, it would make me so happy."

His sweet words touch your heart, and the corners of your lips stretch on their own, forming a sad smile.

"Gorgeous," Jayce murmured, caressing your lips with his strong, calloused fingers.

"Flatterer," you reply with a more elaborate smile, your eyes still wet, but now with a different shine, one that reflects the spark of hope he’s ignited in you.

"I’m just stating facts. I’m a scientist, honey, so I can tell you that, from my perspective, it’s scientifically proven that you’re gorgeous," he commented wryly, a wit that made you laugh.

Jayce smiled and kissed your forehead, holding you firmly in his arms. Finally, you feel like you can breathe, like air is filling your lungs again without that constant weight on your chest.

Ekko Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD)

The room is silent except for the soft hum of music playing in the background, but your mind cannot stop racing. Your thoughts scatter like arrows shot in every direction. You try to focus on something, anything, but it feels as though your brain is in a constant battle between the ideas that come and go. The light from the lamp flickers irregularly, and for a moment, you wonder if the bulb is about to explode. This makes no sense, you know that, but the unease lingers.

You quickly get up from the bed, taking a misstep, tripping over a chair you hadn’t seen, barely avoiding it. Your heart races. Everything is a series of chaotic jumps in your head, an endless torrent of thoughts that can’t follow a single path. You look at the desk, with papers scattered about—unfinished projects, ideas you can’t ground. Everything calls to you, but you can’t focus on anything.

Your hands tremble slightly as you grab the pen and begin to write down an idea that came to you, but before you finish the sentence, a new image flashes in your mind. You stop, leaving the pen on the desk and staring out the window. Something about the glow of the stars makes you think of something else. You can’t concentrate. Everything distracts you, even the small noises you used to never notice. It’s so annoying.

Suddenly, you feel the stress begin to accumulate in your shoulders. It’s not just the lack of concentration; it’s the sense of constantly running toward something without ever arriving. You try to finish a task, but more and more thoughts pile up, projects, things that need doing. Everything seems urgent, and nothing seems possible to complete. Anxiety settles in your chest.

You’re about to get up again when you hear the sound of the door opening behind you. Ekko enters the room, his calming presence is the only thing that makes you stop for a moment. He watches you in silence for a few seconds, noticing the frenzy of your movements. You hadn’t realized, but your breathing is irregular, and you’ve gotten up twice without purpose. Something isn’t right.

He watches you quietly, understanding the internal struggle you’re facing. He knows what this means, what it costs you every day.

“What’s going on? Why are you so worked up?” he asks, his voice soft but with enough authority to make you stop and listen.

Your eyes focus on a fixed point, but you can’t find the words to explain what you’re feeling. You don’t know how to put into words what’s happening. It’s like you’re trapped in a cycle of thoughts that never stop.

“My mind... it doesn’t stop moving,” you finally manage to say, almost in a whisper. “Every time I try to do something, it’s like something else distracts me. Nothing stays. Everything slips away.”

Ekko watches you silently for a moment, understanding the fight you’re facing. He knows exactly what this feels like.

“I get it, babe,” he responds, his tone firm but gentle. “I know your mind’s all over the place right now, but I promise we can do this one step at a time. We’ll focus on one thing at a time, no pressure. Sound good?”

The fact that Ekko is offering to be there, without judgment, brings you relief. You know that the impulsiveness you feel, the urge to move without a plan, is something that consumes you. Your mind jumps from one thought to another, and each of those thoughts feels like an urgent need, an immediate necessity. But at the same time, nothing makes sense. Everything is scattered and out of control.

“It’s just that...” your words fade into the air, unable to be completed. You feel trapped in your own body, in your own brain. You can’t stop, but you can’t move forward either.

Ekko gently places a hand on your shoulder, his touch calming. “How can we start?” he asks sincerely, not rushing you. “Tell me what you need.”

For a moment, everything seems to stop. The flood of thoughts quiets down, and for the first time in a long while, you can think clearly, even if it’s just for an instant. It’s not about having everything figured out right away; it’s about feeling that someone is there, willing to stand by you while you navigate through the mental whirlwind.

“I just... I don’t know how to do it without jumping from one thing to another,” you murmur, frustration and shame creeping into your voice. “I feel like everything’s overwhelming, and I can’t focus on anything.”

“We’ll take it slow,” Ekko replies, his tone calm and direct. “First, breathe. The first step is to breathe, and then we can start with just one thing. The rest can wait.”

You close your eyes for a moment and follow his words. You breathe deeply, slowly, trying to find the balance that always seems so hard to reach. Ekko is there, not rushing you, waiting for your mind to settle. With his help, little by little, you manage to focus on one small task, one that’s manageable enough not to overwhelm you. It’s just one step, but it’s a step toward calm.

“You don’t have to do it all right now,” Ekko says softly. “What matters is that you’re not alone in this. We’ll go step by step.”

You feel the knot in your stomach loosening, even though there’s still much to do. But at this moment, with him by your side, you realize that maybe, just maybe, you can find a way toward a little peace.

After hours of work and soft laughter, you’re sitting on the floor, with Ekko beside you, both looking at the pieces left to place in a puzzle. It’s almost complete, the pieces fitting perfectly, and though the hours have flown by, you feel lighter, the atmosphere quieter.

“One more,” Ekko says with a smile, holding up a piece in the air. He passes it to you, and together, you place it in its spot, completing the picture. The puzzle is done, and though it’s a small accomplishment, it feels more meaningful than it seems. Not just because of what you’ve completed, but because you’ve managed to feel centered, accompanied.

When you look at the drawing you had left unfinished, now finally complete, you feel a deep sense of satisfaction. Ekko helped bring to life the image that only existed in your mind, his hands working alongside yours, following every line with care.

“You did it,” Ekko says, his eyes shining with pride. “My girl is incredible.” He pulled you into his lap and kissed your forehead.

You look at him, your heart beating a little faster. The fatigue of the afternoon washes over you, but you don’t care. All that matters is that he’s here, by your side, and that, for once, you feel at peace. The air feels lighter, as if the space between you two has been reduced, softened by the stillness of the moment.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your words barely a whisper, but full of gratitude.

Ekko turns toward you, his expression softening. “Don’t thank me. Thank yourself. You’re the one who made it happen, not me.”

The way he looks at you, the way his presence has become part of your space, makes you smile. And, in a moment of impulse, without thinking too much about it, you move a little closer. He seems to understand it instantly, and before you can second-guess yourself, his lips brush against yours. It’s a soft kiss, no rush, no urgency, just a moment where words aren’t needed.

When you pull away, both of you stay there, looking at each other, the air between you charged with something that doesn’t need to be named. Ekko smiles, his eyes sparkling with that glint that makes you feel as though everything is right, as if the world, for a moment, is in its place.

“Everything’s okay now,” Ekko says softly, filling you with calm.

And in that instant, you believe him.

Silco Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD)

The air in Silco's office is thick with tension, as always. The sound of the bustling city echoes through the glass windows, but inside, everything is still, almost as rigid as the gaze Silco fixes on you. You're sitting across from him, feeling a familiar dizziness, as if everything is out of control and, at the same time, you're trapped in an empty space. A mix of confusion and anxiety courses through every fiber of your being.

Your hands tremble slightly, and although you try to control your breathing, each inhalation seems to sink you further into the internal chaos. The voices in your head blend together, demanding answers, claiming something you can't give. Silco watches you calmly, but it's a cold, calculated calm, as if everything that's going on inside you is a game he knows how to play.

You feel the emptiness consuming you, and yet an unbearable pressure weighs on your chest. Your mind betrays you, throwing destructive thoughts at you, telling you you're worthless, that everything you do is doomed to fail. The contradiction is overwhelming: on one hand, you feel lost, and on the other, you refuse to give in to the feeling of helplessness.

"Are you alright?" Silco asks, his voice low and steady, but there's a slight intensity in his tone. He doesn't break eye contact, as if he's evaluating every micro-expression on your face, every movement. He knows you're not, but still, he asks. Is it a test? A need to know how far you can go? The silence stretches on, and your thoughts only intensify.

The urge to stand up and run from it all is strong. Everything in you screams to follow your impulses, to escape, to flee from the overwhelming weight of it all. But you stay there, because something in you knows that running will only plunge you deeper into the darkness you're feeling inside. You see yourself fighting, trying to maintain control, but every second makes you feel more lost.

"I'm sorry... I don't know what's happening to me," you whisper, your voice broken, struggling against the avalanche of emotions threatening to drown you. You feel the tears pressing behind your eyes, but you force yourself to keep composure. "It's just... it's all so intense. So confusing."

Silco keeps watching you in silence. There's no judgment in his gaze, only a calculated assessment, as if he's reading between the lines of your suffering. After a long moment, he sighs and stands up from his chair, approaching you slowly. It's not a sudden gesture, but calm, as if he's used to dealing with people who struggle with their own minds. He says nothing, but his presence is the only thing anchoring you in this moment.

With one hand, he takes yours. The contact is firm, but not aggressive, as if he's giving you space to breathe, but also space to not escape. In his eyes, something changes. There's an understanding that you can't fully decipher, but it fills you with a strange sensation, like, for the first time in a long time, you're not alone in the storm raging inside you.

"Your mind is betraying you," Silco says calmly, his voice soft but full of an authority that makes you feel that everything happening has a purpose. "It's an enemy that everyone must face at some point. But you don't have to face it alone."

The words fall on you like a stone, but strangely, they allow you to relax, even if only for a moment. The internal chaos you've always felt halts for an instant. And in that silence, you're finally able to breathe.

"All of this... this emptiness, the feeling that nothing matters, it's not your fault," Silco continues, his tone firm, though not without a strange gentleness. "It's just a phase, a moment that will pass. But you need to control it. Not let it take over you."

You feel vulnerable, but at the same time, a part of you relaxes in his closeness. Silco doesn't tell you that it's okay, nor does he promise easy solutions. He speaks to you with reality, with that harshness that you know comes from someone who understands suffering, but who doesn't have time to sugarcoat the truth.

"What you're feeling is real, but it's also transient. Not everything is as final as you think," he adds, his gaze fixed on yours with intensity. "You can be stronger than this."

The words resonate in your mind as you take a deep breath. You don't know if you fully believe them, but for some reason, in this moment, the darkness feels less imposing. You're not completely free of it, but at least you feel you're not entirely alone. Silco is here, firm and without judgment, waiting for you to take control of your own mind, without expecting you to do it immediately, but giving you the possibility to believe that you'll manage.

The pressure in your chest doesn't disappear completely, but a small crack of calm starts to open within you. And though you know your inner struggles won't end immediately, for the first time in a long while, you don't feel as lost. Silco looks at you one last time, without haste, but with a silent certainty.

"When you're ready, you can get out of this. I'll be here."

You're surprised by how firm his voice sounds, as if, by saying it, he's committed to being a constant presence. And although you don't fully understand how he does it, you realize that, in this moment, his steadiness helps you more than any empty words of comfort.

The world continues around you, but somehow, Silco has given you the strength to face it.

The silence between you and Silco lingers for a moment, but it's no longer the same silence as before. There's a strange peace, almost comforting, in the way he holds you, in the closeness you now feel between you both. The contact of his hand, firm and steady, gives you an anchor amidst the storm that still rages inside you.

A sigh escapes your lips without you noticing, and for a moment, it's not one of despair, but of relief. Silco, still keeping his gaze fixed on you, takes one more step closer. It's not a quick or rushed step, but a calculated one, as if he's sure that, in this moment, the only thing you need is that closeness, that calm presence.

Without saying anything, his fingers gently caress your cheek, a soft gesture that cuts through you. There's a tenderness in his movements that you hadn't anticipated, something that seems in complete contradiction with the person you know, but that, in this moment, comforts you more than any words. You feel vulnerable, but you don't fear it, not now.

Your breathing gradually calms, and Silco, silently, moves a little closer, so close that you can feel the warmth of his body. The space between you is almost nonexistent now, and you can feel his breath in rhythm with yours. There's something in his presence that soothes you, that gives you the feeling that everything will be okay, even though it still feels hard to believe.

Finally, his lips come close to yours with an unexpected softness. It's not a hasty or desperate kiss, but something slower, more measured. The brush of his lips against yours is so gentle that it surprises you, as if he's waiting for you to accept it, for you to be ready. And you are. Though your mind is still filled with doubts and fears, something inside you tells you that this is the moment you can allow yourself to be vulnerable, that you can receive something that won't hurt you.

The kiss deepens slowly, and in that instant, the world seems to fade away around you. All that remains is the warmth of his body, the firmness of his arms around you, and the gentle contact of his lips, like a silent promise that, even though the future is uncertain, for a moment, everything is alright.

When you finally pull away, no words are needed. Silco looks at you with an intensity you've never seen before, but in his eyes, there's something more, something you can't describe, something that makes you feel that, despite everything you've been through, you're not alone.

"I told you you were strong," he whispers, his voice deep and soft at the same time.

And for a moment, everything seems enough.

Mel Chronic Stress Disorder

The atmosphere is thick with tension, but it's a different kind of tension. It's a quiet calm, yet at the same time, it is filled with the constant threat of what could happen. You’re there, in one of the rooms of the mansion, sitting on a chair by the window, gazing out at the illuminated city, but unable to really see anything. The world around you seems to blur, as if a layer of fog has settled over your senses, blurring every detail and leaving only the emptiness of your thoughts.

Mel, who has been watching your behavior for the past few minutes, approaches with a palpable gentleness in her movements. Her presence is firm, but not intrusive. From a distance, she’s observed how the symptoms of your chronic stress have taken over you, how anxiety and mental exhaustion have combined to make you feel beyond your limits.

She crouches slightly to be at your level, her eyes fixed on yours, searching for your attention. “I notice you’re not yourself, and I know it’s because the weight of everything has piled up,” she says in a low voice, her tone soft yet firm. “But I want you to listen. You have the right to rest. You don’t have to carry the world, not all the time.”

Despite her words, you feel a pressure in your chest that won’t ease. Everything feels too big, too heavy. Chronic stress consumes you, leaving your thoughts tangled while your body responds with a deep exhaustion that doesn’t seem to go away no matter what you do.

Mel, noticing the internal struggle that consumes you, steps closer and, without warning, places a firm hand on your shoulder. It’s not a gesture of force, but of support. A sign that she’s here, silently, but available to help you find the balance you need.

“Your body is telling you it needs to stop,” she continues, with a softness that’s hard to deny. “Those moments of despair, of exhaustion... they’re real. But you don’t have to go through it alone, no matter how much you think you can.”

The contact of her hand on you, her quiet strength, begins to offer some relief. Even though the weight still lingers, something in you relaxes. It’s as if her words offer you a rope to hold onto, something tangible in the fog that seems to surround your mind.

You lean forward, your fingers briefly touching your forehead as you try to calm the agitation still coursing through you. The stress, that constant pressure in your life, seems unwilling to let go of you, but at least in this moment, with Mel by your side, you can breathe a little more deeply.

“I’ll be here,” Mel whispers, like an unbreakable promise. “If you need to rest, I’ll help you find peace. You don’t have to go on alone.”

For the first time in a long time, you allow yourself to think that, maybe, it’s possible to let go of some of that burden. Mel’s voice, soft yet full of certainty, is a refuge in the midst of the chaos in your mind.

Mel doesn’t expect you to feel guilty for your exhaustion. She doesn’t demand that you change or “overcome” your chronic stress overnight. She only gives you space to feel what you need to feel and to acknowledge that, even though the road may be long, you don’t have to walk it alone.

When your eyes lift and meet hers, there’s something in your gaze that softens. The stress doesn’t vanish immediately, but the simple fact that someone understands you, that someone is staying with you without judging, gives you something you didn’t have before: the possibility of healing.

The silence between you both is comfortable. It’s a silence of acceptance and understanding. And as Mel remains by your side, her presence becomes something that offers comfort, not an immediate solution, but a step toward the calm you so desperately need.

After a long silence, Mel slowly approaches you, and her eyes, filled with softness and understanding, capture you. She takes your hand, with a delicacy that makes you feel lighter, as if the weight of your mind could lessen just with that contact.

“You know, right?” she whispers, her voice gentle but firm. “I’ve seen you fight, and still, you’re here, being so incredible. And to me, that’s what really matters. Not everything you’ve been through, but who you are now.”

The sparkle in her eyes makes you blush slightly, and your heart beats a little faster.

“Mel...” you whisper, barely able to find the words, feeling your nerves breaking. “I don’t know what I’d do without you…”

She smiles, moving closer. “I’m here, for whatever you need, for anything, always.”

Without saying another word, Mel gently caresses your cheek, as if every movement is a silent promise. Then, you see her lean in toward you, her face so close to yours that you can feel the brush of her breath.

“You’re my refuge, you know that, right?” Mel says, with sincerity that runs deep within you.

And without another word, her lips find yours, in a tender, almost urgent kiss, as if she wanted to convey everything she couldn’t with words. When she pulls away, her eyes shine with an unmistakable softness.

“I love you, with all my being. And that won’t change.”

You shiver slightly at her words, but instead of insecurity, you find comfort. Her eyes transmit calm to you, and for the first time, you realize that she’s willing to be the peace you so need.

Sevika Bipolar Disorder

The darkness surrounds you, but it’s not physical darkness; it’s something denser, creeping through every corner of your mind. It’s one of those days. You don’t know for sure, but you feel it deep in your gut: something has changed. There’s a void in your chest that you don’t know how to fill, and a sensation in your stomach that twists you up. You’ve been through this before. The bipolar disorder drags you, takes you as its own without warning, pushing you from one extreme to the other in a matter of hours, minutes.

You wake up feeling the weight of sadness, a sadness that feels physical, sinking you into the mattress as if the sheets were lead. You don’t want to move, think, or do anything. You just feel empty, as if all your strength has evaporated. The room seems smaller, the walls pressing in on you. Your legs don’t respond when you try to get up. A knot forms in your throat, but the tears won’t come. There’s no energy for that, just the weight of despair.

You don’t see her enter. Her presence is silent, but solid. Sevika knows something is wrong, she feels it even before you tell her. When you look at her, her expression doesn’t change, but there’s something in her eyes that makes you feel that the situation is serious. There’s no surprise, no fear, just a cold, calculating understanding. Sevika isn’t one to lose her calm easily. And that makes you even more confused, making you feel like you don’t belong in that moment, like you’re not the person she expects to see.

“What’s going on?” she asks, not softening anything. The question isn’t condescending, nor filled with concern. It’s direct, almost harsh, she doesn’t beat around the bush. She knows that, when you’re like this, empty words don’t help.

You struggle to form a response. You can’t, really. Your thoughts are tangled in an incomprehensible chaos. But she doesn’t expect you to explain anything. Sevika approaches, sits on the edge of the bed. Her gaze never leaves you, as if she’s evaluating your soul, searching for a point of vulnerability, a sign of what to do next. She has the ability to see beyond your emotions, beyond the depression that consumes you and the anxiety that makes you tremble. She knows that right now there’s nothing rational in your mind, but understanding is her only response. Patience mixes with a slight touch of toughness, as she always does with things she can’t control.

“You’re staying here. You’re not going to do anything impulsive. You’re not going to try to run out of here or make this worse,” she says with a calm coldness that leaves no room for objection. You know that, in this moment, she’s the only voice of reason you can hear.

You’re aware that Sevika is used to dealing with extreme situations, but this one is different. She watches you closely, but from a distance, as if she’s weighing the damage, calculating what she can do to keep you safe. You don’t see fear in her, but you see resolve. She doesn’t switch into “rescuer mode,” she doesn’t try to hug you or tell you that everything will be fine. What she says, she says with authority because she knows that if she gives in, chaos will take control, and everything she’s worked to keep stable will fall apart.

In the internal struggle between your broken mind and the anger that begins to build up inside of you, Sevika is the rock that keeps you from diving into the void. But she also knows she can’t ignore your emotions. Her expression hardens slightly when she realizes there’s something more going on. “I’m telling you this because you know it, not because I need to explain it to you,” she whispers, making it clear that there’s no room for games.

When you finally speak, it’s in whispers, as if your words have weight and could break you. “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I’m... I’m so tired of this constant back and forth. I can’t handle it.”

Sevika doesn’t change her posture. She doesn’t tell you that she’s going to “fix” you, nor does she try to cure you. She knows that what you have doesn’t have an easy fix, but she does have tools to deal with the situation. “You don’t need to fix anything right now. You need to rest. Let what’s going to happen, happen, but don’t make decisions you’ll regret later. Do you understand me?” her voice is firm, but underneath there’s something else, a touch of softness she rarely shows.

The air in the room is heavy, laden with the weight of your thoughts, like a fog that prevents you from seeing beyond. Sevika is there, watching you with the same intensity as always, but with an odd calm, a calm that scares you because it makes you feel like she sees it all: the chaos consuming you, the internal battle between despair and rage.

“I don’t want this to control me. I don’t want to be like this,” you murmur, the words coming out broken. You know you’re saying it more to yourself than to her, but still, the guilt pierces your chest like invisible needles. You feel like you’re not being who she expects.

Sevika stays silent for a moment, her gaze fixed on you. There’s something in her face, a line of tension in her jaw, as if she’s weighing every word before speaking. Finally, she gets a little closer, breaking the distance between your bodies.

“It’s not about what you expect from yourself. It’s about what you need right now. And what you need right now is rest, stop fighting against something you can’t control.”

Your eyes search hers, those eyes that always seem to understand more than you can verbalize. And, somehow, you feel that there’s no judgment in them, just a silent acceptance of what you’re going through. It’s strange. In the middle of the storm in your mind, Sevika gives you the feeling of being the only anchor left in your world.

Suddenly, she stretches out a hand toward you, not rushing, not in a hurry, but with the firmness that characterizes her. You take it without thinking, as if it’s the only thing that can stop the flood of erratic thoughts flooding your mind. Her touch is warm, comforting. There’s a strength in that simple gesture, something that allows you to relax, even if just for a second.

“I’m going to take care of you, understand?” she whispers, her voice low, barely a breath. There are no empty promises in her words, just a statement of fact. But in her tone, you find a softness that she rarely shows. It’s like, for a brief moment, her heart opens a little more, even if she doesn’t fully recognize it.

The moment stretches on, and even though the storm in your mind hasn’t ceased, there’s something in you that feels a little lighter. Sevika doesn’t have the solution to your pain, but her presence, her closeness, gives you a peace you never even imagined.

Without thinking, you move a little closer to her, seeking that warmth. Her fingers interlace with yours, and for the first time all day, you don’t feel completely broken. Sevika has never promised you a happy ending, but in this moment, you don’t need one. The simple fact of being here, of having her close, gives you a reason to keep going, even if just for a little while longer.

“I love you,” you say without thinking, and the words come out with a clarity that surprises you. It’s not a grand declaration, it’s not a promise that everything will be okay, but it’s something real, something you never thought you could say to anyone before.

“I love you too, doll,” she responds with a half-smile, though her eyes seem softer than ever. And, for a second, the world seems to stop. The anxiety, the disorder in your head, dissipate, if only for a brief moment.

She leans in a little toward you, and in that instant, all that matters is the touch of her lips on your forehead, a simple gesture but filled with affection. The silence between you both is comfortable, no pressure, just the comfort of being together, knowing that, even if the world around you falls apart, Sevika will be the one to keep you steady.

[x-necromantic-x]

(reblogging w/ my comments under op’s post to have it on one of my blogs)

hi!! this was my post that you're talking about! and wow haha i did not think it would strike this much of a nerve with some people, but it's always a good thing to see other people passionate about things i'm passionate about also.

a few things–

the post overall was meant to be lighthearted in nature, as someone who enjoys both the musical and the poem it wasn't really an us vs them thing. moreso a playful jab at people who made assumptions about the myth based off the musical (which, in my comments there were a lot of) and if you don't do that, the post doesn't apply to you!

in the pinned comment under the post i talk about how a conversation can definitely happen over the ethics of the situation, i'm all for interpretations of the story and enjoyed the people discussing the myth from the perspective of actually having read the myth or of being aware of it. whenever i corrected people in the comments, it was about things they got wrong about the material specifically, such as people saying circe used her magic to force him to bed or arguing about things a simple google search could tell you whether it did or didn't happen. If you interpret the text as being non-consensual, it was never the point of the post to say that your interpretation is incorrect! me personally though, i don't like the optics of circe being turned into a supporting/positive character if she was a rapist in the original.

I wasn't defending hamilton lmao!!! it was a joke!!! it was a bit!!!!

i also never said homer!odysseus was a horrible person! i very much don't think he is! to me, the point of the story is it's exploration of the human condition, and that even if he had faltered in his resolve to get home, that he still wouldn't have been a horrible person because any normal person in his shoes would have done similarly! i dunno where you got this bit but yk, js for the record.

your interpretation of book 10 in the odyssey is fine, if not a little lost on me. odysseus was certainly not initiative in the task of going home. of course, you can read and take away from it whatever you like, but– and i'm not trying to sound pretentious here– in my analysis class for the odyssey specifically we talked about how this section of the odyssey goes into the nature of human temptation when faced with luxury or an easier way out. Odysseus intentionally spends longer than he has to, a full year, and doesn't make the decision to leave until his crew bugs him and calls his delays “madness”. That doesn't read to me as them being like let's leave and he's like alr bet, it reads as odysseus finding reasons to remain on the island even after his crew is ready to go. you can find all of this in the text.

i never mentioned being fixated on the telegony either, all of my rebuttals have been centered around text and examples found in the odyssey itself. it wasn't really a gotcha moment with circe either, there's no debate that odysseus’ is one of history's great morally ambiguous figures in fiction, with or without her.

lastly, i think the odyssey is sooo romantic! a lot of your post seems to have misunderstood the point of mine fundamentally, and that's ok, i probably could have phrased it better! i think epic is romantic, i think the odyssey is romantic, the point i was trying to get at when seriously debating the storytelling of epic is that i think a lot of people miss the nuance that went into the storytelling of the odyssey in favor of a more sanitized, more easy to swallow protagonist. again, how i studied it, and how i believe the odyssey was meant to be read, is as a critical analysis of the human condition. Myths are reflective of the societies they come from, and i want people to be aware that the myths we read are a glimpse into what sorts of things people back then valued and strove for, how they're different from us, and how they're not. you mentioned having wished you’d studied the literature, and i think if you had, you would have come to a similar conclusion.

while i don’t think op misinterpreted my points intentionally in bad faith, calling me an asshole or saying i’m illiterate definitely made me raise an eyebrow. i tried my best to keep the conversations in my own comments respectful and productive, and hostility was definitely not the tone of my original shitpost. i think most people were able to talk about their perspectives and interpretations of the odyssey without going there. i’m attaching my pinned comments below for more context about the post itself

Some assholes on Instagram saying that Epic fans are "gaslighting" themselves about Odysseus being faithful to Penelope because of the Circe part and being pretentious about it and how we are stupid for considering The Odyssey romantic

Motherfucker

1. The Odyssey is an epic poem we all fucking know that? That it's a tragedy, technically comedy (comedy in ancient literature used to mean "happy ending", not funny stuff)

2. The Circe bit can be interpreted in different ways, as if it was fully consensual or not or just a transaction. There was still a difference in power dynamics, which was 100% mentioned by Calypso in the beginning, but if you choose to ignore that part if the same as saying some of Zeus' kids were ok to be conceived because the women agreeded to what A GOD wanted.

3. Obviously Epic!Odysseus is differente from Homer!Odysseus, but trying to say Homer! Odysseus is a horrible person that fully wanted to cheat on Penelope just because you want to defend ALEXANDER HAMILTON, i have bad news about you.

4. "The crew had to beg to go back!" I read the Odyssey too. As a child and a few days ago. They stayed on Circe's island to rest so Odysseus job as a captain was literally wait until his crew told him they were ready to leave, specially after what they have lived. Odysseus didnt force anyone to stay in that island, when the crew went "oh, sir, we miss our families, please lets go back now, yes?" Odysseus immediately said "ok". It literally felt like a father waiting for the kids to stop playing in the playground.

5. Homer!Odysseus is not perfect, at all (man killed his disloyal maids because he didnt want to deal with shit anymore, even if they also were coerced/raped by the suitors), but come with a better gotcha than Circe. You are just fixiated on the Telegony and it shows.

6. Idk what to tell you, but if you think renouncing a life with two inmortal godesses (one of whom offered you immortality), traveling for 10 years defying a God's rage, killing 108 men who wanted to marry your wife (and ruined your house), almost killed yourself when said wife rejected you only for her to go "haha i was just testing you, silly :)", have your literally marriage have a word created for you two specifically is not romantic... Idk go read Bridgerton

[annihilatorz]

When you say Andre was a misogynist prick, where do you get this from? I'm not trying to argue lol, I just don't remember him saying anything sexist in the film. but I also haven't watched it in a while. I think I remember him calling people bitches, though I don't think that's sexist. I am just interested in your POV!

ANDRE KRIEGMAN AND MISOGYNY

This is all a really over the top and unnecessary analysis of Andre as a character, understand that it’s all my personal perspective of him. Sorry for the confusion on that one post lol.

And yes you are right, Andre doesn’t directly make misogynistic remarks, BUT he has internalised misogyny.

In my eyes Andre comes across as internally misogynistic or at the very least, arrogantly dismissive of women.

Andre and vulnerability:

Andre mentions being ��tormented” by people at school, this tells us others see him as vulnerable and weak, an easy target.

We see in the tapes that feelings of vulnerability (a stereotypical feminine feeling) seems to drive Andre to perpetuate some aggression, he gets riled up and seems to feel the need to convince himself that he is “going to be God”, he is not weak.

He has a strong discomfort with vulnerability and a near obsession with being seen as a God, a dictator, a man of power are all signs of his misogynistic tendencies.

Rachael and Cal’s conversation:

Rachael’s conversation with Cal in the graveyard is where she mentioned that she sees Andre as “the leader” of the two guys which I assume is likely because of the tough, “hyper masculine” persona he projects.

His aggression or dismissiveness toward people that Rachael tells Cal about may serve as a possible defence mechanism against the traits he fears most, emotional expression or perceived weakness.

I will keep repeating it.

Andre does not want to be weak.

He is sick of being seen weak and being treated as weak.

This attitude definitely stems from a form of self-loathing tied to his internal belief that traits of emotional (and physical) weakness are undesirable or inferior.

Rachael describes Andre as “offbeat” and “strange,” and her discomfort around him may stem from, yes, the internalised misogyny.

Jc Penney shirt:

I wanted to add this as a way to show Andre’s masculinity was definitely challenged, giving an explanation for his internalised misogyny.

The slur is used weaponise and undermine a person’s masculinity, this has clearly deeply affected him as he still remembers it and is still riled up about it.

This could have been a starting point for when he started to build up his macho facade.

She also notes his anger and hatred, which could easily be interpreted as having misogynistic undertones, particularly when directed at her.

I also want to bring this up:

Cal’s joke about filming “girls’ asses,” for Andre while funny, is lowkey a deeper issue of objectification, suggesting that Andre (and perhaps Cal as well) reduces women to mere objects of desire.

It’s worth remembering that Andre’s character is partially inspired by Eric Harris, a very misogynistic person 👍

[docagonthoughts]

MY PROBLEMS WITH THE LEGEND OF ZELDA MOVIE

Okay, hi.

I have a LOT of reasons this movie should never in a million years happen, but my family is getting sick of hearing them, so I'm here to share them with you because I'm very frustrated with some school things right now and I need to channel my anger into something that matters.

First is that it's going to be live-action.

This was a terrible choice on their part because no matter who they cast as Link and Zelda, they aren't going to be good enough for the role. And no, I don't mean as in acting skill, I mean in terms of appearance. They're just not going to be able to capture it.

Second of all, casting.

Casting for this movie will be tricky for multiple reasons. Like I said previously, whoever they choose to cast won't be able to capture the physical essence of the characters. Not only that, but they can't cast a super famous guy (ESPECIALLY not Tom Holland) because Link is always supposed to be a little nobody twink who shows up with a 'i have no idea what I'm doing but I'm doing it anyway' mentality, not some hotshot guy everyone knows.

Third, twink-y-ness.

As we all know, Link is twinkier than a Twinkie, and if they fail to capture that, what is even the point. We need to see Link in at least one slutty outfit with a stupid hairstyle or else that isn't Link, that's just Chad.

Fourth, the target audience.

The target audience is probably my main concern with this movie, if I'm honest. Based on recent media, I've seen many things get taken over by 10 year old humor, Jack Black (no hate on him, but I think ykwim), and bad graphics. That's where I get concerned.

A good majority of the people who love the Legend of Zelda like I do are older than the age of 10 and don't want this movie to be overly goofy or 'watered down'. Like I said before, the Legend of Zelda games are whimsical, but also very dark at times. That's what makes them perfect; there's a balance.

Fifth, Link himself.

If you didn't know, Link doesn't usually talk or have a super distinguishable personality because the creators designed him with the audience in mind. You're supposed to be able to imagine Link in any way, even as yourself.

Now, that's not to say he can't have a personality. I'm just saying that whatever personality they give him will not work.

Not only that, but I just know they're going to make him talk. I know it. Now, i know some people are probably like 'wEll, DrAgON, How aRe theY suPPOsEd to MaKe him INterEstIng If HE doEsN'T TAlK?', to which I pat them on the head and remind them of the incredibly successful movie 'The Quiet Place' where all of the characters were silent and used sign language. In this movie's case, ONLY LINK would be silent, making it even EASIER for them.

Sixth, is Hyrule.

Now, I don't have too many concerns about Hyrule itself since it's pretty easy to make a movie pretty in terms of the landscape, but if it looks anything remotely similar to the Minecraft movie trailer, I will not watch it.

Seventh is the Villain.

My main concern with whichever villain they choose (most likely Ganon, but I think it'd be interesting to use a different villain like Vaati or the Demise), only because I don't want them to act like Bowser did in the Mario movie. Don't get me wrong, I think that worked for Bowser. But for Ganon? No. And I swear to you, if the villain or ANYONE is played by Jack Black, I will have an actual meltdown. (Love you Jack Black, but please no)

Eighth is the music.

As we all know (or at least you should), the Legend of Zelda has some of the most beautiful music ever. The Song of Storms, Zelda's Lullaby, Ballad of the Wind Fish, these are all great songs. If they screw this up, I will hate it.

And finally, number Nine: the essence and vibe of the movie.

This is my other main concern. Can I explain to you why I love the Legend of Zelda so Much? No, I can't. All I can tell you is that the 'feel' of it is what I love. If they fail to capture the whimsy and the wholesomeness but also the underlayer of darkness that the games possess, this movie will bomb.

Let me give you a few examples of other medias that failed to capture their source material:

Star Wars (The Force Awakens, The Last Jedi, The Rise of Skywalker). All three of those movies sucked imo because they didn't feel like a Star Wars movie, they felt like a Star Wars fanfiction. This isn't any of the cast's fault, either. They did good for what they were given. But the movie itself (expecially the character changes in Luke) lacked that feeling the other Star Wars movies hold.

Star Trek Discovery and Picard. Both of these shows are objectively the worst Star Trek series. And, it's for the same exact reasons as those Star Wars movies. THE PEOPLE MAKING THEM AREN'T FANS OF THE FRANCHISE!!! They don't understand them, they don't understand why people LIKE them. But if you look at their newest show, Strange New Worlds, it's doing spectacularly. Why? BECAUSE THE NEW WRITERS ARE FANS OF THE SHOW. THEY GET IT.

If you couldn't tell, I'm very passionate about this one.

In conclusion, you can tell that my hopes for this movie are incredibly, painfully low. Can you blame me, though? This is my favorite thing in the world, an I'd love to have a movie about it. But in recent times, movies and shows based off of already beloved things have not been doing well because they don't capture the feeling of them. The people put in charge of these movies most likely haven't played a single Legend of Zelda game in their lives, so they don't get it and they aren't going to be able to capture our souls like the games do.

Thank you for listening to my messy rant.

[ike9306]

We all joke about how the AJ trilogy would have been so much shorter if Apollo had a gun and all that, but we forget that Apollo could very much own a gun.

Like, that guy was raised in the mountains by a group of rebels. He probably has weapons training and could very much own a gun (illegally, yes, but I don't think his life in Khura'in was very legal anyway). He may look like a twig, but honestly, I am persuaded his punch is absolutely wicked.

[jhonny]

can you guess which reanimated collab im practicing for

[oifaaa]

I'm not gonna lie I've been pondering for the last 30 minutes or so on what a good animated Robin movie would look like and Im kinda coming up blank I'm even getting stumped on which Robin the movie would focus on and outside of that what story should be the main focus

[ranahan]

@fox-trot, they don’t make it easy to follow, but granted that TCW is a show for kids, it makes sense the political context has to be pieced together from between the lines.

This interpretation puts a different spin on several things:

Why Republic military occupation is a credible threat and a likely response to Mandalore’s internal terrorist problem. Beyond the ongoing galactic war and separatist support of the terrorists, the Republic is in control of Mandalore and might’ve decided to intervene even if it was peacetime. Only the scale of intervention tbd.

No wonder Almec can confidently predict that Mandalorians would rather side with Death Watch than tolerate another Republic occupation—the last time Republic razed them to the ground (as far as we know, ofc there might have been other occupations between the Mandalorian Excision and the Clone Wars).

Read against this context, Satine’s and other New Mandalorian politicians’ lines read rather differently. When Almec tells the Jedi that the warriors have died off, he’s reassuring the representatives of an occupying power that Mandalore is keeping to the conditions of its treaty. He’s ham-handed about it, but what he’s saying is essentially “don’t worry about the warriors—please don’t come back and glass our planet again.” People have noted that Almec is not a reliable character, but make also note of the audience he’s addressing.

Satine’s vehemence against violence when addressing Republic personnel can also be read in this light. She could be saying that a) we have not militarised, so you have no cause to occupy us again, and b) we don’t want Republic’s violence (military occupation) on Mandalore. When Satine refuses to consider joining the war despite the Separatists supporting the DW, she probably doesn’t want to—but also she also can’t. Not without the Republic’s blessing, which she would be unlikely to get and even trying could end badly for Mandalore.

It also puts a different spin on Mandalorian pacifism. I don’t doubt that there is genuine, native movement there, partly in response to the conquering ways of their ancestors and partly to Dral’Han and the following occupation. But it’s also not a free choice, but a choice that was and is pressed on them from outside. In these circumstances, pacifism—especially as Mandalore’s foreign policy—is not just pragmatic. It’s Mandalore’s best defense. It’s aranov. There might very well be “traditionalist” Mandalorians, who still support pacifism-as-foreign-policy or pacifism-as-the-official-party-line.

Fandom sometimes wonders why Jaster Mereel and Jango Fett are hands-off Mand’alor’s. The answer is that Mandalore’s traditional forms of government have been destroyed by the Excision and the following Republic takeover. The post-excision Mand’alor’s are almost like the line of Isildur, kings in exile. The only form of power they have is cultural, because they have no formal authority recognised by the civil government anymore. No doubt they hold significant informal power and sway over opinions, but they are effectively stripped of their legal powers. Individual Mandalorians might choose to respect the Mand’alor’s word over the written law, but the law no longer recognises them. This is in contrast to pre-excision Mand’alor’s, who would have been sovereign heads of state in truth.

That’s also another question that I see asked often in fandom: why don’t the traditionalist warriors just take over the pacifists? They should be easy to defeat since they don’t fight back, right? But it isn’t that simple, because the pacifist government is backed by the threat of Republic intervention. If the Mand’alor did “win over the pacifists” like happens in some fics, the Republic would intervene militarily in response. The Mand’alor’s likely don’t want to take over, not if they aren’t confident they can fight off the Republic as well. And I don’t think I’ve seen that explored in Mandalorian fanfiction very often. Not that there’s anything wrong with writing AUs, but the reality of their political situation would be interesting to explore, I think.

But like @sootyships noted, this interpretation does call into question the clan wars. Why didn’t the Republic intervene then? The Watsonian answer might be that it did intervene (sending Jedi), but perhaps the scale of the intervention was due to the different policies of the sitting chancellor of the day? Perhaps the chancellor back then was more pacifist, and/or had different policies regarding Mandalore? Perhaps they were dealing with some other crisis or scandal at the time, and wished to hush up the Mandalore problem, because a large scale intervention there would have destroyed their career? The Doylist answer is probably that the franchise was telling stories of different genres (adventures of the Jedi vs. galactic war) during these two events. I don’t know. It isn’t an entirely satisfactory answer, but we have seen irl policies regarding occupied territories change in response to who is the sitting president or the internal politics of the occupying power.

Random thought:

You know how the New Mandalorian government is descended from the post-Dral’Han Republic caretaker government? But nowhere is it said how that transition happened. Did the Republic relinquish formal control at some point (and just continues to meddle in their internal politics)? Is Mandalore still formally a Republic protectorate, even if they have (limited) self-governance? I don’t think the relationship is ever clarified in canon.

[ferronickel]

Thinking bout the time someone yelled at me because they didn't understand butches.

[carnivalls]

actually there's no need to make this assignment any more complicated than it already is. horatio vs patroclus 'the lovers' epilogue' short story from 2021 revamped now ok?

[silusvesuius]

this tree from my new drawing looking goated afffffff 👑👑

[prophecyoflunarflame]

nice art time to violently eat it

scug knight designs from the other day

[moe-broey]

One thing they don't tell you about the Senshi tulpa that WILL inevitably manifest in your mind to tell you to eat better is that. Every time I make myself a coffee via kuerig instantly, I can hear him. Lamenting the fact that I have become so accustomed to convenience and ease that even a standard coffee machine has become foreign to me. I am thinking about how to make coffee without use of a machine in the first place, I am wondering where my french press went, I can see him. In my mind. Showing me how to make coffee in The Dungeon. Dungeon Coffee.

[thelien-art]

Day 2: Maglor of @feanorianweek

Kingship

Poppy = Sloth | Manipulation

I do think Maglor mourned when Maedhros got himself captured, I just also read Maglor as a manipulative power hungry character.

He probably convinced himself that Maedhros had died and ignored everything that proved otherwise, both as a poor coping mechanism and, subconsciously, seizing the power of being a king, although he never named himself one as that would give him trouble. He differently enjoyed the power and mourned, when Maedhros came back, for the power loss. He was happy to have his brother back of course. I don´t think he spoke against Maedhros choice to give the kingship to Fingolfin, even if he wanted it himself, as he did except Fingolfin to do something stupid and get himself killed eventually, and by agreeing he seemed more "civil" and the friendliest of his brothers, which would end up giving him political power, giving people the illusion that he´s the innocent and harmless of his family.

Maedhros | Celegorm | Caranthir | Curufin | Ambarussa | Nerdanel and Feanor

[moeblob]

Deacon loves two things: Ymber and digging himself a grave.

Fulj hates one thing: Deacon.

[macchiatosdumptruck]

And another thing-

I'm not a super big fan of the way that CK subtly reframes (through the perspective of other characters criticizing Daniel in story) Miyagi very obviously sharing his culture with Daniel out of mutual respect and affection as, instead cultural appropriation.

Why? For what purpose?