#who can be so loving but sometimes thoughtlessly mean

[llamagoddessofficial]

Now for some angst, what happens when the Bad Sanses accidentally hurt their SO?

teeeeheeeeee

Horror is, sadly, likely to accidentally hurt you. So long working for Nightmare means he forgot how to hold himself back; a lot of his forgotten gentleness comes back instinctively for you but instinct and love only do so much when his body is the way it is. His teeth catch on your lips if he misaligns a kiss, overly excited cuddles can leave bruises, a touch he intends to be tender will cut if he holds his claws the wrong way. It tears him up. He feels so big, so heavy and stupid, fumbling around and hurting the fragile thing he loves most.

You're always telling him that it's okay. The injuries he gives are very minor, they're getting fewer and further between as time goes on and he gets better at managing his strength. But nothing completely soothes him. He has vivid nightmares about accidentally killing you.

Dust is, surprisingly, the least likely to hurt you out of all of the bad guys. He has an excellent level of self control - not to mention his constant face of neutrality, you're famously the only thing that makes this frighteningly powerful creature emote. He moves slowly, thoughtfully, even at his most emotional he restricts his affection to avoid scaring you. A possessive arm around your waist, a slow nuzzle when he's feeling sappy, a claw under your chin to tilt your face up for a surprise silent kiss. You're the only thing he wants to feel for.

Being the least likely to hurt you means he'd have a particularly hard time if he did after all. Especially if it's bad. Dust can be difficult, sometimes, and hurting you makes him completely shut down, withdrawing for fear of losing his last loved one. He'll need time and patience to come back around again. All this LV, all this power, and it's only your forgiveness that can stop him from feeling so small.

Killer is a good boy. Unlike the others, who are all angst and nooo get away from me i'm too powerful, Killer's pretty much entirely at peace with what he is. He's at peace with his feelings too. He doesn't really need to do a lot of self control like the others, he's very relaxed. Everyone who has to put up with him will definitely attest to the fact that he doesn't bother controlling himself. Nightmare will ask you to come over when Killer is in one of his dangerous frenetic moods, because as soon as you're around, all of Killer's energy immediately diverts into trying to get your attention in any way possible.

If he does hurt you, he'd handle it so normally that it seems weird compared to the other bad guys. Profuse apologies, a bit of pretend grovelling. He might 'die of guilt' too (laying flat on the floor until you've stopped laughing long enough to tell him to get up) so be sure to forgive him ASAP.

Nightmare is a proud creature, you won't hear an apology. Gods don't beg.

... Just because you won't hear the apology doesn't mean you won't feel it in the air, though. You can tell he's angry with himself... he's stiff, he's quiet, he avoids eye contact at all costs. What kind of pathetic King thoughtlessly harms his most beloved? He's uncharacteristically meek for a long while; he'll linger in the room with you then vanish without speaking, leave gifts at your door without facing you, field vague questions about how you're feeling then fall quiet again. You can tell he's desperate to be forgiven, but can't bring himself to ask.

Just assure him. It doesn't need to be with words. It could be a loving smile, a squeeze on his arm, a hand on his cheekbone. After that, he can return to normal.

#llamagines

[brujahinaskirt]

WAIT A SEC. I want to cut some credit to player drunkenness in rdr2 and how it works as a vehicle to reveal something about the main character of this story.

Usually drunkenness in games is played off for cheap laughs, and there are plenty of slapsticky drunken antics in rdr2 (LENNAY). But happy-drunk Arthur gives SO MUCH INSIGHT into his real personality, too -- even when he's being a giggling, property-damaging, cancan-dancing terror. When he's drunk, he forgets a little of his mean bastard enforcer mask, the primary role he must play in the gang, and his loving nature becomes laughably obvious.

[spoilers under the cut]

From his sudden determination to teach Jack mathematics to his declared affection for Hosea; from his worrying about Susan getting a break to his insistence that newer gang members are "one of us now"; from his innocuous little compliments tossed around thoughtlessly ("Mary-Beth! Sweetest outlaw in the West! Javier! Best-dressed outlaw in the West!") to his more genuine praise for Abigail's inherent goodness, drunk Arthur is a fuzzy but honest look at a truer Arthur, one who is not thinking about the part he must play in a criminal outfit. Strip that awareness of his station away, even if just for a while, and we wind up with an Arthur who is surprisingly fun-loving, sometimes downright silly, and who lives to fuss over and dote on the people around him.

My favorite moment, perhaps, is a tipsy interaction with Sadie in Horseshoe Overlook during Sean's welcome home party. Arthur meanders over to her, this woman who is not a gang member or a close friend at the time, but simply a grieving widow he doesn't know very well. And he and asks, loudly: "MISSUS ADLER. DO YOU NEED ANYTHING MISSUS ADLER. DO YOU WANNA DANCE WITH ME MISSUS ADLER."

And she just sounds so tickled when she says no thanks to this goofy-drunk gunslinger. And I think maybe, just maybe, watching big bad gang lieutenant Arthur slamming a couple bottles of whiskey and so transparently doting on everyone gave her some of the first laughter at the world she had in what must feel like a very long time.

In Chapter 6, Arthur can again approach Sadie while drunk, and he encourage her to smile. Sadie hisses you're drunk; no woman likes being told this, and on the surface, this seems like a proper Antagonize line. But then Arthur -- who knows he is dying -- says, blearily, to this friend he met at her lowest point of grief and who seems to be in danger of plunging even lower in rage, "I just want you to be happy."

Drunkenness is not a liquid clarifier. Often times, alcohol garbles and distorts a person's personality. But with a character like Arthur, whose heart is so poorly matched with his 20-year lot in life, drunk-writing becomes a powerful tool. It's a quick, non-transformative way to believably peel off the snarl he wears around for a while (without him knowing it), letting players access an easy, silly, soft interior that sober Arthur is much more guarded about showing the gang.

#rdr2 #arthur morgan #red dead redemption #meta essay #i lied i had one more ramble in me before i gallop away for a while #redmeta

[inbarfink]

I mean, I (and others) did predict Fionna coming to the realization that ‘Simon being Ice King again is very very bad actually’ via watching IK’s old tapes - in a thematic reversal of Holly Jolly Secrets���. You know, Finn learned to like Ice King more after learning about Simon Petrikov and who he used to be, Fionna learned to like Simon Petrikov more after really learning about Ice King and who he used to be. 

But the thing that really stuck with me about how the show pulled it off is how… tame that video was. Compared to what the audience knows about how terrible Ice King could get. 

Most of the video Fionna saw was Ice King goofing off, with just the last clip giving her a tiny little taste of how prone he was to fits of anger and extreme misery

She didn’t get to see the videos of Ice King crying for literal hours on end, she didn’t get to see him throw tantrums that make him a legitimate danger for those around him, I don’t think she actually knows he used to kidnap and stalk women on a regular basis - but that’s okay, because she didn’t need to. That tiny little taste of Ice King’s misery and pain was really all she actually needed.

Because it really speaks to how little she actually understood of the Ice King’s situation before. How much seeing that one little clip of him back in “Prismo the Wishmaster'' gave her such a totally wrong impression of what Ice King was like

that just seeing him yell at Gunter and cry once is enough to make her totally reexamine all of her preconceived notions about him.

And it really speaks how despite her sometimes-childish attitude, Fionna really possesses a lot of emotional intelligence. Both in how quickly she correctly gauged that Ice King’s behavior in the last clip was a regular thing for him and probably not even his worst moment and that his anger was yet another expression of his being 'super-sad'

And how clearly her Second Thoughts about the Crown Plan didn’t start when she saw Ice King yell - they started when she saw how despite working so hard on getting himself Cursed again, Simon still couldn’t bear the idea of watching videos of Ice King’s ‘Good Times’.

Because as much as it was important for Fionna to really know Ice King in order to fathom just how terrible the Crown Plan was, it was also equally important for her to really know Simon as well.

When she was so dismissive toward Simon’s plight in the Prismo episode, and when she so eagerly and thoughtlessly jumped on the Crown Plan - she really knew nothing about either facets of his identity. She only got such a quick clip of Ice King actually in a good mood, and all she’s seen of Simon was him at his lowest point - rude, dismissive, screaming at her face, literally considering letting her whole world burn in his own depressive spiral. 

It’s only after they reached Farmworld and officially started to work towards the Crown Plan that Fionna really started to know who Simon Petrikov is when he’s not at rock bottom. That’s when she learned how intelligent

And dorky

And kind

And comforting 

And fatherly 

And a silly little hopeless romantic for his GF

he is. 

And they became real friends and she really grew fond of all of these things about him. So now, watching clips of Ice King… it takes her some time to process it, clearly, but it also bothers her how little of these traits that she likes about her friend and he likes about himself she can see in the crazy old Ice Wizard.

Seeing also how mad and sad he could be was just what clinched the deal for her, the last excuse she could find for why it was okay (“Maybe he really was happier like that?”) gone.

And that also relates to her more general anxieties about the Crown Plan from farther in the same episode.

Now that she’s seen how much being infused Magic changed Simon… It's no wonder she’s so worried about how Magic will change her and Cake and all of her loved ones.

And it’s not a totally unfounded fear. We’re still not exactly sure how bringing Magic back into Simon’s brain will affect Fionnaworld - but it will most likely work the same as it did the other way around? When Fionnaworld first lost its magic? So that will mean not only the people and the world will change physically, but their memories and minds will also be altered as if they always lived in the Magical World and never in the Mundane world Fionna remembers.

And that will kinda make them into different people. Gary Prince and Prince Gumball feel like the most obvious comparison. One is a literal god-king who seems to have at least a bit of the old Bubblegum Hubris problem

The other is just a humble little put-on Barista trying to make it big

Becoming Prince Gumball again would be in some way the ultimate fulfilment of Gary's dream - not just a Pastry Mansion but a whole Candy Kingdom! But... it would also mean giving up on all of the memories and experiences of ever having been Gary Prince. And... it's at least worth considering if it's worth it.

We know that Change doesn't have to be all bad, Cake the Cat will testify to that

I'm sure that from her perspective, having every bit of her memories wiped and replaced is worth it if she can keep her mind and ability to speak.

But Fionna's little Storytime with Simon, I think, really gave Fionna a look to how much his reminiscing is important to him

and really gave her a glimpse to how much people's history and memories effect who they are, and seeing this and seeing what ‘turning into a different and more magical person without your original memories’ did to Simon Petrikov

It’s really no wonder it makes Fionna worried.

#adventure time #atimers #fionna and cake #fionna & cake #at #at spoilers #fac #fac spoilers #f&c #f&c spoilers #adventure time fionna and cake #adventure time spoilers #adventure time simon #fionna and cake spoilers #fionna and cake simon #fionna and cake series #fionna and cake show #fionna campbell #fionna the human #adventure time fionna #simon petrikov #simon adventure time #cake the cat #adventure time cake #cake adventure time #ice king #the ice king #jerry #gary prince #prince gumball

[wreckedandpolemic]

mine - matty healy

(mdni) in which your husband feels the need to remind you exactly to whom you belong. a white and gold future fic. 2713 words.

warnings: problematic age gap, daddy kink, branding, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, praise, degradation, mild cumplay, dirty sleazy possessive man

You really, truly didn’t mean to find yourself in this situation. Sometimes, you’ll admit, it’s on purpose, playing up the brattiness until Matty snaps, doling out whatever punishment he wants as you cry and promise to be good next time. This time, though, it isn’t your fault. It isn’t. You can’t help it if your husband’s business partners see his young, hot wife and decide they want you for themselves. Besides, Matty’s always telling you to be polite, so you were. Smiling, laughing at their jokes, leaning forward as you listen with interest.

It’s not your fault if some (old, stupid) man takes that as the wrong kind of interest. Matty watches as he stumbles through attempts to flirt with you, pet names tripping clumsily off his tongue. Steam practically curls off your husband, his face hardening in fury as you smile blithely, accepting the affections without encouraging anything; he doesn't take the hint. When he tucks a loose piece of hair behind your ear, trailing his hand down in a garish attempt to touch your tit, Matty catches his wrist in a punishing grip. “Keep your fucking hands off my wife, yeah? Unless you wanna get knocked the fuck out.” His usually-subtle accent bleeds over his words, roughens their edges. Everyone suddenly becomes very interested in the silverware and heat prickles under your skin as Matty’s grip tightens on your waist, possessive.

He pulls you in for a kiss, slow and deep and an obvious performance, a public message: mine. Matty stays tight with anger the whole evening, the tension in his shoulders not loosening until you’re spread out on the bed, your dress crumpled somewhere on your living room floor and your hair haloed out on the pillow as he stares down at you. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” you say cautiously, and his face softens.

“Oh, baby, I’m not mad at you,” he promises, climbing over you to press a gentle kiss to your lips. You accept it eagerly, the bitter taste of red wine lingering on his lips. “Just need to make sure everyone knows whose girl you are, yeah? So pretty, baby. Drives me fuckin’ crazy. You know, every single one of those men wanted to take you home. Can see it in the way they look at you.”

You flush, a note of pride creeping under your skin. “But they can’t,” you say, a slow smirk spreading across his face.

“That’s right. You’re Daddy’s girl, yeah? I’m the only one who gets to take you home, gets to see you all pretty and pleading and spread out for me, yeah? Bet they go home and dream about seeing you like this.” His nails dig into your skin as he grips your hips, snapping the elastic of your panties against your skin.

“Only you, Daddy,” you promise, and Matty presses a kiss between your tits, just over your heart. It thuds faster, calling out for his touch, a wave of love crashing over you as you sigh happily. “All yours,” you say, pouting as he climbs off you and goes to root in a dresser drawer for something.

He comes back to you with an uncapped Sharpie, grinning as you shudder. “Need to make sure everyone knows whose girl you are, yeah?” You nod shakily, Matty kneeling over you and leaning down. The scrape of the pen against your decolletage sends a shiver up your spine, something close to pain but not quite it blooming where the ink stains your skin. Concentration is evident on his face as he writes, the letters bold and clear as he moves down your body. Sitting up to admire his handiwork, Matty plucks at the strap of your bra. “Can you take this off for me, princess? Wanna see your pretty tits.” You obey thoughtlessly, arching your back to slip a hand behind you and unhook your bra, tossing it carelessly to the floor. Naked but for your panties with Matty fully clothed on top of you, you shiver, exposed. There’s something that feels right about it, though, handing Matty all the power like this, and trusting that you’ll only love what he does with it.

“What did you write, Daddy?” you ask, craning your neck to try to read, but the letters are upside down and your skin bends in a way that makes the letters illegible.

Matty pushes you back down gently. “Here, darling. Let me show you.” He slides his phone out from his back pocket and takes a couple of photos before handing it to you. Eagerly, you drink in the sight of yourself, heat in your cheeks and your lips red and kiss-bitten. Then, your eyes track across the words scrawled on your skin. Property of M. Healy. A pulse of heat throbs in your belly so thickly it almost hurts, liquid desire dripping between your legs and pooling in your underwear.

Property. You turn the word over in your mind, savouring the way it traces deliciously up your spine. Matty’s property, his kept girl, his pretty toy, his to do with whatever he wants. The thought makes your head go fuzzy, the idea of being his whenever and wherever he wants melting your insides to goo. “You own me, Daddy,” you murmur, his eyes so wide with lust that they look black.

“That’s fuckin’ right,” he breathes, stripping out of his suit and boxers, his cock thudding against his belly. Eagerly, you slide your panties down your legs and kick them to the floor, watching Matty’s eyes fall to your soaked cunt. “So wet for me, princess. Does it get you off, knowing you’re all mine?” You nod, drool pooling in your mouth  as he strokes his cock slowly. “Such a good girl. My good girl. Can see how bad you want it. Bein’ so patient, princess.”

Trembling, it’s a fight to keep still, keep your hands to yourself. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, Matty still just watching. “Please, Daddy,” you whine desperately. “Can do whatever you want to me,” you breathe, and the words finally snare him, his eyes darkening as he falls on top of you.

“Whatever I want, yeah?” he murmurs, a gush of heat flooding between your legs at his words. “C’mon, sweet girl. Legs up for me. Gonna fuckin’ ruin you,” he promises, thumbing over the bold, stark letters on your skin. He dips his head, biting a harsh bruise into your neck, one you know will be luridly purple by the next time he takes you out. You giggle as he takes a greedy handful of one of your tits, grasping possessively. “These pretty tits are mine, yeah?”

“Yours,” you whimper, the heat between your legs unbearable as Matty works his way down your body, repeating it like a litany as he grasps possessively at your skin.

“These hips.” His. “This ass.” His. “These pretty thighs.” His. “This sweet, needy little cunt.”

A strangled moan escapes you as he brushes his fingers featherlight over your clit, teasing. Desperation wells under your skin, your cunt aching with need. “S’all yours, Daddy. ‘M your property,” you moan, rolling your hips up against nothing.

“That’s right,” he grins. “Bein’ such a good girl for Daddy, princess.” A moan of pure lust spills from your lips as Matty licks a broad, flat stripe over your cunt, your hands fisting in the sheets at the wave of pleasure that cascades over you. He laps at you insistently, setting a dizzying rhythm over your swollen clit. You tremble with the effort of keeping still, letting Matty do what he wants while you take it like a good girl. “S’okay, baby. Wanna hear those pretty sounds you make, feel that sweet little cunt grinding on my face,” he murmurs, the words vibrating through your core.

Matty wraps his lips around your clit, the sensation making your body jolt as he sucks on your swollen bundle of nerves. Heat blooms under your skin as Matty tongues at you and moans into your cunt, the vibration rolling gloriously through you. He digs his fingers into your thighs, so hard that you know there’ll be bruises tomorrow, further proof he owns you. Mind-melting pleasure winds deliciously through you, Matty plunging his tongue deep inside you, devouring you from the inside out.

He refuses to fall into a rhythm, refuses to let you get complacent, switching between sucking on your clit, licking at your hole and tonguefucking you at a dizzying pace. Whining incoherently, you fist a hand in his curls and grind your hips up against his mouth. Matty’s nose bumps your clit as you writhe, legs kicking in the air. Molten pleasure melts your brain, dripping sticky from your ears and puddling on the mattress. “Are you close, sweet girl?” Matty asks, pulling away to kiss wetly at your thighs. Your hazy, addled mind struggles to latch onto his words, and you gasp as he blows cold air over your clit. “I asked you a question, princess.”

“‘M sorry, Daddy,” you whimper reflexively. “Yeah. Yeah, ‘m close,” you whine, tugging on his hair to pull him back to your cunt. Matty’s fingers join his tongue, a bolt of ecstasy striking between your legs at the scrape of his calloused fingers. He works skilfully at your clit, your legs turning to jelly as waves of pleasure pin you to the mattress. “F-fuck, Daddy, m’gonna cum, want it s’bad, please, please, please!” you cry out, babbling incoherent pleas into the air above you.

“Go on, darling. Cum for Daddy.” He pairs the words with a harsh pinch to your clit, your body wracking with shudders as you pitch over the edge. Pleasure drips stickily down your spine, your vision blurring as your orgasm crashes through you. Matty doesn’t let up, sucking insistently on your clit, your cunt still pulsing with the aftershocks.

Pleasure tinged with pain kicks under your skin, overstimulation burning between your thighs. “S’too much, Daddy, I can’t–” you whimper, his free hand pinning your hips down when you try to squirm away.

“‘Whatever you want,’ you said,” Matty reminds you, running a finger through your sensitive folds. “What I want is for you to take it like a good girl, okay?” You nod shakily, swallowing thickly around a whine. “There’s my sweet girl. Colour?”

“‘M green,” you promise, shifting your hips and moaning when Matty’s tongue finds your clit again. You choke on a gasp as he sinks two fingers into you, meeting no resistance at your soaked hole.

“Such a good girl,” Matty murmurs, kissing and biting the soft flesh of your thighs, marking you as his, the undercurrent of pain glorious weaved through the pleasure licking up your spine. He finger-fucks you hard, your cunt clenching and legs kicking in the air, a second orgasm already building at the base of your spine. “My fucking girl, yeah?” Your hand drifts unconsciously down to where his name is written just below your tits. “All those men today wanted you, princess. Wanted you so badly,” he coos, your mind staticky as his fingers thrust in and out of you at a pace that sends you reeling. “Wanted my gorgeous, sexy, irresistible, perfect fucking wife,” he groans, punctuating every adulation with a quick, deep thrust, moans spilling endlessly from your lips. 

“Can’t have me,” you slur out, your mind off-balance against Matty’s unfaltering pace.

“That’s right, princess,” he says, pride colouring his tone. “You’re mine. All mine. That’s my  ring on your finger, my name next to yours.” he growls. Maybe that’s not enough. Maybe I should take you out like this, show the whole fuckin’ world how much you love bein’ all fucked-out for me, wearin’ my name, bein’ my property.” You give a helpless, strangled moan, turned on beyond words. “God, you love that, don’t you, baby? Such a good little slut for Daddy. Do you wanna cum, angel?”

“God, yes, please, please, please!” you scream out, writhing and squirming uncontrollably as the tide of pleasure wells up inside of you, threatening to overwhelm.

Matty kisses your clit softly, your cunt fluttering around his fingers at the sensation. “God, you beg so pretty, baby. Go on, darling, cum,” he orders, and your body obeys. Your second orgasm is even more intense than the first, pure pleasure washing over you and wiping your mind clean. Your vision whites out, a scream you’re only dimly aware comes from your own throat ringing out. Euphoria burns from your core, flooding your limbs, hot and intense.

You come back to Earth to Matty’s tongue working insistent and sure over your clit, your body going boneless against the fervid pleasure winding up your spine. “Again?” you whimper.

Matty pinches your hip with his free hand. “Don’t be a brat. How many times have I told you I wanna spend all day with my tongue buried in this sweet cunt? ‘S what I want, princess, like you said. SHould be thankin’ me. Colour?”

“‘M still green, Daddy. Thank you,” you say dopily, letting your eyes slip closed as pure electricity washes over you. 

You lose count of how many times Matty makes you cum, skilled fingers and tongue sending you spiralling over and over and over again. Your body feels barely a body; ecstasy in place of organs, pleasure in place of bones. When he’s finally satisfied, pulling away with his lips and chin fucking dripping with your arousal, your cunt feels sore and swollen, and you know you won’t be walking right for weeks. He climbs over you, pulling your jaw open like you’re a fucking doll and spitting the taste of you into your mouth. You swallow instinctively, smiling up at him and showing off your clean tongue.

“Good girl,” Matty coos. “Got you trained up so good, hm? God, I fucking love you, my girl,” he groans, leaning down to kiss you so that the taste of you smears further across your tongue.

“Love you too,” you say, gazing up into his eyes, lust-darkened but still liquid with adoration. “Yours forever,” you promise, lifting your left hand so your wedding ring catches the light.

Matty kneels up to take in the sight of you, fucking wrecked for him, his eyes blowing wide at his name in stark ink on your skin. He unbuckles his belt, freeing his cock, flushed red and drooling. Two fingers swipe through your soaked cunt, and you whimper at the prospect of cumming again. “S’okay, darling, m’not gonna make you go again,” Matty promises, wrapping his wet hand around his cock. “See how hard you make me, angel?” He tips his head back with a groan, slowly pumping his cock. “All for you. M’yours.”

“Made for each other,” you say breathily, eyes glued to the point where his cock disappears into his fist.

Moaning low in his throat, Matty nods. “Made for each other,” he agrees, fucking his fist wildly. You can tell from his face, the way his motions get more erratic with every passing second, that he’s close. With a gasp of your name, he’s cumming, white ropes splashing on your belly and over your tits. His jaw goes slack as he gazes down at you, his cum splattered over the brand of his name driving him wild. “Fuck. Look so fuckin’ gorgeous, darling. God, I wanna keep you like this forever.”

You giggle. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

He sucks in a sharp breath. “Can I?” he murmurs, awed.

“As many as you like, Daddy,” you smile. “I’m your property, remember? Your little slut. Your pretty cumdump.”

Matty gives a shuddering moan. “For such a princess, you’ve got a filthy fuckin’ mouth,” he chuckles, retrieving his phone from his discarded jacket. He takes at least a dozen pictures, pausing in between each to stare at you, unabashed arousal in his face.

“I learned it from you,” you smirk; you both know that isn’t true, but he likes hearing it. You drag two fingers through the mess on your stomach and suck them clean, grinning proudly up at him.

“Fuck,” Matty groans, cock twitching valiantly as he watches you. “God, drives me fuckin’ crazy when you do that. Makin’ me wanna fuck you properly, baby.”

A thrill skitters up your slime. “Please?”

#this is so filthy im sorry i dont know WHERE this came from #but hey if im going to hell ur all coming with me <3 #matty healy x reader #matty healy smut #matty healy imagine #matty healy #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 smut #writing #smut #white and gold

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Grey Zone 2

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, age gap, bullying, toxic parental figures, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your relationship with your parents has never been good, and that with a family friend takes a strange turn(goth!reader)

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Note: It's a Monday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like I love turning intended one shots into series. Take care. 💖

You’ve always been the kid at the table of adults. Even now, legally of age, you feel like the same child forgotten on the sideline. The most acknowledgement you get is from your father when you thoughtlessly lean an elbow on the table or slouch. Sometimes, you think the fact that you’re still breathing is a disappointment to him.

“Thinking of converting the garage…” your dad says, “or we’ll wait till the kid is out and do something with her room.”

You don’t react. It comes up a lot. When you show him your pay cheque, he tells you exactly what to do with your money.

How much you should save so you can get out of his house. You’re not left with much else as he takes interest for your tuition; which he’s kindly allowed you to hold off on paying back until you complete your degree. It’s better than most people deal with, better than some debt collector chipping away at your credit.

“You’re a fucking busy body,” Mr. Hansen chortles as he stirs around with his spoon. You’re not a fan of the dish either. “You ever put any of that energy into, I don’t know, fucking your wife.”

Your spoon hits off your bowl but you try not to show your shock. Your father chokes and your mother guffaws drunkenly. Mr. Hansen is crass but usually when he doesn’t know you’re listening.

“At the table?” Your father huffs.

“He has a point…” your mother mutters.

“What? We’re all adults? I’m teasin’ you, Ray,” he insists, undeterred by your dad’s hot glare, “I’m just thinking out loud and there’s a tension here. Someone’s not getting fucked.”

“Lloyd, my daughter–”

“Oh, so you do know she’s here?” Hansen scoffs, “she’s grown. She can hear the fuck word a few times.”

Your father sputters, speechless. For once, he has no reprimand at the ready. He is a man who always has his way faced with another who can steamroll any refusal.

“Whatever, I was gonna ask you something important,” Hansen diffuses the conversation with the shift in tone, “I bought a lake house up north. I’m not handy, you know that. Not in that way,” he chuckles and your mother giggles into her wine.

Your father sighs and sits back as he lifts his chin, crossing his arms as he squints at his guest. That look doesn’t work on a man like Hansen. You look between them, waiting for either to explode.

Hansen smirks and sits back, mimicking your father’s posture but keeping his arms open. He braces his thighs as he puffs out his chest. You never noticed before the way his shirt perfectly fit him, clinging to his well-toned muscles.

“I’ll pay you. Same as any contractor. And you can bring the family to enjoy the lake,” Hansen counters, “enough for you to continue tearing this place apart.”

“Hmmm,” your father rolls his tongue under his lips.

“It’s a good idea,” your mother slurs, “it’s been forever since we went on vacation.”

“You just got back from Malibu two weeks ago,” your father chides.

“I mean, as a family,” she leans heavily on the table, her finger hooked on the stem of her wine glass, “I love the lake,” she looks as Hansen, pouting flirtily, “I just bought a bunch of new swimsuits.”

“Well, it gets pretty cold up there. Even this time of year. It’s why I bought the place. I hate the heat.”

“Oh, you seem to handle it well,” your mother winks.

Your father brings his hand down on the table, causing every dish to tremble. “I’ll think about it, Hansen. But you gotta think this out, materials and all that.”

“Zoning’s taken care of. All that paperwork bullshit,” Hansen says surely, “seems like it would be a good opportunity for you to get away and let go.”

You peer around the table. Your mom leans back in her chair, chin in her hand as she watches your father. Hansen takes his spoon again and smoothly stirs the bright broth. Your father shakes his head.

“Like I said, I’ll think about it.”

🖤

Despite how often you attract unwanted leers and looks, you have a knack for disappearing. As the adults leave the table, you clean up, fading into the background but not quite fitting into the pristine aesthetic of the house. Most of the bowls still hold a decent amount of the fishy bouillabaisse. It tasted fine enough but who likes that much fish.

You dump each and start washing out the dishes, putting away those pots and pans you dealt with before dinner was served. If you don’t do it, your mother won’t, and your father will chuck a fit about a single dirt dish left in the sink. So you go about the task, earbuds in, nodding your head along with the music.

Your dark nail polish flakes off in the warm water as your scrub with a sponge. It’s fine, it’s cheap. You want to try the new mystic blue you got anyway. You set a bowl in the rack and nearly scream as you feel a squeeze around your hip.

You splash water through the air as you spin to face your accoster. Mr. Hansen stands close as he holds an empty wine glass. Your mother’s lipstick stains the brim. You reach with a dripping, shaky hand to pause your music with a tap.

“I didn’t hear you,” you gasp.

“Oh? I thought you were just playing hard to get,” he twirls the glass, “your mom’s off to bed. Face down.”

“Um, okay,” you reach for the glass but he moves it out of your reach. You furrow your nose and retract your hand.

“So…” he wiggles the glass thoughtfully, his eyes clinging to you, “what do you think?”

“About?”

“The lake house.”

“Er, I don’t know. If dad wants to…”

“I don’t care what daddy wants, what do you want?” His blue eyes gleam, the dark outlines feeding the lustre of his oceanic irises, “seems like no one’s ever asked you, sweetheart.”

You shrug.

“Could be nice,” you say. You don’t get your hopes up. If your dad accepts, you think he’ll somehow manage to leave you and your mother behind.

“And… if dear old daddy did say no, and I asked you to come anyway…”

You blink, confused. Why would he do that? He laughs at you.

“Think about it,” he hands over the glass, “this place is a drag. Young girls like you need that distance. To find yourself.”

You don’t know what to say or think. You really don’t understand what he’s offering. You don’t get where his sudden interest in you came from. Mr. Hansen was only ever peripheral. He was there to give colour commentary and needle away at your father’s patience.

“I don’t know,” he backs up, “maybe they don’t make swimsuits in your style…” You hold the glass close to your chest, caught like a deer in headlights. “But it’s a private lake.” He pokes his tongue and winks before spinning on his heel. “No rules…” he calls over his shoulder as he passes through the door.

You shudder and turn back to the sink. You plunge the glass into the water and swirl it to rinse the residue of wine. Hansen is just like that. He’s always looking for a reaction. You suppose you’re old enough now that you’re a new victim for his jokes. That makes more sense. You’ve always made a good target.

You tap your earbud and drown out your racing thoughts with the music. Just finish this up and you can go hide in your room.

🖤

You shut off the kitchen light and quietly pad through the house. You climb the stairs as an eerie silence permeates the space. Mr. Hansen must be gone since your mother turned in. She often didn’t end the night without some grand finale.

As you near your bedroom door, you notice that it’s slightly ajar. That damn mechanism. Your father can fix every part of this house except for that. You sigh and push it open as you enter, stopping short as you find a shadow standing by your bookshelf. The coffin shaped furniture holds more than just books but some crow statuettes and deathly trinkets.

The glow of your lamp casts a purplish light over Mr. Hansen’s back. He hasn’t heard you. He closes the book in his hand and slides it between the others. He pauses and takes the deck of tarot before he can knock it over with his hand. He shuffles through and you flip on the overhead light.

He turns, unshaken by your entrance. He keeps the cards fanned out in his hands. He smiles at you.

“I never really looked close at these sorts of things,” he says as he runs his thumb over the emperor card, “they’re pretty.”

“What are you doing in here?” You ask.

“I got lost,” he says coolly, “can you read these?”

He smoothly pushes through your chagrin, sidestepping your question. That’s annoying but he’s older and he’s a guest. You didn’t need him ratting to your father about your attitude.

“Yeah, they’re really just for fun though,” you near him and reach for the cards. He claps them into a neat deck and keeps them away from you.

“I like fun,” he says, “can you read mine?”

“I don’t know. It’s late–”

“How much?” He asks curtly.

“What?”

“I’ve seen those ladies down at the market. What do they charge for a reading? I’ll pay you double.”

“No, it’s–”

“I’ll buy you some new boots or something,” he barters.

“Why?”

“I’m bored. This place is boring.” He says. You won’t ask why he doesn’t just leave. You inhale and clamp your lips tight. “You must hate it. So… I wanna know my future.”

“I… fine,” you shrug, “shuffle the cards.”

You look around. There’s really no good place to do the reading. He shuffles the cards and strides by you, brushing against your arm. He sits on the side of your bed. Alright, well, you guess that’s fine.

You move your laptop and books and climb up, smoothing the blanket before you. You sit on one legs and keep your fingers on the duvet.

“You need to ask a question?” You say.

“A question?”

“Yeah, like something about what you should focus on at work or in your relationships,” you explain, “something to guide the cards.”

“Hmm, oh, well, the second one.”

“Okay… any specific relationships?” You prompt, “like family–”

“With you.” 

“What?”

“Me and you.”

“Uhhhh,” you drone, “that’s… alright. Focus on that then.”

You put your hand out. He hands you the cards and you fan them out. He watches, tilting his head as he brings his knee up onto the bed and faces you straight on. The strangeness of the situation does not escape you. It sears down your neck.

“Pick three cards.”

He does so easily. One, two, three. Most people would take their time but he is always straight to the point. You point to where he should place each card. The first there, the second next to it, and the third above.

“Alright, so,” you set the deck aside, “this is basic. The first card represents you, the second would be the other person.”

“You,” he smirks.

“Sure,” you say, “and the third, would be both together.”

“Hmm, interesting,” he rests his hand on his thigh, tapping his fingers.

“Alright then, flip the first one.”

He does as you say. You consider the card.

“Temperance, reversed,” you announce, “it means you like excess, you often go to extremes, so much so that your life often lacks balance and harmony.”

He nods and clucks, “I can’t disagree.”

“Second,” you direct him.

He flips it.

“Nine of swords, upright,” you utter. You let the air linger.

“Oh, what does that mean?”

“Anxiety, or sadness, dread,” you don’t look up at him, “so this other person… me, I guess, has a lot on their mind to worry about.”

“Wow, the cards really are magic.”

You wince and look at him. Is it that obvious?

“Final card.”

“Oh, I’m excited,” he turns it over, “what does fate have in store for us?”

“Page of wands, upright; represents exploration, excitement, and…” you pause as you search your mind, “freedom?”

“Sounds like a good time to me,” he snickers.

“They’re just cards,” you quickly gather up the trio. It means nothing.

“Do you read palms?” He asks as you put the cards with the rest of the deck and shimmy to the edge of the bed.

“No, I… no.” You eke out as you let yourself down to the floor, “look, thanks for humouring me but I’m tired–”

“Hard to tell with all the eyeliner,” he remarks.

You give him a sharp look. He smirks as he turns both legs over the edge of the bed and leans back on his hands. It’s almost a boyish expression.

“I’m pretty beat myself,” he says, “cozy.”

He lets himself fall onto his back. You put the deck back on the shelf and chew on the situation. What the hell is going on? He’s invading your space, mocking you, and you’re just letting him.

“Maybe you should go home–”

“Pretty big bed–”

“I kick in my sleep,” you go to the end of the bed and he turns his head towards you. You see that devilish gleam in his eyes.

“You bring a lot of boys in here?”

“What?” Your voice wilts out, barely rising.

“Easy enough to sneak em through the window. Got that tree right out there, they could just–” He motions with his hand, “zip right in.”

You let your anger burn through. You get that from your father. You fight not to let it win over but it rises so hotly that sometimes you can’t.

“I don’t appreciate this.”

“What do you mean?” He rubs his chest.

“You’re making fun of me.”

“I’m not,” he insists.

“You are. This is my room and I…” you swallow and ball your fists, “I want you to get out.”

“Sweetheart, really, I’m not–”

“You are. You can’t say or do anything that hasn’t been said or done before. I get it, okay? So please, I’m tired and I want to go to sleep.”

He blows out and turns his head straight. He deflates and reluctantly pushes himself up. He tidies his hair as he stands.

“You’ll see, baby doll,” he struts lazily to the door, “the last thing I’m doing is making fun of you.” he looks back at you, his lips slanting, “I’m out for a different sort of fun…”

You storm towards him and shoo him out the door. He cackles and you slam the door behind him. Out. Get out! You feel like you need to cleanse your room now. You hear his rocky laughter on the other side as he lingers, his hand hitting the door before dragging down it.

“Sweet dreams,” he calls through the door.

He pushes off, the door jolting in the frame, and his footsteps peter away. You huff and face the room. He never told you why he was in there. You cross to the bed and drag your laptop and books off. As you do, you smell a trace of his cologne disturbed by the movement. You turn away and stack them on your desk.

You are ready for the day to end, even if tomorrow holds little promise.

#the grey zone #lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #the gray man #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au

[the-24-7-lawlu-library]

Can you rec me the lawlu must-read classics?

Also, thank you for creating this!! You rock!! ❤️

Hey there, thank you for your aks! We actually collected some classics already so here you go:

Into the Sea by shishiswordsman (E)

He looks around, but the Sunny and their broken off battleground are both vacant. His crewmen and the Straw Hats are far away already, probably congratulating each other for their triumph, which means… No one else saw it happen. No one else knows that Luffy’s — Luffy’s sinking. And Law can’t swim.

talk without speaking by trell (qunlat) (G)

They’ve been fighting for days, in that complicated sort of way where everyone wants to be on the same side and can’t be.

Not a Ball or a Chain by HollowIsTheWorld (T)

Trafalgar Law grew up hoping he would be one of the handful of people to never develop a soulmate mark. Now that that hasn't panned out, however, he's willing to settle for just never meeting them. Unfortunately for him, Monkey D. Luffy is a hard person to avoid.

Your Pain on My Skin by GinnyRose (T)

In a world where you share your pain with your soulmate, Law had spent many years believing his soulmate probably hated him. And he wouldn't have blamed them – Law had been sick, beaten, shot at and had gone through hell not just once, but several times from when he’d lost his family to when he lost Corazon and in the struggling years after that. But now, at 24 years old, he knew better. Not only did his soulmate hate him, they were bound and determined to pay back every scrape, bruise, and cut ten times over. When Law finally found the bastard, soulmate or not, he just might kill them himself.

Luffy's Law by JadedCoral (G)

Law thoughtlessly starts a rumour about himself, and it doesn't take long for it to boomerang right back to him in the form of a bloody-nosed Luffy.

The Twillight Phone by huliganships (T)

Ace has a shitty handwriting. Is that a 9? A 0? An 8? Who even knows. Certainly not the person that Luffy accidentally texted.

Acclimating by justira (E)

There are things that Law learns the hard way. One is that, if you involve yourself in Luffy's life, the Strawhats will involve themselves in yours. The other is that he is allowed to want, sometimes. In which Luffy is goodness, and light, and love, and the Strawhats all saw it coming.

no matter how much everything hurts by Tsume_Yuki (T)

In a universe where you can accept half the pain your soulmate is feeling, Luffy wishes he could take it all on.

Curiouser by xairylle (E)

Law wondered whether there was any sense to doing this—reading to a younger pirate stripped down to just wearing boxers straddling your equally as naked self. And expected to be turned on while doing so. [LuLaw]

and all the things that keep us here by trell (qunlat) (G)

In which there is an invitation, and Trafalgar Law gets a second chance. (Or: the one where they get married, in secret, at someone else's wedding, and make Usopp late to his.)

My Love For You Is Choking Me by ObsidionWingsofMidnight (T)

Hanahaki disease: an illness born of one-sided love that causes flowers to grow within the infected patient’s lungs. If left untreated it will suffocate the host and kill them. The growth can be removed through surgery, but it will also remove the feelings along with the flowers. It can be cured without side effects if the feelings are returned. Law wished he had died back under Doflamingo’s gun more than ever.

Dots by petiteneko (T)

It all started out as a joke. But, there was some legitimacy to it too… (Soulmate [AU] where your tattoo shows the first thing your soulmate thought when they saw you, but same universe)

What's A 'Closed' Sign Between Friends by teaandtumblr (G)

A tired, hungry surgeon drops in after hours once and Sanji doesn't have the heart to turn him away. What he doesn't expect is for his friend and this doctor to fall in love right under his nose. A 5+1 story.

heartstrings by hopipp (fancy2na) (NR)

A retelling of events had the Ope Ope no Mi given Law a little more than he bargained for. AKA: the red strings au that's probably been done already

Meat Cute by marimoes (T)

“Meat? I’m hearing you correctly? Your dog is named...Meat?” Law asks putting together everything for the first time. His mind swimming much like his dignity at the moment. The man laughs ruffling Meat’s ears, “Yeah. Meat. Because she’s red and white like a good marbled piece of meat.” “And your name?” Law asks, twisting water from his shirt. “Luffy.”

Stow Away Captains by xairylle (M)

Law sneaks into the men's quarters of the Thousand Sunny. Zoro contemplates on how to deal with it. And Luffy, well, Luffy is just Luffy.

Sating Hunger by xairylle (M)

At the end of the day, even with all the major blunders that almost cost him his life, Law decided that this alliance had been worth it. Until he fucked it up by not being able to hold himself back from kissing Monkey D. Luffy.

This Is What Personal Looks Like by JadeFlicker (G)

So Law had thought the Straw Hats had taken the battle with Kaidou as a personal vendetta for all the tears shed by Momosuke and all sorts of new Wano friends. The Hearts captain had been badly mistaken. Apparently, this was what personal looked like. (In which, Law and the Straw Hats will get angry for Luffy when he's not able to.)

Exchanging of the Hearts by KivaEmber (G)

Post-Dressrosa AU. All they did was exchange hearts, just to make the alliance 'til death did them part. It wasn't as if they were married or anything.

Falling by chenziee (M)

The timing for Law's heat couldn't have been worse; their attack on Doflamingo was just days away, and here he was, too busy fighting tooth and nail against hormones and disgust. Law would really rather jump into the sea and drown than deal with one minute of this.

-Mod Raiya

#Slow burn #Hanahaki #Soulmates AU #Fandom classics #Fluff #Angst #Angst with Happy Ending #Explicitly Lawlu #Asexual Luffy #Aromatic Law #Asexual Dom #Canon Universe #post-dressrosa #monkey d luffy #trafalgar law #lawlu #lawlu fanfic #lawluffy #lulaw #classics

[leviathans-watching]

What about an mc who’s just talking with their s/o (one of the brothers) and he’s already in a bad mood, and as if trying to start an argument they say something super mean in the heat of the moment but instead of mc talking back and starting an argument or walking out all sad, then instead either grab the brother by his collar or point at him menacingly and say

“Hey. Watch your words, I ain’t dealing with your bullshit attitude today.”

And the brother is just like “Ouh-” like they immediately knew to either apologize or heed their warning

putting the older brothers in their place

includes: lucifer, mammon, levi x/& gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned)

wc: .6k | rated t | m.list

a/n: this prompt is so fun and i hope you enjoy what I've done with it! my inbox is open to chat, req, or leave feedback, so come say hello!!

warnings: cursing, implied fighting and bad moods

please reblog <3 ! <3 !

➳ lucifer stares at you, eyes wide. he knows you have a strong backbone, but to admonish him so fearlessly, it must really be something else. immediately, most of his bad mood dissipates, replaced by a new feeling. awe? confusion? he’s really not sure.

“do you understand?” you ask, shaking him by the shoulders, and his attention snaps back to you.

“yes,” he says, definitely not cowed at all. “sorry, mc, i spoke thoughtlessly. i apologize if i’ve hurt your feelings.”

stepping back and letting go of him, you roll your eyes. “you haven’t, but you have pissed me off. thanks for the apology, though.” your eyes still shine with anger and you put your hands on your hips, staring up at him challengingly, like you think he’s going to act out again. lucifer stares back at you, still stunned by your (albeit deservingly) harsh words.

it has been so long since someone besides his brothers has spoken frankly to him, and honestly, it’s quite refreshing. “thanks for keeping me in line, darling,” he says, and your face softens slightly.

“of course. now you can make it up to me by buying me lunch.”

➳ mammon can’t believe a human has dared to touch him, never mind that he usually loves your touch. “hey!” he complains, struggling to get out of your grip, but you’re pretty strong and twice as stubborn.

“shut up!” you say forcefully. “didn’t you hear me? i’m not dealing with it! if you want to pout and sulk and act out, that’s fine, but don’t take it out on me.”

mammon gulps, looking into your fiery eyes. “…’m sorry,” he says after a long moment, “i didn’t mean to snap at you.” your hands are still clenched around the fabric of his rad uniform collar, and he’s very aware of your proximity to him.

“and yet you did it anyway,” you accuse. “i’m not your verbal punching bag.”

“i know.” mammon holds your hands where they’re holding onto him. “i’ll do better. thanks for holdin’ me accountable, mc.”

“well, who else is going to do it?” you ask rhetorically, but most of the venom in your voice is gone. “just don’t let it happen again, you got that?”

mammon nods fervently. “got it.” though he’ll never admit it, he’s glad you’re not afraid to scold him. lord knows he needs it sometimes.

➳ levi freezes, staring at you. you’re pointing right at him, words still ringing in the air. there’s not an inch of give in your eyes, and you look ready to throw down, and really, levi knows you’re totally capable of kicking his ass and he really doesn’t want to die today.

“um,” he begins awkwardly, “sorry. i don’t know what came over me.”

you scoff. “douchebaggery, if i had to guess.” he winces, because yeah, that’s fair. “i didn’t deserve to be snapped at. you’re in a pissy mood, but that doesn’t mean you can try to pick fights.”

“you’re right,” he says regretfully. “i’m just a yucky-”

“and quit that,” you tack on. “hearing you put yourself down all of the time also gets on my nerves, okay? and i especially don’t have the patience for it today.”

“okay,” levi stutters out. he doens’t really know where things are supposed to go from here. should he apologize again? just leave? he really has no clue.

as if you can read his inner turmoil, you sigh, reaching for his arm. “i’m not upset, so don’t get all in your head. just keep your raging to your games and we’ll be good.”

“i can do that,” levi promises, and you nod decisively.

“good. now that that’s settled, what got you mad in the first place?”

leviathans-watching's work - please do not copy, repost, or claim as your own

#obey me #obey me game #obey me shall we date #swdom #lucifer obey me #obey me lucifer #mammon obey me #obey me mammon #levi obey me #obey me levi #leviathan obey me #obey me leviathan #lucifer x you #mammon x you #levi x you #lucifer x reader #mammon x reader #levi x reader #anon ask #answered asks #leviswriting #leviswriting-obeyme #obey me x you #obey me x reader

[betterbemeta]

I don't like it when kind, genuine, enthusiastic, or dorky actions that men (real or fictional) take get labeled 'himbo.'

I'm not talking about Kronk OK, he is a deliberate pastiche of the 'dopey henchman' archetype. I mean just. any image of a guy who is nice for any reason. classic characters being themselves as they have been for decades. male celebrities being nice to each other as if there's some kind of inherent cringe -> cringe band aid applied upon public male niceness.

this habit broadcasts some kind of mental calculation, 'men are supposed to be cold, aggressive, apathetic, or hostile, it's like this guy didn't understand the assignment,'

a very very simplistic version of this calculation could be happening sometimes. it doesn't have to be an elaborate mindset. or an active decision, self-aware belief. it can be automatic. vibes-based. matching feelings with memes that we hope to communicate, 'man is nice? that's dorky. dorky nice man is himbo,' but even unintentionally or thoughtlessly it still bears so much subtext.

that no man in his right mind would ever actively transgress against the expectations others place upon him

That he's feebleminded not to exploit what a big body 'gets him', as if it's a tool and not part of his authentic self.

That he'd have to be defective somehow if he decides to show love or excitement or vulnerability freely.

that he'd have to be missing part of his brain to not consider, or to be troubled by the idea of manipulating or threatening others in his own self-interest.

[feybeasts]

Please don’t take from this any conclusions that I’m not trying to make here but.

I don’t fear dying anymore. Or at least- it doesn’t scare me like it used to. When I was younger, it terrified me, the notion that all this would come to an end someday. I dug deep into so very many… systems of belief, so many words of people wiser than I, and nothing seemed to sate the fear, nothing would bring me peace- it was like I couldn’t live anymore, and when my dad grew ill, it became a fever pitch. Eventually it wasn’t so much that I got over it, but I just got so… worn down, so bombarded with fear and anxiety and hurt that I just couldn’t dredge up the sensations anymore.

And when he died, I… cried, sure, I wanted him back, but there was a funeral to speak at, people to care for, I couldn’t grieve overmuch because like it or not, I had to keep living. And somehow, some way, I did.

I spent almost a decade like that. Just… carrying on. I wasn’t more than 25 years old when he passed away, still a kid in so many ways, especially with the struggles I was already facing, being autistic, anxious, facing traumatic stress I didn’t have a name for. I lived, despite the fear, despite the hanging, painful inevitability of it all.

And then, my childhood best friend lost her life to cancer. And my cat I had raised from a kitten. And my grandparents. Death after death after death.

And I stopped feeling anything- because each time, I was just… expected to be there. To be the strong one, the person that showed up. That was the mask I wore, there was no room to be anything else. I became hardened to it all. Loved ones just… slipped through my fingers, and all I could do was show up, little more than a black dog hanging at the edges of a half dozen cemeteries.

I’m not alone in this, I know people have been through worse, far worse. We often say death is one of the inevitable things in this world- “death and taxes” is the joke. And that inevitably haunted me, even if the fear didn’t. Any time I got sick, any time I felt off, any time I went to the doctor, all I could think was “well, is it my turn? Will this be the time they tell me it’s curtains?”

I mean, it felt inevitable, right? I had lost so much, so many people, so… thoughtlessly. Lung cancer, ovarian cancer, MRSA, kidney failure, a fucking… genetic defect. All just bad rolls of the dice, and my luck had never been all that good to begin with.

But the thing is, we can’t really… determine that for ourselves. I mean sure, you can do things that bring you closer, make that irreversible call- I am no stranger to attempts to check out early, I have the scars to prove it- but if you just… go on living, you don’t know when your time is up. And no matter how much you might assume you’re next on the chopping block after so many losses, sometimes you just keep… carrying on anyways.

For all the arrogance we have, for all our damnable pride, we ain’t craftier than the reaper. Maybe that’s for the best.

I’ve “kept carrying on” for the last eight years, regardless of what I thought. Sometimes I still feel like I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop, like all this, all the good I’ve known, the people I love, like it’s all just… a sweet song on the air, that I just get to listen to it for a little while before someday there’s silence.

When I was young, I was so afraid of when the song ended that I didn’t listen while it played.

Nowadays, I just try to sit back and enjoy the tune.

Nobody knows what’s on the other side of that door. It’s scary to think about. But when my time comes to walk on through, I like to think I’ve at least enjoyed my time here.

And who knows? Maybe death’ll just greet me like an old friend. We’re familiar, them and I- I’ll at least shake their hand and nod that little bit of understanding between us.

It’s the least I can do.

#vent #cw:death #cw:suicide mention #cw:disease

[maliro-t]

Early on in my second BG3 playthrough, I had my pocket picked by Silfy at the Emerald Grove, and when Mol returned my things, they came in the following container:

Pickpocket's Bag: "A warning is embroidered in shaky letters on the inside flap- 'HANDS OFF'."

There was a lovely bit of irony to this whole affair, given that my Tav was an urchin that grew up on the streets of the city running similar cons, and keeping similar stashes. He was endeared by them (and by the bag), and I'm overly sentimental, so I started collecting items that I thought would have stood out to him in this sack, something I added to through the end of the game. Just trinkets and letters; the kinds of things that didn't feel right to just sell or lose in an overfull chest. Little bits of other people's lives that he wanted to remember.

So, to give myself something to looking back on, the following is an account of its contents by the end (excluding some utility items I kept in there for easy access), and some musings on each.

Kanon's Handkerchief: "Its owner frequently insisted he didn't need this hand-cut linen square, but his sister kept it to hand in case his allergies kicked up."

Found on the body of the tiefling Arka, on an overlook between Moonhaven and the goblin camp. He thoughtlessly encouraged her push for revenge. He wished he had told her to live instead.

Mirkon's Story: "Mirkon's present to you, describing how you saved him from the harpies, and how he thinks you were 'ammazeing'."

Once, there was a boy on a beech. he saw there was a harpie nest. He was a very good climer. he wantet to clime to the top and steel from the harpie nest. But the harpie was very mean. She sang a song and the boy forgot wat he was doing. But then an adventurer passed by. The adventurer was very strong and killed the harpie in one blow and safed the boy. The boy was very cold and scared. He was standing in the water so he was very cold. But the adventurer was ammazeing. The boy wanted to be like the adventurer. He wanted to be strong and safe peopple and never be scared egain. Just like the adventurer. THE END

A little scrap of someone else's wonder. Nothing else like it.

Brass locket: "Slightly tarnished and opened with a mere flick of the thumb."

Found on the body of one of Aradin's crew; an adventurer that died at the gate to the grove. It seemed important somehow.

Dog Collar: "An old, leather collar for a large dog. The name 'Myrna' is engraved on the tag, surrounded by a plethora of indecipherable runes."

Someone's still thinking of her, all the way down there.

Torn-Out Paper: "A torn strip of paper with two lines of barley legible script."

Guiding Light: "Used by the previous owner to access both the Underdark's darkest corners and her own basement, this ring seems to reflect light where there should be none."

[The writing on this torn-out strip of paper is shaky and blotted with tears, making it barely legible.] The silence stretches on- I'm all alone. Please, can hold your hands, for just a while?

Patched Parchment: "A small poem about love and loss inscribed in this torn paper."

[The paper is torn and patched in many places, as if it was well-used but treasured. On it is a small poem without a name.] These empty sheets are all that's left of you. The last of all the thoughtless gifts you gave. I will hold onto them; it's all that I can do. I can't throw them away; I've never been that brave.

Vestiges of Lenore. He never had a handle on pretty words like this. The arcane tower was striking, even as someone with little knowledge of or interest in magic. Sometimes you enter a place and can sense the fingerprints of the people who lived there all over it, take in their joy and their pain and their loss as if it were your own, and leave feeling like you've lost a friend even though you never met them.

Sending Shell: "Faint whispers creep from this Sending Shell when you hold it close, yet the method of sending messages from it is unclear."

Purchased from Mattis at Last Light Inn. You can't knock the kid's hustle in even the darkest of times. And besides, this thing has got to work eventually, right? It's pretty, if nothing else.

Stuffed Bear: "This bear- oft torn and repaired- seems one good squeeze away from crumbling into mouldered stuffing and threadbare patchwork."

Found abandoned on the road through the Shadow-Cursed Lands amongst other belongings likely left by refugees. He's sure someone is missing it. He tries hard not to think about the shadow vestiges.

True Love's Caress: "The most pragmatic and courageous lover ever known was, of course, Sorcha MacTire, for whom the popular hairstyle is named, and for whom many an extremely sappy poem has been written (most of them comparing her to geography)."

One of a magical pair of rings connected by a warding bond, the other of which he never found. He's a romantic at heart, in his own way. The idea of it was sweet, anyways.

Barnabus' Collar: "Necklace the Gnoll Master gave Barnabus when she first met him."

He watched this creature tear itself apart, unable to fulfill its master's saccharine-voiced requests. Even a monster deserved better than to be twisted like that. It mattered that it had a name, even if it was given by her.

One Becomes Many: "This book is redolent with the enticing smell of paper and ink."

In each of us is more than what we are; Parts and multitudes that form our thoughts, desires, nature itself. Manifold are the creatures inside you- and what you can become when you speak my words is all your parts made manifest. Your weakness can become strength if it is made legion: quaking hearts can find courage in their numbers, the lowliest vermin can humble a goliath if they stand as an army, and a ruin can become a kingdom for one soul made many. Speak Itori mustag thrice. Become your finest self- all of them Raphael.

Perhaps he kept this one as a warning of what becomes of dealing with devils. Or, on the other hand, out of enticement. But maybe there was just something about a man so desperate to live that he split himself into a hoard of vermin- left to be the final wretched survivors worshiping at the ruined altar of spiteful god- that felt worth mourning.

Crumpled Note: "A plain, unadorned note."

Papa, I love you. LOVE FROM IZ

How quickly we lose things, he thinks, carefully folding one more note into a side pocket. How desperate we are to remember them as they were.

Arfur's Private Musings: "This book is redolent with the enticing smell of paper and ink."

[An unfinished love story, handwritten by Arfur Gregorio, whose name is attached to the bottom of every page.] Her ample bosoms fluttered like doves' fingers, brushing against his nails. The very ends of his moustache stood to attention as the fire stirred behind his eyes. No doubt this was love. Love, ah love! The stuff that dreams are made of. It made him sweat to think of it- the graceful, enduring, blossoming magnitude of what it all, the priceless, breathlesss, weightless, sheer romping joy of it..."

Sometimes you intimidate a 'philanthropist' into surrendering his house to squatting refugees, discover his involvement in an elaborate plot to kill a bunch of kids, scare him into skipping town, go through all of his shit, and keep his half-written smut as a hilarious trophy to fondly remember him by. You know. That universal experience that everyone has.

Guild Ring: "Calishite emeralds are embedded in this heavy silver ring"

A souvenir from past and present.

Inklings: "This book is redolent with the enticing smell of paper and ink."

[This novel is bookmarked on a page lined with markings; its reader seems to have underscored certain parts for emphasis] After all, there's no point in denying the undeniable, which, until that moment, I had obscured with the million minor tasks by which I measured my life. Yes, the polishing, the scrubbing, the pouring of wine and tea and deference into my master's cup- all of it had surrounded and obscured the essential truth of my life, like a phalanx now fallen. I had wasted my years, one by one, and now there were hardly any left to me at all.

Garlow's Retirement Plan: "This book is redolent with the enticing smell of paper and ink."

List of Things To Do: -Climb a tree -Have a truly exceptional sandwich -Spend a whole day reading -Visit Waterdeep -Get a massage -Swim in the Chionthar -Buy a new coat -Get a cat

Vestiges of Garlow. Reminders to live life and live it joyfully. To always notice how beautiful the sunset is, even when he sees it every night. To never take the gentle warmth of the sun on his skin for granted. Wherever that old man ended up, he hopes that he never stopped seeing how precious it all was. The clock won't stop, and this is what we get.

Dear Ansur: "A plain unadorned note."

Dear Ansur, I've said it a thousand times and I'll say it again- there is no cure, and that's all right. I'm fine, more than fine, I'm better than I've ever been. So why torture yourself like this? Of course, I know why. Remember Yal Tengril? You and I sailed together for months, seeking the Great Spire. By the time we found it, we were sick as dogs. But you never left my side, not for a moment, even though you could have simply chosen to fly. You told me there was something about experiencing it with me- through my eyes- you wanted to share in my passion for the adventure. It was, you said, a privilege. The truth is, the privilege was mine. You are the greatest thing that ever happened to me Ansur. I never had to ask you for anything, but I'm asking you now to stop. I may no longer feel my feelings, but I know yours, and yours are agony. It doesn't have to be this way. Be free, Ansur, Fly. And know that even if I'm not beside you, I will always have been your Balduran.

He's not better than he's ever been. He's sure of it. What would it be like, he wonders, to try to impress upon someone the profundity of a love he could only remember once feeling?

Yet here, the Emperor begs not just for its own life, but for Ansur's. Of course, that didn't matter in the end. But there's something about this that feels more real than the carefully presented facade he sees most often from it. There is an incurable humanity in the way it believes unfalteringly that it is right.

#alternate title: what's in my bag (cian's version) #alternate alternate title: a bunch of shit i found mostly on the ground that made me very emotional #the old garlow notes make me tear up for real. i hope the person who wrote them knows that they are appreciated. #and honestly so does dear ansur. woof #oh also the guild ring thing is related to like. the whole backstory for this man that exists in my head which i still think i'm too #self-conscious to trot out. but u know. #it speaks #buzzin #bg3

[pinkanonwrites]

can i request azul with⭐️💔❌🥀? thanks !

⭐️ Do they believe that soulmates exist?

Nope. Azul holds no belief in any of those sorts of superstitions, though he doesn't mind using said beliefs and whims of others to assist in his more devious manipulations. But sometimes, deep in the back of his mind, there's a tiny little part of him that wants to say 'yes, yes they have to!' Because if they do, that means that there has to be someone out there who understands him, who accepts him no matter his flaws.

💔 How do you break their heart?

By throwing any of the old insults that used to haunt him back in his face. He opened himself up to you after so long, allowing you to peer into all the broken, ugly parts he though better to hide, and that was because he trusted you. So to have that trust so easily and thoughtlessly shattered? Well, let's just say he won't make that mistake ever again,

❌ Are they scared of being in love?

Terrified. Allowing himself to be vulnerable is one of Azul's biggest fears, and being in a romantic relationship is one of the most vulnerable positions one can dare to put themself into. You really have to be worth it for him to make that leap, you have to be someone he can't see himself living without.

🥀 How do they act when falling out of love?

Cold, almost clinical. He wastes no time in separating the two of you, and may even go to the lengths of using his contract lingo, that the two of you no longer benefit or have anything to gain from one another. It's deeply cruel from an outsider's perspective, but from Azul's he thinks it's best that the two of you waste no time in a relationship where the feelings are no longer mutual.

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst imagines #azul ashengrotto #azul x reader #azul imagines #my writing #anon #emoji event

[thrudgelmir2333]

"No Saints in Peace Times" - The Continuity of Sanctuary in Masami Kurumada's Writing

When you ask the question "Are there Saints in Sanctuary when there is no Holy War?" are you really asking just that? This is another Reddit-inspired post. I like doing these. Sometimes people actually do ask interesting questions about the Saint Seiya franchise that I like musing on, I just don't put all my thoughts into a response there cause Reddit in general isn't the best platform for essays. I also often get the feeling that this kind of 'overthinking' is frowned upon in that site. Recently someone was very surprised that I made a pot joke in response to a post about a weirdly colored frame of a character, like they expect me to write essays about the most minute things. I can only imagine because, to a lot of people, answering questions online is about posturing and signaling allegiences and not really having human thoughts about something that interests you. Someone asked on R/SaintSeiya if there are Saints operating in Sanctuary between Holy Wars. You know, if they stick around during those 240-year-long periods when Hades is sealed up and the "cameras are off". And I think it is an interesting question because, again, it's one of those lost world-building opportunities that Kurumada just kind of let the other authors who made the spin-off mangas answer for him. At least in story-telling, you know? As opposed to when he has one of those interviews where he thoughtlessly 'expands' on his story's lore, like when he told people that "Cosmos makes you have eternal youth" or that Gold Saint Cosmos had midlochlorians (or maybe that's just some kind of trauma memory from something else just as stupid he has suggested about his own characters)

This post is sort of going to be about all of that. Get ready for it to be long btw. (don't worry, I threw in a couple of images)

Fertility in World-Building

When people have asked me why I chose to write in Saint Seiya when I have such nasty things to say about it, I always say the same thing.

It's because it's a pretty damn fertile world.

Yes, it's fertilisers comes straight out of Masami Kurumada's ass, but hey, produce is produce.

Again, you don't come up with 2.1 million words (so far) to say about it without there being something special about what Kurumada has done. However, I want to draw an important distinction between that being the merit of his work or the merit of his lack of it. It's not so much that this incredible tree of ideas has been planted in it, but more so that it covers so much fucking ground in terms of creative landscapes, that it can't help BUT be fertile.

Think about it for a second; in Saint Seiya, just conceptually, there is Greek mythology, alchemy, weird Muvian people, Shinto and Buddhist influences from Kurumada's martial artist background (one of his few helpful contributions), Japanese corporatism, mistreated orphans, bizarre technology, power suits and an overall fusion of east and west that is found in the best world-built stories like One Piece.

And this without getting to the astrology.

Right! This is so my dad, I swear!

Wait, what? But that's the same as...

I have friends that love astrology. I have friends that call themselves astrologists. Proudly, so. I myself have a bit of a fascination with it.

But holy shit, is there a bigger field for personal speculation than astrology? This topic is so abstract, based on symbolism and subject to cultural backgrounds that it is the backbone of countless conspiracy theories, religions and lores. Not to mention a synonym for that horrible news-channel commentary-segment culture that now plagues everything from sports to politics.

Which is to say you can basically make up shit about any constellation and chances are people will just accept what you say. You can take astrology and pretty much say anything you want about what it means for Mars to be shining brighter and everyone even remotely interested will take you for your word.

In writing, astrology is the perfect vehicle to create a sense of instant spiritual meaning to your characters' designs and actions. It's like salt; you add just enough of it to the pot and even the most horrible cooking will suddenly seem 'ok'.

And this is all because astrology ultimately has a paradox inherent to it; that its simultaneously the most powerful force in the universe, capable of controlling our destinies all across the distant reaches of the universe, while also being the subtlest and most imperceptible one. My chances of winning the lottery are virtually zero, but that's okay, because it's the month of my Zodiac, so my 'luck' is unusually high. I am BOUND to get something. Right? Good luck proving me wrong.

It's religious thinking. It inflames the senses and gives us a sense that there is order to the chaos, all while making itself unfalsifiable. It's no surprise Saint Seiya is especially popular in societies still culturally tied to their religious rituals, even if abstractly, like Brazil and France.

So when you combine it with all those other elements I mentioned, it makes it so that the world of Saint Seiya has this unusually high potential. You can tell stories about technology, society, struggles between genders, the battle of what beauty means and epic accounts of wars against the Gods, all in one setting. So long as you have the right creative person at the helm.

Right.

What all these elements show is that there is no mystery to Saint Seiya's success. It had all the right ingredients after all. It just needed to be stirred right by someone in the position to do so. But once you capture that initial success, then comes the time to invest on it, to see it to term.

Kurumada, the Idea

So, to answer this question, let's talk about the writer for a moment (or two). Masami Kurumada is sort of a fascinating example of a mangaka. I'm a bit obsessed with the guy. He's one of those creatives that have birthed an enrapturing world out of their minds, like Athena sprung out of Zeus' head, and then just catastrophically failed to understand its meaning, implications or potential, like George Lucas or the Wizard Lady. But Kurumada is also one of the most confounding examples of it, because, as is typical of mangakas, not much is known or understood in the West of what kind of guy he is, or even what kind of creative person. This is just a reality about understanding the people who write and draw mangakas because, not only do they live in a pretty quiet society, socially speaking, usually with their own local social medias to boot, but they themselves typically are the quieter type of people. You know, the artists and the nerds.

So on top of the interpretative ambiguity that goofy characters like George Lucas inspire, there is this added layer of fog around Kurumada, especially in the West. You can make up all sorts of shit about what he might have said or done and chances are you will have reasonable plausability to believe it, or find it a positive or negative.

As a result, if you look up Kurumada and his career, at least through English sources, you'll find that a lot of the writing done about it is by fans. And as a result, it looks unprofessional at best and hegiographic at worst. Conversation about his life in social media dedicated to Saint Seiya carries this weird casual fanboy tone to it, describing his art style in an odd, opinionated way that doesn't exactly scream objectivity.

This, I know, is because to the eyes of people unimpressed by Kurumada, he's not worth writing about, which leaves the fans a bit of a monopoly in the practice of documenting the guy.

Why, just relatively recently, someone circulated a story on R/SaintSeiya that Kurumada not only got into a lot of fights, but pretty much badgered his way into Shueisha to get him his job. The post paints it as an act of badassery, like Kurumada was this confident guy who refused to accept that he got the boot from destiny, much like Seiya and many of his other protagonists when they affront their gods with their heroic defiance. The story is based on a blogpost celebrating Kurumada's 50th birthday with a thorough account of his life that is arguably better than anything in wikipedia, but still very flattering (more on that below) Here's the source paragraph for the Reddit thread's statements:

A sober account of events

You could read this very normal account as the story of Kurumada imposing himself into the mangaka industry with his sheer chadness, as the Redditer did.

OR, you could read it more as an editor feeling sorry for a very passionate artist and giving him a starting shot at the studio. Something he didn't even earn, if the aforementioned contest results are to be believed. Which is far more realistic, but less flattering to the 'idea of Kurumada'.

Ah, the ancient times! When animators could just force their way into animation and comic book studios, sleep at their desks and just be allowed to keep working for these companies! Or accost Walt Disney in the street and demand a job after shoving your dossier of animations in their faces. Or in Kurumada's case, 'showing your gumption'.

This is why you should always be very careful reading accounts of people's lives, especially in 'commemorative' pieces, and especially if they're done by fans. These things are usually more akin to publicity stunts than they are to legitimate documentation. More often than not they are vague and inform their tone with their pre-existing intentions.

However, this sort of lame deitification isn't limited to random social media posts. Here's an example talking about the way Kurumada draws from Wikipedia, the wiki everyone can edit. And yes, this was actually written in a site that is supposed to be about objective documentation:

Transcript of Kurumada Fanboying, found in the Wiki everyone can edit.

I want to make clear that despite my cynicism, whoever edited this page obviously had good intentions in mind. I'm sure they are wonderful people. It takes gumption to volunteer to do this sort of stuff, to borrow a term.

But this is just shit wiki work. I don't need to tell you that describing someone's artstyle as "sometimes can seem rough, but his improvement can be seen when comparing old works to new" isn't so much an objective description of the facts, but more so a subjective, insecure evaluation from someone clearly acting as a lawyer to Kurumada's work. On what's supposed to be the world's biggest online reference book. Hence the "citation needed". And some wonder why the franchise's wikis are equally filled with personal commentary on the show and its characters. People don't just put those up to annoy rival wikipedia editors, it's to point out they've done a shit research compilation in what's supposed to be a reliable source of information about someone. And discussion about Kurumada, not just his wikipedia page, is usually riddled with hegiographic tones, where he's described as someone "who has influenced the greatest names in manga today" or "once competed with the greatest". But it doesn't end there.

Seen above; paragraph of barely-conceiled speculation in Wikipedia, the wiki anyone can edit

I don't know about you, but half this stuff feels like a loose collection of 'impressions' of what's going on, based on uncited sources and a wonky timeline of events. It sounds less like a careful description of events, and more of an opinionated online article about the rise and fall of an industry artist's works.

This is, again, because a lot of the talking about Kurumada in the West is done by the fans of the height of his career. You're not going to find the name of a man born in the 50s who drew cartoons in the 70s and 80s in the mouths of people who acquired their taste in media in the 2000s. And that's okay. But if you care so much about it, you know, do a bit of a better job filtering what's factual from what isn't. It's not that hard!

Cause otherwise you get weirdos on Reddit who legitimately think that the only reason Saint Seiya isn't more successful is because 'It got screwed by the network' or that Kurumada is some kind of chad for basically pulling ahead of a bunch of other artists that did better work than he did. And then whine about why he can't compete in people's minds with Dragon Ball.

Usually, if you want accurate, unbiased information on what kind of guy Kurumada is, you need to go straight to the source; the man himself. Funnily enough, the only stuff you can find cited in Wikipedia about Kurumada is stuff describing things he's said in interviews or statements about organisations he's worked under, etc

Now, Kurumada is an award-winning mangaka. There's no doubt about his success and impact. Most of us will never seen even one percent of the triumph in life he has acquired, and that means something. The guy is referenced throughout anime, his characters have been used as templates for other great mangakas works (see my post about how Ikki may have influenced characters like Byakuya in Bleach) and many have cited him as an inspiration for their own careers in art, from mangas to cinema.

Poster Kurumada has made for the 2010 Movie "Clash of the Titans". Kurumada was contacted by Warner Brothers at the time to collaborate with Louis Leterrier's movie remake. Louis himself has stated Kurumada was an influence in his work

I mean, you don't get at least 4 other mangakas to write stories set in your world if you don't have some kind of talent, right? Look at all the people whose minds Kurumada has impacted! Perhaps the hegiographic descriptions are a bit much, but there's a root to why they are written?

This world that Kurumada has conceived must be wonderful to delve into, if it has seen so much success and praise. Surely when we dive into the matter, we will find depthful characters, a personal story of a hero Kurumada wanted to talk about and a setting where characters have multiple dimensions to them? We will surely find an answer to "Are there Saints in Sanctuary when there's no Holy War?"

Yeah...

Well, it's complicated.

The Writing of Kurumada

For those of you who don't know me very well, I write.

I'm not saying that as some kind of statement as to why my opinion is more valid, just to explain why this topic might be important to me.

I'm also not saying that I love writing. As someone once said:

So wise. Someone should put this in hyeroglyphs or something, seriously.

So what do I care about writing if I hate it? Well, this is because there is a difference between you loving something, and something being important to you. You can revolve your life about something that is important to you and still... ----ing... hate doing it. And how limited it is to conveying your thoughts and feelings.

That being said, it does put me in the weird position where I don't really respect any kind of laziness in writing and world-building, because if I was able to spend the last decade of my life writing 2.1 Million words for a franchise I don't even respect,... then someone else not even bothering to do proper world-building and yet being in some kind of position of authority over commenting on it does drive me a bit up the wall.

And, twist, Kurumada's 'world building' drives me up the fucking Wailing Wall. I can see Elysium from how high he drives me.

And no, I don't mean just the recent stuff.

On that topic, for those of you who don't know, Masami Kurumada, in the style of such respectable peers as George Lucas and the Wizard Lady, has spent the last 20-30 years of his life simultaneously not giving a shit about their Magnum Opus and interfering with it in the dumbest ways possible. From revealing that Saga has always just secretly been a "Force Baby" in the same manner as Anakin Skywalker, to stating that the reason Shion lives so long is because "Cosmos is just that convenient that it gives you a long life", Kuru seems to be on a mission to ruin the depth of his world with these milktoast, pandering concepts.

In my opinion, however, the problem stems from much further back, right to the early days of Saint Seiya. Could the signs of his lack-of-shit-given be there from the start? Let's investigate.

And what better place to start than the 50th anniversary account that the earlier Reddit post mentioned? It was so thorough, after all. And it's bound to portray him in a positive light.

Oh.

So the whole thing was an act of spite?

Don't worry, it gets worse.

Uh-uh... okay...

Wait, lol, what?

So... he just recycled a bunch of his own old ideas together?

It shouldn't? Why not?! lol

OH, so it's not laziness, because the people he's selling these old ideas to haven't read them in his other works??? W O W

So, what you could conclude from this, and allow me to influence your conclusion with my own (just like the commemorative piece above tried to), is that Saint Seiya wasn't conceived because Kurumada wanted to tell a story with rich characters that evolve in a dephful world.

It's because he was MAD his previous ideas didn't work with the public and so he manufactured them all into a friendlier, lazier package. One that he could sell to this dumb-fuck public that didn't like his stories.

And he made his whole success out of it.

Yes, this is the origin of Saint Seiya and its writing. The foundational spirit of the story millions of people love to this day (and that I spent half my life obsessing over). A guy sitting at his desk, conceiving characters for a mangaka he didn't want to make, all to chase an idea of success after basically giving up on his personal projects.

If you're the type, like me, that occasionaly peruses the fandom for stuff to talk about, do me a favor; from now on, if you ever see someone whine on the internet about why Saint Seiya can't compete with modern storytelling, just show them these wonderful nuggets. Show them how petty and selfish the foundational spirit of this tale was, how Kurumada didn't even make personal decisions on who should win the galaxian tournament rounds. How he left it to reader surveys, because to him, it didn't matter who won, so long as it was the most popular choice.

There was never any message, any curiosity about this world he was creating, any interest in exploring or discovering things in it. It was just a sad, spiteful, last-ditch attempt at success by a mangaka that didnt even earn his spot at Shueisha being gradually pushed out of the market to make it big during an era of relatively low creative competition.

Kurumada: "Oh, they want trash?! I'll give them trash!! I'll give them all the trash they wa- Oh, it's selling how much? I mean, this is a rich world, filled with wonderful characters! Like Saga! Btw, did you know Saga came from space?"

If you're wondering why this franchise has landed in the hands of people who don't care about anything but selling merch, this is it. It's because even the supposed guardian of the story's integrity didn't give a damn. And the worst part of it is that most of the sources detailing all of this treat it like an inspiring story. Because to them, it doesn't mean anything, because Saint Seiya's narrative value, it's depth in writing, is already decided upon by a combination of its success, nostalgia and how shiny the armors look.

Okay, Thrud, what does this have to do with anything? "Are there Saints in Sanctuary when there's no Holy War?" or not?

Don't rush me! I'm getting to it!

The Price for lack of vision

Hopefully now you understand why I started this post with two sections basically dumping on Kurumada's whole career. It's to make the point that he's far, far, far from being the right person to fully capitalise on these successful elements Saint Seiya has in its soup in the long term. Kurumada is a jock that happens to know how to draw, and the anime injected enough catholic fantasy into their adaptation to ensure Latin America would always be a viable market. Masami didn't even have enough confidence in Saint Seiya to pick by his own vision which characters should advance in the story during the first arc of his epic tale!

So imagine trusting someone like that to write compelling, rich story arcs.

Or understand the differences between Dante's Inferno and the Greek myths of hell, or how they collide in storytelling.

Or taking a comment about how Shun is an LGBT symbol without doing something spiteful in return, like giving him a two-chapter girlfriend named after the interviewer's magazine?

Or imagining what Sanctuary is like for its characters when there isn't a Holy War going on?

And speaking of characters, to pull another Reddit post that annoyed me (mostly from how utterly dumb and caveman-spirited it is), some meme-manufacturing dummy only interested in farming karma made the shallow comparison that Shiori's Lost Canvas Gold Saint characters would be a good replacement for Kurumada's characters in his story.

Moments like this make me wish I was Palpatine falling down the well.

There's a lot wrong with this suggestion of swapping the Sanctuary Arc's characters with Lost Canvas, the worst being that Deathmask, of all the characters in Sanctuary Arc, should be replaced by Manigoldo. I'm not going to go in-depth about how terribly that would work, but I just want to show how the person who made the meme is signalling to a culture of people who thinks the quality of characters is measured not by their utility and effectiveness to story arcs, but by weather or not they are 'badass'. In their minds, all Manigoldo really has over Deathmask is that A) he was an antagonist instead of a villain and B) he briefly fought Thanatos, the Death God (and lost). And that's enough for them to be a 'better character'.

But while the post is just something the author thoughtlessly created for the purpose of making a number of community approval go up, it also points towards the fact that there is a generalised insatisfaction in a lot of Saint Seiya fans about its characters. I would posit that a lot of the reason so many gravitate to Lost Canvas (even though Saintia Sho is better imo) as a comparison of "Saint Seiya being done well" is because it was the first to show that Saint Seiya could be capitalised on to create a story a bit more character-driven.

Which is to say Lost Canvas isn't great, just that it's better than what we had at that point.

The truth is, people are passionate about Saint Seiya and they want to see its potential realised, even if for silly, Dragon-Ball-fans-dunked-on-me ways. They want to see their enjoyment of it validated, elevated to cultural relevance. Some of my most popular posts online about Saint Seiya are posts that... accidentally make Saint Seiya seem smarter than it is.

So, when you ask the question "Are there Saints in Sanctuary when there's no Holy War?" are you really asking just that?

Writing-in-Depth

That's a warfare pun.

See, defense-in-depth was a style of battle ordering where you deliberately arranged the outer layers of your army to be weak, so as to lure your enemy to attack deeply into your center, allowing you to surround them from your stronger positions and....

Oh, whatever. You don't care about that.

When people talk about 'hidden depths' in a character, usually they refer to discovering that a seemingly superficial character actually has a compelling motive for their seemingly superficial actions. You observe a character, see them doing something strange routinely, don't pay any attention to it, and then you discover its because someone once told them it made their spouse smile, or something. My favorite example is Senor Pink, from One Piece.

Senor Pink in his natural state, surrounded by fangirls

Senor Pink is a wild character. He dresses like a baby, has a baby suckler, wears sunglasses, works for one of the most ruthless villains in all of One Piece and has a Devil Fruit that lets him swim through land. And he's 100% serious about all of those things. This is not a gag he's pulling. This dude is dedicated to this shtick and god help you if you laugh at it.

He's also one of the most surprising and beloved side characters in all of One Piece, a story celebrated for its character twists and turns.

I'd advise you to read up on him, but not only is the picture above worth a thousand words, but you'd risk spoiling yourself a pretty neat surprise about why Senor Pink is the way he is. I will offer a hint in the image below, though.

One of the few female characters in One Piece that doesn't totally look like either Nami or Robin

The Senor Pink backstory was a pleasant surprise to a lot of people. Many already liked him for his outrageous design and attitude to his job, but it was also unexpected that such a touching story would be told about a guy inserted into one of the most villainous crews in One Piece. All his coworkers and friends are sadists, liars, manipulators, murderers, torturers, bullies and tyrants, but Senor Pink transcended his context as a character and showed a depth no one expected in him, to the point it was almost surprising a guy like him still worked for Donquixote Doflamingo.

This doesn't mean that in order to have depth in your characters you need to trick your audience. It just means that you have to show they are about something a little bit more than just their names and their jobs. We, the audience, assumed limitations on Senor Pink based on superficial context, and then discovered he had the depths of a human being worried about daily life, loved ones and loved things.

That, in turn, helps paint a grander picture that we could potentially expect that out of any character in One Piece, even the most unassuming ones. Eichiro Oda demonstrated that there is no reason to think there haven't been 1000 Senor Pinks throughout the story. Through the depth of its characters, the world building is given depth. Meanwhile;

Saint Seiya characters in the wild, doing their mating call

You wanna know what they're weeping so hard about? You really wanna know? They're crying that they have to go kill Athena during the Hades Arc. See, Hades ressurrected them and... it's a long story okay? What matters is that they are invading Sanctuary as Specters, hereby becoming traitors to their honor as Gold Saints. The honor of their jobs.

They don't even know Saori that well, btw. That guy on the right? His name is Camus. He's never even MET Saori. He doesn't know what she's like, or the speeches of motivation she's given or even who her favorite boy to whip is (Saint Seiya joke, Im sorry if you don't get it).

He just knows she is Athena. So he cries. Which is to say Camus cries because he's a Gold Saint and so he's supposed to. Not because Saori means something special to him personally. Camus has never stated anything about himself that indicates he gives two shits about anything other than moralising Hyoga for...

...for crying about his mom? Wait, what? Isn't that sort of what he's doing here?

Wait, what's going on here?! Why is Kurumada's writing like this?!

This, my friends, is where we get to the point of this Thrumblr post.

Are there Saints in Sanctuary during Peace?

So, "are there Saints in Sanctuary outside of Holy Wars?"

What I believe the reddit poster was asking, in a small way, was if there is a world beyond what we are shown in the cartoon that Kurumada has envisioned? Does the writing of Saint Seiya, or even of its spin offs, thread towards an unseen dimension, a hidden world-building depth, that we can all be confident in?

Does the story of these characters continue once the curtain closes on Saga's reign, or Julian Solo's rampage? Or does it all blink into the next conflict?

This question speaks to matters of temporal permanence of ideas in a story, of course, of consistency. In a way it's a test to wether or not its worth looking into the story a bit deeper for greater meaning, or a personal message from the author. Is the story smarter than it looks? Does this imaginary world keep on spinning after the camera cuts to black? I'm afraid to say, no. It doesn't.

Not in the minds of its writers anyway.

Obviously there is continuity the technical way, because it makes sense to be, but it doesn't exist in any imagined or thought-out sense, which is the most important. It all just passes by like Harry Potter's summers at the Dursleys.

This is because the world of Saint Seiya doesn't know what its characters are other than action pieces IN holy wars. They are power rangers, going from episode to episode, battle to battle, uninterrupted. While the occasional moment of break exists, there is no 'living' in piece. We aren't shown what these characters are or what lives they've lived when they're not, because they were imagined by someone who never intended to 'create a world'.

Tragically, even Shiryu, the best character in the franchise, only has a simple farmer life with Shunrei in rural china to look forward to. Not that we're shown a whole lot of it, of course. This, obviously, before he gets called back to do his duty.

Go to her, Shiryu! Go to "Sunrei", whoever she is! Leave this shit-show behind!

In One Piece, we can imagine what happens in the entire world while Luffy and his crew battle Kaido in Wano for a year. We picture gears turning and characters moving because, countless times, Oda, who is passionate about his world, has shown us in side stories and catch-up chapters what they have been up to, and the impact it all had in the main characters without them even realising it. Meanwhile, Kurumada had an entire storyline of Shun being Hades' vessel and ikki failing to rescue him, and neither character got to exchange a serious conversation of confrontation later when met with Hades personally. It's like it didn't even matter to them, or that it didn't happen, because the whole thing was just a temporary fancy in the author's head.

There's no continuity to things, no permanence of objects. Things happen, but they then don't continue or matter. Characters rise and fall like the passing of the tides, barely making a dent in our memory.

At the end of every arc, when Saori and her Saints pose to the camera and it all fades to black, the world ceases to, indeed, exist. Sanctuary dies. It disappears from the imagination and lives no life until the curtains reopen. An absent of war in the characters lives means an absence of meaning, of pertinence, of life and character and depth.

There are no Saints in peace times.

Thrudgelmir2333

Post Scriptum

Now, there could come the day that someone could pose this question to Kurumada. "Kurumada-sensei, are there Saints in Sanctuary between Holy Wars?"

You can already imagine what the answer might be. "Why, yes, of course, and they also hold wrestling tournaments in the style of the greco-romans. Also, have I mentioned that Gold Saints are pre-destined to become so and Aiolia was struck by a Thunderbolt of Zeus when he was a child? What? No, I don't remember who June is."

#saint seiya #masami kurumada #sanctuary #world building #writers on tumblr #character depth

[adultswim2021]

Squidbillies #47: "Atone Deaf" | June 29, 2009 - 12:00AM | S04E07

Early gets very drunk and thrown out of the Jiggle Hut. He tries to drive home in front of the Sheriff, who arrests him and makes him be a garbage guy on the side of the road, like they like to do with the prisoners. Early also nearly kills the bartender at said Jiggle Hut with said truck. Early gets in more trouble for brutalizing a nearby shoe store clerk and stealing shoes.

Early keeps leaving jail; one time it’s because it’s under construction and there’s a big hole in the side of the wall, and another time the Sheriff just cheerily informs him that they have an open door policy, so Early just leaves again. It’s one of those episodes where The Sheriff follows Early around to make sure he’s not recidivising all over the place. I swear, there’s like a handful of these. 

Eventually this leads to Early trying to make amends around town to the people he’s brutalized, but he thoughtlessly excludes Rusty and Granny. When Early asks what he has to be sorry for with them, we get a little montage of Homer saying D’oh over and over. Then it ends but I forget how. 

If Squidbillies deserves points, it’s for originality. It still has the skeleton that most Adult Swim shows have; an absurdist plot that acts as a through line for absurdist jokes but dressed up in some strikingly different way. It doesn't have NOTHING in common with, say, Aqua Teen Hunger Force. But it's flavor is different enough for me to say "well, at least it's doing that."

The character stuff is just admirable enough that I don’t really care that much that most of the episodes of the show don’t have much of a point, and are usually just the characters doing stupid stuff. It’s ugliness is more in the spirit of Beavis and Butt-head’s early seasons. It just rarely makes me laugh, is all, and I don’t love it, I just sorta like it. I appreciate it as an small plate in the buffet that is Adult Swim. But you know I’m just biding my time until I can go to the carving station and get myself a nice big slab of–you guessed it–the 2AM Family Guy repeat.

This time they show footage of the Cheyenne Cinnamon pilot. It's playing on a TV screen. That's what that was if you didn't know.

MAIL BAG:

Did you think the pink man episode of aqua teen was meant to be a pisstake on the family guy/robot chicken star wars shows? I very much assumed it was at the time but now... "I don't know!"

Fucked up, but, I think you're absolutely right and my failure to mention this can mean one of two things:

I meant to, but forgot

actually it's going to be three things, not two

don't count that last one. I can't figure out how to renumber this. One of the other ones is: I am joylessly consuming these shows and just trying to get through the act of blogging about them as my life spirals more and more out of control, mind nowhere near the task at hand

(actually 3): I have a very basic inability to make very simple connections, because I am more concerned with finding more esoteric ones. You know that episode of Tom Goes to the Mayor where it ends with Tom saying "whew, saved by the bell!" and it cuts to footage of Dustin Diamond? I DIDN'T RECOGNIZE THIS AS AN INTENTIONAL CONNECTION AT ALL. I just thought it was so phenomenally funny that a guy's beeper going off could constitute being "saved by the bell" in any universe that I chose to embrace that as the joke's true meaning. Let's face it, I'm a mean guy.

the big redhead from boy meets world does pornography now. you can watch it online and see what it's about. unfortunately a lot of it is girl on girl which is fake. not real. but her tits are hanging out in all of it.

My favorite thing about her is that she's an age-appropriate hottie (for me, anyway), so I can whack off with my scruples fully intact. I'm a little salty about my circumcision, my parents really did a number on me in that regard, so sometimes it takes a while for me to get in the mood because whenever I look at my penis I get pissed off at them, and the only thing that calms me down is starting my jack sesh by looking at a bunch of 20 year olds first. But Maitland is my favorite as far as any of you know.

Broheim i was on mythbusters forums all weekend seeing if you would swing by but you never touched base. You missed the annual tribute to the late Grant Imahara. Gotta check out the archives for that. And I know you don't want to miss Kari week. Gotta get on there bro, there just too much left to bust.

Is there enough room for two giant red-heads in my life? Uhh.... (this music starts playing)

Anyone notice that this era of adult swim is just completely fucking gay.

Bad year! We need some juice! We need more bald UCB dudes to make shows. Come on! PLEASE. Also don't say "gay" it's rude.

#adult swim #adultswim2021 #squidbillies

[spacefinch]

Magic School Bus incorrect quotes

Carlos: Hey I wonder what happens if I put powdered milk into carbonated water.

A FEW MOMENTS LATER

Carlos: My cereal is loud and it’s demanding to know why I would sin against both nature and god so thoughtlessly.

Phoebe: How does it taste?

Carlos: Bad.

Dorothy Ann: The fizz comes from carbonic acid in the water splitting into CO2 and H2O over time. And carbonic acid is— as an acid— sour. By adding milk to sour water, you’ve created a very convincing emulation of spoiled milk, so I’ll believe in a heartbeat that the taste is not great.

Carlos: I have mastered the potion “Instant Spoiled Milk” earning me the rank of shittiest alchemist currently alive.

Ralphie: It’s quick, it’s easy, and it’s free: pouring river water in your socks!

Keesha: Why would I do that?

Ralphie: It’s quick, it’s easy, and it’s free!

Izzy (my OC): So basically I

Mikey: rimce 🍚

Izzy: Does nothing matter to you?

Mikey: rimce 🍚

Phoebe: She was poetry, he couldn’t read

Ralphie: his name was jarred, he’s nineteen

Carlos: When his parents built a very strange machine

Dorothy Ann: Watch that scene dig in the dancing queen

Tim: Eyyyyy Macarena

Keesha: Horrible job everyone

Phoebe: My talent is identifying birds.

Wanda: Okay, what’s this one?

Phoebe: Yep. It’s definitely a bird.

Carlos: Have you heard of Murphy’s law?

Phoebe: Yep

Carlos: Have you heard of Cole’s law?

Phoebe: I haven’t

Carlos: It is thinly sliced cabbage

Phoebe: How dare you

Carlos: “The Walking Dad” but it’s just a guy walking around the house turning off lights and muttering that he’s “not made of money.”

Mr. Ramon: CARLOS!! You left your bedroom light on again! I told you, I’m not made of money!

Phoebe: Why does anyone try to fight a goose?

Tim: Sometimes the goose gives you no option.

Tim: 🎵 The head bone’s connected to the neck bone🎵

Keesha: 🎵The neck bone’s connected to the neck bone

Carlos: 🎵 The neck bone’s connected to the neck bone

Dorothy Ann: There are seven cervical vertebrae

Ralphie: TOMORROW IS HALLOWEEN

Keesha: Why are you guys reblogging this in December?

Phoebe: TOMORROW IS HALLOWEEN

Wanda: TOMORROW IS HALLOWEEN

Keesha: It is February, you ANIMALS

Carlos: TOMORROW IS HALLOWEEN

Mikey: Oh sorry, I fell asleep while I was waiting on you to make me a sandwich.

Carlos: Go back to sleep AND STARVE.

Arnold: Being alive is great because there are so many different vegetables you can sauté. But then there are also the horrors.

Carlos: Not all math puns are bad.

Carlos: Just sum of them.

Mikey: Dad, what’s for dinner?

Carlos: Dad, we’re hungry!

Izzy: Dad, what’s for dinner?

Carlos: Dad, we’re HUNGRY!

Mr. Ramon, trying to cook: *screams*

Carlos: Party time!

Carlos: *enters room*

Carlos: Eyyyyy! Everybody clap your hands!

Everyone: *clap clap clap clap clap*

Wanda; My DNA test results came back positive. I definitely have DNA.

Tim: Quit bragging.

Carlos: I’m glad to report that Hot Dr. Pepper was a success at my family’s Christmas dinner.

Carlos: Might be because I told everyone it was tea at first, except Mikey, who saw me pouring a bottle of Dr. Pepper into a hot pan and just immediately went “Woah can I have some of that?”

Keesha: *filming*

*camera pans over*

Keesha: Hi!

Arnold: … Okay.

Tim: I swear, the next one of you to say “weird flex, but okay” is going to regret it.

Carlos: …

Phoebe: …

Keesha: …

Dorothy Ann: Preposterous boast, but alas.

Tim: *sigh*

Wanda: If you have knees, you are valid.

Tim: Homophobes have knees, too.

Wanda: Not for long.

Ralphie: What means “I hate you” in dinosaur?

Carlos: No. Dinosaur is the language of love.

#magic school bus #incorrect quotes