#'We're expendable' moment like—

[aptericia]

Not proud to be here.

--

Ok, here goes draft like 5 of this fucking post. I spent 4 hours tossing and turning in bed last night thinking about this, and then this morning I found a tumblr post that really helped me understand what I was trying to say.

The post talks about how aromantic "advocates" claim that "aros don't take up resources, so there's no reason not to include them!" And if that's actually what people believe, I think I can finally articulate why it is that I feel so alienated in queer spaces.

It's because aspecs in general aren't "welcomed" by much of the queer community. We're tolerated. We perhaps get the luxury of not being contradicted on our own identities, or not being specifically kicked out of LGBTQ-only spaces, but that's the whole point: what we get out of the queer "community" is people NOT doing things, not actually doing things FOR us. And that, frankly, is not enough. We deserve conversations about us. We deserve to have others consider our feelings, even when making lighthearted jokes. We deserve varied, respectful representation in media. We deserve the active deconstruction of amatonormativity in society. We deserve to have space made for us, rather than at most being told we should "go take up more space!" ourselves.

Of course, the reality is that my being aspec is a personal matter that does not inherently affect anyone else. But the same can be said for literally any queer identity. Your being gay doesn't say anything about me, so of course I shouldn't hurt you for it, but why should I help you either? Because your happiness and comfort are important. The same goes for aspecs.

And most of the time, I don't even need anyone to make space for or expend resources on me; I can live fine in everyday, non-queer-specific places without mentioning my identity at all. But it's the queer community that claims it will make that space for me, doesn't, and then acts defensive and morally pure if I call out the hypocrisy because "we're queer too, you can't erase our identities to advocate for yours!!!!"

Again, this post isn't about specifics. I have queer friends who are incredibly thoughtful and supportive about my identity, just as I have non-queer friends who are. I find more solidarity in aspec-only communities, as well as trans/genderqueer ones, although there are still many exceptions. This post is also not about amatonormative ideology, which is extremely common from queer and non-queer people alike. This post is about the reason I've felt so betrayed by the queer community.

--

On a personal note, I remember being so excited when I started identifying as aromantic (and later asexual). Fitting myself into labels has been a lifelong struggle for me; to this day I still can't confidently say if I'm White or PoC, neurotypical or neurodivergent, abled or disabled, cisgender or not cisgender. I continue to struggle making friends because I don't fall into social cliques. To discover that I officially, certainly, was LGBTQ+ lifted a huge weight off my shoulders. And now I'm just so sad to find that despite that, I'm still stuck in the middle. I didn't get rewarded with a community. I still feel alienated from both queer and non-queer people. I know it was silly to get my hopes up when there's such vast diversity in both groups, but it really was a disappointment. Going to my first Pride parade last year was really the moment where I realized this.

#my art #lgbtq+ #lgbtqia #queer #aromantic #aro #aromantic asexual #aroace #aspec #social commentary #aro tag #eyestrain #<- idk? #kissing #long post #aphobia #arophobia #vent art

[athenagranted]

canon: what if 🥺 we were 🥺🥺 two boys 🥺🥺🥺 and we kissed 🥺🥺

fanon: you can have my back any day. there's nobody in this world i trust with my son more than you. do you know how much christopher misses you? how could you. you're not around. so, does this boy crush on eddie mean that you're finally moving on from abby? you two have an adorable son. to be seen, to be found. isn't that what we're all searching for? did you ever stop for a moment to think what that could do to us? anyways, that won't happen to us. you're stuck with us. you wanna go for the title? uh, this is eddie's house. i'm not really a guest. so we can end up with two cut lines? i had to do it. i know you did. you're a miracle worker. can't you both be good cops? we got you. we got you. i got you. are you hurt? i need you to hang on. he's tough as nails. he's a fighter. you're the guy that likes to fix things. you don't need to pretend with me. you need to move on. i have. i misunderstood the assignment. you gave him that second chance. maybe that's the point. yeah. maybe it is. hey, comes in handy when you have a bunch of holes in your wall. alright cowboy, go get 'em. you don't have to be anything for anybody. three minutes and seventeen seconds. you love being the guy with the answers. okay, i got you. because, evan, you came in here the other day and you said you thought it would have been better if it had been you who was shot. you act like you're expendable, but you're wrong. yeah. or you could have mine.

#buddie #911 #rae.txt

[luveline]

Sooo maybe you got this already but how about modern day remus hurt/comfort featuring the blue moon we just got?

tysm♡

You can't lie on top of Remus like you want to, but you can curl up by his side. The saying once in a blue moon has lost all of its charm —your poor boyfriend gets to suffer twice in one month. Not cool.

"You," you say, as though this is your entire sentence, distracted by the need to kiss his stubbly cheek, "are so handsome." 

"Stop buttering me up." 

"But I like to," you whine, laughing as he turns his head up to encourage another kiss on top of the first. You kiss him pink, his pale cheeks finally flushing with a little colour after days a peaky grey. 

Remus curls onto his side to match you, two halves of the same heart, chocolatey brown eyes a little darker in the morning light. He winces as he does, some newly stitched cut or bandaged bruise giving him trouble. 

"'Nother cup of tea?" you ask. 

"I think I'm full of tea, my love." 

He's much nicer after a full moon than before it. He tells you of teenage years spent screaming at the people who loved him to leave him alone, to do something, to put him out of his misery. You're thankful that these days he just get moody, like a bad case of premenstrual agitation, and then afterwards he's very sorry. You don't want anymore apologies from him today and you think he might be finished offering them, content to lie in the warm mess of his bed with you as you rub his sallow skin. 

"Shall we have a snog?" you ask. 

"Don't," he says, "don't even joke about it." 

You laugh softly at his upset and poke his cheek. "How terrible it must be for you to ache too much for a kiss. What if I do all the work?" you ask. 

"Maybe one," he says, murmuring as you lean down, "or two." 

You kiss his chapped lips gently. The room silent but for the brush of your palm against his face, he pulls in a breath at your touch through his nose, his lips parting a millimetre, maybe less. You use your elbow for leverage, careful not to lean on his sore shoulder as you pull away, turn your head, and dive back in, your noses bumping. 

You forget yourself when he touches your back. A shorter, startled sound bubbles at the back of his throat and you immediately recede. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," you say, eyes wide and checking him over. 

"It's just my arm, sweetheart. My fault." 

You take his hand resting at your back and put it back where it was on the bed. "This is why we don't kiss after a full moon," you say, more to yourself than him. You feel like you've dangled a carrot on a stick in front of him. "I'll make you more tea." 

He catches your arm before you can climb off the bed. "I'm fine! Stop worrying. And I really couldn't manage another if I wanted to. But if you want to make yourself one, please, do, and write it down on the chart." 

"I'm not writing a cup of tea down on the chore chart," you say. "How is that fair?" 

"Why wouldn't it be fair? I've made you zero cups of tea these last few days and you've made me twenty. I think I'll be making you tea all month to make up for it." 

You smile at him fondly. "Can I trade some tea in for less turns doing the dishes?" 

"We're not currently accepting trades, at the moment." Remus expends energy he doesn't have kissing your elbow. "...But I can make an exception. For you." 

You lay back down to give him ease of access. "You can just kiss my arm again and we'll call it square." 

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #marauders era #remus x reader #remus x you #marauders #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin blurb #marauders x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fanfiction #the marauders #luveline's 40k party

[theayesphere]

Hey gang, Joy here!

As you've all likely noticed, the podcast has been on a bit of a break recently in favor of playing Stardew Valley. This post is to let you know the hiatus will be continuing for a while longer.

Nothing is wrong -- we're both just exhausted and trying to practice what we preach.

Both Aye and myself have full workloads at the moment, and while we have a lot of fun hosting the podcast, I won't cheapen what we do by saying it doesn't take a lot of time to prepare, not the mention the energy we have to bring to make it fun for everyone watching/listening.

The podcast is still fun for us, but realistically speaking, between our workloads and personal lives, neither of us has the mental or physical bandwidth left to expend, so we're doing the responsible thing and taking time to rest and avoid burnout, something which I am sure all of you understand and support.

So, when will the podcast be back?

We're not quite sure at the moment. Hopefully, sooner rather than later, once we've got our groove back. Then we'll be back to winding each other up every other week. In the meantime, we're enjoying playing games together and just socializing with everyone who comes to watch.

That said, there will be no stream today. Both of us are, to use what I believe the official diagnostic term is, "fucking knackered." We're taking the day off and having a kip. But we'll see you on Wednesday for more Stardew! So you should definitely come hang out and chill with us. It's a fun time and we really love hanging out with everyone who shows up.

Right. Have fun and take care out there, and thanks for being supportive and understanding. It means a lot to us.

x

#the ayesphere #hiatus #ayeforscotland #thebibliosphere

[reilliane]

Fatalism ⊱⊰ Scaramouche

✤ she/her ✤ words: 9.5k

The oh-so-great Balladeer was a puppet on strings. Despite this, he has a dream to fulfill, and he would do whatever it takes to achieve it—even if it meant forsaking his 'heart'. But pride always comes before the fall. He could never ever write over fatalism.

✤platonic angst :) ✤we're going to break him all over yall

“Awaken.” commanded the Electro Archon as the heavens growled. 

The violet pool within the golden laver swirled, the entwined hands coruscating with a divine spark of Electro. Her command was obeyed, and two pairs of eyes opened at the same time. 

His birth was most unorthodox. Disparate in the sense that he wasn’t born of flesh and blood, but of methods inexplicable to human comprehension—even to him. 

It began with a tranquility like no other, enclosed in a spacious black void in which no other creature lived but his consciousness. But in that cloister of nothingness, he felt safe, he felt a closeness to something he couldn’t pinpoint. The contiguity would be ascertained soon after he heard an obdurate voice calling- ordering him to be roused from slumber. 

So he did. 

And he bore sight to his creator, his mother, the Electro Archon, as she regarded him with a countenance that spoke little of what she felt. Her hand upon his forehead was warm, but her eyes withheld an everlasting winter that bespoke of no potential summers.

She murmured something under her breath before withdrawing her hand and turning her back for a moment. An inauspicious action.

This churn of discomfort was set aside upon recognizing the same warmth somewhere on his limbs and he followed its origin. With a short incline of his head and a twist to the left, he blinked.

There were two sets of long tables, occupied by two figures, him included. His left arm was outstretched to the side, dipped into a gilded laver that contained a liquid tinted with violets that reminded him of his creator’s eyes. It shimmered and emitted a sense of divine power.

But what kept his hand warm in the cold pool was the hand of another. 

Her gaze upon him was a mirror of his own upon hers. She spoke not with her tongue but her [c] eyes, and he too, did the same. They were parallel to one another, distant yet entwined by their fingers that had the same length, down to the fingertips. 

They were both without a name, without a defined personality. Canvases that were white and stark, hoping to be filled with color. Hoping to be a magnum opus. 

He wouldn’t be able to utter anything in that moment, as they were then separated, whisked away by strangers that appeared to be of service to the Electro Archon. He would only see his mother and that girl he reckoned to be his twin sibling later in a privy room, where the tall woman would first come to his sibling, who dipped her head. 

Her figure would close in on itself, glowing [c] until she became nothing but a small accessory floating upon their creator’s palm. It—his sister—had become tinier than his own hand. 

“A pawn piece,” a voice came from the left, and a sly-looking woman with pink hair hummed. “How appropriate for you to liken her to one.”

“But of course,” responded his mother. “If the puppet is to hold the Gnosis, then I must first see if he can handle something in its likeness. She holds at least half of the power, and for that I see no reason not to shape her as a pawn. I surmise it is the only piece in the board untouched by the Heavenly Principles.”

The foxy woman smiled impishly as she concluded. “For though pawns are capable of attaining majesty, they are still expendable.”

“Precisely. Now..”

The Electro Archon came upon him, her violet gaze stormy and steely as she neared the floating ‘pawn piece’ closer to his chest. “May your being be emboldened by that which is meant to be your core; a prototype heart of power.” 

Like congealed water, the piece disappeared through his clothes, into his skin, and into his very being. What previously was a mere accessory took a different shape in his consciousness, and he felt whole.

Complete. It was a feeling like no other. 

Raiden Ei hummed, satisfied at the sight of the spark of life in the puppet’s eyes. “So it has worked.” 

“A good thing, isn’t it?” Yae Miko questioned, her tail swaying leisurely at her back. “But her very case is a pseudo-power half of what is authentic, no?”

“Yes and no.” The little puppet did not understand what they were speaking of, there was only the innate kind of euphoria provided by the comfort of the pawn piece within him—his own heart. It was his twin sibling, his other source of power, if he managed to comprehend the conversation correctly. 

He felt full, like when he first opened his eyes and saw his mother. Felt safe, when he saw that his birth was in synchronicity with his heart. 

So when the hand plunged back into his chest like nothing to retrieve the small pawn, it felt as though he was engulfed in a banquet's inferno. His limbs lit with flames and it was difficult to get a grasp of his environment, mind befuddled, voice lost.

He could barely see the way the priestess scrutinized him as a different item was thrust into his chest. 

It was bigger and weighed much more. It was a heart that thrummed with so much divinity and power that he turned statuesque in its glory. The difference was profound. 

His little heart—his twin, rather—held a peace akin to a nest of comfort, but the heart his mother had newly provided was laden with somber wisdom. He sensed not the presence of the girl who bore only the slight likeness to him, but he felt that of a different one, kind and prudent, yet desolate with life. It was so much that it brought tears to his eyes.

And thus, with a sharp, narrowed look of his creator, the decision was set in stone. 

Not even a fortnight—no, a fortnight was most generous. Not even a week, and they’ve been forsaken.

“I need not a vessel whose gaze was more scrupulous than callous. He isn’t fit for the purpose I built him for.” 

Haunting words.

“And what of the nexus you built with him? Essentially, they are one.”

Sickening truths. 

“... She is a prototype I am not disposed to confine, either.”

Vexing failures. 

Reminders of the reason as to why he had pursued this path. Too many betrayals, too many faux promises, and too little mercy in a world that was filled with naught but the evil end of the spectrum. 

The puppet clicked his tongue as he gazed upon the lacerations on his skin, his clothes torn and tattered, fringed off the hems with licking flames. He stared at the remnants, condemning the beasts inwardly with a series of curses only unfortunate peers ever had the tragedy of knowing. 

“Closer,” he murmured as the mob dispersed, only for another horde to approach. “Closer, and closer..” to greatness. 

The Abyss was even more ruthless than the surface world of Teyvat, yet he found the darkness within it reminiscent of the void that came before his creation. He ignored the sting of his injuries and opted to gird himself with the beckon of power. 

“Don’t push yourself.” the warning was in his head, but it sounded as if the voice came from behind him, always in his shadow. “I can’t have the Doctor poking needles into you as though you’re a labrat again.”

Funny, isn’t that what he was to that man, anyway? Besides, that sort of event happened each time he returned from his expeditions and battles in the Abyss. 

“Kunikuzushi.” the voice was stern. 

“Fine.” 

He always meant to go overboard, that was a metier fit only for someone of his constitution. Fragile and enervated humans couldn’t hold a candle to his sturdiness as a puppet, and it was primarily this facet of his existence that corroborated his mileage to the Fatui.

So, he welcomed it with open arms, for he knew this path, though toilsome and arduous, would pave the road to his fate as a god.

He had forgotten the exact length of his ‘tarry’ in the sinister Abyss, but the darkness was a close companion that he’d known for his whole life. 

In the rare interludes in which there would be no scourge or cataclysm in his stygian ventures in the otherworldly realm, he would rest and allow the extent of his injuries to overwhelm him. Only then would there be an effulgent flicker in the suffocating coat of black, coming upon his will.

His twin sister embodied that light, as she was a creation more mystifying than he was in essence. 

She was—as he recalled his creator called her—his heart, who awoke in his moment of sheer desperation when he tried to ask the Electro Archon for help many centuries ago, and who had been with him ever since. 

Humans were born with one, and he was created with her in a similar aspect, and both their eyes opened at the same time. 

A puppet with a heart.

Kabukimono and Nisemono. 

Kunikuzushi and Kenkoroshi.

Names that undoubtedly would only stockpile on the other as they traversed this path to their shared dream. 

His heart was his main source of power.

Yes, he was strong on his own, but his sister was created from the godly power of Raiden Ei, emboldened by the influence of the Gnosis—the piece that was meant to be his. It meant that his sister was essentially a lesser version of the Gnosis, a facsimile—an imitation.

 

It was a connotation that conjured a frown on her usually blank face, but one that was wiped off with ease whenever Kunikuzushi would remind her that he was a literal puppet created in the likeness of their creator. There was a peculiar comradery in their shared existence as imitations, but that did not void their identities as ‘creatures of their own’. 

Kunikuzushi would receive word from one of Harbingers themselves to return to Snezhnaya sometime later when he would be in one of his seldomly taken respites. The puppet would wordlessly stare at his hand, which was in the grasp of his twin sister, who had taken up a corporeal form to accompany him in the physical realm.

He never failed to assert that it wasn’t needed—for he could literally hear her voice in his head—, but she also never failed to exhort that accompanying him physically was a different kind of company in itself. He disliked how it was a sound reason, so he relented every time. 

This mutually indulgent quietude was infrequently broken by either two, but it was fractured by the ‘pawn’ the second they arrived in Snezhnaya. Personally escorted by a handful of Fatui soldiers upon the Jester’s management following the order to return from the Abyss, she tugged away at his sleeve. 

“Something weighs the wind.”

During times like these, when she would speak in riddles and figures, the puppet would be less than enthused, yet he humored her. It was inexplicable, but his twin always seemed to have some kind of prescience. 

“It doesn’t feel dangerous, though.” Ah, so that meant it was something good. 

Kunikuzushi could not help the snark in his voice as he responded. “I’m disposed to believe that you’re lying in the face of our ‘life’s’ usual pessimism. When has anything remotely good ever come to stay?” 

“This one will, perhaps.”

It was unnecessary to tone down their voices, even though their peers regarded them with puzzlement. Why should they? No one would understand the context of their conversation, anyway. 

The factuality of Kenkoroshi’s presage would be ascertained in a castle bespeckled with the rigidity of snowflakes. Diamond flakes annealed with solemn ‘love’, sharpened as though to appear like icy dirks, yet refined as if they also symbolize frozen tears. 

The loveless motherland of Snezhnaya was a wintery Kingdom he had only come to at least once or twice. Little did he know, as his twin retreated back into the pawn piece in his chest, that he’d later be acclimated to the snow that was as pale and bleak as his perspective of life. 

“You are hereby appointed as the Sixth Harbinger, take upon a new name as Scaramouche, the Balladeer.”

Ah. So that was what the entourage was for. 

The Tsaritsa was with the voice of a daemon, yet the undertone withheld the echo of a lamenting cherub. Time was scant to bother wondering over why—after all, it wasn’t like it was a responsibility or duty of his to answer to the Cryo Archon’s emotions. He was yet to even cross his own quagmires. 

His inauguration as the Sixth Harbinger, the Balladeer, was well-received and esteemed within the Fatui, but he had no doubts that it was because it was mere pleasantries. The rest of the Harbingers could hardly be impressed, but that was his own personal conjecture, for they showed probable facades that probably belied their ennui. 

The celebration lasted a week, and he came to admit the complication in adjusting to the sudden attention brought with the bestowment of a rank he had come to travail over. 

On the eve of its final day, he was ‘alone’ in his personal quarters that were leagues above what he was used to. Or perhaps he should rephrase that and mention that it had been a long time since he had chambers he could call his own, one that supposedly matched the majesty of his identity.

The last time he had something of this splendor, he was still on the watch of the Electro Archon, and that lasted less than five days.

What an irritating reminder. 

“Is this everything you sought for?” as always, Kenkoroshi’s hand was void of any kind of temperature–she was insipid in a literal fashion, and it wasn’t meant to vilify her existence as an imitation. 

For a moment, Kunikuzushi—no, Scaramouche, was quiet.

It had been a long and exhausting week of celebration, no matter the novelty and pride it brought him to be able to reach such a monumental stone in his ‘life’.

He looked down at the hand on his own, finding [not admitting] the gesture comforting. It was a reticent gesture between them, to just hold hands whenever they were alone—it was homage to their ‘birth’, when they awoke to an unknown world.

They had nothing, no knowledge, just the hand of the other and their presence and existence split as two but deemed as one. 

“No.” He answered later, “I wish for what was meant to be mine.”

The Gnosis. 

In a fleeting moment, he sensed her slight tension before it was easily awashed with her usual nonchalance. “... Why do you covet it so much?”

He scoffed. That was a stupid question, why else would he want something that was his in all putative angles of logic and reason? He was solely created for it.

“My purpose—no, my destiny. It was mine, that power.”

“And my power is not enough for you?”

Snezhnayan winters were algid—bone-chilling. Albeit he was far too acclimated to such temperatures and was far from being bothered, he could feel its biting frost on his skin, still. It was something that a measly hearth in the far left of his chambers could ever hope to drub.

Yet the question that she asked sent a chill down his spine. She asked it with the same, monotonous delivery, but for some reason, it sounded much heavier in his conscience. He despised it. 

“Adequate enough.” He deigned to respond, their hands motionlessly entwined, still.  “Enough to last until my birth as a god.”

There was no response. He despised that, as well. 

For the first time that night, he turned to her—only to find her [c] gaze pointed towards the crackling flames of the hearth. He almost heard the crisp sound of burning wood and could almost smell the scent of burning flesh, but that was a memory in the crevices of his mind. Imageries and sounds that forego his mission to be divine. 

“You’ll help me, won’t you, my dear twin.” there wasn’t exactly venom in his voice, just a poignant edge that prompted the [c]-haired pawn to look at him. When she said nothing again, he clicked his tongue. 

“Kenkoroshi.” he admonished. 

Finally, she answered.

“I will.” He could tell that it was genuine, it just took her some time to respond. 

Good. With that, he turned away, and she did as well, though their hands remained connected. It wasn’t sooner when he spoke again, his tone carrying a sense of realization and pride altogether. 

“We’ve to think of a new name for you. I’ve already taken up another. Any grand ideas?” 

Silence. He wasn’t surprised. He was the one that offered to establish themselves with new names each time they decided to leave a piece of unwanted tragedy behind, so it came to perspicuous reason that he was to do the honors again—

“[Name].” in awe, he turned to her. “I’ll go with [Name].”

The astonishment would’ve lasted had she worn an actual expression on her face. He did not give any sort of critique about her chosen name, however. He simply nodded, testing the name on his tongue. 

“Good.” he squeezed her hand. “A new chapter burns bright. One step closer to the finale.”

Their work was cut out as a Harbinger, although, technically speaking—[Name] wasn’t the Harbinger. Missions for the Tsaritsa and her endeavors proceeded without fail, and under those zealous quests, she was aware that the Harbingers had personal assignments of their own. 

It was ostensible in an organization like the Fatui, she knew, that people’s interactions were transactions in their own right. Her twin brother preferred to intuit it the same way, in contrast to her own beliefs. When she told him of this, that she thought that there needn’t be any ulterior motives to causeries, he rolled his eyes.

“I looked at the world similarly once.. Look where that landed us.” he had sardonically quipped, and the conversation ended there.

Still, even with the facts transfixed, the way she conceived things did not change. It was to the chagrin of her sibling, but he did little to dissuade her from thinking otherwise—for she knew that as long as it wasn’t an impediment to his goal, he’d let her do and think as she pleased. 

He was bitter about it, though, later on mumbling that the ‘ginger-head war addict’ must’ve influenced her. He spoke of Tartaglia, the young soldier who somehow found and believed that there could be goodness in a league that founded morally questionable coups and schemes, the pawn noted.

Although she never truly met the youth who eventually came to be promoted as the Eleventh Harbinger face to face—her existence wasn’t broadcasted for the entire organization to know—maybe, she thought, maybe she was influenced a tad.

Or perhaps she always was just meant to be on the spectrum in opposition to her twin. 

It had always been that way since the start of their lonesome ventures and idiosyncrasies about the nation of Inazuma. 

When he had gotten jaded over the betrayals the world had thrown them in, he swore to scrub every trace of emotion that stained him until not even vestiges could be sensed. Yet, here he still was, the one who felt emotions the most. It was not to disregard the fact that she could also feel, but rather, he was just a feelings-kind of puppet and there was nothing wrong with that. 

Scaramouche said that it was because he had her, his heart, so he could feel. 

[Name], ever circumspect, was worried—but she knew it to be true. If he had no heart, if he just had power, then what would he be like? She didn’t want to imagine it.

What, exactly? Didn’t want to imagine him without a heart? Or didn’t want to imagine him with all the power he could ask for? She didn’t know, either, and that in itself was frightening. 

He assured that he would not get rid of her, however, he always did—for they were twins, they were two beings as one. Kabukimono and Kunikuzushi said it himself, and she took comfort in that. 

But a wise man knew better. Someone, a third party guided and led by pragmatism and reason, stated otherwise. 

“While it is true that you were created as an expendable tool, even the most churlish will know that your power is valuable.”

[Name] merely shook her head, her legs swinging absently as she sat on a rather tall, metal table that surely must’ve felt cold to most humans. “I’m not interested in your spiel, sir. Spare me the talk.”

The Doctor was that wise man, Dottore, the Second Harbinger. From the start, he had been fascinated by their existence as one being split in two, and whether he was intrigued by which one if specificity was in context, well, she didn’t know. 

He unnerved her; his wisdom, his tact, and his rationales. 

“Come now, there’s no harm in being honest, is there? The Balladeer isn’t awake.” 

She didn’t like how he somehow knew how to transfix ideas through her head, a feat none other than Kabukimono could do. The former was a formidable man, and she had forgotten how many times she expressed that to the puppet. 

“I would not have furthered this level of strength without Dottore’s pricking needles,” he had told her before. “So just put up with it.”

Kabukimono was powerful with her, but the Doctor unsealed the hidden strength—that was a truth that she could not deny. So, as advised, she tolerated the Sumerian. Her patience was running thin, however. 

The number of Dottore’s laboratories exceeded the amount of fingers a human had. Throughout her time in the Fatui, she had gone to visit them all, and aside from the location of each tool and table, the interior looked ever the same—not to mention the scent of rubbing alcohol and antiseptic. Nowadays, or ever since he had unlocked the full capacity of Kunikuzushi’s powers, it carried the scent of something inexplicable. 

It might’ve come from the odd, violet substances she always saw him inject into her sibling.

“You may try to hide under that expressionless facade, but I know you are just as emotional. Not even he knows that, does he?”

The Doctor’s footsteps reverberated in the silent laboratory, coupled with the clinks and clanks of the tools in the metallic tray beside the equally metallic table. 

She ignored him, opting to regard the place where Kunikuzushi laid to act as some kind of distraction. To Sandrone, it was an inventing table as much as it was a dissecting one. She mentioned that the names differ with purpose, so if she were to account that into the present, then was it something akin to an inventing table??

The Doctor stopped in front of her, and since her line of sight was pointed to the floor, she was staring at his neatly shined footwear. By then, with him up front, she knew there was no use in blocking out whatever he wished to blabber about. 

“It’s precisely the reason why he exploits your power. Because someone who can’t ‘feel’ is therefore less apt to act out on sentimental grounds. They simply obey—like a tool.” 

Ah, if he meant to incite something by means of depreciating—more like likening—her existence to her twin sibling, then it was unlikely to work. From the genesis of it all, she already knew who she was. What she was. It came with innate acceptance, so there was no way she’d ever think of herself as more than that; a tool. 

“Because that is my purpose for living, to be used as his source of power.” 

“Purpose for living or existing? There’s a difference.” Of course, the Doctor always had a rebuttal, and they were eloquent. “Are you truly alive?”

A good question to ruminate over; was she alive? She was, but was she living or existing? 

The answer, albeit unsaid, was reticent between them. She was simply existing because she came to this world as such. Beyond the names and purposes she had been given, there was nothing of her own will. Or at least, nothing that extended beyond her will to serve as a means of power.

There was nothing wrong with that… she liked to believe. 

It was like being a Vision to a Vision-holder. 

The sight of the Doctor’s feet ambling away recaptured her attention, and so, she looked up for once. She glanced at him with his hands at his back, his steps taken leisurely as he wandered about the cold, sterile laboratory. She wished she hadn’t though, for it seemed like he knew whenever someone looked at him, for he tilted his head to meet her eyes with a small, sharp smile. 

“You mention being more than fine with being used, but I doubt that it doesn’t bother you, not when you know of his objective.”

He turned to her and she stiffened.

“You don’t wish to see him be a god, am I correct, [Name]?”

The place grew even colder than it normally was. 

She felt as though she was being adjured and criticized at the same time as the Doctor detoured to traipse back to her location upon the table next to the sleeping figure of the Balladeer. Subconsciously, she scooted closer to the latter, his presence her sanctuary, be it awake or not. 

Her lacking response seemed only to serve as reason for him to continue and oh—

“Because once the Gnosis is fully in his hands, then he will have no use for you anymore. And you don’t want that, no?”

—how she hated it. 

“Be quiet.” she mumbled. 

He did not stop. “As far as I know, the Electro Archon created both of you at the same time; him, in the likeness of your mother, but to be a vessel. And you, in the likeness of a Gnosis, you are his heart…”

“Be quiet.” she demanded, this time transferring her gaze to her sleeping twin brother in dire hopes of the sight of him easing the turmoil in her chest. It was rare that she felt willful acrimony, as more often she was influenced by Kunikuzushi.

But now—now she felt its poignant swath within, which left no room to circumvent the intense emotion. The Doctor knew this, of course, he always knew when anyone’s buttons were pressed, it was in his repertoire of endless moxies. 

“... A heart that he’ll willingly cast aside in favor of reclaiming true divinity.” he whispered close to her ear and she snapped.

“I said be quiet!”

Dottore retreated with a smile as he felt an invisible shockwave cleave through the atmosphere, distorting space itself. His laboratory, which was pristine and kempt a mere second ago was now in complete disarray. Broken test tubes and glass lay scattered, metallic tables and shelves were capsized, and charts and papers were either torn or a mess.  

Tiny zips and zaps of electricity surrounded [Name], ensconced by the power that was created in imitation of a true Gnosis. It flickered and jolted like a shield, warning the Doctor not to take a step further—ah, she was an elaborate picture of power. Her [c] hair floated all around her figure, [c] eyes gone, replaced with stark white. It looked like she could float off the ground at any moment or launch things to her will. 

He understood thoroughly her ability, despite being ‘faux’. It was the power the Balladeer often harnessed.

A power that still held hidden potential. 

“Mother? Sister? There’s no such thing as familial bonds to a pawn and a puppet. It is as you said, you are just an expendable pawn.” he spoke, noticing how in spite of the destruction from her rare outburst, the table Scaramouche was laying on remained untouched.

Oh, how she cared for him. The Doctor grinned. Perfect.

“But I can make you greater than you are now.”

The gradual return of the pawn to her ‘docile’ state cemented his conjecture; he had her hook, line, and sinker.

“What do you mean?”

[Name] was seldom swayed by promises. Compared to Kunikuzushi, she had always been a tad more cynical, but the Second Harbinger was a man of his word despite his devious and unscrupulous manner of handling affairs. She knew he was genuine—and that was what made his offer so tempting that she could not resist asking him to elaborate. 

And he gladly did. 

“I’ve only tapped and tinkered with the gears of your ‘twin brother’, and have unlocked a myriad of possibilities. What if I were to do the same unto you—his main power reserve? In theory, you will become far better than what you are now.”

He was not vigilant, he was far too complacent as he trailed his steps back to her, his towering figure peering down from his mask. 

He snapped his fingers. “You mentioned that taking up a physical form and consciousness demands power from your very being, no? This means that if you seal your consciousness and become a simple pawn piece as you were originally created, then he will be able to use your power as freely as he wishes. Without thresholds.”

Sacrifice her consciousness and physical form to be a raw core of power-?

“You will be enough.” he added. “Don’t you want that?”

She sucked in a breath. “I..”

It was everything she wanted; being enough. To her chagrin, she was reminded of the night of her twin’s inauguration as the Sixth, in those chilly, chilly quarters where she took up a new name. She recalled asking the question she dreaded the most.

“And my power is not enough for you?”

She did not have a heart of her own, but she could easily grasp the emotion she always felt whenever she was with him in the aftermath of his tragedies; dread. Fear. 

“Adequate enough.” his voice was still clear in her mind, “Enough to last until my birth as a god.”

That time, the world blanked out on her—she had so many things to say. So many things to ask. 

When had he become so detached from their inherent bond to the point of saying without hesitance that he would disregard her as soon as his godly form was built? As soon as he was fit to centralize the Gnosis he had taken from their [mother] creator? They had been together for so long it was not even an exaggeration.

For centuries, through the names, there had been no one but her and him. And countless tragedies that shouldn’t be named. 

Wasn’t it she that held him close when they awakened in the domain as he shuddered and cried when they realized that they were abandoned? Wasn’t it she that was with him through thick and thin, holding his delicate hand that refused to leave hers when Katsuragi and Niwa welcomed them in Tatarasuna? Wasn’t it she that accompanied him in the Abyss? 

She, that promised that she would not let their story as twins be as tragic as the supposedly blessed encounters they had with humans.

[Name] had done her part, she had done exceedingly well, she knew. He even told her countless times. So why—why, why, why did he even begin to entertain the idea of casting her aside? It was unfair, it was unacceptable. 

Ah! She was to blame. 

There was bliss in ignorance, and she chose to be willfully ignorant. Ever since the death of the child that succumbed to Tataragami, he burned and charred the ambitions he usually had. She remembered watching the little doll in his likeness turn into ash and couldn’t help but assimilate it to him.

For in a way, he and the little doll were one and the same. 

Except, the little toy doll had no heart of silver, but Kunikuzushi had one; her. 

She had refused to believe it then, but the moment he denounced emotions, he denounced her existence. Sure, it wasn’t her that directly influenced how he felt, because even without her in his chest he could still feel—but in essence, wasn’t that the ability of a heart?

To make one feel? So when he anathematized emotions, he condemned her willfully.

Shared dream?

No, it was but a mere bandaid to swathe over her insecurity.

It was only her dream because it was her twin’s. There was only one thing that they shared—the same fear of abandonment. Kunikuzushi had grown strong, he chose not to consort with humans any longer for they were the progenitors of their angst and pain. It would no longer hurt if he was the one to shut down and do the abandonment. 

Where did that leave her? 

The signs were all present ever since the Doctor and the Jester gave him a place in the Fatui organization, in a land of loveless frost. He was set on obtaining the Gnosis, set on becoming a power of pure and utter authentic divinity like he was meant to be. 

And that path did not include her, because she was a simple imitation with a power that was only half the legitimacy of the Gnosis’ power. 

He sought more, and that ‘more’ was something she could no longer provide—or so she thought. 

“Well, [Name]?” she became aware of where she was at the moment and blinked. 

For once, she was not doubtful nor fearful of the Doctor, she was hopeful. And it was a dangerous thing to feel around the guileful scholar, but at that very second, she did not care. In the face of a promise that would serialize and cement her future with her twin sibling, how could she start to care about anything else?

Power… she needed it to be enough. 

If she was powerful enough, then he would not need to cast her away. 

“I–”

There was shuffling from the other end of the room that prevented her from speaking further. 

“What’s all the racket for?” Kunikuzushi was waking up with that permanent scowl on his face, his eyes briefly glimpsing the mess that was the laboratory. He looked confused, but not enough to warrant his actual concern. “What, an experiment gone wrong?”

“No. The doctor just got clumsy.” [Name] responded stiffly as she turned to walk over to the Sixth Harbinger.

The Doctor nodded, raising his hands. “My hands do get rather shaky sometimes.”

A stupid lie that was. 

Obviously, it did not work on Kunikuzushi, but he remained indifferent. The pawn knew that as long as it had nothing to do with him, then it did not matter. 

She held his arms to steady him as he swung his legs off the table, but he shrugged her off. It was rude at worst and nonchalant at best, but with the pitiful memories fresh in her mind and the fear throbbing in her, it affected her immensely. Her fingers twitched. 

He did not notice as he gruffly said, “I can walk fine on my own.”

He could and he did. He was stronger. During the first line of experiments he was put through, he required her assistance to get by, but he didn’t now. Did he remember, or was she the only one who relived those times? 

Who am I kidding? She thought with a lump in her throat as he passed by her without so much as a second glance. He dares not think about episodes that entail any of his weaknesses. 

He had grown so much during the course of the centuries, and he had developed a zealous attitude that was admirable as it was intimidating. Intimidating and fearful on her side, because she knew she was shackled on borrowed time. 

Wordlessly, she followed after the Sixth Harbinger, her head kept straight despite the weight she felt that tempted her to look down. As she passed by, Dottore’s words were quiet, serving to be heard by no one else but the one who had the need to hear it. 

“Think about my offer, will you?”

She did think about it. In fact, nothing else had been in her mind except for the offer he proposed; a promise of power. Whilst accepting it may not vouch for her stay as her twin’s heart, it presented a chance.

And to her, a chance was all she needed. 

“Kunikuzushi,” she called one day after he had overlooked the progress of building his godly form, Shouki no Kami. She had been in his mind when she spoke, and could not deny the sting of alarm when he regarded her with frustration, demanding what it was she required. 

“Scaramouche.” he corrected. 

She conceded. “Scaramouche.”

He had been rather perturbed the last few days because of the Traveler, but that aside, he was delighted. She could feel him agog with the idea of finally claiming the Gnosis, of finally being dubbed a rightful deity. 

“Must you really seek the Gnosis?” she questioned without tact. No beating around the bush, just a direct question, which surprised him, she knew. 

The puppet stopped in his tracks, the shadows cast by the sunset across the colonnade enshrouding him in its twilit curtain. Over the centuries he had been with his sibling, not once had she asked about their shared dream. He thought nothing of it, but he was oddly irked that she did—perhaps it was because of the Traveler that she did. 

[Name] always was the most acquiescent between them. He wouldn’t be surprised if the Traveler’s spiel about morality had managed to dent her thinking process. 

“What do you think?” he remarked, resuming his steps. “The Gnosis is my objective for the last hundred years. Do you think I’d replace it for anything else when I am one step closer to reaching my goal?”

There was silence in his head. For the last few days, [Name] had been quiet, there was nothing new to that, but her current muteness was unsettling.

The bitterness within him gyrated his thoughts and spun them negatively, but before he could speak, she already beat him to it.

“If I’m powerful enough,” he did not like where that phrase was going. “... if I’m powerful enough, will you not take the Gnosis?” 

A look of incredulity arose from his expression as he proceeded to traipse towards the workshop, the towering gears and turning wheels welcoming his arrival. 

“Do you realize how ridiculous that question is, [Name]? I’ve been created for the Gnosis, it was my destiny to seize.” his words were acerbic and factual, but why would that matter when it was the truth? Besides, [Name] was used to it. There was no need to worry. 

“Besides,” he gruffly stated as the elevator took him up to the next level where his godly form awaited, powered by the Electro Gnosis. “We both know you’re a mere imitation of the Gnosis, your power is only ‘half of what is authentic’, a pseudo-power, if you will. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten that?”

“I haven’t..” her voice was tiny, but it was firm. 

“Good.” 

He huffed as he was brought to the top floor, wherein he was greeted with the mighty mechanical form that he will soon occupy. The Sages that have turned from their pitiful Dendro Archon were already present, alongside the Doctor, who passed a small wave of formality. 

Of course she wouldn’t forget that piece of crucial information, it was the very definition of her being; a tool used for empowerment. 

He began to walk towards his future, but with each step he took, he found it heavy to press on. His eyebrows furrowed and his chest twisted. There was only one explanation for such sensations and he knew what it was and where it was coming from. 

“Where will I go when you acquire the Gnosis?” her next question made it harder to walk forward. “What will happen to me, Kunikuzushi?” 

“Don’t call me that.” he gritted his teeth. 

The Sages and the Doctor were too preoccupied with whatever conversation they were having to notice his balking. Whatever—he preferred it that way. 

His voice low, he proceeded to snap. “And how am I supposed to know? We may be twins, but we’re two different beings. I’m not in charge of delegating what you wish to concern yourself with after I become a god. Do whatever you want.”

His body felt cold. 

“We’re not different,” she protested. “I’m your heart. I’m a part of you.” 

“Then do you support me gaining a new Gnosis?” he asked. “If we are one and the same, then my ideals are yours and so are my dreams. Tell me, do you want me to be a god to fulfill that dream?”

Silence. The world was slow as he waited, unbreathing. 

When the answer came, he was not surprised—not any longer. 

“I still want to stand with you.” 

It was not a direct answer to his question, but given that he had known her for so long, he knew the implication she endeavored to convey through those equivocal words. To this, he laughed sardonically, feeling his chest twist in some kind of bitter acquiescence.

“In other words,” he chuckled. “No, you don’t want me to be a god. You want me to remain shackled to your inadequate power when you know that I seek more?” 

“I can be stronger!” her voice rose in his head and he faltered in genuine surprise. Not once had he ever heard her raise her voice. But that awe gave way for resentment. 

Scaramouche balled his hands into fists, feeling his anger rise and bubble. There was no use in hiding it because this conversation was pointless! From the moment he burned that child’s house down and left everything in the ashes of time, he had made up his mind—he was resolute in becoming a true deity.

They both knew what that implied. 

“Even if you can, you’re just a phony Gnosis.” the words cut and stung, he knew. He was not reviling her in any way because it was the cold, hard truth. “Why else would she create you in the likeness of a measly pawn piece in the chessboard?”

“Even pawns are capable of attaining majesty!” ah, yes, Guji Yae said that herself, that even pawn pieces could be Queens and any other stronger pieces upon reaching theend of the board, but this was no chess game. 

It did not remove in essence, the fact that his twin’s power was not authentic. There was no ‘end of the board’ for her to reach—this was her limit and they both knew that. 

Baring his teeth, the Balladeer trudged on despite the heaviness in his chest weighing him down. He refused to be swayed by a sentimental sibling. Zealous in his steps, he disregarded the growing feel of dread for he knew it was not his emotion, but his twin’s.

It was a sickening feeling and he despised it, so he forwarded with zero hesitation. 

“Quit it. All I hear is my own twin sister refusing to let me achieve the dream I’ve always chased after.” 

He had hoped they would be on the same page—after all, hadn’t it always been the world against them? Them against the world? It left a hollow feeling inside and he swore he felt his eyes burn, but he did not succumb to such a pathetic weakness. He wasn’t a human, nor did he want to be. 

“Our dreams were meant to be shared.” he heard her voice falter. “We were meant to work together.” 

He never thought her to be this sentimental. But he supposed that after that conversation they had a few days ago, she was more inclined to feeling emotions just as he was [forcibly].

The Doctor welcomed him as he stopped in front of them, his hat tipped down to obscure his expression from their prying eyes. He answered his twin sibling sullenly, in a mere whisper. 

“Yeah, I thought so, too.”

“Kabuki—”

The Balladeer thrust his hand in his chest, retrieving the pawn piece—his sister—from the spacious dimension within him. Immediately, her voice ceased to exist in his mind and all was silent. Withdrawing, he looked at the small item in his hand, glowing a faint [c], as if urging, insisting—begging him to return her where she belonged. 

But he could no longer look at it with distant fondness. Now, there was only betrayal. 

I thought so, too. He repeated his own defeated response in his head as the Doctor stepped forward. 

“It’s time, Balladeer.” Dottore smiled. 

The puppet looked up at him, then back at the pawn piece, which he gripped tightly in one hand, as if willing himself to shatter it into pieces—but he did not. He realized that, even with her gone, his chest was hollow. But that did not matter, for he would soon be filled with a power that could void the emptiness inside. 

“I know.” he scowled, pocketing the faux Gnosis as the Sages adjusted the mechanical body, opening the cockpit which held a number of tubes and other small equipment. 

He stepped into it as the familiar aura of the Electro Gnosis captured his attention, glimpsing it just in time before it was inserted in the center piece of the body that bore the insignia of Electro. He looked back as the Doctor spoke, though the latter’s line of sight seemed to be directed elsewhere on his person.

“We will begin the process. Are you prepared?” Dottore smiled placidly. 

What a stupid question. It seemed like he was being bombarded with tons of it today, but no matter, for this coming dawn was to be a divine advent. 

Scaramouche allowed his hand to fall beside him, subtly feeling the figure of the small piece of faux power in his pocket as he answered.

“Of course I am.” 

He was awakened not as the perfidious Sixth Harbinger that had absconded his position, but as a newly born god. It was a dreamless sleep, filled with the thrum of divine power. 

“Do you remember?” Cloaked from within the penumbra of a false sky, two beings stood—not quite human, yet capable of humanity, regardless.

One so refused to act on it, not any longer, at least. And the other remained in the grey.

The wind was howling with the nightly breeze of Sumeru, cold, and chilly, but it affected neither. A voice spoke, sounding blank. “I do not understand the need to tirelessly search for a heart… when you’re already capable of feeling, anyway.”

“Such outdated information, I don’t seek a heart any more.” Cut a voice so sharp the wind stopped. “I’m looking to crush these filthy emotions. You should, too.”

Silence. It wasn’t the uncomfortable kind, but it was tense with acquiescence, a muted clash of perspectives, ones demanding to be forced upon the other. The response came, sounding bland, if not defeated.

“No.”

That was the last proper conversation they had—it was annoying to recall such things, especially during a time when he was battling against the pesky Traveler who knew nothing but to scupper his plans.

He didn’t know why he would recall it now out of all times, as he heaved breath after breath, the power from the tubes slotted into the sockets of his back not enough to cement his victory.

“I don’t think I will.”

So annoying, so, so infuriating everything was. Everything be damned to hell.

He could almost see her stupid blank face in the back of his mind; he knew she would be disappointed, but when was she not? For someone who put emotions on such a pedestal, she knew only how to be dismayed by him. Well, good riddance.

“I quite like feeling.”

Good riddance, indeed,  as the ginormous mechanical figure that housed a supposed god fell to its knees. What a weakling he was, putting himself above others who he deemed unfit for the world; humans who succumbed to desperation like a beggar to a coin.

Yet there he was, the same miserable picture of the puppet he swore to no longer be, hand outstretched towards a Gnosis meant to be his, but arbitrary fate deemed should never be.

The pain of hitting the ground was dull compared to the various other experiments he went through in all the years being a subject to the Doctor’s experiments—and though he thought his own consciousness would pity and leave him be, it did not.

Through the ringing of his ears, he heard Buer usher the damned Traveler elsewhere. And the fact that they did not once acknowledge his pitiful descent only went to show how he truly was a puppet strung along in the grand scheme of a play dolled up by the fate of this accursed world.

“Scaramouche.”

He could not move, no, he did not have the strength and will to move at the moment. His crushing defeat was like a torrent that swallowed him underwater, flooding his being and forcing him to think of nothing but it as he drowned further.

The Doctor’s figure as he hovered over him, like what a scientist would to a specimen, displayed the kind of hierarchy there currently was in the battlefield meant to be the location of his rise as a god.

A failed one.

“It may be difficult to see, what with your pitiful state right now, but you’re far from being average, are you not? So, you are still capable of response. Now tell me.” The man hovered something above his line of sight. “Is this familiar to you?”

He dared not to feel, he swore not to feel—yet he could not help the churn in his empty chest.

A pawn piece. Its homely [c] glow beckoned him to reach out to it, and he did so with a weak, trembling hand as he struggled against the lapse of his consciousness.

It was a reaction out of instinct—to grasp for something that was his, that belonged to him, that was a part of him. 

But then it was whisked away and he swore it felt as though he crashed to the ground for the second time. He disliked the nagging trepidation in the back of his head as he shifted to adjust with all that he could, suddenly deeming the tubes that made him powerful a while ago now heavy, burdened with the reminder of his shameful defeat in a war that he began. 

What on earth did that Harbinger planned to do? How was he able to take her? 

He took her with him in his newly assembled form. 

“Dottore…” his voice was weak and he hated it. “How..”

What was he going to do– what did he plan to-

The Doctor laughed as he stepped away with a flourish, gloved hand allowing the piece to float above his palm as he recounted a time of long ago.

“My word! But I thought you sought the bonafide power from an Archon and not from some prototype!” he grinned, “Didn’t you say… that you have no need for her? You fallen ‘god’?”

He wasn’t going to-

“Dottore-!”

“I’ve given you what you want, is it not only fair for me to take my share?” resumed the victor in this play. 

And that measly reply was all that poor Scaramouche needed to understand what the Doctor intended to do.

The realization seized him like a serpent, and all of a sudden he loathed his nihilistic, pragmatic view that everything to the world was a simple transaction.

Yes, he wanted Dottore to make his dream a reality. But what did that spell in exchange?

[Name]. 

Hearing the puppet’s spasming breaths made Dottore huff. He initially had no plan to further taunt someone who was already so pitiful, but he could not resist the morbid pleasure it brought him; a puppet who was a puppet through and through.

Being a god was none other than a foolish position unfit for the latter in the first place.

The hand that shot to wrap around his ankle prevented him from taking another step, and instead of feeling irked, he was only amused. 

“What desperation…” he commented.

Deciding to take things up a notch for his own entertainment, he bent on a knee over the piteous Scaramouche, the once great Balladeer, who was now in the shambles of his own mechanical body.

He had to commend him, for despite the obvious asthenia, the fire in those violet eyes were never snuffed out.

“You once wished to be a mortal with a heart, so enlighten me. Between the two of us, who is the closest thing to a weak human being now?” he allowed the piece to float closer to the loser, and he could see the natural effect it brought.

The Balladeer’s easing body, the slight serenity in his expression at the thought of being so close to the being he had with him from the very start…

… And the absolute desperation on his face when the Doctor pulled it away.

“Dottore!” ah, that scream of madness as he clawed the ground, breaths heaved between demands. “Do not… even think of laying a hand on her! She’s not yours! She’s—!”

“Yours, then?”

Dottore asked upon the shambled excuse of a god, the floating item in his possession that glowed a faint [c] and resembled a pawn piece in the chessboard being hidden into his coat.

Over his heart, where it throbbed the same color of [c], almost tauntingly.

“No…” he smiled, kicking off the clasp around his boot, and walking away. Leaving the puppet to the isolation he was so used to. “I don’t think you’ve any right to say that anymore.”

Truly, he wished to stay for a moment longer to watch the show of the desperate Balladeer, whose actions at the moment bespoke nothing of the menacing Harbinger he once was. But the desperation and agony of someone who was once just Kabukimono.

But alas! There were things to be done, and places he needed to go.

Agony—the ugly, distasteful twist of his chest was the sole reason for why he wanted to rid his emotions. To be a superior being incapable of it, for feelings were weak.

He no longer desired a heart, so he threw it away.

Yet at that moment, the godforsaken feeling of having let go brought about a pain and denial that no words could ever describe. He was helpless. Again. To the hands of fate and his own failure. Who was he to be mad, when he had been the one to forsake his heart?

It was beyond hypocritical if he were to ask for it back.

Oh, and where was he now? A measly bug on the cold stone floor.

On shaking arms, he attempted to push himself up. With nonexistent strength, he urged himself to move, but it was the very equipment engineered and produced by the Akademiya that reined him back like a literal puppet on strings—and he was soon crashing back to the floor. But he was nothing if not recalcitrant. 

“No- no, don’t-” the consciousness he earlier begged to be taken away was doing its job, and he realized for certain that he would be rid of it.

To his utter desperation.

“Get back here, this isn’t what we agreed on… !”

Deep in the crevices of his mind there resounded the voice so raw with emotions he wished to burn. An ache—a defect in him that he could not, for the artificial life of him, destroy.

His chest hollowed as the Doctor went farther and farther away, carrying with him, the prototype heart he had replaced for the Gnosis.  

Anything but her— no more- don’t take any more from me!

[How bastardous he was, to forsake her but in the end demand that she not be taken away from him? What irony.]

That time, he wanted nothing more but to curse everything and himself as he shook. With fear or anguish, he no longer knew.

The [c] glow he had been acclimated to over the centuries was vanishing, just like he wanted to, but now selfishly wanted to take back. Was it because he failed that he wanted her again? He didn’t know anymore—he was afraid to know. 

Black spots bedecked his vision, the bile of emotions rising into his throat, threatening to spew in hysteria. Words died in his chest and his voice faded, but still, even with his fading consciousness, he dragged his body across the pavement, fixated on the Doctor’s back, who was now walking away.

Far.. far.. away. 

Scaramouche, Kunikuzushi—Kabukimono raged and cried with a hand that could not reach for anything.

Not his goal of transcending into a deity.

Not his mother and creator, the Archon of Inazuma.

With the last of his consciousness and strength, he cried out. “[NAME]!!” 

Not the heart he called his twin sister. 

His hand fell and his consciousness left, leaving him in the swathe of familiar blackness. One that spoke without the company of the one who knew him most. 

It wasn’t fair—this wasn’t fair. 

But alas, perhaps fatalism had written that, even if he was far from being a powerfless human being, he could still do nothing to determine his own fate.

That of which included his desertion of his heart, his defeat, and the grand consequence to a dream he had ambitiously chased for himself. 

a/n: boop. see you post-irminsul, boy.

also, mc's as "kenkoroshi" is made up of the kanji 剣 [ken/sword] and 殺し [koroshi/kill], so whilst kunikuzushi is literally country destroyer, i opted to have mc be named something that implies her nature as a weapon. 偽物 [nisemono], on the other hand, means 'fake'. or in fatalism context, she's a fake/imitation of a Gnosis.

This has been stewing in my mind for,, a year and a half? Finally out of the basement.

#m-fatalism #scaramouche angst #scaramouche x reader #genshin angst #wanderer angst #wanderer x reader #female reader #platonic angst strikes again

[wxnheart]

𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐱𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞, 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏

On today's episode of "My Simpin' Ass Friend Asks Horny Ass Questions", we're taking a thirsty ass look at boxer!Miguel thanks to a conversation that was had about what we now dub the Boxerverse. Because of reasons.

sequel/prequel

Boxer!Miguel who floats like a butterfly but stings like a bee. He's good at keeping up the gruff and stoic demeanor in the ring. Outside, he's a giant armored teddy bear. Especially where you're concerned.

Boxer!Miguel who considers you his personal good luck charm. Since getting together with him, he's made you part of his pre-match ritual.

Said ritual is usually done away from prying eyes. Just you two, foreheads pressed together, eyes closed, being in the moment, and doing some synchronized breathing exercises to release anxious energy. Especially yours. Kinda makes his heart flutter the way you fret over him before every match. A kiss on your forehead and he's off.

Boxer!Miguel who always gets that burst of energy every time he hears you cheering from the sidelines. He tried and failed to convince you to tone it down because you once cheered so loudly that you lost your voice after one match.

It's endearing the way you worry about him after every match, too. Yeah. Yeah, he's fine. The bruising will go away before you even know it.

Boxer!Miguel who loves your hand-care routine. Yeah, he takes care of his hands well enough but you take the extra step. An ice pack is all well and good but a nice hand massage with some oat, honey, and milk-scented body butter is absolutely excellent.

Boxer!Miguel who's amused because no matter how many times he's taught you, you still struggle with wrapping his hands. Yeah, you're cute when you furrow your brow in concentration.

Boxer!Miguel who'd train relentlessly if you didn't stop him. Well, he did train relentlessly (which really helped him to expend all that anxious energy) before you met him but he knows he's playing a losing game when you argue him down about taking a break. Sure thing, boss.

Boxer!Miguel who loves to feel the expanse of skin under his calloused knuckles as he affectionately runs them over your cheek. You were always awed by the power of his punches but he never ceased to amaze you with the gentleness of his touch. No wonder you loved his hands so damn much.

#cutie 𝓠. #marvel #marvel x reader #spiderman #spider man: across the spider verse #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #boxerverse #spiderman 2099 #boxer au

[wovenstarlight]

and another rant i have built up over jinjae is their everything around food. the first instance i can remember is the courtesy chocolates SHJ brings HYJ after the Babar dungeon, when he's in the hospital (chapters 80/81), which he says is for HYJ due to the stress he must be feeling over HYH. and then immediately kills any goodwill in the very next sentence by going Wowww you're so useful and i'd love to acquire you etc etc. HYJ's not even the one who accepts them from SHJ, that's BYR, and later HYJ says he only eats them because he has nothing better to do (no other option than SHJ, huh...) and even then the Dokkaebi ends up eating half the box. gift that's barely accepted.

the next instance i can think of is post-human trafficking auction in chapter 127 where SHJ makes him eggs, but. well. literally as he's cooking they have this exchange:

(this got so fucking long i had to put it under a cut. takes your hand come with me on this journey)

[SHJ] “I’d like for you to stay unharmed until I grow bored. Mentally, I mean.” [HYJ] “And my body doesn’t matter?” [SHJ] “If your bulk decreases, you’ll be easier to carry around.”

so "i'm making food for you" but also "i don't care if your health deteriorates and/or you lose weight, as long as you're useful". an interesting combination of messages to send, given that HYJ's also struggling in this scene to figure out what SHJ wants from him, what with seemingly looking out for him and his loved ones by lending Sillekia to BYR for fighting HYH, but also still continuing with this "my item" shit and only looking at him for his usefulness. but this instance IS notable in that it's the first time SHJ cooks for HYJ. a slight turning point in their relationship...?

it does seem so cuz after that... HYJ becoming sick of orange- and apple-flavored mana potions because he chugs them so often, and SHJ responding to this in chapter 185 (birthday arc, before HYJ admitted he stole his memories) by acquiring swiss chocolate-flavored mana potions for him. already he's started with the little treats.

and then. sorry i'm feeling the 216 feelings. 1 minute. Okay normal. and then. yes once again it's chapter 216, when SHJ first starts making readably genuine attempts at kindness towards HYJ, starting the entire interaction by making him a drink that "looked like it was just juice, but it was actually sweet. Tasty." normal behavior from SHJ to rent out the entire rooftop pool and bar to show off his bartending skills to HYJ btw.

then the VR dungeon arc, where SHJ can't see HYJ until he installs the first disc, but the moment he does he starts being absolutely unbearable, the relevant part being when HYJ's reached Achates and is stressed out over HYH's treatment to the point of losing his appetite, at which point SHJ sends him the "Must Eat Well" quest to coax him into eating, rewarding him with chocolate-flavored mana potions, which HYJ himself admits remind him of SHJ:

‘But why are they chocolate-flavored?’ It made me think of that person. It had tasted good.

we're told in chapter 249 that SHJ needs to expend tremendous effort to give HYJ quest rewards and that whatever he gives usually gets cut down (he's talking about point conversions there but i suspect it applies to other rewards as well). so to specifically seek out two potions, especially ones he knows HYJ will prefer more than the common fruit-flavored ones... [puts on my large jinjae-shaped sunglasses like that shit they sell for new years]

and ok i jumped ahead to 249 for the rewards thing but come back to 245 with me and look at that series of cooking quests SHJ sent HYJ to guide him through cooking dinner for himself and HYH. copying over my discord messages from when this chapter dropped for this part of the analysis:

ALSO SPEAKING OF SHJ that chain of quests at the end. he is driving me crazy but yes the cooking quests. like. okay. I mentioned before [...] that I considered this a jinjae scene chapter because. the layers of it all right. he sees hyj wants to cook for his brother but can't decide what to make/how to make it cuz the decision paralysis is hitting after the longass day he's had. so he goes ahead and picks a meal and gives him step by step instructions. overly specific so hyj doesn't hit some dumb roadblock like "idk where the spatula is" and lose it for real. it took multiple quests to give the instructions it might've been easier to give him a prepared meal from whatever store he's picking these rewards from but he spent that time anyway because I'm pretty sure going through the process soothed hyj. normality after the Everything of it all. and then at the end of it because he Knows hyj is prone to not eating when he gets stressed he baits him into eating with rewards. like. Bro. Bro like. OUGH. he cares. he cares.... AND ALSO THAT LAST FUCKING QUEST "made with a spoonful of your partner's love" IS NOT SOMETHING THE SYSTEM WOULD SAY SHJ I KNOW YOURE LEANING INTO "OH NO THE SYSTEMS ALTERING MY MESSAGES DW" AND LETTING YOUR FEELINGS SHOW. YOUR PAPER THIN MASK overemotional over cooking. god. god and even after the cooking thing knowing that hyj would freak upon waking up and not seeing hyh and so keeping an eye on hyh and sending him a quest to tell him where he is.... like fuck dude. FUCK!

ok that's enough of that excerpt this is starting to derail from food analysis. wait hold on actually 249's point about the cost of sending quests and rewards makes the cooking quest series even more impactful because how much did SHJ spend to go to that level of detail and care for HYJ!!!

anyway back to food analysis. 256 where HYJ dies to the inscription process and SHJ purposely serves him bitter tea and sweet cookies to point out that he shouldn't take rewards that come at great costs. SHJ you really love communicating things to people through food, huh? but the fact that the second he's understood SHJ takes away the bitter tea and replaces it with something less bitter and more savory. the fact that when the scout finds him, the last thing SHJ does, even after draping his coat over HYJ to protect him from the shards of falling sky, is refill his teacup. the fact that HYJ drinks it and thinks about how it's warm.

GOD!!! do you see my vision. do you see. SHJ and HYJ and cooking and eating as an act of caring. an act of love.

#star.txt #my sranks #jinjae #han yoojin #sung hyunjae #nsglb #im probably gonna put these in the queue so i see them again later in case i remember something to add

[luthienne]

what do you do for a living? (/job?) I am currently in a crisis and need some guidance. I look up to you a lot, I love your blog, we have the same passions for poetry and writing and music, even daredevil! My crisis is that I dont know what to do. In university I take classes but I dont know what I want to be. My art and writing feel pointless sometimes. All the jobs i want to do I know im not skilled enough to achieve or itd be very hard to get by. If you dont mind giving out advice... please help! ❤

hi anon <3 i think that figuring out what we're supposed to do for a living often gets tied to the idea that we're supposed to find that one niche in the world where we fit, where we're meant to be and where we're meant to contribute; where we're meant to shine, and find deep meaning in our own lives. and maybe that does happen for some people. but in reality i think we're all capable of doing many different things, and finding purpose in many different things. and in working toward many different skillsets we acquire different skillsets that apply to many other types of work.

and i don't think anything is ever set in stone. i got my undergrad & grad degrees in music, and then i found that i didn't have it in me to be a part of that world anymore. and i felt that i had no meaning in my life without it. i was No One without music, i had no identity outside of my voice—despite the deep sense of purpose and fate, even, that i felt for my life up until that moment in music, in singing, in acting. up until that moment i knew in my bones my purpose in life. and then the ground was swept out from under me. it didn't matter that i had known with certainty what my life was supposed to be because it wasn't that any longer. and i realized that i could never again tie my identity to my art, to my music, to my writing, to my job. my voice has a purpose not because it must be enough to sustain me financially or because enough people have validated my talent but because it brings me joy. i came back to music because singing brought me joy again; i thought i would never feel that again.

something i have learned through this is 1) music, like most other art forms, is not a meritocracy; there is no such thing as "you are an excellent [artist/singer/writer] and therefore you will have the career owed to you" because so much more than merit and hard work go into careers like this. it takes not only talent and work ethic but circumstance and luck and wealth. lessons cost money, coachings costs money, auditions cost money, applications cost money, travel costs money, wardrobe costs money. 2) the process is not the career. i love to practice, i love to learn music, i love to get into character, and to engage with my colleagues in rehearsal rooms and onstage. i don't love the abuse thrown at singers from directors and teachers and coaches, i don't love auditions, i don’t love the unpredictability of gig work and contract work, i don't love the expendable lens through which singers are viewed by the industry. i've come back to music but my goals have shifted.

all that to say, i don't think we have to know what we want to be. we don't have to want to be anything. our lives have deep meaning whether we have "successful" careers or careers that just pay the bills while we continue to pursue our creative loves. i wouldn't place too much importance on needing to find what you are supposed to be because you will become who you are supposed to be regardless. it is never a waste to pursue something we love, and we will acquire and internalize new skills in any field that we can apply to other fields. and maybe your interests will dramatically shift, or maybe not. i think it's very natural to have vocational shifts throughout our lives, and it's not indicative of failure. art that is made personally or professionally doesn't have more or less value based on its financial profit. the money i make from singing isn't enough to sustain me—i have to do other self-employment gigs to make up the difference. most artists do. but i don't regret the time and the heart i have invested in music, and i am sustained through the work i put into it, and sustained by the relationships and friendships that i have developed through it.

i send you my whole heart. i know how it feels to look at the future and not know what you're supposed to do with your one, precious life. sometimes we have to live in the uncertainty and know that it won't be like that forever. on the flip side, the moments of certainty won't last forever either. and in-between there is all the living we do. i promise you're not alone in this <3

#ask #anon #i am so sorry if this is not helpful but truly sending you so much love <33333

[sage-green-matcha]

MAROON - ETHAN LANDRY PT. 3 🍷🥀🔪

“You were standing hollow-eyed in the hallway, carnations you had thought were roses, that’s us. I feel you no matter what” - Taylor Swift

Content includes: mentions of murder! That’s all :)

PT. 1 of Maroon | PT. 2 of Maroon | PT. 4 of Maroon |

<3

<3

<3

"Listen up nerds! Listen up" You glanced at Chad while he smiled at Ethan, giving him a thumbs up. Your brows furrowed, confused at the bromance that was happening between them. "Uhm...how has your day been?" "Ethan, is Chad trying to get you to talk to me when we're not drunk for once?" He nodded shyly, scratching the back of his neck.

You glared at Chad, his smile falling flat as Mindy started to speak. "As terrifying as this all is! I'm actually glad I get to redeem myself for not calling out the killers last time... it's fine" You looked back at Ethan, he was playing with his fingers again, leg bouncing with anxiety. "You okay...?" "What...oh, I'm Fine"

"Okay, the way I see it someone is out to make a sequel to the requal" You looked at the group in confusion, Tara shrugging back at you. "Uhm, what's a requal?" Anika put her hand up only for Mindy to shut her down. Her words turned into nothing, going straight into one of your ears and out the other. You were ashamed to say but all you could think about was Ethan and also the fact that you could be stabbed at any given moment. You hated Chad for ruining your chance, your crush on Ethan was only growing and it was so close to being something more.

You distracted yourself from Mindy's words. You didn't notice how much you looked over at Ethan, especially his hands. He played with the chain of his keys, long fingers with veins running up his arm. You didn't know why but you found it hot, really hot. "Y/n! Are you listening?" Mindy clapped and you looked up at her, annoyed. "Yes Mindy, I'm all ears" "Great! As I was saying, nobody just makes sequels anymore! We're in a franchise!" She opened her arms excitedly. "And there are certain rules to a continuing franchise! Rule one! Everything is bigger than last time, bigger budgets, bigger cast, and worse of all...bigger body count"

"Beheadings! You gotta top what came before to keep people coming back" "Beheadings? Chad spoke up, pulling his pen away from the paper filled with notes. "Yes Chad, beheadings! And rule 2! Whatever happened last time, expect the opposite" You rolled your eyes, slouching down.

You should really be listening, but you were too distracted to care. You'd beaten Ghostface once, you could do it again. Somehow you weren't that worried for yourself, but you were scared shitless about your friends. "And rule 3, no one is safe" Ethan glanced at you with worry in his eyes. You felt bad for him, Quinn, and Anika. They had nothing to do with this but yet they were dragged in. And there was nothing they could do about it. They had been annunciated without a proper annunciation.

"It's not looking too good for Gale and Kirby...sorry Y/n" You didn't know if that should scare you. What your aunt did was unforgivable. Writing a book about the night where you, her own niece almost died. You still loved her...but you didn't know if she was worth saving.

"And that's not even the worst part!" "This is the part where she tells us the worst part" Chad pointed, Mindy's cue to continue. "The worst part is...franchises are just continuing, episodic installments designed to boost an IP! Which means, Main characters are expendable now too..." Tara and Sam looked up, concern lingering in their eyes.

"That means it's not just the friend group, any of us could go at any time...especially Sam and Tara" Ethan finally spoke up, scared for his own safety. "Wait, wait any of us?" "Yeah" "Am I in the friend group?" "Yeah, you are that's why you're here, not just cause you're Y/n's puppy and you follow her around everywhere"

"He's not my puppy!" Chad went to open his mouth before you shot him a threatening glare once again. "So, am I like one of the targets?" "Mhm" "Am I gonna die a virgin?" "Nah, Man Y/n will take it" he had a dumb smirk on his face, yours filled with embarrassment "Chad, I'm gonna kill you" you spoke through gritted teeth.

"Wait something is going on between you two?" Anika spoke up and you hid in your hands. "I knew I felt some sexual tension" Tara perked up. "Okay well...that was a weird overshare, but it brings us to our current suspect. Ethan! The shy dorky guy that no one suspects because he's so shy and dorky, and he's already got one of our final girls on her knees"

"I'm not on my knees...what?" "What...why am I on the suspect list? Because I'm randomly Chad's roommate?" You rubbed your temples, a small sigh escaping your lips. "Roommate lotteries can be juked, you could've fixed it to get next to us" he rolled his eyes, an annoyed expression on his face.

You were still annoyed at Chad, also Mindy now. She moved to target Quinn, even her own girlfriend next look. "Never trust the love interest" You wondered if Mindy couldn't even trust her own girlfriend...could you really trust Ethan? He was a stranger, and you didn't know much about him besides the fact that he was a virgin and his favorite chips were Cheetos.

"Okay, so we have our rules, and we have our suspects" "Wait, wait, wait, what about you guys?" Ethan spoke up, the death glare that was once for Chad was now for him. Is he serious? "I mean, I think it's pretty safe to rule out the 5 of us who went through this last year" "Agreed" you spoke, your eyes off Ethan, feeling his stare on your shoulder.

"Uhm, not agreed. What if the trauma you all went through caused one...or more! Of you to snap?" "Yea? Or the fame you got from the killings made you thirsty for more...I mean, to be honest, here, some of the theories online about Sam are-" "What the fuck is wrong with you?" "Don't you fucking dare?" You and Tara's words mixed, the same amount of annoyance coming from your voices. He backed away with wide eyes.

"Okay, she's right through, I mean face facts. If we're all suspects, you're all suspects" you gulped, looking at your friends. "Well I have to get to class, but I'll see you losers later. Be safe" Mindy waved, Anika catching up to her. You swung your bag over your shoulder, ignoring Ethan chasing after you.

"Y/n...y/n I'm sorry" "Ethan, no...why would you say that?" You walked faster, Ethan apologizing behind you. "Let me make it up to you, please" he caught up to you, stopping you in your tracks. "I wasn't talking about you... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Mindy got me all defensive and it just came out my mouth"

"Whatever, Ethan" You tried to walk away but he insisted. "Please Y/n, I don't wanna lose your trust over this" you paused, looking up at him. "Ethan, you know I like you, but you've never had my trust. Don't make it worse for yourself"

"Please, I'll pick you up at 5...or 6! We can go somewhere and talk it out, we can do whatever you want" You found his bickering kinda cute, agreeing so he would leave you alone. "Is this just a lame excuse to ask me to go out with you? you licked your lip, holding back a smile. "yes...and no?"

You decided not to go to any Classes, going back to the apartment with Sam and Tara. "Im gonna have everyone stay the night, it's better if we're all together. Invite your puppy y/n" you rolled your eyes. "He's not my puppy. And what he said was seriously messed up, I'm sorry, Sam" she just shrugged. "It sucks because he's not wrong...I am the daughter of a murderer, and it's always gonna haunt me"

"Hey guys, I won't be able to attend your little party thing... I'm going out with this new guy" Quinn waved her phone in her hand. "Isn't that a bit unsafe?" She bit her lip and shrugged. "it's not, trust me I know his intentions" she winked, making the group smile. "Byeee!!" She waved, shutting the door behind her. "Mindy definitely got the slutty roommate part right"

#celebrities #ethan landry #fanfic #jack champion #scream #ethan landry smut #jack champion x reader #avatar #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry angst #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry fluff #ethan landry x you #ethan landry oneshot #ethan landry edit #ethan landry thoughts #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry scream #ethan landry drabble #ethan landry fic #ethan landry fanfiction #ethan landry headcanons #jack champion oneshot #jack champion fanfic #jack champion x y/n #jack champion scream #jack champion angst #jack champion fluff #jack champion headcannons #scream vi

[emeraldspiral]

AU where the Tallest actually recognize Dib during their video chat in Frycook.

"Oh, we know you. You're that Dib kid Zim's always going on about. The one from that weird time experiment."

"That's right! I'm the one who's been single-handedly thwarting your finest elite soldier!"

*the Tallest burst out laughing*

"You really think he's the best we could send?"

"Trust us kid, if your little backwater dirt ball of a planet was of any actual value to us, we'd have sent a real Invader who would've conquered you little hairless monkeys ages ago."

"Ha ha. Yeah. But listen, thanks for keeping Zim occupied for us.

"You mean... You don't want him to conquer Earth?"

"Of course not! Why would we want that? If he somehow managed to actually complete this joke of an assignment, we'd have to send him to another planet just to get rid of him again!"

"This whole time I've been fighting for my life and the lives of everyone on this planet. And it was all just a joke to you?"

"Yeah, pretty good one, huh?"

"Anyway, keep up the good work. The longer it takes Zim to conquer your world, the longer he stays far away, where he can't interfere with any of the invasions we actually care about."

"Hey, wait just a minute! He might be a joke to you, but Zim's been a real menace to me and my people. He stole organs from my classmates! He used time travel to ruin my life! He leveled the city with a giant water balloon! And I'm just supposed to keep dealing with him so you don't have to?"

"Pretty much."

"It's not like you have any other choice."

"I could tell him the truth. I could tell him you've been lying to him this whole time."

"Pfft... Good luck with that."

"Go ahead and try. He'll never believe you. We've just about spelled it out for him ourselves more times than I can count, and he still hasn't caught on. He only believes what he wants to believe."

"Tell you what though, if you're as tired of him as we are, why don't we let you in on a little secret that could destroy him for good?"

"You'd... You'd sell him out just like that? Your own loyal foot soldier?"

"Yeah, why not? It'd solve both our problems, wouldn't it?"

"Hang on, are we really thinking of volunteering information about Irken weaknesses to an outsider?

"Why not? It's not like there's any way for him to use it against us. He's stuck all the way out in the middle of nowhere on a primitive rock that doesn't even have faster than light travel."

"Hm... You may have a point..."

"You're really serious about this? You want me to kill him?"

"Yes. And make sure that when you do, he knows we told you how."

"But only when the end is nigh! That's important. Don't tell him until you're 100% certain the light is leaving his eyes for good. Not a moment before!"

"But if you wanted him dead, why send him on this mission? Why recruit me? Why don't you just kill him yourself?"

"Uhh... cause..."

"Because we're far too busy and important to trifle with a task so insignificant. That's why we're delegating the responsibility to you. An expendable nobody."

"Whatever. I guess it doesn't matter so long as Zim's reign of terror comes to an end, even if it benefits you jerks as well. So go ahead and tell me. What's the secret to putting him down for good?"

#invader zim #dib #dib membrane #almighty tallest

[crossdressingdeath]

Okay, I make a lot of jokes about Jason drinking poison just because Nico asked him to and drinking poison because someone said "If we're friends drink this poison" is a wild thing to do. But it's also like... this is kind of Nico's answer to Jason telling him to take a risk and trust that Jason really is his friend and really does want to help him? Jason says "If you want to belong anywhere you're going to have to take some risks and trust that people want to be your friends", Nico is now turning around and saying "If you really want to be my friend, prove that you trust me instead of just asking me to trust you". Nico's been burned before by trusting other people blindly! Basically everyone he's ever cared about has let him down in a really big way! But he tells Jason to trust him and Jason does without a moment's hesitation. And it's like... people usually don't trust Nico, the Seven in particular (Hazel aside) have been looking at Nico with nothing but distrust since he got out of Tartarus. And here's golden boy Jason taking this poison without hesitation because Nico told him to and in doing so saying "Yes, I trust you with my life, I have faith that you really do intend to help". That would mean a lot! Jason is willing to literally put his life on the line based solely on Nico's word that it's necessary! That's a level of faith that basically no one else shows in Nico, especially in this series! Even when characters do trust Nico, it's usually because there's no one else who can do what he's doing (no one else can lead the Seven to the Doors, no one else can shadow travel the Athena Parthenos, and honestly given he's not actually one of the Seven he's... kind of expendable as far as the quest goes). But Jason just... trusts him, without hesitation or reservation.

Just adkajf;lsdkjfl;daskfjdslkfj it's so much????? Jason and Nico's relationship is so sosososososo good whether you read it as romantic or platonic! It's honestly wild to me that Rick managed to make these two's very close relationship work and feel incredibly real with such a rapid development, because... yeah, there isn't actually a lot of time between Split and Nico leaving with the Athena Parthenos, but the clear affection and concern between them and how they worry about each other while they're separated and how delighted Jason is to see Nico again (and presumably vice versa but we're in Jason's head at the time) at the final battle and Nico actually letting Jason hug him still all makes sense. This is a friendship that is still in its early stages but clearly already means a lot to both of them just because of the circumstances they established it in and the way they mesh as people (and probably because neither of them have a lot of friends as it is, Jason is popular but I don't get the sense he has a lot of friends and Nico is Nico, but that's sad so let's not dwell on it), it's fantastic! I'm really disappointed that we don't get to see them interact in ToA and I really hope there are flashbacks to them interacting in TSatS (and/or Jason's ghost shows up) because I would love to see what their friendship is like after they've had a chance to settle into it in a non-apocalyptic situation. Clearly they stay very close post-HoO given how broken up Nico is after Jason's death and him missing Jason to an incredibly tragic degree in TSatS (assuming that doesn't get changed in editing), but I want to see them! Let me see them being friends, Rick!

#riordanverse #nico di angelo #jason grace #jasico #yeah i'm tagging it this is also why the ship is so damn good #i just. whether you read it as platonic or romantic they love each other SO MUCH i CANNOT with them

[2kmps]

wolfwood has wanted to kiss you for a while. his inexperience decides to come front and center when he tries.

notes; 1.2k, woowoo fluff and him being clumsy and sloppy, tristamp coded.

out of habit, wolfwood plucked a piece of gum from the blue package in your fingers. he had just expended his last cigarette; the bent tip still glowing hot amber in the sea of golden-beige underfoot. there were more scattered around, partially buried and snuffed, not an entirely unusual scene, but enough to lure you away from mingling around the campsite to where he stood, obscured by van while perched on a tire. distantly, through the erratic lick of bonfire and animated, drawled chatter from drunken others, you saw lighter spark and cigarettes extinguish in rapid succession.

"okay, spill," you tucked another flat stick of gum into his dusty blazer pocket, "you've been standing over here for an hour. what's wrong?"

"ain't your business. back up, would you?" wolfwood said, lightly sweeping your hand away as he stood to lean his shoulders into the van alongside you. he tucked the gum as far back in his teeth as he could, the particular taste astringent and burned his nares, and not in any way he enjoyed. "sounds like you guys were having a good time. should I be flattered that you came over here to be nosy?"

you puckered and tutted at him. "I'm always half expecting to find you face down in the sand from your lungs shriveling up."

"right now, I think you'd better worry more about spikey choking on his puke in his sleep--" he shifted his weight onto an arm he curled near his head, body towards you--"or, gramps breaking a hip trying to tell one of his shitty stories. surprised you didn't drink anything."

it was all in jest, all of it. there was a sense of familiarity in this situation; standing next to one another in the cold night, faraway warbles from your comrades in high-spirits an oddly lightening feeling. wolfwood didn't get enough moments like these with you, not without intrusive gazes and busybodies coming to foil the good mood he had built up.

"they'll be okay." you voiced a shared opinion while wearing a subdued smile, something a little more timid than he was used to seeing from you. "you've been out of sorts for a few days, though. I know we're not-- I don't know, super close, but you can still talk to me, nick."

oh, but he wanted to be closer to you. oh, he didn't know how to handle the patter behind his ribs, the heat swirling in his core and crawling up his face whenever you called him something other than nicholas. the longer he stared at your face, drawing closer to moment your eyes averted as though daunted by him, he wondered if you would accept him any other way than now-- the long-standing way things had always been between you both.

amicable. unserious. he would be leaving that behind in hopes of what he ventured towards would be reciprocated. half a thought he froze in place was to strand this entire thing he orchestrated; it was dumb and dangerous, there was no reason to fuck up the status quo, but yet he argued that there was-- and it simply was that he wanted more.

"maybe-- maybe you should take the edge off with a few drinks. it may do you some good." you were grasping for things to say now, but the fact that you kept trying, heels inhumed in sand whilst your weight relaxed into cold metal against you told him all he needed. you weren't in a rush, and neither was he.

coarse granules scuffed under his shoes as the divide separating the heat of your bodies narrowed, and he could see the moonlight catch a glimmer in your eyes. this was the closest you had let him get to you on purpose, in the past claiming that the smell of smoke stuck to him every bit the same as whiskey did to an alcoholic, or a weepy leg to infection.

"you really shouldn't be telling someone to trade one vice for another." he turned his head to spit out the gum, an ungraceful display that made him sputter when the taste of it landed fully on his tongue. it took him a moment to rebound, swallowing back another cough. "especially not when you're tempting with another vice."

you gave him an oblique glance. "hey, are you gonna make it? did you choke on your spit?"

this was not how he intending things to go. ordinarily, this was when he would've backed out, masked his embarrassment as some type of stunt that left you bewildered, while he would puff away on a new pack of smokes as he sulked.

tonight, however, he wasn't dwarfed by cowardice but rather that very same desire to have more from you. his arm bent against the metal near your head, dry fingertips a rough touch on your jaw as he tilted your face up to meet his lips. the wispy, dark tips of his hair feathered across your skin each time he leaned into you, imprints of warmth lasting until the next kiss and the one after that.

he tested the feeling, softly, at first, partially anticipating you to rip away from him with some exaggerated horror to downplay your uneasiness. the longer he went kissing you, leaning into the softness of your lips a little more each time, the more eager he became, spurred on by thrumming in his ears and heat and cold warring spots on the high planes of his face.

then, you swiveled your head out of his grip, letting his hand fall to your shoulder where he had stop himself from digging his nails into the roundness of them. he stayed close to your face, calming his shuddering breaths that were the closest thing he'd allow to verbalizing the ache of rejection on his chest. it was the sharpest knife he had every felt, every heartbeat was almost enough to make him sink his hand in there and rip it out.

"no?" it was a raspy whisper belonging to a parched, pathetic man who let his pride fall to the wayside for once. "that's all you gotta say."

"'no', what?" you said, plucking his sunglasses away by one of the arms before settling them into the same pocket with the slither of gum. "they were bothering me. it's nighttime, nick, you don't need them on--"

your back was flush to the van now, cool and hard, a jarring contrast to how hot his body felt slotting against yours. his lips were back on you, this time ravenous and feverish, sloppy and struggling to find a rhythm with you.

and, as your arms weaseled up to wind the back of his neck, he sank deeper into the warmth of your clothes and skin and smell, and felt it all so immensely it made him a little queasy. but, he didn't want it to stop anytime soon.

divider; @/anlian-aishang

reposted from my deleted blog, cardeneiv

#trigun #trigun maximum #trigun stampede #trimax #tristamp #wolfwood x reader #wolfwood x you #wolfwood x y/n #nicolas d wolfwood #nicolas d wolfwood x reader #nicolas d wolfwood x you #nicolas d wolfwood x y/n #nicolas d. wolfwood #trigun imagines #trigun fic #trigun fanfiction #2k writes

[peachjagiya]

I feel like all these anons writing dissertations in my asks about why we're wrong about Taekook need to realise this:

I personally think their bond is special regardless of whether they're in a relationship or not. You are absolutely wasting your energy if you think "proving" they're not in a relationship is going to make me stop enjoying them as a pair.

As it happens, I do strongly believe they are a couple but I'm all about them and their affection and moments regardless of it. Ok? Save your words. Like little doubtful asks are fine but the ENERGY expended to convince me as if I haven't come to a conclusion like you have. Please!

#rolling my eyes out of my head #taekook

[a34trgv2]

The Problem With Animated Shows Today

I shouldn't have to make a post like this because I know there's so much more animated content now than there was when I was a kid. Yet for the better part of a year, I've sat through one abysmal failure of a cartoon after the other, and I just can't stand it anymore. I'm aware the title might come off as pretentious, but rest assured I'm not a pretentious person nor to I view this post as objective fact. I'm just here expressing the common problems I have with cartoons recently and what I feel are the best steps to avoid them.

A common problem I have with cartoons recently is the awful writing on display. Shows like Samurai Rabbit, Hamster & Gretel, Ollie's Pack, and Mech Cadets all have writing that at best very underwhelming and at worst inexcusably amateurish. Scenes would go on for minutes at a time delivering boring exposition, unfunny gags, and very unnatural dialogue. It very much feels like the creators don't understand the value of basic writing principles such as "show, don't tell" "less is more" or "do much, speak little." Rather, they often go through the motions of a typical show so they can meet the given runtine and stay underbudget. For example, an episode of Centaurworld is around 26 minutes, which should be more than enough time to develop the characters, explore the world, have a good amount of funny moments and intense action scenes. What they choose to spend that runtime on instead is one note characters standing around arguing with one another, exposition dump upon exposition dump, unfunny gags, and underwhelming at best action scenes. This in turn makes the premise of the show feel wasted, like the creators only gave a successful pitch just to make something digestible to put bread on the table.

It really does feel like characters in cartoons these days are one of 2 archetypes: the annoying chatterbox and the moronic dirtbag. Let's compare 2 characters that have the same idea but vastly different executions: Eddy from Ed, Edd, n Eddy, and Ollie from Ollie's Pack. Both are outcasts who aren't good role models, but we're supposed to find them entertaining and funny. Despite those similarities, Eddy is clearly the superior character in this scenario because he often gets his comeuppance for almost immediately, and he actually does care for his friends. Ollie, in contrast, is just a selfish brat who sees his friends as expendable and doesn't get his comeuppance as quickly. Not only are the main characters detestable and annoying, but the supporting cast isn't much better as often they're either underdeveloped and unfunny or they're just parrots that always share the same thoughts as the main character. And don't even get me started on how incompetent, pathetic, and annoying the show's villains can get. Seriously, I defy anyone to make a good case for characters like Lloyd Garmadon, Jamack, the Yokai from Samurai Rabbit, or any of the villains from Hamster & Gretel.

An important aspect of animation that not many people bring up in conversation is voice acting. Voice actors are essential in giving life to characters in animation as they're able to make them sound believable and authentic. Or at least, that's what good voice acting should be. So many of the animated shows I've watched have such underwhelming or otherwise terrible voice acting that make the characters sound fake and kill my suspension of disbelief. Some of the worst vocal performances I've heard in recent memory come from Chris Houghton as Cricket Green, Meli Povenmire as Gretel Gomez, Allyn Rachel as Bee, and Danny Pudi as Tiny. They all have very terrible range, no sense of urgency in their tones, and don't sound the least bit believable as their characters. It's also frustrating to hear veteran actors give lackluster performances such as Aulil'i Carvalho as Hailey Banks, Chris Diantamopoulos as Thunder, and Karen Fukahara as Kipo. It's not entirely the fault of the actors for giving lackluster performances, as often they're at the mercy of bad voice direction who doesn't do a good job bringing out the best in their actors.

It's a given that animation on television has more limitations than big budget animated films. The best animated TV shows ever made, though, are able to work around those limitations and provide some excellent visuals that make the world feel alive. Recently though, I've notice a common problem when it comes to the animation in shows like Mech Cadets, Super Giant Robot Brothers, Daniel Spellbound, Hailey's On It, Bee and PuppyCat and My Dad The Bounty Hunter. All of them look good from a design standpoint, but in actual animation, they look choppy and stiff. This is because these shows have bad animation direction. Most people don't think about animation direction when watching a cartoon, but we can definitely tell when animation looks good versus when it looks bad. Bad animation is not just what's being shown on screen but also how it's being presented. In Mech Cadets, a character is giving a backstory to another character in a dark control room, and the camera moves around the room, showing the walls while the character talks. This is beyond inexcusable as it showcases the lack of appreciation for visual storytelling and is a complete waste of resources. Other aspects of bad animation include choppy character movements, a lack of mass on the character models, disorienting cinematography, and poor use of lighting and shading.

What can be done to avoid these shortcomings? Well, it starts by having good scripts that value showing over telling. I can't recommend Pixar's 22 Rules of Storytelling enough for aspiring writers who want to make the best scrips they can. I also think having your characters be likable and well-rounded will help a ton, especially if they're in a show about good triumphing evil. Having good actors is one thing, but it's equally important to have a very good voice director with years of experience bringing out the best in voice actors. Finally, collaborating with a skilled animation director or a very well established animation studio would do wonders. And don't be afraid to speak up and communicate with the producers on how to make the show bettee while staying within the budget. Animation is a collaborative medium and animated series today should do a better job reflecting that.

#reblog #share #like #follow #animation #comedy #rant #storytelling #disney #netflix #nickelodeon #mech cadets #hamster and gretel #big city greens #ollie's pack #kipo and the age of wonderbeasts #bee and puppycat #hailey's on it #samurai rabbit #action #cartoons #modern cartoons #voice acting #animation direction #writing #visual storytelling

[sanaserena]

I can't stop thinking about OPLA, and it's only been 5 days TT.TT So, I finally had time to catch several screenshots from Episode 2.

My third impressions of OPLA episode 2? I've watched it that many times, and each time I find even more things to like about it. (A more comprehensive review later, but.) There might be some things I didn't like, but for now, the things I liked:

Buggy. He was too damn great. Literally. It took me Impel Down in the manga to reallyyyyy like Buggy (who can't after seeing him interact with Luffy?) But damn it all, OPLA did it in one episode, two episodes in. He's a bit darker in this episode, but Jeff Ward does such a fantastic job at being Buggy. (And on a side note... Buggy is not supposed to look this good T.T)

Nami, Luffy, Zoro. One of the big highlights for me throughout OPLA is the chemistry of the cast. Sure, Nami and Zoro seemed to be have heaps of screen time together, but the interactions between Nami and Luffy are great too.

I did really enjoy the way Luffy's flashback was introduced in this episode. It works. Even more so when facing Buggy, of whom was once on the same ship as Shanks - the set up of this introduces a more complex backstory (manga does this too, but we're not entirely curious yet because Buggy was small fry at the beginning, and we don't see Shanks for several chapters.)

Ah, Shanks in OPLA really feels like Shanks to me. What I love in the OPLA is that there's a small scene added in the flashback where we actually see Shanks fighting. He doesn't expend much energy, compared to his crew, just throwing down a dude as easy as breathing (I might be reading too much into it, but if we were to take this fight scene as a metaphor, we can actually see the dispersion of strength in Shanks' crew.) I tried to get a screenshot (because I suck as making gifs from netflix right now...) but it's awful. I'm still including it anyway, since it'd be great to see :D. He looks a little rough, but when you see Peter Gadiot acting as Shanks, he really gives off so many Shanks vibes that I forget his hair for a few seconds xD

And an impression for the whole series, but there are some easily memorable moments from the show, which I find myself remembering at the odd time.

The screenshots (I'm also including the logo/title header for the Episode, because I paused the screen at a perfect moment):

And it's not letting me add more images, look for part two here: Link

#one piece #one piece live action #one piece netflix #one piece screenshots #One piece live action episode 2 #third impressions #opla #hopefully opla spoiler free #luffy #nami #roronoa zoro #helmeppo #buggy the clown #koby one piece #I still need to figure out how to make gifs from netflix work 🤔 #too much effort #why do I have so many buggy screenshots? #part 1 #buggy the genius jester #buggy one piece

[melishade]

Number 34?

This ask game

YES! I've been waiting for this one! It allows me to write 17 for the Dark Timeline because that's the ending!!!!!!! We're going into spoiler territory.

It all went wrong so fast. Eren thought that they had it, that they would succeed, but they didn't.

They were going to fake meeting Shockwave's demands: a trade off. Give Zeke Jaeger to him in return for Porco Galliard. The demand was dangerous. If Shockwave had Zeke Jaeger, he would find a way to utilize permanent control over the Founding Titan's Powers. Maybe he could unlock it without him. But if Shockwave kept Porco instead, he could utilize the powers of dark energon in the Colossal Titan. Megatron had already informed them that Shockwave was tampering with dark energon right now.

They needed to find a way to keep them both. So the plan was this: let Shockwave come to the island, give him Zeke in exchange for Porco. While that trade happened, Wheeljack and Arcee would find Shockwave's lab, and destroy as much of his information as possible. His ship was already gone; it would no doubt take time to salvage all that data. He still had the groundbridge, but maybe they could destroy it from the lab. And Arcee and Wheeljack could leave before Shockwave got wise, or ambush Shockwave and grab Zeke and run.

Shockwave came to the island. He came like he owned the place. Megatron had Zeke in his servo, and despite being told about the plan, he was still terrified, panicking and squirming in his servo. Shockwave had Porco in a container, and all the Warriors were horrified at the sight of how dead Porco looked. It looked like it was going to work. Shockwave would buy, and-!

Shockwave had pulled back his servo, causing everyone to grow tense. And then the one-eyed titan spoke:

"Did you think I would not monitor Porco Galliard's brainwave and dark energon activity and not notice you peering around in his mind?"

Shockwave knew that Megatron and Porco had formed a link! Meaning-! The groundbridge opened up once again, and Wheeljack was thrown through the bridge, crashing into Optimus who was standing right behind Megatron. The Predacon had emerged from the groundbridge, roaring at them in fury, Arcee nowhere to be seen. The Predacon launched himself at Megatron, forcing the former warlord to drop Zeke in the scuffle.

The next moment after that was a blur. Energon titan poured out of the groundbridge and attacked. Eren remembered transforming and having to fight. He was able to last longer thanks to Megatron's training, and the equipment Hanji and Wheeljack were able to make allowed the Survey Corps to last longer.

But Shockwave did something devious, something so sinister and vile it made his stomach wretch. He gave Porco to his Predacon and the Predacon flew towards the Wall, towards civilians! Eren didn't know what happened next, what triggered the transformation, but they ended up seeing a large mushroom cloud of purple smoke off in the distance. Everyone was mortified. All of their effort! How many died?! Who was caught in the blast?! How strong was it?! Half of the Warriors and Scouts were forced to check on the damage, and Shockwave practically let them go! He wanted them to be separated!

But it got worse! It got so much worse. Instead of Shockwave grabbing Zeke in the chaos of the battle, he had grabbed Mikasa! Mikasa was struggling in his grasp and crying to be let go, and it forced everyone else to get distracted.

"Shockwave, let her go!" Optimus shouted at him.

"I knew it would be illogical to hold Zeke Jaeger against his will," Shockwave declared, "From your memories Optimus, you all held no trust in him. But this one is shown to be highly favored among you. Not as easily expendable due to her abilities. So I will be taking this one along with the titan shifter, and you will not follow us back."

Shockwave must have activated something because it commanded Willy's titan form to move away from Lara. Zeke cried out in horror as Willy's titan form had grabbed him and ran through the groundbridge.

"No!" Armin cried out, "Mikasa!"

Mikasa tried to cut her way out, but it was no use. She had run out of energon spears and blades could only do so much if angled right with a lot of momentum.

"Stop," Eren mumbled in the nape, "Stop!"

What would Shockwave need?! What would Shockwave want to let her go?! Eren knew everyone was going to hate him for this! It was the worst play he was ever going to do! But he couldn't let anyone else die!

Eren ripped himself out of the nape and held his hands out in surrender. He cried out in desperation. "LET HER GO AND I'LL GO WITH YOU!"

Everyone froze in horror, even Shockwave was surprised at the cry of desperation. The titans that were attacking even froze in their motions.

"Eren!" Megatron yelled at him, "Eren, what are you doing?!" He was about to go and reach him, but the Predacon circled back and pinned him to the ground.

"I hold the Founder!" Eren exclaimed, "I'm more valuable than Mikasa! You want me, right?! Let Mikasa go, and take me instead!"

Shockwave's optic seemed to dim at that. "You would trade your life, and no doubt the life of others on this world, for one person?"

Eren felt his body trembling. He was throwing himself into danger, knowing he wasn't going to come back. He could see Mikasa desperately shaking her head, trying to tell him no. To not do anything, but...he couldn't let anyone else die. The others will try to figure something out. He had faith in them.

"Let Mikasa go, leave them alone, and you'll have me," Eren bargained.

Shockwave was quiet for a moment. "You humans are illogical."

Shockwave had dropped Mikasa to the ground, causing Eren to bolt towards her.

"Eren, what did you do?!" Mikasa cried as she clung to him.

"I'm sorry! I had to! I'm sorry!" Eren cried.

"Don't you dare take him!" Hanji shouted as the Survey Corps bolted towards Shockwave. Shockwave pulled out a device and pressed the button, causing the titans to react and attack them.

"Eren!" Optimus cried out to him, but was bombarded by titans, "EREN!"

"What are you doing?! I said leave them alone!" Eren yelled at him.

"This will be the last I come to the island," Shockwave promised as he grabbed Eren, forcing him and Mikasa to let go of each other, "But I need to ensure that my new project is not taken from me so soon!"

"Eren!" Mikasa winced and held her side as she tried to reach him, but Shockwave was already walking through the groundbridge with Eren in tow. "EREN!"

"MIKASA!" Eren cried out, only seeing chaos and carnage behind her. A titan had charged towards her, ready to consume her, but the groundbridge closed before Eren could see the aftermath.

(ALRIGHT! 17 has been asked and I will get to it. Meanwhile 37 is the last one that hasn't been asked!)

#attack on prime #transformers prime #tfp #attack on titan #asks #send me asks #snk #aot #shingeki no kyojin #ao3 #eren jaeger #tfp shockwave #shockwave #maccadam #macadam #dialogue #dialogue prompt #dialogue prompts #what if tfp shockwave was in aop aka the dark timeline #tfp megatron #megatron #tfp optimus #optimus prime #porco galliard #mikasa ackerman #survey corps