#the pain to optimism to realism to pain with some hope

[jormshands]

Sanford character analysis no one asked for ❤️

Sanford is an odd one. His voice and tone doesn't really match with the personality he displays at times.

Out of him and Deimos, he seems to be the de facto leader, but only in specific scenarios. He is the one that thinks ahead more, the more observant one, the more quick to fall on a judgment one. Throughout the episodes, he is usually behind Deimos- who rushes past first, and scans for danger Deimos might have missed, however that doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy causing pain. It is shown to be Deimos that takes the direct orders from Doc and plans with Sanford's assistance. In contrast to Hank and Dei (at least outwardly with dei) Sanford seems to actually feel pressure of getting the mission done, which is different from Hank's more lackadaisical determination as in wanting to get the job done but not getting worked up over it. In madcom 11, Sanford seems to reach a breaking point, he falls to his knees and screams in pain and frustration, going as far as to try and jump off of a pilar to kill himself. This displays he is the most in time with his emotions, though in fight mode, to grieve over deimos. Out of the bunch he actually feels emotions like an average person would.

However, in game he does show tendencies of optimism, such as, "maybe we'll get lucky," and often is the one to steer Deimos forward when he gets worked up. It could be argued to be more realism when a mag that happens to have an explosive on him appears, and how he informs Deimos "better hope we reach that shut off valve first" referring to the gestalt chasing them. He also uses some aspects of realism with the sheriff, berating him for acting so careless about the safety of the nexus, "If we don't put their soldier cloning and training program to an end, it's only a matter of time until we end up like every other dead citizen in this wretched place. You thinks that don't include you too?" He's not necessarily thinking he's saving the world and trying to get the sheriff to "join the good side" he's informing him that everyone will die including the sheriff and then there will be nothing left. He sees that as common knowledge.

In romp.fla, he was the more judgemental and assertive one in the new situation, the first to shoot, even startling Deimos into firing as well, showing Deimos looks to him for calls to action occasionally in situations of confusion. In shakedown he is absently critical of Hank and even Deimos to a certain degree. Once Hank completely misidentifies San with Dei, Sanford gets more short and clipped with them. Also in his stress he and Deimos have a rather passive aggressive conversation over the radio about the gestalt. Deimos is actively being chased by it and Sanford pressuring him to unlock a bridge for him to pass. He is plenty capable of doing things himself and is a decent thinker. He might not be at Deimos' level of fast thinking but he clearly can come up with unique ideas such as trying to blow the armor off of the riot guard when Hanks "just hit him" and Deimos' "make the robot hurt him" didn't work. He is the demolitionist expert and can work with bombs at a strikingly fast pace. He's even quick and agile enough to plant a c4 on an enemy's back.

He also took charge in the interrogation of the sheriff and his goons, barking out and being commanding and stern, "We're taking down the Nexus with or without your help...and we're happy to do this the hard way. Your choice," and "We have NO IDEA who that is. But you've got one second to get out of our way." Though he is capable of losing his temper towards the end, "What exactly do you think we're here to do, Sher? Shut you down or something? You and your little "operation" out here!?" He yells at the sheriff like the answer is blindingly clear. He also snaps at tricky almost immediately, but that could lead to him just being really fed up, "Make some sense, you mad clown bastard! What are you trying to tell us?!"

Also with his other half, he seems to have a lesser threshold than his partner does. As in what he can tolerate before getting miffed. "That's twice I had to climb over wreckage today. I'm over it." And What happens when we get to the top? I'm kind of done with all the surprises." It seems at first he's willing to dash in with his partner, but, being the most "human like" he eventually gets to a point where he wants to leave. This is pertaining to what's harming him. Not other people.

He also seems to have a bit of an ego on him. Many of his voice lines are him mocking, taunting, insulting other people or gassing himself up. This only happens when fighting which suggests he is quite a fan of maiming and killing. Even if you forgo the voice lines, his attitude and how he carries himself as this big tough guy are still there. In 7.5 he teases and taunts an atp soldat to come closer in a rather cocky manner, then proceeding to beat the soldat to death as well as taking a hostage and just beating them up when they already showed no resistance. People seem to forget he's also a wanted torturer, implying long and drawn out sessions and not quick merciful kills. In 5.5 after being thrown out of the building by tricky, he quickly and more eagerly than usual charges into battle while Deimos stays behind. He also has wiped his hook off to clean it on the bodies of his victims, displaying a complete lack of empathy for those he's killed. He's the one that speaks up most and the one that tries to put pieces together in game and will relay that information back to Deimos, who seemed overwhelmed in a new environment, asking questions and getting startled from time to time while Sanford doesn't seem to.

He seems to be more focused than Dei however in how he carries himself. He's often the one to drag Dei back to earth when he gets worked up, such as with Gil when Deimos was initially going to burst through the door until Sanford talked some sense into him "he's already dead", therefore actually making the headstrong Deimos submit to him and begrudgingly agree. He does seem to add some insight and wisdom to Dei as well, like knowing if deis recklessness and chiming in with "don't want to piss off the locals" and Deimos agrees, talking about his weapons and readiness to fight.

In the harchar streams, Hans cited that Sanford is more laid-back and "just looking out for his little friend" similar to how a "bodyguard" works. He seems to work well with teams as he seems more preoccupied on details than the big picture before him, something Deimos is the opposite of; he sees the big picture and forgoes little details at times. This seems to display a bit of a foil to Deimos, he keeps himself serious on the outside, but has an outgoing side inside while dei is vice versa. Including that, when Hank was fighting for his life with tricky, he and Deimos had decided to goof off in the rift, displaying some of his quirkiness and finding the ability to have fun during a massive mission. He also was a bit laid back with Deimos during the lift to the science tower, the two going back and forth about how old the nasty thing was. This leads me to believe that while he makes himself assertive and strong around others he's not all that close to, around Deimos or people he finds close he allows himself to be a bit more laid back and fun loving, displaying the parts of himself he keeps hidden. He only seems to let this side show when around Deimos and not really anyone else

#madcom #madness combat #madness combat headcanons #sanford madness combat #comissions open #open comissions

[apollo-cackling]

[You often see it claimed that] season 6 is pessimistic and I actually don't agree. It's heavy, harsh, and dark, but I believe at the end of the day that this is actually one of the most optimistic seasons the show has ever produced, which is why I want to close this discussion off by focusing a bit on the show's tone. It gets dark, [and] if you were put off by these darker tones and themes, I can't say I blame you, but in a way I think that's why the season works so well. Contrary to escapist or comfort media, which offers an easy refuge from real life struggles, season 6 embraces conflict and human imperfection. There's nothing inherently wrong with wanting your art to be comforting, of course, [...] but at least in my opinion, a lot of what bills itself as escapist comfort media does so because it asks us to specifically look away from life's problems. #notallescapism obviously, but there's this sentiment that's gained traction lately which posits that the creation and consumption of such media is almost a form of resistance itself, and I'm not personally fond of that. Being cozy or wholesome or whatever becomes almost a moral prescription. I know creators whose work has been categorized that way who hate it for that same reason. Jay Dragon, designer of the amazing ttrpg Wanderhome (you really should check it out) has talked about how their work being labelled as wholesome can not only often imply a sort of derision toward works that focus on pain, but can also create limiting expectations for their art. And indeed, I've increasingly seen works that like to categorize themselves as cozy or hopepunk not just as a way of self-labelling but as an implied condemnation of uncomfortable or darker fiction. There's this pervasive implication that focusing on darkness, [and/or] not using fiction as a way to envision a better world is in some way contributing to harm. It suggests that there's this inherent virtue in optimism and depicting coziness that surpasses all else. That's not to say critics of Buffy season 6 should be painted under this light, of course — not at all — but I do think season 6 is an excellent response to it. Season 6 confronts this ideology head on by presenting a narrative steeped in realism and darker themes. It doesn't just offer escape or easy answers, it challenges the viewer by illustrating the complexities of life with a starkness that's often uncomfortable. And at the end of the day, despite all the pain and tears it gives us what I think is actually an incredibly hopeful message: life is still worth living. I haven't dealt with the exact same things Buffy has — I didn't die and come back to life twice (it was just the one time for me) — but I have been in those times where nothing seems to be going right where I just watch my bank account go down and wonder if I'll have enough to make it through it all. I've dealt with struggling with my mental health in a way I don't feel like I can approach others with, even the people I love the most, out of fear for how they'll feel. I've engaged in self-destructive behavior to give myself a temporary boost in feeling, or just to feel it. All these are all things that I and probably a lot of you have been through, and it sucks and we all know it sucks, but here in Buffy there's catharsis, something that tells me life is hard: sometimes you will struggle with depression, you will struggle with money, your friends will be imperfect support systems, but life is still worth it. It resonates far more with me than something that tells me life is always awesome, and your friends are always going to be awesome and perfect, and so you should be happy with life. I know that isn't always true. If you're going to tell me to smile, I need to know you see me first. Season 6 sees me first. Dawn and Buffy pull each other out of their grave, Xander pulls Willow from the brink. It will be dark. We are still human. We should still live.

so I finally got around to watching the new sarah z video. it's. good.

#my rambles #youtube #quotes #also unrelated but they seem to have relaxed/loosened up a lot ever since they stopped using their main blog and I'm happy for them #their videos were always great but now they're hedging a lot less and being a lot more expressive and #idk I'm happy for them #...they probably won't see this but if they do uh. hey I love your videos sorry for being parasocial

[fantasy-so-far]

Week 4 RP Prompt

There’s nothing like the emptiness of finishing a long project.

In the wake of completing Siegwulf’s armor, and also getting an initial prototype for Kal’sin’s shield produced, Violette was left with idle hands. Holly had been an amusement some days, and S’keseh was good for a philosophical chat if he was in the mood, but after the breach in the vault, Violetta found herself lacking distractions. She wandered the house during the day and at night spent her time tucked away. She lacked direction and focus and her mind kept turning to Kuri. She knew the auri woman was strong enough to hold on while they desperately searched for leads but without a distraction the cursed Viera’s day dreams were frequently destructive.

As she crested the stairs to the second story of the company home, she found that the life form there was not S’keseh, but rather the strange little hyur woman Alice. She considered turning around to escape notice, but Alice was far too sharp for that.

“Hi, Violetta,” the woman greeted.

She sounded different.

She sounded…sad?

“Hello,” Violetta offered in return.

The pale woman stood awkwardly by the stairs and watched as Alice retrieved some fish food from a cubby by the sofa. Alice climbed up to a vent at the top of the aquarium and opened it with a rake pick. She spoke as she fed the fish a few morsels from the jar.

“I won’t be up here long. I just want to make sure the fish are well fed and looked after until Kuri gets back,” Alice said.

Realizing that Alice’s mind was in much the same place as her own, Violetta moved closer as she nodded.

“She’ll appreciate it. It will be good news for her to have when she returns.”

“We haven’t heard from her in several days,” Alice sighed. “I am worried that it decreases the likelihood of ever seeing my friend again.”

Violetta frowned at the pesimissism, but it made her reflect on the foundation of her optimism. She was quiet while Alice closed the vent and returned the food to the cubby. The hyur woman even started to leave when Violetta stepped into her path and shook her head.

“Given your past, I can understand if you have a tainted view of faith, but I must ask. Do you hope for things? Pray? Do you have faith that something will happen so long as you believe?”

Alice shifted uncomfortably and Violetta sighed and stepped away again. She interpreted the gesture as discomfort with the aura of misfortune and void that clung to her, but Alice was sharp and quickly explained her uneasiness.

“I don’t know how to have faith right now. All I can feel is cold fury that someone has taken my first friend from me. I want to hurt them. Kill them in ways so painful they will see their gods and weep for rescue from mortality. But…that is all I really feel right now.”

Violetta subtly bit the inside of her lip to keep from smiling at the woman. She understood the feeling much too well but didn’t dare share such a thing with the younger woman.

“I asked because…I don’t want to seem like I am patronizing you. We’re all processing these events as best we can. Kuri is beloved by the entire company. She is strength in the foundation of who we are as a group, and her absence is deeply felt by all of us. I know we will find her, because she is strong and she will hold on until we can. Death will not suffer any of us to drift off into the darkness without a hell of a fight. So, even if you don’t place faith in the gods, place your faith in Kuri. And try not to let the threat of loss control you.”

Alice stared in awe for a moment. When Violetta spoke, there was so much certainty and conviction in her tone, it was hard not to feel just a little inspired to faith. The moment passed though, as realism crept in. The words were pretty and stirring, but they would mean nothing if the company failed to get to Kuri in time.

“Thank you, Violetta. I will reflect on this,” she offered before scurrying off before her doubts cracked through the practiced mask she wore.

Violetta watched the girl go and sighed. She turned back to the aquarium and watched the fish lazily circle in search of more food. Her mind would carry her away and she would daydream some more, but the distraction would be fleeting.

At least until she felt familiar arms wrap around her.

@thegraveyardcompany @kuri-ejinn @never-trust-theliving

#rp prompt #story #Violetta

[validatewithin]

Pessimism excused as realism

When you label someone as a pessimist they always feel the need to say “I am a realist”.

People say “I’m a realist” as if their pessimism is actually just recognizing the truth that the world is just shit. Optimism and pessimism are separate from realism.

Realism is viewing the facts as they are. Good and bad things happen. Our world is a balance of opposing forces. Whether you’re a pessimist or an optimist has to do with the outcomes that you expect in a given situation. And I’m tired of people excusing pessimism as realism.

Horrible, awful, inhumane things happen every day. That most people are ignorant to. Most of these things are impossible to know about, excel for the big ones. War. Torture. Rape. Corruption. Murder. Betrayal. Cruelty. We would all be ignorant not to accept and acknowledge those facts. But realism involves recognizing the existence of both positive and negative aspects of life and acknowledging the dynamic nature of our world.

Every day amazing and beautiful human experiences take place in the world. The warmth of friendship, the depth of love, the power of people coming together to cause change. Someone finally feeling happy. Someone finally feeling safe. Sacred things like music and art. The natural beauty of the world. Learning, growth, improvement, progress. Kindness.

Yet these positive aspects are overlooked and overshadowed by our fixation on negativity. We minimize the significance of these moments. Cruelty stems from a lack of love, from damage, and from pain. Often, those events are not someone’s fault. That’s why I think that the good in life is more significant than the bad. Everyone has experienced pain. Everyone has experienced things that could have driven them to negativity or cruelty or corruption. But people choose to grow from pain and embrace positivity and love, which is not easy. Being good is the harder choice.

Maybe the world is against us. Maybe there are systems set in place that are not in everyone’s favor and there are people in control with bad intentions. I think that some of those things can be viewed as objective facts. The world is not fair. But we have to be intentional with how we choose to view and discuss the world.

Viewing the world as irredeemably negative might limit our ability to contribute to our improvement. It might lead to a sense of powerlessness and apathy. Hope in itself can be a driving force for positive change, motivating people to actively engage in creating a better world. Hope is not synonymous with ignorance. Hope is a conscious choice to recognize the full spectrum of human experiences.

We don’t have a choice but to feel hope. We have to be realistic. But it is our duty to stay good and to recognize the good and opportunities in the world. There are people in horrible conditions, who have experienced much more pain than I have, that still feel hope. As someone who is very privileged I feel responsible to embrace hope, share it, and make a meaningful impact with the life that I’ve been given.

Individual actions can be transformative. Human beings have always had the potential for positive growth and impact, in the face of adversity and all odds against us. Do not lead your life ignorant, that is not acceptable. Being aware is such a hard choice. Being good is even harder. Remaining positive is the hardest choice. But it is our responsibility. Harness resilience, contribute to positive change, help to shape a world that reflects the beauty and potential for good that exists alongside the challenges. Our ability to aspire towards goodness, to help others, and to remain hopeful and positive, despite the complexities of life, despite pain and suffering, is what makes us human. Be a human being.

[13atoms]

Love of His Life (Geralt of Rivia x Reader)

Established-relationship reader insert, set at the Temple of Melitele in season 2 of the netflix show, on the evening Yennefer arrives (pretend the fire mage doesn’t exist). Also: any Yen slander is completely fictionalised I love my insane witch bestie. Also: I love ciri so much.

A bit of Jealousy, Angst/comfort, 2.1k. Not smut but 18+ on all fics please!

This is the first fic I’ve written in a few months, and the first thing for the witcher – characterisation is hard. Hope you enjoy!

**

** ⚔

“Come in.”

You smiled softly at Ciri as you closed the door behind you, taking in the dark room she had been given for your stay at the Temple of Melitele. It was cosy, warm, a small room with a pair of twin beds standing parallel in front of the fire.

You had hoped as much, that there might be a second bed you could use, if Cirilla didn’t mind the intrusion. You needed somewhere away from Geralt tonight.

“You got a nice room,” you commented, taking a seat on the bed opposite hers.

She was leaning against the headboard, hair tied back for sleep and a book in her hands, ignored. Ever perceptive, she was analysing you instead. You tried to be nonchalant as you turned from her, warming your hands at the fire, but you could sense her concern.

Yennefer had just arrived. It had already been a long day, your constant fear for Ciri and Geralt only growing in a new environment. As sweet as these people seemed, you felt uneasy, and it had only been exacerbated by the appearance of the witch who held so much of Geralt’s heart.

You knew you weren’t her. That you didn’t hold a candle to her fire and her intrigue. There was more than just earthly affection which held them together – the Witcher had told you as much. As his gruffness melted and Yen became his entire world, you had slipped away.

It had been bad when he thought her dead, when he had mourned her even as you laid beside him, but you had understood. There was a curse or… something. It bonded them. Held them together. He had told you very little, especially since Cirilla fell into his care.

You had coped, comforted, accepted your role, and here she was. Larger than life, back, perfect in his eyes. Ciri had seen it instantly. She had the sense to vanish even before you did, making herself scarce. They would be in Geralt’s room now, you were sure of it. Perhaps your coat and bags has been hastily shoved from view beneath the bed, before Geralt and his true lover shared it.

The image haunted you, and with a sudden wince of pain, you realised you had been staring at the open flames for too long.

“Are you okay?”

Ciri was sweet, moving down to the foot of her bed to sit beside you, concern tinging her voice. You were sure she knew why you were so upset. She was a sharp girl, far too old for her age. Through her optimism and naivety a new kind of realism was growing, and although it broke your heart to see her forced to be old before her time, you knew you could speak to her as an adult. She certainly had far greater emotional maturity than Geralt.

You wondered if he had even thought of your name since Yen appeared.

“I’m just surprised to see her alive,” you answered, trying to be diplomatic.

Ciri had not love to the vagaries of diplomacy. You heard her huff.

“You don’t seem happy to see her alive.”

“Ciri!”

“I’m joking!”

You couldn’t help laughing at her raised eyebrows, the teasing expression hiding the worry in her emerald green eyes. This had to be hard on her. Mother figures were scarce these days, and the thought of her losing another was difficult. You longed to ask her what she thought, to see if she had some insight into the Witcher that you had missed, but you knew you couldn’t burden her like that.

You stared back at the flames.

“We will move on soon,” she soothed, “things will be back to normal. We’ll be miserable, camping in some damp forest in no time.”

You gave her a watery laugh, lightly shoving her, feeling your spirits lifted as she squealed in protest. The moment of joy was fleeting, vanishing as you stared into the flames once again and thought on her words.

“Things will be fine,” she reiterated, and your heart broke for her sweetness.

You sighed heavily, refusing to meet her eye.

“I think this might be it, Ciri. I’m not sure normal is what Geralt wants.”

“None of this is normal, anyway,” she dismissed.

You knew she understood. This was hard to accept.

“Do you think I could stay in here, tonight? I don’t want to…” you asked.

She cut you off.

“See him?”

“Interrupt them.”

You ground the words out, catching Ciri’s back straightening out of the corner of your eye.

“Right, of course. You can, um, take that bed. Do you want to borrow anything to wear?”

“I’ll be fine. Thank you, Ciri.”

The two of you sat for a moment longer, the fire burning down to embers before you finally threw another log on.

It wasn’t late, and yet you felt as though you could sleep for days. If only to shelter your heart from the images your mind was conjuring. You knew enough about Geralt and Yen to know they were destined, that they shared a fire which was beyond your human understanding. The knowledge did but torture you, creating iteration after iteration of the conversation in which Geralt finally got rid of you, one hand clutching Yennefer’s waist as he did it.

He hadn’t even noticed as you left, and you tilted your face from Ciri as you prepared for bed, not wanting her to see the tears which welled in your eyes.

Finally you were beneath the covers, listening as Ciri extinguished the candles beside her bed, perhaps in respect of your mourning. It was far too early for her to go to sleep, young as she was, but she took pity on you. Part of you was glad she was there, your own bed between hers and the door, barring Geralt from leaving with out you.

It wouldn’t stop him tomorrow, but for tonight, he couldn’t sneak her out without saying goodbye to you.

“Do you really think he’ll stay with her?”

“He said she was the love of his life,” you replied hollowly, hearing Ciri shift in bed.

You could see the glint of her pale cheek in the firelight, knowing she was facing you. Watching you.

“Was,” she insisted. “He thought she was dead. For so long, and you were there for him, for both of us. This isn’t fair.”

There it was. Your fear. Your anger. It’s not fair. But you knew she was captivating, clever, powerful. She would always possess a piece of him, just as he did of her.

“I don’t think love like theirs fades, Ciri.”

The girl stayed silent, and you wondered what she was thinking. That you were being selfish? Or weak? Perhaps she just didn’t understand.

“He’s still your protector, he won’t leave you. You’ll be even safer with her. She’s powerful. You heard about Sodden.”

“I won’t go without you.”

She sounded so young, vulnerable, as the words left her mouth. And you wished you could promise her you would stay. That you would be there forever. But that wasn’t your choice to make.

“It’s up to him,” you told her, fighting to keep your voice even through the tears which were choking you yet again. “You’ll always be welcome with me, I would love to stay, but it’s up to Geralt.”

You heard her frustration, her no and her protest, but it fell on deaf ears. There were the occasional sounds of footsteps outside, voices muffled by the stone walls, and each time you strained to hear. If it was them. Or him.

“Do you really think he’d just leave you?”

“Don’t worry about it, Ciri.”

“I don’t think he’d do that.”

You laid in silence for so long, you were convinced Ciri had fallen asleep. You hated to load her thoughts with your problems, she had enough to consider here, trying to control her powers. You regretted clouding her with your worries. And yet, after minutes of staring into darkness, warmed by the crackling fire, she spoke again.

“He’s got a good heart. I don’t think he would leave you. Even if Yennefer stays.”

If Ciri believed that, you wouldn’t contradict her. You didn’t want her to worry, truly. But you had known one another for too long, been through too much and shared too much. She sensed your mistrust.

“You don’t believe me.”

“I do! I do! I just think we can’t intervene with forces… as strong as whatever keeps pulling them back to each other.”

“Once I figure out all this magic stuff, I’ll intervene.”

She was half-joking, but you smiled all the same. The moment was only tinged with the stabbing feeling of how much you’d miss her. Everything had seemed so certain just a week ago. He had trusted you with so much, his heart and his home and his daughter and his poor horse. Now so much of that had crumbled.

“Goodnight,” Ciri’s voice came softly, and you tried to savour the moment as you replied.

“Goodnight.”

*

You jolted awake as the door of the room cracked open, eyes wide open and staring into the darkness of the room. The fire had long extinguished, the candlelight from the corridor outside seeping across the room as the door creaked open further still. You were braced, ready to put yourself between the outside and Ciri, when a heavy hand landed on your covered shoulder.

“Shh…”

Geralt.

“Come to bed,” he grumbled.

You frowned in the darkness at him, shivering as he pulled the covers from your shoulders. Both of you glanced at Ciri, but she remained steadily asleep. You went with him, standing slowly and pulling the door closed gently enough not to wake her. As you took one last look into the room, you caught the smile on her face, one green eye watching you as her face was smushed to the pillow.

Smiling to yourself, you said nothing, closing the door and turning your attention to the Witcher. You fell into step beside him, following the short route to the room.

“How’s Yen?” you asked lightly, trying to sound casual. You suspected you’d failed, as Geralt huffed.

“Her usual delightful self. She’ll be sleeping off a hangover until midday tomorrow.”

The door swung open, and you noticed the tell-tale drunken sway in Geralt’s step as he led you inside. It took you a few seconds to take in the room, as Geralt pulled his boots from his feet.

He pulled your bag from the bed, right where you’d left it.

You rummaged through it for a change of clothes, keeping your head down. Wondering if you had been too harsh on him. He was already in bed, taking up most of the mattress and lolling his head to face you.

As you were about to tease him for his drunkenness, his eyes opened, fixing you with a yellow look so intense it rivalled his daughter’s.

“I heard you and Ciri talking.”

You knew he could hear the pounding of your heart, maybe even sense the adrenaline as it rushed into your veins. You tried to school your face, slowly climbing under the sheets beside him.

“Nosy.”

He lay silently for so long, you were afraid this was it. The moment he pulled the rug from beneath you, that Yen appeared to replace you. Finally the moment broke, making you jump as he wrapped one arm around you.

“I have a very long life.”

“Right, of course. I –”

“But I know where I want to spend it.”

You frowned, taking a moment to understand his meaning. The arm around you tightened again.

“I will always love Yen. That’s… destiny. It’s beyond my control. But there are things I can choose, too. And I think I might be even more attached to you than Ciri is.”

Your heart ached as he spoke the words. You knew he could feel the sharpness of your breaths, the tightening of your chest as he spoke.

“Okay.”

You could feel him smile, like he always did when he thought you were being glib. Or amusing.

“I’m glad you’re so moved by my heartfelt speech.”

You rolled over to face him, the smirk still on his face as you met his eyes in the low light.

“You stink of ale. I still might sleep in Ciri’s room.”

He huffed, one hand coming up to cup your cheek, his calloused fingertips gentle as he tilted your face towards his.

“Be my guest. You hog the bed.”

You rolled your eyes as he kissed you, smiling against his lips.

#the witcher x reader #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt x reader #geralt x you #the witcher fic #13atoms #fic #geralt of rivia #ciri is the real main character here

[thinkingisadangerouspastime]

Love of My Life

It was then Katara’s turn to stare up at the fiery sky, the multitude of clouds glowing in red and orange glory. “Aang,” she murmured, his name falling from her lips like a prayer. “Please.”

After the final battle, Katara and Aang reunite.

(Written for Day 3 of Kataang Week 2021: Missing Scenes/Post-Canon, hosted by @kataang-week. Read here on AO3, or continue reading below.)

Azula was taken away at some point, maybe by the Fire Sages, but her bloodcurdling screams and broken sobs were hardly a pinprick at the back of Katara’s mind as she kept her attention trained to the lightning wound blasted across Zuko’s solar plexus. Her hands glowed with the water she was continuously pulling from the now-burst piping system in the courtyard around them. She had no enhanced spirit water as with Aang, but fortunately Zuko’s injury was less severe and—thanks to her quick defeat of Azula—no longer life-threatening.

Zuko winced, and guilt flashed through Katara’s stomach for silently dismissing his pain. “Sorry.” She moved the water further upward on his chest, over a spot where the skin was more blistered. “Better?”

A low hiss escaped Zuko’s lips as the cool liquid skimmed the wound, and he managed a weak nod. “Thanks.” His voice was raspier than usual. To be expected. “For this, and for… and for stopping Azula.”

The urge to laugh rose in Katara’s throat, which she immediately suppressed because Tui and La, what was wrong with her? How was now an appropriate time for laughter? “Well, you’re welcome,” she said instead, giving him a weary smile, “but next time, how about you don’t taunt her about the lack of lightning, hmm?”

Zuko grimaced, and Katara knew that particular reaction had nothing to do with the wound across his chest. “Let’s just hope there will never be a next time.”

Katara couldn’t argue with that.

The following minutes were quiet as Katara slowly moved the water up, down, and around Zuko’s injury, her hands themselves hovering less than an inch above his chest. While she knew it was only a figment of her imagination, Katara could’ve sworn there was still blue lightning—Azula’s lightning—flickering across the wound, sparking at her fingertips and prickling across her skin.

Maybe, then, it was this lingering remnant of the Avatar’s slayer that had Katara so on edge. Maybe that was the reason why tension still thrummed through her body despite that she and Zuko were safe now, despite that they’d won.

“He’s going to come back.”

Zuko’s words broke the heavy silence, startling Katara so badly her concentration flew out the figurative window. The water around her hands lost its glow and splattered across Zuko’s chest like she’d emptied a full bucket on top of him. Frantic apologies spilled from her lips as she bent the water off his upper body with similar haste, but Zuko—wincing—pushed himself into a sitting position before she could begin the healing process again.

“Zuko, what are you—”

“Aang is going to come back,” he repeated, staring at Katara with an intensity that probably shouldn’t have been possible for someone in his grievously injured state. A testament to her healing skills, truly, and also to Zuko’s general stubbornness.

“I know he will,” Katara said after a pause, bending the water she’d again collected around her hands into the leather waterskin that hung at her hip. “If memory serves, I was the one telling you that on our way here.”

Zuko chuckled. “I know. Sorry. You just seemed like…” His eyes flickered across her face, searching for vulnerability Katara refused to bare. “Like you needed the reminder.”

Katara sighed, not meeting his gaze. “Look. I know Aang will come back. I know he’ll win.” Spirits, maybe he had won already. “I mean, he’s the only one who can. But I guess I’m still—” Katara cut herself off with another sigh, blinking back exhausted tears. “Fine, you’re right. I guess I’m still worried.”

Aang would return victorious, yes, there was no doubt in her mind. But at what cost? What price would he have been forced to pay? Sacrificing his body through the loss of a limb? Sacrificing his soul through the loss of that which his people valued above all else? Katara knew, she knew that if anyone could stop Ozai without killing him, it was Aang. But what she didn’t know was—was how.

Spirits, Katara wouldn’t be able to handle it if Aang returned to her broken in a way she couldn’t heal. She’d already witnessed him die once, watched his body go limp as life left it. She wasn’t ready to watch his spirit disappear, wasn’t ready to watch hope leave his heart, too.

Zuko opened his mouth, presumably to offer more words of comfort to her, but he was interrupted by Appa’s body stiffening—the sky bison was so large it was impossible not to notice the reaction. He’d originally been standing guard, for all intents and purposes, while Katara healed Zuko, but now his eyes were glued to the sky as he released a bellow that shook the stone of the courtyard beneath them.

Katara grabbed Zuko’s arm to keep him from toppling over, but instead of resettling himself, Zuko tried to stand up, as if the giant wound on his chest was nothing more than a mere papercut.

“It’s Aang!” was the only explanation he gave as Katara relented with a huff and helped him to his feet. “It has to be. What else would get Appa acting like this?”

Privately, Katara agreed with him. Hope beat in her heart so rapidly it ached. But since Zuko had wildly, unexpectedly, completely out of the blue transformed into an optimist—seriously, had the lightning gone through his brain?—well, that meant she had to be the one to temper his optimism with a little realism.

“It could be a threat,” she responded honestly, not releasing Zuko’s arm until she was certain he’d gathered his balance.

Zuko shot her a doubtful look. “You sure?” He pointed at Appa, whose tail had started shaking—okay, yes, probably with excitement, Katara would admit that much.

It was then her turn to stare up at the fiery sky, the multitude of clouds glowing in red and orange glory. “Aang,” she murmured, his name falling from her lips like a prayer. “Please.”

Seconds later, those otherworldly clouds split open to reveal a Fire Nation airship, and on the exterior Katara could see flashes of blue and green fabric—Sokka and Toph, it had to be. Spirits knew she probably should have been concerned about who was steering the balloon, but once it was clear the ship was heading steadily towards the ground and wouldn’t face a disastrous crash, Katara’s mind returned to its previous mantra.

Aang. Aang. Aang.

“Remember to breathe, Katara.”

Katara shot Zuko a mild glare at his wry tone, but exhaled, because he was right—she’d been holding her breath. In fact, she was still holding far more tension in her body than could be considered healthy, but Katara knew that overwhelming stiffness wasn’t going to ease until she saw her friends alive and well, until she felt Aang’s heartbeat in sync against her own.

Katara’s breath hitched as the airship came to a stop far from herself and Zuko, hovering above the stone ground of the courtyard. It was much larger up close—no wonder it couldn’t land properly. There was a deep rattle as a metal plank, of sorts, some kind of steel pathway lowered from the ship and scraped across the ground with an earsplitting screech. Onto it stepped—

“They’re alive!” Katara gasped, blinking back elated tears as Sokka, Aang, Toph, and Suki—and Momo atop Suki’s left shoulder—stepped out onto the platform. One of Sokka’s legs was in a splint and he had to lean onto Suki’s side for support as he hobbled along, but— “They’re all alive!”

Aang was alive.

They’d done it. A little bruised, a little broken, maybe all around worse for wear, but—

They’d done it.

“Come on,” Zuko urged, taking an unsteady step forward and immediately wincing. He didn’t let the pain stop him, though, powering another foot ahead. “Let’s meet them halfway.”

Katara rolled her eyes, ducking under Zuko’s arm to brace him against her side, careful to avoid his injury. “Idiot.” Standing on his own was one thing, but walking by himself was an entirely different matter. She could already tell Zuko was the kind of person who made a terrible patient.

But Katara walked with him all the same, slow and steady. As they got closer, she could better see the physical state her friends were in. Toph had only a few scrapes across her arms and face. Same for Suki. Sokka had clearly done a number on his leg, as he was hardly putting any weight on it despite the well-made split, and not to mention that Suki continued to brace him while he walked. Aang was—

“Appa!”

Well, Aang was getting smothered by Appa, Katara noted with silent amusement as the sky bison practically tackled Aang to the ground, nuzzling and licking him with unabashed eagerness.

“Buddy, I’m okay!” Aang managed to wheeze out amidst his laughter, giving Appa a tight hug. “I’m okay, I promise.”

He seemed to be telling the truth, at least based on what Katara could discern from afar. His orange robes were torn to oblivion, with only his Fire Nation pants remaining. She could see minor burns across his chest and one area on the left side of his ribs that looked to her like it would become a painful bruise, but overall—

“If you guys are here with no Azula,” Sokka joked as they all came to a stop, snapping Katara’s attention away from Aang, “does that mean Zuko finally gets to rule the Fire Nation?”

Katara allowed Zuko to keep some of his weight on her even as they stood still. He laughed at her brother’s comment. “Katara’s the one who technically defeated her in the Agni Kai. Maybe that makes her the Fire Lord.”

Katara groaned and rolled her eyes, ignoring the amused snickers of her friends. “Tui and La, no. I refuse. I resign. I—I abdicate. The throne is all yours, Zuko.”

She turned her attention to her brother’s injured leg as Suki began recounting the details of their battle in the air, including how they’d managed to pilfer an airship of their own. Up close, Katara was relieved to see that no bone had broken through the skin in Sokka’s shin or thigh—that would have made it much harder for her to heal. She made sure Zuko was stable on his feet before stepping away to study the injury further. But as she crouched at Sokka’s side and went to bend water out her flask for the preliminary healing process—

“Hey. That can wait.”

Katara blinked, staring up at Sokka in utter confusion. “Excuse me?” His leg was broken, she couldn’t just—

Sokka jerked his head towards Aang, who was busy freeing himself from beneath Appa’s weight. “Go greet the hero of the hour. My leg will still be here when you get back.”

Toph snorted. “Of the hour?” She shook her head. “Give him credit, Sokka—Twinkle Toes is the hero of the century.” Momo chirped before jumping from Suki’s shoulder onto Toph’s, as if agreeing with her.

Katara turned to look at Aang, her mind tuning out the rest of her friend’s teasing banter that followed. He was—Aang was more than the hero of the century, at least to her. More than the Avatar, more than an airbender, more than—

Aang must have felt her eyes on him, because he paused in petting Appa to turn around and give her a shy grin. “Hi, Katara.”

With those two words, the dam burst, and Katara sprinted over to Aang with all the speed of a roaring wave. Her arms crashed around his bare shoulders like water beating against the shore, and Aang wrapped his arms around her waist in return. Katara could only squeeze him tighter, his face pressing into her shoulder.

“You stopped him,” Katara whispered. Her words were shaky, or—spirits, maybe it was her entire body that was quivering. “Ozai. You stopped him.”

Aang nodded into her shoulder, and Katara slackened her grip just enough so he could lean back and reply. “Yep.”

Katara’s right hand instinctively rose to cup his face. She could see it in his eyes—tired, yes, but still so full of hope, the warm gray as rich as the shimmering moon. “You found another way, didn’t you?”

Aang smiled at her, laugh lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes, and spirits if that wasn’t an image Katara wanted traced into her memory for the rest of time. “Ozai is alive. But he can’t hurt anyone ever again.”

Katara had a million questions, the first being the obvious How? How did you do it? But no query fell from her lips despite her overwhelming curiosity. Instead, all she could do was stare at Aang, tears of relief sliding down her cheeks as she smiled and smiled and smiled and—

“I am so proud of you,” Katara said, the words halfway to a sob as she pulled Aang into another crushing hug, marvelling at how perfectly his body fit against hers. “I knew you would do it, Aang, I knew it. Only you could.”

Aang laughed. “Must’ve been your belief that got me through it.” His arms tightened around her, as if he, too, needed the unspoken reassurance that Katara was there, that she was real, that they had won, the same way she needed such comfort from him. “At one point, I’m not even sure I believed I’d succeed.”

“It’s a good thing I never doubted you, then,” Katara whispered, and Aang laughed again.

“Yes. Thank you.”

Katara wasn’t quite sure what Aang was thanking her for—her faith then, her presence now?—and in truth, she had a feeling Aang didn’t precisely know, either. But what did precision matter? They were here, together, alive. Beaten and bruised but not broken beyond all repair. Neither of them had lost what they couldn’t live without.

For Aang, the vestiges of his peaceful people. And for her…

Aang.

Katara hadn’t lost Aang. Not like she had before, not like she couldn’t bear to ever lose him again.

“Alright, lovebirds! That’s enough time spent hugging the life out of each other. Come tend to the wounded, please.”

Katara rolled her eyes at her brother’s obnoxious interruption, but she released Aang after a final tight squeeze. She really did want to take a look at Sokka’s leg. Besides—she and Aang now had all the time in the world. All the time in a peaceful world, at that.

Aang followed her back to the rest of their friends, and Katara had just knelt down to examine Sokka’s injury when Aang burst out into loud, unprovoked laughter. The sudden sound made her jump, and it was only thanks to some quick thinking—and inelegant bending—that she avoided spilling the water from her waterskin all over the stone courtyard for the second time in the past ten minutes.

“What’s so funny?” Zuko asked, the apparent reason for Aang’s laughter. “What did I do?”

“No—you didn’t—” Aang cut himself off with a wheeze, and Katara couldn’t stop herself from glancing behind her to see what on Earth had him in stitches.

Aang pointed at Zuko’s chest, biting down hard on his bottom lip in a clear attempt to withhold further laughter. “That. Azula shot you with lightning, right?” When Zuko nodded, he said, “And Katara healed you?”

“I did,” Katara confirmed. Sokka gave her a disapproving look, probably because she was yet to begin healing his leg, but—well, this time Katara had no real excuse beyond her own intrigue. Whoops. But it wasn’t as if his splint wasn’t holding up perfectly. The expertise with which it was secured suggested Suki had been the one to fashion it, and that meant Sokka would be fine for a quick moment longer.

Aang’s laughter returned in full force, one arm wrapped around his stomach while his free hand gestured wildly behind him. “We—We match!” He turned around, and—

“Oh, for Agni’s sake,” Zuko groaned, and Katara found herself unable to contain her laughter. In a matter of seconds, they were all laughing at Aang’s revelation. Even Zuko, once he’d gotten over himself.

Tui and La. Katara loved her friends, she loved her life, she loved being alive with her friends by her side and—

Aang.

She loved Aang.

Oh, spirits.

#kataang #kataangtag #kataang week #katara #aang #atla #avatar the last airbender #zuko #atla fanfic #the gaang #amy writes

[pollyestergivens]

Christmas at Donner Pass: The Unity Engine Strikes Again

The Miss Clue series is known around here for its shameless copying of HER's old game engine and ND logo, so it should be no surprise that they also decided to switch to Unity. And, like Midnight in Salem before it, Christmas at Donner Pass was repeatedly delayed in production with little to no updates (there wasn't even a trailer before the game was released).

Even though I was ultimately disappointed by the results of HER's move to Unity, I was curious to see how the Miss Clue team would handle the transition. A few years back, they showcased a little demo that looked quite promising, so I held out hope that they might pick up the baton that HER seems to have dropped.

Alas, it was not to be. Though Christmas at Donner Pass boasts a few features that are an improvement over MID's shortcomings, both games are plagued with glitches, tedious dialogue, and lackluster graphics--even though both promised the opposite.

The Good

Many, many people complained about the navigation in MID, so you might be pleased to hear that CDP lets players choose between three different styles: the original point-and-click, full 3D movement, and a sort of hybrid "glide" option (somewhat similar to what MID has).

I personally played the majority of the game in the point-and-click style, but you can easily toggle between the three modes by hitting 1, 2, or 3 on your keyboard.

When using the "full 3D movement" option, you can indeed explore the mansion and landscape quite freely--but sadly, there's just not that much to see or do.

The Meh

Christmas at Donner Pass is set at large mansion nestled in some foggy woods. Almost every room in the house can be explored, but many of them are either sparsely furnished or simply devoid of anything interesting.

Indeed, many times I came upon a piece of paper, a book, or some strange object and thought surely it was important or could at least be examined, but nope. Yet, bizarrely, the game allowed you to examine and pocket several other items that never had any use at all (and seemingly no connection to the plot).

Much like the house, the woods were mostly full of nothing. You can walk pretty far away from the house and "explore" if you like, but I never found anything to make it worth my while. Still, some players might really like having that freedom.

As for the characters and story, it was certainly a unique game, but it mostly left me scratching my head. I will remain spoiler-free, but suffice to say that CDP is about a haunted house. There's certainly a mystery to solve, but I'm not quite sure I managed to do it. Nonetheless, I found myself continuing with the game just to see which wacky twist was coming next.

The Ugly

When I put all the graphics settings to the absolute max and fired up MID for the first time, I was crestfallen. Unfortunately, the results were much the same with CDP. While MID did better with character animations and CDP had the edge on lighting, they both ended up looking worse than their last pre-rendered title.

Presumably, the main benefit of full 3D motion/environments is added immersion. Objects can be freely rotated, cut scenes are much easier to add, and the whole experience can feel more fluid and natural.

Those gorgeous pre-rendered graphics we're all used to are not really possible in real-time 3D unless you have a nice gaming rig and a seriously well-optimized game. Naturally, in order to get around this, games will sacrifice a degree of 3D realism in the name of performance.

Unfortunately, neither of these games really succeeded at making this trade-off. Instead, both suffer from painful bugs AND poorer graphics.

MID doesn't actually allow free movement, but CDP at least took a stab at it. At certain parts of the game, it worked really well and made navigation a breeze (if you're not prone to motion sickness). Other times, it was startlingly unusable. I defaulted to the point-and-click system most of the time, which also had its own share of glitches.

As for the dialogue, I didn't care for all the cut scenes in either game. It feels too much like watching a movie instead of playing as Jane or Nancy, especially when you don't even get to click dialogue options. The vast majority of Jane's lines are automatic throughout the entire game.

As for the graphics, I'm generally very forgiving. I maintain that a good enough story can overcome any aesthetic issues, but I just didn't love the plot of CDP. Even though the graphics were fine in many areas, I didn't know what the characters were talking about half of the time and just generally felt frustrated with the entire experience.

(It's also worth mentioning that--though the developers are working tirelessly to fix bugs--the game crashed on me many times. If you decide to give Christmas at Donner Pass a try, save often.)

Sadly, my hunt for a new ND-like game continues.

#not nd #gamereview #missclue #christmas at donner pass #nd-like games #clue crew

[ignitification]

It’s me the Shigaraki survivalist again lol

It’s cool you don’t agree I guess I just want to get my thoughts out

You said it’s unrealistic for Deku to save Shigaraki and them to work together—but the way I see it is that’s exactly what the story has been building up to. In a world where nothing is really “unrealistic” I really truly think it’s very in the realm of where the story is going. Shigaraki does look tired, because he has never been given a break. The thing is, BNHA isn’t a tragedy! (I think Hawks’s arc will be a tragedy but that’s a whole different discussion)

I just cannot see how Deku will be crowned “the greatest hero who ever lived” meanwhile the one person who needed him most is lying there dead. It just doesn’t feel convincing, especially in a shonen story. As far as the story is concerned, Shigaraki is still a child and never had a chance to grow up (it’s a coming of age story for Deku and Shigaraki). And you can’t celebrate being the greatest hero who ever lived while a “child” is dead. And I 100% expect Shigaraki and Touya to be very difficult to save (kinda like Kota from the training camp arc, but Deku saved him didn’t he?)—they’re gonna decline the help at first obviously. They have no reason to trust heroes, which is why I think Deku and Shoto are going to have to prove that they mean it—and they will, because they do.

I just feel like Shigaraki dying completely cancels out Deku’s main goal of “saving everybody”—which has been his thing since the beginning. Shigaraki was, in the eyes of the narrative, All Might’s responsibility to save, and he failed. Not only is Deku going to have to clean up the OFA/AFO mess, he’s gonna have to clean up the mess that All Might could have prevented (I’m not blaming All Might completely but as far as the story is concerned, and All Might is concerned—he definitely bares some responsibility for Tenko’s fate).

It’s as you said we don’t know what Horikoshi is going to do, but a girl can hope lol

I just don’t feel like the story is going to end with the message of “not everybody can be saved”. I just feel that there is so much more hope in this story than people give it credit for! Shonen typically reeks of hope and optimism, and even now BNHA still has that hopeful, optimistic energy, not grimdark realism. I think Horikoshi will pull this off and it’s gonna be awesome. And if you are right and Shigaraki does die, I honestly will consider it a huge waste of a character who could have and should have been saved, just like Touya, who I also think is 100% going to make it out alive.

Hey, Shigaraki Survivalist!

Glad you’re putting you opinion out here. 

Getting onto matters, I would like to maybe clarify my statement: I do not think it is unrealistic for Shigaraki and Deku to work together (I think rather that it would be absolutely fair, and maybe cathartic) and I do agree that is what is likely to happen, sooner or later. 

As for BNHA not being a tragedy, I think that it already is. Look at how Touya, Shigaraki and the same Izuku grew up: discriminated against, bullied, neglected and abused. If this is not a tragedy, I do not know what is. But if by that you meant that the general mood of the story is supposed to be one of instilling hope and instead letting people know that there is always a way one, and that there is still some possibility of saving if there is a will. I fully agree on that. The themes in BNHA are the real tragedy, but you are absolutely right when you say that the message is ‘People make mistakes. But that’s not the end. They can change and correct those mistakes, apologise, amend. Things can change.’ and not ‘Not everyone can be saved’ (even if, here, I would like to argue that Twice’s death message is exactly that but I don’t want to digress).

Also, not going to lie, I really like the positivity I feel from your message. It puts a smile on my face thinking that there is someone out there fully believing that salvation will come because there is someone who wants it to come. It’s a good thing. It’s a thing I, for one, do not have so thank you for doing that, this really brightened my evening. 

Now, onto a more heavy part of the post. I wanted to talk about All Might, and how he did fail, even if not entirely by himself, to save Shigaraki. First of all, I would like to notice the particular panel which tells us that ‘You can save only those you can reach’. 

This panel is telling in more ways than one. All Might specifically addresses Izuku in saying this, while not literally meaning it (or at least not expecting Izuku to understand it so literally). All Might ( and I talked about it here) is a character which sets up the bar high for Hero standards (and is seen as an idol so far gone, that no one could ever possibly reach him) - and that is exactly why Izuku bears this 'lesson' stoically and tries to save everyone ever more than before. Because if All Might could do it, Izuku feels like he should be able as well (while not considering the disproportion in between them, and I mean in experience and just relatively emotionally).

I mean Izuku feels a high burden with OfA, and to deal with AfO, and sometimes he can get very much extreme - but exactly for that, as you said, he would never feel as if he succeeded if he does not manage to save Shigaraki. Because if All Might is capable of brushing this aside, justifying himself by saying that he couldn't have done anything to prevent it and that it is impossible after all to save everyone, Izuku is not. Izuku feel so deeply that he cries for others, he rages for others, he longs for others with a great smile on his face because that is what it's expected of him.

And he likes to fulfil those expectation, whether that kills him, injuries him or anything else (as we saw him being all bandaged up in 299 and with no sign to recover any soon). 

However, this what I mean when I say that Tomura looks tired: 

He fails to understand how him not being saved is not actually a fault of someone (heroes/society, you name it - even if he does realise much later), but his first instinct as a kid is to blame himself and to tell that this, is is his punishment. He deserved it. And he does deserve to a degree what has happened to him since, because he is guilty of something he will never be able to forgive himself for and that is why he is they he is now.

I do think, that Touya, even being more self-destructive than Shigaraki, is an easier subject to save. I am not saying this because I think Dabi’s trauma or problems are easier to solve, but because Shouto understood him (to some extent) and with the sentence ‘I am him? referring to Touya and his intentions he is unwillingly showing us that Touya’s path to redemption (summed with Endeavour’s arc) are all pointing at Touya being saved, no matter how bad the situation gets. He, still scarred and lonely, does have a family out there caring for him. Or at least wanting to get to the bottom of things and not leave him to burn to death, alone. Again.

Shigaraki, on the other hand, does not have such a thing. Kurogiri has been captured, AfO is using him and the only guy who thought of Tomura as a human being, other than a bad villain, is Deku. I do not want say that this is not enough, but with all the burden that Izuku is already carrying at the moment, can he also bear on himself the weight of saving Shigaraki? I really hope he does, but as anyway as it will be, I think that Deku will try. He will try to get that hand reaching out to Tomura and even if skeptical about it, I hope Shigaraki takes the chance and takes it. He does deserve a break. He deserves a blanket, a cup of steaming tea and a hot long nap in a warm bed. A hug is optional. 

One of the themes I never touched upon is also, the found family of the League and Hawks. I really am waiting for more insight into the League’s members feeling for Twice, and maybe holding a funeral. I am also waiting for them to discuss Hawks. 

On which, my last point for this post: Hawks’ story, serves as a parallel to Dabi’s. We see how the abuse can bring to two extremes: one becoming a villain and focusing on hate, and the other focusing on idolising and becoming a hero (and in the meantime trying to forget everything else). I want Hawks to face consequences for his actions, and I want him to understand that he, too, is a victim and that atoning for his father’s crimes is not the way to go. He also needs to break free of the past and let go. I really hope that instead of clinging into past ideals and Endeavour, he realises that there is something highly wrong with the society he is fundamental part of and that he break free. If he doesn’t, as has been already put out there by some amazing posts I read, it will after all end in tragedy. Once a friend told me how Hawks was a tragic hero, and I might disagree but I do think that the name is fitting. But it’s not like that will change things. Only we can - and I hope everyone realises that.

-

p.s. Look at this panel, during the last moments of fight between Shigaraki and Deku.

And after that the realization of Izuku, that Shigaraki, who he does want to save is not only suffering internally, but as well externally, because of AfO and whatever is going on. Exhausted beyong recognition.

Look at Shigaraki's form. He looks like he is right about to collapse. There is a hand stretched out, in help, in resignation, in sadness, in pain. But his other hand is almost clenching, hard, noy wanting to let go. Tomura is after all trying to fight the entity within him, while also trying not to lose himself and look out for everything that might come in its way outside.

And finally, there is someone who looks through the hand on his hand, through the cracks of his identity, through every wall Tomura has put in between himself and others in order to protect them, and himself, from the absolute monster he thinks he is.

And it's, at the same time both ironic and daunting how these same words are also the works Deku speaks to Kacchan while saving him from the Sludge Villains. There is a direct parallel between Katsuki, who had hated Deku while being afraid of being inferior to him and that did not want his helo because he would feel too weak, and Shigaraki, who has no will of getting himself saved by anyone, but especially by the kid that denied him the objective of gaining OfA and defeating everything and the same kid who seems to feel something other than disgust for him. Both Katsuki and Shigaraki are opposites to Izuku.

So, if Izuku saved Kacchan, who in return saved Deku after accepting the fact that he and Izuku, are, after all, hero AND friends who care about each other, it would be nice to see where this is going to go with Tomura. And see if, maybe, just maybe, it is possible for Shigaraki to stop being Shigaraki and be Shimura Tenko instead.

#bnha #mha #my hero academy #bnha 300 #bnha meta #bnha spoilers #mha 300 #mha spoilers #shigaraki #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki survivalist #shigaraki supremacy #shimura tenko #lov #league of villains #boku no hero academia #sunn answers #bnha analysis #mha analysis #deku #izuku midoriya #hawks #todoroki family #Todoroki shouto #endeavour #all might #yagi toshinori #dabi #todoroki touya #bakugou katsuki

[geirskogull]

Moments of Calm - Part 1

+ Notes: 5.5 Spoilers Present in This Fic, Warrior of Light Danica Voss takes a moment to herself to perfect that strong silent type look by letting her brain get the better of her.

Archive Link

Warnings: This Chapter isn’t particularly Spicey, but overall this is NSFW

Word Count: 3k

 “Finally a moment to yourself then Warrior of Light?” Estiniens voice was a cool whisper through the warm Mor Dhona night air. Unceremoniously warm, if you were to ask her, but it's tepid purple glow was relaxing to her anxious mind even if the slowly forming sweat upon skin was not. It was sticky and gross but at least it reminded her she was material. That she was present and here and no longer upon any bloody field of battle where good men go to die. Where heros place their very lives on the line for a cause they may not fully understand the weight against.

   Estinien grimaced when his voice didn’t draw her eye. It normally did. Instead her lovely mismatched visage, gold and green like the sunlight through a forest canopy, gazed over towards the wreckage that was the Keeper of the Lake. Midgardsormr’s rest was temporary, as she had told him once when appraising him of what happened with Omega after Ala Mhigo’s liberation, but he couldn’t help but wonder if in moments like now when she sat silent and contemplative if she wished the Founder of the First Brood could be roused awake with a simple please and thank you.

   “Practicing the Strong Silent type act you have then I take it?” He chuckled, though it felt hollow in his chest. He hoped it brought her some sort of ease. Danica Voss, Ala Mhigan Native Scion, seemed to always relax when she heard him laugh, or in general display some sort of ease from a smile to a gentle nod to just having less bags under his eyes more days than normal. He prayed it worked even when the act was false.

   “Oh?” Her head snapped up finally, looking from the corpse of the primogenitor to the former Azure Dragoon. What greeted him did nothing to put ease in his heart, well... nothing had recently if he was being honest with himself. And as he liked to view himself a realist, he liked to believe he was honest with himself. Her eyes were red and the bags under them outpaced his own. Exhaustion sat in those once brilliant blinding eyes. And that smile that saw such good in him, even as he existed as nothing short of a monstrous creature of vengeance, was nothing but a faint dim twitch at the edge of her lips.

   “Sorry, lost in thought.” She chuckled and he knew it was as false as his own. The smile that grew on her face didn’t reach her eyes and only the rhythmic kicking of her feet against the edge of the cold stone roof paced with her true anxiety. Fast and surprised. He’d caught her off guard, and that was never a good thing.

   “Lost in thought and yes, a moment to myself. And before you ask, no you're not interrupting.” In fact he was a welcome interruption. Her mind had grown to lingering on her fears. On this new threat, Fandaniel and his odd Lunar primals. Once more the ever present threat of universal extinction was on the horizon and she’d only just returned.

   “I need to steal my rest where I can no? Otherwise there's no rest for the wicked.” And by the gods, she needed to rest. Every movement now was like a forced march, and her heart could only take so much. Her eyes dipped away from his own greys as a familiar escapist thought crossed her mind.  Fray had offered her Freedom from this once.

  “Or Righteous, as it seems more often the case for you these days Lady Voss.” He chimed, turning his back to her to place his spear near the door. Close enough that even on this roof he need just think and grab it without having to run, but far enough away that it was in no way capable of interrupting any gentle thoughts either might have. Her eyes widened a spell at his words, and he heard an honest snort of a giggle echo through the empty night air. The melody brought a true smile to his face in turn. She was still there, but tired.

   “Oh please, don’t call me that. I’m not some noble lady of Ishgard.” The faint flush on her cheeks in the moonlight was enough to tell him she didn’t really mind, but was just caught off guard.She turned away and motioned away with her hand, and he found his smile grew with his pride.

   “True, but you are  my lady  after all. Does it offend that much?” He asked, gently tilting his head as he strode closer. Gloved hand reaching out for her extended one, grasping it firmly, only to quickly intertwine his digits with her own. He let out a low, almost content hum as he approached, gently tugging at their connection to turn her form round.

   “Not if you sit next to me.” She answered, pulling upon his own hand, dragging him towards the edge. How long had it been since they last saw each other? Traveled by one anothers side? Her endless optimism and hope tempered by his realism. Azure Dragoons together.

   Too long, he decided, flipping her hand over and bringing the back of her hand to his lips. A simple yet dated action, unlike him in any other circumstance but uniquely correct here. Alone. At the top of the Rising Stones. Not a soul to see the way his eyes warmed with a deep fondness when they returned to her own. Nor the growing toothy smile on her face, and the light slowly entering her eyes as she felt at Home.

   “I suppose I can do that.” He chuckled, letting go of her hand only momentarily to take his assigned seat next to her. Legs hanging over the edge of the roof, eyes lingering over the horizon. No wonder she got so lost in thought up here, he was almost swept away in the current himself. It had to be something about the air. Intoxicating. Or perhaps it’d just been an unending series of long drawn out days.

   Words were not what saved him from the tide however. But the gentle press of her head upon his shoulder, and the wrap of her arm through his. Absently, he rested his hand atop hers on his bicep and looked down at her comfortable but still troubled eyes. Before he had a chance to speak however, she did.

   “You’re home.”  Her voice was but a distant whisper, almost lost on the night breeze. He blinked, taken aback, and was awaiting the inevitable ‘Where have you been?’ but -

   “I missed you.” It never came.

   And he found himself for a moment, unable to respond. A warmth blossoming in his chest that should have been familiar by now but always took him off guard. Of course she didn’t ask. She knew if it was important, he’d tell her. She... trusted so readily it scared him sometimes. Someone was bound to come around and see her endless optimism and dreams and kindness and open hands and hurt her for it. Wield the knife that would steal her from the world forever. Away from him.

   The thought of that turned his stomach into painful knots. It had almost already happened once. Upon the Dark, with that imposter in Zenos body and that wavering sickness over her. That broke her concentration, almost killed her. He prayed like then, he’d be lucky enough to stop any blade aiming for her back but -

   These were not words voiced to air. They were visible only in the churning grey storm clouds of his eyes and hers were closed to them for now. So his answer was in action and the gentle touch of his hand upon the back of her head. Cradling her form against him.

   “I missed you too.”

   His voice sounded hoarse to his own ears, the words somehow not enough to convey exactly what he felt. His... lack of practice at this whole being a person not obsessed with vengeance thing was really starting to bite him in the ass and he hated it!

   But it was enough and his worry was for naught. Her anxious kicking legs against the stone stilled, and though he could hear it, he imagined her heart did as well. She kept eyes closed and just wrapped her arms around his torso, in a firm side hug that was a welcome gift.

   “Are you alright?” A question voiced later, as the moon grew higher in the night sky and the warmth turned to a faint chill. The silence hadn’t be bad. Neither of them particularly disliked silence. But it had felt empty which was odd for them. This wasn't the silence of being alone together.

   “No.” She answered so instantly that it almost startled him. The matter of fact tone, the way her eyes opened only a crack to make sure none else were around to hear her answer. It was concerning. Estinien had half the mind to just pick her up and wander inside to whatever room she called her own in the Stones and wrap her in enough blankets that she’d be warm and well... That wouldn’t have done anything if she was upset beyond probably give her another reason to be upset.

   “What’s wrong then?” He asked instead, taking the novel approach he’d been trying of late of using his damn words rather than sitting in a corner and hoping someone explained things to him eventually.

   “Where should I begin?” There was a bitterness to her tone that he’d seen only once before. After the events in Ul’dah. After the apparent assassination of the Sultana, blame placed on the Warrior of Light and the scions, and the death of many of her friends. He furrowed his brow, trying to think of how to answer.

   “The Start, I know you know I’m not the best with words so help me understand so maybe I can be better with them.” He exhaled the waterfall of words like a Coerthan avalanche and hoped she was fast enough to dodge the snowfall. Else he might have started her and he’d kick himself in the legs later.

   “Well then, let me say I’ve never been alright, Estinien. I’m just very good at faking bravery until it works. I’m terrified. I’ve always been terrified that one misstep on any of our parts now can just... break the world!” She unwound her arms from him and looked despondent at her palms,hidden by the omnipresent fingerless black gloves worn with time and constant usage till the fabric upon the upright hands were paper thin.  She balled them into fists, sharp nails piercing the fabric in already known locations. She’d done this sort of angry motion time and again.

   “You won’t though.” He tried to console, his words not false but too easy. Not conveying the fullness of what he thought. Something he knew the moment she pulled away. Eyes open with a scared rage that he’d seen once before as well. But he tried not to think how dangerously close he came to killing her that day on the Steps of Faith.

   “You don’t know that!” She exclaimed, slamming those balled fists onto her own lap in exasperation. Looking up at him with those wide terrified eyes he hated seeing. “No one does!” Perhaps it was in a way hopeful, this uncertainty in the future but it didn’t feel that way to her at this moment.

   “I know I don’t, and I know normally it would be you chastising me for jumping to the worst conclusion. But...” She exhaled and he found his words lacking. Stalling and falling off, like they were broken keys on a piano that ruined whatever song he was attempting. Her eyes fell from the terror and what replaced them was a sad, accepting smile. One he’d never seen before, and hoped he never would again.

   “You don’t have to say anything you know. It’s probably just good I got that off my chest.” She laughed, shaking her head at herself. It was good to air that but it didn’t deal with the problem she was well aware of. It just took the top level off the simmering pot and prevented it from overflowing once more.  

   “I want to, though. I want you to know that your fear is...” He pleaded, taking her hands in his one at a time, gently running a finger across her knuckles in some vain attempt to soothe her nerves that actually did a bit more than he thought it would. Her shoulders dropped and she looked away, down at the now empty streets of the adventuring town.

   “It’s good. It means you’re aware of what’s on the line. It’s terrible and eating at your heart obviously, but it means you’re not blind to what's at risk for your dreams of a better future." He leaned forward, lowering his voice not out of fear that someone might dare hear the former Azure Dragoon be soft - that sort of fear died the moment he made that recent mistake in Ishgard - but out of the intimacy it provided with his head now gently resting against her own. He could see the faint tears she blinked away time and again, see the exhaustion bleeding from her brows and hear the whisper she tried to hide.

   “Sometimes I wish I was...” One of those damn tears she had been trying so hard to restrain fell down her cheek in a silent sod. Leaving a clear pathway in the days dirt she had yet been unable to clear. Hells, she probably hadn't had a chance to clean herself up since the fights in Thanalan.

   “If you were, you'd be no better than Ilberd." He whispered in turn, allowing an edge into his hidden gentleness at that traitor's name. The pain he had caused Voss was inexorably present, still in her heart. The trust she had for him, the one who so willingly put up with her endless questions about  home without growing bored with the Half Elezen, the one who slew their people for brilliant dreams of freedom stained red with innocent blood. He shook his head, bad words really on his part given a second tear joined the first.

"I know but-" She shivered like the cold wind in the night was frigid icy blades digging into her skin, her soul even. She choked back a sob that she refused to let air. Proud. She was always proud. That much was true. “It... hurts.” She grasped at her chest balling up the ripped fabric of her shirt. She’d need to mend that later.

"Your heart is a wonderfully heavy burden to bear" He whispered, holding her in his arms firm, while one of his scarred hands gently wiped at the growing sorrow staining her tired face. It wounded him to see her so, and at this point he wasn’t sure if it was his own softness upon her or the connection they held as dragoons. “It’s so wonderful, and open. You see the good in everyone, and even when you can’t you manage to fish out the good they can’t see. It’s just so filled with love and hope for the world. So heavy with the weight of your dreams.” He continued an avalanche of words he hoped were correct. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against her own.

"But, perhaps consider not bearing it alone." He released his hold on her the moment she burrowed her face into his chest. Her shaking less now, her breathing more steady but the tears falling much more readily. That worked. Thank Halone that worked. A fragile smile twitched at the edge of his lips as he brushed hair from her face. Her long tangled black waves not unlike a veil of mourning around her face. Of all those in the world, she deserved most to mourn.

Did this silence count as mourning? He wondered as he traced soothing circles upon her back as intermediary sobs escaped her, muffled by his wrinkled coat. He hoped it did. He very much hoped it did.

When she next spoke the moon was beginning it’s descent into day. How long had they sat there in silence? An eternity? Not long enough? He didn’t know. But when her hoarse voice did manage to reach his ears as she slowly looked up at him he listened.

“I think I’m going to go to bed now.” She chuckled faintly at her own words. What was she some young child demanding more time up only to realize the weight of sleep upon their backs? No. She was just tired. So tired and this had been such a long day.

“Let me walk you back then.” It wasn’t a request or a question. It was really a demand and he hoped it didn’t sound like one. Unwinding his arms from around her swung his legs back towards the safety of the hard ground of the roof before reaching out with his spear and returning it to its place on his back.

“It’s just my room Estinien, I’m not going to get lost.” She chuckled once more, joining him by standing and showing she didn’t actually mind the idea of once more threading her fingers with his and giving a tired squeeze.

“Just, please. I’ve missed you after all.” He reached for her other hand to do the same, stopping it from reaching the door that would lead into the top floor of the Rising Stones, and only a really short walk to her room. Top floor. So she could do just this. Hide and brood up high like all dragoons should.

She huffed loudly, attempting to cross her arms across her chest but they were captive and she didn’t dare free them. “Fine. Fine. I guess that’s alright, given I’ve missed you too.” She shook her head, the smiling growing by the second. Ah, little victories. Freeing but one of his hands he pushed open the wooden door and bowed. Waiting for her to walk through and drag him with her.

#ffxiv #ff14 #estinien x wol #estinien wyrmblood #danica voss

[beastars-takes]

Zootopia Takes: The Power of Really Liking Each Other

Our main event, Beastars Takes, will resume soon, but in the meantime I want to talk about one of my favorite movie relationships:

Has this been talked about to death by other people? Yes. But this is my blog and I write it for free so I can do what I want.

Note: this is not a shipping post--this is just an examination of their canonical relationship in the movie and why it rules.

At first glance, this is your typical enemies-to-friends story. I love those. But while the typical arc tends to involve two characters who can’t stand each other, who eventually develop a grudging respect for one another (often through some kind of shared ordeal) and maybe thaw into actual friendliness at the end. Zootopia packs all of that into the first half--by the midway point they are clearly not just allies, but friends, and by the end of the film they’re inseparable.

It’s important to recognize this isn’t just for the hell of it, or just to be cute--the closeness and trust they build is the linchpin of their success in the final moments of the movie.

All the reasons why, after the jump.

Something I talked about in the previous post was the messaging of Zootopia, and I don’t want to rehash it too much here. It’s a movie about prejudice, and the work it takes to overcome it. A key theme (one that it shares with Beastars, incidentally) is that friendships with those who are different from you are hard--but they are worth it.

Part 1: They Hate Each Other! (Right?)

Now...it goes without saying that when these two first meet, they bounce off each other hard. Each is seeing the other at their absolute worst.

Judy can’t stand Nick because he takes every bit of optimism she has about this world and throws it back in her face. She want to use him as a prop in her vision of an equal society, where “not all foxes” are crooks. He laughs at her. He humiliates her. All he has to do is walk away, but he takes his time. He twists the knife.

For his part, Nick sees a laughably ineffectual bunny who condescends to him and threatens him with jail for the crime of...humiliating her. She may not personally be a threat to him, but she wields the institutional power of the ZPD--a power he has plenty of reason to be afraid of--and she does it irresponsibly.

On first viewing, Nick inarguably wins this exchange. He avoids arrest, reads her to absolute filth and leaves her stuck in cement.

And he makes her really sad. Nice!

But, and I don’t pretend to be the first person to have pointed this out, on second viewing it’s obvious he can guess her story so well because it’s basically his story. The only difference, in his mind, is that he’s accepted the reality that he’ll never be allowed to live the life he wants, while she is still vainly pursuing hers.

I don’t know about you, dear reader, but the people I’ve met who have always most pissed me off are the people who remind me of things I hate about myself. The people who seem to embody the flaws I’ve worked to minimize. Nick’s naive hope is what has brought him the most pain in his life. He sees this bunny full of the same naive hope, surmises that she’s facing the same failures he did and yet stubbornly refusing to learn from them. It’s irritating.

Pictured: irritation.

Maybe I am projecting, but if Nick is anything like me, he probably didn’t walk away entirely happy from this exchange. Yes, he “won,” but he was also reminded of everything about himself that he least wanted to think about.

Part 2: They Are Not Very Good at Hating Each Other

So, the thing about Judy is, she is naive. By default, she assumes people are her friend. But she’s not stupid.

Nick assumes she is stupid, not least because she hasn’t wisely given up on her dreams like he has, and...he learns that she maybe not so fun to pick on after all.

So they wind up doing the first part of this enemies-to-friends routine, allies of necessity.

So, naturally, because he is Him, he makes it his mission to torment her.

In fact, we get two whole scenes where all he does he does is watch her struggle and make this face.

The first read of this behavior is that he’s just enjoying the failures of someone he hates. He says as much later. But I would also argue--from a viewer’s perspective--Judy is ridiculously entertaining and charming throughout these encounters. She wears her heart on her sleeve, and it’s hard not to like people like that.

Is there more happening here than just schadenfreude? I won’t pretend to know for sure. But worth considering.

By the time they’re investigating the limousine, his sabotage has diminished into something more like gentle trolling. And you can’t see this face, in context...

...and tell me she isn’t starting to like him, at least a little bit.

He’s also starting to help! By the time they’re past the minor detour of almost being murdered by a mob boss, he’s entirely cooperative, helping her conduct interviews and look for clues. The movie doesn’t call particular attention to this, but it almost did.

Finally, let’s look at Nick’s behavior when they’re being chased by a rabid jaguar. He could have absolutely booked it, with no regard for the cop who was blackmailing him into helping her.

These moments go by so quickly, but they’re hugely revealing of his true character, even before he defends her in front of Chief Bogo.

He picks her up when she falls.

More importantly, when he gets to the skytram, his first instinct isn’t to jump in--it’s to hold the door for her:

He sees she can’t make it, and she even tells him to leave without her. He doesn’t. He holds the door until he can’t anymore, and as a result he’s nearly killed.

Nick is a good boy.

Part 3: They Are Friends Now

She save his life, so he saves her job. This is a key story beat, and it’s a Disney movie, so there’s not a lot of subtlety (except how the specular highlights in Judy’s eyes fade as Bogo asks for her badge--the light literally goes out of her. Go watch).

But it’s such a sweet moment of teamwork--he was contemptuous toward her from the start because she believed in herself. This is the first time she’s simply given up in the whole movie, and he steps up. Because he believes in her now.

And she believes in him! Or, she wants to.

Judy’s supportiveness here is sweet, but it’s also still a little selfish. It’s not that different from their interaction at the ice cream shop, really: she wants to meet a fox who defies stereotypes, who is easy for her to like. Someone who ticks all the boxes to prove her family wrong.

When he starts being more foxy, later--self-identifying as a predator, showing his claws, challenging her--we learn that her supportiveness is conditional.

Am I being too hard on her? Sure. She’s been in bunny country her whole life. She’s new to this and she’s trying. But that’s where she’s at.

But still! They’re friends now. They’re no longer pretending they don’t like each other. Judy’s openly encouraging, Nick is fully in her corner, and we get a few cute sequences where they keep being more and more impressed with each other.

He’s still not above affectionately messing with her, and she’s getting worse at pretending to dislike it.

And he trusts her enough to let her flush him down a toilet...

Which gives us this heartbreaking shot where he thinks she’s drowned. He cares a whole lot about this bunny.

She likes him too! Enough to want to team up on a more permanent basis. This is pretty standard-fare enemies-to-friends stuff now, but considering where we started, and considering they’ve known each other for all of two days? Not bad!

It’s clear this moment means far more to him than it does to her, too. It’s actually taken very little persuading from Judy to get him to step up and be brave and helpful and trustworthy. The fact that he’s turned around and opened up to her so fast suggests he’s been ready for an opportunity like this for his entire life, and never got it. I mean, look at his face.

The foundational flaw in her worldview is still there, though, and it’s about to do almost-irreparable damage to their whirlwind friendship.

Part 5: Fuck!

So Judy gives her press conference, and gives a great example of why police usually answer every question with “the matter is currently under investigation,” or “we’re not prepared to comment further at this time.” Honestly, though, this is on Bogo--I had coworkers who once did some press interviews, and they spent over a week doing media training. They didn’t even break a major kidnapping case. So, you know.

So she repeats some weird race science stuff she assumes is true because someone in a lab coat said it, which is amusingly similar to how race science (or “race realism”) often propagates--people with low-rent doctorates from crappy universities write a bunch of scientifically shoddy material and people say “well, he has a PhD!”

And then Nick has a PTSD flashback? I don’t want to be irresponsible and make an armchair diagnosis, but also...that is absolutely what is depicted on screen.

You’re not immediately “better” after something like this, which is why I cut Nick a bit of slack when he basically blows up their friendship.

Judy...doesn’t get it. It’s completely heartbreaking, because she likes him, and doesn’t understand why he’s mad, and isn’t self-reflective enough to stop and think maybe he has a point. Not until it’s too late. He tests her, and she fails.

Their friendship has always been a little inequal. He’s trusted her with everything, shown her his deepest vulnerabilities. She’s never trusted him completely.

So he leaves.

I don’t want to impugn her professionalism by suggesting she wouldn’t have quit the force if she hadn’t had that friendship-ending fight, but, you know. Maybe.

This is the second time she gives up, and this time he’s not there to pick her up again.

Judy is intensely goal-oriented, and I don’t think she realized what Nick’s friendship meant to her, as the first person in the city who truly believed in her, until it was too late. Judy is sweet and well-meaning but emotional intelligence is not really her strong suit (which is actually cool to see in a female Disney protagonist, imo).

So, while it would have been nice for her to track Nick down immediately and apologize, I think it makes sense for them to spend time apart. Her own self-perception has been shattered, and she needs time to figure out how she went so wrong.

So when she does come back, she delivers one of the best animated apologies I’ve ever seen. Only AtLA compares, in my mind.

Part 6: They Are Much Better Friends Now

Nick forgives her, because of course he does.

(Sidebar--people talk about how he kept her carrot pen the whole time they were apart. He also kept his handkerchief from Ranger Scouts, AND he only wears shirts that match the wallpaper in his mother’s house. He desperately needs a hug.)

Credit to Nick also, who can’t fight and has no police training whatsoever, who has multiple times been almost killed helping her out, now agreeing to help her out again. She’s not even threatening him with jail this time!

We, the viewers, are then rewarded with this great montage of them being best friends.

She’s finally stopped pretending not to be amused by his shenanigans.

(One other sidebar here--Nick is canonically a really gentle character. For all their adventuring, this is only time in the movie he gets physical with anyone: to protect the bunny. Again, he definitely can’t fight and immediately gets smacked across the room. But it’s the thought that counts, right?)

Per the post title, more visual evidence of them really liking each other.

Judy trips on a dead body, and here we get the second time in the movie that Judy tells Nick to leave without her, and he won’t--this time, he refuses explicitly.

Which then gives us the opportunity for the big moment--the culmination of all this care and intimacy and trust.

In order to con Bellwether, she lets him stalk her, and bite her throat. This has been often pointed out, but it’s important--throughout the movie, Judy’s wriggling rabbit nose has been used as a signifier of fear and suspicion. It wriggles when she’s spying on Nick at the beginning. It wriggles like hell when he confronts her after her press conference.

Not here. Doesn’t move. It’s a great, clearly intentional animation choice that tells a close observer (or more likely, a repeat viewer) that she’s completely unafraid.

She trusts him.

I could write a whole other post about how well-scripted this movie is, how every scene is doing half a dozen different things, but the way the personal and the professional come together here, the way the threads of prejudice and friendship and the police case all tie together in this moment. It’s good shit.

This is basically where things end, in terms of character development, but we get a bunch more shots of them clearly adoring each other:

So there it is.

To sum up, certainly not suggesting this movie invented “characters liking each other,” or anything like that. But it goes above and beyond in portraying a friendship that’s not just one born of circumstance, one that’s authentic and unmistakably loving. Characters who enjoy spending time with each other, regardless of what’s going on around them.

I hope everyone is able to experience friendships like that. I absolutely treasure the few I have.

Appendix: The Shipping Thing

I hope I’ve made all this ship-agnostic, which was my intention. I personally like the ship, and I think the reason it resonates with people is because that love and trust and closeness is clearly there, and a romantic relationship creates a lot more easy opportunities for dialing those things up even higher.

I would also argue, if pressed, that the amount of teasing and physicality that happens reads as pretty flirty. If they were humans I knew in real life, I’d definitely think there was something going on there. But I’m an American, where touching and emotional intimacy tends to be read as romantic. Also, animals are a lot more cuddly than humans. So who knows? I think it’s perfectly reasonable to read them as platonic friends until the end of time.

But, one way or another, they love each other a lot. Shout out to this, one of the most emotionally rewarding relationships I’ve ever seen in a cartoon.

#zootopia #zootropolis #zootopia takes #judy hopps #nick wilde #disney

[dogbearinggifts]

There is nothing wrong with optimism. 

I know you’ve been told otherwise. Maybe not in so many words. Maybe no one has sat you down and told you in no uncertain terms that you are not to look on the bright side, not to believe the best case scenario, and not to have hope for the future. 

But you’ve gotten the message. It’s been a favorite of the media lately. Every outlet, it seems, runs grim statistics on COVID-19 deaths alongside dire predictions on how it will end. Stores stay closed. You stay inside, and you hear the same things again and again: This is bad, and it’s going to get worse. You can’t stop it. The people who don’t believe those things are the ones who spread the disease and get others killed. If you don’t cower in fear of a future worse than anything you could possibly imagine, you’ll be one of them. 

And I’m here to tell you that nothing could be further from the truth. 

Yes, this is a dangerous disease. Deadly in some cases, excruciatingly painful in others. And it’s spreading. Those things are facts, and I’m not going to dispute them. But fearing the future isn’t going to change them. 

There’s a temptation, I think, to conflate pessimism with realism—and with a pandemic going on, cynicism feels right. We need to take this seriously, after all—and if we think that it’s going to work out fine, that feels uncomfortably close to recklessness. If we think it’ll have a good outcome, we might stop washing our hands, stop keeping our distance, stop watching ourselves to ensure we don’t spread a disease we might not know we have. Only by focusing on the worst case scenario, the media tells us, can we take proper precautions. 

But taking precautions and a positive outlook are not mutually exclusive. You can believe everything will turn out fine because you take precautions. You can believe lives will be saved because you wash your hands and keep your distance. You can believe people will avoid getting sick because you stay home. And you know what? Those beliefs are not unfounded. There’s evidence to support them. Preventing the spread of germs will prevent the spread of this disease, and that will save lives. 

And you’re not a fool for believing it. 

Hope is not foolish. It’s not senseless. If you genuinely think that the good things you do are pointless because everything is going to end in disaster anyway, those good things are going to look empty and silly. But when you believe that your actions might make a difference, however small that difference may be, those actions take on purpose. They gain meaning. They become important. No longer are you going about an empty ritual in hopes of not contributing to the apocalypse; now you are actively contributing to the solution. You’re not keeping the world from becoming any worse; you’re helping it become a little bit better. And if thousands and thousands join you in making the world a little better, then those changes will multiply. 

We don’t know how all this will end. Maybe it’ll ravage society as we know it and make it impossible to return to any semblance of normalcy when all this is over. 

But maybe....

....just maybe....

....it’ll turn out fine. 

And there’s nothing wrong with believing that. 

#covidー19 #covid19 #coronavirus #coronapocalypse #thoughts from me #thoughts #optimism #hope #social distancing #wash your hands kids #wash your hands

[blondeblackwidow]

Mesmerizing Part 1  2 (Poe x Reader)

a/n: I’m mobile posting so the format is weird until I get home. Live fic posting from Disney y’all. Enjoy.

wc: 661

You woke up to a sun beam on your face, and your bed empty, you furrowed your brow. It was too quiet.

It was a warm day on Yavin IV, you two had moved about a year after the Battle of Exegol. Kes was getting too old to run the ranch by himself, and you, well you would go anywhere Poe Dameron lead you.

You rose from bed, and headed out onto the deck, only to hear giggling from out by the trees. You chuckled and walked across the grassy field. And came to the clearing of trees, where the large X Wing was parked, a parting gift from General Dameron… to himself. That earned an eye roll from Admiral Dameron, which was you.

The hatch was wide open, and Poe was sitting in the cockpit, with your three year old in his lap. She was pushing buttons and he was talking about what each one did.

Leia Dameron was three years old, and loved everything she ever laid eyes on. Named after the closest thing you had to a mother, and the one woman who see the galaxy with such brutual realism and yet with such a glimmer of optimism.

All you could hope for your little girl was a fraction of Leia Organa’s wisdom with none of her heartbreak.

But here she was, wrapping her hands around X Wing controls, in her dad’s lap, just like you did when you first fell in love with him. He looked up from her dark curls to you, and smiled.

“Morning sleepy head.” He yelled, and you walked up to the ship.

“You two snuck out without me.” You climbed up the ladder and leaned over the edge of the cockpit, kissing your daughters head, before moving to Poe’s lips.

“Hi mama!” Leia popped her head up. “Papa is teaching me to fly!”

“Oh yeah? And where you flying to?”

“Into battle, to take out the scum.” She said, brows furrowed in a line looking at the controls. You whipped your head to poe and he threw his hands up.

“I didn’t say it.”

“Leia, sweetheart where did you learn that word?”

“Uncle Finn said it when he came to visit papa.” You glanced at your husband

“Don’t say it anymore sweetie, it’s a bad word, Uncle Finn shouldn’t have said it.” He corrected her. You jumped down from the cockpit.

“Will Black Squadron come down and have some lunch?” They climbed out of the cockpit, Leia on her dads back.

-

“Do you think I could be a pilot mama?” Leia questioner from under her covers and you read her a story.

“Of course, you could do anything.” Force please anything but that. You begged internally.

“I wanna fly like papa, I wanna take down the bad guys.” She yawned crying and you kissed her head.

“Hopefully you’ll never meet them, mi vida.” You shut her door, and enter your room, to a half asleep Poe reading an old book.

“I will kill Finn if he ever says that word around her again.” Poe rolled his eyes and shut his book. You changed into your pajamas.

“You used to be so proud of it back then.” He smiled. “Rebel Scum.” He imitated your voice and you threw your shirt from the day at him.

“That was before I had a little girl. And the actions associated with that word do not need to be explained to a four year old girl.” You scolded.

“I surrender, I’ll let him know when he comes back around.” You slid into bed and he pulled you onto his chest. “We were kinda badass you have to admit.”

“Maybe just a little.” You both started laughing, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. Your first thought when he hopped out of his ship was that he was shorter than expected. Now he was a giant pain in your ass, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

#poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron #star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars x reader

[daresplaining]

what does daredevil mean to you? what made you gravitate to the character?

    I’m a fairly recent Daredevil fan, all things considered. I was introduced to DD in February 2013, in the midst of the Waid era. The first issue I read was actually Volume 2 #500, the final issue of Brubaker’s run– which, even though I had no idea what was going on, piqued my interest enough to prompt me to seek out more. I went to the comic shop, grabbed the first issue of Waid’s run, and slammed face-first into this awesome page: 

[ID: A page from Waid’s Daredevil run. Matt Murdock is standing on a rooftop in his civvies. He is talking on a cellphone while he reconfigures his cane into a grapple hook. He starts unbuttoning his shirt and then backflips off the edge of the building, still talking on the phone. The grapple hook catches the roof edge. A red-gloved hand tosses Matt’s civvies in through a window.]

    Daredevil Volume 3-4 was– to me– an excellent introductory run and an excellent run in general because it managed, again and again, to get at the core of what makes Matt Murdock such a great character. It distilled everything cool about him and put it on full display, both textually and visually. The above image, of the blind lawyer in the business suit casually backflipping off a building while talking on the phone, lodged itself in my brain and would not leave. It built a foundation around which my love for Matt and his world grew. Here was someone who was confident and dashing and reckless and far, far more than he appeared, while at the same time still being mostly human. Those traits hooked me. I know this was a character I wanted to follow around, if only to see all the trouble such a person would inevitably get into. 

    And the more I read, the more layers I uncovered and the more fascinating Matt became to me. The intricacies of his powers invite endless speculation about his perception of the world, his daily experiences, his strengths and weaknesses (The concept of a superhero whose powers frequently act as weaknesses is really compelling to me). I love that he is blind, not only because disabled superheroes are so few and far between, but also because of the extra layer of complication this adds to every aspect of his life, particularly when addressed by writers who are not afraid to embrace that part of his identity. Matt is always wearing some mask or other– acting sighted as Daredevil, acting mild-mannered as Matt Murdock, acting non-powered in both identities, always grappling with who he is, who he wants to be, and how much of himself he feels comfortable sharing with the world. I love the contradictions in his backstory– the nerd with an athletic streak whose boxer father loved him dearly but kept him stifled through overprotectiveness. The mother who left and then came back later when he needed a friend. The fact that Matt’s decision to become a superhero was tied up in so many factors– a response to years of bullying, an effort to avenge his father while also directly disobeying him, an act of empowerment that may have been more self-serving than heroic. I love his name; “Daredevil” is one of the coolest superhero monikers out there, and the Netflix show writers can meet me in the hallway for refusing to acknowledge that. I love that on a very real and significant level, no matter how much pain he goes through in every area of his life, being a superhero brings Matt happiness. I love his dynamic with Foggy, which is one of the strongest and longest-running friendships in the Marvel Universe. I love his tumultuous, painful, horrible love life, though I do wish it didn’t have such a large body count. I love the richness of Matt’s character– his cockiness, his adrenaline junkie-ness, his stubbornness, his intense devotion and capacity for love, all of the blemishes and ugliness that come out when things start going poorly for him, and his ability to push his way through all of the garbage and pain and misery the world pours on him and manage, somehow, to survive it. Matt embodies a perfect balance of gritty realism (he is not a perfect person, and sometimes you can’t help hating him) and hopeful optimism; he is a character who has successfully existed at both ends of the superhero tonal range, and is written best when those two sides of his personality are both present and balanced. I love that he is flawed enough to be relatable and heroic enough to be inspiring. Karl Kesel gave him a great line in Volume 1 #353: “I’m an endless contradiction that’d never stand up to cross-examination. Always thought that was part of my charm.” And he was right. 

    On a more practical level, the quality of Daredevil comics has, for the most part, been extremely high. Read through all 55 years’ worth of material and you will end up with a collection of mostly excellent, compelling stories with beautiful art. Daredevil has been lucky in this way. For every run I don’t like, there are at least five that I do. And on another practical level, there is also a love that comes from familiarity, which is why I think superhero comics fans tend to get so intensely passionate about their favorite characters. My initial fascination with the premise of Daredevil prompted me to read a lot of it, and then, at a certain point, there was no turning back. After you’ve spent several hundred issues with a character, they start to feel like a friend– if an occasionally frustrating friend who needs to stop faking his death please. This is also one of the dangers of this sort of media. That familiarity can morph into a sense of ownership, and I have to keep reminding myself that any writer who depicts Matt in a way that doesn’t match my understanding of his character is not, in fact, a bad writer. It’s just that they connect with Matt in a different way than I do. I think, for instance, that Joe Quesada’s tastes are very different than mine, but the guy clearly loves Daredevil. I’m sure that if every DD fan were asked this same question, there would be a huge amount of variety based on their introductory run, their favorite stories, their personal experiences and values, etc., and that richness and diversity of interpretation is another reason why I think Daredevil is so special. 

#devil-without-fear #Daredevil #Matt Murdock #Asks #Commentary

[clericbyers]

okay, so, if s4 is set in the upside down, and there's danger at every turn in the UD... what if we get a byler confession, while they think they'll die? like, mike and will are being chased by a monster, they can't outrun it, and mike "sacrifices" himself to save will. while mike's running at it, fully convinced he'll die, he yells out a quick confession. it's really dramatic, and then everyone shows up, and starts killing the monster. it's later revealed that they heard the confession

Will’s chest burns with a conglomerate of pressures from inside his lungs and outside in the air. His arm is twisted funnily but he can barely feel the pain in comparison to the burning fire searing through his veins. One, two, one, two, he repeats in his head, taking a step with each desolate count. The darkness is never ending just as it was all those years ago and while there is some comfort found in not being alone, as he hears a crunch and whirls around with a quickness to spot Mike tripping over a fallen branch, Will is equally scared to have brought his friends along with him into this dangerous land. The Upside Down knows Will is here; the Mind Flayer can taste his flesh as easily as Will can taste the spores on his tongue with every breath from his mouth. No one is safe and Will and Mike are stupidly separated from the others. It was an accident, a moment spent too long trying to reassure each other that they would be okay, and suddenly, the party was split and Mike and Will were left alone to race against time. Time trapped in the morphing body of a shadow, of the monsters, of Death itself.

Time moves awkwardly; it ticks by slowly with the legs of an addled creature yet is equally as unchangeable as the irrefutable concept. The second hand slows its trajectory. It oscillates between moon-driven chilling ocean waves and sun-struck ripples of hot, sticky heat. It’s stuck between seconds yet jumping into minutes, never stable yet stable enough for time to pass. A bell tolls somewhere in the distance. Top of the hour, what hour Will can’t even begin to guess. Time works differently here, looping around his ankles until he trips into the next minute and the next minute and the next minute until he’s toppling over the edge into a free fall. A blanket of misdirection topples over Will’s eyes and he skids to a stop with a heaving breath. He turns to look at Mike, who isn’t far away but is far enough away that he could be lost in the darkness without even realizing it.

Will snaps his fingers, a glimmer of light sparking from the tips of his numb fingers and he repeats the action again and again in hopes that Mike can see the flashing light and find his way back to Will’s side. That’s all Will has ever wanted: Mike right at his side, forever and always, never leaving him as he can never leave Mike. The other boy makes his way where he belongs and hunches over as he catches a shaky breath or two. Mike’s bangs are plastered with sweat against his forehead and Will feels a silly urge within to brush those thin strands away. Perhaps it’s an urge he’s always had, perhaps it’s an urge he has now that they are lost and the possibility of time catching up to them disassembles into realism. Will’s not pessimistic, he leaves that to Lucas, but he’s not fairly optimistic either, he leaves that to Dustin. Realism isn’t where his ideas settle either, not since the Upside Down stole reality from him and shoved nightmares down his throat until he was choking on slugs and burning from the inside out as a demonic monster controlled his body. He doesn’t know where his ideas lie, perhaps nominalism or a more pragmatic strain of realism, but it doesn’t really matter when the world is falling apart around him and philosophical disciplines mean little in the face of near death.

Still, there’s something about Death’s touch hovering over Will’s throat as he watches Mike that makes him question such minimal things as the way one looks at life. And when Mike looks over at Will and shoots him a soft smile despite the blood and dirt smearing his face, Will is struck with a smidgen of optimism, a subtle mist against the crushing sensations taking over his thoughts. Maybe things aren’t that bad when Will’s got his best friend looking at him like he’s the only person that matters in the world. No, not the only person that matters in the world—they know first hand there are at least two worlds in existence, maybe more—Will is the only person that matters in his world, and that’s far more touching than anything else.

Will would kiss Mike if he had permission to do so.

The moment is gone as easily as it appeared, snapped in half with fear and shock as a monster’s cry shrieks through the air. Mike stands full and quickly turns toward the sound, reaching a hand out for Will in an odd gesture of comfort. Will doesn’t know if he’s supposed to take Mike’s hand, but he does anyway, shuddering at the familiar touch that’s been kept from him for so long. Mike’s fingers are warm despite the Upside Down’s chilly atmosphere and for a moment Will wonders if Mike is the one between them with the electric manipulation powers. Mike’s hold tightens and in the blink of an eye, Will finds himself slammed into Mike’s chest, his twisted arm throbbing as it smashes against the taller boy’s body.

Will doesn’t have a moment to ask what’s happening before the clock is ticking and he’s stumbling into the next moment in time. His fingers slip from Mike’s grip, wetness from sweat and moisture making things too slippery to maintain a solid hold. Mike turns back to grab at him but Will is already free falling and nothing but air fills his fist as he reaches out to grab onto whatever he can. The distance between them grows larger but Will still feels the echo of Mike’s warm hand on his. He can hear the monster screaming again, branches crunching and crumbling to dust under the creature’s heated feet. Will knows he’s not physically there anymore, but time has yet to catch up with his physical location so he sees the monster getting closer. He watches scaly claws and sharp teeth slither toward Mike, prepared to strike and taste the revitalizing, viscous blood of the boy who resists the Upside Down the most. Mike is still facing Will, his mouth wide open from calling out Will’s name. Mike can’t see the monster behind him, he can’t see that he’s seconds away from dying, so Will calls out in turn hoping that the other boy can hear him.

Mike turns, notices the monster, and then starts sprinting as fast he can to close the distance between him and Will and lengthen the one between himself and the monster. Will trips into a stand still, time frozen within him yet everything around him continues on, slinking through the shadows as it chases after his friends and family. Mike’s gesticulating wildly and shouting something Will can’t really hear, but when he skirts to a stop by Will, he can hear him much like hearing voices underwater. Will tries to open his mouth to reply but no words come out. Mike desperately looks back and then turns on his heel, face drawn tight with worry and a special type of concern that can’t be put in words. It hurts Will’s heart and he’s barely able to hear Mike’s parting words before the darkness takes his sight and envelopes him in smothered smoke. 

I’ll keep you safe, I promise! I’ll chase it away but you need to stay hidden! Wait for me, okay?

Wait for me, okay?

Wait for me, wait for me, wait for me.

Wait, wait, wait.

Tick, tock, tick tock, tick tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Time comes back in flaky, peeling layers that unwind and unfold into consciousness. It slams into Will’s body with every chilling breeze and he shivers back into reality with lingering shock. His hands are burning, sparkling with lightning and static despite him not even remembering activating an energy surge. It doesn’t matter now; somehow time has sent Will into the thick of things and there’s not a moment to waste. Almost like magnets of the opposite charge, Will and Mike easily find each other on the battlefield. Will feels like he’s missing something—there’s a gap in his memory, not as frightening as his memory loss when the Mind Flayer possessed him, but still an issue to be concerned about. When the monster is defeated though, the memories come back like gentle waves and it overlays the exhaustion burning his chest. Will’s chest is always burning, scarring over with every breath, but it burns with a soothing ache that reminds him that he’s alive and himself. The memories he lost when time played with his soul help mend the holes in his mind left by existing in the Upside Down.

The last memories Will regains are Mike’s parting words. They come through in a fuzzy haze as he’s holding the other boy to his chest, tending to the wounds Mike collected being overprotective of everyone. His hands freeze while wiping a bleeding scratch clean and time speeds up with his beating heart. Mike turns to give Will a look, probably curious as to why he suddenly stopped patching his wounds but the injured boy doesn’t get the chance to ask a question when Will pulls him up by his face and kisses him before time can steal the moment away.

I’ll keep you safe, I promise.

tick. tock.

I’ll chase it away but you need to stay hidden!

tick. tock.

Wait for me, okay?

tick.

You won’t ever lose me. Even if I die, you’re never alone.

tock.

Best thing I’ve ever done…

ticktockticktockticktockti—

…was fall in love with you.

#yams writes #byler #byeler #me practicing not using dialogue again haha #anon #yams answers

[x0401x]

Is no24 good

Okay, this took me a while to answer, so sorry for the late reply! And sorry for not putting a read more. I'm on mobile.

That's kind of a difficult question because I honestly don't know whether it's actually good or not. It's an original anime, so there's no source material to see more of its contents, and just one episode wasn't enough for me to decide whether or not I'll stick with it. The animation, art style, soundtrack, sceneries and narrative are pretty good, but there's a number of things that made me very wary of this show, so right now, I'm sitting on the fence. I'll list down the points that caught my attention so you can evaluate whether or not it's worth your time.

First, the bad ones:

1. It's extremely, unabashedly fatphobic. This is probably what turned me off the most in episode one. There's this one character who's actually a very nice but slightly overzealous junior of the protagonist, and it was honestly painful to see the way that the creators treat him. He's good-intentioned and energetic, and often sings his seniors' praises, yet there are many scenes that highlight unpleasant facts about him, which are all connected to his weight. For example, sweating a lot or having difficulty to pass through narrow spaces, or worst of all, that he stinks. This one made me seriously mad. I'm honestly hoping there will be some sort of scene later showing him playing a big part in something that will be of great help for the team (or at least for the protag) and that this will make everyone realize his true potential. But I won't raise my expectations because he's surely just a minor character. I feel really bad for him, and it's pretty hard to get attached to any of the characters who occasion  act like he's a nuisance.

2. Some characters look too childish. I mean, I can totally understand that people look like they're fresh out of high school during their first year in college, but that's not the case with the main character, and a few of the characters look straight-up like middle school kids. It's weird, specially when you think that the audience is supposed to feel charmed by their looks.

3. The pacing is a little fast. A lot happens in just one episode, and it's a bit hard to empathize with the characters while keeping up with the issues presented when you don't even know why you should be caring about them in the first place. So far, I've only managed to get attached to three or four characters even though dozens of them were introduced.

Now, for the good ones:

1. The storyline is fairly original. This normally earns points in my book. I won't go too much into detail, but first things first, it's very rare to see a sports anime centered on adult characters, who are college students, rather than teenagers. The premise is that the protag was involved in a motorcycle accident and got severe hernia, so he can no longer play the sport he loves, which in this case is rugby. He has gone through intensive rehab for many months and now has to repeat a year. In order to help his team and stay as close as he can to the field, he starts training to be the club's manager. That of course means heavy work, which he shouldn't be doing but does either way because it's all he has now. He screws up at first and is aware that he must look lame in the eyes of some teammates, but he continues doing what he thinks is best. I've never seen a plot like that before, so kudos to the writers for that sparkle of creativity.

2. The main character, Natsusa, is also pretty different from any I've ever seen in a sports anime. Girly name, girly face, but no one makes a fuss about it. He's passionate about rugby and was good at it, but he's no genius with miraculous talent that everyone is jealous of, no authority figure with exemplary discipline, no nerd with hidden skills that only work for specific moments of the game, and yet he's most definitely not what you could define as "normal". He's the idol type, and it shows both in his looks and personality. This is normally the kind of person that men hate, both in anime and real life. But he has leadership and persuasion on his favor, so he's liked by juniors and seniors, except one particular guy whose motives we don't know yet. He's also very perceptive and tries to do what he can for his teammates, going around helping them solve their respective problems, rather than the whole club's teamwork centering only on his issues for some reason and all of the members going through unnecessarily dramatic trouble to help him solve his problems instead. Natsusa tries to face his obstacles with positivity and optimism, so he doesn't lose face. In other words, he's not hotheaded, geeky, aloof or overly innocent like most sports anime protags, but fragile-looking yet charismatic and shrewd. He's also apparently from a functional family and it looks like both of his parents are alive. Also, rather than having one best friend who's like an overbearing mom and one rival who's always pushing his buttons, he has two best friends, one who's caring but not obsessive, and one who has seemingly screwed up big time. But Natsusa himself holds no grudges against him from what we have been shown, so there's probably more than it meets the eye to the whole situation. I like that breath of fresh air, though some of the cuteness in Natsusa is annoyingly exaggerated at times.

3. The characters seem generally less cliché and more human than average in this one. They have differing body types and not all of them are conventionally attractive. Moreover, you can tell they have underlying personal issues that are realistic and more drastic than the usual stuff, which involve health and sometimes cause them to give up things they love. Kudos for that realism, and I commend the narrative for throwing bits of info in the right places and doing foreshadowing the right way. And who knows? Maybe this also involves family problems and whatnot. It seems like a story about overcoming these issues and moving on in unexpected ways too, and if so, I hope it keeps up like that. The opening made me fear that I was going to watch a show about an idol group camouflaged as rugby team and I was scared shitless for a second, but I'm glad to have been betrayed on that matter.

Other than this, there's a lot of gay subtext going on, as one would expect, but I'm not sure what to think of it. It's open and heavy, even more than the doses of fanservice you'd find in most series. I'm praying that it'll turn out to be more than just that, but again, this show is clearly full of female fetishes, so I won't get my expectations up.

I hope this wall of text wasn't a pain to read and that it answered the question! If not, feel free to come back anytime.

#number24 #number 24 #yuzuki natsusa

[pitiless-achilles-wept]

I Will Never Be Well: Why Good News is No News

I’m sure you’ve been wondering why I haven’t written in a while. Part of it is that I set myself a very high standard at the beginning and now feel that anything I write has to be lengthy, meditative, and circumspect. I’ll try to get away from that, so that I can share news when I feel I have any. That is, however, only part of it. The other, more substantive reason that I have for not sharing is that my last scans (on September 27th) showed good news. Although the initial tumor didn’t get any smaller a couple other ones did and—the real news—nothing spread or got bigger.

That’s great! Why didn’t I share it? Precisely because it’s great. Those results were really only the second time I heard anything like good news and part of me is filled with the fear, or even the certainty, that good news is in short supply and that I’ll run out soon. I don’t want to spread it too widely because I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up, including mine.

[Below the cut, reflections on being stage 4 and the time-limited nature of “good news.”]

I have actually found myself annoyed by people’s celebratory, relieved reactions to the news that the clinical trial has been working. “Sure it is,” I think, “but for how long?”. The truth is that nothing will work forever. The median time during which patients on the forerunner of this trial (those with BRCA germline mutations) saw improvement was 8 months. I started this trial in July. Even if I’m average (which, let’s remember, I haven’t been at any point in this entire process), that means timing out in March. (Happy birthday to me.)  

Now, I might be exceptional in the other direction. There are people on PARP inhibitors who have been stable for 3-5 years. That would be amazing. We can hope, and hope is certainly worthwhile. But the fundamental truth is that good news that I get is only good in context. And the context is still pretty terrible. I feel like people either don’t know that (not everyone has such an extensive and intimate understanding of cancer) or allow themselves to forget it (a luxury that they’re allowed).

The result is that I feel that, with very few exceptions, no one understands that I will never be well. I will never be normal. I will never not have cancer. This is what it is to be stage 4.

I had the opportunity a couple weekends ago to attend a pair of events at the Dana-Farber clinic in Boston, both specifically for unusual patient demographics that include me. The first was a summit for women under 40. The second was an entire day devoted to research into and strategies for patients with metastatic breast cancer. Both were well-attended—I’d guess 200ish people at each—with very little audience overlap. And, among those four hundred or so women, I still did not meet anyone who has my triple-word score of bad luck: under 40, stage 4, triple negative.

Because of this, even in the breast cancer community, even in the company of people I know do understand certain aspects of it in intimate, painful detail, I feel isolated and often experience empathy fatigue. Women at the first summit were at all stages and many were survivors. It was great to see so many people at my rough life stage who were coping with a variety of problems entirely different from those who are older, but I still felt like I didn’t quite fit. Because in this demographic, the stage 4 (also known as “metastatic” or “mets”) representation was pretty minimal.  

It makes sense. Typically, younger women’s cancer is caught earlier, informed as they are about early screening based on a family history or genetic predisposition. In addition, most stage 4 patients do not start out that way, instead experiencing the progression of the disease from an earlier stage at a limited point in the body. (And, if you’re still counting, this is a fourth thing that makes me statistically unusual: having a de novo metastatic diagnosis. I met one other woman who was stage 4, de novo, and under 40 and, while not triple negative, she also wasn’t married and didn’t have kids. I need to hang on to her.) Consequently, most stage 4 patients have been dealing with cancer for years already and tend to be older.

And also, of course, metastatic cancer patients tend to die.

I can’t see any of you, but I can still feel you cringe at that. I’m not usually so blunt about it because it’s a harsh reality. But it is reality. We’ve moved beyond the stage—wonderfully, with incredible work and fascinating science—that, at least for breast cancer, “stage 4” doesn’t equate to “terminal.” It does, however, equate to “incurable.” I have an incurable disease. And, the way things look right now, I will eventually die from it.

Now, don’t anybody say anything about getting hit by a bus, please. When’s the last time that actually happened, for one thing, and, for another, while many things are possible some things, like my life being ended by cancer, are more probable than others. We can hope it’s very eventual, or that circumstances change profoundly. The goal for metastatic breast cancer is to transform it into a chronic condition that can be maintained and controlled and, particularly for young women, be part of a long and relatively normal life. As normal as it can be with the constant, gnawing anxiety, punctuated by moments of terror at the idea that the treatment will stop working and that the cancer will grow again and that, maybe this time, they won’t find something to halt the progress.

This brings in the third rare group that I’m part of (one which doesn’t have its own summit): women with triple negative breast cancer. If you’ve been taking notes you’ll remember that this means my particular cancer cells don’t have any of the three receptors on them (estrogen, progesterone, and HER2) that open up other treatment options, like hormone therapy and Herceptin. I learned at this conference that only 15% of breast cancer is triple-negative. Multiply that by the odds of being under-40 and stage 4 and it’s…well, it’s apparently less than one in four hundred people, based on my experience. And I can’t help but feel bitter about that, try as I do to remain optimistic overall.

There is no “good” kind of cancer. (Not even “the kind that happens to other people.”) But, truly, there is a hierarchy of types and, within each type, a hierarchy of curability or treatability and, within that, a hierarchy of the ease of those things. Breast cancer is a better type than some (leukemia; lymphoma; pancreatic), well-funded and thoroughly researched. But within those parameters, I’m in the worst of the worst position. Most of the treatments that allow stage 4 patients to control their cancer involve hormone therapy and Herceptin, neither of which will work for me. Most of the new, promising research (aside from the study that I’m in right now) has to do with immunotherapy involving PDL1 – a protein on the cell surface that I don’t have.

So even though the generalities we speak in give reason for optimism, even at stage 4, for me all the particulars are pretty dismal. Yes, we hope that the treatment that’s currently working keeps working for a really long time. Yes, part of what I hope (intend!) to do is to stick around long enough for the science to get even better, for them to (for example) find other proteins on the cell’s surface that function like PDL1. For antibody-drug conjugates to really take off. For something as yet unknown to be discovered. I believe very deeply in the power of research medicine and it does give me hope. I’m always hoping.

Hope is the thing with feathers, but sometimes they get to looking pretty bedraggled. It’s easy to understand why I feel like, if the PARP inhibitors stop working, I’ve pretty much lost my only shot. Remember how chemo didn’t do anything? How my tumor got bigger and the cancer spread to my liver? Doing that again, looking for another clinical trial, and hoping that the science moves fast enough for me is all I would have if I had to leave the study. Which I’ll find out about in the next 10 days, as I check in for more scans on November 8th and hear results on the 11th or 12th.

So what’s the right balance between celebrating the good news—news good enough that after my September scans my oncologist swept me up in a hug—and remembering that, even in the best case scenario, my life will be filled with treatments that are long and painful and only effective for a limited period of time? And what about you all? How do you support someone through that? Do you choose optimism that can seem to miss the point, even coming off as naïve? Or a tempered realism that may seem not to offer enough enthusiasm to match a full understanding of the significance of good news?

I’m not able to give you an answer. The best I can do is try to give you some idea, through posts like this, what I’m facing and what’s going on for me, even when the news is good. But I will also try (when the news IS good) to share that information more widely. Because even a limited amount of good is, in a situation like this, worth celebrating.

#my life as a cancer patient #medical update #chronic illness #invisible illness #stage 4 #bex writes