#and. tis all for naught or something

[sbc-moved]

[ilyuu]

a confession.

words born from within the depths of feelings, the heart a tug to a path too intimate, too unfamiliar to a few as it navigates. at the tip of their tongue rests a string of words that can shift ties alone (or he confesses to you.)

ft. alhaitham, dainsleif, diluc, scaramouche & xiao.

warnings : bits of angst (dainsleif, diluc & scaramouche), fluff, literally fluff, confessions (surprise!) alhaitham is a menace, lmk if i missed anything!

a/n : hi 😀

alhaitham.

“i love you.”

sway of leaves, tips touching the glass. soot dusting the shelves, worn covers and pages left open. muted shades of a home a comfort. in the living room, wherein tinted shards of glass swallows the light in colors, it paints a myriad of shades onto you. and yet, it all fades into the background, a scenery, as the book in your hand weighs a bit lighter than it was a second ago; his words to the air weigh heavier than the ones in hand.

“…huh?”

his eyes turn to his side, on you, taking in any and every feature of yours to read any reaction - he didn’t need to look , with how close the two of you are, he could feel the warmth radiating from you. the quiet that you once enjoyed seemed to stretch on for what felt like an eternity.

“wait, wait. like as in like or…”

“is there another definition i should be aware of?”

the book in his hand slowly closes to a shut, a small bookmark tucked in the pages. the words printed onto there, words of one’s perspective out of the many fragments of the whole, falls for naught in this moment in particular.

“i love you, [name]. what i feel for you goes beyond the confinement of someone i see as, no less, a companion. i enjoy your company more than i expect to, i find myself thinking of you throughout points of the day despite of no reason to, among others, your voice had always stood out—”

“alhaitham.”

“—as well as wondering for your well-being whenever i have yet to see you for the day. on that note, when we do occasionally cross paths, i’d find myself in a state of tranqu—”

“stop.”

he does. the light hides little, and he sees how you try to hide yourself in your hands, not letting him see a bit of the look you’re wearing right now. but it’s obvious. if anything, it might as well be an open secret between the two of you with how his gaze subtly softens. those eyes you’ve always been drawn to, since the moment you’ve seen him, sees you and alone.

“…i love you too.”

“i thought as much.”

“would it kill you to be a bit more romantic?”

he hums. no later, he leans in and presses his lips against your temple. the surge of happiness that followed that small peck only made you to cave into yourself further. in some distant part, you’ve heard him say, “is that alright with you?”

dainsleif.

red petals swaying, akin to windmills. a draft of wind drifting in the air. a quiet aria that floats aloft aimlessly (one neither you or him can catch.) from the tower, though careful, you found yourself sitting on a jagged edge of the walkway, ivy and moss slithering among the cracks of the walls. your fingers felt the rough surface for a few moments, taking it all in alongside with him. the cold in the air isn’t the same as him - a familiar touch, there was, to him with all the time you’ve been with him.

and too much familiarity has you lulled into a state of comfort and unconsciousness. he’s noticed that as he sees you away fro and to, toppling. his hand hovers over your head, lightly pressing it against his shoulder as some sort of stability - or a pillow, whichever you prefer. there’s a tension in his fingers, nearly trembling, as it touches you, as if not used to this (and he isn’t.)

it burns. his fingertips burns.

“…there is no need for me to stay,” he murmurs, words faint in the name of the wind, “and i am aware of that as much as you are. there is nothing that roots me to this land - no relation, no matter of emotional connection… other than you.”

“time again, i am reminded how i live beyond the constant flow of time. something fleeting is but a dream. and you’ve given me a many; these moments with you… feels akin to a dream. none that asks for a endless life, a demise - simply a life with you.”

“i… i love you.” he looks at you. the air brushes your hair (in a way he yearns to as of late.)

“i love you more than i should.”

diluc.

soft shafts of sunlight rousing awake at the dot of the horizon. mahogany handrails bearing years of use. a pair of birds chirping, a string of song. the rails held you still as you stare at the skies, a melting harmony of rose and gold, always something of a sight that stole your breath away. it felt even better, framed by his presence, waves of his warmth wafting over to you. the slight wisps of wind tousled his hair, more of a mess than it already was, as he soaks in the touch of dawn once more (and yet again.)

and underneath your eyes does he slowly lose his composure, bit by bit. do

“you know,” your voice lifted the soft silence in the air, “i like watching these types of sunrises, i’ll say that… but any other reason you woke me up this early and dragged me here?”

“ah…” he shifts his gaze from yours, all curious, all seeing. he coughs into his fist, trying to clear his throat of all the tension. “i suppose my methods were a bit… unorthodox. in fact, yes, there is.”

“oh?” you lift your head up, just enough to look at him. you didn’t notice how close the two of you were together, and so you nearly touched the tip of his nose with his. “oh—”

he stays silent. his skin, as pale as it is, flared into a shade as red as his hair is, to the point that you don’t know where he starts or ends. he opens his mouth and closes it, the amount of times he did lost on you, and ended up biting his lip. there’s a bit of hesitation in every little thing he did, a stiffness, as he blows out a puff of air.

“hey, diluc?” you tilt your head, and as you stare at him with those eyes of yours, he feels as though it truly was the last straw. “do you need anyt—”

“i love you.”

your breath caught in your throat as much as his did. once again, a silence hangs, and yet, a quiet question and an unsaid answer remains in the air. he’s avoiding any contact with you, rather content in just staring at his fingers, biting into the wood of the handrails to the point of leaving marks.

“i… i— wait, what?”

he winces. so do you and you try again. “i mean… diluc, can you say that again? please?”

the seconds stretch on. it didn’t seem as though he’ll say anything, alright with the way his confession coalesces with the sun-kissed vines and barrels. and then he did. “i love you, [name]. always had, always will.”

“if it’s not too much for me to say, then… i’ve always appreciated how you stood beside, even when i’ve, on multiple occasions, attempted to push you away for your own good. a light that never yielded - the one thing that didn’t change.”

“and i’ve admired you for that. soon, that admiration turned into adoration with every single thing you do, and it had only grown from there.”

his cheeks cooled down a bit, yet still held some red in it. “of course, this is simply how i feel. whether you share this or n—”

“i do.”

he spun his head to you, and met eyes that held the same, if not more, adoration as his. the epitome of your feelings in your words as you said, “i love you too, diluc. always had, always will.”

scaramouche.

nature of the night surrounding the two of you. waves ebbing and flowing, foam rolling in. reflection of a moon rippled in the eye. he digs his hands into the sand, feeling the particles lost on his skin and, if anything, to numb the air nipping at him. he feels your eyes on his, eerily similar to the sea - calm, silent. patient. he folds his fingers, nails biting into the palm of his hands to etch in the feelings, thoughts, that kept a home in him a bit longer than he’d like.

“you know,” he says, “never in all the years have i existed did i think there was room for something futile.”

“i’m starting to wonder what isn’t futile in your eyes.”

“not the point.”

“agree to disagree.” there’s a smile in your voice - not that he has to see it, he just hears it and it’s enough for him. “but i’ll shut up. go on.”

“as i was saying,” he sighs, as if to let go of that air trapped in his throat, “you’re well aware of all the connections i’ve made, and that it all didn’t end as some happily ever after either like those stories.”

“again and again did the world tell me that i’m not worth the love of a family, a friend, let alone… someone more.”

from the corner of his eye, he sees you perk up at those last few words. like a small dollop of fire swallowed in the dark - a hope. and he looks to you, seeing you in your whole as you did just a few moments ago. he’d look at you in a particular way, maybe, as he watch your eyes widen just slightly, and that small light in you flickers to life.

you didn’t give yourself that hope though, you refuse to. this is him you’re talking about. the fact that you’re even here right now next to him because he asked you to was a miracle in and of itself. you’re as close to him as you’re alright with, and didn’t wish to cross this line that was so far away when you’ve met him - you didn’t want to feel far from him.

he opens his mouth, and with a voice dripping with hesitation, he says, “and you defy the world simply by being with me. everything you say, think, do - it’s as if you’re against fate itself, the very fate that ties us all together, whether we like it or not. that’s why i like you.”

his next words drips with a tenderness you seldom hear from him (up to this point.) “that’s why i love you.”

xiao.

lanterns lit, dotted across like stars. a bittersweet scent of incense clings to him. blades of grass crunching beneath any shift of movement. away from the life of the last few hours, the sun just shy of sleeping, the greetings of lofty shadows followed the two of you along the path to a place familiar, a step closer to home, if anything. since then, with little to o space within you and him, the times your hands grazed sending a static each and every time (the same with the slight blush touching his cheeks.)

“[name].”

a soft call of your name tugged you out of your thoughts. when you set your gaze on him, he stares back to you - feelings that you can’t put a name to coalescing. you see him open and close his mouth many times, the words at the tip of his tongue, and simply not taking form the way he wants them to. it’s cute, if anything, and as it continues, you couldn’t help the small smile that came to your lips.

there’s a small voice in the back of your head that tells you what, but it quickly quietens when his fingers brushes the back of your hand yet again. this time, he twines with yours. the cold presence of his glove sends a shiver to you - a rather pleasant one. from that, it’s as if he’s found the words.

“i… i am fond of you.” his eyes flits to yours. “more than i have intended. than i realized. at some point, in some time, your presence, your very existence, became… irreplaceable. something that i come to look forward to. and… the thought of not seeing you, even if for a day…”

his hand tightens its hold on yours.

“i am aware of how selfish this request is, and that i am not worthy for someone like you - that there is someone else that is capable of cherishing you - but… if you’ll let me have this, at the very least…”

you feel the pad of his thumb brush the back of your hand in slow, simple circles, whether to soothe you or himself. who knows? only that the touch sent a smile to you. you carried his hand to yours, and his questioning eyes widened just slightly when he feels your lips graze his knuckles in a feather-light touch.

“and i’m fond of you as well, xiao.”

he huffs, and turns his head the other way. the few streaks of sunlight held him in such softness, and coalesced along with the shade of his irises in a warm tandem.

general taglist (open!) : @zuyoo, @starz222, @haliyamori, @kazumist, @tartaglia-apologist, @mikacynth, @angelkazusstuff, @doumalove, @kpop-and-otome, @emo-mess, @mx-kaedehara . . .

[shirefantasies]

What Type of Kisser are The Hobbit Characters?

Did this for LoTR, it’s only fair 😉 also I accidentally did Lindir’s on that one so yes his is copy paste 🤕 warning: a wee bit suggestive at times 😄

Balin

Likes to take your hands in his first, forehead butting against yours as he pushes further, tilting his head into yours as your lips connect. Kisses you with no need for air- you are his air, water, light, the very earth he stands on and he will hold fast to you ad long as he can. Not one to initiate exploring, preferring the soft, warm connection you provide right then and there. You do feel a bit of a smile creep onto his lips when you initiate something deeper, one of his hands leaving yours to cup your cheek.

Dwalin

Teasing is his specialty, the tattooed dwarf consenting to a kiss, only to give you the slightest of pecks and pull away with a smirk or cheeky grin. 'Tis only for his love of the way you either pout or opt to yank him back in, and once you do that, good luck. You are caged in his strong arms, pushed against a tree or a wall as Dwalin claims your lips with reckless abandon. Expertly prying your lips apart for entrance he takes full advantage of, he just can't wait to see the flustered look upon your face and shrug and tease you that he gave you what you wanted...did he not?

Thorin

Loses sight of everything else when you are in his arms, bewitched by the curve of your hips beneath his strong hands and the desire in your gaze upon him. He pulls you in forcefully, but the feeling of the king's lips upon yours is the softest bliss, even as his tongue pushes through to reunite with yours. Shifts you in his arms, moving with subtlety to plant a leg between yours as he gives his long, savoring kiss. In Thorin's secure hold, you feel prized and loved, like naught in the world could compete with the love he has for you, the love he communicates so deeply even without a single word.

Oin

Whispers the most unique, funniest nothings between kisses, leaving you both giggling into the next one. He loves it when you hold his head in your hands, fingers gently tracing down the sides of his cheeks and to the edge of his beard. Holding you gently about the waist as if you were made of the most precious yet fragile glass, Oin moves his lips against yours like an expert, always seeming to know exactly how you want him.

Gloin

For as roughly as he pulls you in, his lips are so gentle, all but reverent to yours as his motions begin. Eager, though, pulling you closer and gradually ramping up the pace if you let him. Keeping one hand on your hip and the other tangled in your hair, Gloin will have you feeling utterly claimed. His tongue swipes quickly across your lips, gaining entrance and asserting immediate dominance; if you fight back for it, though, you’ll feel him smile into your parted lips.

Bifur

Butting his forehead against yours has become the signal that Bifur wants a kiss, and the grin you receive upon assent is one of the sweetest things you've ever seen. Upon your acceptance he surges forward, closing the gap; his kiss is rough, hasty, eager. A battle with naught but two victors, no real strife to be found as you both strike in perfect harmony. Expect a cheeky look after, no doubt with great pride at the way he surprised you with a nip!

Bofur

Thoroughly addicted to your lips, particularly upon his. Kisses you again and again, never just once and never without your bodies being thoroughly intertwined. Bofur's arms will be around you, one keeping you steady by the lower back and the other across you reaching up to your shoulders. Don't be afraid to let your hands roam as well, at least not if you want to feel Bofur smile, claiming your lips with even greater depth and passion.

Bombur

Sweet as they come, often pressing kisses to your cheeks and maybe your nose before moving on to your lips. Smiles into every. Single. Kiss. He shares with you. Likes to be holding hands, often both of yours in fact rather than holding you. Until, that is, you make to deepen the kiss, then like a spell he is releasing his hold upon your hands, grip shifting to gently hold the small of your back instead. Lovestruck at every turn, any stop or pause yielding a stare into your eyes like you fashioned the very earth, hung the stars above. You certainly did place the ones glistening in Bombur's eyes, after all.

Dori

Loves starting with kisses to the back of your hands, gentlemanly and so full of love and admiration your heart will be bursting before he even leans in to connect your lips. Gentle, almost hesitant in his motions, kindly surrendering to your whims and matching your pace. If he has his way, though, he prefers quick, sweet kisses, little tastes of your lips to some messy affair of exploration. Kissing you is like the most special little treasure he is always trying to save for later.

Nori

Whirlwinds of sensation, of hands upon your body and lips challenging yours with their pacing. His hands often settle at your hips, running up and down your sides and bringing smiles to his kiss if you shiver beneath his touch. His game is trying to make you gasp, be it with a swipe of his tongue or more likely a nip to your lips, so he can slide in and deepen the kiss that much more. Fast to start, long and breathtaking just about every single time it is continued. Even shorter kisses are sweeping, often literally as you’re dipped down for them.

Ori

Two interchangeable moods here: either pulling you in for one long, echoing kiss, holding fast as possible until a needed break for air, or else it simply will not just be one kiss. A peck, then another, then another until Ori is devouring your lips again and again. His hands tend to reach for the sides of your face, loving attention paid to its structure in his caresses and hold. Every soft motion an attempt to etch the feeling of your lips on his in memory, ingrain your every touch and shape in his mind for the rest of his days.

Fili

Unafraid to hold you up entirely as you kiss, his hands beneath your thighs and yours steady upon his shoulders. Mustache tickling you as he presses his lips to yours again and again, both of you breathlessly smiling. Gives you a little squeeze as he swipes the seam of your lips, requesting to ignite your passion further and all but starting up a dance when you let it spark. Lowers you only to dip you for one final kiss, soft but long, loving, appreciative of all that you give to him. Giving in return, his drawn-out kisses are thanks for shining in his life.

Kili

Trails kisses all the way up your arm, shoulder, to your neck, and finally your lips. Kissing Kili is almost like a game, a playful push and pull of your lips as he surrenders to you then surges forward again. His hands grip the small of your back or find your hair, and he loves the feelings of your hands running through his as well. Teasingly licks at the seam of your lips just to feel how you react, unable to resist a smile at your parting lips before he dives in.

Bilbo

Longing in his gaze, the hobbit cups your cheek a bit shyly, peering into your eyes for the briefest of moments before closing the gap between you. Nuzzles his nose against yours with great affection. Slowly, sensually, Bilbo savors the taste of your lips on his, taking all the time in the world to enjoy it before coming undone, forgetting himself as he gets lost in you completely. Gasps into your lips if you surprise him with a new pace or with your tongue, but know that it is a sound of gratitude and nothing more.

Lindir

Shy at first, always seemingly wondering where to put his hands as they hover. The moment you deepen the kiss, though, they’re glued to your waist like they’re meant to be there. His motions are soft, delicate, intentional as if you were his latest artwork. Goes absolutely weak in the knees if you wrap your legs around him, his hands moving like they have minds of their own to hold you up even though his has completely blanked, knowing only this feeling of you fully his. Happier than anything to let you lead, moving in total surrender to your wonderful will.

Thranduil

Takes you in his hands by the chin or the cheeks, fingers tracing along the curves of your face as his wicked grin grows. Dives in slowly but forcefully, utterly claiming you at first touch and smirking into your mouth when your body alternately tenses and relaxes. Sends sparks down your spine with the way his tongue twirls yours, moving expertly with an almost lazy cool. As if enjoying you is his very birthright and here he is to finally take it.

Bard

Pulls you against him, reveling in the feeling of your hands upon his chest. Kisses harder if he feels you tug on the lapels of his coat, acquiescing to your every unspoken command. Quick or slow, Bard’s greatest desire is to feel the connection between you, so if you would like to explore, please let him know. His motions therein are slow, hesitant, but delicious in a way unique to the bowman himself. Every kiss is like a heartful goodbye and a soaring reunion all in one.

Beorn

Soft, unbelievably gentle despite what everyone would say. Like all of nature you are something beautiful, something to be cherished and protected. Harmonious always, respecting and following your pace be it fast or slow- nothing is initiated that you do not show need for. Even the languid movements of his tongue against your lips or within their confines are somehow peaceful, grounding even as they are exciting, making you feel anchored to the moment’s warmth and significance every time.

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @mossthebogwitch @ibabblealot @kilibaggins @joonies-word @stormchaser819 @pirate-lord-of-narnia @datglutengoblin | Reply/Ask/Message to join 🥰

[mapledkanata]

Something something please someone tell this man he's doing a good job and that he is enough 😭

tis a doodle i did a week back .. skwisgaar feeling crushed under the pressure of needing to be the best or else everything he is for naught is something I think about often. there's a lot of depth to him that i adore but thats all i can articulate atm hehe

def my fave dethklok member

[storyweaverofgondor]

The Whumps of March

This is a multi-fandom whump event with prompts inspired by literature. For this inaugural event, I decided to take inspiration from the Bard himself. If it goes well I'd love to do it again next year, the universe willing.

Rules and info:

You can make your entries in whatever format you desire (Fanfic, art, Gifs, etc)

You can do as much or as little as you desire.

All entries are to be uploaded during March 2024. Earlier is discouraged but late is fine.

Tag all works #thewhumpsofmarch2024

There will be a completionist and participant badges.

The Whumps of March AO3 Collection

Feel free to send me an asks is you have any questions about the event

The Whumps of March Prompts:

Day 1: These violent delights have violent ends (Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet)

Day 2: Forbidden Love

Day 3: Tomb

Day 4: Vengeance

Day 5: Love Potion

Day 6: Magic Gone Wrong

Day 7: Suicide

Day 8: Knock Knock! Who's There? (Shakespeare, Macbeth)

Day 9: Twins

Day 10: In Disguise

Day 11: Clangor

Days 12: Thunderstorm

Day 13: Soliloquy

Day 14: “Hell is empty and all the devils are here.” (Shakespeare, the Tempest)

Day 15: Stabbed in the Back

Day 16: Madness

Day 17: Intrigue

Day 18: Family Feud

Day 19: Witches

Day 20: Hidden Agenda

Day 21: Curses

Day 22: Skull

Day 23: Not As It Seems

Day 24: "The robbed that smiles, steals something from the thief." (Shakespeare, Othello)

Day 25: Shipwreck

Day 26: Betrayal

Day 27: All for Naught

Day 28: Fairies

Day 29: Tongue-tied

Day 30: Woe

Day 31: Bloodstained

Alternative Prompts:

Alt 1:Lonely

Alt 2:Castigate

Alt 3:Ghosts

Alt 4:Drowned

Alt 5:Prophecy

Alt 6:Kings

Alt 7:Dead as a Doornail

Alt 8:Handkerchief

Alt 9:Snakes

Alt 10:Fight Fire With Fire

[shiro-s2e2-erukinzu]

Anime only watchers and people who aren't caught up with the Manga, BEWARE... Cuz I'm about to discuss Spy X Family Mission 93... You have been warned...! 👌

[SPOILERS AHEAD FROM THIS POINT ON]

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!

IT HAPPENED...! IT FINALLY HAPPENED!! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!! AHHHHHHHHHHH!! 😵

Honestly, words cannot describe how crazy this chapter was, but we're gonna talk about it anyway...!! 👀 LET'S GO!!! 😆

The chapter begins with everyone checking how well they did on finals, and Anya did a whole lot better than last time...!! 😆

I AM SO PROUD OF HER!!! 👏😄

Anya went from 213th to 168th place!! 🎉 Let's hope that Anya continues to improve in the future...!! 😊👍

Then, we finally got to see how well she did in Classical Language and...:

She got second place...!

But, she will still receive a Stella for it!! 👏😆Then, we find out that she got 24 points in math, which is just below the cut off point... Which means...:

So, not only did Anya get a Stella, she ALSO received A TONITRUS BOLT!!? 😵😂🤣😌

GODDAMNIT ANYA!! 😂 That means the score is still tied, but now it's 5 and 5 until she either becomes an Imperial Scholar or gets expelled...!! 😌

Then, we got probably my new favorite Loid expression...:

🤣😂🤣😂🤣😂🤣😂 I'M SO SORRY LOID!!🤣

This poor man can't catch a break, but at he's quite proud of Anya for doing well on the test...!! 😊

After that, we cut to Authens praising Anya as well, but Sigmund says something that intrigues me...:

"...One day you'll experience the frustration of realizing that hard work is not always rewarded..."

Hmm... What could this mean...? Personally, if Sigmund does have something to do with the experiments that were conducted on Anya, then this could be his way of saying that not many know of his scientific experiments... But, that's just a guess at this point and I could very well just be reading too much into this single sentence... 🤔

Moving on, before Anya goes to bed that night Loid asks her a question...:

I was surprised that Twilight asked this!! 😲 But his question turned out to be for naught because Anya doesn't really remember... 😔 So, Twilight just tells her to forget about what he asked and now I'm wondering if this will lead Twilight finding out the truth about Anya's past and that she's a telepath... 🤔

Well anyway, we cut to Anya and Damian receiving Stellas for doing well on the test, and then it's the middle school students turn... AND GUESS WHO SHOWS UP...?! 👀

DEMETRIUS MOTHER F---ING DESMOND!!!😵

AFTER ALL THIS TIME, HE HAS FINALLY APPEARED...!! 👀

I can't believe that I was ACTUALLY RIGHT that he was gonna look more like his dad...! (Check out this post where I drew what I thought he might look like!! 👍)

But to continue, Demetrius is also as strange as his mother and father... ESPECIALLY BECAUSE OF THIS...!!:

After finally getting to meet him and seeing that Anya can't read his mind, my original theory that he might be working with his father, just got thrown out the window...!! Because now, I think that Demetrius has been experimented on... 😥 I hope that I'm wrong, but I just don't know this point...

AND THINK THAT'S ENOUGH ABOUT THIS CHAPTER FOR TODAY!

Today's chapter was excellent, but now that Demetrius has finally shown up, my mind is going crazy about what this ALL MEANS!😫

Anyway, I think I'll stop for today and possibly regroup with myself to figure out WHAT IS WRONG WITH THE DESMONDS!! (Except for Damain, who is the only normal one there..!!🥲) So until the next Mission or if I try attempt to figure out what is up with the Desmonds; take care, be safe out there and be kind to one another...!! Later!! 👍

[sugar-grigri]

Kumbaya, My Lord... Who's going to come to us...?

You might think that this chapter would be hard to analyse because it sets the stage for future confrontations, but in fact it is fascinating because it heralds the next chapter.

Following the chronology first, the chapter confirms what was implied in the last few chapters, namely the war on images.

Children are seen as precious to the public hunters in that their survival and their tears can sway public opinion one way or the other.

It is crucial to neutralise Asa not just because she is dangerous but also because she is the symbol of the church; if she manages to retain her popularity despite the actions of the public hunters, then their efforts will be for naught.

This line is very interesting because it shows that the problem is Denji

The hunters boast of having searched the weapons and, in itself, everything would be so simple if Chainsaw Man were a weapon in the true sense of the word and could simply be searched and stored in a warehouse.

But it had to be an unpredictable teenager that Yoshida couldn't fully master...

This answer is just as interesting as it is equivocal: what does it mean to play Chainsaw Man? Playing hero? To be a symbol of alternative justice to the state? To be popular? This line is deliberately ambiguous, following on from part 2, which explores the essence of Chainsaw Man.

If we can't answer it, it's precisely because part 2 clouds this identity...

Impostor, instrumentalisation, neutralisation, blackmail, popularity, solitude... Denji no longer knows what the second component of his identity means...

This conversation about the demon of justice is important because it helps us to understand several things:

1) it's difficult to identify a demon, which further confuses the question of what Fake!CSM or even Chainsaw Man is, which is an unusually crucial demon for a monster that's supposed to represent nothing but fear of chainsaws

2) The fear that demons represent isn't necessarily correlated with their appearance and what they exude, especially when it comes to more abstract notions like justice. This sort of giant species looked like demons of greed, not justice. Whereas an oversized brain gave more of an air of something intellectualised like justice ?

3) So who had Yuko contracted with ? But also the other contractors, whether from the church, or even Asa's friend in the first chapter?

4) A demon can lie about its identity when it contracts with a human, which makes Pochita even more mysterious. This point is disturbing in the sense that one of the rules that had been laid down was that human/demon contracts were in good faith in the sense that neither party could go back on its word.

If a demon can lie about his identity, either that means he's not really lying or that he doesn't necessarily have to reveal his identity in order to enter into a contract.

He has to keep his word on his commitment (lend his powers) but doesn't necessarily have to mention who he is.

If it's the first possibility, i.e. the fact that the mysterious demon with whom Yuko and members of the church have tied up isn't lying when he says he's the demon of justice, then it's the second possibility.

This sends us back to him, Fake!CSM, who doesn't say that he's a multimorphic demon capable of stealing identities...

So CSM is not the only one to be cloned, but the demon of justice too.

Fake!CSM would not be the real Chainsaw demon, nor the demon resulting from the fear of Chainsaw Man, but a demon based around identity, its usurpation, its loss, or even the demon embodying amnesia, memory...

If Yuko has a contract with Fake!CSM that would explain why he's killing her. Since the contract came to an end, she was able to take revenge on Asa's bullies.

All these questions remain unanswered. Now let's look at how this chapter foreshadows the next one.

Let's get back to Barem's case. First of all, the victory of the public hunters obviously seems too simple, and we suspect that there will be a reprisal. But in what way? And what reprisals?

Already Barem hasn't been sent near Denji simply to chat, which means there's another plan afoot

Miri and the others were bait, and the main course takes place in this very amusement park.

Barem announces that he prefers to watch the sunset, which gives him a very contemplative side and gives several possible clues

1. The simplest one is that saying you want to watch the sunset means you know exactly how precious things like that can be. Weapons usually have difficult pasts, so has Barem been deprived of the light of day? I mention his condition as a weapon because it's something that resonates with what Fumiko is saying, the fact that if Barem is neutralised, he will be forced to be used by the other side. Weapons are nothing more than weapons to be searched by public hunters.

2. The most interesting of all, the sunset at night, has something to do with the man who has intrigued us from the start, the man we don't know whether he's an ally or an antagonist: Fake!CSM. He intervened twice during the dawn by killing Yuko, and warned Chainsaw Man to act before daybreak. Fake!CSM only acts at a given moment: when day breaks or when he hides.

As well as confirming that he'll be coming soon, this also confirms that he could be the one behind the big question revolving around the demon of justice.

That would explain the title 'Kumbaya'. Like everyone else, I looked into it. Apart from the fact that it comes from gospel, which confirms Barem's attachment to religion and to God, what interests us is not only the context of this popular song but also its literal meaning.

I'm not an expert on this, so if anyone wants to correct what I'm about to say, feel free.

Kumbaya is a song that originated with the Gullah, a group of African-Americans located in the Sea Islands along the coast of South Carolina and Georgia. These people were originally slaves from West Africa, brought to the United States to work in the rice fields. What's interesting is that someone like Barem is using it, this song about a people who have been instrumentalised like their own, and who have found refuge in religion and faith.

This is not the first time Fujimoto has referred to the Christian religion. Firstly, because CSM is a work packed with biblical references, but more importantly, the person who expressly refers to the Bible is none other than the impostor.

God, and his divine mission to create a world without devils, is the answer to this question. What is the church playing at? Pursuing a Christ-like mission. If Fami really wants to save humanity from the apocalypse as foretold by Nostradamus, this relationship between humanity and the end of time is just one of the purposes announced by the Christian religion.

But above all, "Kumbaya" is also derived from Gullah, English Creole mixed with several West African languages, which can be heard as "Come by ya" or "Come by here". It literally means asking God to "come here" and help the singer.

It immediately resonates with what I meant above, doesn't it ? Barem isn't just waiting for the sun to set, he's waiting for his saviour.

When Yoshida attacks Asa, Kumbaya has the same meaning. She is being attacked by a particularly difficult enemy, but her response will in fact be proportional. Although she appears to be in a bad way with her hand cut off, she is actually in a state of strength.

Her hand is Asa's own property, and nothing is more certain than the fact that our bodies belong to us ? Then the weapon will be all the more powerful.

Repeating Oh Lord Kumbaya once again means that someone is coming to help, Asa is simply passing the baton to the one who will lead the offensive : Yoru.

Whether it's Asa or Barem, everyone is just waiting for their saviour to start attacking.

[ventique18]

~ Crowley Vignette Pt. 3 ~

After lunch, Crowley's GOT NOTHING TO DO because all the professors are at their classes, so he might as well go to Sam's TO KILL TIME.

???: "You don't gotta worry 'bout that!"

Crowley: "Hm? That voice..."

He's far away, but when he looks to that direction...

Grim: "Ain't no one noticin' a cut class or two. So let's go nap instead, nyahaha!"

Yuu: "Let's go back to class"

Then Crowley starts spewing to himself "To think that there are two rebels cutting classes in my school... Seriously, I cannot believe it!"

Then an entire gang of students swaggers to Grim and Yuu because they're gonna take over the bench to slack off. Grim doesn't relent; they got here first so finders keepers!

"MORE STUDENTS HAVE COME TO CUT CLASSES!"

It looks like a fight's about to break out. Just what kind of discipline is going on at his school?!

"HEY, YOU LOT! Shouldn't you be at class right now?!"

Grim panics so Yuu apologizes for him.

"After having witnessed such blatant disobedience, I'm inadvertently getting reeled in by a sincere apology..."

"Everyone, please get back to your classes. I would very much appreciate it if you were to study properly. Magic talent without hard work is not quite as sweet. While it's true that being born with a natural sense for it is important, it is the daily grind and experience that truly matters."

Then he asks if the students recall his speech earlier. Grim says it was boring as hell so he wasn't listening at all. The random Ignihyde students says "Same, same."

SO OUT OF DESPERATION, Crowley turns to Yuu and asks if they remember.

"Of course I remember." / "It was something about a grape tree, yeah?" IT WAS AN APPLE TREE.

The random Savanaclaw student cuts in and says he's noisy as hell. He's the Headmage, but it's not that they need to listen to him yeah?

Diasomnia Student: "Yeah. And it's not like we've ever seen the headmage perform any amazing magic. Even the housewardens don't give a crap about him..."

Savanaclaw Student: "What a loser. 'Kay, let's just ignore him!"

Crowley: "... Really, what troublesome kids."

Crowley: "It can't be helped then. Let me show you how important it is to thoroughly study magic."

"... For I am very kind! / WATASHI YASASHII NO DE!"

AND THEN HE WHIPS THEM AND LITERALLY TIES THEM TOGETHER DASHJKHKJADS

Crowley: "It is not a bind. This is the whip of love! Only a slightly tougher version."

The students panic, but the Diasomnia student claims that magic's flimsy and can be easily broken. ... Not?! What's going on? His magic doesn't do shit...

Crowley: "Why, of course. Am I not the Headmage of Night Raven College? This level of magic is naught but as simple as breathing."

He sighs and comments that these kids are underestimating him one too many times. It won't do that children who can't even gauge their own abilities are looking down on an educator like him.

"I simply had to make you understand your own immaturities."

"Go, go, Crowley go! Show them how much of a baby they are!"

Yuu: "Now's the perfect time to run away..."

Crowley: "And for you: Whip of Love! Gentle Ver.!"

And then both Grim and Yuu get captured!

Crowley soothes the struggling Grim by saying that he really has high expectations for both him and Yuu. He's certain that the two of them can change the future of this school. 🤔

"You can do that, can't you?"

Grim: "'Course. Just leave it to the great genius master Grim!"

Grim: "... So let me go already!"

Crowley: "Well then. Shall we take each of you to your respective classes?"

Grim: "What?! Tied up like this?! If the other guys saw me, I'd definitely never hear the end of it! Let me go! Let me go!"

Crowley: "As you are Night Raven College students, take this as a lesson opportunity to reflect upon."

"Because all of you are... my precious, precious apple trees."

[thepringlesofblood]

look i get why some of yall wanted a darker ending for neverafter but my interpretation is that all of their past lives and all of their sacrifices and all of their pain still exist in memory. like maybe not on an immediate conscious level, but Snow White was right about one thing, trauma makes it so that any story you tell after the experience will be affected by it. But that doesn’t mean that it’s not worth telling.

what the finale said to me is that healing is possible, and it doesn’t erase what came before, but adds to it, because all you can do is keep moving forward and trying your best. it’s clear that they do remember their past lives to some degree - they all visit each other and seek each other out. they’re choosing new lives, but the trauma is still there.

what it meant to me was that what they sacrificed was worth something - the hardships they endured were not for naught, because they allowed a new story to take place. after all, the corruption of the authors was pain without meaning, horror without change, suffering for no reason. it’d be kind of shitty to end the season with killing everyone or failure while condemning the authors for doing the same thing.

instead, this story says “everything that you suffered, and every moment of determination you had to move forward and choose to hope and choose to care in spite of it, every moment you pushed through the pain because you believed in a better tomorrow was worth it. your sacrifices and your work were not in vain.”

also, tis the nature of improv to sometimes not work out in a narratively perfect way. personally I think this ending is fitting for the mix of comedy and drama that the intrepid heroes bring to the table.

[m1ssunderstanding]

Get Back Rewatch 55 Years On: Day 22

@javelinbk I’ve got another one for your “Paul McCartney doesn’t touch other men” compilation.

They’re really just going to keep goofing off with each other until the bitter end, aren’t they?

Who is this?? She’s gorgeous and I’m obsessed with her eye makeup.

I wonder if there’s a *reason* John broke randomly into “Run for your Life”. I’d actually feel better about that song if it was secretly about Paul, though I'd never considered it.

That face!

I’d actually love to know what Ringo and Billy were talking about that prompted that hug, though! I’m sure it must’ve been just so cute!

John saying “Okay Jim” to Paul. Reminds me  of that quarrymen story where John called Paul that. Such an awkward nick-name, considering John hated Jim. Like I know Paul’s first name is James and all, but it’s just weird. I wonder if he called him that often and why and how Paul felt about it.

It’s physically impossible for two people to actually love each other that much and break up. I just. It’s not real. I can’t process it. 

The fact that Paul wore a suit again, though, and plays standing. An example of Paul doing what makes him feel good whether it’s cool or not. He feels professional and put together in a suit and standing for the “performance” of these softer songs, so that’s what he’s going to do. I guess Ringo’s in a suit too, and tie. I just didn’t catch it at first because his tie and shirt are such a fun purple. 

John focused on Paul for the entire song of “Two of Us” and Paul very purposely avoiding eye-contact. It’s like a much less painful, but still awful, reverse version of the strawberry fields moment. 

The silly fake German. Paul’s “Ein Schwein, fille naught rhine.” Reminds me of John’s “Un. Du. Ein schwein hickle pickle” in front of “I Don’t Wanna Face It” which also used a very similar riff to “coming up”. IDK they’re just always talking. Always logging away every little eyelash flutter. Every meaningless thing means something with John and Paul. I know. I realize I’m fully certifiable. 

“Are we supposed to giggle in the solo?” “Yeah.” 

Paul’s just purposely ruined what’s probably like the five-hundredth take of Let it Be with his drunk uncle voice, and this is George. No matter how much he might want to stay annoyed at them, he never can. 

I wonder when exactly John goes from “I think that was rather grand. I’d take one home with me.” on Let it Be to, “Yeah, he was just trying to write another bridge over troubled water. Could’ve been Wings.” When exactly did the meaning (dead mom says not to fight for your relationships) sink in that made him hate the song?

I love that we end on Paul saying, “we’ll do one more.” I love that there’s never a tied-up, clean-cut ending for the Beatles. There’s always a “Her Majesty” tacked on after “The End” to leave room to continue on. 

[ilyuu]

dried flower.

words withered, touches shriveled - this love that had once flourished so tenderly, softly, dries in the hands of his and yours - and it’s time for you to cut it by the stem. (or you break ties with him.)

ft. alhaitham, cyno, dainsleif & scaramouche.

warnings : angst. just… all of that. hurt/comfort (though the comfort comes from you consoling them and vice versa), crying (in dainsleif’s & scaramouche’s), lmk if i missed anything!

the tears in the corner of your eyes says it all. there's nothing more or less left. in you. in him. in the two of you. there's nothing left to say, there's nothing left to do, and it feels as if everything that has led up to this point has been for naught.

gentle, delicate memories of naivety have carried the two of you far; soft wishes, hopes, and dreams spoken like a hymn, shared interests that took up days' and nights' air, pages of your life and his within a quiet place on the palm of his hands and yours, fingers locked.

all that held you for this long was the hope, fading, dimming, that maybe those days and nights would come anew. someday. sometime.

it’s only as you saw the way everything moves on - lush of leaves brushing, wisps of a wind whispering, streams of sunlight persisting to light up the skies - did you then realize.

“it’s done. it’s… it’s done. it really is.”

those words, for the first time in a while, made you feel relieved. (is it alright to feel that way?)

alhaitham.

a scent of old ink, pages worn and weary of times' use had become something of a bittersweet one that you couldn't help but close your eyes to.

the endeavor in and of itself only strengthens said scent. it has become too familiar to you, too intimate in a way that draws out only ache and thoughts of another possibility - another time.

if.

if that itself was only possible. him nor you saw this coming. the encounter of one another, of course, which was upon chance. chance and chance again did this happen. and through every little one - a fleeting glance, a few exchanged words that meant no more than what it is on the surface, a nod to acknowledgement - did the slight strain of emotion tugs in you and him.

he saw you as a curiosity.

you saw him as one as well.

and from there on, the attempt to understand one another then shifted to understanding these feelings. to understand is to see it all from every perspective possible, and one of them, though considered as unlikely by both sides, is that…

…it simply didn't work.

nothing more, nothing less, than that.

those feelings may have been out of pure curiosity out of either of you, may have been something real, something to consider. but said feelings are now in vain as the spark of something, anything, is no longer there.

it's lost among in some point of time. who knows when?

only that it's gone.

he nods. “i see no reason to try and salvage something that is in vain. this… connection is no exception.”

“we are both aware of this,” he says, a slight strain in his voice that doesn’t sit quite right with you. (if you look at it this way, it almost seems as though he’s saying those words more as an affirmation to himself than to you.) “this is mutual.”

whether out of habit (or knowing this is the last time he’ll have his privilege), he lifts his hand to cup your cheek. the pad of his fingers slowly, softly, stroke over your skin - a ghost of the past, of what once was.

why?

only he knows. and as he pulls back, you then realize you’ll never know.

you could only smile at him. (he’d noticed it looked more genuine than it had in these past months.) “thank you, alhaitham. thank you. for everything.”

“…even now?”

“especially now.”

cyno.

a redcrest once found its place in the palm of your hands. passionate, vibrant, warm - it was all that he held for you, and which you held for him; the epitome of a miracle that blossomed with sleepless nights of yearning, whispered confessions into naked sheets, and in due time, the warmth of another beside, bringing forth life to a dream.

it's also in due time, though, that those same sheets left nothing but remnants of him - fading heat, wrinkles, and a flower.

padisarah.

sumeru rose.

kalpalata and nilotpala lotus.

sometimes a few that are not native to the land lush of vitality (lifelessness.)

you find yourself wondering whether it was as a feeble attempt to console you, knowing he couldn’t as much, or as an apology - your thoughts seep into the duvets. as the silhouette of him slowly loses shape, the times he comes into your view seldom, so does the flower loses its once intimate meaning.

he sighs. “i have little to no choice to tell you otherwise. not as though that isn’t the case, since i feel that this is fair… for you, for me - for the both of us.”

“…[name].” his voice falters a bit with that alone. “i… wish you the best. and more. i am sorry… that i was never able to meet your expectations of an ideal lover, let alone coming close.”

you shake your head. silence sinks in the air for a bit as you try to find your words, and you’re grateful for the seconds he shares with you, not trusting your voice right now. those seconds, however, felt as though it was stretched into something that comes close to eternity - his eyes takes in every shift, breath, and sound you do.

“that’s not something you should be sorry for, cyno,” you shake your head, “in a way… you shouldn’t be sorry for loving me. and i shouldn’t be sorry for loving you either. it ended, sure, but it’s not something to be looked on negatively either.”

“we did what we could and… and we’ve made a few good memories from that too so yo—”

the words faltered on the tip of your tongue.

he was a bit away from you. in less than a moment, he has you in his arms, locked around your waist, close and closer to him than you had for a bit of time. a long time. it all came at you at once. his scent, his heat, his very presence.

“please.” his voice gives way to slight trust, vulnerability. “just… for a bit.”

you nod.

and for that bit, you let him. and for that bit, he held you. and for that bit, the two of you savored the feeling of the other who was so close yet so far away all the same.

dainsleif.

luminescent lights; blades of grass brushing along skin; and a silent vow shared within the tandem of breaths. that night, so long ago, had been due witness to the unburdened, soft love that took place in the hands of the two of you as you held each other in, what is now, vain words to simply console one another of the end that you and he saw coming (too soon.)

the two of you held such cherished feelings for one another, that is undeniable. shy strokes, sweet nothings reserved for no one else but between the air between you - a feeling that is stoked with you, a soft sanctuary he finds himself in too frequently for his own liking, and he, almost akin to a flower, a rose, you'd think, who's quite resilent, beautiful, and yet, suffocating with the many ivy and thorns prickling along your skin.

in spite of that, you love him.

time crawls and such love has too met its end. slowly, so slowly, did it lose its naive touch.

you loved him.

he closes his eyes. “…of course. it is for neither for us if we continue to tether to this thin strand of something that once was… as you said, beautiful.”

“time… time is cruel,” is what you murmur. your voice is wet, shy of tears touching your words. “it’s… it’s so cruel. what happened…? dain…sleif…”

your voice alone made him open his eyes, and the slightest of waver in them made you cave in right then and there. it was one, then two, and rivulets came pouring mercilessly. your sight clouded, only a misty silhouette of ink, midnight, and gold in your view, did you try to wipe it away.

it was your choice. it was yours and his. you don’t have the privile— no, the right to start feeling pity right now. you tell yourself those words over and over and ov—

—a hand, so tentative, so shy, touches your cheeks. it’s cool to the touch.

“we lost ourselves,” is all he says, seldom soft his voice. his fingertips brushes away what he always (once) loathed to see. now? it is not out of his bygone affections for you, he thinks.

“we lost ourselves in each other for far too long.”

scaramouche.

a silence took the air.

as of late, that being for a few months, it's been something familiar - something that you had to adjust yourself to as these conversations that the two of you had, so soft, a type of quiet that felt to both you and him, hit a lull.

touches that was small, fleeting yet sacred seldom came along. days, nights, wherein he came felt so dim to you now; once had you treasured his presence, and he yours.

the coolness of his body against yours as your arms tugged him in, and his hands tentatively stroking your skin, both a feeling he indulged himself in and a reassurance in his part. as he tried to stroke every curve, groove of your body to his memory and his alone.

that you were the one - that you were the one he felt most comforting with.

and you were.

the shift of distance a word alone could do hurts.

he stares at you. “…do as you wish. i hold no ties with you any more; long has it been severed.”

an airy tone, he wore, as if to say that he, too, had long lost his attachments to this, to you. and if you didn’t know any better, you would’ve believed him. if it wasn’t for the lack of light, something that you found solace in these last few weeks, that casted a shadow on him, you would’ve simply took his words to heart.

tears tampered on the corners of his eyes. (why is it now, after all this time, does he show a shred of vulnerability?) that alone almost, almost, made you want to take your words back.

but you couldn’t do this to yourself; you couldn’t do this to him. and so, as a parting gift, you close the distance that parted the two of you and, with the touch of the wind itself, wiped away those traces of humanity that you admired.

“it’s alright, scaramouche,” you say. (he notes how you use his name and the crevice cracks further.) “it’ll be alright.. i… i know it means so little right now but give it time. we’ll both be alright if we just give it time.”

he says nothing - that in and of itself is an answer you take. in the corner of the safe spot that meant something to the two of you, you said your goodbyes.

permanently.

song : dried flower - wave to earth.

(which inspired all of this! yes, this,, it’s so soft and soothing; the bitterness of the lyrics though,,,)

[curetapwater]

Madoka Magica is a very dark show but I think it often gets kinda blown outta proportion, as if it's some bloodbath just because it has onscreen deaths and dark subject matter. I'd say the violence itself is rather on par with darker episodes of Sailor Moon. Deaths happen, but it's far from a gore fest. Mami's death in episode 3, one of the most gruesome scenes in the show, is carefully framed to show no blood, no gore. The image of her body going limp and detransforming, the ribbons she'd tied up Homura with dissolving, the wide shot so far from her body that you can hardly make it out as it falls to the ground for Charlotte to finish. The focus is not "ouuuuuuu teenage girl death SCARY SCARY" but on the weight of the events unfolding. And her death is not there just for shock value, but to drop a sudden, crushing weight upon the characters she is survived by. The scene where Madoka visits Mami's apartment one last time in particular is so effective. A sink filled with dishes that will never be washed. A half-full teacup that will never be emptied. Her absence is a gaping hole in the characters' lives as much as it is a reminder of the stakes of the situation.

And other onscreen deaths are as clean as possible. The Soul Gem thing is existentially terrifying but it also lends itself to something about how PMMM handles its darkest scenes with a certain tastefullness. We don't need to watch a 14-year-old girl get ripped apart in order to understand how fucked things are. We just need to see her soul itself shatter, the light leave her eyes, her body go limp. The lack of traditionally graphic imagery allows weight to be shifted from what we are seeing to what the events unfolding mean.

One of the most visceral scenes for me is the one where Kyubey just dumps his reasoning for the magical girl system on her. On its surface, it's just a girl sitting in bed, being spoken to by an alien creature. But it's the shit he says to her. The way he talks about commodifying, using, tormenting teenage girls across human history as if it's a perfectly reasonable, pleasant conversation. The way he compares humans to livestock. The way his cheerful tone never falters as Madoka's emotional state deteriorates further and further. And GOD, the shot where she slowly grabs her head, curls in on herself before bending backwards. Just trying to process the weight of a system that extends far beyond her, across the whole world, across human history. The helplessness of it all. The way it all culminates, as the audience and Madoka herself finally understand Kyubey to be a microcosm of the way the world is stacked against young girls. That single shot rocks me to my core.

I think people who label this show "torture porn" severely miss the point. We aren't supposed to root for all the bad things happening to these characters. We aren't supposed to point and go "Haha! Foolish girls and their frivolous dreams!!" nor are we supposed to wallow in misery and cry out "Woe! The dreams of young girls are all for naught!! Hope is lost!!!" We're supposed to sympathize and connect with them. And hell if I do. I'm so glad I first watched this show when I was the same age as the characters, because this show just really speaks to me. There is a great catharsis, to me, in things like Mami's veneer of being the cool perfect girl that she desperately doesn't want to fall to reveal the vulnerable girl beneath, the way Sayaka desperately wants to save the world but jumps into things without thinking and pours from an empty cup, the way Kyoko has seemingly given up entirely on being a good person but deep down still believes that something good must exist out there, Homura's determination to try again. And again. And again. Until her love consumes her and everyone around her. And Madoka's crushing sense of helplessness, of guilt, of wanting to make the world a better place, of wanting everyone to just!!!! Get along!!!!! Please!!!!!!! And the way she overcomes this sense of helplessness with the main theme that the magical girl genre was built upon to begin with: hope.

To me, Madoka Magica is a show about how much it can absolutely suck to be a teenage girl, but in a respectful way, y'know? It's about how the world is stacked against young girls, how it uses and objectifies them and kicks them into the dirt, and how because they're still young, they often don't respond to the hand dealt to them in perfect ways. But that doesn't mean their feelings, their hopes and dreams and very souls, do not matter. If anything, I'd say Madoka Magica is about how the world isn't going to go easy on you, and your feelings about that fact are real, even if you don't respond to them perfectly. But despite it all, you have to keep going.

So yeah PMMM is a dark show but I feel like its discussion is often like "this show KILLED the magical girl genre by being DARK and VIOLENT" like. Siigh. Especially frustrating because I see this sentiment both from magical girl fans who resent the show and non-magical girl fans who laud the show because they think it's "better" than its predecessors. Maybe it had an impact on the genre in the same way that Shrek was an excellent movie whose success unfortunately gave way to trends in animated films that didn't quite get what made Shrek work. But I find it unfair to say PMMM "ruined" or even "killed" the magical girl genre. I'm unsure if I'd even call it a deconstruction, it's just its own neat thing to me. I can go back and watch Sailor Moon or Pretty Cure without feeling they've been tainted or taken down a peg. If anything, I think PMMM complements more traditional magical girl shows very nicely. I think Madoka and Usagi would love each other. I don't think a magical girl show where very bad things happen is that big a deal. What is a big deal, to me, is how excellent it is in its execution.

[shroudkeeper]

“I favor the man you are, not this mimicry of another.”

Slender fingers wove the words in the space between us that both strengthened my confidence and shipwrecked my worries simultaneously. Her gaze, which felt malms away, returned with radiated warmth and tinged with concern as she followed the contours of my face and then down to the rest of me; I assumed trying to find a reason for how I presented myself to her.

The merchant seemed all too entertained in this openly shared exchange before him. Kikyo however caught his attention as he continued to gawk in amusement, finding it appropriate to lead us somewhere private, away from prying, and probing, eyes. I followed behind her shuffling steps, trying to ignore the growing discomfort of wearing such burdensome tight leathers; I offered naught in complaint, especially since she spared us a long walk and simply rounded the corner emptied of the Enclave's wandering residents.

There, against the sway of dimly lit lanterns, surrounded by evening's embrace, I whispered my intentions quietly to the stilled winds that were at times accented by a songbird's evening symphony.

“I thought such armor would appeal to you, that you perhaps desired something.. different.”

Someone.

I meant to say, but the words burned in my throat, my tongue tasted ash and shame gripped my heart. Perhaps she had felt it too, for soon I was sparked with the heat of her fingertips drawing a line against my chest, loosening the ties that kept this vest together.

Kudos to Tataru for that added touch.

Her motivation was not incited by some carnal desire to touch my flesh, I realized this when she pressed her palm against me, her eyes never drawing away from my own, but her hands did for but a moment to gracefully put to words her thoughts and reassurance.

“I chose you, the man who needs not to pretend to be another to impress me or gain my attention. Handsome as you are standing before me, I see another instead. I rather see you, feel you.”

Her hands were expressive in their language, and even when she gave little words in exchange, they captivated my senses. I felt them against the cut of my jaw, following the path towards my chin as they journeyed towards taking my hand.

She was so close to me that I could smell the oil of crushed flowers in her hair, and hear the quiet melody of her kanzashi caught in the gentle motion of her step to condense the space between us. That is when I discovered she wished to rid me of what separated our hands from touching. Even this display of undressing my hand was done in a way that could only be described as art in motion.

[whbfan]

The Two Stars That Fell From the Sky | Part 2/6

Lucifer’s pupils which were so big that they almost filled his eyes surveyed the boy’s features.

Lucifer: …..?

Lucifer stared at the boy’s face in his field of vision for a moment in a daze, and then realized that the boy in his field of vision was looking down at him, close enough for their noses to touch.

The tip of Lucifer’s nose caught a whiff of the boy’s healthy, fresh body odor, and the scent of blood and medicine mixed with it made him instinctively tense.

???: Huh—! You can’t strain your body yet! Every single bone in your body is broken…!

As the boy gasped and shimmed back, Lucifer slid his gaze down to look at his body.

His body was full of splits, bandages, and medicine. He didn’t need to ask who did it.

Lucifer: Get lost… Don’t bother.

The cold voice was lifeless, like someone who had just crawled out of the netherworld, but strangely sensual.

Having lost the will to live, he found everything cumbersome, The boy’s efforts were admirable, but he didn’t want to say or think of anything.

???: ………!!!

The boy’s eyes sparkled and a rosy glow appeared on his handsome cheeks at Lucifer’s cold words.

???: Your voice…!! It’s so cool….!!!

Lucifer: ……….

When the boy made a fuss and shouted, the staff tied to his back tinkled frantically.

Lucifer frowned. He was languid and weary, and the presence of the boy beside him was too much.

But it wasn’t hard dismissing the boy. All he had to do was tell him ‘the truth’.

???: Aren’t you thirsty? Shall I give you something to drink? Oh, you should loosen your body and—

Lucifer: Everything you’ve done is for naught. As long as I’m in Hell, my wounds won’t heal.

???: Eek— why?!

Lucifer: Because I’m an angel.

It was ridiculous to say that when he had neither wings nor halos, but now that he had said it was useless, he hoped the young creature beside him would go away.

???: Yes, I know.

Said the boy, then ran off with the tinkling of bells, and soon returned with the same sound.

White large feathers that were still bloodstained were still in his hands.

???: I’m sorry… Some of it came off while I treated you. You have gotten better in other places, but this wound won’t heal so I can’t stop the bleeding…

Moreover, the boy looked tearful like it made him upset.

???: You’re saying it’s slow to heal in Hell because you’re an angel, right? That’s a shame… I hope you get better soon.

When the boy sighed, the staff on his back seemed to tinkle in agreement.

Lucifer: (That’s…)

Lucifer stared at the round gem at the end of the boy’s staff.

Looking back at Lucifer who was quietly staring in his direction, the boy gave a stare and hastily brought a wet towel.

???: It’s time to wipe your body. It’s gonna hurt a little when it touches your wounds since you’re awake, but endure…

Lucifer: You’re a pain. Get lost.

Lucifer glared at the boy, his large pupils filled with hostility.

It would have made perfect sense if he replied with ‘That bed you’re lying in, those sheets you’re under—they’re all mine!’

???: Mmm. I was going to go out tomorrow to get food!

The boy didn’t succumb to Lucifer’s cold treatment and answered with a bright smile as cool as a dawn breeze.

???: It’s going to take some time since I’m getting food for two people, so I might not come home today.

The boy spoke with a shadowless face, not the least bit disgruntled.

???: I’ll be back tomorrow! Sleep some more!

After the boy left there was a sound of the front doors closing beyond the closed bedroom.

Lucifer finally close his eyes slowly in the silence.

Then, the scene he last saw before losing consciousness filled his view as though it had been waiting for him.

—

Lucifer: Our Father, who art in Heaven…

Crunch…!!

Lucifer’s sharp nails dug into the flesh and muscle of his back.

Lucifer: Hallowed be thy name…

Crack…!!

Lucifer’s bloody hand pulled out one of his wing bones and crushed it.

Lucifer: Thy kingdom come…

Riiip…!!

There was a bizarre sound as the tendons attached to the broken wingbone snapped, and finally a piece of wing attached to one shoulder detached completely from the body and fell away.

When one of Lucifer’s twelve great wings fell away, the light began to disappear from his body.

He that hath no wings, shall not be able to set foot in Heaven.

Even so, Lucifer didn’t stop praying or harming himself.

Lucifer: Forgive us our sins…

Lucifer: And lead us not into temptation…

Lucifer: But deliver us from evil…

As the prayer continued, his wings fell to the ground.

The fallen wings sank as they hit the ground, passing right through the ground, as if to show that they didn’t belong in Heaven.

Lucifer: For thine is the kingdom,

Lucifer: The power and the glory,

Lucifer: For ever and ever…!!!

As Lucifer finished praying and ripped his last wing off…

Flash—!

The area which had always been daylight thanks to Lucifer’s halo was suddenly plunged into darkness.

The moment his last, twelfth wing fell from him, Lucifer felt the terrifying sensation he had never felt before, if his halo disappearing.

With that, his body began to sink.

That was how Lucifer fell.

Leaving behind his brothers reaching out desperately as he receded—leaving behind the distraught Seraphim.

—

The figures and voices of the weeping and raging Seraphim followed like a never-ending whirling dervish.

At some point, Lucifer was once again trapped in a world of darkness and unconsciousness.

Unconscious for the past week, he had to endure the pain over and over again in an unconscious state with no concept of time.

But he suddenly regained consciousness,

Lick–

Lucifer: ……….!

With a familiar warmth.

It was the same then. It was this warmth that woke him up after endlessly being resented by the Seraphim.

When Lucifer opened his eyes with a start, the boy’s face that was much too close again filled his entire view.

Lucifer: (…Again.)

???: Oh! You’re up! Good timing. I cooked rice porridge so eat it while it’s hot—

Clang—!!

When the friendly boy came with a bowl of porridge on a tray, Lucifer swatted it away with his arm.

The flying tray smashed into the stone wall, and the house shook slightly.

The bowl shattered, grazing the body of the young creature in front of him, creating a gash and splattering the steaming remains of the porridge across his face.

Lucifer: I told you not to bother.

???: How can you move like that when you’re hurt!!

The boy yelped, cutting off Lucifer’s growl. Clink, clink!! The bells jingled. It was a sound that somehow made him feel better.

???: The bones in your arms haven’t mended yet!!

The boy seemed to have no learning ability, as he approached Lucifer like he forgot that he had refused his favor yesterday and had just thrown his porridge bowl.

The boy gently touched the loose splinted arm with a worried look on his face.

The bell jingled once, followed by a bright flash of light from the orb at the end of the boy’s staff.

The light flowed down the boy’s fingertips to sink into Lucifer’s arm.

The red, swollen flesh settled, the broken bones healed, and the arm that had been splinted straightened.

???: Huh….? Huhhh….?! The bones… mended…?!

The boy looked confused although he was the one who did it, and rejoiced.

???: Huh? It feels like the orb is brighter…

Lucifer narrowed his eyes at the boy holding his staff with one hand and studying the orb at its tip.

Lucifer: …A dragon who doesn’t know how to use a magic pearl. It’s proof he’s alive.

When Lucifer muttered and strained his better arm to raise his upper body, the boy who had been studying the orb with a frown, lifted his head and met Lucifer’s gaze with gleaming eyes.

Lucifer thought the boy would make another fuss and say ‘Do you remember me?!’, but he smiled with the most mature look in his eyes that Lucifer had seen so far.

???: Yes, I wanted to thank you… and I was surprised when you fell here.

Lucifer looked at the vertically slit pupils staring back at him and remembered the first time he had seen them.

—

The war between Heaven and the Dragons.

It was more ambush and invasion or slaughter and carnage than war.

In the hands of the angel who tore through the dimension, the little dragon was held hostage by his throat, and all the dragons died before the angel without protest.

A single dragon was the size of a mountain, so when the majority of the dragons became composes and piled up, it became a giant mountain range of corpses.

And at the end of that mountain range, the last of the dragons stood before him, bloodied but undiminished in spirit, as he stared at Michael and his legion.

The dragon’s eyes were deeper than the others, and its scales were wrinkled with age.

Elder Dragon: From an interdimensional being… I have heard of you… Of brothers with the same father… Of angels slaying devils in the same world with your own hands…

The old dragon coughed blood. The blood dyed the dragon’s white beard. There were already more than a thousand spears of light in his stomach.

Michael was glaring at him squarely with both eyes.

[impossible-rat-babies]

15 lines of dialogue

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

i got tagged by @lilas! ty friend! im gonna tag (sorry for possible double tagging): @thevikingwoman, @hythlodaes, @lavampira, @consulaaris, @gefiltefished, @scionshtola, @starrypawz and anyone else!

a lot of these are from unfinished wips w/o context, im so sorry

1. “Nay, I should have spoken my mind soon after arriving Slitherbough. Mistaken as you were to my nature upon us reuniting, I would not so easily cast aside that which you beheld.” They pause, a bitter smile coming to their lips. “A brilliant soul, I have been called before— nomenclature befitting Hydaelyn’s Chosen. And yet it is not Her light which eats away at me now.”

2. “I care in the loneliness that stood before me in the place beyond the stars. How it looked down at me and I wondered how I had not yet memorized its face. How it asked me if this would be the last time I would gaze upon its face, and if the ache between my ribs would leave me.”

3. Eyrie pauses, worrying their lip. “Pity—pity and sorrow ‘twas what I felt most keenly. Not truly alive, but never allowed to die. A most vile fate for a once great wyrm of the first brood.”

4. “Keeping yourself busy are you?” Alisiae asks, shutting the door behind her. They hold up the book idly, a sigh escaping their lips.

“T’was Krile’s idea. A measure put in place should my vision stagnate at this state, or deteriorate further.”

5. “I know, Alisaie.” They whisper softly, reaching out again to take her hands. Tinged with barely there warmth and stiff fingers as their hold her hands tight. “I know I am dying. I can feel it—beneath my chest, next to my heart. ‘Tis so very dark and cold there.”

“Then why?” She asks, voice tender in her throat. Fingers tensing in their gentle hold. “Why keep telling us it is going to be okay?”

“I would not have us give into grief.” They reply.

“Tis for the dead we grieve, not for the living. With the ache in my chest comes fear, but I would not give up hope. I would not see sorrow rob us of what time we have left. I would not see you mourn just yet.”

6. “Tis easy to peer from the outside in and question why your grandfather gave his life unto a people so fit to squabble and worry naught of any greater threat than that beyond their own borders. Your anger was not unfounded, Alisaie.”

“Still…I should have known better. What would grandfather have had to say?”

Eyrie grins, inclining their head towards her. “Oh something important I would imagine—he was oft given to providing sage advice…if asked or not.”

7. They look up at the sky stretching so far above—the distant twinkling of the stars.

“Ignorant I was to the horrors that would follow. All of my many long years in the wood had made me blind. To what one had to endure—what one would be asked to do; what I have done to my fellow man. There came a time when I stopped and looked back to see myself very far from the intentions that first compelled my feet to walk forward. And there would be no returning.”

8. “I can storm the tower, Y’shtola. ‘Tis simply…”

They rub their hands together, eyes narrowing.

“I do not trust my hands. Alphinaud tended to some of my hurts, but I was more afraid of his touch. Afraid of my own hands should he have found a bruise too tender or raw; what horrors a simple touch would invite into my head. If i had grabbed his wrist in my terror and broken it…how could I forgive myself for that? For hurting him?”

9. They pause, letting the words sink in as the boy deflates, working his lips in ill disguised frustration.

“Alphinaud.” They break the heavy silence looming above them. “I am not a sword to point at the enemies of Eorzea, or the Scions. I am not a soldier to be ordered about—told of my singular duty and thus committed to the cause without fear. Without despair or anxiety. Standing as a shield before the plight of a helpless world, begging for a hero to lead her to a new path. There is resentment there, Alphinaud—I will not lie. I love Eorzea.”

[chaosgremlinmunson]

Mermaid au part two

Not sure how many more parts, I'm doing this as I have time, but I'm falling in love with this world.

Eddie was astounded at how different the cavern seemed from  the outside world.  He’d spent many moons wanting to escape the village of Hawkinsvine and now here he was all but stranded on this island, a fierce yet beautiful tribe of creatures watching his every move. He was surprised at how quickly the leader seemed to agree to let him stay until whenever the blood moon was, and what was this about a prophecy they were speaking of? His musings were interrupted when Stefania’s head  popped up in the pool near the entrance of the cavern. Once again he was blown away by her ethereal beauty, her deep caramel eyes shone in the moonlight and her moles  seemed to grow almost a gold color beneath its light. She swam closer to where he sat, her eyes tentative as she watched him.

“Eddie Munson,  you stare into the sky as though the lights hold your answers. Tell me, what do  you find within their  glow?” Her voice carried across the water as though it was a melody in the night air, and he felt the tension in his chest lessen when he turned to look at her fully.

“I don't know what brought me here to you, or these people but  I feel as  though this is where home should have always been. If we are to spend the next moons together until the ritual you spoke of  takes place I would like you to call me Eddie. On the surface where I was from it is what people who you are  close to or cared for would call each other, by their first names only. Here my last name means naught, and as I plan to never return there again I should lay the last bit of that life at the shore and begin anew.” His fingers played over the water's edge, though he did not notice the slight  glow from its waves near his fingertips. 

“Eddie.” The girl tried his  name for a moment like tasting it for the first time, “And you shall call me Ania. Stefania is what the court calls me as it’s  princess.” Eddie coughed his head whipping back  in her direction, eyes wide, “No need for that, this ritual is to see if you are the lost child we've been searching for. Our elder Wayne lost his offspring many years ago to a fisherman. We never did find him, but we know he is alive. His heart stone is still within the pools of family ties, it still glows like the rising  moon. My soul tells me that he may be you, and if it is such there is a life here for  you always as more  than just our guardian.” She sighed and looked  up to the moon,”To be honest with you  Eddie, I do so hope it to be true. I am to choose a husband soon, and maybe…” she trailed off before glancing at him, that shy smile on her lips  again before diving back beneath the waters.

Tag list: @spectrum-spectre

Part one: