#and this is just going off of what we see in canon. if we go with the delusions that live in my mind there's even more

[doctorbitchcrxft]

In My Time of Dying | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual ?)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, hospitals and death and fun stuff like that

Word Count: 2997

A/N: Surprise! It's time for season 2! And as an extra treat, I'm gonna publish episode 2 with this one since it's a little short. Happy reading!! Thank you guys for all the love and support!

Series Rewrite Masterlist

You were completely pinned down beneath the side of the car that had been pushed into your lap in the accident. You clung to Dean still, afraid to move your upper-half and unable to move your bottom. You listened to the slowing rhythm of his heartbeat and willed him to stay alive for you.

Your eyes opened at the sound of Sam groaning.

“Sam!” you exclaimed. 

He groaned again, moving his head a little to the direction of the sound of your voice. “(Y/N)?”

Suddenly, the hinges were ripped off the driver’s side door to reveal the demon-possessed driver of the eighteen-wheeler that had struck the Impala.

“Back. Or I'll kill you, I swear to god,” Sam stated firmly.

“You won't. You're saving that bullet for someone else.”

Sam cocked the Colt. “You wanna bet?”

You looked on in fear before the demon poured out of the man, and he collapsed to the ground. You heard the sound of the gun uncocking, and Sam dropped his head back in relief.

“Oh my god!” you heard the trucker’s voice say. “Did I do this?”

“Dean, come on,” you whined. “Please.”

Sam called his brother’s name and told the trucker to call 911. He did so despite his panic. After what felt like forever, emergency services were to you. The EMTs had to pry you off of Dean, and you wailed in agony as they moved your sore body away from him. “No, please! I have to stay with him!”

“Ma’am, don’t fight us, please. We don’t want to hurt you more,” the EMT strapping you into a stretcher and neck brace said. She began to shout your blood pressure and vitals to the uniformed people surrounding you as you called out to Dean again. “Please! Just tell me he’s okay!”

No one would answer you.

“Is he even alive?!”

***

As soon as the doctors told you you could go see Dean, you leapt out of the bed as well as you could on your throbbing leg and bruised rib cage. Thankfully, that was as serious as your injuries got. You had no idea what the Winchesters’ situations were. 

You limped down the hallway to Dean’s room just down the hall from yours and took a sharp breath in horror. Wires were hooked up to every part of him. He was intubated, and machines steadily beeped around him. His chest was exposed with electrodes hooked up to it. His forehead had a deep cut running down the center of it, and his body remained lifeless. You tentatively walked over to his bedside and sat in the empty chair next to it. You held his hand tightly and kissed it repeatedly. “Dean, you have to come back to me, please.” Tears streamed down your face.

Sam walked in the room just after you did, giving you his puppy dog eyes at the sight of you holding his brother’s hand and Dean’s body. “Oh, no,” he said.

You dropped Dean’s hand long enough to hobble over to Sam and hug him as tightly as your damaged body would allow. “I’m so glad to see you, man. Are you okay?”

He nodded. “Are you?”

“All things considered, yeah,” you replied.

A doctor entered the room behind you and Sam. “Your father's awake. You can go see him if you like.”

“Doc, what about my brother?” Sam asked.

“Well, he sustained serious injury: blood loss, contusions to his liver and kidney. But it's the head trauma I'm worried about. There's early signs of cerebral edema,” the doctor explained.

“Well, what can we do?” You looked between Sam and the doctor worriedly. 

“Well, we won't know his full condition until he wakes up.” The doctor paused. “If he wakes up.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “If?”

“I have to be honest, most people with this degree of injury wouldn't have survived this long. He's fighting very hard. But you need to have realistic expectations.”

Your chest felt like someone was squeezing the air out of you. You began to hyperventilate as you made your way back over to Dean. Using his bed for support, you eased yourself back down into the chair and picked up his hand again.

Sam looked at you sadly before exiting the room, presumably to go see his father.

“It’s gonna be fine,” you muttered. “John ‘ll know what to do. You’re gonna wake up, and I’m gonna tell you everything. You have to come back to me, so I can tell you.” Tears streamed steadily down your face. “You have to come back, Dee. You’re my best friend. I don’t know what I’d do without you, man. I… I need you here. I need you.” You brought his hand up to your lips and just held it there as you sobbed. After a while, you drifted off, crying and holding onto Dean tightly.

***

It had been hours of sitting next to Dean and praying to a god you didn’t believe in that he’d wake up and this would all be over. You needed to tell him the feelings you’d been holding in for the better half of a year now. You needed him to know how much he meant to you.

You just needed to talk to him. And so, you did. “Dean, I’ve never told you this— in fact, I feel weird saying it now— but you matter more to me than anybody else in my life has. You just… you make my day better just by being in it. And I hope I do the same for you.

“Y’know, I never really hated you. You frustrated me so fucking much, but I could never hate you.” You drew in a breath. “I figured out that the reason I thought I hated you was because you challenged me. You told me you found me intimidating, but you never treated me like I was. That’s the difference between you and most other people. You’re fearless. Completely. It scares me sometimes, honestly. But you make me stronger, Dean. And I just… I hope I make you feel half as much as you make me feel. There’s so much I have to tell you when you wake up. I probably won’t say any of this to you while you’re awake— y’know, vulnerability and all that— but… I just needed to say it in case—” Your throat caught. “In case I never see you again.”

***

Another hour had gone by of you sitting with Dean. You refused to move from your spot to eat or drink or go to the bathroom. All that mattered was that you kept your eyes on him. You told yourself that if you could still feel or see him, then he was here. And that was enough.

You stared at his peaceful features. You remembered for a moment what he’d looked like sleeping, and you could almost see it now. However, the wires and tubes obstructing your view kept you grounded in the horrible reality that was the present moment: you and Sam may be leaving without him.

Your heart rate picked up as that thought crossed your mind and began to race even more as Dean flatlined.

“Help, help!” you screamed. You raced out into the hallway. “Code Blue, room 202! Code Blue!” 

Doctors and nurses immediately responded to your call and rushed behind you into the room. You watched in horror as they began to try and resuscitate him.

Sam had apparently heard your cries and ran down the hallway to you.

“Sam, he flatlined, he—” You buried your face in his chest, and he guided you into the room against the far wall. 

“Still no pulse,” a nurse said. You couldn’t bear to watch as they shocked his lifeless body.

Sam suddenly stiffened against you just as the frantic beeping of the monitors quieted. 

“We have a pulse. We're back into sinus rhythm,” the nurse said.

You let go of Sam and breathed deeply as you turned to his brother. You couldn’t get to him due to the doctors and nurses still fussing about, but you smiled briefly at the fact that he was still here. You looked up at the younger brother. “What is it?”

“Nothing, I just thought I heard something,” he said looking around confused. “It felt like Dean.”

You furrowed your eyebrows at him. “What do you mean?”

“Like, he was there, just out of eyeshot or something. I don't know if it's my psychic thing or what, it— But do you think it's even possible? I mean, do you think his spirit could be around?”

You shrugged, suddenly feeling embarrassed of the things you’d admitted to Dean’s unconscious body. “Anything’s possible.”

“Well, there's one way to find out.” Sam began to leave Dean’s room. 

“Where are you going?”

“I gotta pick something up. I'll be back. Let me go tell my Dad.”

***

About an hour later, you still sat holding Dean’s right hand. You couldn’t let go now that you’d almost lost him a second time. Sam reentered the room. He was clutching a brown paper bag with an oblong object in his arms. 

“Welcome back,” you said. “What’s that?”

Sam seemed embarrassed. “I, uh, almost don’t wanna say.” He pulled out a Ouija Board.

You snorted. “Seriously?”

He ignored you and looked around the room at nothing. “Hey. I think maybe you're around. And if you are, don't make fun of me for this, but um, well, there's one way we can talk.” He sat the box and board on the floor in front of Dean’s bed. You looked on eagerly.

“Dean? Dean, are you here?” He put two fingers on each hand on the planchette. Moments later, it moved to “YES” on the board.

“Sam, don’t tell me you’re doing that,” you breathed out. “Or do, I don’t know which answer I want.”

“It's good to hear from you, man,” Sam laughed. “It hasn't been the same without you, Dean.”

The pointer began to slide around the board. “Dean, what? H? U? Hunt? Hunting? What, are you hunting?”

The pointer slid back to "YES."

“It's in the hospital; what you're hunting? Do— Do you know what it is?” Sam paused and gained his composure. “What is it?”

The pointer slid across the board too fast for you to read from your position next to Dean’s body. 

“A reaper. Dean. Is it after you?”

You watched with bated breath as the pointer slid to “YES.”

“If it's here naturally, there's no way to stop it,” Sam murmured. “Man, you're, um—” He got up from the ground and began to pace.

“No, no, no,” you said, looking over to Dean’s peaceful features. “You’re not fucking leaving me, dammit. There’s gotta be a way.”

“Dad'll know what to do.” Sam rushed out of the room, leaving the Ouija board on the ground.

You slowly stood and moved over to the board. You immediately missed the feeling of his hand in yours, even if he couldn’t hold back. You sat before the board and let out a shaky breath, placing your hands on the planchette. “Dee, you still here?”

The planchette slid to “YES” before returning to the middle of the board.

You huffed out an anxious breath. “Did you, um, did you hear what I said earlier?”

It slid back to “YES.”

“Oh, God, um, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to tell you until you were awake again,” you rushed out. “I didn’t— I’m sorry— Can you—”

“S” “L” “O” “W” “D” “O” “W” “N” the board spelled out.

You laughed shakily. “Sorry.” You paused. “Do you— Do you feel the same way?”

The planchette hesitated before sliding over to “YES.” A smile you couldn’t contain spread across your face. “Well, I sure as hell ain’t lettin’ you die now.”

Sam returned moments later carrying his father’s journal. “Hey. So Dad wasn't in his room.”

“Where is he?” you asked.

“Who knows? Maybe there's something here.” He tapped the journal before leafing through it. He stopped on the page that said “Reapers.” 

“How’s this supposed to help us, Sam? We already know we can’t kill ‘em,” you stated.

“I know, I know, I just… I thought maybe there’d be something else here. A way to… bargain with ‘em or something.”

You smiled at him sadly. Not knowing what else to say, you told him, “I know he appreciates that you’re not givin’ up on him, Sammy.”

***

Hours later, Sam had poured through almost every page of the journal. He paced around the room and began talking to Dean’s spirit. “Dean, are you here? I couldn't find anything in the book. I don't know how to help you. But I'll keep trying, all right? As long as you keep fighting.

"I mean, come on you can't, you can't leave me here alone with Dad. We'll kill each other, you know that.” He stopped and stood over you, looking down at his brother. “Dean, you gotta hold on. You can't go, man, not now. We were just starting to be brothers again. Can you hear me?”

***

You had even slept with Dean’s hand in yours through the night. Sam had gone in and out of the room a few times, but never John.

“Sam, what do we do, man?” You brushed a hand over your eyes, feeling exhausted and fueled by emotion all at once. 

He shook his head. “I’m thinkin’, okay?” he snapped.

“Sorry,” you muttered after a moment. 

“Me, too,” he said. 

Suddenly, Dean shot up and gasped, choking on the tube in his throat.

“Help! I need help!” you called into the hallway. 

***

“I can't explain it. The edema's vanished,” the doctor explained. “The internal contusions are healed. Your vitals are good. You have some kind of angel watching over you.”

“Thanks, doc,” Dean said. 

Your stomach sank knowing Dean didn’t remember what you’d said to him while he’d been unconscious, but you felt comforted knowing he felt the same way. You’d tell him when he was out of that crummy hospital gown, that somehow, he still managed to make look attractive.

Dean turned to his brother. “So, you said a Reaper was after me?”

You and Sam nodded.

“How'd I ditch it?”

You shrugged. “We don’t know. You really don’t remember… anything?”

“No. Except this pit in my stomach. (Y/N), something's wrong.”

The three of you turned your head to a knock at the door. John limped in for the first time you’d seen him since the accident. You fought the urge to start yelling at him about how he hadn’t come to see his son.

“How you feeling, dude?” John asked his son.

“Fine, I guess. I'm alive.”

John smiled sadly for a reason you couldn’t place. “That's what matters.”

“Where were you last night?” Sam was angry.

“I had some things to take care of.”

Sam scoffed. “Well, that's specific. Did you go after the demon?”

“No.”

“You know, why don't I believe you right now?”

John half-smiled despite the situation. “Can we not fight?” he pleaded. “You know, half the time we're fighting, I don't know what we're fighting about. We're just butting heads. Sammy, I— I've made some mistakes. But I've always done the best I could. I just don't want to fight anymore, okay?”

Sam cocked his head to the side. “Dad, are you alright?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I'm just a little tired. Hey, son, would you, uh, would you mind getting me a cup of caffeine?”

Sam left you and Dean with John.

“I, uh, have a thing. At a… place,” you mumbled awkwardly, leaving the room. You stood outside and waited for Sam to return, bouncing on your heels and thinking about how and when you were going to tell Dean how you felt for the second time.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by John putting a hand on your shoulder. Strangely, he pulled you into a hug. “I’m happy I ran into you in Jericho. Thanks for watching my boys.” And with that, he left. You watched him retreat back to his room for a moment before heading back in to see Dean. 

“Hey,” you said awkwardly.

“Hey,” he responded, seeming a little out of it. “What’re you nervous about?”

“I feel like the timing’s really bad for me to tell you,” you responded. "Especially with your dad and his cryptic thing he did just now."

“Well, now you definitely have to,” Dean half-smirked.

You took a deep breath. “While you were… out… I told you something.”

He looked at you expectantly.

You huffed out a quick breath. “You remember that stupid pinky promise I made you make? You told me I confuse you, and you promised to tell me why someday. Is… Are you? I mean— Jesus, I’m never like this—” 

Before you or Dean could continue, you suddenly heard Sam screaming, “Help! Somebody, help!” from down the hall. You and Dean jerked to attention and looked at each other briefly before leaping off the bed and running down the hall. When you reached the doorway, John was being taken away from Sam and Sam was shoved out of the room.

A nurse tried to shove you and Dean away as well. “No, no, no, it's our dad. It's our dad!” 

She stopped pushing you and allowed you to stay by the door.

“C’mon, John,” you muttered. “C’mon.”

“Okay, stop compressions.”

Your heart sank watching Dean’s horrified face as they called the time of his father's death.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[metamatronic]

Champions Resurrected AU / Prelude 1: Mipha

i was gonna post this on AO3 and I still might if I write more, but here’s a brief written retelling/continuation of the Mipha & Sidon reunion comic (warnings: canon typical violence? just in case)

The crackling noise that shook through Zora’s Domain that morning was mistaken for thunder at first. Zoras chatted amongst themselves, puzzled over lightning in a cloudless sky. Even King Dorephan, who had lived long enough to experience nearly every natural oddity that occurred near the Domain, leaned forward on his throne to peer into the vast blue.

“There, Father! Do you see it?” Sidon, always eager to abandon their discussions on politics, pointed toward the falling beam as it cut through the sky. “A falling star during the day. How rare!”

“I doubt it,” Dorephan rumbled. “I’ve seen many falling stars. I’ve never seen one like that. Something is strange about it.”

“Your Majesty, we are under attack!”

Sidon only winced a little at the sharp voice, before straightening up on instinct. He watched his father shoot his advisor an amused look as he rushed in.

“I doubt that as well, Muzu,” Dorephan chuckled. “If so, our enemy’s aim could certainly use some work!”

“Your Majesty!” Muzu cried, wringing his hands. “Please, consider the possibility at least!”

Sidon tuned out the conversation, walking out to the balcony and watching the dazzling light as it descended. Now that he was really looking, it had a faint blue glow to it that seemed to be dimming as it approached the ground. Its movement was strange, bobbing through the air like it was adjusting its course. A Rito, perhaps?

Sidon certainly hoped not as he watched the light plummet behind the rocks and into the Bank of Wishes. He hadn’t met many, but from what he’d heard, the Rito weren’t particularly keen swimmers. His fins itched as thoughts of warbled squawking and the charging of Lizalfo shock arrows plagued his mind.

“I will go investigate,” Sidon said, loudly enough to cut off whatever tirade Muzu had been in the middle of.

“Sire! Surely you’re joking!” Muzu said. “You cannot be so reckless! Ever since you took on Vah Ruta, you’ve been acting as though you are invincible, insisting you handle things yourself. If you keep acting as such—”

“I am very fast and very capable. I will be back if it is anything too dangerous, I assure you!” Sidon said with a grin. He was already stepping backward towards the edge of the balcony. “You have my word.”

“My Lord!” Muzu cried as Sidon winked, before leaping gracefully off the ledge and into the waters below.

By the time Muzu had made his way to the balcony, the only trace of the prince was a slice of red cutting effortlessly through Ruto Lake.

‌▲ ▲‌ ▲

Mipha groaned, opening her eyes and immediately regretting it as she was buffeted by the fierce wind. As she grasped uselessly at her surroundings, every nerve suddenly sparked to life as she realized she was falling. Fast.

Her right fin was pulled open by a gust and she spun with a yelp, being tossed violently through the air. It reminded her of swimming down a waterfall, the dizzying feeling of the current and gravity pulling you relentlessly toward the sharp rocks below.

“Always keep your eyes forward, my dear Mipha,” her father’s voice echoed, pulling her back to her youth when she’d foolishly closed her eyes and nearly missed the lake below. “The most dangerous thing you can do is let your fear steer you.”

Prying her eyes open, she extended her fins and clumsily straightened herself. She felt a wave of nausea hit as the faded blues of distance gave way to the vibrant greens and purples of the earth below. A long leap off a waterfall, she told herself, that’s all this was.

Mipha bit her lip as she took in the surroundings. Even from this height, she could recognize her home, even if the sight brought her little comfort in her current situation. She was positioned over the Zora River now but could feel the wind knocking her around. Even a few feet off target could spell the end, and Mipha was already more acquainted with death than she ever wished to be.

With a shaky breath, she pulled her arms to her sides and flattened her fins, picking up speed until the world blurred. The wind whistling past her was nearly loud enough to hurt but was soon muddled by the familiar sound of rushing water and bubbling air pockets. She opened her fins quickly to slow the pull downward, relenting only when the pull of gravity faded to the gentle current of the river.

When the bubbles finally cleared, Mipha found herself upsetting close to the rocky bottom of Zora River.

She could still feel her heartbeat everywhere, behind her eyes and at the ends of her fins. She fought the tears pricking her eyes, shaking as the adrenaline slowly filtered from her system.

It was only after she’d allowed herself a moment of reprieve that it clicked.

She had a heartbeat. She could see the small bubbles pushing around her as she moved the water around her. She was here, alive.

“How is this…” Mipha stared at her hands, unmistakably solid, and forgave the tremor in her voice. “What happened?”

A warm light had descended into the depths of Vah Ruta. Mipha had known instantly what it was—could feel the warmth of Hylia even through the coldness of her spirit. She briefly said her goodbyes, before capturing the light in her hands and fading away.

In all honesty, Mipha hadn’t been certain what would come after that. But hurtling toward the ground at high speeds had not been it.

“I should…what should I do?” Mipha waded anxiously back and forth beneath the turbulent current. “Should I return to the Domain? Would that cause some sort of issue? Perhaps I should return to Vah Ruta…”

Despite her fondness for her Divine Beast, Mipha couldn’t suppress the shudder that ran through her at that. Surely after committing one hundred years to her tomb, the Goddesses would forgive her stalling her return a bit.

“I’m not even sure how much time has passed since Link’s victory over Ganon…” Mipha mumbled quietly. “For all I know, thousands of years have passed. Perhaps I’ve been reincarnated? Though I don’t think one usually reincarnates as an adult. Or with their memories, for that matter.” Even passing fish seemed to eye her warily as she fidgeted in place. She groaned.

“Oh, just make up your mind, Mipha!” she scolded quietly, squishing her face. “Right, then I’ll return to the Domain and ask around. Surely someone will be able to fill in the details.”

With that, Mipha propelled herself upwards into the main current, pivoted around the bend, and smashed headlong into something.

It was large and red, but that was all Mipha could make out past the stars in her eyes. The direct hit to the nose had shocked her system, leaving her nearly blind in the water. Dazed, she pushed upwards until water gave way to cool air. She shook her head, which only served to worsen the ringing in her ears.

Thankful at least that her sight returned, Mipha blinked and almost doubted her newly restored vision. A Zora nearly twice her size was treading water in front of her, rubbing his nose and saying something Mipha couldn’t quite make out.

“…a…logies, I must h… let the cur…nt…rry me too quickly. Are you injured? I can help you back to the Domain if you are. Again, I apologize for…” The large Zora trailed off as he looked down, blinking owlishly at Mipha.

He was familiar in a way that pulled deep at Mipha’s soul. She could see the lines of others—parts of her father, her mother, even some of herself—but it was the way his eyes lit up with an almost childlike hope that solidified what her heart already knew.

“Sidon?” She asked.

Sidon’s face split into a blinding grin.

“Sister!” He swam forward, before jolting to a stop. His eyes snapped behind her, and it was as they widened in horror that Mipha heard the charging of a shock arrow being knocked.

Spinning, Mipha reached for her trident and was met with empty air. Frantic, she launched a weak spray of water at the Lizalfo before being yanked away. She heard the arrow loose, then the sickening thunk as it embedded into skin.

She looked up at Sidon, who was hunched over her protectively. He winced, undoubtedly from the arrow lodged in his shoulder, and turned to the Lizalfo with gritted teeth.

“No!” Mipha cried. She pulled Sidon underwater, doing her best to ignore the pained yelp as she tugged on his injured arm to urge him lower.

“If I hadn’t struck the arrow with water and activated the shock before it hit you, your injury would be much more severe. We must dive deep enough that the shock radius won’t hit us if he fires again.”

“It’s just one Lizalfo, Sister!” Sidon said, but she could hear him hiss a little as he swam. “I promise, I’ve handled much worse!”

“There is never just one Lizalfo, Sidon,” She chided. “This should be deep enough. Let me heal you.”

She swam behind him, frowning at the scars that littered his body. “I need to remove the arrow before I can begin. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Sidon says, his smile strained slightly with pain. “It’s not the first time that this has happened.”

“That is what concerns me,” Mipha said quietly. She yanked the arrow out quickly before pressing her hands to the wound, pooling her energy into her palms. “I have no doubt you have defended our domain bravely, Sidon. I’m so incredibly proud of you. I only wish I could have been there to heal you and protect you from harm.”

“Sister…” Sidon said quietly. He moved to turn, but Mipha tutted at him and he stayed still, tilting his head down to stare at the riverbed below.

“It has undoubtedly been difficult since your…since you failed to return from Vah Ruta,” Sidon said. “But your unending kindness and devotion have been a beacon of hope for our whole kingdom. None more than me. You may not have known it, but there was never a moment you weren’t with me.”

He tilted his head to the side, peering over his shoulder as Mipha worked. “If I may ask, Sister, how is it that you’ve managed to return? Not that I’m ungrateful, I assure you! But…”

“In all honesty, I’m not sure myself,” Mipha said, quietly lifting her hands as the last threads of her healing magic settled into Sidon. “One moment I was aboard Vah Ruta, a spirit, finally content to move on knowing the war was won and our people were safe. Then, the next moment, I’m hurtling toward the ground, several thousand feet in the air. I’m at a loss for explanations.”

Sidon spun around quickly, eyes sparkling. “That glowing comet in the sky, that was you? That is amazing! Extraordinary!” He grabbed her hands, smiling wide. “This must be a gift from the Goddess! Payment for your hard work and sacrifice, no doubt! No one would be more deserving than you!”

At that, Mipha paused. “Do you think…The other Champions, would they have also…?”

“Perhaps so,” Sidon said, scratching his chin. “I can’t say I’ve heard anything, but admittedly I don’t keep very informed on foreign affairs. Perhaps someone else in the Domain has heard something? Or…!”

Sidon snapped to attention, smile glowing impossibly brighter. “I’ll send for Link! Surely he’ll know, as well-traveled and sociable as he is, and I have no doubt he will be thrilled to see you again! Perhaps we could even call the engagement back on!”

Mipha sputtered bubbles at Sidon’a grin. “S-Sidon! There is—was never any engagement! Link and I are friends, th-that’s all!”

Sidon frowned, looking thoughtful. “But I was positive the Zora armor was for him. It looked like a perfect fit!”

“Oh, you found that then?” Mipha said, voice pitching up an octave. “That was, erm, well it was a rash decision really. I thought better of it, hence why he never found out about it! So really, there’s no need to tell him it was even made!”

“Ah, so you didn’t end up confessing anything,” Sidon said, nodding. “Your diary entry was unclear, so I wasn’t sure whether the two of you had made proper arrangements or not. Poor Link remembers very little from that time, unfortunately, and even showing him the passage didn’t seem to help.”

“You…You read my diary?” Mipha mumbled in disbelief. She then swayed a little, realization hitting her. “Link read my diary?!”

“Yes?”

“Did…Did anyone else?”

“Father, Muzu, and a very talented Rito bard named Kass.”

Mipha made a noise like a tea kettle and Sidon looked immediately abashed, glancing away. “Er, I do hope that was alright? Father said you likely wouldn’t have minded, and I wanted so desperately to preserve your legacy.”

“Well, then I have a few words for Father,” Mipha huffed. “Reading a girl’s diary, really! How uncouth.”

She swam past him before turning, holding out a hand for Sidon. It felt a little silly now, offering to guide a Zora so much larger than herself. He must be about her age now and had clearly grown into a capable warrior. But in those eyes, Mipha could only see her young brother, still anxious to speak to others or swim too far from her side.

If Sidon took offense to the gesture, he showed no sign of it as he took her hand tightly. But then he let go, swam beside her, withdrew his trident—Mipha almost thought it was her own, but reconsidered when she noticed how large it was—and set it horizontally behind his back. He tilted his head toward it, but Mipha simply stared in confusion.

“I imagine falling from the sky was a harrowing experience, and I cannot begin to think of how taxing being revived from the dead must be,” Sidon clears his throat, eyes drifting to the side. “Allow me to carry you back. It will be easier to dodge enemies if we travel together, and I assure you I am capable. I am one of the fastest swimmers in the Domain, after all!”

Mipha stared at him a moment more before his action clicked into place. She’d done the same things for him when he was young—using her own trident as a handgrip for a much smaller Sidon as they traversed the waterfalls. Muzu had worried endlessly about it, convinced that Sidon would slip or that his grip would falter and he would go coasting off the side of a cliff. But she’d insisted that she trusted Sidon’s strength and courage, and her father had agreed to allow her to continue.

Now, Sidon swam nervously in front of her, offering his trident to her in the same gesture. She felt her heart swell, seeing that even after all these years, he hadn’t forgotten their time together. She smiled, tears threatening to spill from her eyes again as she dove behind Sidon. He turned to look, smile faltering for a moment before Mipha set a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Forgive me, Sidon. I was overcome with emotions. I trust you, and thank you for your kindness.” She tightened her hands around the trident, and the feeling of cool Zora steel beneath her hands for the first time in a century sent a chill through her. “I’m ready when you a—re!”

Mipha bit down a yelp as Sidon shot through the water at near-blinding speeds. It took her a moment to adjust, and even the familiar Zora River left her speechless as it whipped by. She now had no doubt her brother was the strongest swimmer she’d ever met—it was as if the water itself was pushing him forward like a jet stream. It was exhilarating, almost like learning to swim all over again, and Mipha couldn’t contain the joyous laughter that pulled its way out of her.

She was here, really here, feeling the water on her scales and the cool metal under her fingers. She could see the fish and plants move as they swam by, could see the trail of bubbles in their wake. When they broke the surface of the water, cutting effortlessly up the falls of the Domain, she gasped, taking in the view.

She was with her beloved brother, in her beloved home, and she was alive.

[gffa]

I keep updating my feed to see if you have more opinions about the acolyte episode. I feel like this recent episode could’ve used a couple of your posts as reference when it comes to how the Jedi canonically go about acquiring [redacted for spoilers just in case you haven’t seen it yet]

Honestly, it felt like the show was trying really hard to portray the Jedi's methods as hinky, but couldn't actually do anything about it because of established worldbuilding. The Jedi of the High Republic have explicitly said they have to get permission from the parents. The Jedi of the prequels are explicitly shown as not adoption-hungry, the only time we see potential Jedi younglings, neither of them are taken from their parents, one says they'll be going later, one is just handed back to her mom, no indication Roo-Roo is going to be a Jedi at all. So, I think it's a weird situation, where The Acolyte is working so hard to create tension and mystery, but I'm not sure how it's going to shake out. I keep thinking of Torbin, like, yeah, what happened was a tragedy, but why was he specifically so torn up about it that he felt he had to die to obtain Mae's forgiveness? From what we saw in the episode, Mae set the fire, Mae ran off and the scaffolding fell and she was assumed dead, the Jedi never forced Osha to join them, Osha was the one who said she wanted to go. Therefore, unless the show is really, really poorly written, there has to be more to the mystery that we haven't yet unraveled. I feel like that's also influencing everything going on with the Jedi potential adoption, that this situation feels like we still don't have the full context. Why was Aniseya so worried about the Jedi finding out how the twins were conceived? Why do the Jedi care so adamantly, when we see in both the High Republic and the prequels that the Jedi live perfectly fine with other Force using traditions/cultures? Even if this coven was dark, that doesn't mean anything to the Jedi, they were perfectly well aware of the Nightsisters' existence and did nothing about it. Unless this show is extremely poorly written/ignoring top level canon, there has to be more to what was going on with the coven than we know about. Because what we see is the Jedi felt very strongly about these two girls for some reason, but they were clear that, while they had the right to test them, it still relied on the parents' permission. We see that they're pretty aware that Mae and Osha were failing on purpose--Mae can't fake her blood results, after all--and they don't push Mae, but they do gently push Osha because everything about her is straining towards wanting to be a Jedi. And EVEN THEN they just say she passed the test, it's Osha who talks to Aniseya and gets her to agree to letting her go, not the Jedi. The show's vibes kinda feel like there was pressure from the Jedi there, but the actual content of the episode is that the coven agreed to it specifically because they didn't want to attract attention, like they weren't part of the Republic, they specifically said they didn't have to agree, the others were willing to fight about it, but Aniseya was the one who said, no, let them take the test. Yeah, the Jedi are pushing for some reason, but it feels like it's not because that's how they operate in any other situations where we see them with Force-sensitive children, but because they know something specific about this situation. So, I'm fine with everything presented so far and, honestly, it was a lot more positive than I was expecting! Like, this show isn't just a big lore dump, it has a specific story to tell, you know? It's a situation that has its own unique circumstances and, sure, they were borrowing elements from other Jedi worldbuilding, but everything we saw in there was done with permission and they made a point to roll with what each girl seemed to want. Sol was so careful not to unduly pressure Osha, just ask her what she really wanted, gave her a little nudge because he could see what she wanted. They made sure it was her choice! That it was her mother's choice! How could I have asked for more than that?

[tanoraqui]

Dungeon Meshi Liveblog: "What did [orcs] taste like?" {*distant sounds of tanoraqui going feral*}

I'm enjoying Chilchuck more in the manga because I notice him more, because he's less front-and-center talkative but in the background he's visibly thinking about things. I certainly noticed and enjoyed this moment in the anime, too, but it's a good example: Chilchuck is by far the best in this party at people, in terms of reading a room, understanding long-term group dynamics, and considering larger social questions like morality. His pattern recognition skills are obviously superb, and he applies them to dungeon navigation, trap- and monster-disarming, and social dynamics. He understands and gives practical advice on the relationships within a successful vs unsuccessful dungeon parties, and the skills of leaders thereof. He can often be seen eyeing the terrible new food consideringly before eating it. He's the one most often calling Laios out about No Eating Humanoids, including picking up on the fishmen eggs. When Laios complains that that's just based on a "feeling", Chilchuck does think about it - but still, when Marcille says of the dryads that maybe it doesn't matter if the plant is humanoid, Chilchuck says with concern, "Marcille..." He's the first to wonder how to make money from the dragon, but it's a practical concern, not greed. He's the only who realizes and convinces everyone that they have to turn back.

It all adds up to a guy who's never read a textbook of moral philosophy or the makings of a stable society in his life, but who could probably expound on them in layman's terms while drunk off his ass in a bar. He's responsible, including wanting to look out for his people, and very practical, and genuinely whip-smart. I'm not at ALL surprised to learn that he observed the systemic abuse of halffeet in the dungeon-delving trade and organized a union against it.

.

Shuro: Just say the highlights, alright?

Laios: We killed the red dragon, got Falin out of its stomach and resurrected her, but then we ran into the Mad Mage ad were separated.

Shuro and Kabru:

...actually, it's interesting how surprised I am, and was when I watched this, to see how...Normal Human Interaction Laios is in this moment? Upon request, he handily gave an efficient summary of exactly the highlights that needed to be shared - both what the others needed/would want to know, and not what they didn't need to know, lest Marcille be arrested for dark magic. Is he more relaxed around his usual crew, and thus acts "weirder"? Is this just a very specific circumstance, ie, it's reasonable to think the whole party has been considering exactly how to describe their adventures to others?

Maybe more notably, he left out monster-eating, which is also a cultural taboo but one that he's shown no sign of respecting so far. One must ask, for a moment: wait, does he respect that it's taboo in polite company? It's true that Marcille and Chilchuck, who'd both dungeoned with him for [mumblemumbletime], didn't know until the start of the story - he's clearly only just started unleashing all this culinary glee, even if he probably did already share infinite useful monster(-killing) factoids. Or is he aware and respectful of the fact that Shuro's definitely of "highlights" definitely only includes What Happened To Falin? This, too, is a level of character insight rarely if ever seen in Laios before.

.

Laios is like a deer in front of a lion... Yeah maybe I do want to watch Kabru flirt with him and Laios get completely flustered... Only if Laios turns it around by (later, after fleeing the initial scene) bluntly asking if Kabru wants to go on a date and/or have sex, and Kabru.exe stops functioning.

.

One must ask, for a moment: wait, does [Laios] respect that [eating monsters is] taboo in polite company? -my considerations 10 seconds ago in in-canon time

nvm, he's back on his bullshit! :) <3

Which! Indicates that his summary WAS intentionally geared toward Shuro's known preference, with maybe a dash of responsible dungeoneer team leader-to-team leader "fyi the Mage IS around"!

.

Ok now for the bit I'm particularly obsessed with...

Shown: man forcibly slamming down an impenetrable mental barrier called "Doing What I Must" in between Traumatic Memories & Moral Qualms and Words, Tone, Facial Expressions, Body Language & Anything Else Someone Else Could Sense:

Shown: Man with aforementioned barrier firmly in place [but still possibly seeing horrors on the backs of his eyelids]:

(Also shown: Man increasingly wishing that this is all some sort of elaborate hallucination brought on by sleep deprivation and stress:

.

Then this!

Until proven otherwise, I'm pretty certain that this last panel is the exact moment Kabru's brain started bouncing like a yo-yo wrt Laios. Because!

Kabru invited himself into this conversation as part of his overall quest: to look for a decent King for the dungeon. [ABBA playing faintly in the background] He's officially given up "finding" rather than "becoming", but he hasn't 100% ruled it out as an option - the goal is to get one.

Imagine that Kabru's brain includes a little hexagon like the food matrix, but for necessary aspects of the new King of the Golden Kingdom. In order, Laios goes...

- up several notches in "Likely Ability to Kill Mad Mage" by having defeated the red dragon and met the Mage

- down probably 1 notch in Trustworthiness/Honesty(/Readability to Kabru Specifically, who is prepared to Manage a mediocre candidate if that's what it takes)

- plunges down in the meta-category of Will Prevent Another Utaya by plummeting like a Boeing in the technically-not-on-the-chart category of Triggers Kabru's Trauma by admitting - bragging! delightedly! - that he eats monsters. Kabru's trauma is centered around monsters eating people. What sort of horror is a person who eats monsters? (Yet, perhaps already starting to yo-yo: if monsters eating people is the ultimate evil, what is this reversal...?)

Then Kabru asks a few innocuous, friendly questions about this Absolute Horror, because that's what Kabru does: he lies through his teeth about his own opinions and discomfort in order to put others at ease and (thus) achieve his goals. Laios gives innocuous, friendly answers.

THEN: ORCS. This whole comic, we've had the debate about whether it's okay to eat humanoid monsters, with Laios begrudgingly agreeing to his party's refusal. And orcs aren't even humanoid monsters, they're full-on demihumans! Second cousins of tallmen!

Kabru actually has to take a moment to process this new depth of depravity which he swiftly assumes Laios has sunk to. I imagine WWII air raid sirens are going off in his brain. Laios is But then he leaps this horrific chasm, too, itchy though his knife hand may be - interestingly, his face isn't shown in the comic, but in the show, Kabru retains the exact same friendly, eagerly interested tone of voice when he asks, "What did they taste like?"

- (Sidenote: truly, in all of this, I'm most obsessed with Kabru's ability, willingness and determination to seemingly-blithely hopskotch and/or outright running-jump over any moral qualm for long enough to get the other guy to dig their own grave and/or let down their guard. Who even are you under your infinitely shifting mask, sir. Do you even know? Because I think some of what we've seen that's more "real" is part of the mask you wear to be the Hero Who Will Be King.)

And Laios realizes what he'd implied and says, alarmed at the misunderstanding (though it's not clear if that's for moral reasons or social awkwardness) but still smiling with excited pride, "No no!! We didn't eat them! Due to circumstances, we're currently working with them!"

With them! Laios is yoinked out of, if not the depths, then at least the utmost depths - while also snapping unexpectedly upward in Alliance-Building (pref. Interspecies, Local-Centric). Laios had already rated a 2, maybe 3/5 for his party makeup, but given his known lack of people skills, I can't imagine Kabru expected him to go any higher than that - and with orcs! Orcs who are maligned by everyone else; for whom the Island Lord regular offers a bounty!

Now, this IS predicated on the assumption that Kabru considers orcs a people who should be treated with like a legitimate, well, people, rather than killed like vermin. But I think I'm on solid ground, considering a) Kuro the kobold being a (mostly) respected member of his party and their secret late-night study-friendship; b) Kabru's harshly learned skepticism of the stories Elves tell about themselves and other races, which is where we've seen the heart of anti-orc sentiment; and c) Kabru thinks the Island Lord is a moron.

Mind you, I think the yo-yo-ing is relatively subconscious at this point, and won't start reaching an audible fever pitch until Kabru learns about the black magic in, oh, another 5 minutes or so.

...but I really need to go to bed, so I'll see what overanalysis I make of that tomorrow!

[jaime-brienne-fic-exchange]

Signups for the Fifth Annual Jaime x Brienne Fic Exchange are now open! 

That’s right, we’re back baby! Thanks to the enthusiasm of you wonderful JB writers, the Jaime x Brienne fic exchange is back for 2024. 

What is the Jaime x Brienne Fic Exchange?

For the past few years, we’ve been running a mid-year (or thereabouts) exchange for all JB writers. Interested writers sign up via the above form, and are assigned prompts from another participant. They must then write one completed fic of at least 1000 words incorporating one (or more, if inspiration strikes!) of these prompts. Fics are then posted, anonymously, between September 15th and September 30th, before identities are revealed on October 7th! 

By the end of the exchange, a participant will have written one fic and received one fic. There is no upper limit on the length of the fic you can write, however it must be completed and fully posted by September 30th.

Is there a requirement to join?

You must have an AO3 account and be willing to write a complete story of at least 1000 words before the due date. It doesn’t matter if you’re an old pro or it’s your first time writing a fic for the fandom, or even your first time writing a fic ever. 

What if I’ve dropped out in previous years?

In years past you would need to complete a Little Oathkeeper treat to sign up if you did not complete your assignment or inform us before the no fault default deadline, but we are offering a blanket amnesty this year. That means that even if you had to drop out super late or didn’t finish your fic (a very rare occurrence, but things happen), you can still sign up for 2024!  

How does matching work?

We use Google Forms to try to ensure everyone gets prompts within their expressed interests. When you sign up, you will answer some questions about both your reading and writing preferences–ratings, canons, squicks and triggers–as well as supply three prompts. The organisers will then match you with someone whose preferences and prompts align with yours on as many points as possible, while keeping an element of randomisation. If you’re interested in reading E-rated book canon, we won’t assign your prompts to someone only interested in writing T-rated modern AU! 

What are prompts?

Prompts can be anything really! Maybe it’s your favourite trope, or a song that makes you think of Jaime and Brienne. Maybe there’s a piece of fanart that makes your heart go pitter-patter, or a fic premise you would love to see. All forms of prompts are welcome, though we ask you to keep in mind that they are meant to be a jumping off point for your writer and anything too sparse or too detailed might be difficult. A good rule of thumb is to provide prompts that would get your own mind whirling with possibilities! 

What are the key dates?

Signups are open from TODAY until June 27TH, 23:59 UTC-10. (What time is that for me?)

Assignments will be sent out by JUNE 30TH, and completed fics must be posted by SEPTEMBER 30TH. This is a later writing window than previous years due to some real life commitments.

Consequence-free dropout deadline is SEPTEMBER 1ST. Any writers who dropout after this date or have incomplete fics at the end of the posting window will need to write a bonus gift before participating in future exchanges.

Fics are to be anonymously posted in the Ao3 collection between SEPTEMBER 15TH and SEPTEMBER 30TH, and authors will be revealed OCTOBER 7TH. 

Fic posting guidelines will be published closer to the due date.

Are you doing Knight Writers again?

Of course! Life happens and you may not be able to complete a fic on time, and that’s okay! Knight writers are wonderful volunteers who will step in and write a fic when people are unable to complete their assignment. This year knight write requests will go out via email and the Transformatives Werks Discord, and you don’t need to be an exchange participant to join–just keep your eyes peeled on Discord, or shoot me an email as jbficexchange@gmail.com to be added to the mailing list for Knight Write requests.

Any questions? Send an ask!

Sign up here

[numptypylon]

“Rayla is… not my lovebug.”

“Oh ho, now?" Nyx leaned obnoxiously close, her eyebrows raising. "Have you told her that?”

“She told me," Callum said, angry all over again suddenly that... she actually hadn't told him that and yet they weren't- "So I’m tentatively assuming that she knows.”

“Oh ho? So she broke up with you and yet you’re still adventuring together, risking your lives for each other, making love eyes at each other at every opportunity… ah, to be young and in love and a garbage fire of collective awkwardness of such radiance as to light up the heavens-”

“Yeah!” Ezran agreed, walking up to them. Oh no. Hopefully Nyx would tone down the… everything… around an 11-year-old, but… considering he had been 14 himself when he’d first encountered Nyx, he didn’t have high hopes. “It’s gross and they’re so dumb, and here I am, a doomed onlooker!"

“You got the family braincell, I see,” Nyx said, winking at Ezran.

Ezran nodded sagely. “My blessing and my curse, ‘tis true.”

Really?! Did Ez really have to form an alliance with every new person they met to tag-team roast him?!

Nyx turned away from Ezran, her unwanted attention firmly back on him now. “I still need the full status update on my favorite dysfunctional lovebugs!” Nyx would keep prodding, and Callum didn’t want her to prod Rayla- “You know there’s another ex-lovebug who could tell me-“ Did he just curse that idea into Nyx’s head?! “But you’re currently the less puke-smelling option, so…"

Nyx really didn't subscribe to the idea of sensitive subjects you should keep your trap shut about.

“We… broke up. Like you said.” One way to say it. But he wasn’t giving Nyx any ammunition to use against Rayla. “Then made up. Kind of. We’re friends, just not… lovebugs.”

“Friends with benefits?”

“What friends do you have?” Ezran asked, all wide-eyed, vicious innocence. “Do you not consider friendship a benefit?”

“Hey!” Nyx looked insulted. “I thought we were allies against yon magus of maladroit you tragically must call brother?”

“My allegiances are many and inscrutable!” Ez stuck his tongue out at Nyx.

“’Allegiances’? ’Inscrutable’? Sheesh, kid, how old are you? And what awful, terrible company do you keep?!”

“11. And… politicians.”

“Oh no, you’re serious?! Oh kid, the depths of my condolences is one of them yawning chasms of endless screaming-“

“Oi?!” Villads yelled. “Matey? Riggin’ snagged!”

“I don’t hold court with betrayers, anyway,” Nyx said, incredibly hypocritically for someone who’d stranded them in a desert, and she pushed off the deck and was airborne, heading off towards the center mast.

“What is the benefit of being ‘friends with benefits’?” Ezran asked, looking around to Callum and then Soren, who had just arrived with Hat perched on his head. “The friendship is pretty obviously a benefit of being friends without having to say it, so I know it isn’t that, I just said that because Nyx was being mean.”

“Oh, I know!” Soren said, eagerly. “It’s s-“

“Sandwiches!” Callum cut him off. “Sandwiches, Soren! Remember?”

“Riiiiight!” Soren winked, exaggeratedly. “Sandwiches. Got it. Corvus makes the best bread sandwich, extra mayonnaise-“

“Please, Soren,” Callum choked. “Please, let’s… talk about something else. Anything else. Please.”

———

Excerpt from an upcoming chapter of my S4-6 between-canon-episodes fic, Downtime’s Up (successor to my S1-3 between-canon-scenes fics Downtime in Wartime and Upside Downtime)

It’s wednesday and I have many wips I want to work on and no time, but I DO also have a lot of stuff written and not posted, so… hope you enjoyed some overgrown pigeon time and depraved sandwich innuendos. Once I get past the next 4 chapters of Downtime’s Up, I have most of the rest of the story written, just… it’s been rough going to write anything lately

[anxiousnerdwritings]

in an add on to the older!Potter!sister prompt Percy was canonically working as the Assistant to the Minister when Dumbledore and Harry started trying to warn people about Voldemort’s return but the Minister refused to believe it — it was something Percy was willing to overlook despite his family’s disapproval for the sake of keeping his well paying, impressive job because “no, I’m not quitting my job when we have a mortgage, mum, stop” but the moment Fudge got desperate and started on the Dumbledore + Potter slander campaign Percy just up and quit

que a surprised pikachu face from Fudge and Percy just squints at him and is like “you were literally at my wedding, stop talking shit about my wife” and just dips

for a little bit he stresses about not having a job and his darling becoming an obvious target in the war and “oh my god, what about the mortgage?” but this time it’s her turn to squint and she’s like “we only took a mortgage because your to proud and traditional to let your wife pay for shit, Percy, I have like fifty thousand galleons, shut up❤️”

I love the idea of Percy being a spy for the Order but strictly because of the Reader in this situation. He just keeps his head low and sticks to doing his job, the job he’s clawed his way to get to mind you. The only thing that gets him through day by day is the thought of being able to give his darling and future children the life he always wished he had. But with that being said, he’s not stupid either. No, he actually sees Fudge for who he is and that’s a coward. He knows that Fudge is only using him to see what information he can give the Ministry about Dumbledore and the Potters. And the fucking audacity for Fudge to actually think Percy would ever give him anything regarding his precious beloved darling. Like sure, the man was at their wedding but that was more to sell the guise of Percy being on the Ministry’s side when in reality he couldn’t give three shits, let alone one, about Fudge. But Percy continues to mind himself and play his part perfectly.

But the second anyone mutters a fucking word about his precious darling, they’re fucked. Percy does a pretty good job with getting revenge on those who hop on the Potter-hating bandwagon without getting caught, and he comes up with some pretty clever and humorous ways going about that would even have the twins shocked. It isn’t until Fudge himself says something completely off the cuff that Percy finally has enough and walks out. After that, everything pretty much goes to shit with the Ministry

I do love the idea of Percy being under the belief that they have a mortgage when they don’t in fact have one, whether Potter!Reader already paid it off herself or they live in the house on Spinner’s End that didn’t come with a mortgage to begin with.

[doodlegirl1998]

I'm honestly appalled at the ending of this manga.

It's so mean-spirited of Horikoshi to drill it into the narrative that Izuku can't be a hero without a Quirk, and when he does have a Quirk, he's only a liability with it so he should just give up. Then for him to take that Quirk away from him when that's all he ever wanted is just a slap in the face to Izuku and what little character development he had.

Not only that, but for how much 1A is supposedly close to one another, they sure were quick to forget about Aoyama when discount Goob replaced him. He's been nothing but an asshole to them, so why are they so excited to see him?

Why can't the adults get off of their asses and be the primary ones helping with rebuilding? Why rope the second years into it? Furthermore, why the fuck are they having school so soon after a near apocalyptic war?

Also, I love how Bakugou is supposedly praised for his "effort" when all he did was nearly get himself killed because AS USUAL, he charged ahead without a plan, and just waited for AFO to rewind out of existence. Meanwhile, Izuku's just left by himself with All Might, because God fucking forbid anybody actually give Izuku the time of day for the right reasons.

Bakugou can go fuck himself for making Izuku's Quirklessness about himself and their "rIvAlRy", and Horikoshi can go fuck himself for making Izuku's attitude towards losing the thing he dreamed of having for 12 years: 🤷.

PS: So much for Aizawa's "apology" towards Izuku meaning anything. All he said was sorry, used Izuku's first name without earning the privilege, and then onto the next scene.

Hi @nutzgunray-lvt 👋

You and me both.

Hori hates Izuku. It is as plain a fact as the sky being blue at this point. It is intensely mean to have Izuku suffer for being quirkless (especially at the hands of Bkg*), gain OFA and work so hard with it only to lose it by the end of the story and then Hori doesn't allow Izu to have any form of upset about this. Instead, he is forced to comfort BAKUGOU about this*- the same Bakugou who calls him Deku (useless) for being quirkless! The same Bakugou who abused him for a decade largely for this!?! What the fuck is this Hori? Get boo-hoo'ing Bak-U-Go out the damn door! Focus on Izuku for once! This is traumatising! Let Izuku actually feel it instead of being puppeteered to make Bkg look good!

This is one of the reasons Izuku feels kind of flat now (I hate to say it as an Izuku fan but he doesn't react in a way that makes sense and we haven't seen in his head in so long...)

I don't buy "Class 1A is a Family," not after they chased down Izuku in the Dark Deku arc and certainly not now. Look at how easily they let Aoyama go! No crying or anything? Like wow...

And for Shinsou? Who has canonically only been an asshole to all of 1A this whole time? And no one has a problem with him or is gutted about Aoyama leaving? Nah... that's some B.S. right there.

To add Ochaco, making fun of Izuku's new hair and saying not to talk to her with that hair was in very poor taste. They were all in a WAR, Izuku didn't just have poor luck with barbers. She comes off like a bitch here not gonna lie...

Having school so soon after a whole WAR and floating UA occurring is so unrealistic... 😑 The fact that students are helping proves the school shouldn't be open yet. But Nedzu gives no shit - who is one of Japan's smartest beings, apparently...

Bakugou being praised for his "effort" over Izuku is simply laughable but sadly nothing new.

Aizawa's "apology" was hollow, simply an item on the checklist for Hori, and it shows. Also, using Izuku's first name was OOC for him and rude for him to use without asking.

In addition, we have seen the Bakugou's, but where is Inko? Hori gives no shit to her, clearly. At least she isn't there for Izuku to be forced to comfort alongside Bakugou - about a traumatic thing that happened to HIM! What is this mess Hori?!

[nalyra-dreaming]

Thank you for your consistently detailed analysis and speculation which have frequently calmed me down when I was concerned about the direction of the show. As long time VC fan, I'm not gonna lie, this show has often left me heartbroken- and not in a good way. I've been trying to get through it in hopes when we will finally get to see the real Lestat. But honestly, for me, if the drop is left in, than the character is done. There is no way to redeem him. And it just hurts because not only is it something that Lestat would never do to Louis, but it's something that was actually done to *him*. He suffered for years from that fall and it was one of the main reasons he went in the ground. It's important for his character development. I just don't understand the justification for leaving it as is especially since it isn't canon. I don't think I can take another 2+ years of Lestat being called an evil domestic abuser. How can audiences be expected to root for him. They won't. He will be condemned as the monster who dropped his partner from the stratosphere. Leaving it also ruins the L+L QotD flight. I just don't see the point in irrevocably damaging the main protagonist of the entire story. I'm heartbroken and furious. Please, help me understand.

*sighs* (Sending you a big hug.)

So. Emotions seem to be very high on this already, and it hasn't even aired yet. I'm just pointing that out because... what we have right now is hearsay - maybe directly, maybe over a few people in the middle... but ultimately we haven't watched it yet, right? Other people have. Other people, with their own understanding, and their own takes.

And yes, it was done to him. Exactly. And as just said in another ask, he has not told his side of the story yet. The trial, so also that part of it... will definitely be scripted. And we already know that what we were shown... cannot be trusted. Not a 100%.

Let's watch first and then judge, please.

Because so far this show has excelled at elevating the source material.

Which is not to say that they cannot make mistakes, obviously. And who knows, maybe I'll be disappointed AF after. We'll see.

But... there's a reason why they revisit all that. There's a reason. And, given that we're segueing into s3... and therefore Lestat's story?

I don't know how they re-contextualize it. I don't. But I think we need to see the bigger picture - and that won't be done by s2. (And I have a feeling like it might not even be done by s3...)

IF they follow the book IWTV here... then Lestat will testify against Louis and Claudia at the trial, seemingly out of revenge (but actually under duress), he will witness her burn, he will have the yellow dress. Louis and Armand will break up. Lestat and Louis will meet in the later contested NOLA meeting. Louis will end up alone at the end of the novel.

I don't know how the revisit fits with the trial. You probably know my feelings wrt the diary and the pages etc but it seems they are not used as heavily as anticipated.

IDK. Given the in-universe publication of the book IWTV I think they will follow the beats above - and episode 5, and the drop, are likely part of the accusation then.

Now, we know that it will be revealed later that this was done with manipulation and torture. That it was Lestat who was thrown off the tower later, and who needed decades to heal. Which fits with the "mind call" in 2x05, doesn't it.

IDK. I just want to point out that even if... EVEN IF THAT DROP STAYS FOR NOW - there is a lot more to it and they have already hinted at that.

So.

Yes, I can very well do without another 2 years of shit-show by some people, especially those unwilling to take the step back for the bigger picture. But ... I have become much, much better at blocking.

And I am not going to let them take away my joy. Especially... ESPECIALLY that we know - WE KNOW - that TVL is up in s3. They already confirmed that.

Don't let an unfinished puzzle or some asshats take your joy either, dear.

[softpascalito]

I To Dig a Grave I Chapter 3 I

Summary: Twenty-one years after the outbreak, you come to Wyoming looking for something and end up in Jackson after a stranger saves your life.

But he doesn't stay a stranger.

Turns out Joel Miller is looking for something too. It feels like a fresh start. But when bad luck seems to follow you, Joel is the only one to turn to, forcing both of you to confront your feelings about your pasts- and each other.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 12k+ Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Age Difference, Smut, Explicit Content, Grief/Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Canon-Typical Violence, Chose not to use Archive Warnings, Tags to be added

AO3 LINK // Series Masterlist // Playlist

notes: very excited for this chapter because you guys finally get to see what a big part of fic will deal with. keeping everyone who reads on in my prayers <3 (you'll need it)

i've also added a small playlist for this fic. in case you'd like to dive in the link is above!

this fic will deal with heavy topics. please note that it doesn't use archive warnings and tags will be added as we go in order to avoid spoilers. each chapter will have detailed warnings in the end notes on ao3.

Chapter 3 - The Sky

‘‘The sky here’s very strange. I often have the sensation when I look at it that it's a solid thing up there, protecting us from what’s behind.’ ‘But what is behind?’ Her voice was very small. ‘Nothing, I suppose. Just darkness. Absolute night.’’

- Paul Bowles, The Sheltering Sky

The body is resting against the only intact wall of the cabin, to Joel's left. Propped up next to the fireplace, the scene around it leaving no doubt about the finality of it. Blue hair drenched in red, thick liquid pooling below and running through the crevices of the weathered and beaten wood.

He barely registers Tommy’s footsteps behind him nor that they come to a sudden halt.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath. 

Joel is the one that steps forward, kneeling down next to the fireplace, his hand gently reaching out to touch the pale skin of her hand. “She’s already cold. Must’ve been a few hours,” he whispers, his voice dangerously close to cracking.

“We need to alert the others. What if these guys are already at the gates? Maria has no clue-”

“Tommy-” Joel gently tries to stop the rambling of his brother, but he can't bring himself to take his eyes off her. But the other man is barely listening, his feet shuffling anxiously as he reaches for his rifle.

“Joel, goddamn it, I mean it. Get up. They may be waiting for the moment to attack-”

“There is no attack,” Joel says, again, and his voice feels too calm for what he’s implying. 

He stalls for a moment, the realization coming to him that he’s gotten too good at this. He’s gotten too good at being in the presence of death, likely better than he ever has been in the presence of people.

He carefully leans forward, using his free hand to gently push the fabric of her hoodie out of the way, glancing down at the wound and giving a small nod. He doesn't need to see the way Tommy’s shoulders fall. He feels the air shift as his brother comes to the conclusion Joel has found much faster. They both know why he got there quicker. Takes one to know one.

“Why would she-” Tommy breaks off, turning his gaze away from the thing he doesn't understand. “I don't know,” Joel mutters under his breath. It hasn't hit him yet, the full force of what this means. Of the consequences it will draw. “We need to get her back to Jackson.” But he can’t really focus on that. Not when he has your best friend’s lifeless body next to him without a clue where you are.

“Do you think-” There's a heavy pause. “Did she do this alone?” Tommy asks, placing his rifle next to the door and beginning to look around the cabin for something useful.

Joel immediately knows what he's asking. But he shakes his head. “I don't think she would have- There's no sign anyone else was here.”

His head is spinning, screaming at him to do the one thing he knows. He needs to find you.

And then he doesn't. Because before they can even begin to move the body, he can hear hooves approaching outside. He recognizes the fast gallop of your horse even before you call their names.

“Lane?! Joel?! Tommy?!” Your lungs hurt from calling them. It was easy enough to follow the tracks, spurring your own horse on much more than you dared on any patrol so far. The mare almost seems relieved when you reach the two other horses and you slide off her back in one quick motion.

It's at the same moment that the door flies open, Joel crossing the small veranda in a few strides. You freeze in your tracks. “Where-?” The words die in your throat. Joel carefully makes his way towards you, his steps slow and controlled. Your eyes fly to his hands. They’re bloody. He has almost reached you when you find his eyes again. There is a gentleness in them that confuses you for a split second.

And then it all makes sense. You don't want the blood, you don't want that look in his eyes, you don't want any of it once you realize what it means.

“No.” Your voice comes out all wrong and you don't know if he heard you. If anyone can.

“It's okay. Come here,” Joel mumbles as he reaches you, carefully sneaking his arm around you. He tries to pull you close and he's not sure whether it's for your or his sake. Maybe both.

“No. Joel, where is she?”

He shushes you again, readying himself to catch you if your knees give out, his grip around you tightening ever so slightly.

Joel Miller has come to know you fairly well over the past years. At least he likes to think he does and you've rarely caught him off guard. But today you do.

“Where is she?!” Your knees don't give out. Not even close. They bend just enough for you to slip past the broad man in front of you, taking off with a run towards the door of the cabin.

It takes him a second to register what has happened. Then, he’s storming after you as fast as his legs will allow him.

“Tommy!” he yells out, hoping that if he won't be able to stop you, at least his brother will. But it's he who catches up with you just as you take the first step onto the veranda, roughly pulling you back by your arm, hard enough that it sends both of you tumbling to the floor.

He barely registers the way the wooden step digs into his ribs and knocks the air out of his lungs. Instead, his fingers stay tightly wrapped around your arm. “Fucking let go, Joel! Let me see her!”

He doesn't know what to say. He can't tell you that he simply can't. That it would stay with you forever, even more than this will anyway.

“Come here,” he just repeats weakly, bringing his other arm around to pull you in. One of your knees is bleeding, your jeans ripped open where you hit the floor with full force. Joel makes a mental note to clean the wound later.

Your body is trembling much harder than you thought possible as you let Joel pull you into his arms. It has nothing to do with the cold. You don't even feel like you're able to recognize temperature. An absurd concept, that your body would adjust to any of it, that it would ever stop shaking and trembling. Joel's arms feel like he's all around you, wrapping his body around yours, sheltering you from what is only a few feet away. 

Your lungs that were burning just a minute ago seem to not be a part of you anymore. They in- and exhale in their own rhythm, one that feels too fast and too slow all at once. You hear Joel muttering into your ear, but you can't make out the words. Your cheeks are wet. You don't know why.

The world dissolves around you and you briefly wonder if you’re dying. It's not a shocking idea that gets you up and fighting. You wonder about death the same way you would about whether or not they have soap at the store. The world has almost gone dark when you realize you are not, in fact, dying. But, even as the strength leaves your muscles and you collapse against the body next to you, you are aware that something has.

***

You regain consciousness, just for a moment. There is a steady rise and fall around you and at first you think it's your lungs expanding and deflating. But as you open your eyes enough to catch a glimpse of your surroundings, they move. Up and down. Slow and steady.

You're on horseback, pressed against a broad chest that has to be Joel’s. His arms are pulling you tightly into him, keeping you upright, making sure you won't fall off. You don't think you could bring yourself to care. It probably wouldn't even hurt. In fact, every part of your body should hurt with the way you were running earlier, with how you fell onto the stairs, bone crunching as it took the blow to your side. But oddly enough, it feels like you're floating, like your mind is far away from your body and equally far away from Joel. There is a disconnect, a faulty wire. One that simmers, undetected, till it snaps one random afternoon and sets the whole house on fire.

You still feel like you’re drifting in and out of consciousness when the movement below you slows and you feel yourself being lifted down by strong, steady arms. They are a constant around you, a shield that protects you from what is beyond.

Word about your disappearances has traveled fast but not fast enough for no one to ask any questions. There have rarely been any runaways in Jackson, except for the occasional teenagers who usually show up again the day after- and the couple last year. The bodies Joel had found in the abandoned hotel. Why was he always the one to find them?

People approach, some calling out to the odd group arriving. Tommy leading both horses and shushing those who call out to them while Joel holds you close, staring down anyone who so much as tries to approach him.

“I’ll go and fetch Maria and we can-” Tommy pauses, his gaze wandering from his brother's face to the curled up body below it. He can't bring himself to say it. Not like this, not in front of you. 

Joel gives a curt nod, understanding. “Tell Maria we're at my place. And-” A small sigh escapes his lips. “Make sure she arranges for a group immediately.”

The younger man swallows hard and turns away. Infected will happily devour any meat they're given, no matter if they've hunted it down themselves. He doesnt think he could bear going back and finding a scene like that. His steps speed up.

You only catch glimpses of the people around you, words being whispered, conversations being started and then abruptly breaking off. And you still feel light, so light that you think you could just float away, disappear into the blue until you’d reach the horizon and whatever lies beyond. But you're wrapped in the dark leather coat that keeps sliding off your shoulders, wrapped in Joel’s arms, and so it won't happen. He won't let you float away. 

For all you know, all of the sounds and glimpses could be figments of your imagination, something like a dream or a fleeting memory of a book you’ve read as a child, one that you remember the cover and smell of, remember that it made you feel something, and yet, the story won't come to mind anymore. Above all, this can be, needs to be, something that is unreal. Because otherwise, you dont think you’ll be able to get through it.

You don't move. You let Joel carry you down Rancher Street, you let him nudge your head further into his chest as you realize you must be passing the corner of the graveyard. It seems impossible that you walked by it just a few hours ago, with your mind on the library and which exams to set and dinner this weekend. It all feels like a lifetime ago, a memory that doesn't belong to you but rather someone else.

The morning fog sunk back into the earth hours ago, the rays of the sun forcing it to clear. The sky above you feels close enough to touch, a vibrant and comforting shade of blue spanning from the tops of the wooden houses to the mountains in the distance.

You were just a baby when your father put up a swing in your backyard, strong ropes tied to the branch of an old oak tree. You must have heard the story a million times. Him, getting out his tools while you were watching from your blanket on the grass, not quite able to move your head on your own yet. But he insisted that your large eyes followed him around, contently staying where you were as he worked. 

You didn't understand, when hearing him talk about it, why he'd build a swing for someone too small to play on it. It only set in years later that he'd simply been that excited to bring home a little daughter and build something for her and fill the backyard with children's and adults' laughter alike.

That evening, he put you on his lap, one arm securely wrapped around the tiny form that was your body then, gently moving both of you back and forth. You’d fallen asleep almost instantly.

It became your favorite spot, and the way he talked about it years after you had left the house and the garden behind, it had been his too. You loved kicking your feet or spurring your father on to push you harder, watching as your legs soared towards the blue sky.

It seemed to you, back then, that you were miles above the ground, imagining what it'd be like to let go and drift off into the sky, to go up, up, up until your house would be nothing more than a small square below you, surrounded by green.

Joel carries you into the living room. He doesn't seem to want to leave you alone. And he seems restless.

He gets on his knees in front of you, soft brown eyes taking in your face. You avoid meeting them, curling further into the couch. His lips are moving but you can’t hear what he says.

After a few moments pass, you can tell he’s waiting for a response so you nod, almost in slow motion. He seems satisfied with that, saying something else before getting dinner started. It probably smells good, but you don't think you know good anymore.

You get through two potatoes, a bit of salad and chicken before you push your chair back, hurrying down the hallway as Joel scrambles after you.

You make it to the bathroom just in time, falling to your knees in front of the toilet as your stomach begins emptying itself. A sharp pain shoots through the knee that collided with the stairs of the cabin earlier. At the thought of the cabin, another wave of sickness hits you. It's violent, the way your throat convulses, your body trying to empty itself of whatever is inside.

But there is no purging the things inside of you. The thoughts and the memories and the images- god, the images. Lane, hunched over a table. Lane, holding a knife while you make dinner. Lane, laughing. Lane, placing a gun to her head. Lane, crying.

The steady flow of scenarios provided by your brain is broken by another wave of nausea, even though this time it is just dry heaving, your stomach already empty. Your head is not.

You don't hear the rushed footsteps behind you, but you feel the calloused hands pulling your hair out of the way and rubbing your back.

“There you go, get it all out,” Joel coos quietly. It's not his fault. That he doesn't immediately connect the dots as you start sobbing, choking for air. The sobs, your lungs demanding air, your stomach blocking the way, clearly insistent on getting everything out of your system.

You’re positive that the noises coming out of your mouth do not sound like yourself or, for that matter, sound human at all. They're a mix of gasping and heaving, back and forth, as your fingers clench around the toilet seat so hard you feel like it may break.

Joel is very lost and very determined not to let you notice. He has never seen you in this much pain, not when he washed you in the bathroom upstairs nor when you were seconds away from being ripped apart by an Infected. He cannot know that on the first night spent with Lane you were hunched over a toilet just like this, throwing up the blueberry muffins that had been too much for your starved stomach to handle. He cannot know she held your hair like he holds it now, fingers firmly wrapped around it, occasionally sweeping a loose strand behind your ear.

You're not sure how long you sit there like this, the cold tiles uncomfortably pressing into Joel's already sore knees, when he carefully leans you against the wall as he fetches a few towels, letting the water run until it's warm, to wet one of them and wipe your face.

His eyes fly over your features, concern etched into every part of his face. You weakly try and raise your arm to take the towel from him, unwilling to just sit and watch. But he shakes his head firmly, his gaze determined. “Let me, okay? You just focus on breathing.”

As he reaches for another towel, you feel your empty stomach filling again. With a heavy, uncomfortable guilt, one you wish you could throw right back up. Tears shoot into your eyes again but this time Joel doesn't hesitate.

“What's going on? Tell me what you're thinking,” he mutters, his thumb brushing over the side of your face as his other hand uses the towel to dab over your chin, carefully wiping the remainder of the vomit away.

“I wasted your food,” you half-whisper, your voice raw. Joel's face falls, for a moment.

“Nothing is ever wasted on you, you hear me?” he mumbles quietly, moving on to wipe your cheek. “I can always make more.”

He doesn't seem to mind that you cry again at that.

***

It must be past midnight when you wake up the next time. The room is only dimly lit now, and a blanket is tucked around you, your eyes facing the worn-out fabric of the couch Joel set you down on earlier. Earlier feels very far away.

You turn, slowly, glad to find that your stomach seems to decide to give it a rest for now. It still lurches slightly as you squint into the dining room, seeing two figures hunched over the wooden table.

“Joel?” you try to call his name, quietly, but your throat feels dry and the word turns into a cough instead. Your fingers rub your throat, willing it to calm down and relax, as Joel appears in front of you, kneeling down beside the couch and offering you a glass of water. You nod your thanks, using both hands to bring it to your mouth and take a few sips.

“Better?” He hums softly, taking the glass back. You give another nod. If he minds the non-verbal communication, he doesn’t let it show. Instead he turns around, returning with the glass refilled. You gratefully accept it again.

It's only after he's placed it onto the small coffee table that your eyes land on Tommy, leaning against the wooden column separating the two rooms as he watches the scene in front of him. He gives you a swift nod when your eyes meet and something that seems like it was supposed to be a smile but, given the circumstances, fails miserably.

Joel motions for him to come closer. “Come on, it's- have a seat.” Their eyes meet and they seem to communicate silently, no doubt continuing the conversation where they left off.

Tommy sits down. He shuffles his feet, his fingers anxiously tapping the lid of a plastic container that holds some food. Courtesy of Maria, no doubt. Joel takes the spot next to you on the couch and you inch towards him, glad for any kind of support even though you have no clue what is about to happen.

“We- We’re still trying to piece everything together,” Tommy says, his voice quiet and solemn. You tense ever so slightly, listening intently. You're not sure you want to know how or why or any of the other details that will undoubtedly make this more real.

“There was a note in- with her,” he goes on, seemingly choosing his words very carefully. “She said she left you a letter, back at home.” Your eyes automatically fly to Tommy’s sides, half expecting him to pull a piece of paper out of his pocket. He seems to notice your train of thought.

“We're still going through her room, just to make sure- we just want to be certain this happened the way she says it did,” he finishes quietly. You can feel two pairs of eyes on you, but you just nod. Of course. Someone could’ve murdered her and staged it as a suicide. Somehow, that idea didn’t cross your mind. Maybe because you don't think anyone could ever truly hate Lane nearly enough to wish her harm or maybe simply because you already seem to feel in your stomach that her life ended on her own terms.

Joel and Tommy exchange a few glances until Joel awkwardly clears his throat and reaches out to take the plastic container from him. “I'll put this in the fridge.”

The younger brother keeps his eyes on you as you listen to Joel rummaging in the kitchen. His hand awkwardly reaches for your shoulder, hovering above it for a moment before patting it lightly. “I'm so sorry, kid.”

“Thanks, Tommy,” you manage to press out, your own gaze fixed on the opposite wall. You don't want to see the look again, the same one Joel had back at the cabin. In fact, you think you may never want anyone to look at you ever again.

You're still staring at the same spot when the two men head towards the front door a few minutes later. Their voices are low and they must be standing half outside, if the cold creeping into the house is anything to go by. You know their words are not meant for your ears but you still stay absolutely still, listening.

“I’ll bring the letter by tomorrow, okay? Let her get it over with,” Tommy mumbles and you think you hear him shuffling his feet again.

“Yeah, yeah, you do that,” Joel responds, equally quiet. There is a moment of silence. They haven't had a moment to talk about all this, for Joel to consider if he of all people should be the one to take care of you. 

Tommy seems to think along the same lines, even though you can't begin to guess the depth of their seemingly simple words.

“Are you okay to-?” 

Joel gives a shaky nod. “Yeah, ‘ts fine. She needs someone and- Ellie’s staying with Dina for a few days, until we've figured things out.”

Tommy doesn't know what to say. He carefully takes in Joel's face, or at least what he can make out of it in the dim light of the porch. He goes for a hug instead, wrapping his arms around his brother for a fleeting moment, a hand rubbing over the older man's back. “Either of you need anything, we're all here.”

His voice has dropped enough for you not to overhear the last part.

Maybe it's because Joel's own hearing is bad, but he doesn't seem to realize you've been listening when he comes back into the room a few moments later. “I'm sure they'll be done tomorrow. But we should all try and get some sleep now.” He takes a step towards you, gently running his hand over the top of your head. “I put some fresh sheets onto the bed upstairs while you were out. I don't want ya sleeping on the couch.”

You're too tired and exhausted to protest. Besides, you know it would be a waste of time. So you let him help you upstairs, let him wait right outside the bathroom door as you brush your teeth and let him tuck you into bed, the soft sheets a stark contrast against your dirty and scratched up skin. Joel looks down at you for a moment, his fingers tapping against his leg.

“Do you want me to stay here?”

It's almost embarrassing how fast you jump onto the offer, nodding as you finally meet his eyes again. He looks concerned and sad and you hate that you're the cause of it. But you also want his company, more than anything.

Joel turns off the lights and climbs into bed with you shortly afterwards. He’s changed into pajamas, made up of a pair of brown plaid pants and a cream-colored, worn shirt. Compared to you, he actually looks put together. You can see his outline beside you, the candle on his nightstand the only source of light left in the room. It gives everything a dim, orange glow, distantly reminding you of a sunset.

You're suddenly aware of how very heavy your head feels, far too heavy to be held up by your neck. There are too many thoughts in there, you think, they don’t have enough room to breathe. Or to make sense. The faulty wires are back. And they keep your synapses from connecting correctly. Nothing makes sense. 

‘We just want to be certain this happened the way she says it did.’

“Can I ask you something?” Your voice comes out small and still, it seems too loud in the quiet around you.

“Anything,” comes the response, equally quiet even though Joel's voice sounds more steady than yours. You ponder your words for a few moments and you feel him shift beside you, propping his head up on one arm to get a better look at your face. “What is it, darlin’?”

“They brought her back to Jackson, right?”

Joel seems to consider his words for a moment, then he nods slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, they did.” Even in the dim light, you can feel his eyes on you, searching your face. You turn your face away from him, staring at the stacked records in the corner instead.

“Why would someone go through all that trouble? Bringing her so far out?” The words coming out of your mouth seem as much a surprise to you as they are to Joel. You can hear him suck in a breath beside you. The mattress dips below his weight as he sits up.

“Can you look at me for a moment?”

You obey, turning your head and resting your cheek against your shoulder. You can see Joel's face above you. He looks like he's about to cry. You must be very tired, you think to yourself. Joel Miller doesn't cry.

Before your eyes and mind can drift away again, he swallows and speaks up again, the southern drawl in his voice more present than ever.

“Honey- No one made her go.”

His words are slow, carefully chosen. He knows he is treading a fine line here.

“She did it herself, darlin’.” A small frown has spread over his face, his eyebrows knitted together. “I told you earlier, downstairs. Don’t you remember?”

You shake your head, painfully aware that the gentleness in his tone is back, the same one he’s had earlier at the cabin. You think you know all the things he’s telling you, but you can’t recall Joel saying it. The picture of him in front of the couch appears before your eyes, but you can’t make out the words coming out of his mouth. Again, you find yourself surprised that you're the one who speaks instead.

“Did anyone check her?” 

He pauses at that, the frown deepening. “What do you mean?” 

You take a small breath, your fingers pulling at a loose thread of the sheets below you. “I mean, did they check if she's really-” You pull a little harder and the thread breaks, the thin piece of fabric remaining in your palm.

You wonder if they have wrapped her up yet. If someone’s put fresh clothes on her. If anyone has checked her pulse.

“What if she's not dead?”

“I need you to listen to me.” His voice is slightly more urgent now. “I saw her. And she's gone. I'm so sorry and I wish she wasn't and I know-” His voice comes dangerously close to breaking but he only gives a tiny shake of his head and presses on.

“I know how difficult this must be but you need to understand this. She's gone. She's not coming back.”

if you enjoyed the chapter, please consider reblogging/sharing or commenting, i promise it will be the highlight of my day <3

[stilin-ski]

HI PLEASE SHARE THE INSANE STARBREAKER THINGS!!!! I LOVE HEARING YOUR IDEAS!!!!

idk how truly unhinged these are but there some of my most recurring thoughts about them so here we go:

in most universes, porter assumes they're in a relationship after they've hooked up a few times. jace, however, assumes its strictly sex and that's all porter wants from him, so it absolutely causes issues with communication. jace is constantly distressed because he's falling in love with porter the more they hang out and hook up and he's like "I gotta try and move on, I can't keep doing this to myself." but porter is there just like "man i love my boyfriend, this is great." but they've never talked about it actually.

in one version of a post-canon fic, jace has enough time/forethought to make duplicates of himself but not reveal his true location. so all the versions of jace that went down were clones, not jace himself. he was hidden somewhere, pulling the strings. so when porter is killed, he sees it, and it's horrible. it knocks the breath out of his chest, and he thinks it might kill him too for a second. it doesn't, and he knows he has to stay hidden. has to lay low because if he's going to have any shot at helping porter from that point forward, he's going to have to avoid being caught. he watches as his last clone is led away, cuffed, then pushed into the lava. he feels a weight lift off his shoulders then because at least now he'd be declared dead. no ones looking for a dead man. it allows him to collect porter's body after the scene has been cleared but before the coroner comes to take him away. he's not sure what the aftermath of that is, but he doesn't care. he has work to do.

i subscribe to the "porter genuinely cared about gorgug and fig but had absolutely no way to understand that the approach he had with gorgug was not effective bc its the only way he was taught, himself." agenda so my favorite universe to live in is the one where any betrayal by porter is so much worse because everything he said and did to try and help fig and gorgug was real. it was honest. he loved those kids, and he didn't always get it right, but his care and concern for their well-being was real. i think fig would really struggle in that universe because so much of her time with porter was probably spent being angry at her mom, angry at gilear, angry at gortholax, just being. angry. and porter was the only one who could really help her channel that rage in a way that wasn't going to be self-destructive. that version of fig would have been very close with both porter and jace, and i think it would be hard for her to write them off in that battle. especially if she saw one of them go down. the potential for their dynamic is something that honestly makes me insane, actually, like i love it.

this is getting long but lmk if you want more this is literally all my brain does all day

[tobiasdrake]

Beyond the necessary inclusion of the original 1984-1995 Dragon Ball manga, "canon" is whatever you want. The "whatever Toriyama worked on" criteria doesn't really work, because he's had at least a small hand in the conception and story of basically everything.

Nowadays, people act like Super is somehow the "oNe TrUe CaNoN" continuation and all that matters anymore, even though there's two separate versions of Super that can't even jive with each other. What's more, that same "Super is everything" crowd also can't even decide which of those two versions is the more important or "canon-est" one — a few years back you'd more likely see claims that it's the anime, since it was the original product and the manga simply served to promote it, but now you'll see more claims that it's the manga, just because it's the only version left.

Which should all go to show just how much of a ridiculous and self-contradictory mess this whole topic is, and why any given person is better off just not buying into it. Just take the original manga as your starting point and go in whatever direction you prefer from there.

The concept of canon is actually really important when doing critical analysis, part of which depends on understanding the choices being made, what they represent from a creative perspective, and what they lend to the story. It's important to be able to identify what was part of the creator's original vision, what the creator came up with years later and bolted on after the fact, what was added by other creatives, what was interpreted by other creatives, etc.

To draw a fairly extreme example, let's talk about Bulma's ki-sensing abilities.

In a filler arc of the Z anime, Captain Ginyu takes control of Bulma's body and rides a motorcycle over to spectate on Goku and Frieza's fight - While also seeking to take over a stronger body.

During the American dub, Ginyu's inner monologue celebrates that being in Bulma's body has granted him the ability to sense ki.

Ginyu: This is strange! In this body, I can clearly sense the intensity of each of their power levels!

However, much later in the series, we have Vegeta and Trunks fighting Cell. Bulma needs Piccolo and Tenshinhan to explain to her what's going on.

Well, that's a little strange, isn't it? Why would Bulma need Piccolo to explain what's going on to her? Why can't she just use her own ki-sensing and figure it out for herself?

Is this a plot hole?

Well. No. Obviously not. The reason Bulma can't use her own ki-sensing is because Bulma can't sense ki. That was a line from a localized dub of a filler arc of an adaptation of the original source material. It's three stages removed from original canon. Obviously it has no bearing on the core plot of Dragon Ball, which was written long before it even existed.

With regard to Dragon Ball Super, things are... dicey there. The way Super works is that both and neither are the true canon. Super was created by way of Akira Toriyama writing out a story outline for what he wanted, then separately delivering those notes to Toei Animation and to mangaka Toyotarou, each of whom fleshed out those notes into a complete story by applying their own creative vision.

So it's a weird situation where there isn't really a true canon to Super because both versions of the story are separate creators' adaptational interpretation of the same outline. The Super anime, of course, was made by the studio that made the Z anime so it borrows a lot of elements that Toei created for their version of Dragon Ball. The manga version does not, but it does feel subtly off because Toyotarou's interpretations of the characters don't always mesh well with the original story.

[bringthekaos]

I am SO sad about S2 being it for Arcane. I'm guessing the season will bring us to League canon, allowing the characters to evolve into their League counterparts and ending there. Which breaks my heart, because that means we'll get the Divorce Era but we'll never get to see Jayvik making amends. I had really hoped that Arcane would take the story further than what's in League lore and we'd get a couple seasons of Viktor and Jayce as enemies but then maybe a final season of them mending their relationship. Alexa, plat Rolling in the Deep 😭

I too am really sad that it’s only 2 seasons of Piltover/Zaun. They’re my favorite regions by far, with all of my favorite characters. I know that the show takes a LOT of resources, both time and money, and that they are excited to go elsewhere in Runeterra. And I fell in love with the characters due to the show, so I’m sure I will love whatever they give us next. (I’m assuming it will have a different name, because Arcane was meant to encompass this specific region. Although I would argue, since magic is so prevalent throughout their world, that every new region could be called Arcane and then just have a subtitle. That way you keep the association to the award-winning show and keep the general audience following who don’t realize that this is just the end for this region, not this world.)

That said, I’m both sad and tentatively excited for an open end to Jayce and Viktor’s story. Like yes, it would be a dream come true to see a canon reconciliation of some kind between them. However, that kinda cements one path that they can take, and limits what fan creators can do with them afterward (at least canon-compliant creators like myself). Personally, I’d be okay with an open end. That means all of us can go nuts with what happens next, and all of us are right. That gives me endless possibilities to write their messy, complicated, love-hate-anger-grief story as it progresses. I just really hope neither of them are killed off. And I’m not just saying that because they’re my favs, I just… I think they’ve done Viktor dirty in the past (*cough* Convergence *cough*) and it’s about time his character was done some justice. And what would be the message behind showing us the absolute hell Viktor goes through in order to live, only to kill him off. You can’t run away from death? We fucking know that, we see it every day in the real world, and we don’t need to be reminded. Show me something I haven’t seen before. Show me that you can outrun death, but it comes at a cost. Show me that you might regret that cost, but there’s no going back, so now you have to come to terms with what you’ve done. Show me the agonizing and painstaking process of learning to forgive yourself.

[whumpsoda]

I have this scene of Marshall deeply enthralled but still remaining defiantly quiet until eventually a Dr starts talking to him like he’s a scared child and a part of him opens up

Like “close your eyes if you don’t want to see the needle, love” or just explaining what everything they’re doing to him like “this won’t hurt you, see? you wanna touch it?”

he does so, and eventually once or twice asks a distant “what is thaaat?”

As of now this is not canon to the story, just a fun little extra :3

cw: vampire whumpers, multiple whumpers, vampire whumpers, hypnosis, hypnotized whumpee

——————

Marshall blinked, gradual and slow, the world blurring around him. He frowned hard, slouched down in his seat upon the table with his arms crossed like an irritated child. 

Seated beside him, Evangile rubbed her thumb over the skin of his shoulder in sweet, soft, circular motions, accompanied by the subduing dizziness of enthrallment. She ever so often supplied little whispers of calming, hypnotic nature, ones that were working toward quelling his ever present temper.

“It’s just a regular old shot, okay my dear? Nothing to be afraid of.” She gave him an unwelcomed scratch below the chin, Marshall’s muscles much too weary under the weight of enthrallment to escape her touch.

“Shh… shot…?” Even through the heaviest weight of a daze he recalled not wanting to go to another new doctor - or any doctor at all for that matter - but a shot? The fact only made the tense in his stomach churn worse.

“Yes, a shot.” Her gaze was fixed on the clock, watching and waiting for their appointment to begin. “It’ll be so quick and easy, you won’t even feel it.”

“Hmph.” He dug deeper into his seat, his expression of displeasure deepening.

“Well hello there!” The door swung wide open, the frame of a tall and lanky doctor striding in. They walked right up to Marshall, flashing a fang toothed smile, prompting him to take his sluggish limbs and shift away from them as much as he could. “A new thrall of yours, I presume?”

“You could say that.” Evangeline returned their grin.

With bright and excited energy their focus popped back to Marshall, spinning the thrall’s head in circles. “You can call me Dr. Belle, I’ll be taking care of you today. And your name is?”

He was already well aware his tongue didn’t work well under enthrallment, slow and weighted that turned his words to slurred mush. “Muh… mmm… Mar… shall…”

“A lovely name!” They exclaimed, rummaging through the tools they had brought along with them. “Now, I’ll go nice and slow for you okay? I can tell you’re a bit closed off, and I understand completely. I promise to tell you just what I’m doing, understood?”

Marshall nodded, studying the plate of mysterious tools he’d never become familiar with.

“Here, first I’ll wipe off the area so it’s nice and clean, okay?” They brought along in their fingers a white blob he failed to recognize, and Marshall promptly recoiled just a smidge.

“Wha’s thaaat…?” He pointed, an expression of innocent fear with a tinge of curiosity creeping over his face. 

“Just a wipe. Would you like to touch it first? It won’t hurt you, it just might be a bit chilly.” Marshall’s face reddened, shaking his head as he blushed with embarrassment. How was he so stupid?

Marshall sat quiet and calmly as the doctor cleaned off his skin, just until a jar sat across the room caught his eye. “That… is… ‘s that a lolli… pop…?” He gestured toward it, eyes sparkling with childlike wonder.

“Why, yes it is! I give them to my best patients. All the good thralls get one.” 

“What… about meee…?”

Doctor Belle booped his nose gingerly, a kind gesture that sent his mind reeling. “I guess we’ll have to see how well you do, don’t we? If you’re a good boy I guarantee you’ll be deserving of one.”

“Oh- okay. Okay.”

“Now, I’m going to do the shot, alright? It’ll only hurt for a second, just a little pinch, like this.” They held his skin tight between two fingers, just for a second, mimicking the feeling of the aforementioned shot. “Is that okay?”

“Y- yes. Mhm.” Marshall knew he’d been through many before in his lifetime, but in such a state a foreign kind of wariness was seeping through him. “Can… can you count…?”

“Oh, of course. Ready?” Marshall nodded, turning away drowsily to look at Evangeline, whose vampiric aura was tenderly strengthening its hold over his mind. “Close your eyes if you don’t want to see the needle, love. Now, one, two, three.”

Marshall sipped in a filling, woozy breath.

“Oh, how wonderful! Practically no squirming, and none of that terrible screaming some of my other clients enjoy. Such a good boy you are.” Marshall blinked in surprise as the vampire patted his head, barely having felt any sort of affliction at all. His head swam with the two vampire’s mixture of hypnotic bliss, a small smile forming over his lips.

“You should see him out of enthrallment.” Evangeline remarked. 

“What’s that I hear? Are you naughty in your normal state?” Doctor Belle placed their hands on their hips in a disapproving motion, and Marshall quickly and lazily shook his head.

“N- no! No! ‘M… ‘m a good boy…!”

“Well you were very good for me.” They skipped over to one side of the room, picking up the jar and returning to flaunt it in front of Marshall. “Which flavor do you like? Watermelon? Bubblegum? Cotton candy?”

“Cottonnnn… candyyyy…” he slurred, ensorcelled happiness clogging up his brain as he popped the candy into his mouth. “Thank youuuu…”

“You’re very welcome.” They said, with one more pleasurable pet to the head.

——————

Taglist- @softvampirewhump @justletmereadmywhump @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @thelazywitchphotographer @whumpin-on-a-prayer

@legokiwi

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

[crystallinecardinal]

So I was thinking about Starlo and Chujin

Hi. I love overanalysis. It’s in my blog title as “lore enthusiast.” Most of this probably means nothing and was unintentional, but I’m like an English teacher when it comes to media I like and am scrounging for canon content— I will see something that might have capital I Implications if you think about it hard enough, and I will shake you by the shoulders and go “WHAT DOES IT MEAAAN”

Which brings me to Starlo and Chujin and a thing I noticed while looking through the Spriter’s Resource for Starlo references. Long rant and UTY spoilers below the cut.

I should start off by saying that Starlo and Chujin are similar, in a way. Both of them are nerds, although for different things. Both are said to be caring. Both dedicated their lives to their work. Both wanted to help monsterkind. Both loved Ceroba. Both had secrets.

These similarities have not gone unnoticed, I’ve found— both by the fandom and the devs of UTY.

(Transcript:

Sword: “It does make sense that, like, Chujin and Starlo are kinda similar, and Ceroba, yknow…. She has a type, I guess.”)

So it’s not a secret these two are similar, and it’s probably intentional to make them parallel each other.

But from there, we get to the meat of this post:

These sprites.

This is where I dive into a lot of overanalysis— I’m giving that as a warning before I start. My point here though, is that these two sprites feel incredibly similar in a way where I speculate if it was intentional or not.

I’ll play devil’s advocate first, though. I’m an artist. I draw things, mostly characters and creatures. Sometimes you just have two pieces looking similar— not because you intended it that way, but because the blocking and composition was best that way.

For Starlo’s sprite, the answer feels simple. All of Starlo’s talk portraits are front facing, so this one doesn’t have a need to be any different. If it was, it may feel out of place amongst all the other sprites, especially because there isn’t a reason for him to have this sprite in particular face a different direction. He isn’t looking around, and isn’t averting his gaze. He’s being direct. The best way to convey that is with eye contact (or at least, implied eye contact) via a front facing sprite. Additionally, even if Starlo was averting his gaze, with how UT’s talk sprites work, there are better ways to convey that than changing the way his talk sprite faces.

Starlo’s character as himself also contributes to the way this sprite looks. It’s a direct contrast to the loud, boisterous North Star. This is the monster behind the persona— one who’s a lot less confident, one who thinks himself a ghost to the people around him. A “nobody farmer,” in his words. When trying to get this across, art-wise, the way Starlo’s talk sprites look as opposed to North Star’s talk sprites are a perfect fit! It’s in the subtle expressions versus animated expressions. This is even down to how Starlo’s glasses are drawn, not showing his eyes behind them, giving him a much more distant look.

As for Chujin’s sprite, the answer also feels fairly simple. The sprite pictured earlier was for his tapes, where it would make sense for most of his sprites to be front facing. He’s talking to the camera, it’s a video log. Being silhouetted also works here— it makes him more mysterious in a way.

That’s what I have to say if you look at it JUST from an art point. However, we like to be a little silly in this house (my blog), so I’m going to overanalyze the hell out of this.

So. The pose.

I’m probably going insane at this point. I’ve already explained the most likely reason for the poses being similar, and don’t get me wrong, that’s probably the main reason why. But also— note the eyes.

According to the Spriter’s Resource, Chujin’s sprites usually have his eyes visible from behind his goggles.

But.

There are exceptions.

I think the reason for this lies in the same reason we never see Starlo’s eyes behind his glasses after he takes the hat off. I explained this earlier when discussing the artistic reasoning behind these sprites— not seeing Starlo’s eyes makes him appear more distant, which highlights the part of his character that’s much less confident in himself. We go from seeing his eyes (or at least, the shape of them behind his glasses, this is a consistency with UTY sprites I can talk about later) to not at all.

This is what makes Chujin’s sprites so important to me.

We’re meant to like Chujin. At least, before we know the truth. We’re meant to think he was always a kindhearted man, a loving father and husband, and a good mentor. All the good things. It’s only as the game continues that you see the imperfections. By talking to Dina, you see he didn’t like the Wild East due to what it stood for, and you learn of the time he came into the saloon all disheveled, uncharacteristically asking for a drink, only mentioning he thought he “saw a ghost”. You learn in the Steamworks of his research, and how he wasn’t as good at robotics as he was made out to be.

That’s what makes Chujin flawed, though. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, none of these things will make a player dislike him. As said— we’re supposed to like Chujin. An opinion and a mysterious saloon visit isn’t the end of the world. We also grow to learn more and more about him, and he seems just like a kind man with a love for robotics (even if he struggled).

And then we learn of Ceroba’s plan. And we learn of something hidden in the abandoned Ketsukane Estate.

This is the first time in the Pacifist route that we actually SEE Chujin, first in a photo.

Note the eyes.

We see Chujin’s eyes behind his goggles here! Once again— this is likely for the reason mentioned before. We’ve only been told mostly good things about Chujin so far! Here’s a photo of him and his family— how could this kind man be wrapped in anything suspicious?

Which then makes the sudden change in the tapes crucial.

We can no longer see his eyes— he’s grown distant, mysterious. This is the part of Chujin that he kept secret from even Ceroba, up until he was on his deathbed. It’s the part of him that isn’t necessarily the loving husband and father we know him as, but rather, this is the part of him that was a determined researcher on a mission. And therefore, Chujin goes from lively to cold.

I’m sure that last bit doesn’t ring any alarm bells at all.

Hey! Remember how I said Starlo and Chujin are similar in ways? This is where I get into that. I’m applauding you from behind my screen if you’re still reading.

I’m now going to talk about Starlo and Chujin as characters, as well as the parallels between the two sprites that started this analysis. For simplicity, I’ll break these into sections. Funky names for a funky reading experience, so I’m not just word dumping at you.

1) Got a secret, can you keep it?

Soooo. Chujin and Starlo’s secrets.

One of the first things that rings alarm bells for me is the situation in which both of the sprites I’m analyzing pop up in. Context is key. Specifically, both of the sprites are used when we’re learning the truth about each character.

For Starlo, we’re learning about who he really is, the monster behind the persona. He takes his hat off, reveals the monster underneath, and we get his new talk sprite. He’s finally stopping, for a second— taking a moment to break the act he’s been playing for YEARS. And he does it all to show Ceroba he’s still there underneath it all, as well as reveal to Clover who he really is. He’s at his most vulnerable state, revealing how he sees himself as a nobody, and a fraud.

For Chujin, we’re learning part of the truth of who he was, when he’s at his most morally dubious. We learn of his experiments, the ones he worked on and hid from his family until he was about to die— only then did he tell Ceroba. We also learn of his views and opinions, the reasoning behind them, and how he lied about his job at the Steamworks. He couldn’t bring himself to tell Ceroba he was fired, because he didn’t want her to think less of him.

So, the main points of this:

Starlo and Chujin both had their own secrets

Both of their secrets are revealed when these sprites are used

Both secrets reveal more about the characters’ identities

Both want to be seen in a good light

The main difference, I think, other than what the secrets entail themselves, are what they mean for each character.

2) Light and dark symbolism?? In MY overanalysis??? It’s more likely than you think

Chujin and Starlo’s secrets both weigh on them. Starlo doesn’t want to break character— he enjoys being North Star and wants to bring a smile to the faces of monsterkind. Chujin doesn’t want Ceroba to think any lesser of him for his mistakes.

Additionally, the reveal of their secrets marks two different things for their characters. For Starlo, it’s a step forward. For Chujin, it’s spiraling down.

This gets really fun considering these two sprites, and light and dark symbolism (not in the traditional good versus evil way).

Starlo’s in the light. He’s showing himself, he’s maturing. He’s being incredibly vulnerable for probably the first time in a LONG time, and finally breaking the persona. He’s working towards a better goal, accepting both North Star and Starlo as facets of himself, but it starts with taking off the hat. It starts with coming into the light, and letting the shadows fade away.

Chujin is silhouetted in darkness. As said previously, we only ever hear mostly good things about Chujin from those who were around him (barring Starlo, although that’s secondhand information, and by some extent, Dina). Martlet and Ceroba saw the best in him, a mentor and loving husband respectively. But as he rambles off to his tapes, shrouded in shadow and secrecy, we learn of what was happening behind the scenes: he reveals part of who he really was, and how much he hid away from those he loved, all away from the rose colored glasses.

3) “Your opinion is wrong” -Chujin, probably

To just point out more ways Chujin and Starlo parallel yet also contrast one another (which I will mention for the section after this as well): I think it goes without saying that Starlo and Chujin have opposite worldviews when it comes to humans.

Chujin believes the worst in humans, primarily due to the Snowdin Attack. He hates them— The War was when the blade was plunged into monsterkind’s flesh, and the Snowdin Attack was only a twist of the knife.

Starlo admires humans, maybe a bit too much for some monsters. He loves their stories, loves the idea of cowboys and Westerns, so much so he creates the Wild East with his posse.

This is what makes these two different, only strengthening the light/dark contrast. The ideas of hate and admiration fit well into that theme, don’t they?

Stick with me here. I promise this is going somewhere.

4) “Monsterkind’s Hero is a title soaked in blood.”

So, the aforementioned views of humans? This gets really fun when you apply it to the crux of Starlo and Chujin’s missions: to help monsterkind during their time underground.

Both want to be heroes, in a way. They both want to help. Of course, this is in different ways— but the main intention behind it is the same.

Chujin, as said, hates humans. He wants monsters to be brought to justice. After the Snowdin Attack, he decides that if he can’t help through Axis, then he’ll help another way. Thus starts Chujin’s dedication to his experiments, which he makes his work and eventually the rest of his life. All of it for a chance to help monsterkind when the time comes.

Starlo’s dedication to the Wild East is similar, in a way, yet directly contrasts Chujin. His admiration for humans and Westerns goes to the point he wants to provide monsterkind with their own “slice of the Surface.” He wants to see those around him smile— his own way of helping monsterkind when they’re still stuck underground.

My point here is that while they find different ways to accomplish their missions (and you can drag more light/dark symbolism out of this— Chujin hidden away in the shadows of the basement in the Ketsukane Estate versus Starlo out in the spotlight), both have so much dedication to it that it becomes their lives.

Chujin, although having a family he loved and cared for, let his experiments drive him onwards to the point it cost him his life. Starlo willingly gave up who he was to be North Star, letting the Wild East become his life.

5) Yes, and?

I could go on and on about more similarities and differences between Starlo and Chujin, but I feel like I’ve brought up what I need to for now.

Why bring all of this up in the first place, though? What’s the point of going on about these characters’ missions, or their secrets, or all the light and dark symbolism you could hypothetically draw from it?

Let me talk about those sprites again.

I’ve spent ages going on about Starlo and Chujin, and how they parallel, yet contrast each other. They’re foils, in a way. These similarities and differences are what make these two little sprites so interesting to me.

You could say it’s all because that’s what the scene needed at the time, and that statement likely has truth to it. I already talked about how. But the knowledge of the context of the scenes and these two characters is what makes me wonder if it all was done on purpose.

Chujin, shrouded in shadow, revealing a part of him kept secret from even those he loved most. His reasoning for his hatred for humans comes on full display, and he begins to formulate a mission, the same one his life would eventually fall to. If the royals won’t see how much he cares for monsterkind, he’ll show it himself.

Starlo, left in the Swealterstone’s light, revealing a part of him the Wild East knows nothing of. His mission starts to redefine itself, and it’s original intent becomes more clear. He only ever wanted to be someone. He only ever wanted to help. Maybe now, with the hat off, he can learn to make others happy, but not forget himself in the process.

A conclusion:

So. Do I think that these two sprites for Starlo and Chujin were intentionally made to parallel yet also contrast each other?

My answer is a big fat Maybe. I can’t be entirely sure.

Truth is, I’m not a UTY dev. I literally only discovered and got into this game a little over a month ago. I don’t know the true intent behind the spritework, I don’t know the conversations that happened behind the scenes. I am literally just A Guy ranting on the internet about a silly little fangame that I have brainrot over.

But! I do have a finalized game and commentary I can analyze, and knowing that some spritework details were intentional (the way that Chujin’s talk sprites face are made to match Ceroba and Kanako’s), I could see something like this being either intentional or a really fun coincidence. The type of thing the devs can look back on and realize “oh! That’s funny how I accidentally made that parallel. I didn’t mean to do that, but it works.”

I can only hope it was intentional. Chujin and Starlo are both incredibly interesting characters to me, especially in how they can be seen as foils. Something as minor as this I think just shows the love put into this game and these characters. UTY is just a great game overall, in my opinion.

But yeah! That’s my ramble, all because I was doing sprite studies and looking for references in the Spriter’s Resource for art. Hopefully I made at least some sense :)

[ravenousgoblin]

Dungeons and daddies characters that I think wouldn’t care if I called them “girl”.

KEEP IN MIND THAT AT THE TIME OF POSTING THIS I HAVE NOT FINISHED S2 SO I MAY INCLUDE SOME STUFF THAT IS MAYBE CANONIZED LATER OR EVEN DISPROVED LATER IN THE SEASON. OTHER THINGS ARE ALSO JUST HEADCANONS SO FUCK OFF.

1. Glenn Close. You can’t tell me that as a bff or significant other of Glenn, if you ran up to him to spill the tea and were like “GIRL” or even “bitch guess what” he wouldn’t immediately get excited and be like “omg girl whaaaaat”

2. Henry Oak. We all known Henry tries his best to embrace all and all his hippie shit, however I believe this is because of a few things. Henry isn’t afraid to be in touch with that femininity, henry has canonically had at least 1 bf and has slept with at least 1 other male alongside his wife, you can’t tell me Barry Oak and probably quite a few other Oakvalians aren’t homophobic and transphobic and that they wouldn’t refer to him as terms trying to be derogatory but Henry takes them in stride and says fuck you.

3. Nicky. Whether we’re assessing Nicky pre or post Jodie, I don’t think it matters. I am a firm believer in transmasc Nicky and I think while he is a cutie lil trans boy I find it hard to believe he wouldn’t love the idea of being included when you are spillin the tea or being a silly and call him ‘girl’.

4. Scam Likely. Girl, Scam be scammin and Scam, while usually referred to as male, is a cousin of the library, a horrific eldrich being. Scam is Heckin shapeshifter brother. I think, like Nicky, he would just enjoy being included. Me and Scam be sippin tea every Wednesday at lunch and he calls me “bitch” “whore” and “babe”. I call him, or them rather, “babygirl”, “girl”, slut”, and “bestie”. They also love when you tell them they’re serving cunt

5. Taylor Swift. Now, I hate this. Taylor I believe would love it, HOWEVER, I take 1d20 psychic damage minimum when Taylor opens his mouth, so I wouldn’t hang out with him, let alone call him ‘girl’

6. Normal Swallows-Oak-Garcia. Now, with this, I think that it only lasts a little bit. I think that while Normal is trying to find who is he without Teeny the Teen, he questions a lot about himself, sexuality and gender identity at the very least(see: obsession with Hermie). With this I think he would absolutely try out some different pronouns and such, even tossing the idea of she/her or she/they etc around. Overall I think he sticks to he/him, but he definitely tried it and asked to be referred to as such while he was going through this period of finding himself and is OVERJOYED when you comply and treat him like the girlypop he is for as long as he is comfortable with before reverting.

Some honorable mentions are: Paeden, Yeet Bigly, and Mark Likely. However, they were not included for specific reasons.

Paeden was taken into consideration, however, two factors disqualified him. 1. He has the soul of Frank Wilson and I don’t think any of the omega daddies would let you get away with calling them “girl” and 2. Paeden is very proud of who he is, both as Paedon and Frank and would prefer you refer to him as what he sees, which is fair.

Yeet Bigly was taken into consideration, however, I believe Yeet would only allow his sister, Killa Demall to do it. They are very close and I think they gossip all day long and have a great time, but I think only Killa could get away with it. It’s special sister privilege.

And Mark Likely was taken into consideration, mainly because of the relation to Scam and The Library, eldrich beings and such. However, not all eldrich beings are girlies(see: dood) and I believe Mark Likely having taken on the form of my bf Dennis Anderson and also staying as identifying as he/him(as far as memory serves) as Mark Likely, I don’t find it likely that Mark would be a girly. That is not to say that he would be mad, just that he would ask you not to.