#I wanna SCREAM and destroy capitalism with my own bare hands

[jisungshotfirst]

I've found a new 'take down the government' song and I'm HYPED

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Real? Not Real?

Prompt: Uh hello, I just wanna day that I really really love your work. I came across it this morning and I’ve been binging it all day, and you are a REALLY good writer :) if it’s not too much to ask (and feel free to ignore this), could I request one of the Sides (preferably Janus) having a bad day and derealizing and another one (preferably Patton or Remus, but really any work) comforting them and helping them get grounded? Maybe something that is after the wedding, with everyone at odds with each other so no one notices at first?

Thanks for the prompt, babe!

Read on Ao3

Warnings: disassociation, derealizing, some things that could be interpreted as self-destruction

Pairings: none, other than platonic moceit and dukeceit

Word Count: 2287

The wall is yellow.

 The wall isn’t yellow. 

The wall is yellow. 

Janus pushes his door closed and sighs, leaning against the wood and taking his hat off. He scruffs a hand through his hair and lets his head thunk against the door.

 “Well,” he mutters, “that wasn’t exhausting.”

 The conversation had dragged on for hours; from picking apart every little idiosyncrasy and explaining every other word, it’s a wonder he had any energy left to even sink to his room.

 Well, he didn’t. That’s the point.

 He heaves himself up off the floor, stumbling a little when his body decides that no, actually, we’re going to remain on the floor because we dislike you personally.

 “Thank you,” he grits out as he fights the urge to collapse back to the floor, “no, really, I wanted to be able to fall over as soon as I tried to move.”

 When the floor looks like it stops spinning for a few seconds at a time, he reaches for his cane and shuffles over to the desk. The chair creaks a little in protest as he all but collapses into it. He tosses his hat toward the coat rack, missing terribly, and rips his gloves off.

 “Ah!”

Janus cups his hand around his wrist, biting back a curse as the glove catches on the underside of an older scale. He glances around. The first-aid kit is on the other shelf.

 “Damn.”

 He could just…stretch out and get it? Probably? He swallows and reaches. And reaches. And reaches.

 Why—why can’t he touch the shelf?

 Controlling limbs gets exponentially easier the longer and more disembodied they get. All the time.

 Janus grits his teeth and concentrates, closing his eyes until his fingers bump against the shelf.

 “Thank you,” he mutters as he brings the first aid kit back to his side. “That was certainly the picture of compliance.”

 The first aid kit, because it is an inanimate object—or rather, a collection of inanimate objects—says nothing.

 Trying to apply first aid one-handed is such fun. He ends up holding back the sleeve with his teeth as he rubs the ointment onto the patch left by the scale. The wrapper sticks to his fingers with the determination of a static-filled leech, refusing to budge even as he pries it off with one hand only for it to attach viciously to the other.

 “Get off!”

 It flutters down to lay infuriatingly close to the trash can.

 Or is it in the trash can?

 He reaches down to pick it up and put it inside. He can’t feel it through his gloves. So he takes them off. Maybe then it won’t get stuck. It lands in the trashcan noiselessly.

 Muttering to himself, he gets his gloves on their spot on his desk and goes about getting the rest of this stuff off. Snakes aren’t supposed to run warm, so why can’t he feel anything?

 He goes to undo the clasp on his cape only for his fingers to meet the soft fabric of his shirt. Oh. He must’ve taken it off already. Wait, did he even put it on when he left?

 He glances over to see it hanging on the hook by the door. Exactly where it was when he woke up this morning. Or was it? Wasn’t it draped over his chair? No, that was when he was about to leave.

 No, he put it on his doorknob, didn’t he? To make sure he didn’t forget it?

 But he never forgets his cape.

 Janus shakes his head, immediately regretting it when the action sends him into a dizzy spell. God, why is he so tired?

 It doesn’t matter, he decides, because he was going to take his cape off but now he doesn’t have to because it’s already off. So he can take his shirt off now.

 But first, he should take his gloves off. Trying to undo shirt buttons with gloves on is a tedious process.

 His fingers scratch the bandage over a spot on his hand. That’s funny. He doesn’t feel any pain coming from it. Maybe it’s healed already?

 No, no, he just put that bandage on.

 “Get yourself together,” he scolds himself, going to undo the buttons, “you’re being ridiculous.”

 Is he, though?

 He spent so long observing and mirroring the others today, just to get in the habit of it when he needs to, that is it really a surprise that he can’t really remember what his own limbs are doing?

 Yes. Yes, it is.

 His shirt lies in the corner. He doesn’t remember putting it there. He’s still wearing it, he hasn’t gotten all the buttons off yet. His fingers touch his bare scales. Oh. Maybe he has.

 Why does it look like it’s the wrong color?

 Janus squints hard at the offending pile of fabric lurking in the corner. As he stares, the fabric moirés into a dizzying display. He blinks. That shirt isn’t patterned. It’s just a plain white shirt. Why is it doing that? Is it doing that? Are Janus’s eyes doing that?

 He crosses the room, stumbling a little as he gets up—since when has that table been there?—and grabs the shirt. It folds and bends and warps around his fingers. It should be cool to the touch. The fabric is soft, normally.

 He can only tell he’s supposedly squeezing it from the wrinkles that appear around his fists.

 “This doesn’t belong here,” he mutters, going to put it in the laundry basket.

 The laundry basket is not where it’s supposed to be.

 “Fuck.”

 Did he leave it downstairs? That’s always a risky move; Remus will capitalize on any opportunity to completely and utterly destroy any abandoned object. He turns to go rescue his laundry basket only for it to appear out of the corner of his eye.

 Oh.

 Has it been there the whole time?

 Janus frowns. He looks at the laundry basket, he looks at the shirt, he looks at his cape, he looks at his gloves.

 The bandage on his wrist should be itching.

 It isn’t.

 Why not?

 Oh.

  Oh.

 He smiles to himself and lets the shirt fall to the ground.

 Right, how could he forget?

 This isn’t real.

 None of this is real. He doesn’t exist. He is a figment of Thomas’s imagination, created as part of an elaborate plan to explore personality facets for entertainment purposes. He is not real. He cannot exist in any way that matters.

 That is why the first aid kit won’t speak to him. That is why his shirt creates patterns that are impossible. That is why the laundry basket keeps appearing and disappearing. They’re not real. None of it is real.

 He is not real.

 The walks flicker a pale white as he sinks slowly to the ground, staring up at the fake ceiling. The floor is not solid under him. His legs do not groan and scream in protest as he lies his nonexistent weight across them. His eyes do not fog up. His head does not throb. The door does not feel like a cage, trapping him in a spiral of down, down, down.

 Nothing is real.

 Least of all time.

 …

 …quiet.

 “—nus!”

 “Janus, are you in there?”

 “Snake-Face, if you don’t open up right this instant, I swear—“

 “Kiddo, you never came down for dinner, we’re worried, are you alright?”

 “I’m gonna break this fucking door down.”

 “Remus, no—!”

 A loud thud does not startle him awake. His eyes do not fly open. His body does not refuse to respond as chunks of wood fly all over his room. The walls do not look like they’re transparent as someone peers at him. They are not real.

 “Janus? Oh my goodness, Janus!”

 Patton. Patton is also not real. That is okay.

 Patton does not rush across the floor to him and fall to his knees. His eyes aren’t welled up with tears that he bravely tries to fight back, smiling down at him. Patton’s hands do not cup his face tenderly. He doesn’t say anything.

 “Kiddo?”

 He cannot speak. Real things cannot speak.

 “Kiddo, can you hear me?” Patton does not stroke his thumb gently over his cheek. “Can you breathe?”

 Real things do not breathe.

 “Fuck,” Remus does not swear, “he’s derealizing again.”

 “He’s what?”

 “Derealizing.” Remus does not run to crouch beside them. Remus does not gently tuck his hands under his legs to lift them into a more comfortable position. “Gets stuck in his own head, caught up in his own lies.”

 Patton does not help Remus. He does not cradle his head and lift it up. The pillow suddenly under his head is not real, not soft, not pleasantly cool. His hand does not stay in his hair, stroking gently.

 “He’s overcorrecting,” Remus does not murmur, “convincing himself that nothing is real.”

 “Oh, kiddo,” Patton doesn’t sigh, doesn’t ruffle his hair gently, “you’re real, kiddo, stay with us.”

 “He’s not gonna believe you, Daddio.”

 “Then what do we do?”

 “You’re not gonna like it,” Remus doesn’t say.

 He doesn’t get up and leave. Patton doesn’t stay, still stroking his hand through his hair soothingly. Is it soothing? Does it feel soft? Caring?

 Patton—Patton is caring, right?

 “It’s gonna be okay, sweetheart,” Patton doesn’t—does?—murmur, “you’ll get through this, okay? You’ll get through this, I know you will.”

 “Here.”

 Oh, Remus is back. Is? Isn’t? Is Remus real?

 “Just hold this, okay?”

 “It’s really warm, are you sure—?”

 “That’s what the towel’s for.”

 Remus doesn’t crouch back down next to him. Patton isn’t gripping whatever Remus just gave him in his fist. He doesn’t look worried.

 Wait, why is he worried?

 “Ah!”

 He cries out in surprise when something freezing presses to his stomach. Cold. Cold, cold—

 “Shh, easy, Snakey,” Remus soothes—wait, doesn’t soothe? Is Remus real?—immediately replacing the cold with something warm, warm, warm, “it’s okay, it’s gone now, you did great, just stay here, okay?”

 “Re-Remus?”

 “Yeah, Jan-Jan, it’s me, I’m right here, can you grab onto me?”

 He can’t, he’s not real, Remus isn’t real, but Remus is right there—

 “There you go,” Remus encourages when his fingers hook through the ends of his sleeves, “you got me, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

 “Why—what happened? Why are you here?”

 “You never came down to dinner, kiddo,” Patton says, stroking his solidwarmreal hand through his hair again, “we got worried. No one could call you and the room wasn’t letting us sink.”

 Well of course it wasn’t, it isn’t real.

 Wait.

 “How did—“ he gasps— “how did you know I was here?”

 Patton frowns, tilting his head. “Because we care about you, kiddo, you’re important to us.”

 How can he be important when he isn’t real?

 “Hey,” Remus says sharply, giving his wrist a little tug, “no drifting off again, Snakey, stay here.”

 “H-here?”

 “Yeah.” Remus presses the hot pad into his stomach and oh, it’s so warm, it has to be real. “Right here, Jan-Jan. You feel this?”

 “Yes.”

 “This is real. This is real. I’m really here, I’m really holding this to your real stomach. You’re real. The floor is real. Patton’s real.”

 Patton’s real?

 “I’m real, sweetheart,” Patton says softly, still rubbing his hand through his hair, “and so are you.”

 He opens his mouth to try and breathe. If he’s real, he should be able to breathe…right?

 “That’s it, kiddo, good.” The hand in his hair moves again. “Just lie there and breathe for a moment, okay?”

 He looks over at Remus. Remus starts to rub little circles into his stomach with the warm towel.

 “Stay here, stay real, Snakey,” he encourages, “just focus on this.”

 The floor becomes solid under him again. Patton’s hand, his voice, he can hear them. Feel them. He blinks at Remus, real Remus, still working patiently.

 He must make some noise because Remus pauses, looking up at him. Then he takes the towel and reaches up to slowly, slowly brush it over his cheek.

 The tears that spring to his eyes at the tenderness of the gesture certainly feel real.

 “Oh, kiddo,” Patton whispers, pulling him into a solidwarmreal chest, “it’s okay, shh, you’re safe, you’re real, everything’s okay.”

 He gasps again, trapped in the warmth of Patton’s embrace. Remus scoots in behind them, wrapping his arms tightly through the limbs that still don’t want to work.

 “Why can’t I move,” he chokes out, “why can’t I move?”

 “You’re exhausted, sweetheart,” comes Patton’s soft reply, “you overworked yourself today.”

 “But I can’t feel them!”

 “Here,” he whispers, gently squeezing one of his arms, “can you feel that?”

 “O-only a little.”

 “How about here…and here…there.”

 Patton’s hands are so warm and solid and real.

 “P-Patton?”

 “Yeah, kiddo, I’m right here.”

 “Remus?”

 “I’m here too, Snakey, we gotcha.”

 “Am I—is this—“ he swallows unsteadily— “is this…real?”

 “Yeah, kiddo,” Patton murmurs as Remus strokes firmly up and down his back, “this is real.”

 Patton is real, solid and warm against him. Remus is real, solid and warm behind him.

 Janus opens his eyes and stares at the yellow wall.

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[liquid-luck-00]

Seven Deadly Sins x Maribat

Medieval Au

@maribat-bdbwm

Based on this idea

~~~~~~~~~~

Ten years ago.

On the outskirts of the city of Liones, of the capital of the country Liones, in the land of Britannia, homes destroyed, and countless holy knights laid butchered in the streets.

That day will go down in history for its infamy, the day the Seven Deadly Sins betrayed the country of Liones.

---

This is a tale of ancient times, an era before the human and non-human worlds were forever divided. When the Holy Knights, defended the realm, wielding their magical powers they were feared and highly respected. But among them a group emerged, that betrayed the kingdom, and became mortal enemies to all Holy Knights. They were known throughout the land as the Seven Deadly Sins.

---

Present day.

Near the Kaynes Village, there was a new tavern that was a buzz with customers.

“Here you go, drink up.” A young girl placed five steins of ale on the table. She had dark black hair that shown blue, pulled into twin pigtails by two pink ribbons, and bangs that framed her face and blue eyes. She wore a collared off-white shirt under a black vest with green panels. A pink skirt over leggings that reached halfway down her calf. And wore black and green boots. As more people come in, she directs them all with a smile.

“For a little lady, she is one hard working waitress.” A customer acknowledges.

“Oh no, I’m not the waiter, Buddy” She turns around. “I’m the owner of this place.” She turns to walk away.

“She’s the owner?!? A young kid like that.” But she doesn’t hear them.

“Alright, fresh from the oven. The meat pie that made the Boar Hat famous. Enjoy.” Three patrons dug into the pie, and promptly got sick. “You should have known. Our reputation is for having really good booze, but the food not so much.” She said with a completely straight face.

“Are trying to mess with us you little punk.” One shouted ready to fight.

“Wait guys, she’s packing a sword.” Another of the three pointed out. The handle was an emerald green and looked like a dragon with ruby eyes.

“Well, you guys, looks like we have a problem.” Her smile fell and she snapped her fingers. “Now let’s fix it.”

“Come on you call that a mess.” Out trotted a shiny black pig, wearing an earring tag. “Really what do you need me for?”

“Wait!!! That pig. He’s talking.”

“Yes, I’m a talking pig, what a bunch of dum-dums.”

“Plagg, we need to get this floor cleaned.” She spoke.

“Ugh, what a hassle.” Plagg complained. “Scrap disposal is a tough business.” He ate leaving, but before he did, he retorted. “Next time there better be some decent sized scraps.”

“You know I have an old family recipe for whole roasted hog.” She spoke to no one in particular, but with a deadpanned expression. Which changed Plagg’s tune quickly.

Then someone barged in. “I saw it. I really saw it.” He sat down. “I swear to all that is holy. I saw the wandering Rust Knight.”

“That’s just a made-up story, like how parents get their kids to stop misbehaving. The Seven Deadly Sins will come in blood rusted armor, oooh ahhh.”

“The Seven Deadly Sins?” She asks from behind the bar.

“You’ve never heard of them? They’re wanted posters are hanging everywhere, like those over there.”

She looks at the board and there were seven faces and seven names. Marinette, Chloe, Adrien, Luka, Felix, Lila, and Kagami.

“How long has it been? Ten years. When all those holy knights were slaughtered so fast, they couldn’t defend themselves. It was the Seven Deadly Sins that did it. From what I've been told the way the holy Knights’ grandmaster was killed was too gruesome for anyone to look at.” They began to talk amongst themselves.

“They say their captain, Marinette, is the scariest of them all. It's even said that she's brought down whole countries on her own.” Everything went quiet.

Until another patron spoke up. “Well none of them have been caught yet have not a single one.”

“They’re dead, they have to be the new Holy Knights would never let them live after what they've done.”

“Yeah you've got a point even now with the kings sick. The Holy Knights are making sure that the Kingdom stays safe for all its people. But those notices up on the board get updated every single year. Doesn’t that mean those seven criminals are still out there?”

“Yeah well some spooky knight walking around in rusty armor sounds pretty ridiculous to me.”

“You’re right.”

A crash, scraping, and banging was heard just outside the Tavern door.

“That smells an awful lot like rust to me.” Plagg sniffed the air and then cowered behind the counter.

The door opened and there stood the rusted knight. “The Seven Deadly Sins…” Hhe moaned as he entered the Tavern.

Screaming, panic, and everyone rushing out of the Tavern ensued. Fleeing from the rusted knight.

The girl jumped over the counter and stood her ground defiantly looking at the Rust knight. “Now who are you?”

The Rust knight swayed and then fell to the ground collapsed. His helmet rolled off of him. And then they saw his face, his eyes shut tight in the pain and exhaustion, his black hair short and messy stuck to his face from the sweat. And he wore a singular earring, a true blue engraved with something in red and gold.

“This kid is one of the Seven Deadly Sins?” Plagg asked the girl, and they took him up to the room taking the armor off of him. “He's just a boy.”

“Let’s just make sure.” The girl went up to the boy and started poking him first on his thigh, then his stomached, his bicep, she was leaning over him and was about to poke his cheek when his eyes flew open. “Yep, he's a boy.”

“Um, pardon me but what am I doing here?” He was quiet and soft spoken.

“Oh yeah you came into my bar then you passed out cold.”

“Your bar?”

“Yeah, the Boar Hat, my Tavern.”

“You’re the owner?”

“Is that so weird?”

“I just saw that sword, so I naturally assumed.”

“Oh, this old thing.” She motioned and pulled the sword from its scabbard. “Ha ha ha. Yeah, I guess if you only see the handle, it can fool ya huh.” All that rose up and out with her hand was the handle and a small stub was left of the blade, which was practically worthless in a fight. “It makes guests think twice about skipping out on their tabs.” She put the sword handle back into its scabbard on her back.

Which was when they moved downstairs to the raven again. Marinette cooked up something for the boy, and set the plate in front of him.

“First you nurse me back to health, now you're feeding me, how can I possibly thank you enough.” He barely choked out.

“First before saying thanks you should probably try the food first.” Plagg’s nasally voice cut into his words.

“What do you think? Awful isn't it.” She leaned down on the bar now watching him eat with a grin on her face.

“Yes.” He responded.

Which caused both her and Plagg to respond in unison. “Knew it was.”

But then something shocked them, he started to cry.

“Still its delicious.” Tears fell down his face.

“So what exactly were you doing walking around in that old armor, anyways?” She asked the boy.

“I'm on a personal quest to find the Seven Deadly Sins.” He answered.

“Why would you do that? You don’t even know if those guys are even still alive or not, and they’re serious villains.” Plagg reasoned.

That was when banging was heard on the tavern door, knights banged on the door, and ordered them to open up for them.

That was when she noticed the boy got slightly afraid at the mention of Knights.

After a moment of the Knights bickering to themselves, that gave her just enough time to think. She went and opened the door.

“Who are you?” One of the Knights asked her as she opened the door.

“I'm the owner of this place. What do you want?” She was relaxed.

“The Rust Knight is in there, send him out!” The same knight answered.

“Alright.” She turned around and looked back. “You might want to come out now.”

They all looked past her and saw Plagg dressed in the armor that the boy was wearing walk out.

“You have some nerve mocking the Knights of this land like this.” He grabbed her by the shirt and lifted her up off the ground. She was small, sure but he still held her up a meter off the ground.

That’s when the boy had snuck out of the back and made a run for it into the forest. Unfortunately, he was seen. “Look a boy just ran out, after him.”

The knight threw her back to the ground and she and Plagg shared a worried look.

The two of them ran after the boy and the Knights, Plagg mowed down, tackling each and every one, while she went after the boy. The last knight got pushed down off of the cliff at the edge of the forest by Plagg. While she and the boy were safely out of the way in one of the trees at the edge.

“So why are you looking for the Seven Deadly Sins anyways?” She asked him once they were back on the ground.

“To stop the Holy Knights.” He answered.

“Are you serious!! Why in the world would you wanna do that?” Plagg exclaimed. “The Holy Knights are the king’s men, the knights are here to protect us they are heroes.”

“But what if they were behind a plot to start a war in our country. Except for the king himself, the entire royal family was arrested and is being held by the Holy Knights.”

“Does that mean the king isn't really sick in bed?” Plagg asked the boy.

“That’s just a cover story the Holy Knights are using. I don't know what they think they can accomplish by driving the nation to war, but now they're drafting people. Taking men wherever they can get them they're preparing for war everywhere you look. So their reach will even extend all the way out here.” He shook his head.

“Yeah tough break, huh?” She finally responded.

“Wow you don't have any empathy at all. How does this tie back to the Seven Deadly Sins again?” Plagg shook his head.

“If there's even the slightest hope of preventing the Holy Knights from doing this. I know they're the only ones who can.” He was resolute.

“Just checking here.” She Butt in again. “You’re trying to find those guys even though you know what kind of people they are?”

“The Seven Deadly Sins are the most vile Order of Knights the Kingdom ever produced, made up of seven vicious bloodthirsty criminals each one branded with the mark of the beast. Ten years ago when they were suspected of trying to overthrow the Kingdom the Knights of the realm launched a full force attack scattering them to the four winds.”

“Well if you believe the rumors they each died a long time ago.” She spoke distractedly.

“Such amazing people wouldn't possibly let themselves get killed!”

“But they are criminals aren't they causing the suffering of the people right now?” She asked confused.

“When I was small, only five or six years old, my father would tell me stories about them and that's when I learned they are the most powerful Knights!”

A rumbling was heard and then the edge of the cliff they were on started to crumble and fall beneath them, dropping them down.

“I did not confirm whether or not they were people named in the report. Conclusion two individuals of unknown origin dead. What do you think men that sounds about right?” A man wearing red armor, silver grey hair and mustache.

“But Sir Twiggle, one of our knights was still under the cliff.”

“Simply put three fatalities in the report then.” Twiggle answered haughtily.

“But Sir, you can't! That’s too far even for you”

“How about seven fatalities instead?” The knight in red armor moved towards the rest of his men, but that was also when she jumped back up on to the cliff with not only the boy and Plagg in her arms but also the knight who fell.

“When I give a signal to you run into the forest got it.” She spoke quietly to the boy.

“Which one of them would you believe to be a member of the Seven Deadly Sins. Neither bears any resemblance to the wanted posters?” He then noticed something. “God is smiling upon me today, the crystal earring you're wearing is from the royal family. Conclusion you are Prince Jonathan!”

“Wait hold on Prince Jonathan?” The knights shouted.

“You're a Prince?” She added softly.

“Orders from the Capital are to determine your whereabouts. the order was to capture you alive and in healthy condition, but if you lost your life in an unfortunate accident…” Twiggle spoke aloud.

“I can't allow myself to get captured not yet!”

“Conclusion accidental death.” Sir Twiggle let off a shockwave of air magic chopping the entire forest down to the ground.

“Hi there, you alright?” She had pulled him down and covered him from the blast. “Plagg?”

“Seriously I'm a shaved pork on a skewer.” He cried. A single small little twig had splintered in his back. And he went off crying and screaming Tikki.

Johnathan stood and started to walk towards Twiggle. “Johnathan. Hey! What are you doing?” She called after him.

“There’s no escape.”

“Wait hang on you just said you couldn't afford to be caught or to give up.”

“Maybe if I surrender myself peacefully, he'll agree to take me back with him and your life can be spared.”

Sir Twiggle sent off another blast cutting into everything again, but she was able to tackle him out of the way just in time.

“Please get out of here while you still can.” He begged her.

“I think he wants to make sure neither one of us gets out of here alive.” She noticed as She was above him once more. After the attack ensuring he was fine yet again, the only real damage done to her, and that was her left sleeve was completely torn revealing her entire arm from shoulder to fingers. A mark barely visible on her shoulder.

“I was so happy when I met you. Searching for the Seven Deadly Sins, I so scared alone in that rusty armor. There wasn't any help I could ask for. Then you show up and show me such kindness, someone that you've never met before. I don't wanna see you hurt my problems anymore when I don’t even know your name.”

Memories flashed behind her eyes and a smile spread on her lips.

“Marinette. If you really wanna know.” She grinned from ear to ear.

“I… I don't believe it you can't be you're just.” Tears threatened to fall from his eyes.

That was when the knight who fell with them regained consciousness jumping up. “Where's the girl the one with the sword. I saw it when she saved me from the cliff the symbol it was right there. The symbol on her shoulder it… it… it’s her.”

Sir Twiggle struck again now closer, right on top of them. The magic was unleashed but Marinette stood up and was now facing the Knight.

“How is this possible? My technique was flawless I am certain my blade struck her!” Twiggle began to look even more and more frazzled. “But I was the one who felt the force of the blow. How could it have hit me?! And what is that in your hand?! A broken blade! Broken blade… now your face is beginning to look familiar. Truly it can’t! How can you look exactly the same as you did then?!? No matter your time's up! How dare you still exist!”

Their blades clashed their magic erupted, which sent Twiggle and his men flying high, high into the sky almost like a meteorite.

“Extraordinary power.” Johnathan breathed.

“Captain of the Seven Deadly Sins, the Dragon sin of Wrath, Marinette.” She announced.

~~~~~~~~~~

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Story Taglist: just ask because after the bio dad even I won’t add the Event Taglist

[capricornus-rex]

Someone Left to Save (13)

Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by Anon

Summary: The Mantis crew arrives to the capital of Ulfin, in the planet of Pevera, under siege. They meet the local rebel cell spearheaded by the former Republic admiral, Jax Beneb, who seeks to destroy the Empire’s occupation that was aggressively imposed upon while exploiting the planet of its natural resources. A plan is devised to destroy the Imperial’s main base of operations—as well as their influence—in the planet; however, it was a do-or-die mission that you and Cal had gotten yourselves caught in.

A/N: Late post again, but the AO3 version got there first because it was easier to format aaah I want my laptop fixed soon ;_;

Tags: Force-Sensitive! Reader, Inquisitor! Reader, Jedi! Reader, Fake Death, Jedi turned Inquisitor, Seduction to the Dark Side, Turn to the Dark Side, The Dark Side of the Force, Aftermath of Torture, Torture, Psychological Torture, Redemption Arc! Reader, Possible Redemption, Premonitions

Also in AO3

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 – 9 – 10 – 11 | Previous: Part 12 | Next: Part 14 | Masterlist

13 of ?

It has been hours since Cal encountered you. He’s in the Mantis recovering, and still wrapping his head around everything. In fact, his mind is still in a jumble after your reunion of a duel.

He can’t meditate for long periods of time, he constantly tosses and turns in bed when he decides to rest, and he religiously reads your profile as an Inquisitor on BD-1’s databank.

“Twelfth Sister, huh?” Cal mumbled behind his clasped hands over his lips.

He intently stares at the written portion of your profile.

He pondered out loud, “I don’t even wanna think about how long they’ve kept her there until they broke her, or how long she’s been doing missions until she’s completely desensitized like the rest.”

“Bee…” BD-1 chirped sadly.

Cal shakes his head, erasing such gruesome thoughts.

“No, she’s not like them. She’s still not fully gone yet. I know her…”

BD trills in reply, astonished just how cemented the boy’s resolve and optimism is.

“[Y/N] still has a choice, I hope she understands that,” he added.

A migraine abruptly jabs at Cal like a dagger to the stomach. Screams, explosions, and blaster fire echoed as an awful-sounding medley in his skull. It took him a few good moments before the sounds quietened. His little droid chirped worriedly as he watched Cal shudder and go woozy.

“I think the town’s in trouble, BD!”

BD knew what was up just from that simple outburst, he hopped on Cal’s shoulder before the boy could even stand up and scamper out of his room. He jumped over the set of stairs, slammed a button, and slipped through the entry door left ajar, disappearing from the Mantis; he didn’t run off right away, he waited for the exterior compartment door to open, revealing a compact speeder bike stored inside and sped away to the city.

He already knew the culprit, he only hoped that you haven’t done enough irreversible damage yet.

Contrary to Cal’s foresight, you haven’t wreaked havoc… yet.

Upon your arrival to the small city, you saw how sparse the Imperial security is.

You approached a Stormtrooper donning a red pauldron on his right shoulder, he straightened his posture as soon as he saw you.

“Are these all your men, Commander?”

“No, ma’am, they’re my patrol unit. I have more fanned out in different sectors. Should there be any problem, I’ll have reinforcements ready.”

“Good, because you should. The Jedi’s quite an elusive one,”

“If we spot him, we’ll deal with him,”

You nodded, impressed by this leader’s confidence. You inquired if there are any Purge Troopers dispatched in the city, you called for two of them to your position, they arrived within minutes.

“Two of you come with me,” you commanded with a steel voice. “If you find the Jedi, do not attempt to kill him. He’s mine for the taking.”

The three of you mounted on individual speeders, they followed you. Solely relying on instinct and feeling based on what you had back at the garrison, your party ended up in a small residential compound.

You’ve pinpointed the exact locations where that ripple in the Force is originating—from a house at the western side. However, your welcome wagon from the locals is rather cold. Anyone who can carry a gun held their ground, at the corner of your eye, you spot a little family of three: mother, father, and infant boy.

You knew right away the source.

The man saw through your faceless helmet, father’s intuition spiking up when he knew that exact intention of that ominous turn of your head to his son.

“You,” the ignition of the saber startled everyone, including the family; they held their ground, safety locks from all of the blasters clicked with the barrels aimed either at you or the Purge Troopers. Your men returned the gesture, but you signaled them to hold their fire. You lowered your saber to point at his son. “You know he has it, don’t you?”

Apparently, not many were aware of what you’re talking about, but the parents knew all too well. Even he pointed his own blaster at you. This demonstrative warning didn’t intimidate you, not in the smallest bit, instead you received them with a sinister chuckle—which left them in a collective puzzlement.

In the slightest movement, someone did the first shot but you deflected it with a superhuman precision and speed—intentional or otherwise, they feared for their life as they’ve come to realize they made that mistake. And then in the next split second, they never saw you coming. A barrage of blaster fire came from all sides. A few Stormtroopers near the area got themselves involved when they heard the firefight. While they’re busy exchanging bullets, you went after the mother who ran away from the action; her husband didn’t stand a chance against you—incapacitating him by hammering his jaw with your saber’s pommel.

The apartment where the woman went into hiding was a maze, halls upon halls of doors, she thinks she’s outsmarted you. You stood still and felt for the child’s Force signature amongst the rooms. Its fussing echoed in your mind until you turned to the direction where you think it’s coming from. Your eyes shot open and you bolted through the narrow hallway, a single kick broke down the door—startling both mother and wailing child.

“Don’t make this any harder for me,” you snarled, pointing your saber at the trembling woman.

She didn’t cooperate. Her hand aimlessly wandered the floor in search of anything to throw at you. She threw a small statuette in your face but you casually dodged it—all too easy, but it vexed you that she did exactly what you didn’t want her to do. When she found herself helpless, she scrambled up to her feet and made a run for it—but you were faster. The chase led to a dead end, you snuck up behind her as she looks at the wall with sheer horror in her eyes.

“I told you to not make it harder for me, woman,” you hiss from behind, and gave her the same fate as her husband.

You broke her fall by catching her, along with the child whom you snatched from her arms, you returned to the scene of the action only to hear not a hail of projectiles but silence, the baby seems to be calmed down by it. You stopped where you stood, listening for a sign of fighting, but there was nothing. You prepared yourself for whatever you’re going to see. The residents are gone—probably scampered back to their homes—and your Purge Troopers had Cal preoccupied, his back was turned to you as he fought them off, a couple of Stormtroopers lay dead on the ground evidently Cal’s handiwork.

Cal spots you, the Purge Troopers withdraw from the fight when they read the room. The young Jedi immediately turned around to the direction where the enemies were looking at.

“Well now, two heroics in a row! That ought to be a new record, darling,”

“I know what you’re planning to do with that kid, [Y/N]!”

You nasally scoffed, “Trilla was right. You are uncharacteristically prescient!”

“Why don’t you come and face me! It’s me you want!”

“What a brilliant idea!” You gestured at one Purge Trooper to come and retrieve the child. You spotted Cal flinching as soon as the trooper’s hands touched the baby’s swaddle. Both you and the troopers were alerted and positioned in different stances.

“Ah-ah-ah!” you cautiously held your hand above the child’s face. “Don’t do anything that you’d regret, Cal! Believe me, I still have enough humanity to not kill a child in cold blood. Do not convince me otherwise.”

Cal stood down, giving in to your bluff, and forced himself to relax—despite having an Electrohammer Purge Trooper standing behind him with his held in an offensive stance. He watches the other Purge Trooper scoop the child off your arms, your lightsaber takes its place in your hands. Igniting both ends, you point the haloed sleeve in front of the Jedi.

“Let’s dance, darling!”

Finishing what you started, you locked blades with Cal once again. This time, your arena has gotten wider and more open. Cal had no time in apprehending the Purge Troopers with the child and escaped on their speeder bikes. He split his sabers and dual-wielded to match you, but it was useless, he didn’t even realize that you have gotten more skillful and stronger. He’d hate to admit that he was saved by sheer luck back at the temple.

He comes charging at you with an overhead strike, but both ends of your saber blocked left and right sabers altogether. Cal saw the whites of your knuckles as you put more pressure on your gripping arm, your boots barely skidded in the dust when his attack landed on your block, and you flashed him a cocky yet ominous smirk.

“You feel it, don’t you? My strength—it’s too great to bear, isn’t it?”

Although covered, Cal sees the prideful, malicious grin stretched across your face through that dark mask; he could’ve sworn he saw the glint in your eyes—they were sorrowful in expression masking it with rage until no one can mistake it for the other. He knew that you’re still human, unlike the others you call brothers and sisters.

“But you’re no better for what you are right now!”

Cal pushes you away with the Force, enough to put some space between you and himself. You then lobbed your saber at him, spinning like a fan, cutting the air in a clean semi-circle, and he deflected it—as expected—before catching it. You did it a second time, and again, he succeeded in deflecting it.

“Remember what Cere taught us: as long as we’re alive, we will always have a choice!”

“Funny,” your hand snappily catches your saber. “I knew you were gonna say something like that!”

He cancels out the third time you’re about to fling your saber at him, and finally deals some damage—one of the few instances that he actually does—and gradually regained his momentum in the  battle. The two of you have become so enamored in the fight that both of you didn’t notice you’ve moved to the back of the compound, away from the main square where the duel initiated.

In this smaller space, you two were completely alone. The intensity felt more intimate yet frightening. Cal saw how your eyes blazed with hatred and anger for him, albeit misplaced and corrupted within you.

“[Y/N], please listen to me: I didn’t abandon you. I swear it,” he calmly said, through the intertwining of your blades.

“Spare me, Cal, I—”

You notice his sleeve roll down, the glimmer of metal caught your eye. You recognize your bracelet worn around his wrist. For a brief second, your block loosened and he felt it.

“You… You kept it?”

“Always have,” Cal takes a deep breath. “And I’m sorry for this, [Y/N].”

Cal pulls the same trick he did on Trilla. In order to disarm you: he switched off his saber mid-block which, in turn, caught you off-guard for a second time—with the sight of the bracelet being the first, spontaneous one—and staggered you real hard. Before you could even react or resist, he inflicts Force Slow on you—and so your limbs felt heavy and hard like stone, it feels as though you’re being encased in wet plaster that’s drying off quickly. While the chance is ripe for the taking, he runs up to you and takes your hand. The wave of emotions thrashing in you like a wild ocean riptide was overwhelming, but he fought it and there’s literally nothing you can do about it.

And that’s where he saw every, single thing.

Fed with lies. Trained with hate. Survived by agony.

Cal’s Force Echo on yourself was painless but it made you a tad bit nauseated. You could feel your very life essence being forcibly siphoned out of your body, at the same time, your memories and feelings transfer to Cal—as if he was the one experiencing them firsthand.

The prickle of electric current on his skin made his nerves jerk, enough to prompt his muscles to let go; the great exhaustion that your body endured burdened itself on Cal’s chest—making him feel out of breath—then the deafening clash of weapons, the battle grunts, and all the taunts meant to torment your mind: all of those Cal endured, through the trance of the Force Echo.

You fight the tears from escaping your eyes, but he didn’t, he let them trickle on his cheeks; withstanding the pain took more willpower than matching your strength in the swordfight.

“Oh [Y/N]... what have they done to you?” he gasped.

“They… made me stronger!” you struggled to speak while under the influence of the Force Slow.

Cal shakes his head, tightening his grip around your hand, “No, that isn’t strength. This isn’t you.”

The gentleness in his voice vexed you and touched at the same time. More emotions pile on top of the other as they conflict in you, the confusion was mind-numbing.

“You just don’t want to admit it, because you’re afraid,” he added.

You’re on the verge of tears, because even if you don’t want to admit it, he’s somewhat right and you hate how right he always is.

“I am not afraid!” you hiccuped, nearly sobbing. “I don’t have to be afraid of the Inquisitors, you, or anything!”

You finally broke free from the hold of the Slow, you violently shook off Cal’s hand from yours, and popped a flashbomb to escape. When the smoke had cleared, Cal found himself alone in that small backside of the compound. More Stormtroopers flooding into that space gave him company, completely surrounding him; just when they thought they had the upper hand, their mistake of underestimating them became their undoing, the Jedi made quick work and felled them all, clearing the path for himself back to the Mantis while you hopped on another speeder and fled out of the city to return to the garrison.

[msbluebell]

I'm in love with your writing and AUs so here I am positing my own AU: Princess Mononoke ala Dimileth with Byleth assuming the role of Ashitaka and Dimitri as Mononoke. I'm also high-key putting forth the idea of Byleth happening across Dimitri and outright calling him beautiful like how it happens in Mononoke because I'm a cheesy sap like that.

There’s been, like, three fanarts of the “you’re beautiful” scene that I’ve seen so far.

So of course I gotta do a prompt for it!

Mononoke AU, let’s go!

So I’m going to imagine that things are sort of like they were in Three Houses more than Mononoke, because perfectly adapted AUs are never fun and I wanna see if I can pull this off still.

So, in this AU, Byleth starts having strange dreams. Dreams about war, and a girl on a throne. It makes her start to question things. Things are...strange...before...before...they didn’t feel things. They were numb, but something is happening to them. They’re changing.

They share their concerns with their father, Jeralt, the leader of their mercenary band. He shares his easy wisdom with them, that everything changes, and feeling is a normal part of growing up. Still, Byleth is unsure of everything.

But they go with it, because there’s no stopping it at the very least. Life moves forward and so must they.

Their group has a job, in Enbarr. Things have been hard since the war started five years ago, so they have to take work where they find it. Jeralt has been trying to avoid working for any of the capitals, preferring to loot bandits and pick up money from local nobles that are paying to clear out those bandits because they can’t spare their own forces anymore. But the money is too good to ignore, and work is becoming harder and harder to find. If they ignore it, their group may go hungry come winter.

So they go to Enbarr.

A representative for the Emperor, a stern man named Hubert, sneers at them and says they need extra hands guarding the walls, as their forces are too busy leading a strike against the Alliance and guarding against Faerghus. They hesitantly accept the job, because the money offered is just enough to get them through winter, but vow to leave right after. 

Just a few days guarding the gate. That’s it. 

Or, well, it was supposed to be.

But...a man shows up.

He’s wild, wild as anything they’ve ever seen. He’s leading a pack of giant snow-white lions over the gate, and there’s barely any time to even register he’s there before he’s inside.

Byleth gives chase.

The man is like a storm, or a hurricane, he moves through the city with force, and anything that stands in his way gets destroyed. He has a clear goal in mind, that much they can tell, and he won’t stop until he reaches it.

The Emperor. 

The madman broke into the city, alone, with nothing but giant Snow Lions, and was storming for the Emperor.

Byleth isn’t sure if they’re more impressed with his boldness or the fact he actually somehow mad it to the Emperor by himself, cutting his way past her guards with nothing but a steel lance and his own brute strength.

It’s really none of Byleth’s business from there. Their job was to guard the gate. They failed. They weren’t going to get payed. Their best bet was to leave and let fate decide what happens here.

But there’s something about that man, something in the set of his jaw, the way he carried himself, that made Byelth want to stay. To see what happens to him.

Somehow that involves to grabbing him during the middle of his fight with the Emperor and running away.

He’s a kick, screaming, angry mess the whole time that Byleth is getting him out of there. They’re not sure how they even did it, or why. It’s none of their business. It really isn’t. He almost murdered the Emperor, and that’s bad, they suppose, but he’s bleeding so much that he would’ve gone straight with her.

It’s not until they’re well outside the city, and she’s laying down, with the sharp end of a lance pointed at her neck, and the desperately angry man cursing her for denying him the one thing he’s desperately wanted for years that she realizes why she did it.

“You’re beautiful.” She realizes, before falling into unconsciousness.

[barrydeutsch]

Cartoon: 36 Annoying Anti-Feminists

ETA: At least on my computer, the image on Tumblr is hard to read. There’s a larger, clearer image here.

Please support these cartoons on Patreon.

You may remember an earlier version of this cartoon, which had only 32 anti-feminists.

When this cartoon was first published, I got a lot of criticism. Some of it was the expected mindless anger (I hope you die, you’re just trying to get laid, etc etc) from the less intelligent anti-feminists. Some comments from the smarter anti-feminists were helpful (for instance, if a lot of people misread the same panel in the same way, that’s a panel I can clarify).

But the comments that really made me want to revise the cartoon came from feminists who reminded me of some anti-feminists I missed. (Indeed, on reading this, one of my housemate’s first comment was “where’s the bitter divorced guy?”) I had a little free time during my New York City trip, so I decided to add in four of the anti-feminists I missed last time. And while I was doing that, I thought I’d revise some of the old panels.  For instance, in the first version of Mr. Buzzword, I somehow forgot to include the word “snowflake,” an omission that has bothered me ever since. :-)

(In one case – “the comparison shopper” – I completely redrew the art. The original drawing for that showed an angry character. Anger seemed like the wrong emotion entirely, so I drew a different character who was more snotty than angry. The original, angry character drawing got moved to the “kicker” panel below the bottom of the strip.)

If you want to just skip to the new ones, they are panels 31-35 – that is, the fifth-to-last to the second-to-last panels.

Transcript of cartoon is below the cut.

Transcript of cartoon: Title At Top of Cartoon: 36 Annoying Anti-Feminists you will meet on the internet

Panel 1 (A wide-eyed man wearing a plaid shirt waves his hands above his head to make it clear he’s talking about a BIG deal.) Panel Title: The Molehill Grower Man: A feminist on twitter got her punctuation wrong… Clearly the whole movement has no legitimacy!

Panel 2 (A scholarly looking man with reading glasses, a sweater vest and a pleasant demeanor raises one hand in a “just explaining things” manner.) Panel Title: The Economist Man: Sexism can’t exist, because the free market is perfect! So if employers pay women less, women must be worth less!

Panel 3 (A quivering man with huge eyes and a very intense expression holds up a diagram showing a midsection; three arrows on the diagram point to a tiny dot within the midsection.) Panel Title: The Fetusphile Man: This is a zygote! It matters infinitely more than its oven does!

Panel 4 (A scruffy-looking man with a grumpy expression stands in a spotlight, speaking into a handheld microphone.) Panel Title: The Comedian Man: Feminists only criticize my “edgy” rape jokes because they have no sense of humor!

Panel 5 (A suit-wearing man with carefully styled hair and a devout expression holds a bible to his heart. In he backgrund, a woman clutches her hands together in an “oh please” expression.) Panel Title: God Told Him So Man: Feminism tells women to leave their husbands, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism and become lesbians! Woman: Where do I sign?

Panel 6 (A man with glasses and a sad expression, cartoon sweat droplet flying from his face, is looking at book with the title “Yearbook” and yelling with an anguished expression.) Panel Title: Not Yet Over High School Man: Why wouldn’t the hot girls date me? WHHYYY?

Panel 7 (A young, fit-looking guy wearing a sweatshirt shrugs with bewilderment.) Panel Title:  The Douchebro Man: Find out if she wants sex before I f**k her? How would that even work?

Panel 8 (A man with a long white beard, sunglasses, and a short buzzcut, stand with his arms crossed.) Panel Title: The Scholar Man: After extensive pursual of Wikipedia, I fail to see any difference between feminists and Nazis!

Panel 9 (A slightly smug-looking young woman in a striped shirt stands smiling, holding up a sign that says “I’m not a feminist because I don’t hate men!”) Panel Title: The Good Girl

Panel 10 (A young man with long hair in a ponytail and a short chin-only beard addresses the viewer cheerfully while holding a pen and notepad.) Panel Title: The Rationalist Man: My objective logic proves white men objectively deserve everything we have because we’re so super objective!

Panel 11 (A young woman stands, holding a beer and looking a bit annoyed, as a young man holds up a finger to indicate “wait” while reading a book with the title “How To Pick Up Girls.”) Panel Title: The Pick-Up Artist Man: It says to “neg” you now.

Panel 12 (A man sits at a computer, waving his fists, cartoon sweat droplets flying, apparently overcome with fury.) Panel Title: The Gamergater Man: How dare feminists say some gamers are sexist? @#%*ing whores!

Panel 13 (A 30ish man with a small beard and his nose stuck high in the air is speaking, arms folded.) Panel Title: The Comparison Shopper Man: U.S. Women should be embarassed to whine about “sexism” when Saudi Arabia is so much worse! Arrow-shaped caption pointing to man: Deeply distressed by anti-male bias in “Harry Potter.”

Panel 14 (A middle-aged man wearing a bathrobe and sunglasses grins while holding a glass of wine.) Panel Title: Creepy Man: When you think about it, it’s natural that teen girls are attracted to middle-aged men. Wanna see my hot tub?

Panel 15 (A young man spreads his hands wide, in an “oh come on!” sort of gesture.) Panel Title: Won’t Get Fooled Again Man: If females aren’t liars, then why do they wear makeup? Huh? Why? Explain!

Panel 16 (A man with stubble and spikey hair, and weird wide eyes, a huge scowling mouth, and fist held balled up at shoulder height, is yelling. He trembles with rage.) Panel Title: Mr Buzzword Man: PC militant misandrist cultural Marxist gynocentric authoritarian cuck snowflack SJW gender troglodytes!

Panel 17 (A 30ish man with short black hair speaks angrily towards the viewer. In the background, a cheerful young woman stands, arms akimbo.) Panel Title: Going His Own Way Man: This 20 year old doesn’t want to sleep with me so I’m giving up women forever! Woman: Promises, promises…

Panel 18 (A young man stands with his back mostly to the viewer, trembling with suppressed emotion. We can see a bit of his face; he has a distressed expression, and is trembling.) Panel Title: The Open Wound Man: Hearing people defend feminism is so painful it might kill me! …I demand that you defend feminism!

Panel 19 (A young man, wearing a tank top with a “male symbol” circle and arrow on it, points straight at the viewer and has an accusing expression.) Panel Title: He’s Rubber, You’re Glue Man: Feminazis are the real misogynists!

Panel 20 (A nicely-dressed woman with cats eye glasses and a fashionable haircut holds up a finger to make a point.) Panel Title: The That’s Not Real Rape Lady Woman: But if she didn’t say “no” a fifth time, then…

Panel 21 (A man with messy hair yells hugely into the air.) Panel Title: Back Away Slowly Man: Females have conspired to lower men’s sperm counts!

Panel 22 (A man with a very intense expression and a t-shirt that says “Red Pill” speaks to the viewer.) Panel Title: Back Away Quickly Man: Women control the sexual market so I am forced to “go alpha” and “take control” in a way that just barely falls short of rape!

Panel 23 (A smiling man with a dark suit and slicked-back hair speaks, looking relaxed and confident.) Panel Title: The SpokesMAN Man: As a man, I know all real men hate feminism! Because that’s how manly men roll!

Panel 24 (We see a door with wooden planks nailed across it to lock it closed. Next to the door a sign has been taped to the wall, which says “keep OUT!” There is a slot in the door; a voice comes out from the slot.) Panel Title: Wee Bit Paranoid Voice: THEY’RE COMING FOR OUR PORN!

Panel 25 (A cheerful young man with curly hair sits in front of a laptop computer.) Panel Title: The Amazing Twitterman! Man: I will prove this feminist wrong by tweeting an anonymous rape threat!

Panel 26 (A balding man, looking honestly bewildered, holds out a hand in explanation.) Panel Title: It’s Science! Man: How can feminists deny that women evolved to love dusting? Clearly they’re anti-science!

Panel 27 (A man, very close up, screams in the viewers face, wide mouth and sweat droplets flying.) Panel Title: The Swiss Army Knife Of Hate Man: Feminazis! And race pimps! And moose limbs! And Jews! And…

Panel 28 (A woman, smiling, stands in an enormous pile of money. From off-panel, a hand shoots out, holding  papers out to her.) Panel Title: The Anti-Feminist Feminist Woman: Speaking as a feminist, feminism is evil! Oh, look, another book contract.

Panel 29 (A young man is talking at a woman in the foreground, waving his hands around his head.) Panel Title: The Subject Changer Man: And speaking of whatever it is you’re talking about, male circumcision is worse than Hitler!

Panel 30 (An older, professorial man, holding a pipe, looks down his nose at the viewer.) Panel Title: The Traditionalist Man: Women hold jobs now? I despair for the ruin of our once-great society…

Panel 31 (A muscular man speaks, smiling and relaxed and perhaps a bit smug.) Panel Title: The Anti-Male Anti-Feminist Man: Men can’t be expected to refrain when women wear short skirts… because all men are beasts!

Panel 32 (A sock puppet of a young woman with a striped hoodie is being held up, the arm of the person holding it coming up from below the bottom of the panel.) Panel Title: The Sock Puppet Puppet: Brad is right! Feminazis do hate men! So says I, a total stranger who just happened to come across this discussion.

Panel 33 (A well-dressed man with glasses speaks, eyebrows knitted with anger.) Panel Title: The “Divorce Opened My Eyes” Guy Man: The government forces me to pay child support. Now I see that men are slaves.

Panel 34 A somewhat hippie-looking guy – long hair in a ponytail, plaid shirt – is speaking, a smile on his face, but with condescending body language. Panel Title: The Marxist Man: I strongly support feminism! (Until it distracts from actually important  issues like class.)

Panel 35 (A person with ambiguous gender speaks very intensely, one finger pointing into the air to make a point.) Panel Title: The Free Speech Purist Person: Accusing others of sexism is trying to shut them up which is censorship! Which is why you should shut up.

Panel 36 (An intense man, reading off an incredibly long list he holds up in one hand, glares at another man in the foreground.) Panel Title: The Cartoon Critic INTENSE MAN: It’s a list of 406 ways your vomit-worthy travesty of a “cartoon” is dishonest, deceitful and full of lies!

Kicker panel below bottom of strip. (And older, very angry man in a striped shirt shakes his fist in the air as he speaks.) Man: He only made this cartoon because he’s hoping it’ll get him laid! Pathetic cuck loser!

[renmaru]

you know. sometimes i love something a lot so i need to scream about the things that piss me off about it. i don’t think this is a particularly negative post but it’s just like sheer frustration and if you dont get some satisfaction from articulating your frustration into tumbler dot coms longposts and destroying the capital of this website because you are not a gemini sun then like fair i guess feel free to disregard this. tonbokiris kiwame is cool go look at that.

now to the lukewarm tea ive been simmering for five years. the one thing i always think about all the time is that tkrb is a popular game despite itself. the piss poor gameplay with only the barest of bare QoL in the five years its been up, the seeming complete lack of direction and the frankly nonexistent worldbuilding is held up purely because of its attention to detail and reverence to the original culture and history of the swords combined with some very good character design and subtle but nuanced character writing that can be openly interpreted. just enough flavour to imply something larger but chickening out on actually making anything y’know. concrete. basically allowing the fans to draw their own conclusions. but even then a game like that would not survive cause there have been countless, hundreds of games with high quality and fervent attention to detail and respect for the source material that just died completely because they have such little to actually offer in terms of engagement. i think the main thing that bugs me about tkrb is that it has one of THE most creative, dedicated and strong fanbases of this genre of game who go out of their way to engage with any and all of the content and the devs seem kind of oblivious to this.

in comparison to modern gacha style games, touken ranbu releases barely any new content and frequently recycles content but somehow it’s still relatively popular with approx. 1mil active players daily but the maddening thing is that tkrb can reach much MUCH further. the fans are there, the curiosity is there, it’s just the game content is not fucking there. it does not put the effort into commissioning seasonal art, pushing new events with actual plotline/story content, creating promotional materials, tie-ins etc. but somehow its still in the top 5 comiket circles for nearly five fuckin years straight. here are your badley compiled receipts: c89(w2015), c90(s2016), c91(w2016), c92(s2017), c93(w2017), c94(s2018), c95(w2018), c96(s2019)

 it can launch itself from laughably low in the appstore ratings, hovering in the middle of the 200′s to TOP 30s in the appstore at the flick of a switch. what is this magic button that fucking quadruples revenue and skyrockets your app into the top 50 grossing apps? 3/4 of your characters getting static CGs that you cannot use at all anywhere in the game but will do a powerpoint transition and appear for 5 seconds at login. oh and like a few free mats i guess. and i kid you not it fuckin worked.

wanna know why that worked? it’s cause otherwise characters, especially fan favourites just don’t get anything at all. it’s like most characters outside of the very popular ones rarely get new art, new recollections, new anything outside of their kiwame upgrade which is more often than not years down the line and only recently, four years in, they decided to add alternate costumes but even then there’s a catch which has me feeling some kind of way.

and yes, i fully understand that tkrb is a multi-media franchise, i get that it’s got its fingers in so many pies like the stageplay, musicals, various manga anthologies, the animes, hell its even got live action but man, would it hurt to give some love in game? i’m not asking them to go full fgo route and commission the industry creme de la creme to make 6 full CE illustrations, lots of promo art and tonnes of new merch every single month. but the fact is for such a big franchise, reusing the same sprite art on nearly every piece of official merch, going so far as to add NEW costume art which is just the heads of the old default sprites edited onto new bodies? it screams cost cutting, it screams lazy, the path of minimum effort. it’s almost like the game itself and the original materials are an absolute afterthought at this point with only the most dedicated hanging on to it. i guarantee that the majority of people still playing tkrb are the committed day1 players and the actual rekijou cause it’s just painfully offputting to new fans, with other fans even going out of their way to specify the game is not integral to enjoying the series which sucks, but it’s true.

its a real damn shame to think that something you are so invested in is not particularly invested in itself. sometimes, just sometimes i wish they dev team for tkrb was more hands-on, more adventurous, more willing to listen to players, invest in the game and genuinely try and make the game the best it can be. i’m not asking for balls to the wall summer events, beautiful animated CMs from the likes of the industries best animators, i’m not asking for pages of supplemental lore compiled into books, character backstory novels or whatever i’m just asking for the lore and the characters that we love to sometimes occasionally be remembered in the actual game outside of like ... the two years between their kiwame and the vague possibility of a recollection. i want to feel like this game puts as much effort into itself as the fans do towards it.

it’s a painful truth but there’s one shining light which is that the fandom for tkrb is genuinely one of the most committed and transformative ones ive ever seen. i have never been involved with a fandom that varies so widely and puts in so much effort for these characters and this world. tkrb exists solely as a popular franchise due to the sheer legwork of the fans carrying it on their backs collaboratively. ultimately, tkrb is very very lore-light, there’s so much thats missing and the characters in-game rarely rarely interact with each other. the characters are contained solely in however many voice lines they get at implementation, their kiwame letters, and their updates kiwame lines and the only interaction they get with other swords is recollections or depending on the sword, the odd custom sparring lines.

but despite that there has been so much fan effort to explore everything in so many different varied ways, and amazingly there are certain tropes, relationships, lore etc. that have started off fanon and become canon. the fan community, especially the fanartists, doujins, writers, animators etc. being given a small indulgence by the anime is one of my favourite things about tkrbs relationship with its fanbase. that’s not to say that the fans dont give back in kind a hundred fold.

there’s so much i love about tkrb fans going out of their way to go SEE historical swords in japan, single-handedly reforging swords using crowdfunding and revitalising lots of small-town tourism having real world impact. shit makes me unbelievably happy. the stage plays and musicals are always met with warm reception and are always well attended and even though its hard to access, there are lots of western fans who have dived into a whole new MEDIUM that most of us arent really familiar with but out of their love for tkrb theyve done that. they have hosted the musical as far out as india and france, making tkrb a truly worldwide franchise and there theyve met full seats! as far out as india! then theres the fantranslators, who always have the drive the commitment and energy for the thankless work, the wiki always always is well maintained and they have new content up so fast, and there are so many people willing to help you out. even when crunchyr*ll got hanamaru s2 (i think) a week late and we were left without subs for the premier episode for a whole ass week, fantranslators who had never subbed before stepped up to translate a whole episode for FREE, encoding, subbing and timing it all despite never having done so just so others could understand the episode faster than cr*nchy themselves could. even, as well, it’s made so many history nerds out of a whole bunch of people, it’s created an appreciation for nihontou and japanese history that would otherwise probably never be in their orbit because of how inaccessible it is, especially in english. even on a personal note, i started learning japanese primarily so i could understand tkrb and the history behind it better and to read jp fanart/interact with fanartists.

 no matter what, i am forever warmed by how much i love tkrb and its fanbase and im glad that tkrb is still going strong, even despite itself sometimes and i hope that moving on tkrb tries new things, and becomes better for everyone.