#And coming back all damaged And I would put them back in poetry If I only knew how I can't seem to understand it
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pleaseeeee i am being very normal
#And the heart is hard to translate It has a language of it's own It talks in tongues and quiet sighs#In prayers and proclamations in the grand deeds Of great men and the smallest of gestures In short shallow gasps#But with all my education I can't seem to command it And the words are all escaping#And coming back all damaged And I would put them back in poetry If I only knew how I can't seem to understand it#And I would give all this and heaven too I would give it all if only for a moment That I could just understand#The meaning of the word you see 'Cause I've been scrawling it forever But it never makes sense to me at all#And it talks to me in tiptoes And sings to me inside It cries out in the darkest night And breaks in the morning light#No words poor language It doesn't deserve such treatment And all my stumbling phrases Never amounted to anything worth this feeling#All this heaven never could describe Such a feeling as I'm hearing Words were never so useful#So I was screaming out a language That I never knew existed before#never been so normal
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Hunter Huntsman headcanons
Hunter knows more than he'd like about shoes because he always listens to Ashlynn's many facts about them.
Hunter plays Minecraft with Cerise, Cedar and Sparrow, sometimes he teams up with Cerise just to kill Sparrow on Minecraft.
Hunter lets Dexter play Tailer Quick in their dorm room and keeps it a secret because Dexter doesn't want to get teased for it, but Hunter was already used to it anyway because Ashlynn is also a fan.
Hunter always lets Dexter vent to him about anything, he's a very good listener.
Hunter is very good at keeping things to himself as he has been hiding things about himself from his parents for years.
Hunter gets fairy down on himself a lot, because he knows he will never be the son or huntsman his father wants and while he doesn't want that destiny, he feels ashamed that he can't live up to it.
Cerise is older than Hunter and he has often come to her when he needs advice or to vent.
Hunter and Cerise are fairy good friends, he always suspected Cerise was hiding something but since he hides things about himself as well he never asked her about it and respected her privacy.
Their mothers are actually friends. Hunter's mother once made a comment about Hunter and Cerise "liking" each other in front of them and they both laughed because they never saw each other that way.
Hunter's phone contains millions of pics of Fern, Ashlynn, him and Ashlynn, Pesky, sunsets and any of his favourite wooden works.
Hunter always takes a picture of a good sunset or sun rise.
He is a terrible hexter and doesn't use his phone a lot.
He wants to be good at poetry, because he thought it would impress Ashlynn, but he's not, he's awful at it. (Literally the episode Cedar wood would love to lie)
Hunter can tell something is wrong with Pesky if Pesky isn't throwing nuts at him.
Hunter once scolded Pesky coldly for accidently hitting Ashlynn with a nut.
His favourite artist is Hozier.
Ashlynn is his go to person when he messes up.
He does not like Sparrow, at all. At first it was general annoyance, then it was Sparrow teaming up with Duchess in the exposure of him and Ashlynn's relationship, and then it was back to general annoyance but their friendship has improved because Hunter doesn’t like to hold grudges.
Hunter made the tiny satchel Pesky wears, and he made one for Fern as well.
When Fern learned to walk, Hunter insisted on taking her out for her first walk around the enchanted forest, his parents trusted him because they know he would protect her.
Once he tried on a pair of heels at Ashlynn's shop to see what they felt like, he tripped and accidently damaged them, he vowed to never do it again and paid damages for them.
Ashlynn tips him for delivering shoes, he fought her on it because he only did it as an excuse to see her.
He once beat Daring in a sword fight. Daring made him promise to never tell anyone. (He lied and only told Cerise)
Apple was never close with Hunter even though they share a story but after his relationship with Ashlynn was exposed, Apple lost some respect for him for betraying their story and with that causing her friend to betray hers (no one actually talks abt this and I didn’t even think abt it until I read Gumjesters eah rewrite and Apple made one comment to Hunter during true hearts day and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since)
He is a trans man (I know this is v popular headcanon for him but I adore it and I had to include it bc I love it sm)
Despite being a rebel Hunter is still afraid of telling his parents he doesn’t want to follow his story, he knows he will let them down and he wants to put that off for as long as he can. He thinks they won’t support his decision and his romance.
Hunter and Pesky met when Hunter rescued him from a wolf by distracting the wolf with some meat. Hunter showed Pesky he wasn’t a killer and gained his trust.
He is a great horse rider and has ridden Ashlynn’s dragon (the one from dragon games)
#ever after high#eah#ever after high headcanons#hunter huntsman#huntlynn#ashlynn ella#dexter charming#cerise hood#daring charming#apple white#eah headcanons
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NEVERMORE AND FLOWERS !!!!!
one of my favorite things to think about with nevermore is the flower symbolism and how it correlates to Lenore’s mental health/perception of herself, as well as when she arrives and departs. A lot of the times people say that the flowers represent Annabel, but I think they actually represent Lenore herself.
1. The Funeral
there are so many instances where Lenore compares herself to flowers/flowers represent her departure or return, but the first time is in the maze when she is thrown into the memory of her brothers funeral. She goes up to her past self, and memory Lenore asks her to remove a fallen lily thats found itself on theos casket. Lenore responds to her request, telling her that you can’t put a flower back once it falls from its stem, and that you can only throw it away. After the accident, Lenore threw the old version of herself away. They locked her away, called her damaged and tried to pretend she didnt exist.
2. The wall paper + Annabel’s arrival
The wallpaper in the attic room that Lenore is locked away in has a yellow flower pattern on it. As she lost herself to the isolation and madness of being stuck up there, she ripped the wallpaper off the walls proclaiming “there’s no need for flowers here. After today there will be no more flowers” The flower wallpaper is gone, as is her sanity, and her hope of healing and being herself again. The flowers are gone, and she believes she leaves with them. Then Annabel’s carriage arrives. She is taken down to the sitting room, and sees flowers on the table. Lenore thinks “I thought there would be no more flowers” She thought there would be no more of *herself*, of freedom or feeling whole again. She then has the first actual conversation she’s probably had in forever. Annabel, if even for her own gain, treats her like an actual person and asks her about herself. Lenore even says herself that Annabel coming to see her brought her back to life long before she died. She sees the flowers on the table, and sees herself again.
3. Smashing the vase
When Annabel tells her that their whole friendship was an act, Lenore becomes furious. As Annabel leaves, Lenore turns around and leans on a table with a vase of flowers on it. When Lenore sees the vase of flowers on the table, she’s weak, leaning over, clutching her stomach. She calls the flowers insipid, cloying, devious, things that could describe Annabel as she’s just seemingly betrayed her. But then she says “pointless, Fragile, Disgusting, beautiful flowers” as she shifts to anger towards herself, she’s referring to herself with those last few lines, infuriated that she can’t do anything abt this situation, that she’s weak and can barely stand, her hair done up and trapped in her flowing dresses. She hates this weakness, her lack of agency, how she knows Annabel did not want to do this but has no choice, that Annabel’s desperately clinging to any lie of control she can. She hates herself, how she can’t help the person she loves, that the person she loves has to help her up and fan her face and be terrible to her so she’ll feel hate instead of loneliness when she has to leave. She refuses to believe that she’s a wonderful pianist. She thinks herself guilty, of theos death and tearing her family apart. She thinks a person so guilty and weak and pointless as her can’t be capable of the talent Annabel speaks of.
4. Annabel’s flashback
In part of Annabel’s flashback after their conversation at the widows watch, Annabel sits in her bath. As she sits she starts reciting hamlet, of all things. Specifically Ophelia’s monologue. She floats in her bath, and repeats to herself lines speaking of flowers and mourning. As she attempts to calm herself after learning her friend has died in a vicious fire, she distracts from thinking by reciting poetry about FLOWERS. And what cuts her thoughts off? What does she see, what does her subconscious cause her to hallucinate, as she’s thinking about flowers and flower poetry in her bathtub. She sees LENORE. She thinks of flowers and hallucinates LENORE. Lenore driving her under the water, Lenore strung up with beautiful red ribbons, charred, embers flitting through her hair, berating her and haunting her, telling her the same words she did when they last met. Telling annabel that anything could tip those close to her off to the fact that she might not be all there. She recites flower poetry and proceeds to have horrific hallucinations of lenores ghost haunting her.
In the morning, annabel pulls some flowers out of a vase, holding the lily of the valley. She holds it after learning that there’s a mysterious man no one knows waiting to meet her. That he’s asked for her specifically. The lily of the valley in Victorian flower language represents return to happiness, and who shows up minutes later, dressed as a man and ready to wreak havoc upon her fathers estate? Lenore vandernacht. She then says, staring at the flowers that she’d like to wear something floral.
Annabel’s mourning clothes
As Annabel walks down to meet this mysterious visitor, she wears a black dress with FLOWERS ON IT. The day after learning a very dear “friend” has been killed in a fire, she wears a black dress with flowers on it, after having hallucinated said friend in the bathtub after talking to herself about flowers. She wears a black dress with a flower pattern on it in mourning of Lenore.
5. Pet, and the flower ring
Pet - in some places (not too sure on this one) pet can be short for petal, Annabel literally calls Lenore my petal
The engagement ring Lenore gives Annabel has a flower in it. The gift that’s supposed to symbolize lenores love for her, that’s supposed to be a piece of Lenore that Annabel wears, IS A FLOWER. ANNABEL IS WEARING LENORE. SHE WAKES UP IN PURGATORY, STILL WEARING THOSE RINGS. NOT EVEN DEATH COULD GET HER TO GIVE UP THAT PIECE OF LENORE SHE CARRIES. THE FLOWERS ARE LENORE LENORE IS THE FLOWERS.
All that is to say RAHHHH FLOWERS RAHHHH LET LENORE RELAX AND FEEL DESERVING OF LOVE AGAIN RAHHHH
#nevermore webtoon#lenore nevermore#annabel lee nevermore#the flowers the flowers the flowers#RAHHHH#lmk if I missed anything im crazy#OH WAIT LENORES CORSET HAS FLOWERS ON IT TOO#Annabel also probably likes the taste of fl-💥 🔫
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Kintsugi (the golden roses will bloom prettily in the space between your ribs)
Summary : You'd met Joel a year ago. Then you learn he and Tess are gone from the Boston QZ.
Warnings : Mature content, MDNI, rape attempt (not from Joel, though), pining, ANGST.
Tags : Just ask.
———
You hear it first in the whispers around the QZ. You see it, then, in the way your associates Matthew avoids looking you in the eye. You walk to the apartment and it’s like there’s a ticking sound, the countdown of a bomb. You knock, once, twice. Wait. Repeat the motion. Once, twice. Wait.
There’s the sound of footsteps, then. Not familiar ones. And a voice that drawls :
‘You waistin’ your time, sweetheart. Didn’t you hear ? They gone.’
You don’t turn to look at the man. You get down the stairs and into the street.
———
The way you see it, there are two kinds of memories living in your mind : the ones you hold on to, and the ones that won’t go away.
What went down the day of the outbreak wakes you up at night. Ten years old, at school. The way little Timmy launched at Travis and bit him right in the throat.
You mother always said that as a woman it was better to be a rose disguised as a sunflower. Be pretty, hide your spikes, but always be ready to strike. Draw blood. She was dead when you got home that day.
Sometimes you think about that other memory. You have a lot of memories with Joel Miller, but there is one you hold on to. One that keeps you up at night, cunt and heart aching. The memory of fingers in your hair, as you’re not quite awake, on an old couch. It’s just that : fingers in your hair, scratching your scalp, and the heat of his thigh right next to your head. Fingers halting and warmth leaving right before the door opened and the voice of Tess announced ‘come on, we need to go’. Sometimes you think it was all a dream.
You met Tess before you met Joel. She’d trusted you to smuggle some pills for her when things almost went south. Almost, because you were, ever since you had to kill your pal Katie by repeatedly beating her skull with a chair, your arms heavy and aching with effort, a rose disguised as a sunflower. Things almost went south but you played the dumb little girl act - almost thirty years old, you were, but you’d learned that men would believe anything as long as that belief made them think they could advantage of you. You smuggled the pills, put a knife through the throat of a FEDRA soldier, and ended up at Tess’ place with a bloody nose and a top half ripped-off. Except it wasn’t Tess’ place only, and that’s when you met Joel Miller, almost a year before today, before you hear ‘You waistin’ your time, sweetheart. Didn’t you hear ? They gone.’.
Poetry lies in the cracks of things broken, except, at the end of the world, there is no sweet, gorgeous, shiny gold to mend what’s damaged. You’d read it in a book, once, became obsessed with it, too - Kintsugi. You’d wished you could do that - as a hobby. Wished you could take broken pottery and fix it with liquid gold. Wished you could take your heart, your ribs, your everything, and fix that too.
When you entered Tess’ place that day and met Joel Miller, he took one look at you as Tess muttered Christ, kid, you okay ?
You were not a kid. You were almost thirty and when you were ten you had killed your friend Katie with a chair, and then Travis, and then you had gone home to find the corpse of your mother and when the world hit you, you’d hit back but also you wanted to fix pottery with shiny gold and-
And Joel Miller grabbed your jaw, gentle but firm, and his other hand grabbed your arm, sat you down, and cleaned up your bloody nose.
That’s how you met Joel Miller. Tall, broad, manly. Precise, careful, in his movements, as Tess asked about what happened. And then Tess, to him
‘We can trust her, she’s basically a wallflower. Very useful if you want things to go quietly.’
Not a wallflower, a sunflower, you wanted to answer. I love beautiful things and I love the sun and I love when life shines. But a wallflower you were considered, and a wallflower you became. And neither Tess nor Joel took the time to see the sunflower behind the wallflower. Nor the rose with spikes hidden behind.
And Tess put a gentle hand on Joel Miller’s shoulder, squeezed as they looked at each other and you knew. You knew that grip on your jaw, that focused gaze on your face were all you were going to get. You were not one to fool yourself.
A wallflower you’d remain.
And Joel Miller’s name would be yours to say in the quiet of the night, fingers in your cunt, when the darkness makes the world outside disappear.
Not quite liquid gold fixing the breaks between your ribs, but enough.
———
They made sense, Joel and Tess. Tess was stern, face hardened by years of struggling - that made her beautiful in a way you would never be because you’d learned to hide that part of you. She was glorious. Determined, strong, assertive.
One day you stopped before knocking at her door because you heard-
You heard.
Even the way she moaned was beautiful.
So you turned back, found a guy, and brought him back home.
You woke up to a furious pounding on your door and watched Joel throw the guy out, pants barely covering his dick, shoes in his hands.
‘Where were you last night ? Why didn’t you show up ?’
You couldn’t exactly said that you’d shown up to hear Tess being fucked into the mattress so you settled with
‘I got distracted.’
His hand grabbed your jaw, his eyes intense.
‘Don’t. Don’t ever do that again. Ever.’
You could have said it, then. Could have said that he didn’t seem so worried when his cock was buried in Tess’ cunt. Couldn’t have been bothered to show up before the morning after. You said nothing.
A wallflower indeed.
And now-
Now.
Now it’s been two days since you felt Joel’s fingers in your hair, as you were sleeping in their apartment. Two days since he stopped and got up before Tess walked in and said ‘come on, we need to go’. Two days of whispers and glances and maybe after learning they were gone, knowing they left, maybe you got drunk, and maybe a FEDRA soldier put his hand where it didn’t belong and whispered in your ear :
‘They’re gone now, you’re all alone, little girl.’
And maybe you slit his throat. Maybe you slit his throat and then cut his dick off, for good mesure. Nobody would know for sure, because when they found the corpse in the morning, you were long gone.
And with you, you took nothing, except the bone-crushing knowledge that even at the end of the world, heartbreak is still what hurts the most - not killing Katie, not your dead mother, not the twenty years fighting for your life - and no amount of burning liquid gold will ever fix the empty space where your heart should be.
But maybe,
Maybe, you think, as you walk through green pastures on a way to a mythical place called Jackson, maybe, one can be a sunflower and a rose at the same time.
Maybe you’ll kill if you have to, and maybe, if Jackson is real, you’ll spend your time fixing pottery with- maybe not gold, but with yourself.
But as you approach the gates of Jackson, arms raised, slowly, saying
‘I don’t mean any harm.’
You make a promise to yourself.
And that promise is shaken to its core when the man in front of you - warm, familiar eyes - introduces himself as Tommy, Tommy Miller.
But you make a promise.
A sunflower.
A rose.
You’re gonna fix all the goddamn vases in this place.
The golden roses will bloom prettily in the space between your ribs, and you’ll let them be beautiful, and you’ll let them draw blood, too.
———
Taglist
@pedritobalmando @amidjarin @ajeff855 @justpedropascal @sara-alonso @sarahjkl82-blog @amidjarin @sara-alonso@justpedropasc@mrsbentallmadge @farfromjustordinary @hnt-escape @kirsteng42
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What does it mean to erase a people – a nation, culture, identity? In Gaza, we are beginning to find out
“Earlier this month, Gaza’s oldest mosque was destroyed by Israeli airstrikes. The Omari mosque was originally a fifth century Byzantine church, and was an iconic landmark of Gaza: 44,000 sq ft of history, architecture and cultural heritage. But it was also a live site of contemporary practice and worship. A 45-year-old Gazan told Reuters that he had been ‘praying there and playing around it all through my childhood‘. Israel, he said, is ‘trying to wipe out our memories’.
“St Porphyrius church, the oldest in Gaza, also dating back to the fifth century and believed to be the third oldest church in the world, was damaged in another strike in October. It was sheltering displaced people, among them members of the oldest Christian community in the world, one that dates back to the first century. So far, more than 100 heritage sites in Gaza have been damaged or levelled. Among them are a 2,000-year-old Roman cemetery and the Rafah Museum, which was dedicated to the region’s long and mixed religious and architectural heritage.
“As the past is being uprooted, the future is also being curtailed. The Islamic University of Gaza, the first higher education institution established in the Gaza Strip in 1978, and which trains, among others, Gaza’s doctors and engineers, has been destroyed, along with more than 200 schools. Sufian Tayeh, the rector of the university, was killed along with his family in an airstrike. He was the Unesco chair of physical, astrophysical and space sciences in Palestine. Other high-profile academics who have been killed include the microbiologist Dr Muhammad Eid Shabir, and the prominent poet and writer Dr Refaat Alareer, whose poem, If I must die, was widely shared after his death ...
“As the ability to tell these stories publicly comes under attack, so do the private rituals of mourning and memorialisation. According to a New York Times investigation, Israel ground forces are bulldozing cemeteries in their advance on the Gaza Strip, destroying at least six. Ahmed Masoud, a British Palestinian writer from Gaza, posted a picture of him visiting his father’s grave, alongside a video of its ruins. ‘This is the graveyard in Jabalia camp,’ he wrote, where his father was buried. ‘I went to visit him in May. The Israeli tanks have now destroyed it, and my dad’s grave has gone. I won’t be able to visit or talk to him again.’
“A memory gap is forming. Libraries and museums are being levelled, and what is lost in the documents that have burned joins a larger toll of record-keeping. Meanwhile, the scale of the killings is so large that entire extended families are disappearing. The result is like tearing pages out of a book. Dina Matar, a professor at Soas University of London, told the Financial Times that ‘such loss results in the erasure of shared memories and identities for those who survive. Remembering matters. These are important elements when you want to put together histories and stories of ordinary lives’ ...
“This is what it would look like, to erase a people. In short, to void the architecture of belonging that we all take so much for granted so that, no matter how many Gazans survive, there is, over time, less and less to bind them together into a valid whole. This is what it would look like, when you deprive them of telling their story, of producing their art, of sharing in music, song and poetry, and of a foundational history that lives in their landmarks, mosques, churches, and even in their graves.”
#omari mosque#st porphyrius church#islamic university of gaza#free gaza#free palestine#from the river to the sea#religion#education#art#culture#journalism#occupation of palestine#israeli occupation#ethnic cleansing#genocide#israeli war crimes#war crimes#gaza#palestine#israel#middle east
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drop the rabban/piter ship manifesto Please
okay okay okay okay okay all right here we go
point the first: dave bautista and david dastmalchian are hot and therefore we are fully justified in wanting to smash them together like ken dolls
point the second: the 2021 scenes
rabban and piter never interact on page in the original books but denis made the choice to have them in scenes together because narratively they kind of fit as opposite sides of the spectrum of house harkonnen and that is fun. their canonical film scene having the vibe of "this fucking guy" on both of their parts fits the characters and belies a necessary amount of shared history, which is interesting.
plus, things that were deleted: bautista describes a scene where rabban is essentially trying to intimidate piter (i'd guess after their sauna scene with vlad). dastmalchian says there was a short scene of piter and rabban together where he's torturing a prisoner. this is probably the same scene. torturing a prisoner in proximity is basically a date for a mentat i think.
the choice to extend their screentime (even if for the pragmatic reason of not having to cast feyd until he'd have more than a minute of screentime and because denis loves his daves) creates a dynamic that is really cool! the slavering, entitled, shrieking manchild of house harkonnen and the coolly sadistic mentat? it's very hot to think about.
(please see this fanart for a summation of that Vibe)
point the third: narrative functions.
isn't it hot when foils kiss?
within the realm of dune, not speaking to the prequels/graphic novels, just the first book, rabban and piter essentially function as the top tier of baron harkonnen's operation - they are equal opposites, like real actual narrative foils. piter is a mentat and assassin and therefore serves a more subtle, back-end function while rabban is front-facing; he's the older of the nephews, he's a count and he's been ruling arrakis for a while.
the baron literally has an evil plan that involves taking back arrakis, installing piter as the ruler and then killing him and putting feyd in his place. when piter dies, he just does the same plan but with rabban. he treats them as interchangeable despite how different they are. they're at the top of vlad's list of "guys everyone fucking hates" together!
piter is also power-hungry. it makes sense that he'd see the most susceptible to manipulation harkonnen as an appealing target to sink his claws into. piter would absolutely treat rabban like a meat shield against the baron and, conversely, i think rabban would try to use piter to figure out how to keep his uncle happy. neither would succeed, but they would absolutely get wrapped up in each other trying.
additionally, they can't kill each other. neither of them have that boundary with anyone else, and could murderfuck their way through giedi prime, arrakis and lankiveil and the baron probably wouldn't care. but piter can't kill his boss's nephew, even the stupid one, and rabban can't damage his uncle's property. so even if they did hate each other, they would kind of be trapped in this state of flux where they couldn't do anything about it, anyway, so why not just fuck about it?
plus, with piter being a spice addict and rabban nominally in control of arrakis, there's a certain amount of poetry in the idea of piter being attracted to the source of his vices.
i conclude the manifesto with this excerpt from the novel:
like the baron thinks rabban is afraid of him but he's actually angry at him? come on.
#imagine if you would the baron forcing them to rule arrakis together to soften it up for feyd#dune#glossu rabban#piter de vries#it's the ship of the decade!#also comedy beat required: the baron constantly drones on about how fugly and stupid rabban is but actually he's not either of those things#which piter was not anticipating#it's very funny.#anyway write the fics! post the arts! feed this weird little ship#my birthday is june 29 so
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@nenestansunsthings I would absolutely love to talk about Deepcolor some more so thank you for giving me this prime opportunity. Although I'll preface everything I'm about to say with the classic 'I am not an expert or even particularly good at the video game Arknights'. I'm not doing big brain clears and I'm usually splashing around waves 1-4 of IS3 at the highest. I get through most new and old content with the classic winning strat of big fish with big numbers.
That being said, this is what you'll need to start off on the path of being a Squid Expert. A Squexpert, if you will. Now then:
This here is going to be your perfect Deepcolor.
Obviously she isn't going to be your go-to for DPS or serious tanking or anything like that, your general use for her is going to be as an opener. With her Module it costs 11 DP to get her and her first tentacle on the field (Yes that's the same amount you could use to put Mountain down instead but that's boring) so for most stages you pop her down asap right after your flagbearer and use her summons to block the early enemies around the map until you have DP to retreat them and set down your Big Boys. Easy, cost-effective, simple.
Aside from that, her summons are decently tanky for their cost so you can also use them to bait ranged attacks or the bomb drones or kill annoying spiders in the corner of the map. She can heal them back up too with her S1 if they survive, something none of the other summoners in the game can do so far (Though most of them have a way to refresh their summons, which Deepcolor can't do without retreating and redeploying). Basically you use the tentacles as mini-Gravels. With her module you'll have seven to work with, which is more than enough to get through most maps.
In SSS she's pretty much going to be a very cheap Supporter you can drop in and retreat immediately for free transfer permits, and in Reclamation Algorithm she's good for quickly scouting out around a new map with her summons. Nothing too fancy for those game modes.
The place I bring her out the most is as a starting pick for IS3, since in the early floors you'll usually have deployment slots to spare that she can fill right up with cheap blockers until you've built up your roster a bit more. You can use her S1 in situations where you need the summons to stay in place for longer, but her S2 can also come in clutch if Gopnik the One Punch or the invisible dog show up and you need to stall. For the cost of 3 whole hope you'll have 7 funny little tentacle guys with 35% dodge (50% at M3) that can keep the bear from hell in one spot for a surprisingly long time even with terrible RNG.
She's unfortunately useless against the duck, but you can't win them all.
You'll also find a whole lot of little spots in maps where you just need something that can safely kill a spider, or bait the stun snipers, etc etc. No she won't carry you past the third floor but she'll pull her weight very well while you're starting off.
Relics Deepcolor has good and/or funny synergy with are:
Glory Pack - Congrats you now have seven stun bombs ready to go anywhere on the map.
Sui's Wrath - And now you have seven random 3K damage airstrikes waiting to drop for 3DP a pop.
Glorious Kazimierz + The Return - 35-50% dodge on all allies in her range means she can really help these bad boys proc when you need them.
Timeworn Poetry Strips - Mostly self explanatory, but also: Unlike Ling, Deepcolor's summoning is only limited by your actual deployment slots. So she can put all 7 of her tentacles down at once with this, which is mostly just very funny to see.
Hand of Flowing Water/Stalwart Aid Books- I wouldn't recommend getting her just because you got these, there are other units that use them way better. Doesn't hurt to have them though.
There aren't any specific operators I can think of off the top of my head that she has unique synergy with, since the whole point of Summoners is just to fill in gaps when they're not soloing stages. But if you put her next to Andreana in your base or on a map I'll consider it a treat for me specifically.
#Arknights#My girl Deepcolor who I bring with me everywhere#this got long but I wanted to be thorough#If Hypergryph won't do anything with her#then by god the task falls to me and me alone#Also she straight up does a murder and I support women
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In The Wind
I wrote this story a couple years ago, as a response to my anxieties about the Russian invasion of Ukraine, the pandemic, and the idea that lifelong separation often disguises itself as something much more trivial.
I was angry with you that night, the last night we would ever see each other. You’d forgotten to take out the trash again. The house was a mess, and the twins were bouncing off the walls.
“How many times do I have to say this?” I told you, voice stringent. “I can’t put my foot down anywhere. Look at this.” I picked up the papers strewn across the dining table and slapped them back down. I kicked at the cardboard boxes blocking the hallway. “And this. Malachi, take that out of your mouth. Mara, watch your brother.”
“Gonna see gramma, gonna see gramma,” the kids chanted, either gleefully oblivious to my ire or purposefully ignorant.
“It’s fine,” you said, flapping a hand at me. “I’ll clean it when we get back.”
My annoyance simmered all night and flared to new life the next morning. The wind was so strong it almost blew us apart and I just managed to wrangle the kids into the airport’s stillness. I watched you pat your jacket, a look of infuriating innocence on your face.
“Where’s my passport…” you mumbled. The PA system chimed and announced that our flight was boarding. And here we were, stuck at check-in. You looked up, apology in your eyes. “You take the kids. I’ll catch the next flight.”
Looking back, I imagine that I felt a prickle of unease go down my spine. But maybe it was just the last vestiges of my frustration. Should I have stayed?
No, I would have said, It’s alright. We’ll go home together.
But the kids twisted in my sweaty hands and annoyance made tangled knots of my thoughts and if truth be shamefully told I wanted to punish you. And, not so shamefully, I am glad for my selfishness because it took the kids with me.
“Let’s go,” was what I really said, tugging on their hands. “Your father will catch up.” Mara turned to look back at you curiously. I gave her a gentle tug. “Come on. Time to go see gramma.”
Did you know what would happen? Sometimes, when I am desperate for poetry, when I am hungry for some sense to the closed borders and gas shortages, I imagine that you must have. I imagine that you knew the airlines would shut down and we could no longer stay in the country and that you made some great sacrifice to push us to safety. I imagine I am the ill-fated heroine in a tragic play, watching the threads unravel into my inevitable epilogue.
But I am weaving story where it doesn’t exist. Because of course you didn’t know. How could any of us know, if even the presidents and prime ministers did not?
You’ll be glad to know I watch the news now. I don’t do it like you did, with a rice bowl in your left hand and a foot propped up on the edge of your chair. I do it sitting straight, fingers stilled on my chopsticks and a mug half-raised to my lips.
And sometimes I don’t, because sometimes a man with blue eyes in a windless mansion drools false sympathy into the TV.
“I hear what you’re saying, Sarah, I do,” he lies, and says words like “collateral damage” and “economic recession.”
Malachi asked me when we could go home, some months or weeks after we left. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that this was home. I stroked his nose with my knuckle and smiled.
“Well, the airplanes are very tired.” He swung his legs in his seat. I glanced at his clumsy letters. “But planes like boys who work hard, so if you do well in school maybe they’ll make you an exception.”
I refused to feel guilty for the lie. We all need some false hope.
My mother and I watch the news together, sometimes. That man, Jared Thompson or Karl Cobbler or whatever his name is. (I know the news anchor’s name, but I am trying to make a point.) The blue-eyed man smiles genially from his tall ivory office.
“He reminds me of someone,” says my mother. “We didn’t have TV back then.”
She takes my hand in hers. I trace her finger, slightly bent at the same angle as mine. I’m startled to find I have callouses in the same places she does. The air is heavy, so I grab a cracked banana leaf fan and fan us both. The weight in my chest does not lift.
Mara lost her temper once. (More than once, but I am telling this story so it makes sense. At least in my head, I need this to make sense.) I took her to get the E string on her half-size violin replaced, and she wouldn’t get out of the car.
“Dad will fix it,” she said.
No, he won’t, I tried to say, but the words stuck like a fishbone in my throat.
“Of course he will,” I said instead, “but in the meantime you still want to play it, don’t you?” I perched on the cracked leather of the backseat and reached for her hand. She jerked it away, tucking her toy into her armpit.
“Dad will fix it,” she said again.
My own string snapped with a sting. I grabbed Mara’s tiny elbow and tugged. She shrieked. I yanked harder, but she scrabbled against the flaking leather and kicked her Skechers in my face.
“Fine!” I snapped, red face and wind-tossed hair giving the impression of a smoking fire. I slammed the back door and jerked myself into the driver’s seat, muttering all the way. “You want to play with a broken toy, you do that. I drive all this way, waste precious gas, you little ingrate—” The seatbelt jerked to a stop in my impatient hands and I resisted the urge to tear it to shreds.
Mara cradled her broken violin in her skinny arms. When we got home, I rested my forehead against the steering wheel until my mother coaxed me out of the car.
I’m a light sleeper. I bar the windows so the night wind will not wake me. I always got annoyed with you for opening the bedroom windows. Now, alone in my bed, the air stagnant as a dead summer, I pretend I am arguing with you. In my mind you slide the windows open and I grumble as the draft slides cold fingers down my arms.
“You’ll swallow the sky and float away in your sleep,” I mumble.
“A little breeze is good,” you say. You wrap your furnace of a body around mine. “The wind will carry me to you.”
My eyes snap open. The sheets are cold and the air is still. I turn on my side. The windows in this house aren’t the sliding glass kind like we used to have. They’re shutters that swing open like doors, bolted from the inside.
Eventually I tire of watching the news. When the blue-eyed man says words like “our heroes” and “liberation,” I stand at the door and watch the dirt road like a forlorn girl in one of those romances. Your silhouette never breaks through the dust. The road throws up eddies of dirt but the wind is aimless and smells of spider lilies. (I don’t know what spider lilies smell like.)
Malachi graduates middle school at the top of his class. Mara plays the cello and learns to change her own strings. They track airlines and ticket prices on our beat-up desktop computer and close the tab when they catch me watching. Some borders open, but not all, not yet.
Maybe not ever, no one says.
The night you return is the night I know you will never return. Papers are strewn across the table and cardboard boxes clutter the cramped halls. I startle awake on the worn couch with Malachi’s jacket around my shoulders. Mara is playing a rendition of Baikal Lake, but that isn’t what woke me. I sit up. Malachi’s jacket slides into my lap. I turn around.
A wind has blown the window open, warm despite the autumn night.
#m's writing shenanigans#short story#in the wind#international conflict#global anxiety#separation#grief#idk how to tag this
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matchup for xio / 🫠 anon
loading your match! ପ( •̤ᴗ•̤ )੭ु⁾⁾.｡.:✽・ﾟ＋
your match is…
VERGIL!
As soon as you gave me free reign and I read a bit of your description, I put you two together immediately. (So happy that I get to write some DMC, it’s my all time fav 🤞)
Vergil is someone with a hard shell that takes a long time to crack. He’s not easily trusting and he’s very picky with his company. Thanks to your initially quiet nature, though, he takes a chance on you; he’s drawn to your mystery and you don’t overwhelm him in the way that some others might do.
Then you start to open up slowly. It’s as though your personality blossoms. Funnily enough, this is the point where he starts to see you as more than a friend. Getting to know you is steady and sweet, plus he finds your happier, more easy-going side to be endearing. Once you come out of your shell, it’s easier than you think to get him out of his. You might assume someone like Vergil would be annoyed by any sort of loud nature, but he’s already attached to you by this point, and he doesn’t find you obnoxious like some people he knows… Ahem, Dante. He finds himself missing your jokes more than anything when you aren’t around. You make his life so much less dull, it’s like night and day.
You won’t get to know that for a long while though. He pushes it out as much as he can until he cannot deny his feelings anymore, and then he goes through the phase of consciously hiding them from you. He might even avoid you until he realises that this could actually upset you, and that’s not what he wants at all. It’s hard to say who would confess first, but someone has to make the move eventually.
Speaking of Dante, you two very quickly become friends, down to that very same sense of humour. Dante will try and befriend anyone, in all fairness, but with you two it definitely sticks. He probably makes fun of Vergil when he’s not in the room, or he’ll tell you some embarrassing story about him from when they were kids. Oh, sibling love, what a thing.
You’d also get on with Nico and Kyrie! It might be a while before you cross paths, but those two will be your girls through thick and thin when they do. A friend of any of the Spardas is a friend of theirs. Girls day out? You betcha. Kyrie will back it up with the idea that Nero and Vergil need to get closer after so much time apart, just so you guys can all hang out more often.
Vergil isn’t afraid of confrontation. He much prefers to avoid it when unnecessary, not wanting to argue pathetically with people like children, but in much of his journey through life, it has simply been a need. Like a chore one has to get on with. Defending you isn’t a bother at all, though. It’s more this idea that because he’s grown so used to doing this by now, it’s a sixth sense. He will not let anyone do you any wrong. Many people are too intimidated by him to attempt it in the first place. If you so decide you can handle yourself though, he’ll step back as you wish.
Unfortunately, he’s not good at dealing with emotions. When it comes to his own, he blocks them out altogether, or tries to overcome them by physical means- aka, a fight. He’s spent his life searching for power in order to forget what it’s like to feel weak. He’ll still stay by your side though, for as long as you need him. Just tell him if you need anything at all, he’ll do his very best to oblige.
Vergil would absolutely love to see your photography and would share your passion for certain music genres. Vergil has an eye for some art forms- especially poetry, which has been a passion of his from a young age. It heals the emotional damage he’s got shoved down in his soul somewhere. There’s a reason why V was so reliant on it when Vergil split into two forms. It captures his feelings; his human side. He’d love to share that with you once he feels comfortable
Your colour scheme literally matches. Dante will probably call you both emo to make fun of you, but he means no harm. If anything, he’s the emo- haven’t you heard the music he listens to? Um, hello?
He appreciates that you can balance logic and feeling. Vergil often acts on impulse when emotions are high, despite his highly analytical nature. He tries to take note from you to not rush into things so much.
Vergil is also not too experienced in the department of relationships, so you don’t have to worry about that. You both just take things as they come, without feeling pressured to behave or move forward in a certain nature
Lastly, Vergil will be extremely loyal and devoted. He doesn’t give his heart to just anyone, so although it may take some time to earn, it’s a very worthy prize.
I hope you enjoyed this matchup! :D It came to me very naturally, super fun to write !!
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how do you overcome writer's block?
hi anon!! thank you so much for your ask! i actually have a lot of thoughts on this topic!!! disclaimer that ymmv and this is just what has worked for me—though i hope it helps other people! this also got rather long, so i'm sticking it beneath a readmore.
i should start by saying that i used to get horrendous writer's block—the type that, if i were the crying type, would have left me in tears of frustration. however, after over a decade of writing, and four-plus years of that being writing with intent and dedication, i've figured out some things that have basically eliminated writer's block for me (with the exception of mental health-related hiccoughs that i can't really control).
first of all, i like to identify what kind of writer's block i'm experiencing, because that will help me determine my plan of action. broadly speaking, at least for me, writer's block can be broken down into two distinct—though at times overlapping—categories: idea block and motivation block.
idea block is what happens when, for whatever reason, no matter how hard i try, i can't come up with concepts or plots, and trying to write is a frustrating slog where none of the words i put to paper seem to feel quite right—this is the type of block where there's nothing stopping me from writing, but actually doing so feels like a slog. i also call this "dry" writer's block, because it's more tolerable to me personally—there's a lot of things i can do to help break the block that work fairly reliably for me (i'll get to that in a minute).
motivation block is what happens when i just cannot find it in myself to write, no matter how much i want to. i may have dozens of fascinating concepts, but for some reason, i just can't sit down and write. if i try and force myself, i'll feel resentful and bitter and unhappy—and this can make the entire process of writing incredibly unpleasant, as i will keep getting distracted and feel frustrated with myself. i call this "wet" writer's block—it's much harder for me to deal with, and can be pretty damaging if i try and power through it.
the third type of writer's block isn't really it's own category—it's the overlap between motivation block and idea block. i won't belabour the point, but this one is generally not something i deal with, and when it has happened, it's the most tolerable—if i have neither motivation nor ideas, then i'm generally not too upset about not writing. still, this can be frustrating! it doesn't feel good to find yourself unable to do something that brings you joy or meaning.
now that i've defined the types of writer's block, let's get to how i actually deal with them.
idea block
usually speaking, this is the easiest for me to deal with! generally speaking, i take a step back and try and assess the situation. oftentimes, the reason i can't come up with any ideas is because i'm overwhelmed by the other things in my life. my first line of action in this case is to make a plan to reduce the stress i'm experiencing, and then, after that, go through the various things i've collected and see if any of that sparks anything—for example, i'll go through my poetry tag on my blog, check out some books from the library, and watch an episode or two of a show. all of these are things that i can take inspiration from concepts or emotional beats from, and, even better, they don't really require me to do much! i also have a folder in my notes app specifically dedicated to fanfic ideas—this is where i jot down one- or two-line summaries of a fanfic concept i've thought of when i am, say, in a lecture or at the grocery store, and am not able to write at the moment, but i want to remember and work on the concept later on, and looking through this will often help with idea block. obviously, a folder of fanfic ideas is something that takes a while to build up—it's not a solution if you don't have anything already in there, but the other things i've mentioned, like reading a new book or watching a show, are things that don't require prior planning.
motivation block
this one is, like i said, much harder. however, the cause for it is often pretty immediately clear if i take a step back—usually, it's because i don't have enough happening in my life. this often occurs during breaks or on days that i don't have a ton scheduled, and the free time i have winds up seeming daunting and unappealing rather than enticing. in the past, i've definitely been guilty of trying to brute force my way through this—but, for me, at least, this is a really bad idea! it can lead to burning out, which causes damage in the long run, and is really unpleasant in the short run. instead, what i've learnt to do is to try and put myself in a writing mindset. some tools that help with this, for me, are going back to my initial concept(s) for whatever i've been working on recently, and try and identify if i've accidentally intimidated myself out of working on them, or if the concept itself is something i just don't feel particularly enthused by at the moment. once i've done that, i like to make playlists and moodboards—these can be for characters, or concepts, or anything you want, really! they're a creative exercise that doesn't require quite as much effort as writing, and they can help you with your writing later on. another thing that i do is read through my old works—anything that i've published on ao3 is fair game, and doing this often helps me to become motivated again because i'll find something that i really enjoy and want to replicate, or turns of phrase i want to use again. i also try and see if there's something physical that's the issue—i can't count the number of times where i was feeling unmotivated, and realised that, oh, i hadn't eaten in ten hours, or i was dehydrated, or i hadn't taken my medications for the day. another thing that helps with motivation block, for me, is to do a modified rubber duck method—i'll explain my wip or concept to a friend, and oftentimes they'll have comments or enthusiasm that will help me become motivated again, because i always have an easier time doing something when i feel like there's a third party that i am "accountable" towards.
total block
this one i honestly don't have a lot of advice for. generally speaking, though, in my experience, it's a good signal that i need to take a step back and recuperate—maybe i overdid it with my last project emotionally, or maybe i'm just really busy in real life and don't have the energy necessary to dedicate towards writing. either way, pushing yourself isn't a good idea! like with motivation block, it can wind up burning you out, or, barring that, make you associate writing with feelings of discomfort—which isn't something you want, because you can accidentally condition yourself into an aversion. my best advice for this is to just...............slow down! make yourself a smoothie, or eat some fruit. go for a walk, pet a cat, or work on a physical hobby. consider giving a friend a call, or texting them. in general, do something that reminds you that life doesn't have to be hectic and stressful—eventually, you'll have rested enough that your mind will probably naturally begin making up concepts and generating enthusiasm.
that's about everything i can think of! i hope anon, or anyone else reading this, find it helpful—and if anyone has any more questions, please feel free to ask!
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As much as a romantic I am, I know my worth now.
As much as I can forgive, I do. This world is enough damaged by hate and grudges. But I will never forget.
As much as I crave a family, I can't have it, until I gather my missing pieces and I stick them together into the wholeness that I'm made of.
As much as I want to say "I stopped feeling", I didn't. It's been years. I see you once a year or maybe longer. It's so rare, it's exhausting. I don't wait for you, but you brighten up my life in ways I cannot explain.
As much as I want to say I don't care, I do. People get offended, but I love profoundly. I have memories of people doing the most basic things and these are hitting some deep notes inside my soul. All of you are building my literature from scrap. I can't get enough of this.
As much as I want to sit here and cry my heart out, I know I have to pack my things and go away. I never had this place to call my home. I'm going from place to place, experiencing everything a person can experience, between blank people. People who judged me, people who dimmed my light. People who criticized me. People who called me stupid, immature. People who told me I'm too much. People who made fun of me for pleasure. People I kept trusting. Enough it's enough.
As much as I want this home of mine, this person that I can call my lover, my one and only, I can't find. I bet I can't, because I have to work on myself. I even help others at need. To tell something kind is for free, so I do it. I'd tell you all these kind words I never said. I wanted to tell you how much I like how you think, how you stimulate my mind. How in love I fell for you, for the shape of your eyes. I read melancholy in that shade of green, an inexplicable shade of blue-ish green. It's the same shade my cat has. My cat! Well said, my entire life in a small, furry body. I trusted you with my soul. I'll trust you until I'll die, for you made me feel everything a human can possibly feel. I'm starved of your touch. I always wanted it.
A thousand words I have to write, a human life to sum up what this one person is. Not because I fell in love with her. Not because I am happy for her. Not because I understood love the hard way, but because she is love. Her soul is sad, but so joyous and full of hope. She used to write poetry, but I can say, she used to rip off chunks of her soul to show humanity what she's made of. I don't forget. I remember them from the first read.
As much as I heal, as I experience people, as I find out new ways to love, yours was, is and will be the only one my soul knows. The only one I would fight for, if I knew you wanted the same. You said it's too late, but it's never too late. That's true. I need to caress my very bruised and beaten soul in solitude right now. I have to gather my own blood, my own system to help me from this hole of mere disrespect, lie, putrid human behaviour that came across myself. I have to cry. I have to suffer. I have to forgive. I have to let it go, so my body won't be haunted anymore. But it will never be too late for you in my life.
I'm not even sure if you come here anymore. I don't know if you read me and I don't know what you think of this all. I put pressure on you at such a chaotic time, when all I ever, ever wanted was to listen to you, admire you, work with you, build with you, laugh and travel with you. I even wanted to prepare your coffee, to look at you as you do your thing. I was so excited, I scared you off. Even this, it's toxic to think of myself like that. I was really happy and didn't know what you needed also. You didn't know what I needed. It's fine. We can't go back in time, but I believe a future can be built by two solid pillars that want something to last.
I want to be more of what I am. I want to say my truth, as long as I don't damage anyone. I now know what I want and all I ever want right now is to win myself back from all of this pain. I want my time back. I want my ideas back. I want my touches, my love back. I want to look at myself in the mirror and be proud. I want to help and recently, I started accepting help. I started seeing the people that I held dearly, hold me. I see them telling me nice things. I never seen friendship as such a blessed thing. I was so blind, as in not seeing that angels are hidden in people all around. Please, be kind. Please, love yourself, so you can receive love and spread love.
I went through Hell and back so many times. I never wanted so badly to disappear. I wanted to talk and I did talk to everybody, except you. You're right, you are unforgettable. You're so much more and I love that about you. I love that about people, too. You know, all my love for you, I spread it everywhere. You're that one letter I hold in my mailbox. Love gives me meaning, it gave you years back. I really hope it still does. I really hope you are loved, understood and taken care of. I really hope you well. I miss tou so so much and I love you this much, that I learned that love can be kept in there and remain, but how to express it more than letting you be your own self in the world? I want you to roam freely. You are my home and have always been since I met you. You feel like a friend, family, time and space, mysteries and real certitudes. You feel like poetry and books, like knowledge and expanding.
I have no idea what you're made of, but I believe I come from the same place. For that, I will rest for a bit and will win over my own life. I deserve it.
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Sept 19. 2023
I haven't written poems about you again
That was my thing, poems, I wrote them all the time. I wrote to you, like 20, and only one was a happy one.
When we broke up the first time, it was for like a week, I was distraught, but I didn't had enough time to process it. You came back and asked for another chance, I said yes.
The second times we broke up for like, 2 months? I had more time.
I was distraught, I was crying and sobbing and puking my guts out. I cried to my parents every night and I asked my sister if I could sleep with her cause I could not stand being alone. Everyone was worried for me, because I was in such a state no one had ever seen.
I wrote like 19 poems.
But I had more time to process, and I got mad.
I was so mad, I had this rage inside me that was so horrible I pressed it down, and then I went numb, and then I wrote my last poem to you, swearing I would never let you touch my poetry book again.
Then you came back.
The second time you came back, I knew you were going to ruin me. God, I knew if I let you back into my life you would completely destroy me, I knew that.
And still I let you.
But I started writing entries, I started writing about how having you in my life was so painful, because I knew, that when you inevitably change your mind, I was going to need to see all the damage you did, so I could go back to my rage.
I knew you were going to hurt, that you were making me cry, that you were making me write, I only write when I'm in pain.
I knew all of that, and still I let you in, and still I forgave everything, and still I stayed.
You are not the person who has hurt me the most.
That's me, me who knew and still let you come back.
It's hard living in the same space with the person who hates me the most, because that's the only reason I can come up to explain, why, if I knew you would be the end of me, I let you in again.
Cause yeah, I don't think you hate me, jeez, you don't even think of me, you are busy playing your "everyone leaves me act", "I was putting myself first act", "I did what I had to do act"
No, there was no need to do this to me, we are just as responsible, because yes I knew, but you knew too. You knew it was not enough, you knew it was mean, you knew it was not even the minimum.
There was no reason to do this to me.
And you can go around and act relieved and act "closing cycles" and all that bullshit you tell yourself to justify that in the end, you are selfish and you love playing victim of situations you create.
Go, do it all, give me more reasons to write about, show everyone how right they were, make a fool out of me again, laugh at me, change the side of the story so you look like the hurt one, give me as much content to make a whole book about you.
Prove me right.
That you were here just to wreck me and leave me the second I stopped settling.
You asked me to live with you.
And then you broke up with me on my birthday.
I turned the age you were when you met me.
I was 18, you were 21
Now I'm 21 and you are 24.
And still, you continue to act like a fucking baby, while I'm left with the aching of a dying man.
#pt 41#digital journal#long distance relationship#love#lovers#poetry#spilled poetry#datestearsbandageaids#hate#poem#situationships#exes#no contact#breakup
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youtube
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(I had to put the last cutscene as a seperate video because the two levels had exceeded the PS4's 1 hr recording limit. Oops)
Ok so now I gotta talk about V. Oh boy
V is unquestionably the weak link of this game, he's the character that nobody wants to play as and in a way he was kinda designed to be this way.
V has a very unorthodox and experimental playstyle which the developers knew was going to be divisive so they gave V the least amount of mandatory levels of all the characters: would you believe that we're already almost done with him? Yeah he only has 3 mandatory levels plus a boss rush. So luckily he doesn't drag the game down a lot
So the point of V's gameplay is that he's weak.
Not only is this communicated to the player through him receiving more damage than the other characters but through the simple fact that he can't fight on his own: he has to rely on his 3 familiars.
The way this works is that V has 2 main familiars: Shadow, the black panther and Griffon the bird who won't shut up.
Shadow represents your melee attacks meaning that when you press the melee button it's Shadow that's gonna do the combos
Griffon on the other hand represents your ranged attacks with his lightning strikes
When they're summoned on the field they will automatically gravitate towards the nearest enemies but if you lock onto one they will attack that one exclusively
Now let's get this one out of the way: to give credit where it's due: this actually works
There's nothing broken, it all controls fine etc They actually made this stuff work, the worst I can say is that the familiars have kind of a range around V outside of which they will no longer properly receive commands and if they go out of this range they will sometimes stop attacking and try to come back to you.
...it's just that it's not the most fun playstyle in the world y'know?
First off: it's kind of a mess. Look at this: there's so much shit on the screen you gotta focus on: you gotta keep an eye on both familiars, on the enemies and on V himself as you move him around trying to avoid enemies and it's very easy to get confused and lose focus of the action
Moreover V's familiar just don't have nearly the same amount of moves or variety as Dante and Nero
When a familiar is defeated it reverts to a ball of darkness which will eventually resurrect though you can speed uo the process by standing near it
The familiars can't defeat enemies per se, only put them in those dazed states which the require V to go to them and finish them off essentially preventing the player from just staying away from the action all the time
Your Devil Trigger is actually just V summoning his third Familiar: Nightmare
Nightmare is slow as fuck but hits like a nuke, acts 100% independently from V (though is very aggressive) and is completely invincible. Not only that but if your familiars were knocked out they will be revived upon summoning him and will also become invincible
Another mechanic which I used to sleep on is the ability to sacrifice parts of your DT gauge to put Shadow and Griffon into their own Devil Trigger states, which will not only make them stronger and more durable but also make them indipendent for a while
While your familiars are attacking you can have V read his poetry book which isn't just for show: if you do this while comboing you will regenerate DT gauge much faster.
The general gameplay loop with V is to read that book as much as possible so you can get enough DT gauge to either power up Griffon and Shadow or just summon the Win Button that is Nightmare
V is absolutely the worst character to play on DMD and that's not only because he himself is more fragile and his familiars get knocked out every minute but because, unlike Dante and Nero, his Devil Trigger...doesn't regenerate health
And since on DMD levels don't have any Green Orbs and DMC5 does away with consumable healing items (kinda, more on that at a later time), the only way to heal yourself as V is hoping that defeated enemies drop green orbs. The devs certainly knew this because you can buy some upgrades in the shop that can increase your chances of getting green orbs from defeated enemies...but it's still rng
These two levels on DMD are pretty determined to kick your ass, dishing out some real heavy hitters pretty consistently, especially those goddamn Behemoths (those huge slug like monsters)
I actually kinda like the first boss, he used to give me trouble until I realised that you can just spam Griffon's charged lightning attacks until you stun him and then go crazy with Shadow and Nightmare. In general he feels like a boss designed for V
The same I can't quite say about the second boss
He's way too fast for V's familiars, way too tanky on DMD, and when he starts manipulating time to either speed himself up or slow you down I swear the only way to dodge his attacks is spamming the side dash which contains an absurd amount of invincibility frames and is easily spammable, meaning that even if he attacks you mid-animation it will just pass through you. Yeah he's probably the only boss in the game that I can say that I hate
Gotta give credit to V though: he has some of the best taunts in the game
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Hello my love, I don't think I've ever asked - what is your FAVORITE song from each ts album? You can add why but it's not necessary.
hello darling! oooh i love this question and some are harder than others!
debut: cold as you. for every reason, but when i really got into and then clung to taylor in 2009, i was going through a horrible situation that was...damaging...and it felt like she was writing specifically for me. you put up walls and paint them all a shade of gray, and i stood there loving you, and wished them all away, and you come away with a great little story of a mess of a dreamer with the nerve to adore you...you never did give a damn thing, honey, but i cried, cried for you, and i know you wouldn't have told nobody if i died, died for you...she was the only one who understood and one of the only things in the world that made me feel less alone and kept me from. a far worse outcome.
fearless: unexpectedly, this is the HARDEST?! how do i choose? love story? perfect. you belong with me? perfect. forever and always, you're not sorry, the way i loved you, white horse, breathe? literally all helped save my life. even though red is My Album, i am so emotionally attached to fearless and i talk about it less due to some of the visceral reasons. but my favorite may be the title track. it just makes me so happy. there's somethin' 'bout the way the street looks when it's just rained, there's a glow off the pavement, you walk me to the car, and you know i wanna ask you to dance right there, in the middle of the parking lot. pure. joyfulness. also because the driving parts of the song, and run your hand through your hair, absent-mindedly makin' me want you will always be about my fave fictional boy to me.
speak now: long live. i love a lot of speak now, but there's just. nothing like long live. it is a song that makes me cry EVERY TIME i hear it, without fail. hold on, to spinnin' around, confetti falls to the ground, may these memories break our fall. will you take a moment? promise me this: that you'll stand by me forever, but if god forbid, fate should step in, and force us into a goodbye, if you have children some day, when they point to the pictures, please tell 'em my name. meli, simply typing this makes me cry, i'm serious. it's the beauty of a moment, it's the nostalgic sadness knowing no moment ever lasts. it's the love she poured into it when it became a song for us.
red: holy ground. it's hard with red because it's so special to me as a whole. it's state of grace and all too well and treacherous and begin again and everything has changed and i almost do and sad beautiful tragic and red and...it's the entire record. but. holy ground is my taylor song in so many ways. the "would save me from vecna" song. the fact that you can ache so much and lose so much, and yet still feel this profound love and gratitude, still look back and say, this was painful to experience, but it was also beautiful and blessed. as a terribly reminiscent girlie, who thinks too often of the past and the story and the paths taken (and not), it hits me where i live. the fact that the dust on the page still sparkles. that even heartbreak can still be holy. tonight, i'm gonna dance, for all that we've been through.
1989: also a bit difficult because i'm inclined to say clean or wildest dreams or style (her most perfect pop song), but it's this love. the poetry of this love, the longing of this love, the almost lullaby melody, the crashing and returning of the waves. a ghost lyric! the lantern flickering in the night. the tremulous hope. this love left a permanent mark, this love is glowing in the dark, these hands had to let it go free and this love came back to me. romanticism, baby.
reputation: i could say delicate or call it what you want or new year's day or dancing with our hands tied, but i'm basic and it's getaway car. the ties were black, the lies were white, in shades of gray and candelight? come on. that slinky synth. the sirens. the bonnie and clyde of it all. the light of freedom on my face. the knowing it's wrong and wanting something anyway. the guilt-laced escape. yes.
lover: I LOVE LOVER!!! my sweet. so many incredible tracks here, like. what am i supposed to choose? cruel summer? lover? cornelia street, daylight, afterglow? but it's the archer. the archer was another one that just...resonated indelibly and it felt like she particularly delivered it to me, like a prayer. i was grieving so inconsolably at the time, and she reached out with, i wake in the night, i pace like a ghost, the room is on fire, invisible smoke, and all of my heroes die all alone, help me hold onto you. and, i never grew up, it's getting so old. they see right through me, can you see right through me? that song is an eternal part of my soul and gave me an anchor in the night.
folklore: linked to the above, mirrorball. mirrorball came out as my #1 taylor song the last time i did the song ranker, and i went, yeah, that's correct. that tracks. it's so shimmery. it has such an embrace, and yet it's still filled with such a sense of yearning and self-criticism, of confusion and (calamitous) love. as a fellow mirrorball, it too resonates to the core of my heart. and yet again, as if she was plucking this from the constellations to give to me: i'm still a believer, but i don't know why. i've never been a natural, all i do is try, try, try.
evermore: it was gold rush for a long time, and then ivy, cowboy like me, 'tis the damn season, but as time has passed, i have settled more and more on that title track. the sharp cut of the grief in it. the slow, ponderous catharsis. that feeling of thinking you're going to catch your death, and then continuing to live. pain lingering but transforming. the indescribable sliver of hope in, and when i was shipwrecked, i thought of you. in the cracks of light, i dreamed of you. it was real enough to get me through.
midnights: so my lyric on midnights is obviously, i'm just too soft for all of it, but overall song? i've been captivated by maroon and midnight rain, but my initial favorite was snow on the beach (the clean version, because it works better for me), for being dreamy and soft and suffused with stardust, and i think that holds. stars by the pocketful.
ilyyyyyy, thank you for asking this! 🥺🥰💖💖💖
#bcyoureallthatmakessense#letterbox#taylor swift#thrown out speeches#bubble wrap around my heart#*#posting this at 1 am no one is here but <3 <3 <3
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Hey Jen,
I just had my first year of college and thusly had my first gay relationship with a girl. I am having some ups and downs about “getting over” her and don’t know how to begin processing our relationship. This post might be a bit of a long one as I have quite a few things I am seeking advice for from a queer elder that, especially while at home for the summer in a small rural town, I don’t have the luxury of having.
For a bit of context. We started our relationship very soon after she ended her relationship of 2+ years on good terms. We were together from the start of freshman year to the end, mutually agreeing to not do long distance. I am grateful for that, as I don’t think that we would be compatible in the long run anyways. We ended our time together on awkward terms. We haven’t spoken since her stating that she needed more time alone to sit with things. That is a very abbreviated gist of all that happened.
I see vignettes of her online and it is hard to feel anything but longing and disappointment in myself for having hurt her. Have you been in a situation similar before? I am having a lot of issues with how to break down my feelings about the range of things that happened with us and how much I /really/ miss her friendship.
I have also been dealing a lot with being in the same town as my ex boyfriend, who caused me a lot of emotional distress and damage during our time together (and that’s a whole other story ! ). I feel like I have been tussling with the label of lesbian because I have had a lot of vicious returns of comphet/bordering intrusive thoughts of talking/romancing/being physical with a man
Forever grateful for your advice,
- A young butch
First relationships that form in college or high school do not have a good track record of lasting. We just change so much during that time due to age and the massive amount of experiences we are having. Our lives are planned for the moment but rarely for the long term so it is hard to solidify common future goals together.
Breaking up because distance was inevitable is a good reason. One year of making memories and learning about navigating a relationship with a woman is a gift.
One of my lesbian mentors once told me that a relationship length is the measure of its value. Short term, destined to end, romantic and intimate relationships can be rich and fulfilling and teach us so much about ourselves and what we like and don't like.
Those early relationships are a time for growth and building skills to help as we get closer to a time and age where we can and want to settle down for longer.
It is way better to hurt each other with a break up while things are ok because waiting until things go bad can cause so much more damage and result in resentment. In my experience, after some time and distance you will come back around to a friendship based on mutual memories and shared history.
I dated men in high school, well, boys. We were young and I only knew I was SUPPOSED to date men. I didn't really think women were an option even though I knew something wasn't quite clicking. I had one last go with a man after college and actually had sex with him. Our two week dating period is a blur of alcohol and me trying to convince myself it was "doable" over a life time.
I started hanging out with more lesbians and really listening to them. They way they talked about intimacy and chemistry with women made me realize i was exerting so much effort into making myself like men and they were just easily and effortlessly loving women. They didn't say thing like "she is nice". They said things like "she is spectacular and warm and I can't wait to look in her eyes again". It was like reading an dry news article about the stock market as opposed to lovely and flowery poetry. I knew then that I was working to fucking hard when I could just stop that and embrace what came easily to me, IF I let it.
Try that. Try looking at how much exhaustive time and energy you put into thinking men are what you want. Instead of climbing a dirty, stinky, hot and sharp rocked mountain (men) lay in the soft grass in the sunshine (women) and just youself be surrounded by comfort and passion. Less work much more fulfulling.
YOU deserve to be happy. Don't let society or an abusive ex tell you differently.
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Read your story bdg and I really loved it! Would you ever publish physical copies of it? You're one of those writers that I admire and give me the confidence and motivation to write. Take care and much love!
thank you so much!! it's not done just yet, but since I've been in the middle of a move & had some personal things going on, it's been on a bit of a hiatus til' I can get things sorted out! I'd love to try and publish copies, but I have no clue of the marketability lmao.
If anything I'd probably end up self-publishing through amazon or finding some other sort of print-on-demand service. In my perfect world the proper physical copy of Black Desert Glass would be a leather notebook that's severely water-damaged, to the point where the pages have clearly fallen out and been put back in the wrong places. Some pages are smudged in a variety of substances- wine, dirt, blood- and the water damage never really affects the legibility in that you can tell where the ink originally sat on the page before it ran.
Interspersed throughout would be a variety of diagrams, charts, tables, and pages torn from textbooks pertaining to a variety of things. Everything from alchemy to sheep dogs and much, much more. I really do want it to be a multimedia sensory experience someday, and if there was a way to make it really feel like the reader had stumbled on this fucked up notebook about some wacky dudes in the desert it would be perfect!
I want the reader to run their fingers over the pages and feel where the papers have warped, the grit of the desert dust and sand stuck in between the cover, have them actually sift through all of these weird, seemingly-unrelated excerpts Dag was collecting until they can piece together what means what and where it all fits together. Also, each copy would come with a small scrying mirror.
Sort of like those -ology books, but for adults and weirder about it. Or a much more ambitious House of Leaves-style presentation. But because I'm just some guy and I have never been published in my life, I don't think I'd be able to get that right off the bat. Maybe someday!
BDG is a really personal story to me, and writing it has been really therapeutic and helped me work through some shit I really struggled with. I can just really get into Dag's deranged little mindset and flow. I know what happens, I haven't really made an outline at all and that's honestly been really freeing!
I do eventually want to publish physical compilations of my poetry & collages as well as some of my zines. I think I have physical copies of Lambshank in storage somewhere, but they ended up being the wrong size (they're around regular magazine size, lol) so once I find them they'll go on my etsy shop at a slight discount since they're a weird size! it'll be a bit before I'm able to fully re-open The Sabbath, but it is returning. That is a threat. [Friendly]
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