i feel like some people are out here fighting tooth and nail to justify any interest they have in whump and that it's NOT for sexual reasons and that they DON'T condone this irl and they would NEVER want this actions to be used on others and like baby you realize there's people out here who jerk off to the idea of sentient boeing 747s that vore all the passengers. like. you're fine.
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homura (after a whole movie dedicated to the mechanisms of her inner psyche and set in a world that is literally her subconscious, populated by little dolls that are the manifestation of her emotions and self-hatred, after a whole movie where we get to see that she loves and cares for her friends and above all she deeply loves madoka, after the most heartbreaking scene in the history of anime where she realises madoka never wanted to sacrifice herself, after sacrificing herself to try and keep madoka’s wish alive anyway and keep her safe from the incubators, after being saved by madoka and feeling undeserving of it yet again, after finally giving up on trying to preserve madoka’s wish and creating a universe in which madoka can be happy and her friends too and the incubators eat shit, after showing how much she hates herself for it): i’m evil! i’m a demon! i’m evil incarnate!
people: yeah that checks out, homura is evil.
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One thing i love about psychonauts is how the way the mental enemies / collectibles are implemented inherently give an extra bit of world building / character exploration in mental worlds. Like. That’s insane thats sooo fucking good.
The figments that are also designed to look like Helmut’s wedding under the stage, showing you that he clearly remembers that, if vaguely, if nothing else. The root of the bad mood in bob’s level being on the table where figments of Ford and Lucy sat at his wedding. The lack of any censors in the milk man conspiracy being an intentional choice until the point near the end where they finally show up. How you dont find any emotional baggage in Tomb of the Sharcoughagus until you get to the astrolathe section.
Like they dont need to go out of their way to say anything about certain levels because the way the entire game is set up is inherently built to give you extra little tidbits of details. AUGH.
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wip wednesday (early cause im offline tmrw)
When the dust settles, Obi-Wan is surprised to find himself still standing.
It takes all of him, he thinks, the end of the war. It takes everything he has.
He used to wonder, in a distant, nebulous way, what it would feel like in the aftermath. How his life would return to the routines he held before Geonosis, if the cadence of Temple life would feel strange and unfamiliar to him after so long spent in the trenches. If he would miss the sound of his men behind and around him, the steady stream of words and laughter and presence of others, at all times, surrounding him.
It’s only when the dust settles, when the first grains of sand whip through the arid desert air to sting his eyes, that he realizes that every time he ever allowed himself to think about the end of the war, he’d always assumed that they would win. He had never truly thought they would be defeated. That the Jedi Order, the Temple itself, so strongly entrenched in the galaxy and in Coruscant and in Obi-Wan’s world view, were capable of falling.
He had cautioned others against the same assumptions the moment he heard them. He had warned his own padawan to not look too far into the future, to not plan too much for the war’s end. He had told many people—clones, civilians, holonet reporters, other Jedi—that it was dangerous to think of the war as something they would inevitably win. Nothing was inevitable, especially not victory.
But he realizes now, only now, only as he traverses the desert on the back of a stolen eopie, wearing robes still smelling so strongly of volcanic sulfur that his eyes are stinging with reactionary tears, that he’d thought. He’d always thought.
He’d never really considered…this.
This aftermath, where he is still standing on shaking legs and everything that he has ever cared for in the world has become ash, has become the dust settling around him.
Everything he has ever known and loved and fought for has slipped through his fingers. When the dust settles, when he looks down at his hands, he expects to find them empty.
Instead, there is a baby in his arms.
And he knows—he knows intimately how much damage these hands are capable of. What hurt these hands can inflict even on those he loves. Loved.
He knows, as the homestead rises up in the fading light of the two suns, that these hands should not cradle this baby. Not the son of the man he has murdered. Not his brother’s son. Not his padawan’s. Not Anakin’s.
He knows the babe is safest here on this farm in the care of this couple. He knows he must leave the child with them, to raise and love a thousand times better than he is capable of. He has tried before. He has failed one Skywalker already.
He knows.
And he can’t. He cannot let him go.
While the Galactic empire rises on one side of the galaxy, the dust settles on the other and Obi-Wan Kenobi looks down at the babe in his hands and realizes that he cannot let him go.
Not another Skywalker.
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