#access forms

[vulpinesaint]

pspspspsps poetry mutuals come here... new quiz... making you the patron saint of something...

[shinesurge]

happy pride instead of throwing money in the garbage buying crappy pride shit from target or pining away for mainstream franchises that only give you table scraps when it's convenient please consider directly supporting literally any of the queer indie shit being made accessible online by queer indie creators ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ your money OR your fanwork OR whatever form of support you feel compelled to offer will be so so much more impactful; marvel movies will keep coming out no matter what, but making cool fanart for that queer webcomic you've been checking in on for years could reach new readers to help the artist make rent so they can keep posting! It all helps!! Please Consider It.

[batsyheere]

"So, handling your archnemesis," Danny starts. The room falls quiet, heads slowly turning to look at the man as he writes the words on the chalkboard. When finished, the characters somehow both messy and neat at once, Danny places the chalk back down and claps his hands.

"I typically call them fruitloops. Often they're in a better position than you are- older, richer, more powerful. They may have some sort of status that protects them when facing the public."

Tim wondered where Dick was right now, and if he was laughing. His brain was lagging like a computer as he tried to process what Danny was saying, and how seriously a few of his fellow teen vigilantes were taking this.

"Some of their more common tactics are-" the chalk was picked back up, and Danny writes as he speaks.

"Manipulation, isolation, conditioning, and empathy."

MICE.

Tim stares at the board, and quietly slips put his phone.

-What have I done to deserve this.

Enjoy your lessons Tim-

His head thumps against the desk. Conner leans over, gives him a pat on the shoulder but returns to taking notes as Danny goes on to explain the conditioning tactic.

[lavyyulu]

Chat (Zygarde), kill this guy

[heartaspects]

you're stuck to the ground you have to stay 💭

[tired-demonspawn]

Something something the inherent homoeroticism of straightrazor shaving also known as: yippee!!!! spa day!!! :D

[mxystan]

taiwan travelogue by yang shuangzi tr. lin king is indeed an award-winning banger and perhaps the first time in my life i've ever felt vindicated for dual-wielding a novel with its english translation because the act of translation itself is such a big theme in the novel. big win for metafiction-obsessed himejin everywhere!!

[namethatghostling]

nobody:

me: what if after "i am the starlight" rusty got a magical-girl-esque costume change and had a fun star motif for the final race

[julijbee]

girlbossing too close to the sun.

[ribbononline]

Still trying to finish other things but in the meantime- updated design for my older May! She's an Ace Trainer

[sunlight-shunlight]

pondering that falon'din is associated with an owl, and those are also messengers of andruil. and he's referred to as "winged death" which is also mentioned to be something that elgar'nan deploys against enemies. and both falon'din and andruil are referred to as venturing into dark places, where no one else can survive/wanted to go.

and ghilan'nain was not initially an evanuris, but was antagonistic towards them and making a bunch of weird creatures. she was given the offer to join them in return for getting rid of the creatures, and accepted. but with "pride stopping her hand" from destroying a few. and when asked about trusting people to share power, solas says "I know that mistake well enough to carve the angles of her face from memory."

solas also has nothing good at all to say about falon'din, mostly calling him a bloodthirsty tyrant who went so far in encroaching onto other evanuris territory that mythal had to besiege his temple and beat him up to stop him.

but he says nothing about dirthamen at all.

dirthamen is described as having gone missing unexpectedly, scaring all his followers, because they were now unprotected. and caught between their own high priest wanting to lock them into the temple forever like a cask of amontillado, and other forces outside that wanted to take their secrets by force. there is one note that a dirthamen follower defied the evanuris and took on a forbidden (probably a dragon) type of form, and was judged by elgar'nan harshly. he apparently also invented the varterral to protect his town from a high dragon? wack, but also could indicate that he had worked with ghilan'nain on making it, since she's the only one who's otherwise mentioned to be bioengineering stuff.

dirthamen has very very few surviving statues or depictions, and is more associated with falon'din than as his own independent figure in the dalish myths. even his own temple includes mosaics of falon'din. there's a few statues that are probably dirthamen, but the most striking is in mythal's section of the fade behind the eluvian, which is a statue of a hooded figure, doubled over with a giant sword sticking out of his back.

[rileys-battlecats]

[itslilacokay]

primal hc!

thats all

[gaytobymeres]

Roger Allam interview in The Times, Saturday 18 January 2025

[faeyrie-child]

Goofy little meme I made bc I'm unoriginal

Inspiration ^

[sunpoffin]

Yandere Kamukura AU where instead of Hajime waking up from the Neo World Program, Izuru's personality sticks around. He's now working under Makoto at the Future Foundation with Makoto under the belief that Izuru has been completely rehabilitated. He's wrong ❤

Deft fingers move to fasten the buttons of Izuru’s shirt, bottom to top, his tie undone and laid across one shoulder. Though the elevator ride to the offices of the Future Foundation’s fourteenth division will afford him plenty of time, Izuru acts quickly, methodically, no movement wasted. When the last button of his shirt is done, he loops his tie around his neck, folds the knot and slips it into place neatly. As he brings up one hand to do the buttons over the cuff of his sleeve, he stops short, his gaze lingering on the smear of blood under his nails.

Izuru considers it for a moment, then wipes it clean with the pad of his thumb.

Two days ago, Makoto as the head (in all but official name) of the Fourteenth Division, went to speak with leadership from a well-established local gang. Through the gang’s ability to move freely about the city, they’d been able to gain a foothold of control there. This, despite the way that old collapsed rubble made travel between sub-settlements within the city difficult. Using this mobility, they would offer protection… and a domineering presence over the locals. Which was a problem when the Future Foundation arrived to provide aid, as any civilians were afraid to ask for help from outsiders due to the risk of the gang seeing it as an insult to their authority.

During their short meeting, Makoto was warm towards them. He offered cooperation, recognized the good that the gang has done for their community, protecting them from lingering members of despair. He proposed a way they could work together. …And in return, they gave Makoto complete disrespect. Throwing his words in his face, talking down to him for his age, questioning him at every turn… Refusing to work with him. As Izuru stood at Makoto’s side, silent through it all, the only thing that kept him from striking each one down until they had no choice but to kneel, was that Makoto would be upset to witness violence.

And so, to protect Makoto, Izuru must be thorough. Careful to leave no trace when he broke into the administrative system for the Future Foundation and gave himself a job for the day in that town. Careful when he baits the gang to the very edges of their territory with false indications of a roving group of despairs planning an attack. And careful when he finishes his assignment with just enough time to not raise any eyebrows about his brief absence from either the Future Foundation headquarters or his work site.

Perfection, Izuru knows, while envied and strived over by many, is often not truly necessary. It was one of the reasons Izuru was so reluctant to put his hands to tasks that any ordinary person could accomplish. Tasks that were inherently beneath him. This however, serving Makoto… Izuru could not imagine anything less than perfection would be acceptable.

In this way, by giving him a purpose, Makoto has transfigured Izuru utterly.

From his worksite to the outskirts of the city where he would meet the gang in full force, Izuru moves through shadows and in and out of blind spots. There would be not a single person who could say they saw Izuru there. He arrives ten minutes and thirty-six seconds after completing his assignment. And as appealing as the prospect of dragging this out for hours might be, Izuru has conservatively, five minutes to get this done. He descends into the tunnels under the city, which are the real reason this gang has any power in the first place.

As with many things, Izuru is normally indifferent towards violence. He is familiar with human pain, human anatomy, the psychological processes of fear and bargaining. But this will not be an empty act of violence. Instead, it is an extension of Makoto’s will. Not a direct order or even the implication of one, but the very essence of Makoto’s desires. There is a barrier between Makoto and success and Izuru will strike it down, unrestrained by the title of Ultimate Hope.

Izuru’s hand curls into the makeshift wiring zip tied to the pipes running along the walls of the tunnels. A sharp yank, and the lights go out all at once. The sudden darkness doesn’t slow Izuru at all. He pulls a length of pipe from the wall, testing the new weight in his hand. Below him, he can hear shouts of confusion from the men gathered, and unhesitating, he jumps over the railing of the spiral staircase leading downwards.

Cutting through the noise of the gang members comes a thin, toneless whistling in the darkness. The men go silent. Izuru descends on them.

If he wanted to, Izuru could easily justify his devotion to Makoto. The luck that Makoto carries is endlessly fascinating- erratic in a way that Komaeda’s isn’t, seemingly following no cycles at all. Or he could frame it as carrying out the results of the experiment he ran with the Neo World Program. Izuru intended to see which was stronger- Hajime’s hope and will to live, or Enoshima’s despair and desire to use Izuru as a weapon. In the end it was neither and Makoto was the one who freed him. So then it should logically follow that Makoto was the winner of this gamble. Or if not that, Izuru could simply tell himself that Makoto is true Ultimate Hope, that Izuru as a tool for hope, has no better master than him.

However, Izuru knows the truth of the matter. It is nothing as clean as simple logic that has him here, in the sewers below a nameless city.

Driving forwards, Izuru’s pipe crunches into the ribs of the man in front of him. There is no way for him to scream with collapsed lungs. He chokes and folds in on himself, sputtering blood weakly. Izuru steps over the body and moves onto the next, soundless, save for the whistling of his pipe through the air.

No, not logic at all. Hope defies it. Stands boldly in the face of it. Everything Izuru believed was impossible because of the immovable facts of the very universe- it’s all been shattered completely. Because of who Makoto is, he would not let Izuru be a tool for him. Instead… Makoto has transformed him. Pygmalion was a selfish and shallow man. The myths should be rewritten for Makoto, who took Izuru with his heart made of stone, formless in his own limitless potential, and sculpted him into a person. Makoto, whose love overflows so much that it seeped into Izuru until he could also love.

Panicked shots ricochet off the walls of the tunnel in answer to the whistling, a flash of gunpowder igniting, fully pointless. Izuru snaps the neck of the gang member closest to him and moves onto the next.

Whistling, then silence. Over and over again.

And at last, Izuru is standing in still darkness, breathing air thick with blood. As Izuru catches his breath, he finds that the emptiness that sometimes accompanies performing his talents does not come. There is no room for it. Izuru has someone he must return to.

In the end, though Izuru got a negligible amount of blood on his person while out- a smattering over his shoes, a bit on the cuff of his blazer, the extra change of clothes he prepared still feels necessary. He draws his coat over his shoulders and bundles up the old clothes in the plastic bag that just housed the fresh ones, reaches up to open a panel in the elevator ceiling, and then promptly tosses the bag through.

When Izuru first woke from the Neo World Program, it was to Makoto’s smiling face. And later, when it came out that Izuru was still himself and not Hajime, he was the only one who didn’t look disappointed. Even in the face of Izuru’s betrayal, Makoto has never once tensed in fear around Izuru. He does not think of Izuru’s continued existence as a failure of the program. He doesn’t hesitate to touch Izuru. He treats Izuru not as a god or a monster or an object, but as a person…

Makoto is kindness incarnate. He is not Ultimate Hope because of a talent embedded into him, but because of who he is fundamentally. And Izuru cannot help but be consumed with him.

Izuru is out the doors as soon as the elevator opens, and then he is down the hall, around the corner, and opening Makoto’s office. (He leaves it unlocked and Izuru has done this enough to know that he is welcomed here.) It’s only then, when he sees him, that Izuru pauses at all.

Makoto is seated behind his desk, working. Pale light from the laptop in front of him washes over his face, draining it of color, highlighting the bags under his eyes which would not have been visible otherwise. He’s hunched slightly, a little furrow between his brows that is so utterly mundane and yet not boring at all. Izuru walks towards him, drawn those last few feet until they are together again. Soundless, Izuru sweeps in behind Makoto before he settles his arms around him, resting his cheek against his hair.

“I’ve returned.”