#vapid bullet

[spectrav10]

"Ah shit, here we go again."

Today, this is the 20th anniversary of Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas, which is one of my favorite GTA games (and of course GTA: Advance), so, to celebrate it, here's my artwork of the Bullet, based on the Ford GT, it's real-life counterpart. The background features both Los Santos (San Andreas) and Liberty City (III, SA (in The Introduction, Advance and LCS).

All we had to do, was to follow the damn Bullet, CJ!

[placeholderidea1592]

2005-2006 Ford GT

[gta-online-garage]

Eclipse Blvd Garage, B3

Progen Emerus

Vapid Bullet

Principe Deveste 8

Grotti Turismo R

Pegassi Zentorno

Progen GP1

Pegassi Tezeract

[comatosebunny09]

one in the head, two in the chest | sylus

— summary: the universe had a shitty way of reminding you of your place. — cw: headcanon format, character death, reader is not mc, written with female reader in mind, profanity, mentions of alcohol, blood & injury, sex mention, self-destructive behavior, jealousy, mutual pining, unrequited feelings, melodramatic af, ooc, mdni — notes: is it bad i’m laughing ‘cause @alfredosaws had me singing the chorus for “you give love a bad name” while writing this? listen, don’t judge me i needed to get this out, okay? thank you for reading this dramatic dribble. — now playing: riverside - agnes obel bullet to the heart - jackson wang

It was a partnership of convenience. A mutual agreement.

The terms were simple: Sylus offered you protection, a renewed sense of purpose, and redemption. You handled his opposition, luring them from the shadows and snuffing them out like a candle’s flame. 

You performed at his clubs while moonlighting as an assassin. His right hand. His femme fatale. The perfect cover. 

You also made money for him, attracting new clientele. It was a win-win.

You struck fear into anyone who would dare sully his name while he got to keep his hands clean.

He never badgered you about your past, and you never pried into his.

The arrangement was flawless. Until it wasn’t.

You didn’t bank on falling for him. 

There was no singular moment. No ‘aha!’ No record scratch in a romcom where you, the protagonist, realized, ‘This guy’s got my heart in a bind.’

No.

It was a culmination of things. A gradual descent into irrevocable madness. It was terrifying, like sinking into the depths of a murky sea, only you weren’t thrashing about as water filled your lungs.

Not at first.

You feared letting him down. Feared his rejection and disrupting the lifestyle you had grown so accustomed to. 

It was comfortable, the hodgepodge life you constructed with him, the twins, and Mephisto. 

You had his back, and he had yours. You were Bonnie and Clyde. You shit-talked and flirted, but it was harmless. 

Initially.  

Sometimes, the flirting was accompanied by lingering gazes, accidental touches, and lasting smiles that held a little too much yearning.

His treatment towards you didn’t help matters. 

He gave you free rein of his mansion. Gave you the codes to his safe houses around the city, his armories. Bought you expensive clothes and intricate costumes to wear when you performed at his clubs. 

Cars, jewelry, property. You named it, and Sylus gave it to you. 

He held you a little too possessively when you accompanied him to galas and banquets. Never corrected the other guests when they referred to you as ‘his lady.’

Anyone go to his nightclubs specifically requesting you? ‘No. Not this one. Choose someone else.’

He often summoned you to his quarters following your missions to tend to your injuries personally. 

Even let you fall into his bed when he filled you with too much wine over dinner at the mansion or when it was too cold to sleep alone.

Nothing ever happened, much to your dismay. He was always such an insufferable fucking gentleman. 

Your relationship was far beyond that of employer and employee. Yet you dreaded labeling it, fearing your dynamic would shift for the worst if he knew how you felt about him. You weren’t allowed to feel things for him.

One day, you’d become a liability he couldn’t afford to keep around. 

But he was so fucking nice to you. Showed you kindness and temperance in a fast-paced and vapid world. You didn’t deserve this warmth, but you didn’t want to let it go.

You didn’t have to run anymore. Didn’t have to jump from city to city, changing your name, hiding behind your glamor. 

He offered you security, safety, and predictability, where you didn’t know if tomorrow would be your last day on Earth. 

He coddled your need for independence. Wasn’t stifling or controlling, but he was your security blanket in case you needed him.

He showed you fleeting tenderness that gave you a glimmer of hope that maybe…

Just maybe he pined for you as much as you pined for him.

But you’d never admit it aloud, content with staying at his side, paying off an unspoken debt, even as your heart squeezed each time he showed you a flicker of affection.

Enter Little. Miss. Dazzling. Charming. Irresistible. Hunter.

She swept in like a whirlwind, turning your life upside down on its axis. 

He forced her on you. Never explained the intricacies of their relationship, just that she owed him a debt, and he brought her around to collect on it.

You unwillingly became her guardian, tasked with showing her the ropes and dragging her on missions or to meetings.

You hated the arrangement at first. She was all bright-eyed, smiling, and optimistic. Reckless. Strong-headed. In some ways, she was like you. A reflection of the woman you were years before the world robbed you of your innocence.

And she was a Hunter of all things. She could turn you in at the drop of a hat. You served on different sides of the law. There was no telling what information she was feeding the Association behind your backs.

Most of all, you grew to despise how she changed him. How his attention shifted, and she became the center of his universe.

He carted that fleeting softness he’d once shown you, to her. 

The man was playing Kitty Cards and sneaking plushies into the mansion for crying out loud. 

Singing, wearing bright colors, showing mercy.

The hunter was disarming in a way that you weren’t. Snuck into the fissures of his heart, effortlessly snatching him away from you.

You’d spent years getting accustomed to him. Getting him to crack a rare smile. It took her a matter of months.

You wanted to hate her so much. But with time, she grew on you, too. 

Crept her way into your heart with her waywardness, banter, and determination to make herself useful. To prove her worth. To find her niche. 

She surprised you time and time again. You thought she would crumble beneath the pressure. That she would eventually give in, realizing the nefarious life you led wasn’t for her.

But pressure formed diamonds, and she became more of an asset than a liability.

And before you knew it, you accepted your fate.

Like with Sylus, there was no singular pivoting point in your relationship. She just…grew on you like a benign tumor. 

She became something of a friend—someone you wanted to keep safe. You were inadvertently grooming your replacement. She was no longer your baggage. No longer a thorn in your side.

You had someone else you wanted to protect. Another relationship to nurture.

You started to look forward to the days she’d light up the mansion with her animated stories and colorful personality. Where’d she blunder up your missions but pull through in the end.

You were Thelma and Louise.

And she made Sylus smile in a way you never could. Laugh in a way you never could. Seeing your seemingly cold boss lower his defenses so much was nice, even if it wasn’t your doing. 

You sensed their relationship was cosmic. Something orchestrated by the universe. They were so close. So familiar. They had history, a connection that existed long before you stumbled into Sylus’ life. 

You found yourself quietly bowing out of a competition you constructed in your mind. She was the better match—the better woman. 

Her hands were clean. Yours were crusted with blood.

You never stood a chance from the start. 

The closer you grew to Ms. Hunter, the larger the wedge between you and Sylus became. 

There was no definitive title to their relationship, at least not one you had heard of. But out of respect for whatever brewed between them, you bowed out, reverting to the rigid partnership you initially shared with Sylus.

To cope with your unrequited feelings, you became self-destructive.

You thrust yourself into missions, trying to keep your mind off things. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t snuff out the feelings you still had for your boss. How shitty of a friend you were, pining for someone who never was yours. Could never be yours.

You drank more. Sought out pleasures of the flesh from people whose faces and names you could never remember.

You skipped meals. Slept like shit. Your Evol was dwindling more each day, reflecting the decaying state of your psyche.

You were punishing yourself in a way. Didn’t think you deserved anything more than a quick fuck. Something to curb the urge. You wanted to be used. Wanted to feel something other than this gut-wrenching pain. This emptiness. 

You pushed everyone away, donning that mask of nonchalance you were known for. 

Sylus caught on, but you were too wrapped up in your emotional turmoil to notice. 

You felt like you were submerged in water, slowly drowning, your hand held out for someone to save you. And Sylus was reaching for it, desperately trying to pull you out. To pull you back to shore.

But you were too prideful to take it. Too prideful to admit you weren’t okay. That you were envious. Resentful. Falling apart at the seams. You were paranoid. You were quietly being shoved out of the picture, and one day, Sylus would no longer find you valuable.

Not when you were molding someone else to fill your shoes. 

You felt worse each day because people noticed you weren’t okay. You hated when anyone worried. When people pitied you. You were a big girl—you could take care of yourself. You’d been doing it for years.

Ms. Hunter forced you to confront your feelings one day.

Grabbed you by your shoulders as the sun set over Destiny Cafe, shaking the shit out of you, the table rattling between you. Told you anyone with eyes could see the chemistry brewing between you and Sylus and how you were running from it like a fucking coward.

You were both lovesick puppies, walking on eggshells around each other.

He changed, too. Your cold shoulder, your demeanor—it made him more wary. Careless. Wounded.

‘If you don’t talk to each other, I’m gonna lock you both in a room, and neither of you is coming out until you resolve whatever’s going on between you,’ she said, exasperated.

You scoffed. There was no way Sylus had feelings for you, too. Not when she was in the picture. Not when you were something of convenience, something to further his agenda, protect his assets. His shield. His ever-reliant guard dog.

You didn’t think yourself worthy of affection. You were a weapon. A murderer. Crass. Damaged goods. He deserved better. 

But she told you to give him a chance. To stop being so fucking blind. It was driving her ragged, watching you both tread thin ice around her.

She wanted to smack some sense into you. You smirked, placatingly patting her hand on your shoulder. You were rubbing off on her. She was rubbing off on you.

You tried to be more attentive thereon. 

Noticed every lasting, yearning look Sylus cast your way with those scarlet eyes. Every errant brush of fingers over your hand, wrist, neck, back. How his voice affectionately sloped whenever he spoke to you, a boyish gleam to his eyes. He was gentle and homely and trying. 

And you weren’t used to it. You were afraid of it. 

You still had your moments when you ran. When you shoved him away, thinking things were too good to be true.

An overwhelming part of you still believed you weren’t good enough.

But he was trying. Really trying. He didn’t even use you as bait anymore. Rarely sent you on missions where he knew you’d encounter some strife. He was more protective. More considerate, and it made your stomach twist.

Things came to a head one fateful evening. 

He called you as the sun sought refuge behind the horizon. You’d been dodging him for weeks.

You were seated at a cafe, trying to breathe. 

The conversation was intense. Emotional. You were misty-eyed as it drew to a conclusion. Voice all croaky, throat rubbed raw. 

You were tired of running again. Exhausted with pushing yourself to the back burner in favor of others. You needed to know what his intentions were with you. If he was serious about you. If he was sure you were what he wanted.

He told you he’d never been more sure of anything in his life. 

You cried. You fucking cried, pacing around in that stupid cafe. You hadn’t cried in years. You hated how it made you feel. You were pathetic. 

When his voice broke through the static on your cell phone, it simmered with emotion. He sounded suspiciously close, telling you to turn around.

You did as he instructed, accustomed to doing what you were told without a second thought.

He stood before you, his phone still held to his ear, anguish screwing up his brows, a forlorn smile curving his lips. 

You watched him, misty-eyed and wobbly-lipped. 

The cafe’s wispy curtains fluttered between you. The setting sun limned both your bodies in amber. It was like a dream. 

Unspoken words hung in the air, nebulous like a cloud. Neither of you had to say a thing. This feeling between you, it was practically tangible.

He was wordless when he conquered the space between you in two long strides, tugging you into the circle of his arms.

He smelled so good. Felt so warm. So strong. So safe. You crumbled. He held you as you cried, stroking over your back, whispering words of affirmation into the crown of your head. Apologized over and over again.

You felt stupid. Melodramatic. But he came for you. 

It felt kind of nice—having someone chase you for once. Having someone pour every bit of themselves into you when all you’d known were crumbs.

He made love to you later that night. 

Made. Love. 

You were used to hot, furtive, emotionless sessions where you often forgot your partner’s name.

But Sylus, he…

He was so fucking gentle and patient and attentive. Asked if you were alright every chance he could. Handled you like glass, ensuring your needs were satiated long before he pursued his own.

He made you feel full. Warm. Revered. 

Filled you to the brim. Covered you like a warm blanket on the coldest night. His praise made your toes go numb. Made hot tears scorch down your face as your tongue wrapped around his name in pleasure once more.

Your relationship blossomed thereafter. 

Your insecurities still beckoned you with their scraggly fingers from time to time. But Sylus treated you more like a lover. An equal. A partner. 

For the first time in over a decade, you felt genuine happiness. You were healing.

But it was short-lived. There was always a nagging voice in the deepest reaches of your mind, reminding you everything good would eventually meet its end.

You were awaiting a fireworks show at the pier with Sylus, Ms. Hunter, and her friends. The carnival was in full swing.

You were browsing the stalls littering the boardwalk. Ran your fingers over various trinkets, your lips aching with a smile.

You decided to grab snow cones for two of the most important people in your life. It was a sweltering summer night, the kind of weather that covered every bit of exposed skin in a fine sheen of sweat.

Your purchases were in your hands, and you returned to them. Your heart pulled at the sight that greeted you.

They were standing together—Sylus and the hunter—leaning against the rail. Laughing, smiling, teasing. They looked so comfortable. So cozy. Something out of a painting. So natural.

Even long after you and Sylus became exclusive, you still had days when your feelings of inadequacy crept in. 

But they still looked like they fit together better than you did. You felt like an interloper. Like you were witnessing something you had no business being a part of. The universe was sending you signals. Warnings you should’ve heeded long ago.

The snow cones melted in your hands, their sticky, cold sweetness dripping down your knuckles, you had been watching them for so long.

Someone called for you through the cacophony of the other carnival-goers, dredging you from your thoughts. You turned, plastering on a fake smile as you acknowledged Tara. 

You jogged towards her, tamping down those nagging feelings. Sylus loved you. They both did.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl.

There was a familiar whizzing sound. The smell of carbon. Smoke. A sharp pain in your chest. You were moored to the spot as your smile melted away.

The snow cones fell from your hands. It hurt to breathe. Hurt to stand. You looked down as the crowd erupted in horrified screams. 

Red lazily spilled onto your shirt between your ribs until it was all you could see. You looked up, your vision bleary as Tara’s panicked face blurred in and out of focus. 

You sank to your knees, the air siphoned from your lungs. You didn’t scream. You couldn’t. You were falling. Sinking to the ground when—

Hands. Hands were pulling at you from all angles onto your back. Frantic, muddled voices. Screaming. Shouting. Shoving.

The boardwalk rocked beneath you as people ran every which way. You couldn’t keep your eyes open. Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, your voice gurgled and wet. The taste of iron was dense on the back of your tongue.

You felt weightless. You were being pulled into a familiar embrace. Swaddled in that familiar scent. Your cheeks were wet, but not from your tears.

Scarlet. You recall scarlet eyes flitting in and out of clarity as your vision darkened around the corners like a vignette. You reached up to touch them. To touch that warm, stubbled cheek. Trace those pretty, petal pink lips. That beautiful nose.

You were cold. So cold. So weak. Shaky. You managed a smile as blood flooded your chest. Filled the space between your teeth.

Your hand fell away, thudding against the floorboards. You couldn’t move. Why couldn’t you move? Why couldn’t you—

You were slipping away, the homely call of darkness pulling you under.

You don’t think you’ve ever heard him scream like that. It was blood-curdling. Devastating. Fire and brimstone. Like demons tearing through hell’s gates.

You wanted to comfort him. Never wanted to hear that sort of anguish in his voice again. But you couldn’t. Fucking. Move.

You were dying.

Maybe this was your punishment for tempting fate—his punishment for choosing you over what was already predetermined. 

Fate always had a way of mucking things up, didn’t it?

[multiheadcanons]

MERCS AT THEIR WORST.

scout: what a dickhead. and he doesn’t even do anything to earn the bragging rights. so he’s just a little twat, running around really fast and fucking shit up and never in a way that it’s needed. cocky, and stupid, and so vapid. its not even worth giving him the attention, it’s like willingly letting a family of cockroaches into your home and throwing garbage on the ground as a welcome gift. and he’s annoying. there is never a time he can actually shut the fuck up unless he’s dead. and he’d be better off dead.

soldier: the rudest man you’ll ever meet. and violent. like, “maybe you shouldn’t be around him unarmed” kind of violent. the “you also shouldn’t let him know that you are armed” kind of violent. he is going to see that as a challenge. he is looking for a fight. he’s looking for blood. and he’ll get it from anyone. he’s an opportunist. known to commit random acts of assault on vulnerable people. disrespectful, hateful, and paranoid. he will lure you to him with a false sense of normalcy, and he will hurt you if you fall for it. but soldier is a bad actor. and he’s rabid. put a bullet between his eyes before he gets this far. sometimes he needs to remember death is an option off the field for him, as well. he just gets too big for his britches, sometimes.

pyro: so pyro is an actual wanted criminal, who’s bounty for their capture is only growing. and when pyro is at their worst, the money looks real nice. overbearing, clingy, and annoying, dealing with pyro is like dealing with a toddler. you might actually have better luck with a toddler. a toddler can’t kill you. but pyro will scream, cry, throw shit, and then decide that they don’t like you anymore because you said you had to leave. and anymore is permanent. you’re not leaving. they’re stubborn, they’re easily offended, and they have a penchant for blaming the wrong person when things go south. and then they get mad. just keep in mind the police are three numbers away.

demo: see, tavish is a god amongst men. tavish is universally a bright, lively man. which is why he fucking sucks when he’s lazy. tavish is a force, a raging wave in a vicious storm at sea. seeing demo at an energy level lower than four is surreal. its like looking at a lion in a cage. it’s cool, in a way. to be so close to something that is known for its fiery nature in such a calm state. and then you start wondering if he got lobotomized or something. and no becomes his favorite word. he doesn’t want to do that. he doesn’t want to go there. that sounds exhausting. he doesn’t want to eat that. he just lays around all day and eats trash and drinks. one would even dare call him a loser. but that word very specifically sets him off. which is odd, because demo doesn’t really react to insults often. it gets his ass off the couch, anyway. so maybe he should be called it more.

heavy: it’s better to just not interact with him, because misha isn’t there. whoever is is cold. and curt. not quite rude, but it’s not what you know him to be capable of. and when you think about it, it’s exactly what you know him to be capable of. you just don’t want to remember it’s there. solitary, and defensive about it. and so quiet. and, if you’re brave enough to steal a glance, when you look at his eyes, they’re hollow. and you can see a spark when he is mentioned, or interacted with. he extinguishes it himself. he doesn’t want to be here. just leave him be.

engineer: what an irritant. prissy, egotistical, and huffy when he doesn’t get his way… get away from this guy. such an uptight asshole. and the worst part is he’s a fucking hypocrite. none of this would be an issue if he wasn’t the world’s biggest hypocrite. he will bitch and moan and whine and complain, and then do everything he just chastised. but because he’s got a superiority complex, it’s fine when he does it. a “rules for thee, not for me” kind of guy, even when there’s no reason for him to get preference or priority. and he’s a slob. nasty ass egghead ass loser. that’s why he’s 4’11”.

medic: get away from him. this is not a joke. there is no telling what he will do when he’s like this. he is not safe to be around. obsessive, possessive, and aggressive about it. he’s suffocating and overbearing to be around. and if you try to get out of his radius of influence he will physically drag you back. you don’t get to leave until he tells you to leave. and he never realizes when he’s getting worse, because he shrugs off criticism on a good day. he gets downright combative in a bad mood. and he’s so mean. he says hurtful things to watch your face fall. he knocks you down because he hates how he built you up. he gets madder when you don’t react. he starts to up the ante and he won’t stop unless you hate him. he might just kill you. line crosser, double crosser, bridge burner, and paranoid about the consequences. but not paranoid enough to not do it.

sniper: sniper is the best— wrong word. most adjusted man on the team. sniper’s worst is some of these mercenaries’ average day. he’s bitchy, he’s bitter, he’s mean, even. nothing’s fun and nobody should be happy. and he resource guards like a son of a bitch. he takes health and ammo packs because he wants to, and not because he’s running low. he just doesn’t want anyone else to have it. and he picks more fights with his teammates than with his opponents. and when he’s alone in his van for the night, he realizes damn… he was an asshole today. and it cost his team, even if they won the battle. it didn’t have to be that difficult. he didn’t have to be that difficult. he’s pretty self aware of when he is slipping, and he tries to make it up the next day. he still bitches pretty loudly, though.

spy: nobody sees spy at his worst. nobody will ever see spy at his worst. he sleeps through it. sleeps through battle. sleeps through contracts. wakes up long enough to piss, shit, eat whatever garbage he can find, smoke a cigarette or three and go back to sleep. sleeps through the banging on his bedroom door. sleeps through the team coming into his room to make sure he’s even alive. and the worst part is, when the team sees him this way, they breathe easier. they can actually locate him. the base can get lively. he’s not permanently dampening everything with his standoffish attitude and dickhead tendencies. but he doesn’t know. he sleeps through it.

[renthony]

On "Consuming Content"

Every now and then a post crosses my feed that follows the vein of, "you have to do things other than consume media or else you'll be a dumb person who doesn't know anything about how the real world works and does nothing but pointless fandom stuff."

I hate those posts for three major reasons, not counting the inherent ableism and classism of "you must have approved Smart People hobbies or else you're worthless" rhetoric:

You don't know what people do or talk about outside of what you see on their social media. Responding to fandom communities on a fandom-driven website as if all these people are one-note cardboard cutouts of people is asinine. In many cases this genre of post feels like repackaged 2012 tumblr "not like other girls" and hipster discourse. Yes, yes, you think you're better than everyone else on this website because your hobbies are less mainstream, more morally pure, and have greater intellectual merit, we get it.

What do you even mean by consuming content? As someone who purposely avoids using the phrase "consuming content" because I find the term too vague to be useful, please be more specific. Are you including every single form of media engagement and art enjoyment? Are you just talking about mainstream TV and film? What about novels? Plays and scripts? Nonfiction books and instruction manuals? Do you mean to imply that going to a book club is a worthless non-hobby? Are you including academic reading? Are you including going to the art museum? Going to the theatre, concerts, or other performances? Taped liveshows? Watching sports events on TV? Are you including news media? Are you including YouTube tutorials about how to do various tasks, crafts, or other hobbies? Are you including trade magazines? Are you including industry publications in various fields? What constitutes "content," and what constitutes "consuming" in this discourse? Define it. "Consuming content" is a nothing phrase that people use to mean multiple different things depending on what they, personally, judge as valid media. It's a buzzword at best, and when the same buzzword can be used to describe both "idly scrolling social media" and "reading and discussing a book," it's a meaningless phrase.

As an artist and author, if engaging with media is bad and worthless, am I supposed to conclude that making it is equally worthless? If "consuming content" is a bad, lazy, worthless, fake hobby, what makes creating art a worthwhile pursuit? If I am constantly being told as an artist that engaging with media isn't a worthwhile pursuit in its own right, and the people who want to engage with my art are just brainless fandom losers, what incentive do I have to make that art anymore? Furthermore, to everyone reading this paragraph and thinking, "that's not what content creation is," I refer you to bullet #2: If the phrase "make content" can be used to mean "low-effort posts made to advertise cheap and useless products" as well as "being a novelist" or "getting a gig as a writer on a TV show," it's a meaningless phrase.

None of that is even getting into issues such as the way influencers are preyed on by both brands and targeted harassment from trolls. Influencer culture has major issues, but boiling those issues down to "stupid vapid young people who are too lazy to make real art or get real jobs" (which is a mindset I see frequently online) is unhelpful. So many people pursue influencer deals because they're living in poverty but are skilled at various social media and advertising related tasks, and just like any worker, they're being exploited because they need to eat. Labor rights for influencers are a huge topic that entertainment industry unions have been actively discussing and working toward. (Related links for further info: [x] [x] [x] [x])

"Consuming content is not a hobby" is a worthless statement unless you define what you mean by both "consuming" and "content." Quite frankly, you also need to define "hobby," because if you're putting requirements on what is and isn't allowed to be a "real" hobby, you mostly just seem like you're moving goalposts and defining "worthwhile hobby" as "hobby I, personally, think is good." Use more specific language to articulate your actual problems with the entertainment industry, the art world, influencer culture, or whatever else you're actually upset by.

Media and fandom can involve any number of enriching, satisfying hobbies that take up a perfectly acceptable and healthy space in someone's life. If you aren't into it, go find hobbies you do like and stop policing how other people spend their precious free time in this nightmare hellscape of a world.

[maklodes]

Being part of a culturally normative religion -- being an Italian Catholic, or a Thai Theravada Buddhist, or an Egyptian Sunni -- is cringe because it shows you're a conformist sheeperson who can't think for yourself.

Being an atheist or skeptic is cringe because, what, you think you're hot shit, smarter than anyone else? Because after Dawkins and Harris held your hand, you were able to get to the conclusions of Charvaka and Lucretius more than two millennia ago, and now you think you might as well have proved the Riemann zeta hypothesis? Get a grip.

Being part of a culturally non-normative religion like Wicca, or Neo-Pagan revivalism, or UFO cults, or whatever, is cringe because you're a kook. No one even forced you into it -- you don't have the excuse of being a Provo-raised Mormon or a Gujarati Hindu. You just went off the deep end yourself.

Being avowedly agnostic is cringe because you're so open-minded your brain fell out. Your response to one person saying π = 3.1416 and another person saying π = 15 is "neither of those are really the ultimate true value of π, which is fundamentally beyond what we humans can easily express, so the best we can do is seek the wisdom in all perspectives and stay open minded." You dodge judgment and discernment like they're Touhou bullets.

Being silent on religious matters is cringe because it shows you're either a coward who is afraid of revealing what you really think for fear of being offensive or cringey, or you're a vapid idiot who has no real thoughts on the Fundamental Nature of Reality, and only cares about shit like which graphics card can give you the highest frames per second on your shooter games, which basketball teams will make it to the playoffs, which skin-care products/mascara/lipstick will make your face the prettiest, etc.

[gizmocreates]

assorted canto 8 p 2 thoughts

part 2 dungeon jumpscared me!!! While it definitely was super fitting and a wonderful way to show the full scope of the hierarch war, it also is terrifying to see a dungeon… and know what lies within isn’t the end of the journey.

seven hour dungeon torment nexus. jia qiu fight whittled down all my sinners until it ended in a solo duel between fanghunt lu and jia qiu. i escaped that fight by the skin of my teeth

Honestly. I’m gonna say this one’s more difficult than the Canto 6 boss rush. Considering that your sanity gets reset right before every major fight the only real things you have an advantage with are ego resources and maybe ego gifts. And with how intense so many of the fights are… yeck, they don’t really provide much relief. (to be fair the teams i use aren’t The Meta but still. Jia Qiu’s Zilu skill can go to hell.)

i know it’s early to say any current survivors are actually, yknow, surviving, but we had a shockingly low death toll for the City’s Version Of The Hunger Games. fully expect Lin Daiyu’s health to deteriorate since she was shot with an EGO bullet, but she’s still alive, somehow.

they didn’t make xue baochai Secretly Evil (tm) thank fucking god. I was fully expecting it but i would’ve been a bit disappointed if it’d happened

jia qiu really just walked up, aura farmed, beat the shit out of hong lu until he formed an honest opinion and then fucked off. goodness i need this man carnally

speaking of which, between the frequent trauma dumps and him trying so goddamn hard in the end to say *anything* Jia Qiu would want to hear to avoid actually having to say something as simple, and yet profound, as wanting kindness… god, I felt hard for Hong Lu in this chapter. It may seem silly that it took him so long to get to such a seemingly vapid conclusion, but like… when you’ve been the vessel of suffering your entire life, so consumed by an inability to let your choices matter, why would you ever see the pursuit of kindness as something attainable? Not just some lofty, selfish goal, sinful to even utter a word of? Not something you feel you deserve, no, and not something you have a right to give others.

seeing garion made me ill bro i need her too (to kill me)

Gubo toxic yaoi is funny as hell. Bro really just tried to guilt trip Yi Sang for leaving his bum ass and Yi Sang said “you are NOT turning this around on me mister”

the duality of jia huans is really interesting. a young and innocent boy who simply was jealous because he didn’t understand Hong Lu’s actual position in life… had his life taken from him, and his name was taken by a embittered, violent man who still does not— and now likely refuses to— understand Hong Lu. Not that Hong Lu did him any favors.

Heathcliff, Yi Sang and Sinclair have been trying so fucking hard to reach out this canto, bless them. Too damn bad that they’re talking to a brick wall. Hopefully in part 3 their slow but methodical cracking of his facade will bear fruit, especially now that Jia Qiu has shaken him.

anyone else think about how sinners usually only resonate and show their memories at the peak of their emotions?? and how that entire time, while his face was still a near-perfect mask, hong lu was practically strobing us with a million memories a minute?? Yeah this man’s mental state is in shambles and he will Not let anyone see it. The allusion to prey animals near the beginning of the chapter is notable to me because… a lot of prey animals hide their injuries, too. Any sickness or hurt they might have, they’ll hide it until it kills them, because otherwise they might be seen, and to be seen is to be hurt further. he very much knows that the elders are watching. That jia mu will Know if he actually speaks his mind. And so. He’s given up. All he can do… is smile.

also xichun becoming the hierarch instead of Dying is rad as hell but also what a way to do it lmao. We knew it was coming but god the fact that even in character everyone’s just like “what the fuck just happened. What” is so funny

please let us fight jia mu/the elders next part please please please

[thewigglingrng]

Fuck y'all who want romances to end happily ever after that shit gettin both boring and vapid as time goes by

Bitch I like dark peppermint chocolate I'm all about the bittersweetness

There is too much focus on how the relationship ends peacefully and not enough about the beauty in the fleeting sweet moments one has with another during the story or the bitter trials the future may bring and how they'll rise or falter to these unknown variables

Give me more games and media where your lover dies

Show me more Yaoi and Yuri struggles

Create endings where no matter what, the world is doomed and yet the characters wish to see this end together

Have more date routes that just end with them breaking up with you

If given the option between the conversation button or the immediate kiss button the conversation always feels like a more Romantic option (lookin at you da fuckin Quarry)

I want to see strenuous relationships become embolden or break when push comes to shove

I want to watch an old character relive the memories of their love who has now passed on and then getting closure by the end

Love is beautiful but it's also complex, tense, inconsistent and vast

The summer Hikaru Died GETS THIS RIGHT

Madoka Magica GETS THIS RIGHT

Land of the Lustrous GETS THIS RIGHT

Frieren GETS THIS RIGHT

Love Bullet GETS THIS RIGHT

Alien Stage GETS THIS RIGHT

I yearn for these themes and stories there is so much depth, there is so much to explore in these various types of love

if you restrain the sweetness and allow the bitterness to build both can be enjoyable

[salternateunreality2]

Zakkura fluff please? 🥺

Henlo Pumpkin! ❤️🍊❤️ Zakkura fluff (and some angst at the end):

Literally:

Genesis, vigorously using a lint roller on his person: I don't know how I can stand to be around you two!

Cloud, leaning back into Zack's chest, hugging Zack's arms: You're jealous of our relationship?

Zack: You wish you had a hot Nibel boyfriend? *Smooches*

Cloud, mumbling around the kiss: You can't stand the sight of healthy displays of affection and warm honesty?

Zack, nuzzling Cloud's hair: You're worried about how to finally confess your feelings to Sephiroth?

Genesis: IT'S YOUR FUCKING SHEDDING, YOU INSUFFERABLE HOUNDS! I CAN WEAR NEITHER DARK NOR LIGHT COLORS, AS EACH OF YOUR VAPID HEADS INVARIABLY SHEDS THE OPPOSITE OF WHAT I CHOOSE! *Sets fire to the lint roller, throws it at them, and storms off*

Cloud: *casually freezes it before it hits Zack* Jealousy. Wanna make out?

Zack: YES!

-----------

Figuratively:

Zack waking up at fuck off in the morning, but being so, so careful not to move and disturb his exhausted Cloudy. Until he really really REALLY has to pee, then playing the mission impossible theme song in his head while slowly and carefully extracting himself.

Cloud being too shy to say he's fallen for Zack, but leaving him weird little presents everywhere: a grocery bag with two of his precious cookies from Claudia tied to Zack's apartment door handle, a wolf-shaped rock on his desk, a little woven charm smuggled into his pocket, a rose ring made from a twisty tie on his sword, Nibel leather shoelaces threaded through his boots...

Zack pretending not to notice Cloud limping and forcing down every impulse to sweep him off his feet, because that's what Zack wants, not what Cloud needs.

Cloud noticing Zack limping, shoving him onto a bench, treating his leg, and ordering him to lean on him until they get home.

Zack carrying Cloud when he's out of it, even as his arms ache and burn, his patience has long since worn thin, and he hasn't had a full meal in 4 years. He is still as gentle as the first time he kissed Cloud's hand in the dim stairwell, the faulty lighting masking both their blooming blushes.

Cloud charging past Zack's broken body, scared shitless, towards a foe neither of them could hope to match, fighting and winning anyway, because he HAS to, because it's ZACK back there, he HAS TO SAVE HIM.

Zack and Cloud stumbling up to a crumbling church, dripping blood and barely coherent, slamming the doors open with a bang and demanding she take care of him first, before passing out arm-in-arm.

Zack teaching her Cloud's PT exercises for the days Zack is too weak to help and Cloud is too addled to be present. Cloud showing her where every damn bullet went and holding Zack steady as she digs each remaining slug out.

Both of them sleeping with their hand over the other's heart.

[cckaisen]

CAIN: Twist of Fate

Chapter 1 of Cain: a TWDG fanfiction cross-posted on AO3 (see link at end).

Summary: When estranged siblings are plunged into an apocalypse, odds are a lot of people will die along the way. Or; why stop at Cain and Abel?

This isn’t the first time she’s been held at gunpoint.

Clementine shivers. Blood thrums in her ears. Her knees hit the floor, bruising. The cold threat of a bullet keeps her still, her pupils shrunken to dots.

This isn’t the first time. She’s survived this before.

Calm. She needs to stay calm.

Someone kneels behind her. Bright orange hair—like her old neighbor’s cat. They bind her hands. The zip tie bites at her skin.

Everything had happened so fast.

One second, she had been decking out the Christmas tree with fat gleaming ornaments and ribbons of tinsel. Sarah griped that her arms were too short to reach the middle. Clementine devoured her first hot meal in months, her tongue thumping in the aftermath, tastebuds thanking her. The ski lodge was a hearth. A warm, zealous embrace. Kenny had been there. They’d even hugged.

And now she is one wrong move away from certain death.

While her group was distracted by an onslaught of walkers, they had emerged from the forest. Swarming like flies to a mulching corpse as panic ensued. Barking orders. Shots. Everyone scattered.

Then came the name.

Carver. Fucking Carver. That name. She’d heard it over and over again. No one ever told her why. And now she’s face-to-face with him; the one they talk about like he’s the devil incarnate.

Her ears ring with noise. A bluster of sound, or silence–she can’t tell.

The whole house balks: Sarita. Nick. Alvin. Carlos. Sarah. Walter.

He touches Rebecca. Her face scruples like it burns, wrath simmering in the curve of her brow as more soldiers filter in, collapsing the illusion of safety Clementine is sure she will never hold in her hands.

Boots thump against the ground. A girl walks in, her chin caked with blood and no wound site. Not hers. A rifle hangs comfortably across her body, like a satchel. Clementine’s skin erupts in goosebumps.

There is nothing in her face. No anger, no drive. No malice. She’s all paved over.

Dragging Luke.

Carver huffs out a laugh, making way for her.

She shoves him hard into the pit of hostages. He lands face-first. Winded, Luke wheezes, his ribs battered by the floorboards.

Adrenaline gets him back up on his knees, bloodied, at this girl’s mercy, the first tendrils of a bruise curling around his eye. There’s a hauntingly furious gleam in her eye as she stalks towards him, the rest of her face inhumanely vapid.

Clementine’s heart beats so fast she thinks she might puke. That feeling—rage—sucks the air from the room. She’s going to kill him.

Luke scrambles, recognition bursting out from him.

“June—”

The back end of the shotgun comes down before he can finish. Hard. His body collapses at Clementine’s feet.

Mortified and convinced she’s next, Sarah gags with the effort of a sob, nearly sending her face first into the ground. Carlos hushes her gently, though his head lolls from the pain, his mangled fingers twitching behind his back. The house gyres–a fucked-up ferris wheel, heaving and sputtering with the effort of staying upright.

The girl stares down at him, an errant twitch in her lip. “I should kill you.”

Carver appears behind her, patting her back. He chuckles. “Easy, tiger.”

Clementine stares at Luke’s crumpled body until her eyes sting, vision blurring. Everything sounds underwater, conversation swishing and slurrying together. At the right angle, gunshots look like bubbles popping. She likes aquariums. Mom used to take her to the pet shop on weekends. She could stare at the fish all day long. They swam so fast. Blinked at her through the glass. Why can’t I open my eyes like that underwater, Mom? It was fun. She likes water creatures. She wants to go again one day. Can we, Mom? Can we look at the fish together?

Walter lies limp on the floor by Carver’s feet.

Where his forehead was, a hole has been dug out into his brain. A piggish, meaty color.

Her eyes burn. Her nose runs. There’s no space for grief—just the next trigger. The next life. For them, it’s all routine.

Clementine pales, her throat squeezing.

Alvin is next to be gathered up off the floor.

His captor presses the cold metal of his gun into the side of his head–she feels the imprint on her own skin. Knows it, like an old friend.

Rebecca objects through tears, choking on protests. “Bill, please don’t do this!”

She knows she has to think fast. Do something, she has to do something.

“Kenny! Don’t shoot!”

Her voice cracks, betraying something fatal.

A pause.

Then, in a manner fit for a music box, Carver’s head turns, his eyes wild, defiant.

Clementine shudders as he takes her in. She knows he sees something valuable. Something worth exploiting.

Alvin is useless to him. Discarded. Instead, Carver withdraws to grab up the little girl. The one he recalls so vividly from that little house. The one he invaded, parasitic from the moment he pushed through the door.

Clementine resists like a cat—wriggling, kicking at everything she can. It’s pointless. He overpowers her tenfold.

Dragging her to the window, Carver manages to present her like a shield.

Amidst the snow, Kenny crouches, Rifle frozen in his grip. His body nearly blurs, but the way he wavers is hardly lost on Clementine. Nor is it lost on Carver, who makes a damn good show of the circumstances, dragging his weapon along her face.

Kenny falters, like someone kicked out one of his legs from under him. Every brutal instinct he clings to subsides, takes a backseat, giving way to something more lucid as his gun slides from his palms and thuds against the white terrain.

He steps into the lodge, hands raised. Another for the lineup; fresh, dangling meat.

The room stoops, the air too thick to swallow. There’s no one left to save them. All that remains are short, panicked breaths, darting eyes, and wrists chafing from restraints.

With all the sheep rounded up, Carver draws a breath before launching into a sermon. It’s less a speech and more a punishment, each word loaded with false nostalgia.

“Why am I not surprised?” He paces around, sudden gesticulations setting everyone on edge. “I warned you. I warned you not to follow him. And look where he’s led you.”

Luke splinters with the force of a kick to his gut, grunting. Alive. Conscious.

Dazed with relief, Clementine blurts out his name.

Luke barely moves but to roll onto his back, his breath whistling, likely from pain.

He’s okay, and yet—

Clementine stops. She feels the pricking of eyes on her neck, craning her head.

Behind her, it’s the girl–the one who carries a gun like she was born with it in her hands.

She just stares. Not curious. Not angry. Just blank. Like Clementine’s not even there.

Like she’s already gone.

It ruffles the kid enough that she lowers her head again, ducking beneath the rim of her cap.

Carver’s smile sticks to his lips like syrup, slimy, sickly, churning Rebecca’s stomach as he makes promises of playing house, his hand lingering too long on her belly.

“We’re going home,” he says, “Me, you, and our baby.”

That word sticks out to Clementine. Our. Our baby. Carver’s.

She feels sick. Somewhere beside her, Sarah’s cries mellow out into wet, bleating hiccups. Carlos nearly dies with the urge to coddle her. Eyes. Eyes on her neck, nettling under her skin. She can’t shake them.

“Alright, round ‘em up. We’re heading back to camp,” Carver announces. A picture of self-satisfaction, chin raised as he turns and waves at his troops to take it from here.

One by one, her friends are plucked from the floor. Pulpy red berries, ripe for the picking. Some fight, some don’t.

Clementine feels a fracture in her psyche. It’s as though she’s wandered somewhere far away. Somewhere distinctly outside of her own body, watching it star in something her mind doesn’t agree to.

“–up, or so help me God I will throw you over my fuckin’ shoulder!”

The soldier’s voice rings painfully in her ears, his large, armed frame swallowing hers whole. He waves his rifle in her face. Clementine stares, unblinking.

“Troy.”

Cold fingers grasp at the back of her collar. Clementine’s jerked onto her feet as her head whips around, the threat of hands summoning a knee-jerk vitality.

A thick swoop of ponytail perches on hard shoulders, her body set in a line–a thin, withering command. That clinical distance unsettles Clementine in a way she can’t explain.

“Start up the truck.”

Troy hardens before he relents, scoffing redundantly before backing out of what was starting to feel like a standoff. As he trudges outside, Clementine feels white lights popping all over her body, like an entire town blinking in the aftershocks of a sudden loss of power.

Glass from windows shattered in gunfire glistens like sugar on the floorboards. Through them, the wind howls, perverse, determined. A resounding promise.

Despite the way her body trembles, Clementine finds it within herself to look again at the woman. June stares back, hollowed-out. Rigor-mortis. A moment passes, protests burbling outside. Yelling, bodies thrashing, the morbid pop of skin as someone's hit. Then, without any further comment, she’s shoved outside.

June glances at the snow, quick and strange, like she expected something to be there. Then she moves on.

Her hands find Clementine’s collar again. She pages the hearse.

The truck rocks with the force of metal doors slamming shut, locking the group inside. Reality sets in. The mental fog departs, airing out new wounds. Aside from Sarah’s soft crying, silence hangs heavy between them, nestling under their skin.

Her knees hurt. Clementine looks around, unsure what she’s even searching for. The restraints gnaw at her wrists, demanding she keep still.

Everyone is quiet.

No arguing, no protests–just, quiet.

Sarah flinches when the vehicle rolls over a bump, a wet squelch pervading the air. The soft, pulpy mashing of flesh. Clementine finds Luke, but he hasn’t reacted.

Instead, he’s keeled over. Elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands. He thumbs the bruise on his chin.

The gleam of a tear undoes her. Her brow knits. Lips part.

“Luke?”

No response.

She scans the rest of the space for help. A look, a nod, any scrap of sense she can wrestle into an answer. All she’s afforded are stooped heads and grating abstinence as the truck rumbles over gravel. It’s like they’re avoiding it–still lit up by the warm fire and tranquility of the lodge. Something white-hot scrabbles up her chest–panic, or anger, or both.

“Who was that?”

Luke doesn’t lift his gaze. Something moves across his face—shame or heat or memory. It knots him up.

“His sister.”

Rebecca’s voice is cut, but tender. She shakes her head at Clementine—an instinctive hush, a quiet warning not to ask more.

But Clemetine isn’t done.

“Why did she hit him?”

No one leaps to answer that one. She thinks it might be left to dangle in the air, until Sarah warbles.

“June gets mad sometimes. That’s�� that’s why she left,” she says, her throat bobbing. Her eyes flick over to her dad.

That’s when Carlos steps in, gentle but firm. “That’s enough, Sarah.”

Luke still hasn’t moved. Still hasn’t looked up. His silence says everything.

She wants to ask more. Doesn’t.

Instead, Clementine tucks her feet close, allowing silence to dawn once again. Closes her eyes. And, if she focuses hard enough, finds that there is peace, somewhere inside her. Somewhere dark. Somewhere quiet.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65680225?view_full_work=true

[flowersandbirdsflyingfree]

BLOOMING BULLETS LORE🏜️🌸

The Plot:

I move to Paradise, Arizona to start over my life. I work at a basic office job and sell my etsy stuff/some form of side hustling and I ended up finding my own apartment after 2 weeks of living in my car. I first stumble upon the Postal Dude shooting up the street and urinating on someone’s windshield. I panic, get my tank top caught on a stop sign and rip my shirt running bra out down the street. That was just the first meeting. After that was a few bump ins of small talk. He’s very weirded out that I’m not vapid or hostile but takes interest and we become good friends.

We do stay close for a while in the few months and there’s pining but we can’t do anything because I respect that he’s married despite being sad he comes home to… the old slag…But then the nuke drops and we don’t see each other again until years later. I’m all Jane Rambo’d out at this point in the apocalypse and we catch up killing zombies together. After finding out he’s technically divorced with the cheating on Mad Cow Mike J thing, it’s official that he is single and we decide to test the waters

The final battle arrives where I hold off Mike J in combat while he fights his hateful ex wife and in the end we drive off into the sunset with Champ starting a new life wherever it takes us.

General Headcanons:

A back and forth flow of what I call the Spongebob and the Squidward Dynamic. Sometimes Dude presses my buttons and I get playfully miffed. Sometimes he rolls his eyes at my goofy shenanigans. And then sometimes we just become idiots together in love. Often caused by trespassing and yet again me bailing Dude out of trouble.

Ragebaiting is another love language of his. So he will purposely piss me off bc he thinks it’s fun to see me get angry. It amuses him and it’s all in good fun. He moves things when I’m not looking and pretends he has no idea what I’m talking about for example. And another is the banter he adores so much.

🌸OMG STOP TALKING ABOUT BREASTS!

🏜️You know what? You’re right. Let’s talk about balls.

🌸NONONONOWAIT-

🏜️’Cause I’m a man of equality. And that means nuts

🌸SHSHHSHSHHSHS STOPSTOPSTOAAUAGGH

🏜️Biiiig ol’ golf balls swangin-

🌸*Spazzes out in overstimmed frustration and laughter*

🏜️Woah! And they call ME the lunatic? I don’t know, Maddie. I think we oughta keep the hospital on speed dial for you.

We have very identical music taste and our taste in media is mostly similar with a few more lighthearted leaning on my end. I got him to enjoy cartoons more though haha

His biggest love language is clearly acts of service. I am not used to this at all always being the one serving as second nature. So to have him do that for me is… kind of life changing. Even the little things like buying me a little surprise toy for my collection bags or helping around the house (without grumbling??? Huh???) means a lot to me. Sure he has his days, but if he’s going to have someone actually be entrusted in his extremely low social circle, he will give that person his all

Dude is not overbearing but he does get secretly anxious and will slit a throat or glare hard at the townspeople. He knows about my past which earns his respect but also has him leery of anyone giving me a problem

I do my best to be there for him when his psychotic symptoms act up. The least I can do is stand by him and keep an ear out to let him know there is nothing there but me and Champ. Distracting him in those moments are the most helpful things to do.

TOUCH STARVED AF THE MAN ALONE VALUES IT MORE THAN ANYTHING!!! At first he was all “Seriously? You wanna do this?” And lazily drape his arm over my shoulder but within no time he gets pissed off if I don’t get home soon enough for cuddles

I heavily encourage him to try to find work bc I want him to be a free bird and keep his independence despite me. So he finds odd jobs. But otherwise, if work is scarce, he’s the house husband. And he does bust his ass most of the time (he gets some days of snoozin though)

He knows about my rough as hell backstory and he respects me for it. It is a shock that I somehow retained my sunshine personality by burying all my anger and disgust to the point of it becomes its own caged monster. But despite it all, he knows I’m human. And he’s relieved he can actually be himself and speak up whatever he can because of it. He may not be good with words, but he acts to help me feel better. And while words are nice action to show he cares means a million times more to me

Our first date was a simple lying in the Arizona desert on the hood of his car. It was memorable and very special. It was in that moment he realized I was his answered prayer. All those years he prayed to get out and be somewhere happy, to know what real warm love felt like… it was worth the wait.

We elope with him stealing a wedding ring off a dead chick that I don’t know about and honeymoon in Germany/Austria where he gets drunk off beer and go off the shitz half the time. How he obtained my engagement ring was funny. He was waiting in line at the dry cleaners and saw it there at the desk lady

🏜️“You know… That’s a really pretty ring you got there.”

“Aww, thank you! My husband knows me so well. It’s to die for!”

🏜️“*slowly raises his axe* You don’t say.”

Dude has a photo of me mid-laugh on the floor with Champ. It’s treasured and he always gets his wallet stolen so he keeps it in his trench coat instead so he won’t ever lose it. If he did, then he’s go postal for sure. There is also a secret stash in the trailer of Postal Babe pin ups from me but we don’t talk about that much

[roleplay-evil]

Resident Evil Resistance Starters - Mastermind Edition

"This is your final chance! Kill or be killed!"

"The weak shall be slaughtered."

"Can you be any weaker than you already are?"

"Thank you for not fighting harder."

"In another time, we could have been friends... Well, I will make your end swift."

"You will never be the villain that I've become."

"You will never see your loved ones again."

"Hey, I just saw your picture on the side of a milk carton! Oh... No, no, no. My mistake. No one gives a fuck that you're missing."

"I could let you live. I won't, but I could."

"Your struggle is not unique, though I do enjoy it."

"You have escaped death's scythe before, but I was not the one swinging the blade that day."

"Does it hurt? Go on! Try to move!"

"It hurts like a bitch, yes?"

"I can still destroy you! I must destroy you!"

"Making me angry will only make this harder for you!"

"Keep running. You do not want me to catch you after this."

"You would risk the world rather than sacrifice yourself?"

"Revolution will come not from cowardice, but from sacrifice."

"This is for that time you forgot my birthday, [name]!"

"Hold still and I may allow you to die quickly!"

"You don't want to escape, do you?"

"Are you enjoying this? Why do you ask to be chased?"

"That was it? That was all you could muster? Pathetic."

"If I were you, I would hurry. But I'm not. You can choose to die here."

"You will not escape me twice."

"Time to literally see what you're made of."

"I'll crush you with my bare hands!"

"I will tear out your insides myself!"

"Typically I wouldn't step in like this, but it's so much fun!"

"I want you to suffer longer."

"I don't want you to suffer. Give up."

"Your mortality disgusts me."

"Everyone dies eventually! Let your time be now!"

"I have everything I need except your death!"

"Your vapid life will soon flash before your eyes."

"My work is more important than your brief life."

"I am sorry, but I must do this. I am as trapped on this path as you are."

"Their death was necessary."

"My client wishes you dead."

"This isn't personal. I simply need to expunge your existence."

"Sorry, but you know far too much about my work with [blank]. I can't let you leave here."

"How did you get in here? No matter. You shouldn't expect to leave."

"I want to witness the fear in your eyes!"

"You are immensely predictable."

"I can toy with you however I wish!"

"This weapon lacks elegance, but it will suffice."

"I call this one the poisoninator! Eh, the name could use some work."

"You cannot outrun my bullets!"

"I barely need to aim with this! Look, I'm closing my eyes!"

"You are only irritating me! You cannot stop me!"

"To think I actually felt sorry for you... Now you're just beginning to annoy me."

"I like you. I will still kill you, but that's the way things go."

"Why do you seek to annoy me?"

"This is not your lucky day."

"Peekaboo, my friend."

"They are pulled to the scent of your fear!"

"Scared little rabbit... Run, run, run!"

"Aw, my bird... The cage has found you."

"I don't want you going anywhere."

"Stay alive, my cute guinea pig."

"You cling to life as if you have something to live for."

"A very minor accomplishment. Don't let it go to your head."

"You have survived too long!"

"There should be a pile of you by now."

"I confess, I am somewhat surprised you lived."

"You will not see your death coming."

"Will you even reach the final conflict? Or wilt here?"

"I knew you would take this route."

"You have strength... but I doubt your fortitude."

"What curious seeds of knowledge will grow from our time together?"

"My whole life has been a prelude to the knowledge that I gained today..."

"[name]... You can still help me."

"I did not expect such success from the likes of you."

"That is most impolite."

"Haven't you caused enough problems?"

"I will not allow you to undermine my work!"

"That will not prevent my inevitable victory."

"Do you think that will be enough to overcome me? Ha. I will not allow it."

"You're making this so very, very easy for me!"

"I will claim the power that is rightfully mine!"

"Take [blank]. Let's see how far it truly gets you."

"You didn't think I would let you have this, did you?"

"If that was something you needed, do you think I would tell you?"

"Did you take that? Or did I want you to have it?"

"This is hopeless. Give up. Time will kill you as certainly as I will."

"I expected disappointment and you delivered."

"Are you trying that because you are stupid? Or because you think that I am?"

"Why are you still trying this? You will not succeed."

"If it's in your nature to lead, you must also prepare to see all others die."

"Let this be a lesson. Have no friends. Have no allegiances."

"You cannot rely on others. Betray them before they cast you off to save themselves!"

"You were right not to trust the others."

"The others will not save you in the end. Their friendship will sputter into darkness."

"How did it take you so long to get that?"

"If you were any more stupid, bricks would think you're gonna take their jobs."

"Who's an idiot sandwich now?!"

"I assure you, you fucked that up. In case you were doubtful."

"You are wasting your time and more importantly, mine!"

"I have met rocks that move faster than you!"

"I hope you do not think you managed that against my will."

"How do you know that this wasn't my plan from the beginning?"

"Now that you're warmed up, let's really test you."

"Extraordinary! I must understand how you're doing this."

"This will be a setback for my research. I hope you're happy."

"You have strength and intelligence, but even those will not be enough to save you today."

"You think you're tough but you know nothing of true strength. Let me show you."

"At first I dismissed you, but I see ruthlessness there!"

"If I were to judge on looks, you wouldn't worry me, but the strangest people could surprise you..."

"Ooh, plucky, aren't you?"

"Stubborn little thing, aren't you?"

"Your stubbornness is not admirable."

"I admire your dedication to breaking shit."

"You possess spirit... and I will break it!"

"Someone's getting pretty fucking big for their boots, aren't they?"

"Ah, you are tough... but not tough enough, hm?"

"The end is not near. You will not leave."

"Among your peers, I have the highest hope for you."

"I don't understand how any of this could have happened."

"Mind where you bleed! I just got this floor how I like it."

"I have a first-aid kit for your boo-boo."

"Well, if [name] sees I've fucked that up, then I'll be trouble. Thank you very much, asshole."

"I know, I know... I'm charming company. You just wanted to play more with me!"

[vfx-batman]

Can I be messy boots and say Tim Drake 😼

~jasontoddsno1simp

Hi!! I didn’t realise this was your main, nice to see you ^_^. I’ll put my answers under the read more, but it may surprise you b/c my feelings towards characters almost always exist on the spectrum of “do they intrigue me?” to “do they bore me?”, not necessarily like/dislike.

How I feel about this character: Aside from his quick-thinking in a jam, he’s not a genius + he’s physically eh; I believe he mostly just gets by on his faith in heroism/Batman/the status quo, a fanboy devotion which the narrative rewards tirelessly. Very Heir of Hope-coded. This meta-textual role is probably his most interesting attribute. But it is an interesting attribute in all fairness. I actually really like thinking about this part of him, + want to write a story about it someday.

Now onto something I find boring about him. Number one = his relationships. Everyone placidly loves him b/c he’s the audience self-insert + so nothing ever comes from his dynamics with Bats + non-Bats alike. Stories thrive on character tensions. Tim offers none of that. Most conflict just happens around him + he reacts to it, which is so dull. Since almost all fans play this straight instead of interrogating or subverting it, I find Tim boring in most fan-works as well.

Unlike other people, I like how he became crueller + colder when his life imploded. I also like how he loudly insisted that he totally wasn’t going to turn into Batman—statements which this fandom treat as objective fact rather than myopic self-examination stemming from his unwillingness to confront the reality that his reaction to grief mirrored that of Bruce. (No wonder Bruce only wanted to adopt him after this.)

I only dislike how Red Robin motioned that it was going to have TD face up to who he’d become + decide from there what kind of adult he wanted to be, right before walking it all back. I still can’t believe Yost just submitted a vapid self-congratulatory scene at the climax of Tim’s implicit decade-long arc. What a let down. Lobdell—who is a terrible writer—somewhat continued this callous Timmy characterisation but everyone denounces it + so Tim’s been trapped in a rose-tinted nostalgia whirlpool ever since. His audience + writers want him to be the perfect Self-Insert again, but that was boring then + it’s boring now. See my final bullet point for what I would do with him in the present day.

All the people I ship romantically with this character: I’m not really a shipper to be fair. Timsteph exes = true + real. See my final bullet point again. Timkon = his only good mlm ship, specifically b/c Tim showed a complete disregard for clones’ rights as well as Kon’s autonomy. This casual violation of others’ autonomy + transgressing their wishes in what he thinks is their best interest = one of Tim’s more interesting traits, so I’d enjoy reading a toxic yaoi Timkon if such a thing even exists. Finally, Tim having a crush on Dick but not realising he’s interested in men yet = fanon reading, but also the only interesting aspect of Dick & Tim as a dynamic. Of course, Dick’s straight + Tim’s way younger than him + they settle into a fraternal relationship long before Bruce adopts Tim, so I can’t see it happening. It just merits mentioning.

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Two.

The Bruce & Tim dynamic where Tim teeters on the awareness that he, more than any of Bruce's other kids, was the one post-ADITF/TKJ Bruce made into himself in order to alleviate his worries about having another child vigilante. Bruce treats all his 5 canon kids like they’re extensions of himself (which is why he's so harsh with them) but Tim is the only one that he made such a concerted (& most importantly, successful) effort to mould into himself. This is made even more interesting by the fact that Tim threw himself into conforming to Bruce's controlling tendencies. Bruce was the instigator, but I think the responsibility lies with them both, which is compelling. What’s also noteworthy is how all the other Batkids save Tim resisted Bruce's controlling tendencies to some degree.

The completely fan-created version of Dick & Tim that lives in my head where Tim had a crush on the star of his earliest memory (+ trauma), + he doesn’t realise it until he’s 17/18. Crucially, this would fall within a slightly re-written Batman Reborn/early N52 period where Tim goes through a crisis after Bruce leaves his life (death + then disinterest) + Dick isn’t obsessed with welcoming Tim back — maybe b/c he learns that Tim leased two children out as bait + got them killed at the end of Robin 1993. Honestly, I just want Dick & Tim to have some meat as a dynamic to make up for how much page-time they have in the comics (+ how much attention they get in the fandom) without doing anything that interests me.

My unpopular opinion about this character: I vacillate on Tim’s status as one of Bruce’s kids. In many ways he is not, even after he’s adopted in 2006. However—I like the reading where Bruce claims him as his son after Tim starts acting like him from 2004 onward. And I like the idea that Tim’s devotion to ‘saving Bruce’ in the first year or so of Batman Reborn stems from his unresolved Identity Crisis trauma. So pre-2006 they’re not father + son. Post-2006/2016, they’re somewhat father + son, but absolutely fucked up about it. Bruce cares for what he sees of himself in Tim + little more. Sometimes he doesn’t want to see his own flaws reflected back on himself + so Tim gets ghosted. Meanwhile Tim helps him b/c it’s the only way he knows how to save his dead dad whom he sees in Bruce as well as his waning childhood faith in Batman.

One thing I wish had happened with this character in canon: I wish he had left Bruce in the early 2000s after going through his disillusionment arc. Barring that, I wish his choices + agency had been given more attention in canon. He makes decisions like every other person/character, but his Self-Insert Plot Armour insulates him from consequences/needing to reflect on who he’s become by making those choices. I wish Red Robin had gone differently + I wish his post-Lobdell characterisation didn’t airbrush him to nothingness in the name of nostalgia.

One thing I wish would happen with this character in canon: I wish we'd get a mini that runs through his publication history + uses his trajectory into his current young adult aimlessness to finally graduate Tim from the title of Robin. Yes, that includes Red Robin. It’s a symbol of his childhood + another borrowed identity from a son of Bruce + it’s a metaphorical sign that he cannot let the period go. He should be 21 right now, so I’d like to see a story told with some skill that has him grow up.

Most importantly, I would have this mini set up an ongoing akin to Gotham Knights (2000-6) or Streets of Gotham (2009-11) where him + Steph are the leads + they go into the world of work as civilians, running a P.I. office together. I would use them as vehicles through which to develop our modern day Gotham City. As well as the idea that vigilantism isn’t for life + that some characters may be more interesting when thrust into non-masked crimefighting situations.

[kaijucat01artblog]

Phighting! Swap AU Excerpt

“I’ll need you to remove the mask.” The earthshaking command was simple, plain, and painstakingly monotone delivered through Medkit’s voice - but for Boombox, Medkit might’ve well as ordered him to turn towards Skateboard and shoot him in the head. It was a death sentence. If not for Skateboard, for him. The swift battering of disapproval that always followed after he did what he was told was his silver bullet.

At his stillness, the doctor’s remaining eye narrowed, his gaze already riddled with the distaste Boombox despised. The quack doctor was probably used to everyone yielding under his glare the first time he utilized it; Boombox didn’t move an inch, provoking its cold iron to flip into even colder steel. 

“The mask,” He repeated. Skateboard visibly bristled out of the corner of Boomboxes’ eye, as spiky with rage as the prickly horn outcroppings jutting out of the doctor’s antlers.  “I cannot properly gauge your condition without seeing the extent of its damage.”

Only if you do the same, Boombox thought with a few inklings of humor. The guy’s mad-scientist’s-project eyepatch was an eyesore. “Can’t you?” He responded gravely. “The problem’s the horns, not my entire head.”

That earned him a sardonic snort unique to Medkit’s stuck-up self, only reserved for defamatory gossip about Subspace and people he called “impudent patients.” 

“Remains to be seen,” He exclaimed. “Your unintelligence is extraordinary.” Bringing a gloved hand to his face, he mimed a thinking motion. “You know what else remains to be seen? Your face so I can do what your petulant self asked me to and find out if this injury of yours is rectifiable.”

Skateboard returned the fatigued old man sassiness tenfold. “I thought Ultimate Healing could save anything,” He countered smoothly, sticking his nose into the air. “That’s what you bragged about, anyways. You shouldn’t need to see anything.”

Watching Medkit’s expression darken after his friend’s quip was actually a bit worrying. The maliciousness shining in his eye was something familiar, him having seen it countless times before when Medkit bore down on an enemy in rounds like a raving dog. Boombox didn’t want two demons with broken horns.

“Okay,” He interrupted Medkit before he could manage a rebuttal or bite Skateboard or inject him with cyanide or something. “Fine. I’ll take it off.”

Skateboard shot him a concerned look that he just barely caught before he lifted both of his hands to the sides of his helmet. The smooth material it was made out of seemed to cling to his fingertips, almost as if it didn’t want to be taken off.

Sorry, he mused. I don’t want you to go, either. He didn’t know why he felt so reluctant. He could care less about Medkit’s opinion and Skateboard had made it quite clear that he didn’t mind his face before. For some reason, whatever obstacle that caused his pause was intangible - flitting away whenever he tried to pin it down, like a bird. Maybe it was scared of him too. Maybe he was just so rotten that even his own mind didn’t want to talk to him anymore.

He wished he could fly away, too. He knew Skateboard didn’t mean to, but both his and Medkit’s gazes felt like metaphysical dissections. The issue wasn’t even his face. It was his horns. He had said that himself. 

Something light brushed his shoulder. He blinked under his part way off visor, meeting Skateboard’s stare. His red eyes were wide, see-through like stained glass - so easy to dust off and observe the going-ons behind them.

Boombox slipped the mask off. The hand on his shoulder squeezed reassuringly.

Medkit gave him a vapid smile, clearly ticked off. “There we go,” He said. “Not so hard, was it?”

[synthient]

Doctor Who: Matrix Pastiches Reviewed

Because it turns out DW has a lot of them! The three categories I'm considering will be: 1) Visual engagement with The Matrix, 2) Thematic engagement with The Matrix, and 3) Quality of the overall episode vs quality of its Matrix pastiche

Contestant #1: The Long Game/Bad Wolf

(I'll be bundling our two Station Five episodes together, even if they aren't technically arranged as a "two-parter")

Visual engagement with The Matrix

Right off the bat, we get probably the best-looking Matrix imagery that was possible on a BBC budget circa 2005. A lot of other media going for a "Matrix aesthetic" stops at either the cyberspace visual language, bullet time, or the costuming, so I think it's actually pretty fun and novel that the Station 5 eps go for the pod people instead. Through the labor-zombies (still puppeteered by their jacks in death), and the Controller (conscious, aware, had a brief normal childhood before being sold into instrumentality), we push the horror in some fun new directions.

Thematic engagement with The Matrix

Does manage to at least gesture toward labor exploitation and state propaganda. Draws a nice if underbaked connection between news media fearmongering and anti-migrant policies. Gets a little incoherent and borderline reactionary with its conspiratorial angle (not that that's completely absent from the matrix proper). Featuring a "philosophical debate" that dips a bit more into parody. And we do manage to presage Resurrections via Don't Be A Tech Guy Who Sucks.

Quality of the overall episode vs quality of its Matrix pastiche

The Station Five eps are both a little mid, to me. Adam just isn't compelling, even in a love-to-hate way. Weirdly victim-blaming and misanthropic about the game show contestants. Each episode's parodying of the BBC is a bit too buffoonish to work, and leans a bit too hard on The Alien Behind The Curtain to have any teeth in regards to the real BBC. But I do kind of love Scary Capitalist Snow Hell feat. Simon Pegg. And the Matrix bits, imo, are some of the most charming moments. Decent episode, good Matrix pastiche.

Contestant #2: New Earth

Visual engagement with The Matrix

We get some very direct riffs on both the shot where Neo absorbs the full horror of how many pods there are, and the There Is No Spoon elevator cable sequence. It Green.

Thematic engagement with The Matrix

"Something something Catholicism" is, in fact, a core theme of The Matrix, and I'd say catgirl nuns are solidly in the spirit. "Don't be an evil vapid bimbo who surgically alters her body"? Well, no. (Granted, the most charitable read is that the ep is basically ambivalent on bodymodding - Cassandra's deal is gross, "evolution" and "mutation" are good, and turning yourself into a cat woman is neutral as long as you don't give people every disease in the world). "Don't give people every disease in the world"? Well, sure man, I guess.

We get some nods toward not buying into "human purity" (coded as class purity, and maybe vaguely racial?), and some lines about "we're part of the machine, so we know how to destroy the machine" that make sense as part of the Matrix pastiche and make much less sense in the context of the actual episode. Meanwhile, the NYPD are the heroes of the hour, here to bust all the bad guys and shepherd our shellshocked pod escapees off to some brighter future that we don't have to think too hard about the logistics of.

Quality of the overall episode vs quality of its Matrix pastiche

Gotta be honest: I did not enjoy New Earth very much. It has some fun ideas, and we get pretty visceral with the pod-based body horror again. But the sexism of how it handles Cassandra and Rose just makes the whole thing sort of unpleasant. And this also may have been one of the episodes he was looking back on re: "we didn't have 14 regenerate in 13's clothes because I didn't want it to look like we were making fun of gender nonconformity."

The Matrix pastiche itself is, like, fine? Just kind of shallow and mostly confined to iconography (while the themes of the rest of the episode sometimes tip into anti-thesis). Bad episode, decent Matrix pastiche.

Contestant #3: The End of Time

Visual engagement with The Matrix

If you're asking "wait, End of Time is a Matrix pastiche? In what way?" - it's because the whole Master storyline is riffing on the Reloaded/Revolutions version of Smith. Accordingly, the extended visual gag of the Master turning everyone in the world into himself is straight from the Smith playbook. And the effect looks bad, as a subtle homage to the fact The Matrix's agent possession effect also looks bad.

Thematic engagement with The Matrix

As a Matrix scholar with a Smith concentration: End of Time really, really gets Smith. It gets that he's an evil gay guy trying to excel to the extreme at his fascist upbringing, even though the authority figures he wants to impress will always see him as fundamentally "diseased." It gets the mommy and/or daddy issues that drive him. It gets that he's the shadow self. It gets that he's a Looney Tunes character. It gets that his public breakdown is as much self-harm as other-people-harm, and emphasizes that via the Doctor as concerned friend. They even put that guy on a dog leash (sexual style).

The "Master race" joke is kind of tasteless, but does get at something essential about Smith's machine-supremacy-as-cope and repulsion/fascination with Morpheus (and it's not like mixed-bag racial politics aren't a Matrix quality). "Is the Master in drag making fun of gender nonconformity?" well kind of, but it also slays

Quality of the overall episode vs quality of its Matrix pastiche

Maybe a controversial take, but I really liked End of Time. It's got the homoeroticism, it's got the Gallifrey Sucks reveal, it's got funny strobe light skeletor running around eating people. The Doctor's Got A Gun. Wilf's there. The "billionaire who evilly...loves his daughter? and they're the only people of color in sight besides Cannibalism Victim #2 and Barack Obama?" subplot does kind of flop. But overall, a good blend of the thematically compelling and the sillyfunny. Much like The Matrix itself in that way... Good episode, good Matrix pastiche

Contestant #4: Extremis

Visual engagement with The Matrix

Little-to-none. We're doing The Matrix almost purely as premise, not aesthetic. 12 wears sunglasses, I guess? But he'd been doing that for a minute

Thematic engagement with The Matrix

Return of "something something Catholicism" - this time, our take is roughly "kind of sucks that the pope is homophobic. But I'd still help that guy out if he were in trouble. On account of once upon a time, the pope was a hot lady and we had sex."

[gets blinded] [turns out to be reversible as soon as they actually want to do more stories with this guy] ? That did happen to my buddy Neo.

"Have you guys heard about the allegory of the cave?" ✅

Killing Yourself, is, in fact, a theme of the Matrix movies. I do have to give them that.

Quality of the overall episode vs quality of its Matrix pastiche

The thing about Extremis is that for the most part, it's perfectly watchable and entertaining, even at its most baffling. Still has fun dialog and solid characterization. Still has Mackie and Capaldi doing their best with the material. It just climaxes with such a stupid twist that it kind of kills the whole thing. And that twist is the very fact that it's doing Matrix pastiche at all. Decent episode, bad Matrix pastiche.

Winners of the Matrix Pastiche Awards:

Worst visual engagement with The Matrix:

n/a: everyone's either doing their best with 5 bucks and a ball of lint, or not really visually going for The Matrix at all

Best visual engagement with The Matrix:

The Long Game/Bad Wolf

Worst thematic engagement with The Matrix:

Neck-and-neck between New Earth and Extremis. But I think NE's anti-thesis and aesthetics-without-theme narrowly beats Extremis's "relevant themes but done clumsy and bad"

Best thematic engagement with The Matrix:

The End of Time

Best Matrix pastiche sans rest of the episode:

The Long Game/Bad Wolf

Best episode sans Matrix pastiche:

The End of Time, but Extremis is shockingly close

Most Memeable Moment:

"Super Mario would kill himself"