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silverskye13 · 8 months ago

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Helsknight showing up bloody at Welsknight’s base please I need suffering 🙏

There was something to be said about the stupid things he was willing to do in the name of self preservation. Damn his fears, and the unfairness of the universe, and the uncertainty of living [and dying] and everything else. The unknown had always been his greatest weakness, his greatest betrayer. Pity it was also one of the few inescapable things about living in general.

To say Helsknight stepped into Hermitcraft would be a terrible injustice of what stepping normally, let alone gracefully, looked like. What he actually did was stagger and drag himself into Hermitcraft on unsteady and shaking limbs. There were holes in him. He hadn't really taken inventory of them yet. Admitting he had a wound [or several] was enough. The minute he admitted the wounds were bad, in certain terms his mind could comprehend, was the minute shock would steal his senses. He was on Hermitcraft for the specific reason of dodging death, and it seemed to him shock, on any level, meant dying. If he wanted to die and roll the dice of respawn, he would have died in hels, in the alley he'd been jumped in, where he could at least take comfort in familiar cobblestones and the knowledge he'd dragged all his attackers down with him. But he didn't want to die, so he was here.

It was dark. He was inside a building. He was bleeding. Wels was nearby. Those were the only things he needed to know for certain. Helsknight looked around, trying to ignore the sluggish tilt his vision offered when he moved too quickly. The double vision of trying to parse memories of a place that weren't his battled with his wounded animal double vision and together they made him feel nauseous, more so than his wounding already did. Helsknight balled a fist against his sternum, like he could hold himself together that way, and concentrated very hard on walking and nothing else.

Helsknight didn't like being this close to Wels. Not while he was this injured. He could feel the awareness of his other half like a spider on his skin. There was a reflex-like urge to shout and try to shake it off, the instinct-like certainty that if it rested on him long enough it would find a reason to bite him. And he knew, in the way only experience could teach, that if he could feel Wels, Wels could feel him. Helsknight had the sensation of walking a tightrope: his body insisted speed was the only thing that could save him, while his mind insisted he must stay unnoticed. He must balance necessity with making his thoughts and emotions small, and it was hard work to do when he was losing blood.

Helsknight blinked slowly, tiredly. He picked a direction and walked, a hand pressed to the wall, keeping himself upright. Wels's potion room was nearby, a borrowed half-memory informed him, he just had to get there. He searched his drifting thoughts for a poem to repeat in his head, to keep fear and uncertainty from rising. His heartbeat was quickening, a symptom of something; panic, or fear, or blood loss, or all three combined. He was fixing one of those things. He needed to carefully manage the other two, before Wels felt them. The only poem he could think of was in Middle English, and mostly gibberish to him, which told him it came from Wels's memories somewhere.

Why have ye no routhe on my child?

Have routhe on me ful of mourning;

Tak doun o rode my derworth child,

Or prik me o rode with my derling!

[Rhyming child with child was a lazy, but this was written back when one could convincingly spell "down" as "doun" so he supposed he shouldn't be overly critical. The real trick was figuring out if "derling" was supposed to mean "darling", or some other archaic word lost to time. He could only figure out so much from context clues. "Mourning" apparently transcended centuries, and that seemed fitting. Everyone knew mourning, in some form or another.]

An ache opened up beneath his clenched fist, or it had always been there, and his body was only just now reinforcing the fact that it was important. It felt like the mother of all cramps in his muscles, and he stubbornly pretended that's what it was. He needed more potassium in his diet or something, and the gods would forgive him the smear he left on the wall when he leaned on it, waiting on the intensity of his pain to ebb. The doorway he was walking towards seemed close, but also very, very far. Closing distance with it was going a lot slower than he thought it would, and it was only one short hallway. He was glad he'd decided to do this, instead of his other half-considered option of attempting to walk across hels to the Colosseum. He wouldn't have made it.

Dread pooled in his stomach. Dread, and other more physical things, like blood, probably, but he pretended the dread bit was more important. He could feel Wels pricking on his skin again, an insistent spider twitching at a breath on his web. Helsknight breathed out the steadiest breath he could manage.

More pine ne may me ben y-don

Than lete me live in sorwe and shame;

As love me bindëth to my sone,

So let us deyen bothe y-same.

[Sorwe. What medieval idiot thought "sorrow" was spelled like "sorwe"? Maybe it had something to do with inflection. Poetry was half words, half rhythm. Maybe "sorwe" was supposed to indicate they wanted the reader to pronounce "sorrow" as a single syllable, so it sounded more like "sore". That's also probably why "bothe y-same" was sitting there like word vomit. They meant "both the same", but wanted it read without a pause between the first two words. It was really the method for the madness that mattered with poetry.]

Helsknight blinked. He was in the potion room. He couldn't fully remember the walk down the hallway, but that didn't matter. What mattered was there should be health potions in here somewhere, his salvation. Relief edged his vision in stars, and he once again felt Wels's attention cant in his direction, confused and curious. Wels didn't associate feelings of relief with Helsknight. It wasn't an emotion they felt in each other's presence, and it was far too strong to be muffled by the distance to hels.

[He knows I'm here.]

Helsknight opened a chest and rifled through it. His vision was protesting. Stars and tilting that would turn to spinning soon made a clutter of his eyes. It got hard to distinguish the colors of the stoppered bottles. He picked up one that felt overly warm to his cold and shaking fingers. He was pretty sure it was a health potion. It felt too hot, but he reminded himself he was cold from losing blood, so it should feel hot. Hesitantly removed his fist from where it was balled in front of his sternum, and let his eyes unfocus when he grasped the bottle's stopper. His hands were so unsteady, it took a couple tries just to grab it, and when he pulled on the cork, his fingers slipped off weakly. He tried again, eyes closed with concentration, pouring every ounce of his strength into the act of pulling a stopper out of a bottle, only for his hand to slip right off again.

Frustrated, nearing desperate, he looked down at himself for a clean place to wipe his hand on his tunic. It was a mistake. He knew it as soon as he did it. His eyes were inexorably drawn from the fabric to the poke-holes in it, to the wine-dark stain that flowed down his front and still dripped tak-tak-tak slow and inexorable onto the floor. It was a woeful amount of blood. He was honestly surprised he wasn't dead yet. Chalk it up to fortitude, and ignorance, and size. He had more blood to lose than some people did.

Helsknight's world suddenly gave an awful twist, vertigo and the crescendoing, cramping agony of his wounds, only staved off by how his now shattered ignorance, kicking him off his feet just as surely as a horse could. He slumped against the wall, and then to the floor, and the awful jarring of it hurt him worse. Half a dozen other wounds on him aired their grievances, and the big one near his sternum pushed blood onto his fist when he clutched it. Helsknight sat pinned, unable to breathe for many long seconds, feeling a bit like he'd been struck by lightning. The pain was blinding and numbing and overwhelming all at once.

Why-- have no-- have ye no-- something something...

[Words. Breathe. Think of words.]

[Gods... But it hurts......]

Why have ye no routhe on my child?

Have routhe on me ful of mourning;

[And what the hels did "routhe" mean, anyway? He knew the word "route". He knew the name "Ruth". Neither of them fit, unless his bloodless brain was missing something. There was a chance "routhe" was supposed to be read like "bothe", as a double word slurred together, but that still left "routhe the" which made less sense in context than "routhe" did.]

Right. He was supposed to be doing something other than bleeding to death on the floor. Helsknight blinked, looked down at his hand and realized the health potion he'd grabbed was gone. He must have dropped it when he slumped over. Looking around, he spotted it just to the side of his left boot, unbroken, thankfully, but it might as well be a lifetime away for all the good it did him. Helsknight knew without a shadow of a doubt he couldn't reach it. The idea of tensing his muscles and dragging himself forward to reach was exhausting, and he hurt so much he knew the movement would feel like tearing himself in half, and there were just some things a mind couldn't power through. Helsknight laughed dismally and let his head fall onto his chest. Both motions were white hot agonies, but all his pains were starting to blur together into a smear of overwhelming sensation that took thought away. It occurred to him he was breathing too fast, like he'd run too far too fast, and his fluttering heartbeat agreed.

[... It hurts...]

[Gods and saints it hurts.]

[I'm dying.]

A feeling he could only describe as doom fell on his shoulders, a cold grasp of fear that wrapped stony hands around his heart and squeezed. He'd heard of this. Never felt it himself. The utter sureness that if he didn't do something now, he would die. All the unconscious bits in his body in charge of keeping him working all unanimously agreeing they needed divine intervention, preferably right now, before they started shutting down. It wasn't something he often had occasion to feel, though he had heard people tell of it after particularly grizzly matches and bloody tournaments. Death was normally too quick in the Colosseum, or else he'd won his match, and even if he was falling to pieces there was a health potion too close to hand to let him dwell on his harms. This was so terribly different. Death stalked toward him unhurried and unbothered, waiting on him to finish drowning in blood. He might panic, if he wasn't already so cold and scared.

"Ah. This makes some sense, anyway."

Helsknight, who had stopped seeing the world in front of himself without really closing his eyes, refocused his vision on the open doorway. Wels stood there, an angel of death in azure and silver, his sword in his hand. His eyes were the ruthless blue of hels freezing over and lifeless corpses, and Helsknight thought there was no one else in the world he would rather not watch him die. But the universe hated him, so here Wels was, just as surely as if he was fated.

"I didn't think all that fear could possibly be for me."

Helsknight tried to reply, but all he managed was a dying-animal noise that strangled itself out when he tried to breathe a little steadier. He tried again, and this time managed a very weak, but vaguely defiant, "Fuck off."

"Rude," Wels said chastisingly. A glow of something like smug satisfaction prickled Helsknight's skin. The feeling came from Wels. "Especially given I'm the only person who can save you."

Helsknight chuckled, and then stopped when his body seized painfully around the motion. "We both know you don't want to save me."

"No," Wels admitted. "But I don't want to do a lot of unpleasant things I agree to do anyway."

"How... charitable."

"It is a virtue."

"Sure."

Wels didn't move. Well, he did move, but only to sheath his sword. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame, the image of patience, as though they had all the time in the world.

[Hungry spider. Waiting on a web for something to struggle.]

"If you're waiting on me to beg," Helsknight informed him through staggering breaths, "I won't."

"Too prideful?"

Helsknight searched himself momentarily for pride, and came up short. Pride would've dictated he die in the alley, instead of here where Wels could lord it over him. This was something different than pride.

"No."

"Then why not?" Wels asked, raising an eyebrow. "It's easy. Just say, 'Welsknight, please give me a health potion'. Or if you're feeling monosyllabic, just 'please' will work."

Helsknight managed a smirk. "Why not help me out of the kindness of your heart?"

"I don't have any kindness for people like you."

[People like you. What a loaded phrase.]

Have ye no routhe on my child?

There was an entire philosophical debate that could happen in the phrase 'people like you' that Helsknight had neither the time or the energy to bother with. Besides, it was all words Wels knew. Wels pretended to be a chivalric knight. Chivalric knights helped the weak. Chivalric knights saved the defenseless. Helsknight, for all the grievances of his existence, was both right now. Then again, the chivalric knights were also supposed to make war against their enemies mercilessly, so he supposed Wels would be in his rights, as a chivalric knight, to walk away and let him die slowly and painfully on the ground.

As if sensing his thoughts, and likely because he could actually sense his thoughts a bit, Wels said, "You are always going on about how I need to be a better knight. There's something ironic here. No matter what I decide, I think you'll owe me an apology regardless."

The feeling of doom, of bone-deep, agonizing dying mantled over Helsknight again and Wels stopped existing to him. His sense of urgency, of desperation to live clawed its way up his throat. He tried to move his arm, his leg. He got his fingers to twitch. He tried to lean forward, to drag himself with willpower alone towards that stupid potion just out of reach. The potion he wasn't even strong enough to open. His vision collapsed in quickly, and he only knew he'd cried out because he was breathless. But he hadn't moved, besides managing to lull his head forward onto his chest again. Cold fear crawled around in his empty guts, a relentless, caged animal that refused to stop squirming.

[I'm dying.]

[Breathe.]

[I'm dying.]

A shadow fell over him, a presence freighted with hate, and deserving, and dissonant guilt. Wels had come forward, only to stop short when Helsknight's terror swept over him like a wave, and he stood baffled by it, and guilty for it. The fool knight probably thought Helsknight was scared of him. If only. Helsknight thought he would prefer that. At least then he could manage to die gracefully. Wels's fortitude bricked itself up against him then, a bitter soul trying to will itself to be cold and cruel, and Helsknight was thankful for it. It staved off his fear, if only a little.

"What did you do to bring this on, anyway?" Wels asked breathlessly, trying to recover his resolve. Looking for a reason to hate him.

"I was... walking home."

"That's it?" He sounded so skeptical, it was almost funny.

"I committed the terrible sin..." Helsknight laughed out a breath, "... of being fearless when I should have been cautious."

"Hubris."

"Habit."

"Yeah right."

"If I got stabbed like this every day, I wouldn't have come crawling here."

Wels glowered, parsing this statement for truth. Helsknight might have mustered some hate in him for it, if he wasn't so scared. His vision had taken on a permanent blur, and he was getting cold. He hadn't gone numb yet, which was something he found profoundly cruel. He wanted to be numb. To stop hurting. To stop fearing.

[Breathe.]

Why have ye no routhe on my child?

Have routhe on me ful of mourning;

Tak doun o rode my derworth child,

Or prik me o rode with my derling!

[Derworth... "Dearworth", probably. Beloved. So "derling" was probably "dearling", which turned into "darling". Middle English was strange. Just slightly to the left of normal. He didn't think "tak" was a word anymore, except where it existed as pieces of words. "Tak" to "take", to take hold, maintain, maybe. "Tak" to "tack" like a nail. "Prik" also, like "pricking" flesh, like a point digging.]

"Hold down the road, my dearworth child," Helsknight muttered. "Or pick me a road with my darling."

"What?"

"Stupid poem."

"How much blood have you lost?"

Helsknight laughed, and his whole body flinched, and for a moment he couldn't breathe because his pain was so alive and electric it almost stopped being pain. The concern from Wels was laughable. He wished Wels would make up his mind about whether or not he cared. Then he could get on with dying, and the terror would stop, and the universe would take him or it wouldn't, and if it didn't, he would respawn and sleep for a week. He felt Wels's hand on his wrist, which was its own kind of hilarious.

"Trying to figure out how many heartbeats I have left?" Helsknight asked.

It would be nice to know. If Wels figured it out, he hoped he would share the information. Then Helsknight could keep count.

"Your heart's too fast."

"That happens."

Wels stood up and paced, all nervous energy, back and forth across the room.

"You don't deserve my help," Wels told him scathingly, angry for how conflicted he felt. "You don't. You've been nothing but cruel ever since we met."

More pine ne may me ben y-don

Than lete me live in sorwe and shame;

["Pine", like pining. Or pain. More pain? Punishment maybe. "Don" to done. Something like: More pain to me could not be done than to let me live in sorrow and shame.]

Helsknight decided whoever wrote this poem had never been stabbed. He'd felt both sorrow and shame, and neither of them packed quite this amount of punch, in his opinion.

"It probably goes against my tenets anyway," Wels continued, still pacing. "And yours too. Aren't you the one who follows some crazy death god?"

"... Saint... of Blood and Steel."

"He probably thinks dying in a puddle on my floor is glorious."

"... they."

As love me bindëth to my sone,

So let us deyen bothe y-same.

[Maybe he was just getting better at this, or maybe this part was just easy. "As love I'm bound to my son, so let us die, both the same." It didn't flow very neatly when it was simpler. Maybe Middle English wasn't that stupid.]

"I can't help but think you did this on purpose to... I don't know. Test me somehow. Prove you're better. Weak again, Welsknight! For helping your enemy when you should have let him die, or speed him along. Don't you know knights are supposed to be cruel?"

Helsknight tried to call up his own tenets, or Wels's tenets, or anything to do with knights and their duties. He got a little lost on his way, his thoughts meandering and dying, and gasping back to life again when they remembered they were supposed to be searching for something. Something he was scared of. Dying. A wave of fear crashing over him that made Wels flinch, and bid Helsknight keep breathing, because any agony was worth not confronting that one, great, crippling unknown.

"What would you do in my place?" Wels asked him suddenly. "Answer me that, perfect knight. What would you do if the person you hated most showed up one day bleeding on your floor?"

That... was an excellent question. Helsknight searched briefly for the answer, and found it wasn't very hard to find.

"I would help."

"You're lying," Wels said guardedly.

"I... can't lie."

"Then you're dodging the truth. What would you do?"

"I would heal you if I could. Or I would kill you if I couldn't." With strength he didn't know he even still had, Helsknight leaned his head back against the wall. It was easier to breathe that way. To talk.

"Why?"

"No creature is deserving of dishonor or pain."

"That's not a tenet."

"It's not a chivalric tenet." Helsknight shrugged one shoulder weakly. "Chivalry states you can hang my guts from the ceiling if I'm your enemy."

"It does not."

"It might as well."

Wels didn't seem to have a ready reply for that.

"What is routhe?"

Wels blinked down at him, guarded and confused. "Routhe?"

"Routhe." Helsknight repeated, as though it were helpful. "Middle English."

"As in?"

"Poetry."

"Use it in a sentence."

"Why have ye no routhe on my child?"

"Ruth." Wels said, a bit too quickly, like he'd known what Helsknight was asking and was trying to avoid the answer. "We don't use it as ruth anymore. It shows up in rue, like regret, or sorrow. And... ruthless."

"Merciless."

"Yes."

Why have you no mercy on my child?

"Why are you asking about Middle English while you're bleeding to death on my floor?"

Helsknight let out a breath. It hurt, but everything did. "Stupid poem."

"Can I hear it?"

"I'm busy bleeding to death on your floor."

"Tell me and I'll heal you."

There it was again, asking for an excuse. That was Wels's real cowardice, his failing as a knight. He was scared of making decisions. Scared of dealing with the consequences of his actions. Paralyzed by indecision. He wanted to hate Helsknight because it was justified. He wanted to watch him suffer, because hatred allows suffering. He didn't want to label himself cruel, nor be accused of weakness, or softheartedness, if he showed mercy. And he didn't want to pick up his sword and kill, if it meant killing someone defenseless. He wanted Helsknight to give him a reason to act, so he could blame it on him later if it turned out wrong. Given it would likely be Helsknight rubbing his nose in it later if it was wrong, he couldn't really blame him for that.

Helsknight closed his eyes and counted his heartbeats, and pretended he wasn't scared.

"Do what you will."

An hour long minute ticked by. Helsknight felt the time moving like it was physical, like he was falling through it and he couldn't catch himself, and he was nearing his limits. He thought the only thing stopping him from begging for it all to stop was the crushing weight of his fatigue, the exponential strength it took to take his next breath, and that stupid poem, skipping in a circle in his head. It kept his thoughts away from his fear, from bearing the weight of the unknown that came next. It was still there, a nameless, formless anxiety that formed the undercurrent of his thoughts. But he didn't have to think about it when he was busy being annoyed about a poem stuck in his head.

Wels moved. He stooped to pick up the potion Helsknight had dropped and unstoppered it deftly. He was surprisingly gentle as he helped him drink, aware that every movement could cause pain. Helsknight could feel Wels's caution in the air like wings, like a bird hovering before it lands. The first potion wasn't enough to heal him completely, so he got a second from his chests and helped him with that as well, one hand hovering over Helsknight's wounds, waiting on the skin to knit back together. Helsknight got to his feet, shaky, and feeling like he'd been wrung dry of all vitality. There was no pain to speak of, but he was thirsty, and hungry, and exhausted.

"You should rest before you go anywhere," Wels said, words of pragmatic care that sounded stilted coming from him. "I can get you some water."

"I'll be fine," Helsknight told him, allowing himself some hesitant pride now that the smothering pain was gone. Even exhausted, he could think so much more clearly now -- think at all, really. And he thought the longer he stayed here, the higher the chance Wels would come to regret his decision to heal him. They were not made to like each other. They didn't even respect each other as enemies. And Helsknight knew if they fought now, he would lose, and he might lose very badly, if Wels decided to leave him to bleed out again. It was something Wels had never done before, but if he could convince himself Helsknight deserved it, he would.

"Do what you will, then," Wels said, bitterness creeping into his tone. He probably thought he was being coy and ironic. Helsknight mostly thought it was annoying.

"The poem isn't mine," Helsknight said. "It's one you've read before. Middle English. Why have ye no routhe on my child. I don't know the title. It might just be the first line. I think it's a lament."

"... I see."

"Next time you find yourself bleeding out on someone's floor," Helsknight snorted, "Pick something stupid like that. It makes things... manageable."

"Right... manageable."

Helsknight gave a helpless sort of shrug, as though what he'd just said were perfectly normal.

Wels mustered an enviable facsimile of concern when he said, "I've never felt terror like that before."

Helsknight felt his already parched mouth somehow go drier. The sympathy he felt rolling off of Welsknight was sickening. Literally. He could feel himself becoming nauseous.

"What are you so scared of?"

Shame, red hot and searing, clawed at the inside of Helsknight's ribs. He wished so badly he could hide it. Distract himself from it. At least turn it into anger. But he was tired, and he didn't know how to bring his emotions back to heel, and Welsknight was already giving him an open, piteous look like maybe they'd stumbled onto something significant. He could feel hope there, like maybe there was a reason they hated each other like they did, and if Wels could figure out where that fear came from, they could find common ground -- or at least the leverage Wels needed to make Helsknight relent.

"I don't need your pity, white knight," Helsknight snarled. "Go sate your savior complex somewhere else."

Wels scowled. A cold wall of loathing, resigned and inevitable, closed itself around anything else he could possibly feel.

[As it should be.]

Hours later, home and safe, Helsknight cracked open his journal and wrote:

Why have you no mercy on my child?

Have mercy on me, so full of mourning;

Take down the road my dearworth child,

O give me a road with my darling!

More pain to me could not be done

Than to let me live in sorrow and shame

As with love I am bound to my son,

So let us die then, both the same.

#Situations Asks #rns asks #anonymous #tw wounds #tw blood #tw dying #tw fear #welsknight #helsknight #[jazzhands] mind the tags she's an intense one!#And also very long #4k words woooo #The poem in Middle English is Why Have Ye No Routhe On My Child #it is supposedly from the 14th century #but i had a very very hard time finding sources for it #so take that with a heavy grain of salt #i will say the middle english -> modern english translation is mine #done using the Chaucer Dictionary from the University of Cambridge #As well as the Oxford Middle English Compendium #take the translation with a grain of salt its one of maybe twice i've done something like this #but i think it stayed decently faithful to the source material #as faithful as someone who sucks at reading Middle English can make a translation anyway #rns ficlet

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ninyard · 5 months ago

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Lawyer: How did you know about Andrew Minyard's alleged history with Drake Spear?

Neil: I asked.

LITERALLY

and the prosecution asking andrew well who else knows? and when andrew says just neil, luther and betsy (maybe partially renee as well, not by name, idk) they’re like why neil? why tell him?

he asked.

and the lawyer asks well, if someone else had asked, would you have told them?

under oath andrew says yes. because it’s the truth. if anyone cared enough to ask, cared enough to get to know him, he would tell them. but neil was the only one who asked.

would he have said “drake did xyz to me” no i don’t think so but if kevin had asked him something. in his high state, would he have been amused by kevin’s face when he tells him? (and maybe kevin already knows. maybe he’s smart enough to know without asking) but nobody knows how to ask. neil didn’t ask why do you hate the word please. neil didn’t ask what the word please ever did to him.

he knew the right question to ask and andrew answered.

#maybe it’s a mischaracterization #of andrew #but i believe he is a good friend to those who care enough to be his friend #and he told neil #neil who was not very special at all #nobody once asked andrew why he doesn’t like the word please #or misunderstandings #and you can’t tell me the heavy insinuation behind someone not liking those specific words isn’t obvious #ask

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applestorms · 1 month ago

Text

the misa post

adding a lil additional note here because this thing SPIRALED the fuck out, even more so than some of my usual essays. therefore, i will be going back to my roots by breaking this post down into two sections: misa and sexuality, and misa and romance/death. skip to whatever section, if you wanna. or don't. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

misa and sexuality:

honestly, the way that misa engages with her sexuality in DN is such a fascinating topic in and of itself. i really have quite mixed feelings about it because while yes, to some degree the art and story does sexualize and objectify her, there is also an element of agency to it that i don’t often see people talk about…?

like, idk. misa is a model, she does act, her job primarily involves working in front of cameras. she’s selling her Image and her body and she’s well aware of how to market the appeal— we literally see her doing this during yotsuba, when they’re trying to free matsuda after he runs around like an idiot and gets caught.

i actually think it's quite interesting that she specifies being against nudity here but alright with swimsuits and lingerie— full nudity implies sex work, something that in the mainstream might be considered "dirty" or somehow less/not worthy of respect (even if that's utter bullshit). yet lingerie is fine, despite having similar implications of sexuality, blocking off the most private areas and thereby allowing profit off of the same concept but without the associated disapproval. you could read this panel as misa simply knowing her boundaries and what she is and isn't comfortable with— but i think it's interesting that you could just as easily read this as misa knowing what boundaries she is and isn't allowed to have, if she is to market herself as effectively as possible and maintain her public image.

off the top of my head i can only think of two major examples where it’s clear that misa is super overtly being sexualized by forces outside of her control/with no particularly meaningful justification, at least in terms of visuals. this panel, which managed to sneak in a panty shot:

which, weirdly enough was actually kind of foreshadowed by sayu earlier in the chapter:

(sidenote1: does light really not have any other fucking chairs? further evidence that he doesn't really connect with people pre-DN, if he's not really prepared to have any guests in his room. anti-social weirdo.)

and, of course, the classic torture cover from chapter 33:

though i must admit, it is difficult to find any image of a character getting tied up like this that doesn't have some implication of sexuality. bondage torture is just a classic like that. though the camera certainly doesn't help, L— and neither does the fact that light and soichiro are not put into an equally objectifying, sense-deprived contraption like this, and instead just get normal ass bare cells.

in many other cases however, misa herself is the one flaunting her sexuality, typically as a means of trying to appeal herself to light but sometimes i think you can definitely read it as misa just. dressing the way that she wants to dress because it's cute? like, okay, in terms of trying to appeal herself to light we've got this classic panel from after the timeskip ft. a particularly homosexual light moment:

but there's also plenty of misa moments that just look like this:

girlie is chilling. literally kicking her feet, stalking her crush in bed with her supernatural death god girlfriend.

to be clear, this is not to say that death note isn't sexist or has particularly fantastic writing for its female characters. rather, what i'd like to point out here is that there are different levels under which we can view and analyze misa's sexuality:

the base level, of a girl who is comfortable with her body and fine with wearing revealing clothing

the level above that, involving the fact that misa's job revolves around selling her image, of which her sexuality is a key factor

and then the uppermost meta level, surrounding the fact that misa is a character in a story not only written and illustrated by men, but sold in shounen jump, meaning that she is thus filtered pretty significantly through a quite literal male gaze

it both can be and is true that misa is simultaneously objectified for her body on multiple levels and a pretty fucking horny person herself (or at the very least, willing to push that for the sake of her own goals)

remember, misa is the one pushing for their "alone time" here.

just. idk. i suppose my main point here is simply that i think this is a topic that deserves to be looked at with more nuance. there is credence to both the claims that misa is sexualized in DN and that misa herself has agency in how she chooses to dress and present herself, and i don't think you can cleanly separate those two aspects without losing something significant.

honestly, when it comes down to it, my personal take is that the real problem of sexism in DN is less about the particular ways in which individual female characters are presented/traits they are given, and more about the broad strokes of how women in general are treated... if my post on that particular subject ever ends up seeing the light of day, i guess i'll link that right about here. anyways,

misa and romance/death:

if there is one thing that her parents dying, almost being killed by a stalker, and making contact with a shinigami teaches misa, it is that love is something you kill and die for.

i really don't think that you can separate out "death" from "love" when it comes to misa, not only in terms of general themes, but also when it comes to how she personally views the world. i mean, just look at rem and gelus— death literally loves her, and in the process of loving her, allows her to cheat her way back to life. ryuk calls light a better shinigami than the actual shinigami, but honestly, if anyone fulfills that role, it's misa— she's the one whose life gets cut down until others stock it back up, who has so little regard for life (both in terms of others' and her own), who gambles her time again and again and does whatever she wishes, when she wishes, how she wishes.

it's that second point in particular that really gets to me here. throughout the story, misa shows herself to be equally detached from both the world and herself— she kills without care, gives up half her lifespan without a speck of a second thought, throws herself into dangerous situations and pushes for what she wants even when she knows it's stupid and probably going to get her caught. i'm slightly tempted to say that death's love for misa is the only mutual love she ever has, but that has some implications that i don't think quite fit. misa doesn't get a kick out of killing, she is not (overtly, or very explicitly) suicidal in the sense that she constantly expresses a yearning to kill or be killed. it's more of a toned down attachment than that, which... kinda gets into my next point, on misa's relationships. namely, with two very important people: rem and light.

in terms of rem... i struggle to analyze this relationship sometimes in the context of canon because at times it just feels like there is so little to work with. but perhaps that also fits, in a way...?

one thing that i think the musical really got right about rem is the fact that she has some of the most genuine feelings of love in the entire series, just in general but also specifically in terms of how other characters treat/approach misa. again, misa is a person whose job revolves around people loving or being attracted to her. i have a very hard time believing that the person who tried to kill her was her first or her last stalker, but even without getting to that level of intensity, much of the love surrounding misa is superficial, distant. she is beloved for the image she fits and the role that she plays, but very few people (if anyone) are even capable of getting close enough to recognize the self she hides under that mask (assuming, of course, that she ever lets that core part of her out).

rem is perhaps one of those few people, seemingly having watched misa for years alongside gelus before breaking that parasocial divide and meeting her idol in person. yet, it's also that very period of watching that puts a strain on their relationship, in my mind...

to put it bluntly: apologies to any and all remisa shippers, but i simply Do Not see there being much canon evidence that rem's love for misa is in any way mutual. not only do i struggle to think of any notable scenes where misa displays even an inch of affection or care towards rem, but misa is also kind of horrifically apathetic to rem's death, iirc. i mean, in a way, she's basically the cause of it— in failing to remember L's name upon getting her memories back, she pushes the first domino in the line leading up to watari, L, and rem's deaths.

misa basically treats rem like just another stalker, accepting her love so long as it is somewhat distant or gets her what she wants.

but, like. as shitty as that is to think about, it does kinda fit that misa would treat genuine love this way. at no point does she push back on or try to change rem's mind about this, or even really say fucking anything in response to rem's overt romantic/threatening overtures about how she'll kill anyone who tries to hurt her. i'm kinda inclined to view this as misa's attempt at kindness, accepting the love of her fans for what it is but never pushing it in either direction. she neither demands rem's love, nor attempts to dissuade it— it is what it is, and what happens, happens. and if it results in rem's death, or results in her own... at least it all happened out of love.

now, in terms of light... i was gonna make this its own post but it's on topic, so i might as well just add it here.

it is simultaneously so, so sad and yet also so, so utterly fucking funny that misa is perfectly designed to be everything that light absolutely hates. like, to just list it out cuz i literally have too many points to simplify this down into proper paragraphs rn, misa is:

uncontrollable. supposedly, misa is a perfect little devoted disciple of KIRA, willing to do anything and anything for him as thanks for getting justice for her parents' killer. but like... we all know how this actually works out. misa does whatever the fuck she wants, usually with the thin justification that it'll help KIRA in some way, and light is left behind to deal with the clean up.

stupid. no, not really— but she at the very least presents herself as such, as a ditzy, silly little girl, willing to do anything for love even if it hurts her. really, all this proves is that she wears a mask, just the same as light, though in the process she manages to also reflects to his own sins back at him. misa plays stupid so that she can justify doing stupid things without having to feel bad about it (or get emotionally attached at all?)— light plays god, a being above human morals, so he can do horrifically immoral things without having to feel bad about it. equal and opposite, in the worst possible way.

powerful. and pushy. the only person more stubborn than light yagami is misa amane, etc. etc. just like KIRA, she is a key pawn that light must rely on logistically, but is disgusted with all the same. misa is not a god, not in the way that KIRA is— she's just another filthy criminal, uncaring about the horrible acts she has committed. but she fits herself into his plans in just the right way that he can't quite come out and condemn her directly, and therefore is stuck quietly stewing in his dislike of her instead.

a liability. related to this is the fact that she is essentially unkillable, at least as long as rem is alive. many of the points behind her being uncontrollable apply to this one as well.

feminine. in a way that light dislikes, but also cannot ignore. she's cute and hot in a way that light is supposed to like, if he is to fit in w/ his Just A Typical, Good, Respectable Boy routine, but also drives him up the wall— pitting his desire to be "good" against his desire to be a "boy," essentially. (this point in particular is taken from THIS POST, big thanks to shydroid3000 for the beautiful yotsuba light analysis!!!)

possessive. controlling, in a way, which is again ironically exactly like light himself. light Hates being controlled because it means there may be factors outside of what he has power over, a trait which becomes increasingly relevant in the latter half of the story.

untouchable. even after rem's death, light can never quite get into the right position to kill her. she's almost too effective, causing light problems (e.g. yotsuba) and fucking things up, but never in such a way that he can easily place the blame on her shoulders alone. she is useful, a necessary evil, outliving multiple gods.

and, above all else, ultimately...

(sidenote2: it's kinda interesting to compare misa to L in this regard, actually, especially in terms of why light gets so attached to L but hates misa so viciously, despite L also being quite a bit like light? i guess you could say that misa reflects back the parts of light that he doesn't like as much, or even more specifically that she reflects KIRA back at him, where L matches/opposes light in terms of what he sees to be his better traits— his intelligence, his social power, etc. something to consider.)

to follow up on the sentiments of this post: misa does not love light. she relies on him to fill the hole in her life, in her, as a quick fix to avoid having to engage with the deep-seated grief that haunts her, an answer to the horrifying question of why she is even still here, alive, so long after her appointed bell has already stopped ringing.

to tie this all together, then... i suppose it's fitting that both love and sexuality are are so essentially Empty when it comes to misa amane. ultimately, she is a character defined by a misery she never allows herself to show to the world, a girl stubbornly sticking to the first reason she managed to find for living. again, just like light, she is a character that never grants herself the ability to truly grow up, stuck in the same childish, immature cycles of thinking and methods of presentation she came up with when her life first failed to end. a tragedy in her own right, unable to even remember the face of the one being that genuinely loved her at the moment of her own true death.

born on christmas, dead on valentines. how fitting.

#death note #astronaut rambles #misa amane #long post #slightly nervous about posting this one cause misa is a character i really wanna get Right #interesting though that part 1 of this ended up very image heavy while part 2 was very word focused #trying to get better about including image descriptions too ;w;#sighhh. misa misa #what a fucked up person you are. a real living dead girl indeed

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kitamars · 1 year ago

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how can you drop a heavy burden if it's holding you up as well

#im having too many feelings post the very final #NGAHH. im in a hell of my own making #they said a heart’s a heavy burden #and gintama said to live a full life is to carry a heavy burden throughout a long journey #and i said what if i started sobbing #the yorozuya actually mean so much to me. i can never explain it in words #they are THE found family first and foremost. and i really want to convey that in the art i make later on #they’re such a comfort #oh god i might tear up #anyways #sakata gintoki #kagura gintama #shimura shinpachi #yorozuya gin chan #yorozuya #gintama #ok bye

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rinwhore · 10 months ago

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Kids actually like Shion. Because he's a funny guy. He would boast to them his strength and challenge them to a duel and would, ofcourse let them win. He gets along with them so well (heavy on this) and i bet you he's the one leading any prank pulled by the kids. He's that one silly person who kids wanna play with and also a guy liked by little boys cos he looks cool. If you wonder why the orphanage has gone loud one day, that's because the 'master' has arrived (he taught the kids to call him that). And there will be a lot of role playing games, aside from him creating a little kingdom with them, there's also him playing tea party with the girls. He brings smile and joy to the kids.

#i have soo much to tell about final timeline shion #js cant put it into words properly. trued my very best to say it but that's how far i can do it #a heavy heavy headcanon of me since the chapter dropped. it became canon to me idc idc idccc #this is true im wakui's pen #tried*#shion madarame #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev

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dropthedemiurge · 22 days ago

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Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo is fascinating, fascinating story. Complicated one, with flawed characters and complex emotions and themes.

Just 2 episodes ago I was rooting for Juyoung and Dohoe and thought they were perfect for together, and now I think they won't work out this way at all - and isn't it the great portrayal of first teenage puppy love versus adult relationships?

It's fascinating. I don't think is BL is bad at all, despite me having more complicated feelings about Dohoe now, and there are many details that can be interesting to poke around and discuss with other tumblr folks. Also I think the time gap was really needed and made a lot of sense, in case some people still doubt, it was clearly shown.

And still, I sigh. I had one short thought that might be they really should just let go and move on, and this will be their happy ending, but I know Juyoung and Dohoe aren't easily torn apart.

But also the burden on their necks and above their heads are way, way too heavy, and can't be just put aside like a cross necklace.

Fascinating.

#let free the curse of taekwondo #dropthemeta #just some thoughts i will probably add more later but I've been very busy recently #anyway i will be so interested to read everyone's thoughts so pls tag me in your posts #or wuestions about korean wording #fun fact dohoe said he doesn't want to returns to the past even if he dies #burden so heavy he make an entire fake life to escape it #isn't it fun #lftcot #korean bl #kdrama #kbl

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coldshrugs · 5 months ago

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countdown to dawntrail - io laithe

our song of hope, she dances on the wind higher, oh, higher

individual posts: ARR • HW • SB • SHB • ENW • DT

#ffxiv #azia gposes #io laithe #this was fun!! ty for hosting the week sea!#i have been io-pilled for half a decade now and she remains my number 1 babygirl #only gotten more dear to me with time and her journey is so so important to me #i know this blog is very Ship Heavy but i struggle to talk about more general things because there's no rp happening??#her story sticks pretty close to canon so sometimes it feels like i'm not bringing anything new to the table #but seriously if you've ever said a kind word about io i love you so much and i appreciate you!

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thegreatyin · 6 months ago

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scoundrel?? what scoundrel???? the magnificent mr cards (who ironically has more of a flower aesthetic going on) is completely unrelated to any "bandaged scoundrels" running around the neath. in fact it's never heard of the word scoundrel ever in its entire definitely long definitely ancient life. but yknow, hypothetically, if it did know the scoundrel, it's confident that they're really really really handsome and cool and epic and they're almost just as amazing as it is and you should totally donate all your valuables to them and stuff

aaand because i like them too much, have a transparent version. the Creachure. the Thing, even.

#the scoundrel's flower theme vs the 'canon' cards gambler theme. the latter lost this round im afraid #i do really like how they came out though #yin art #fallen london #sorry for posting cringe (my art) in the maintag it will probably inevitably happen again #while im here: design notes!#in my head their robe is like. Heavy. very thick velvet probably getting very dirty dragged around on the floor everywhere #the little drapes around their body are probably gold of some kind. the bangles and rings definitely are #the flowers here are almost certainly fake compared to their usual ones.#do you know how much tax must happen on surface flowers going neathward.#the scoundrel probably spends half of their rent budget keeping their stupid aesthetic alive #their glasses stand out like their eyes while wearing the robe mostly due to cartoon logic #they probably mostly have their normal look on underneath. aka still have their bandages #the ones on their hands are fraying bc bat claws grow sharp and grow large. they're a bit fraught over it.#they dont like looking at any part of themself including the hands #it DOES help their mastersona seem authentic though. so that's a hashtag bonus #they mainly trade in luck and debts. and hijinks. they dont officially trade in hijinks but they definitely sure do get up to it #word is probably already starting to spread about how much mr cards hates boats.#surely this has nothing to do with the scoundrel's famed dislike of the exact same thing.#surely.#scoundrelventures

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ruvviks · 3 months ago

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hard to believe that the whole story starts because yancey got cheated on by his girlfriend of several years

taglist (opt in/out)

@shellibisshe, @florbelles, @ncytiri, @roseeway, @stars-of-the-heart;

@lestatlioncunt, @katsigian, @radioactiveshitstorm, @estevnys, @adelaidedrubman;

@celticwoman, @rindemption, @carlosoliveiraa, @noirapocalypto, @dickytwister;

@killerspinal, @euryalex, @ri-a-rose, @velocitic, @thedeadthree;

@kanos, @swordcoasts, @ordinarymaine, @claudiawolf, @strafethesesinners;

@mnwlk

#the diner #art #art:yancey #nuclearocs #nuclearart #after over a month of not being able to reach this file. i can finally post him in all his glory. man #i cannot express with words how badly i need yancey he's so. he's so squeaky toy coded look at him. his neck is grabbable #also sorry for continuing to give all my ocs very dark and heavy freckles as if it's my fault they look hot as hell with them #it's been a while since i used my taglist so feel free to opt out on that post if you want no hard feelings!#i'll still mostly be using it for art of ocs :] originals like yancey but also from some video games #and then edits and writing maybeee if i ever get back into it. but for now. look at yancey and give him a kiss

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prince-liest · 8 months ago

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I’m a sex-repulsed ace, and reading the latest chapter of 666 (as well as your analysis here on Tumblr) made me realize that I have been subconsciously thinking about MY OWN sexuality from an allo perspective? And that it has kinda been messing me up?? Like, ever since I learned that sexual attraction was actually a Thing and that it’s Important To People, I had been carrying around a fear of being deficient in some way and not being able to love to the same extent as allos. (1)

Even though I know logically that’s complete garbage and totally untrue, I felt left out of the loop because people seemed to care strongly about this thing I couldn’t even imagine. Whenever it looked like a relationship might happen I panicked for a reason that I couldn’t understand. But now I’m starting to realize that it’s because I was subconsciously terrified of an ‘ulterior motive’ behind the other person’s reasons for wanting to be with me. (2) That part of the reason they even cared was because of something I don’t experience. So thank you, because this realization just clicked into place while reading your work. The thing is, this way of thinking was just internalized in such a way that I didn’t even realize it was there until literally this week. And I think you’re right; one of the main reasons behind that is because I’ve always consumed media written from an allo perspective. (3) If ace/aros are shown at all, they’re depicted as “lacking” and their character development usually revolves around being “fixed” by the story. When I was ~10 years old my mom sometimes let me watch the Big Bang Theory with her (looking back, maybe not the best decision). Anyways, there was one episode deep into the series where Sheldon (who for the past nineish seasons was probably the closest thing to mainstream ace rep) has sex with his girlfriend for the first time. (4) Afterwards, he says something along the lines of “that was better than I thought it would be”, and it’s presented as a Very Good Thing and a big step in their relationship. I think a lifetime of stuff like that makes it very easy to internalize aphobia and feel like the lesser part of the relationship. Or to feel like the other partner is making a huge sacrifice to be with you. That got wayy too long, sorry. All that was just a lot of words to say that I appreciate you. Take care of yourself!(5)

The portrayal of asexuality that you see in media being almost exclusively as you described is very tedious to me because it presumes that something is inherently lacking in aro/aceness rather than that feeling of "lacking" being something that is induced by societal norms. Actually, one of the things that I find additionally alienating is that fandom spaces specifically have been getting better and better about ace characters - but got damn does fandom not jive with aromanticism. Like, a character doesn't want to fuck? That's becoming a liiiittle more fine, it's 2024, we stan consent. But not shipping someone romantically?? Not so easy, now.

I'm glad that my work has been something that resonated with you in this respect! Alastor cares a lot about his reputation as a demon but is pretty blatantly a person who could not possibly give less of a shit about being "wrong" for not being experiencing romantic or sexual attraction. The explanation Viv gave at one point for his own understanding of himself (that he thinks he's just "waiting for the right woman") actually stuck out to me a lot because it's a very "well, nothing is wrong with me for not feeling anything, it's the world that's failed to produce a suitable person" perspective.

But having that kind of confident perspective of your own rightness in the world is really not often portrayed in media, or even in fandom, which even ten years ago was still in the throes of standardizing "Oh, no! Me, gay? These feelings are so wrong!" style m/m content and is honestly not that far off from essentially that for aro/ace characters.

Anyway, all of that is to say that there's not yet much out there that doesn't frame allo/amatonormative values as the default that "even aro/ace people can (and should want to) achieve," and that it's really fun to write a fic that is unequivocally from the perspective of a character who is aroace and doesn't see it as even remotely a fault in himself. Does he have moments where he's a little confused and trying to process how things fit for him? Absolutely. But he just doesn't strike me as the kind of guy who thinks he owes romance to Vox of all people, hahaha. I've written him trying to conform to allo/amatonormativity more with Mimzy, because I think the social standards of their time could push him into it, but Vox? Absolutely not, he does not respect Vox enough for it to even enter his mind.

And then, on the other hand, writing it from an aroace perspective centers the way that romantic and sexual interest can feel like a betrayal of a good thing. With a character like Alastor, it frames romantic and sexual attraction the same alien way that we usually see aromanticism and asexuality framed as.

In the end, this is just one of a plethora of different experiences that aro/ace people can have, but it's one that I really wanted to see represented more, so I'm very happy to write it. I'm glad that you're enjoying it!

#ask #personal #Anonymous #long post #t #aroace #ace #he cares about Vox at this point!#but that's. not really the same as respecting him.#anyway this next chapter is important to me because it's very #how do I put this #“this was okay at the moment but that doesn't mean he's okay with it overall and forever”#“and it does not mean that they've 'progressed' their relationship to the point where Alastor being aroace is a 'nonissue'”#“(feat. ofc the heavy implication that it was an issue in the first place)”#ANYWAY. SOMETIMES I HAVE A HARD TIME EXPRESSING THIS IN NON-FIC WORDS #SO HOPEFULLY THE FIC AS IT CONTINUES SPEAKS FOR ME. I AM GLAD THAT IT HAS SPOKEN TO YOU SO FAR <3 THANK YOU!!#sexuality #my writing #hazbin hotel #this is a hot button topic atm and it took me a minute to write a reply #that didn't seem like it invited discourse lmfao #actually I still feel weird posting my opinion this strongly oops OH WELL

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