xan7cha

[xan7cha]

[xan7cha]

plushie made out of fabric . it's cute and nice to hug. it looks like a shark

[xan7cha]

Honestly, the Uma lane pictured here is atrocious as a piece of public infrastructure. Only a thin line of paint separates Umas from cars. They may be moving at similar speeds, but in a head-on collision, pound-for-pound, m₁v₁+m₂v₂, that Uma is dying. You know, like some sort of bicyclist.

I mean, c'mon.

[xan7cha]

The Princess has taken on a Death Knight as a retainer, which is exciting.

[xan7cha]

I don't care if Mike is hard and don't call me lemonade

[xan7cha]

YOU are a neurotypical cisgender woman. going about with your latte and such

[obediently] I am a neurotypical cisgender woman. Going about with my latte and such

[xan7cha]

The Taxidermist🫀🧠🫁

Better to practice on yourself before taking on clients

[xan7cha]

i hope to be a wickedly strong freak with no moral code someday

[xan7cha]

marrow

[xan7cha]

new species of deep sea squid discovered

[xan7cha]

you like umamusume? you know horse racing is like, highly unethical, right? fraternizing with the vile horse instead of slaying it where it stands is really fucked. if it was an ethical industry theyd just be buying horses in bulk to feed them into lumber saws

[xan7cha]

I'd be kind of annoyed if i was an uma musume and I found out the cute little hair accessory they gave me was installed specifically to make me clockier

[xan7cha]

defeated

You’re on the back foot. You have been for months. This war began with the wind at your back and the Goddess of Victory in your corner, but everything has fallen apart. And the origin of your sorrows now casts open the door to let in the news of your ignominious defeat.

“It’s over.” The Hero’s voice is matter of fact. She speaks softly, but her words are born by servants unseen across the throne room to your ears. “There’s no more reason to fight.”

That incenses you. How dare she? She who has been given everything and demands more. She who has never once compromised or bent for anyone. She for whom the very stars in the sky rechart their celestial trajectories. Of course you will fight. You will not be ruled. 

“Your generals have surrendered.” she approaches now, padding across your polished stone floors with bare feet. “Save one who remains awaiting your commands. He and his men won’t stand down without you.”

Her presence fills the space like the sunrise. The soot-choked ceiling bearing the chandelier and crystal sconces glitter like faint stars as the clear blue skies of the hero stretch across the ceiling. At the centre she stands now, positively radiant. Unarmed and unarmoured, she has come to you in only a loose white summer dress. The glare is too harsh, you can’t make out the expression on her face. She begins again as she takes two steps closer.

“I’d rather not you force my hand. This is over, after all.” You catch a hint of firmness in her voice. She has already decided how she might kill you. Hatred for her burns in the back of your throat like your own sick. Now you stir from your throne, uncoiling like a serpent. With a flick of your wrist the doors behind the Hero slam shut, severing the flood of daylight. Her radiance doesn’t dim though, and finds itself reflected in what little petty baubles you've hoarded. What was once a moonless night now has become a sea of stars.

A second gesture ignites the sconces, painting the room in cruel reds and oranges, contrasted by stark shadows. Your pride demands that you do not roll over and accept defeat. Even if you have no hope of victory as she says, you will make a mark on her perfect body. She cannot have everything just as she wants it, you will never allow it. Backlit by hate, your shadow stretches covetously towards her.

“Over?” you ask darkly. “You think cowards that surrendered to you wouldn’t cross back over at the instant of your death?” You gesture languidly for emphasis. She has no response yet, so you continue. “I have innumerable reasons to fight you, so-called Hero. Beyond the threshold of your death lies all of my wildest fantasies, and I will indulge each and every one till I am bloated and sick with them.”

She is looking at you, the corona of light rendering her expression still unreadable at this distance. You stride forward a step, the points of your heels clicking against the stone. Still she says nothing, prompting you to continue further.

“When I look at you, hero, I see arrogance unalloyed. I know you. Not once have you measured less than a challenge required. Not once have you sacrificed for what you believe. Not once have you ever lost anything at all.” You gesture broadly with your cloak. “And now you enter my castle, my throne room, uninvited and expect me to roll over without a fight? Truly I name the sin of pride yours, hero.”

“So I stand against you. How could I not? I have everything to gain from opposing you and nothing to lose. And you, hero, deserve what is coming to you. It will be my utmost pleasure to deliver you this long awaited defeat!” You’re gasping for air by the end and your heart is pounding in your ears.

“Is that all?” she asks plainly. 

She doesn’t even have the decency to coat those barbed words with an affect of boredom. It’s as if a doll had delivered the question. You clench your right fist to your chest and foment the malice in your bosom. A thousand unavenged defeats and humiliation, now as unchanted hatred given direction by your outstretched left hand as your face contorts with anger at her unserious response.

“How dare y-” You are cut short. As you begin channeling your barrage, she crouches like a lion before prey. When the first syllable leaves your lips she is already leaping towards you, starfire sparking in her right hand. Before you can finish the third she drives a stake of divine light through the back of your palm into the floor, bringing you crashing to your knees.

She’s close enough to you now that that damned glow of hers doesn’t obscure her face. There’s a spatter of your blood up her arm and on her cheeks. The pain makes your vision go blurry for a moment, but you focus on her face. There are tears in her eyes. She lets go of the stake and stands above you. You scream in pain and frustration, she again waits for you to finish.

“I’m sorry. There’s still time for you to surrender. This doesn’t have to be to the death.” The tone of her voice is unchanging, even after depriving you of one of your hands. It hurts. Your hand is alight from within. You can barely feel the floor against the tips of your fingers. Healing magic isn’t your speciality. You’re going to lose this hand. At least it wasn’t your dominant one. Instead of responding you choke gasps for breath.

“I did tell you it was over. I thought you knew how weak you were. But that’s al-” This time you cut her off. While she admonished you like a child you cursed her to death silently. She’s obviously unprepared for a surprise attack. You grasp desperately at her. If you even graze her now she’s dead. 

“-right. Now you should know for sure.” It was with a spear of light this time. Your fingers just inches away from her pristine feet. She didn’t move at all to do this to you. The magic at your fingertips is fading fast now and your screams of pain are broken up by sobs. Your blurry gaze is fixed on the floor.

“Kill me then!” you spit out. She gets on her knees, staining her white skirt with your blood and softly takes your face in her unmarred hands. You hear her sniffle quietly as she turns your face up towards hers. Her expression is still blank, but the tears are streaming now. 

“Not unless you make me.” She shuffles until her knees are beneath your head and rests you there. You are pinned like an insect and entirely at her mercy and she has given you, her greatest foe, a pillow of her lap. You feel the insides of your hands slowly burning away. “And you can’t make me now. It’s alright.”

“Why not? This is-” you have to stop to catch your breath again. “All of this is my doing! Am I not evil to you!?”

“You are part of the world I must save.” she answers. She runs the palm of her hand over your silky black hair, as if she were a mother soothing her child. “If it is within my power to save you too, then I must.”

Now you realize, too late, that this hero is not human. This is not how a human thinks, these are not things that humans want, no matter how much they claim they do. From the very beginning you were contending with a monster you can only now begin to describe. She continues to pet you as you sob into her lap, as her weapons still pierce your body, as her radiance fills your dark chambers.

Time passes indeterminably. Your sobs quiet to whimpers and when they do she begins to sing to you. Either she doesn’t think or doesn’t care to remove the pins. It becomes boring and boredom dulls the pain. She isn’t going to let you go unless you agree you’ve been saved, but then what? She may have forgiven you. No, that’s wrong, she may think there is nothing she needs to forgive, but what of the real humans? Surely her grace alone isn’t enough to spare you.

“Hero,” you begin warily. She perks up and ceases her lullaby, all her attention fixed on you once again. “Your allies must surely think me unforgivable. Dozens have died by my hand and thousands by my command. Can you save me from them as well?”

This gives her pause. You know that the possibility would have never occurred to her unless you broached it. She smiles slightly. She’s evidently thought of a solution, but it unnerves you to see any expression at all on her doll-like face.

“I will keep you by my side. First it will be to convince the last of your army to surrender and to aid in building society again. Then you will remain with me thereafter.” She closes her eyes and tilts her head. “Like a house cat.”

[xan7cha]

sunrise

[xan7cha]

its really funny to think now about how the art circles homestuck originally came up in were virulently anti-ip and generally scoffed at the idea that the originator of a piece of art had any say in what other people did with it, resulting in homestuck's distinctive collage art style and willingness to include things like the con air soundtrack and jpegs of copyrighted movie posters. this is really funny to think about now, for no particular reason

[xan7cha]

[xan7cha]

My favorite joke in Metalocalypse is how as the show goes on it becomes increasingly obvious they’re naming characters with the sole purpose of torturing Mark Hamill.