#‣ bevie ‚ i believe in something again

[hawnks]

Alpha!Nanami/Omega!reader

Word count: ~2,800

warnings: a/b/o typical sexism, abuse of authority (from side character), mention of leg injury

……………………………………………………….

He brings the storm with him.

You learn him in whispers, along with a bevy of myth and rumor. He drifted here from the East. His clothing has been mended at least a dozen times, but his shoes are sturdy, expertly crafted. He makes no noise when he walks — hardly any noise at all. Rōnin, not samurai. And you can’t trust a man with no honor.

He killed his old master, I heard.

No, he was exiled.

Maybe he killed his master because he was exiled.

“He’ll be gone tomorrow once the rain lets up,” the innkeeper says, cutting off all further speculation. “Now, mind your work, not the guests.”

Beside you, someone grouses, “He chose a funny season to wander, if he’s afraid of the weather.”

…

The rain does not let up.

It puts everyone in a sour mood. The streets turn viscous and tacky, the air brutally cool. You draw the short straw, sent to fetch the days meat in the early morning, a long trek to the fishmonger that leaves you drenched down to your underwear.

It takes twice as long as usual — you lose your sandal a few times in the muck — and when you arrive the stand is vacant. The old man had come down with pneumonia.

Frustrated, you take the long way home. They can wait for the bad news, and you’re so soaked a few extra minutes won’t make any difference. You catch the eye of a few of the daimyō’s men, leering at you from beneath awnings, snickering as you walk by.

“Wanna hear a joke about wet omegas?” one of them calls to you.

You grit your teeth and keep walking.

You deliver the news about the fish to the innkeeper at the door to her room, so you can dart out again before she has a chance to say anything. God forbid she sends you out on another errand.

Soaking, furious, you change into your uniform, and begin your shift at the tavern.

The work is tedious, but decently lucrative. You like to talk to travelers, learn what’s happening beyond the boundaries of your town. It’s hard to put into words what you get out of this, hoarding information like you’re starved for it. Maybe the sheer notion that there is someplace else. That this town and its people are not the only things in the world.

The comfort of knowing away is still possible.

You expect to ask the rōnin the same, starry eyed questions, regardless of how the other server is avoiding him. It might even be enough to salvage this shitty morning.

But you don’t get a chance to ask him where he’s from, what he’s seen. You open your mouth to say something, and choke on air thick with the scent of wisteria.

He meets your gaze.

He won’t look away.

Your wet hair drips on his table.

You can’t feel your fingertips.

Shoving yourself away from the table so hard it rattles against the floor, you excuse yourself in a mumbled tumult. You recruit the other server to take over your tables for the rest of the morning. You must look as awful as you feel, because she doesn’t even question it as you retreat back to your room, throw yourself under the quilt. Close your eyes and pray for your heart to settle.

The one thing the gossip didn’t prepare you for — an alpha.

…

Another day of storms. Another morning you draw the short straw.

Another day you limp home through the mud, empty handed.

The soldiers don’t leer today. Instead, the daimyō is waiting for you. It feels like he’s always waiting for you, that he could swoop in any moment, as quick and ruthless as a hawk.

He’s said he could follow your scent straight to you, no matter where you’re hiding. Sometimes you believe it.

He’s leaning against a wall under an awning, but you know the casual stance is deceptive. He can be fast when he wants to be.

He calls your name, an inferred order to come.

You pretend you didn’t hear, keep walking.

He’s standing straight now arms at his side. Ready. Your insides feel leaden. It takes all your willpower to keep moving forward. To disregard an alpha is one, painful thing. To disregard the daimyō is simple insanity.

Water blurs your vision. You can’t tell from the corner of your eye what expression he’s making. Sometimes he finds your insolence humorous.

Sometimes not.

Just a dozen feet further and you’ll be at the bend in the road.

“You should greet me,” he says. Quiet, but you’re so hyper-vigilant, there’s no way you could miss it.

“Good morning, My Lord,” you whisper to your feet.

He doesn’t step out into the rain, but his voice follows you around the corner. Teasing, condescending. “That’s a good omega.”

He could kill you for your bad manners. A servant, ignoring their lord. No one would question it, no one would dispute it.

But then — he would be killing the only omega in the whole town.

As much as he resents your disobedience, he would resent the loss of you even more. An alpha must have an omega, he told you. That is his right.

Chin tucked and scurrying, you don’t realize you’re on a collision course until you’ve already run into the man. The impact sends you tumbling to the ground.

Through the buffer of the downpour, it takes you a minute to recognize him. His scent.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he says. “I apologize.”

He bends to offer you a hand up. You just stare at his outstretched palm. Silent. Reeling.

You wait for him to give an order. Demand you take his hand, or that you come to stand on your feeble legs all on your own. It’s simply an alphas nature to wield their power like a cudgel, to bend everything and everyone to their will.

And now you have two of them to deal with.

Another moment of stillness. Your breath steams. Your pulse drowns out all other sounds.

He kneels.

Like this, on the same level, you can see the color of his eyes. So perfectly brown they’re almost black.

“Are you alright?” he says.

His voice is staid and calm. Not demanding. Not cruel. It — confuses you. You don’t understand what he wants from you.

You rise to your knees, shoving him with all your strength. He doesn’t budge. He remains solid and upright beneath your hands. You can feel the muscle, the innate strength. He’s warm, beneath the wet clothes. So incredibly warm.

You wonder if he could soothe your chill. You wonder if the touch of his bare skin would burn.

With a gasp, you tear away, appalled and mystified by your own reaction.

He stays kneeling as you rise and step away. He stays as you rush home, the scent of wisteria heavy in your lungs.

…

The innkeeper is displeased with your performance, of late. She gives you a stern warning that you shouldn’t let your “licentious nature” interfere with work.

“I don’t know why I agreed to take an omega on,” she sighs. “Not like you’ll be around for much longer, anyway.”

You wince. “Am I fired?”

The old woman laughs. “No, no. Not yet, anyway.” She waves at you, a full body gesture. A reference to the omega in you. “You’ll be wed to His Lordship soon, anyway. You won’t have to worry about the toil of work anymore.”

You excuse yourself shortly after.

…

The days are a monotony. Even the fear is so commonplace you lose track of it. The daimyō grows impatient with you. He calls to you from the shelter of the awning, each time a little bolder, a little less demure about his intentions.

“You know, I have a bad habit of breaking my things when I get bored of them,” he tells you. “I wonder what other tricks you have to keep me entertained.”

You hang your clothes to dry every evening, and the drip becomes a steady cadence, like the ticking of a clock.

This is your life.

The rain.

The rain.

The rain.

…

The decree is issued that afternoon. Marriage.

You’re to report to the royal estate before sundown, along with everything you own. You will not be coming back.

You pack your bag; you take the road out of town. With the city at your back, you’ll have to pass through the outskirt woods. Then across the river, a dangerous gambit when the water is this high, but that just means you won’t be followed.

You can’t imagine the consequences if they catch you.

The path grows looser the further you go, the mud deep, silt as slick as ice. Arduous and exhausting. And dangerous, too.

You don’t realize your footing is off until it’s too late. You slip, land badly. You cry out before you can stop yourself.

You struggle to your knees, get one of your legs beneath you. A shock of pain has you tumbling down again.

You can’t stand. You can’t run.

Just moments after you fall, a shadow overtakes you. And a man, looming, familiar, crouches before you.

“I heard your voice,” he says. “Can you walk?”

You shake your head, timid, overwhelmed.

“Pardon me,” he says, before hefting you up into his arms.

The ease he does it with is startling. An alpha’s superior strength.

He brings you to a small hunting cabin. Clearly abandoned, but decent enough. It’s dry, and a small fire is going in the hearth.

There’s no furniture except for a rudimentary pallet, which he sets you down on.

“May I?” he asks, hands hovering above your stockinged leg.

He takes your silence as answer enough, unrolling the material gradually, trying not to disturb your injury. He inspects it briefly, pressing carefully. You wince, he stops.

He reaches for his bag, retrieving a small tin. “Your ankle is sprained,” he tells you. “You should return to town in the morning.”

“I need to leave,” you return absently. “I have to get past the bridge.”

He frowns.

“The bridge has collapsed. The river is impassable.” He had tried to leave that morning, only to face the same dilemma. He considers you leg. ���Besides, you won’t make it very far.”

The reality of your situation dawns on you, a slow tide of dread.

You missed your chance. You’ve lost your only opportunity at freedom.

You yank out of his grasp, dragging yourself across the floor, to the corner on the far side of the cabin.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you—“

“No. No.” You gnash your teeth at him, feeling wild with fear, unable to see past the dark curtain of it. “I have to go. I can’t be trapped in here with you.”

He raises a hand, a placating gesture, but all you see is motion, canting toward you. An alpha. A threat.

You grab whatever is closest. You throw it at him.

The stick doesn’t even hit him, but that doesn’t stop you. You throw everything within reach.

He just waits for you to give up, but soon enough he realizes how stubborn you can be.

“Enough,” he says. His voice fills the shack, not loud, but indomitable. The undeniable command of an alpha. “I’m not going to hurt you. I would appreciate if you would offer me the same courtesy.”

You drop the stone you were going to hurl at him, suddenly incapable of aggression. You feel — groggy, but less terrified now. Very nearly calm.

His pheromones, you realize.

The notion that he’s using them on you should incense you, but you can’t muster it. You close your eyes, exhausted.

Eventually, after long minutes of tepid silence, he murmurs, “I was here first, you are aware of that, right?” His tone is almost — sullen.

And for some reason, that very human show of petulance is enough to thaw you.

You laugh.

You can’t stop. You laugh so hard it’s hardly laughter anymore. It’s so intense it makes your ribs hurt, brings tears to your eyes.

It feels like the first time you’ve been able to think clearly in weeks.

When you finally calm to a few soft hiccups, you lay down and throw your arms out. Passive.

“Alright, swordsman,” you say, “Fix me.”

He’s slow to approach you, cautious of another rock coming at him. But you remain still.

His touch is gentle, so soft it’s like he’s barely handling you at all. He retrieves the tin of salve you kicked out of his hand, and begins to apply it. It’s cool, slightly astringent. Beneath that, the scent of wisteria.

His fingers are just as warm as the rest of him.

It’s over before you can get used to the sensation of him touching you. He pulls away, returns the tin to his bag. “That will help with the swelling. You should still avoid putting weight on it until it heals.”

“Thank you,” you force yourself to say.

You think you hear him chuckle.

…

Night blooms, full and dark.

Despite your anxiousness, the waiting has grown tedious. Unbearably so.

“Is there anything in that bag to alleviate boredom?”

He glances at you for a moment. Hesitating.

Finally he reaches inside, pulls out a small binding. He passes it to you.

A book of poems. You recognize the shape of the sentences, some of the words. You wonder what use a swordsman has for literature, but the swordsman is full of surprises evidently.

Th pages are worn, the edges soft from thumbing.

“I can’t read,” you say. You look at him. Expectantly.

You hold the book out. He takes it, slowly, gingerly.

He reads.

He’s not much of a performer, although you didn’t expect him to be. It’s clear he’s not used to reading aloud, but he knows these passages well. He’s tone is even, with little inflection. The words come out perfectly paced.

They’re love poems. Not flowery or decadent, but earnest, gentle.

It seems at odds with what you know of him, what you’ve assumed from his status, both as a rōnin and an alpha. You’re not sure what to make of him anymore, how to reconcile the image you built of him in your head and everything you’ve witnessed here.

His swords are leaned against the wall beside him, sure proof of a history of violence.

The question comes, unbidden. “Have you ever killed someone?”

He pauses, glances at you. He searches your face for something, the fear that should accompany those words. But your expression is blank.

Silence, fraught with the tense memory of how you ended up here. What were you running from? Why? He must understand, to some extent. No one reaches desperation without pretext.

“Yes,” he says, simply.

“If I asked you to kill someone,” you murmur. “If I paid you…”

The implication feels enormous within the tight confines of the cabin.

“I don’t believe that’s what you want.”

“What do I want?”

“To not be put in a position where you have to make that kind of decision.”

That makes something in your chest feel tight, on the verge of snapping. Another thing you can’t wrap your head around. Another emotion you can’t name. Uncomfortable, but not frightening. Not like before.

You feel displaced, unmoored.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“I’m not being nice,” he says. “You need help. I’m in a position to provide it.”

And that seems wrong to you. Just because someone has the means doesn’t mean they’ll offer them, certainly not freely. Especially not when someone is a such a burden.

“I’ve never met an alpha who’s kind to an omega just for the sake of it,” you say despite his denial.

He mulls that over for a moment, head cocked as he decides how to respond.

“I didn’t know you were an omega until tonight,” he says, quietly. “I had my suspicions, but…”

“Were my bountiful charms not enough to tip you off?” You snort at his blank expression, too polite to disrespect you with an answer. “Why now?”

“Your scent. It’s…subtle. Easy to miss, especially under these circumstances.”

“What do I smell like?”

He smiles, for the first time since you met him. It softens his severe features, makes him look younger. Less world-weary. “You smell like rain.”

He continues reading as the sky continues to churn, until you can hardly keep your eyes open, just barely holding on to the soft thread of words.

“Sleep,” he says gently. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Despite yourself, you believe him.

[teecupangel]

Tee, I'm adding another fandom to our Isekai Protagonist Desmond bunny bank. I finally got around to playing Rune Factory 5 (after being distracted by a bevy of other games) and was hit by the idea that Desmond would find eating BREAD to gain new crafting recipes to be really fucking wild. Like. How in the hell?! And that, to separate them from normal bread- they're. They're just. They're just called [Insert Craft] Bread and that's it.

For example! You want to make a potion? Gonna have to scarf down some Chemistry Bread! A new battle-axe with added poison damage? Weapon Bread! Wanna learn how to make some, I dunno, soup dumplings to woo the local wolfman himbo? (Or himbo wolfman, either way he's pure of heart and dumb of ass.) Well, you might need to level up your cooking skill but once you've gotten a level (or three or ten), then you might get lucky after chowing down three or four Cooking Breads but when you don't get any sudden bursts of enlightenment after that then you're gonna need to level up again!

All of it might have Desmond questioning reality some more but at least he's got some eye-candy to make up for it all! (And we could even make some of the potential husbands local expies of his usual AC partners. And yes, you can choose to romance and marry your own gender now in RF and it's non-fantasy sibling game Story of Seasons.)

(Just in case anyone is wondering, Story of Seasons is the real Harvest Moon sequels, not whatever ‘Harvest Moon’ game Natsume Inc is publishing. If you’re wondering if it’s a real ‘Harvest Moon’, any Harvest Moon released in the US by 2014 named ‘Harvest Moon’ are not part of the real series under Marvelous/Xseed)

Okay, so let’s talk about Desmond waking up in some weird place he has no idea ever existed in his own world. People assumed he has amnesia because he ‘forgot’ so many things about their world but Desmond is pretty sure he’s been transported to a different world.

Exhibit A: monsters.

Exhibit B: the logic behind these… ‘specialized’ breads.

So Desmond is left with no choice but to… well… go with the flow.

He has no idea why they gave him a farm though but… it was nice.

There was something nice about how everyone was helpful. It made Desmond feel like he was truly part of Rigbarth. SEED sounded fishy as hell though so he didn’t agree to joining them (also, he didn’t want to join any organization right now).

Overall…

Desmond liked to think of this as his retirement.

And it was fun trying to figure out how this world works. There was a lot to do for the farm but, even though that was true, Desmond had never felt more relaxed.

There were also a lot of kind people who didn’t mind joining him in exploring what lies beyond Rigbarth.

Hell, he even got a monster ranch going on in one part of his farm.

And then…

A man with amnesia going by the name Lucas arrived in town and…

He believes he knows Desmond.

He doesn’t seemed to remember when or how though but it was a clue. A clue to why Desmond had been sent here…

But the real question is…

If he finds the answer to his questions… would he be able to return to his old world?

Did… did he even want to?

Unorganized Notes:

I kinda like the idea that the bachelors and bachelorettes remain who they are and this will be a case of Desmond finding love in the ‘strangest’ of places.

His children though… the game gives 3 (1 older and twins) so that means we can have Desmond’s children be reincarnations of Altaïr, Ezio and Ratonhnhaké:ton (called Connor in this one). The twist can be hidden at the beginning on and Desmond learns they’re really his ancestors later on. This does mean that you’re free to choose who Desmond falls in love with (or make it a vote idk).

Considering Lucas’ true identity in the game, this might end up being one of those “eternal love” setup where Lucas used to be an Isu who created the world Desmond is sent in as some kind of simulated universe and placed his conscious there to escape the Solar Flare millenias ago. Minerva’s last ditch effort to save Desmond pushed him into the Grey and Lucas noticed that Juno was trying to take him so he grabbed Desmond and yanked him to his ‘safe world’. Lucas lost his memories because Desmond isn’t part of his world so Desmond’s sudden appearance caused a chain reaction that ended with Lucas’ amnesia (as he’s being repaired). His children being ‘reborn’ is actually his Bleeds gaining their own bodies.

Will Desmond make his own Brotherhood in this one? Probably not. At most, he’d teach his children Assassin-like tricks to help them be safe but not train him the way Bill did. That’s why it took a while for Desmond to realize his children are his ‘ancestors’. Ezio was the one who realized something fishy was going on at the start because (1) his older brother is named Altaïr and (2) one of his parents is named Desmond. The monster and fantasy-esque setting of the world he was reborn in offkiltered him a bit though XD

Up to you if you want to have an actual ‘oh the world is in danger… sorta’ plot as well or you just push it in the background with Lucas and Radea and let Desmond have his retirement.

[animebw]

Seasonal Reflection: Spring 2023 Anime

Now that’s more fucking like it. I was feeling pretty down on anime after a disappointing winter season, but spring has come in like a freight train to remind us why this medium is so damn important (just in time for summer to let us down again because my god this new crop of shows is looking thiiiiiiiiiiin). Making the choice not to stick with shows I wasn’t enjoying just for the sake of completion was clearly the right call, because not only did that leave me with fewer bad shows sucking my my free time and motivation, it meant I was able to much more happily appreciate the bevy of excellent offerings that Spring 2023 had to offer. From an absolute top-tier run of rom-coms to a slew of entrancing fantasy series, I was never at a loss for things to enjoy. I’ve already shared by thoughts on Vinland Saga’s flawed but excellent second season (8/10) and the abysmal, overrated trash heap that was Oshi no Ko (3/10), as well as quick thoughts on all the series I ended up dropping. But if you want to know my thoughts on the other shows I watched to completion? Then read on, and see which spring offerings are worth checking out!

Uma Musume To the Top: 4/10

One of these days, I’ll be able to better articulate why this franchise leaves me so cold. What is it about Uma Musume that made fans go gaga for historical racehorses anthropomorphized as cute anime idol horsegirls that I’m not getting? Cause from where I’m sitting, the whole thing is just a bloated, overwrought exercise in hacky melodrama and shrink-wrapped moeblob pandering with the occasional actually pretty decent sports anime arc thrown in there. The whole thing just feels so cynical and calculating, from its lazily slapped-together premise that feels like three random popular anime genres shoved in a blender with no rhyme or reason to the obnoxious soap-opera histrionics that define its attempts at tugging your heartstrings. And while this 4-episode OVA certainly has the best, most exhilaration animation of the bunch- seriously- it is stunning how good the racing looks- it also makes the unforgivable mistake of having zero Gold Ship content. They got rid of the funniest character in the show and I will never forgive them for it.

Kubo Won’t Let Me Be Invisible: 4.5/10

I think 2023 is the year that something officially snapped in me. I have just entirely lost patience with middling rom-coms that exist for no other reason than to sell the fantasy of a perfect manic pixie dream girl who’ll love your totally bland forgettable self. I mean, not like I had much patience for them to begin with in the first place, but watching Kubo Won’t Let Me Be Invisible felt like staring the futility of mindless wish fulfillment itself in the face. Does it have some good jokes? Yeah. Is the animation pleasing enough? Sure. But between the embarrassingly forced whimsy in the soundtrack and the treacly sweet presentation that tarts up this bargain-bin Takagi-san like some sweeping, romantic ideal, the inherent emptiness at the heart of the fantasy it’s selling just becomes impossible to ignore. Boys, I beg you: get higher standards for yourself and the shows you watch. You will not cure your loneliness by losing yourself in the illusion of a perfectly sweet, doting girlfriend who’ll never ask you to outgrow the things you hate about yourself. You deserve better than settling for endless self-indulgence at the hands of an industry that doesn’t believe you’re capable of more than that. Or just, you know, at least only watch anime of this kind that actually are good, compelling stories in their own right with more to say than “Gee, wouldn’t it be great if Kana Hanazawa was the only person in the whole world who I mattered to?” There’s even one of those later in this list! You don’t have to settle for mediocrity! Seriously!

My Home Hero: 4.5/10

I feel bad for this show, because it’s one of those cases where it’s obvious you’re getting a vastly inferior version of the story. The concept of a cat-and-mouse thriller where the protagonists are just a normal family of everyday middle-class busybodies trying to outwit a yakuza conspiracy after killing one of their goons is a pretty unique one, and the writing goes a long way to sell out on the fact that these are just an ordinary middle-aged couple thrust into a hectic situation and doing their best with the limited skills at their disposal. Even if the writing can be overly convenient at times with how much they’re able to plan ahead, there’s some good stuff here. Unfortunately, it was adapted to anime by Tezuko Productions, one of the most bafflingly incompetent studios to still get reliable work. So the animation falls apart any time it has to depict anything more complex than characters talking and walking, the art direction is uniformly ugly and stilted, and the horrendously conceived score tries so hard to sound epic and edgy that it turns every potentially gut-wrenching moment into a laughingstock of poorly executed melodrama. If you’ve got any interest in this story at all, just go straight for the manga and forget this turd exists.

Yuri is My Job: 5.5/10

Something to know about me: I hate cringe. And if there’s one type of cringe I can’t stand above all others, it’s watching performers mess up on stage and ruin the show for the audience. As a former theater kid, nothing makes we want to curl up in a ball and die more than a stage play going off the rails and the actors being left lost and adrift while the audience stares and murmurs in worry. I say all this to tell you that I watched Yuri is My Job- a show that is primarily focused on watching actors almost fail in live performance over and over again in the messiest. most emotionally charged ways possible- and I almost managed to make myself like it. What can I say, I’m a sucker for subversive yuri deconstructions that explore the liminal space between ambiguous Class S-style stock yuri tropes and real feelings of lesbian love. Especially when they’re willing to let their characters be this messy and difficult. But man, there were times I had to watch this show with my hands over my eyes from sheer concentrated cringe. Do not let the yuri fool you into thinking this is just another soft and sweet gay girl romance, this shit gets rough. But as long as you have a stronger stomach than me for this kind of thing- and if you don’t ask too many questions about what these girls’ lives are like when they’re not play-acting for customers in a yuri schoolgirl cafe because we never fucking leave this location- you might find something really worthwhile here.

Otaku Elf: 5.5/10

Every season, there’s one anime that sneaks under the radar at first but slowly accrues more and more good will over time, establishing itself as an underappreciated gem for anyone smart enough to go looking for it. And this season, that show was Otaku Elf, an inconsistent but enjoyable blend of chill slice-of-life antics- centered on a young shrine maiden looking after the titular shut-in elf who serves as her temple’s local deity- and bite-sized history lessons about the life and culture of people in Japan’s Edo period. It’s got some surprisingly warm and nuanced character writing for its two leads, and their relationship as they push and pull from different perspectives on life leads to a handful of emotional moments I’d genuinely consider magical. Sadly, the further the show strays outside that central relationship, the less interesting it gets, with most of the side characters- the maiden’s perfectly angelic younger sister, other elves enshrined as deities as their caretakers- coming off as half-baked in comparison. It’s a bit of a crap shoot whether any given episode will pluck at your heartstrings or bore you to tears depending on what it chooses to focus on. But when it’s good, it’s really good, and it’s worth a look for anyone who enjoys historical trivia mixed in with their comfort viewing.

The Ancient Magus’ Bride Season 2: 6/10

In retrospect, I’m really glad I went back and re-evaluated my opinion on Magus Bride season 1 before this new entry came out. Not just because it helped me realize how much I’d underappreciated one of the most captivating fantasy anime of the modern era, but because it drives home that this second season’s sluggish pace is, in fact, an issue. Magus Bride has always been a very slow and ruminative series, trickling through moments like streams through a mud-clogged riverbed en route to its big character moments. But even by those generous standards, this has been sloooooooooooow going. Lots of table setting, lots of new characters with new conflicts, lots of buildup for multiple different plotlines that don’t always feel meaningfully connected and will require a damn good payoff to make this slow start worth it. Luckily we’ve got a second cours coming in the fall, so there’s still plenty of time to turn Chise’s experience at magic college into another worthwhile entry in this powerful series. Until then, I’ll hang tight to the things this series still does well- its primordial depiction of magic, a wonderful soundtrack, the complexities of Chise and Elias’ relationship, Chise’s continued journey toward understanding and cultivating her self-worth- in hopes the end result will be just as magical as what came before.

Birdie Wing Season 2: 6/10

Is there a point where a series who’s primary appeal is how brazenly over-the-top it goes starts to run out of steam? Believe it or not, being stupid and bonkers is an art unto itself, and it takes real talent to sustain. For every Akiba Maid War that constantly ups the ante until it blows its stack with an absolute barn-burner finale, there are countless Highschool of the Deads that slowly dribble away their incredible manic energy over time, leaving nothing behind but the same tired anime cliches as always. And as much as I enjoyed seeing the rollicking madness of Birdie Wing come to close, I can’t deny that I felt my interest starting to slip as this second and final season went on. It just doesn’t do enough to surpass the bar it set with the insane high-stakes golf mafia death matches in the first season. Which I acknowledge is a high bar to clear, but for all the hilariously overdramatic soap opera twists and sudden power-ups that dominate the matches in this season, it never quite manages to measure up to that wonderful madcap energy that made its first season such a lightning-bolt success. Or, I dunno, maybe they shouldn’t have split up the main goddamn couple for basically the entire season. Especially when the same studio was already doing another, much better handled lesbian separation arc over in G-Witch. Seriously, Sunrise, anything you want to get off your chest? I feel like you might have some issues.

Ranking of Kings: Treasure Chest of Courage: 7.5/10

It feels like we’re heading into a very bizarre trend in side story “season 2″s lately. First Ranking of Kings, Horimiya next season, and the Quintessential Quintuplets somewhere down the line, so many shows are spending entire seasons on side content going through stuff from the source material they either skipped over or rushed through. And I can’t help but worry that sets a bad precedent for anime adaptations; we seriously do not need to legitimize shows hacking their source material to pieces for the sake of modern broadcast standards any more than they already are. On the other hand, though... man, it’s hard to complain when the end result does such a great job living up to its source. The Treasure Chest of Courage is every bit as whimsical, emotional, and gorgeously animated as the first season of Ranking of Kings, all the same heart and imagination in bite-sized pieces exploring the finer details in ways that make you appreciate the base story even more. It even fixes a few of my big issues with the main show’s back half and sets things up for an apparent proper season 2 sometime in the future! We’ll see if Horimiya and Quints can keep up those high standards, but for now, this is an exceptional interquel that’s bound to make you fall in love with one of anime’s best modern fantasy yarns all over again.

The Dangers in My Heart: 7.5/10

If you started watching The Dangers in My Heart only to drop it after the very first scene, I can’t blame you. The prospect of putting up with a school-shooter level misanthropic loner of a protagonist gleefully fantasizing about brutalizing his crush was almost enough to make me nope out right away. But thank god I kept watching, because once you get past that horrifically unrepresentative opening scene, it quickly becomes clear that The Dangers in My Heart is actually a genuinely wonderful little rom-com that fully understands just how much edgelord middle school nonsense is just insecure kids trying to figure out their place in the world. So few rom-coms like this really get the precise blend of hormones, awkwardness, insecurity, and cringe that defines so many middle school foibles, let alone one that understands the interiority of its female characters well enough to make them feel more fleshed out than trophy wives. But this show nails that early adolescent hellscape without ever coming off exploitative of it (well, almost; there are some obnoxious fanservice moments that really didn’t need to exist, thankfully few and far between). And really, who else but the director of the similarly true-to-life Teasing Master Takagi-san could pull that off so well? Just make it through that opening scene and you’ll very quickly find yourself falling for these idiots just like I did.

My Love Story with Yamada-kun at Lv999: 8/10

God, it’s so fucking good to have shoujo rom-coms again. We went through such a drought period where the genre basically faded into nonexistence save for the Fruits Basket remake, but it feels like they’re finally coming back into fashion. And what better way to remind the world how marvelous the world of shoujo romance can be than another collaboration between the studio and director that graced us with the masterpiece My Love Story back in 2015... with another show called My Love Story? You couldn’t ask for a more surefire winning formula, and sure enough My Love Story with Yamada-kun at Lv999 is a delight from start to finish. It’s nominally about failgirl extraordinaire Akane meeting the socially awkward and emotionally distant hot boy Yamada through the RPG they play together, but the game stuff is actually a pretty small part of it. At heart, this show is about the messiness of young adulthood, and the ways people fumble through the highs and lows of coming of age as they develop into fully concrete people. And it captures that chaos with all the sharp, creative direction, thoughtful character writing, and feel-good romantic fireworks you should expect from this creative team. It’s a gut-busting, feel-good, achingly sincere gem of a show, and I recommend it to everyone in need of a little more whimsy in your life.

Skip and Loafer: 8.5/10

It’s absolutely insane to me that the Skip and Loafer manga is published in the same seinen magazine as Vinland Saga, because this is one of the most authentically shoujo teen coming-of-age delights we’ve had in a long time. Small-town girl Mitsumi moves to the big city to excel at a prestigious high school and make her dreams of rebuilding her hometown come true, only to have her perfect plans derailed by the chaos of growing up, from friends to crushes to high school curveballs. It’s so rare for a story to capture adolescence this authentically, the moments both big and small that define our paths toward maturity as we begin to figure out who we want to be. Watching Skip and Loafer made me reflect on my own high school experiences, good and bad alike, and be grateful for all the steps I took that brought me to where I am today. And any show that can get me so introspective about myself is a show worth celebrating. Plus it’s got the legendary Tomoyo Kurosawa in the leading role, and it’s got a prominent adult trans side character (Nao-chan is perfect and needs more screentime in season 2 or I riot), and the OP makes my cheeks hurt from smiling too hard... yeah, PA works has once again knocked it out of the park. Somebody stop them, they’re growing too powerful!

Heavenly Delusion: 8.5/10

To summarize Heavenly Delusion in a single sentence is, I’m afraid, impossible. I could say it’s a post-apocalyptic mystery thriller that feels like the love child of Shinsekai Yori and The Promised Neverland, but that doesn’t quite do it justice. I could say it’s a dizzying double-track story that does a better job than pretty much any other series as letting you pick up clues on your own, but that’s doesn’t tell you enough either. I could say it’s host to one of the most staggering, masterpiece anime productions ever put to television with no shortage of the greatest singular episodes and individual cuts I’ve ever seen, but even that falls short. I could even say it’s a deeply flawed, intensely problematic series that’s trying to unpack so many different ideas about gender and sexuality with no guardrails to keep it from hurtling off track, but even that leaves out so much. Ultimately, though, the only way I can describe Heavenly Delusion is that it is Heavenly Fucking Delusion, and it’s one of the single most mesmerizing anime I’ve ever had the pleasure to watch. It’s a tour-de-force capital-E Event the likes of which we so rarely get nowadays, and if you think you can stomach the dark places it goes in its exploration of humanity’s corrosion and reconstruction, then you absolutely owe it to yourself to give it a watch. Just be aware there’s a content warning for an incredibly upsetting scene of sexual assault near the end, and I mean that seriously. I like to think I’m pretty desensitized and even I felt kind of sick and unclean by the time that scene was over. Watch at your own discretion.

Insomniacs After School: 8.5/10

So fun fact: this is the rare series where I’ve actually read the manga before the anime was even announced! One of my Discord friends introduced me to Insomniacs After School, and despite my normal aversion to manga, I fell helplessly, recklessly head over heels in love with it. And if this adaptation made you feel any inch of that magic, then you owe it to yourself to check out the manga right away. Not just because there’s more story to cover beyond the anime’s admittedly pretty perfect stopping point, but because Lidenfilms’ workmanlike production is only able to capture, like 70% of what makes this series so special. And this stirring tale of two insomniacs learning to navigate the trauma of their sleepless nights together deserves to be experienced at its full, unblemished power. It’s an absolutely wonderful slow-burn romance that captures the nuances of teenage friend groups and coming of age like so few series I’ve consumed, and its portrayal of Nakami and Magari’s growing companionship under the night sky is sure to melt your heart into a sugary-sweet puddle. It’ll make you learn for your lost youth more palpably than any other show you’re likely to watch this year. And even in a season already jammed to the gills with exemplary rom-coms that really, truly get what it means to be a teenager or young adult, this slightly subpar take on the material still stands head and shoulders above them all.

Mobile Suit Gundam: the Witch from Mercury Season 2: 9/10

Be honest: did any other show even have a shot? For all the wonderfully realistic rom-coms and ambitious seinen mindfucks this season gave us, there was only ever one true contender to the throne. And I’m thrilled to say that after a fantastic first season putting all the pieces in perfect order, Gundam: Witch From Mercury stuck the landing with a riveting second season that smashed the game board and  sent everything spiraling out of control in the best way possible. It’s like Ichiro Ookuchi took all the right lessons from his work on Code Geass- a seamless blend of high school melodrama and gut-wrenching mecha warfare, dizzying plotting that leaves you gasping for breath at the end of every episode, a sheer unrivaled confidence in the chaos of love and war- and refined them to a razor’s edge, delivering a never-ending roller coaster of jaw-dropping battles, explosive emotional payoffs, stunning twists that all make sense in retrospect, tears, laughter, hard choices, flawed characters overcoming their weaknesses, and a true coronation of Suletta and Miroine as one of the all-time great anime yuri couples. At times you can’t help but wish for more time to explore the many worldbuilding details and side characters that fall by the wayside as the chaos takes hold; two cours just isn’t enough to do justice to all the complex, interconnecting ideas this series is juggling. But the fact it works as well as it does, and bring it all home for such a satisfying finale, is proof of just how damn miraculous this series has been from start to finish. I couldn’t ask for a more perfect introduction to this storied franchise, and I couldn’t be more excited to see what this creative team will come up with next. And if you somehow haven’t gotten around to watching it yet? Fix that as soon as possible. You won’t regret it for a second.

[soda-boots]

Moths surround me, thought they'd drown me

This is a slightly concerning and definitely incomplete recount of yesterday (the 20th).

So post Passages, I have breakfast yada yada yada. Meet this girl named Antonia (we have breakfast and then dinner together actually with her friends Jessie and Islay). I go on the stand for xpression for a few hours and then go on the cinema crawl with the other committee. Meet some interesting people on there actually (most notably Lachlan). However before that I go to Rituals to see where Mo works and end up buying a 37 quid umbrella. Its a gorgeous umbrella and it better hold up. I rush back to my flat for my meeting with Jason and I think it goes quite well. I have dinner after and come back to my flat. I finally have the fantastic idea to go to the club... alone. I've never done it before and it's something I've always wanted to give a go. It's not like Jack and Haleemah are turning up at the club anytime soon and no one has ever invited me to join their group before (as far as I recall). I do try my best to be adventurous and this just me exercising that. I promenade to the shop to buy 2 bottles of cider and a can of pimm's. Downing one bottle and the can, while listening to Songs for You, I'm trying to hype myself up for this event.

I try inviting Lachlan to the club, but he can't make it (fair enough). Good even, this is a private event for me. The night starts to blur a little from here (but I can still remember pretty much all of it). I speak to Ellis about coffee or something and how coffee/alcohol makes me sleepy. An hour and a half before vaults opens to help the timeline. This is 7:27pm now.I talk about violet from Charlie and the chocolate factory I think at around 8

Going through messages to recount events is so funny lol. I listen to 'dem boy paigon' to hype myself up' and I believe I leave my flat say 8:40 pm -ish. I'm baskily power walking through these streets, no headphones on (I considered not even bringing my phone to stay fully immersed but I disregarded that whole ideology).

I walk by a bunch of people also going to town. These group of friends all walking and laughing together. At the time, I was so unphased by the juxtaposition of me alone and them in a bevy. It didn't matter, I was determined to have fun. {here begins ramblings from my notes app about how I'm feeling, what I'm hearing and seeing and comments from me}

‘We’re walking at gay speed “

This was so funny and initiated the whole idea

I wonder if it’s actually this cold or the alcohol has warmed up my body in some way 

It didn't feel as cold at first, but then again I was definitely tipsy, if not flat out drunk at this point. I felt quite warm in my chest actually

Speed feels a bit weird. I’m kind of dizzy, like in an odd state of vertigo . I should have worn my glasses because I why is verything a little bit more blurry 

I actually forgot that I felt like this. Time seemed to be moving very quickly at first. Like I was just racing through the streets. Everything had a slight blur filter on it and I was a bit dizzy. It was a strange feeling to be concurrently aware and so distinctly detached in this way.

I walk down the street towards the vaults and why do I start to sing 'mystery of love in my head'

Bounded by the time I cried ! I built your walls around me . White noise what an awful sound. Fluttering by rouge rivers. Feel my feet upon your the ground . Shall I find no other. oh woe is me 

For context, I'm struggling to type accurately (I know I'm sobering up when I can do it better again later in the night)

The walk felt like nothing 

It did feel strangely quick.

It’s closed (the vaults) . That’s so sad (one that it is closed and two that I got here while it was closed ) 

Of course in my eagerness, I get to the club while it's closed and now what do I do ? Go to another club (I'm determined !!!)

I just met Edward and his mum from film soc. I wonder how the interaction was from their end.

I stumbled back when I stop to speak to them. Edward is so nice and his mum seemed lovely. As I mentioned I wonder how that interaction was from their end. His mum had a strange but friendly expression on her face (she goes back to Belgium today).

Moving on, I see Rhys at some point (and I think it was around here. I also see Mo at some time while I’m on the cobbled streets near vaults but that’s earlier than this I think ). I trudge to Zinc and it's closed for a social !

I went to zinc and they were having a Taylor Swift Soc event. They’re playing all to well (10 minute version) that’s so cute . I think it’s Taylor Swift society . I don’t think it’s Taylor society because they started playing paint the town red by Doja cat 

I'm out of it at this point. The see-sawing between whether it is Taylor swift society or not. I was a bit upset that I couldn't go to Zinc (but I just walked towards fever) because they were playing music I liked. I love how looking back I kept asking the bouncers, how I could buy a ticket and they so nicely and attentively answered me. I must have so clearly looked clueless. I couldn't get into fever too till about 10 and I just left .

Timeline update - 9:27

I tell Ellis I might go home. He suggests I go to a pub, and so I do

Don’t dwell on your feelings too much if not you will cry !

I'm quite emotional it seems.

Have you ever had a krispy kreme? Was it crispy (context - I saw a Krispy Kreme van ) 

I'm walking back to vaults here and I can't find it again, but notice bar named Pixy's. I read the board and walk by some guy who acknowledges me and I walk past. I get a bit lost and then walk back to Pixy's. I go in and the guy from earlier kind of jogs and he's the bartender. How hipster of him lol. I have no idea what I want and say that to him. He asks what I don't like, I say lemon because I don't really know (in actuality, I do enjoy lemon flavoured things). He makes this drink with watermelon and thyme vodka, lime cordial and apple Frobisher, and it tastes so good ! He says if I don't like it I don't have to pay for it (ok sales man). I did pay for it. I probably would have lied and said I liked it regardless of how I actually felt. He put in all that effort to try and impress me (ehhh did he?)

I went to a bar called Pixy’s and I got this thing made with watermelon and thyme vodka and then like cordial and a apple and something Frobisher 

I sit and have my drink and every move I make has so much more weight to it.

Every movement feels exaggerated . Like with each sway, the strength grows more and more 

I’m definitely less coherent than I think I am 

Oh I’ve tried vodka now ( kind of)

There's a group of ladies having a great time in front of me. Once again the juxtaposition of them in their gaggle (but oddly I don't think about that at the time). I actually look back now thinking oh I actually had a fun time. I leave Pixy's and pass a bar called 'The Mermaid'. Just like with Pixy's I circle back to it very soon after and go in. I hoped I didn't fall down the stairs down into it. I go in and the art is very 'art nouveau' and the decor so heavily influenced by Art Deco. It was a shame there wasn't any have music playing. The walls were dark green. There were some geometric features within it.

I go to the bar and the man hands me their menu. Scanning it I notice a negroni and other things I recognise some other drinks. However, I loved the names of their mock tails more so I order one.

I went to a bar called the mermaid and ordered the rejuvenation. It has tomato and pineapple juice . Such a weird tasting drink. So tangy. The taste of tomato is highly present. Very acidic 

While he makes my drink, drink I have a chat with the bartenders. They ask why I'm out and I'm like I've never been to a club and none of my friends have really been interested so I'm doing it myself. The lady bartender seemed quite proud of me. the guy making the drink mentions it's a weird one unless you like tomato juice. I get my drink and sit in the corner and sip on my strange drink. It tasted nice as far as I can recall. I sit down and I'm texting people, Max (I see his new haircut) and Ellis (who is baking a bread). I might have texted Haleemah too. I hear a cuckoo clock ...

The cuckoo clockification of my mind 

There’s a really large plant here at the mermaid. I’m texting haleemah, max and Ellis. I texted Louise earlier 

The bartender compliments my jumper when I leave. The irony of me going to a bars named pixy and mermaid when I do a fantasy creature show isn't lost on me. I finally get into the vaults and of course I am one of two people there. Addendum: I text Louise before I leave my flat, while I'm pre-ing and when I first get to the vaults and it's closed

Help why did the dj at vaults start playing started at the bottom at vaults . The dj started playing burna boy 

Did I really offer the money back to the vaults workers after they forgot lol. The other guy in here (Andy) introduced himself 

I’m trying so hard to manufacture this fun night and I’m failing a bit miserably. The workers are in beanies and that’s really cute. I feel very uncomfortable when Andy comes around me 

They weren't wearing beanies, it was bucket hats. Andy is rather odd. He is quite tall and imposing and dwarves me, it doesn't help how close he keeps coming towards me. He seems to be having a lovely time on his own though. In a way maybe I should be more like him and let go. He's also here alone (like I am) but I would hope I don't come off that odd (now I have the implicit fear that I do). I leave and go off to the cathedral.

I’m at Exeter cathedral now. Why do I rely on religion so luck for some form of wholeness ?

It's that catholic school and religious family conditioning. I listen to 'goldwing' by Billie Eilish and walk around the cathedral; Examining the sculptures on the facade. I recite the Lord's Prayer and a Hail Mary (which I had to look up because I never formally learned it). I read the quotes/etchings on the floor around the cathedral and in a weird way they bring me comfort.

"Oh God give me of thy fullness

Thy surrounding and

thy peace"

It's attributed to traditional Celtic. I also view the monuments around and try to open some doors. It's 11 now. I know this because the church bells ring ( I never knew we had a church bells and it rang !)

I never knew Exeter had a church bell. That’s adorable and quite gothic.

Oh wow not Francis not noticing me . Uhh my god 

Francis is my old flatmate for context. I basically had to chase him to talk to him. I also noticed Jack B from the radio

Why does everyone wear such dark clothing at night. 

Contrasting my bright yellow jumper

Such a long queue at fever. It’s actually a bit cute how long it is 

I think it’s quite cute how long it is, it might be time to call it a night. I’m so over this whole thing 

I love how u still hold the vindication against America. In actually I did try and I did not enjoy. I did not like the whole night thing: I’m not saying I won’t reattempt but for a while. The club may just not be for me .

Of course I heard an American accent and got war flashbacks.

I leave fever and go back to vaults (for clarification this is the second time I will be inside ) and got to go right in since I got branded (stamped) with a pass.

Oh there are more people at the vaults now. 

Andy just keeps saying the most random things to me. “ I ain’t fucking racist “ the bartender even asked if I was ok . Andy if you need to start your sentence that way you’ve already missed it  He seems a bit nice.  I might be  sobering up because  I’m sobering up and feel more coherent (also I’m typing a lot better)  .

Why do I struggle so hard to villainise people? The bartender gestures towards me asking if I'm alright (nice of him I guess). I leave Vaults again. I leave vaults to join the queue at fever under the thought process that the line there will be more lively than this dead club.

People are so nice and caring here. Someone asked me if I was alright .

This occurs on the street for clarification.

I join the queue for fever and eventually end up talking to the people infront of me. They tell me I look 19/20. I literally turned 18 3 months ago. Can I just go a night without being ferociously humbled ??? Can I ? They were lovely however. Even offering to pay for my entry since I had no cash. I left soon after that

In a weird way it was contemplative. I’ve reached the point where I’m detaching my feelings and externalising them. I truly abhor  drunken patter.

I want to listen to seether by veruca salt .

Can’t fight the seether. I can see her till I’m foaming at the mouth.

For the final time I am back at vaults and it's finally lively.

I left fever and now I’m back the vaults . There a lot more people here and I still feel a bit more out of place: maybe it’s the music . The heart palpitation induced by this bass is simultaneously awful and glorious . They literally recognised me at the door. A guy literally said I was the second customer . I’m a bit sick from that lol . This haze / smoke smells so odd 

I know every song this dj is playing. He’s so cheesy . 

There was a weird amount of older people there and it was a bit odd. Not be ageist or anything (my ageism is showing). I tell a guy happy birthday because he's wearing a party hat and dance a little with this group of first years

And I actually began to enjoy myself it felt nice and fun . I kept locking eyes with people which was slightly disconcerting by oh well. The haze started to pick on and the lights flashed more aggressively and with party in the USA blaring in the back I finally left for home at 1:30-sh my first time clubbing was not bad at all. While I wish it was smoother. beggars can’t choose.

BBQ SOCIETY !!!

I hear someone scream that from firehouse while I walk back home. I love how it is still lively.

I think u try so hard to be interesting and fun and worthy of affection. A lot of the time I don’t notice but I think I might just be too insecure to truly be my own person in a way that I’m happy with. Sure I get glimpses of that every now and again but ok the whole I don’t think I'm that confident enough to to truly exude it . To actually go out and be

The come down lol. I think I'm saying here that I try to do all these things to make myself feel interesting and fun so I can come across that way to other people. I have the fear that I'm just so uninteresting.

Met Chris , Connor and will at the bottom of block d. They were so nice and fun. I'm going to go off to bed

We had a little conversation and my night ended like that.Chris, Connor and Will (and one more other person actually but he went of earlier ) are guys that live in the first floor of my building that I met when I got home. They seemed like fun, nice guys. Chris had a rather sad speech about him justifying racism he had received when he was younger (he’s from Singapore). I don’t think racism should ever be rationalised. For context, it was a child being racist to him (so he definitely picked that up around) which is so disheartening. Even thinking about it now (about 12 hours later makes me feel ill) .

I will fix any grammar errors later but that's it really

[milesducemdominus]

@amaurotine || CON'T

An unwelcome symphony of fell cries greet the ears of the 𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 clad in feeble 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 flesh as he enters the fray. Long and evil had been his road of late, but the years and the trials with which they'd had increased him. His soul, earnest, unbroken and fortified by 𝐇𝐘𝐃𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐘𝐍's blessing besides, stood as the 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒' foremost protector, though each was bent and timid shadow of its former shape and vibrance.

᲼𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 could scarce believe what yet he saw when his keen violet eyes scried for further knowledge of their environment; the intricate pattern of softly-glowing irises rotating rapidly as the world before them bleeds thereafter into an increasing cacophony of muted colours that run together like a bleeding slurry of fresh paint marrying a torrential bevy of rain. A faint network of wrinkles forms briefly upon his delicate nose as it is greeted by the acrid stench of battleworn debris and charred earth assaulting his nose in tandem.

᲼He sought among the wan aether of both the dead and the wounded for 𝐀𝐘𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂, and when he still did not discover a body, hope bloomed thence within his breast, for he knew then that 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 yet lived. He supposed therefore that perhaps some evil fate had befallen him, or that something had waylaid him perforce; and he set out thence with little hope finding the trail of the alliancemen.

᲼Howbeit, it was then that he came upon familiar cluster ripples in the aether leading southward, while others turned away westwards; and therein does he find their signatures divided, some passing along the dim aetheroclimatic eaves of the environment, painted in cruor and the dues of battle; the pervasive sense of strife that chokes the air renders the land a region of dread. For a moment, he could not help but ruminate in silence upon the bitter fate that brought him to this terrible place.

᲼Benighted as he is in this evil place, 𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 espies by chance a familiarly-hued light — the light of 𝐀𝐘𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂's own soul — shrouded by a formation of densely-packed, earth-aspected aether no great distance from what he could only judge to be the 𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 base due to the glint of many souls clustered together.

᲼At the very last, a tiny hand falls abruptly upon 𝐀𝐘𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂's shoulder, the geasture spared the full breadth of its weight, for 𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 would not suffer to place undue pressure upon his friend's body without first surveying his wounds.

᲼❝ Well, now… and here I was, hoping that we might meet again under more pleasant circumstances, ❞ 𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 chirps, the polite and congenial lilt of his tenor standing in a sharp, isousciant sort of contrast to the grief and tension of his environment.

Weighted eyelids pulled closed, a moment of rest promised consciously ere giving in to its quiet and comforting lulls. If one tried enough, just enough, they could perhaps imagine themselves in a place far outside of where they were – somewhere lacking darkness and thick chemical smoke, the choking atmosphere, the thick scattering of bodies of alliancemen and Garlean soldiers alike, the pains of injury and fear of death. There was an atmosphere over that dead, vulgar land around them that instilled absolute dread into the very marrow of ones bones; as resolute as he had been in the past, even Aymeric himself was now struggling to find hope in the current climate.  

‘T was pain that roused his exhausted person, the burning tiredness within his eyes woefully focusing upon immense rising smoke nearby, the further threats of explosions and injury mayhap too close for comfort and thus did his gaze turn to the small gathering of injured soldiers aside him; all suffering some ailment or dire injury, all needing swift medical attention. Imagine the guilt, then- that grew within the commander’s chest – blaming himself for their harm, for his alteration in movement due to obstruction; and now, for his inability to get them all swiftly and easily to safety.  

Rattled was the sigh that released from dry, parted lips, the sound of an empty wheeze following behind as breath was forcefully drawn inward. Thoughts lingered closer towards attempting movement, the hand pressed around the wound and broken arrow shaft more firmly so though he knew not what good it would do. The blood had stopped from there, darkened bruising and necrotic tissue spreading far more swiftly than even he would have anticipated – if he was to make a move to attempt to get not only his men but himself to safety then he would have to soon lest he run out of time.  

But tired eyes fell closed, instead; all around passing by without too much conscious thought afforded to it – he's too tired, and though he detests himself for it, the commander – for the length of a few heartbeats – considers entirely giving up.  

A hand to his shoulder came as a mass surprise, rousing him from his half-sleep to blink blurred vision in the direction of the - momentarily unrecognisable – companion. It took but a moment, for words uttered to echoed within his consciousness to fully register ere the face is placed to their last meeting and thus, despite his current abysmal state, does Aymeric offer a small and weary smile.

“Ah- a sight for sore eyes, no less.”  His exhale was shaken, eyes briefly turning from appreciated company to the soldiers, too, resting- "How in Halone's name did you find us, my friend-? I thought us lost to the field." The maze of trenches, the open plains smothered in wreckages and the billowing of thick, black smoke towards the heavens; it had been unlikely they'd be found by any--

"Have you a better sense of direction than us-? I've need to get these men to medical aid." And himself, of course, but that was evidently less of a concern in his eyes. All would fall into place, soon enough- they simply needed to get some kind of relative safety for a while, at least.

[forgottencillian]

It had been complicated, getting here, but Cillian was a determined sort, and more than used by now to tumbling and sprinting and climbing, a quick h largely attributed to Cassimir whose presence had, to his way of thinking, necessitated the ability as it had enabled a broader variety of pranks, long before it had ever been necessary to don the guise of a lord.

The journey had gone like this: having driven into the Varmont stables (stables to which he was well accustomed from long before the Varmonts had ever arrived), Cillian had climbed atop the carriage, boosting himself up into the rafters there which he had, in turn, scaled. Carefully putting one foot before the next, he'd scurried along the central beam and slipped into a high, narrow window into the castle, proper. This, in turn, opened into the center of stairs winding round and round (and, indeed, not instantly tumbling down them as he leapt into the stairway was something of a hazard, in itself). Hastening up these stairs, he came to a mezzanine overlooking the Great Hall and, from there, he could creep to the end of the gallery and access a storage room, wherein he could easily slip into the guise of a lord.

Cillian was, however, interrupted in this proceeding as, bursting out onto the mezzanine, a glance into the Great Hall stopped him in his tracks. There, he soon found, hung a bevy of tapestries, each got up in purple and depicting avians. Birds of prey, carrion birds, songbirds, and raptors. One after the next, they brightened the walls in imperial purple and in gold and in other colors, each.

His climb had done something to deaden the chill in his chest, but now, now his blood ran cold. His quest was forgotten. Cillian walked forward, as if in a daze. His fingers met the rails, and closed around them and he stared, stared long and bard. He thought of that banner as he drifted off to sleep each night, the angry pennant snapping its fury above his head, razor talons cutting short his friends on every side. He knew well the call of that bird: it was the clash of steel, the sound of shrieks, moans of agony. Its feathers smelt of bloodshed.

Cillian's throat was dry. His heartbeat was a sonorous boom in his head. Down below, the music turned to shrieks, the laughter to whimpers. The grass of the field was choked in blood, and Cillian's fingertips bit hard into railing beneath it. He did not think of the fine furs and velvets he'd meant to don, now. He wanted his sword.

Hearing a sound at his side, then, Cillian jumped. He looked, saw, looked away, and looked again, having failed to fully register whom he saw as one of the princes approached him. It was the one who followed Rosie, he noted after a moment, not the one who followed Eithne, or the one who followed Aoife. Sighing, he leaned against the railing, pausing now to process what had been said and, self-consciously, he laughed, the sound nervous though not for the reasons it might at first appear. In that moment, he hardly cared if he were exposed. He wanted only the truth.

Which banner had it been? He'd remembered the color. The fowl. But...who would have thought there'd be so many? What did they all mean?

Attempting to attend to what Edmund was saying, and now hearing him laugh, he realized he was trying to josh him, a fact which, frankly, surprised him. If he were frank, he believed that the prince thought nearly as little of Cillian as Cillian thought of the prince. Confused, he rounded on him, also registering now his initial anger. That was more like it.

"Oh, Your Imperial Highness," began Cillian, waving an arm. "Good evening. I...I just came up here to...witness the splendor of the festivities. You fancy people get up to so much...grandeur." Yet, he couldn't entirely mask the bite in his own voice. He was in no mood just now for any of this. "Quite different from the way it was in the old king's day, I must say. The Emperor has a fondness for torches, I think. And drums." He swallowed. He heard war drums. He pushed the thought away.

Stabbing a finger at the wall, he blurted, "Whose banners are those?"

Out of Place | Edmund & Cillian

"Shouldn't you be with the rest of the servants?"

Edmund always felt distrusting of Cillian Frost and finding him in parts of the castle where he shouldn't be, did little to ease this. He liked to think that it had always been justified, but the truth was that, deep down, he was jealous. It was clear that Cillian was, and always had been, part of the family in a way that Edmund was incapable of ever being and he didn't especially like the easy and affectionate way Rose spoke of him, nor her uninhibited and relaxed manners when she spoke to him.

(If he had paid a little more attention to Cillian when Rose wasn't around, he might have noticed that it was Brigit -- and not Rose -- who had once captured Cillian's affections.)

Edmund knew as soon as he spoke that his tone was perhaps a touch too aggressive and, while he had no great love for Cillian, he also didn't want to get on his bad side, either. If they fought, it would only make things awkward with Rose. So instead, he laughed and put a hand on Cillian's shoulder, "Don't worry -- your secret is safe with me."

He wanted to ask him what, exactly, he was doing in this part of the castle, but he refrained and asked him about his journey, instead, "I heard you had a time of it getting here in the storm?"

Edmund had not noticed the exceptional concentration Cillian had been giving the Varmont sigils that were hanging upon the walls ....

[gatheringbones]

[“All of my aggressive walking finally led me to a very large, flat rock overlooking a wildflower meadow. I remembered my initial goals and decided to sit on this rock and resolve that I was not a useless piece of shit if it was the last thing I did. I sat there slapping my forehead, muttering, “You’re awesome! You’re awesome! You’re awesome!” until a question popped into my head. Why do people believe in you?

Why? There must be something inside me that deserves that belief. Back up. Who believes in you? I scrolled through my phone. There were sweet little texts from a bevy of people. All of them were so smart. So talented. They were good judges of character, and none of them suffered fools. I looked at the last text messages some of these people had sent me. One friend said she missed me. Another said she thought I was one of the silliest people she’d ever known. An old co-worker told me just last week that she believed I was responsible for her career.

Usually when these people send me compliments affirming my existence and worth, I send back some version of: “Oh, pshaw, you’re soooo nice, but I’m actually a fetid sewer marsupial, lolol,” and then I rush to catch my train or chop garlic or respond to my next email.

The shrooms showed me that my C-PTSD was a void. When Dustin didn’t text me back for three days, when Kat snapped at me because I said something careless during a conversation, when Joey locked himself in the office to get away from me for a few hours…the black hole expanded, its maw impossible to fill, and it began to whisper dangerous things as it grew: Why aren’t you a priority? Why aren’t you loved? Surely this means they are about to leave. My fear of being abandoned forced me to need proof of love in abundance, over and over and over again, a hundred times a day. So even though my friends were constantly attempting to fill the great void of my self-hatred with generous words, assurances, and compliments…they were all simply getting sucked into that black hole, mere crumbs for my intense desire. I dismissed them. In the end, my friends’ exhortations had gone to waste.

But now, with the help of the shrooms, I allowed all of this praise to finally penetrate. To allow myself to believe I was worthy of it.

All of my friends’ tiny acts of generosity and kindness did not pass me by. Instead, they took my breath away. They filled me up. I scrolled through the messages on my phone, and they lit up like gemstones, painted a full landscape of me, dappled with light and complexity, weeds and miraculous flowers, much like the meadow I was currently gazing at. My heart swelled with gratitude for every text, even the silly meme ones. I must not be a monster. Would a monster be capable of receiving this much kindness? No—I must be loved tremendously. I must be magic.

I laughed gleefully on my rock, surrounded by towering sunflowers, which seemed to dance with my joy. And then I laughed louder, lucky that nobody was nearby. I sat up suddenly, startling an old couple. I was overcome with an urgent need to put on more sunblock. AND! To return the favors that had been extended to me. For months, I had been too afraid to text people and bother them with my nonsense, but today I whipped out my phone and tearfully texted grateful compliments to everyone. “You’re such a bomb, brilliant person, thank you for being my friend.” Send. “You mean so much to me, and I’m so grateful to have you.” Send. “It was so fun running into you the other day! I miss you!” Send.

Immediately the responses came back: “Omg! Miss you too! Love you too! Do you want to go grab coffee?” I felt like Joanna, like a normal person, or maybe even a Minnesotan. Being nice came easy. Even after I’d come down off the drugs, I soared high on these future plans, these connections I was continuing to affirm.

For a few days, it seemed so easy to be in the world with other people. I fielded dozens of phone calls and text messages with merry aplomb. After a couple of weeks, as expected, the old anxieties returned, and I could feel my brain bending back toward negativity. The shroom bliss never stays forever.

But something was different this time—a new determination to somehow make my revelations stick, outside of the shroom space.

The big black void in my head was a well-worn path built into my programming. I realized that no number of singular trippy experiences—whether they came from shrooms, acid, ketamine, hyperventilation, or ayahuasca—would ever completely overwrite this programming, no matter how transcendental.

But my trip had also shown me that there was one thing that could combat the void for a little while: gratitude. It was the flame that penetrated the darkness, that filled me all the way up. And the only way to keep the flame going was to keep feeding it. I had to force gratitude into my routines in ways I could not ignore or forget. I had to systematize the light.”]

Stephanie Foo, from What My Bones Know: Healing From Complex Trauma

[gunterfan1992]

Episode Review: ‘Wizard City’ (Distant Lands, Ep. 4)

Airdate: September 2, 2021

Story by: Adam Muto, Jack Pendarvis, Kate Tsang, Hanna K. Nyström, & Charley Feldman

Storyboarded by: Maya Petersen, Hanna K. Nyström, Anna Syvertsson, & Aleks Sennwald, & Haewon Lee

Directed by: Miki Brewster & Jeff Liu (supervising), Sandra Lee (art)

An episode focusing on Peppermint Butler’s dark side is something that the fandom has craved ever since the little guy demanded Finn and Jake’s flesh in season two’s “Death in Bloom.” While installments like season five’s “The Suitor” and season six’s “Nemesis” did much to scratch that itch, the story of the Dark One remained mostly unknown…

And after “Wizard City,” it still remains largely unknown. But that’s OK, because instead of focusing on the character’s history, this special focuses on Peps’ quest to relearn magic at a magic school. Put most simply, this special is largely a fun excuse for the show to riff on Harry Potter and The Owl House-style “magic school hijinks,” and it mostly all works.

The special follows Peps quest to go to WizArts (a definite play on CalArts, the school that Pen Ward and Adam Muto, among many others, went to) so that he can relearn magic and once again become one of the greatest dark wizards of his time. Initially, Peps tries to make friends with cool kid Spader and his posse, but once they learn that Peps is not as talented at magic as they had initially thought, they kick him to the curb. It is at this point that Cadebra, Abracadaniel’s adorkable niece who is fascinated with stage magic, enters the picture. Cadebra tries everything in her power to befriend Peps, but Peps pushes back, since she’s not “cool.” It does not matter, though, because both Peps and Cadebra are sorted into the same “house”—the “Skink House—and are forced to work together.

While Peps and his cohort begin learning more and more complex magic, a secret cult of school professors, led by the otherwise caring Dr. Caledonius, are scheming to resurrect Coconteppi, a powerful dark wizard whose putrid heart has been discovered underneath the school excreting a very powerful ichor. The school cult kidnaps Spader and gives him some of the ichor to drink; they hope that because of his talent, he will be able to house the spirit of Coconteppi. This does not go as planned, and Spader is graphically killed (albeit off screen). (In a more humorous moment, Bufo, the scam wizard from season one’s “Wizard,” also ingests some of the ichor, believing himself powerful enough to handle it, but it kills him.)

Eventually Peps and Cadebra learn what is going on. Dr. Caledonius welcomes Peps, believing that he is strong enough to handle the ichor. When Cadebra’s life is put in danger, Peps reluctantly gives the putrid fluid a swig, which infuses him with the power of Coconteppi. Coconteppi-Peps then kills all the cult members before Cadebra manages to remove the ichor from Peps body. For uncovering a heinous plot, Peps is promoted to the highest house, “Salamander,” but he decides to remain a Skink and learn magic “the hard way” with Cadebra as his friend.

As I mentioned near the start of this review, “Wizard City” spends most of its time riffing on the “magic boarding school” trope, with much of the episode feeling like a light-hearted parody of Harry Potter: The characters, after all, are “sorted” into “houses,” they learn various types of magic from skilled “professors,” and they bunk in different parts of a large castle-like campus. Of course, Harry Potter didn’t invent the idea of a boarding school, but when setting your story in a school for magic, it is very hard not to lean at least somewhat into the Hogwarts relation. And this really is a double-edged sword, for while Harry Potter references can be fun here and there, they can also make the overall story feel like a fanfic parody. This special does a good job focusing more so on the characters rather than the setting, but I won’t lie, at times it did feel as if they show was really trying to make you realize it was making a Harry Potter joke.

Of all the characters introduced in the special, the breakout star is easily Cadebra, voiced by Chloe Coleman. Radiating a sort of Mabel Pines energy, Cadebra is the beam of optimism who shines brightly in an otherwise macabre special. There is something about her plucky personality and sense of wacky individualism that charms the viewer. I appreciate how the show compared and contrasted her with her uncle, the one and only Abracadaniel: like her uncle, Cadebra is a good person who wants to help others, but unlike Abracadaniel, she has a sense of courage and fortitude that results in her taking on a Coconteppi-possessed Peps at the episode’s climax. (Say what you will, Abracadaniel stans, but our favorite custodian would never have done that!) Thanks to her bravery and dedication to Peps, Cadebra is easily the heart of the special.

The episode throws an interesting little curveball into the mix by having the ‘ghost’ of Past Peppermint Butler constantly haunt Peps in the here-and-now. Past Peppermint, it seems, was so determined to become a great wizard, he cursed himself, so that if anything were to go awry, his Past self could materialize and set him straight. It’s confusing, but I do think that mixing the “overbearing parent” trope with a curse is a clever idea; it gives the whole special some dramatic heft. The whole setup is made even funnier by the special’s conclusion: After Future Peppermint Butler is ‘defeated’ and the day is saved, Peps reveals to Cadebra that he still wants to be a great and powerful dark wizard… but he wants to earn that power through hard work and determination. (Peppermint Butler might commune with demons, but he would never sell his soul to one for power; Glob helps those who help themselves, ya know?)

One of the special’s strongest points is its background art. Adventure Time always had some beautiful set pieces, and this special goes above and beyond to give WizArts an ancient sense of grandeur and mystery. Ghostshrimp, a freelance artist who was the show’s lead background designer during seasons 1-4, return for this special as a “visual developer”—basically, he mocked up a bunch of rough designs for the locales, and then the episode’s background artists worked up the final pieces in his style. On his podcast, Ghostshrimp mentioned how hectic he found Adventure Time to be, because he was used to taking his time on pieces. As such, the decision to bring him on for just development was smart, as it allowed him to still come up with iconic background designs while also playing fast and loose with everything. Hopefully the show will continue this approach with the Fionna and Cake miniseries that is coming up. After all, Ghosthsrimp’s style is the look of Adventure Time.

Another strong point for the episode is its voice acting. For one thing, you have your regulars like Tom Kenny and Dana Snyder, and Duncan Trussell, who all give a solid performance. But to voice many of the special’s new characters, the show brought on a bevy of fun actors: Saturday Night Live’s Bill Hader, for instance, is now voicing Bufo, and he does a solid job hamming up his role as the old fogey. And then there’s Toks Olagundoye, whose British accent gives Dr. Caledonius a sense of knowledge and expertise. To my delight and surprise, SungWon Cho, an internet personality and voice actor perhaps better known as ProZD, was tapped to voice Brain Wizard, and he does an excellent job. And finally, Anthony Stewart Head, a very talented actor who I know best as Giles from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, voices Con Wizard, and is even given a fun little ditty to sing. I can safely say that the voice acting in this special is likely the best of the bunch, and it’s obvious that the actors were all having a great time playing their parts.

What drags the whole thing down, in my opinion is the excessive murder. (I joked on Twitter that during the climax of “Wizard City,” it felt like I was watching an Adventure Time-ified version of Invincible!) Infused with the power of Coconteppi, Peps goes on a brutal killing spree, boiling Potable Wizard into steam, zapping Dimension Wizard into another plane of existence, smashing Berdzerd, and—perhaps most graphically—excerebrates (had to look that word up!) Brain Wiz. On Twitter, @sometipsygnostalgic​ argued that while, yes, the scene is startling, it does wonders to transmute “a poor Summer Camp Island knockoff [into] Adventure Time chaos.” The more I think about it, the more I think that’s a fair point; after all, this is hardly the first dark thing that has happened in Adventure Time. But the part that I cannot really stomach is the fact that Spader was murdered for no real reason, and the special ends without anyone really expressing their horror at the situation. Sure, Spader was a schoolyard bully, but he was also a child. And killing a child—either for the drama or the lulz—feels decidedly out of place in an Adventure Time episode. It’s hard to express, but it just felt unnecessarily nihilistic and mean-spirited.

All things considered, I think this was a fun episode, but it was somewhat underwhelming for a ‘finale.’ Much of this is because it had to air after the perfection that was the back-to-back “Obsidian”/”Together Again” wombo combo. But I can’t help but feel like this special just felt a little... off. A little too meanspirited, and it leaned a bit too much on standard tropes. Still, it was a fun spin, and I know that I’ll rewatch it.

Mushroom War Evidence: As Peps rides the bus to school, he passes a bunch of abandoned houses, some of which are buried in the ground. There is an unexploded bomb above the fossilized elephant in the school. Cadebra has a dream that takes place in the ruins of a city.

Final Grade: B+

[rpmemesbyarat]

Reasons Your Character Was Made A Vampire That ISN’T Love

I've been roleplaying in vampire games for awhile, and a very common motive that I see for why a character was made a vampire, was that the vampire who made them was in love with them (or lust, or just because they were beautiful). In fact, it's far and away the single most common reason given in bios, in my own experience. Another thing I see a lot is that the character was just turned RANDOMLY for no apparent reason, which is weird to say the least. And while I'm not going to say these are bad reasons you should never ever do or anything like that, I am here to offer some alternatives if you’re interested in them, if “love” or “attraction” doesn’t work for your story or character, etc: 1) Hate. If vampirism is a cursed existence, maybe it was brought about because the sire vampire hated your character and wanted them to suffer, or had a grudge against someone your character was connected to and wanted to punish them by “stealing” their loved one and making them a monster. Similarly, perhaps your character was being punished for something grave. Note that this really only works when being a vampire is a truly unfortunate thing to be; being given eternal life, youth, and a bevy of superpowers is not exactly a punishment on its own, especially if your vampire has ways around killing people for their blood (bagged blood, willing donors, psychic vampire, doesn't need to kill to feed, etc) so I would recommend it for canons where being a vampire really sucks, no pun intended. 2) Usefulness. Perhaps your character has some skill or ability that their sire had use for, or some role they could play, and it’s something they needed long enough to require making them a vampire. Or maybe the skill is needed, but it can only be useful if they also have the enhanced strength, speed, and healing typically associated with vampires in current pop culture. Or maybe they needed a patsy or pawn in some scheme, and they needed to be a fellow vampire, and what better one than some naive newcomer who trusts them? There’s endless potential reasons here! 3) Preservation. Maybe your character has some trait or skill that the vampire who turns them believed must be preserved forever. Maybe they’re a master artist not appreciated in their own time, the last speaker of a dead language, a scientist who needs more time on their work (a project the vampire themselves commissioned, perhaps?) than a natural lifespan can give, or some rare supernatural talent they already posess before being turned. 4) Worthiness. The vampire sees something in this character that they feel has earned being a vampire too. Maybe it’s ruthlessness, cleverness, military prowess, or drive to survive above all else. Maybe it’s unusual kindness, or unusual cruelty. Maybe they accomplished some great feat. Maybe they did a favor for the vampire in exchange for the gift. Again, there are vast options here depending on the personal standards of the sire. One good tip I recommend is to develop the sire vampire as a character themselves, not just as a background prop to the character being turned. What they value, what they're like, who they are that has NOTHING to do with their childer. Then look at that person, and go, why would they turn someone? A lot of times, the sire character either has no personality at all, or is just obsessed with the childer, and that's about the amount of thought given. I think that's part of why some people have a hard time thinking why their character would be turned, so they just go with 'well they were in love' or make it a random attack. There certainly are people who, if they were a vampire, would turn others for love. Others for greed or gain to themselves in some way. Others out of loneliness, a desire to preserve something they value, out of anger, because they were impressed---the reasons for someone to be turned are as numerous as people themselves, and most vampires (depending on the canon) are people. For ideas on why your character could be turned, another good reference is to check out the different clans of the “Vampire: The Masquerade” tabletop roleplaying game (which is where the terms sire and childer seem to originate!). Each clan has different values, and thus seek different traits in recruits, and have different ways of handling said recruits---teaching them, nurturing them, testing them cruelly, or straight up abandoning them to see how they do. This isn’t to say make your character(s) obvious expies of the clan in question (unless that’s what you want) but more like, say, if the way the Toreador clan or the Lasombra clan chooses and treats their “Embraces” sticks out to you as working for your character and/or their sire, there’s no reason you can’t use that for your own character even in a setting where those clans don’t exist. You can mix and match too----for instance, maybe the sire chose your character for Ventrue-like reasons (nobles, religious leaders, great military figures, successful CEOs, powerful mob bosses, etc) but treated them in a more Gangrel-like way (Embraced by ambush, then abandoned to survive on their own for a time and only re-approached by their sire once they proved their worth) Also, while most vampire RPs that I’ve seen work on the “human turned by a vampire who also used to be human” version, it is worth noting that while modern pop culture vampires are almost exclusively deliberately "made" by other vampires, that's not the case at all in the folklore(s) that they come from. These are some ways people became vampires in various legends from around the world:

- Dying without being baptized - Being buried improperly or not at all - Dying of suicide - Wicked deeds in life - People who were witches or werewolves in life; werewolves and vampires overlap in many folklores, and are sometimes the same creature. Ditto for vampires and witches. - Be the seventh child of the same sex in a family - In some stories, any corpse that was jumped over by an animal, particularly a dog or a cat, was feared to become one of the undead - Violent death - Unfinished business in life And if you’re making your own story, you can always make up your own unique way! Magical rituals, botched experiments, deals with gods, the possibilities are only limited by your imagination!

[mypoisonedvine]

that is fair, and i apologize once again. i don’t mean to compare our traumas, i just like you to know i understand how it feels and i’m sorry it happened to you. you aren’t alone. no one deserves that, and no one should ever go through that. i never read the fic, because it wasn’t something i was interested it. i’m and i wasn’t trying to hate/send hate to you, i just personally done understand why someone would like to relive their trauma? i still don’t know how to cope, and it’s something i’m learning and trying to find better ways of doing. i just think some people and their god awful mindsets would take this and say “oh well someone on tumblr wrote it so they must be okay with it” and as a survivor it just hurt me for a minute that someone would think that way and at the moment it just seemed as if you were encouraging so id also like to apologize for that. i was just so caught up in how i felt and how much it hurt not realizing there are people who this helps. thank you for explaining and im sorry, your writing is amazing.

honestly you don't need to apologize, I didn't really see it as hate from the beginning which is why I answered, you seemed somewhat genuine so I gave you a somewhat genuine answer. you were hurt I was hurt, we're all hurt, that's okay. I just appreciate you being introspective about it and hearing me out.

it feels like every time I relive my trauma, it loses some of its power. like watching a scary movie over and over.... it's just not as scary. and it sucks the first hundred times, still. then it gets easier. this is NOT me saying you should go get your rape porn fix, it's a very personal thing and it's different for everyone.

I really do get where you're coming from. you're where I was a couple years ago. I'm sorry if my first reply was too snarky, I'm glad we found a mutual understanding in this. next time you see something that seems triggering or that you just don't understand, it's better for everyone to move on. believe it or not with my shitty morals, I see stuff that really bothers me on this app a lot and for my sanity I just have to block the user and let it go.

you're not even totally wrong that some people see what I write and assume that I want to be raped. interestingly, you saw what I wrote and assumed that I might be okay with rape or support it. I've had people harass me here under the assumption I want to roleplay hard kinks with them and shit like that. it's the nature of the beast and I've learned to handle that. it's also true that abusers find fucked up content to consume. sadly there is a bevy of much worse material out there for rapists to enjoy rather than my erotica aimed at women.

I'm wishing you well and sending you lots of love and strength in your journey with trauma. I think we're better off for having had this conversation so I want to thank you for sending your first message even if it was a snap judgment. honestly I can't speak for you but on my end, no hard feelings. only love and peace to you ❤️

[lonelyasawhisper]

Queen Swings Both Ways

Jon Tiven, Circus, April 1975

ACCOLADES SUCH AS "greatest single long-playing achievement since Sgt. Pepper" and "the most important record album ever made" fall over Queen's latest album as easily as butter melt-ing on a hot potato – but few realize what a hot potato the album actually was in its pre-release days. It took a bevy of high-powered attorneys, some low-life finagling, and more than the usual amount of wheeler-dealing just to get the album out without its being hacked to death by defamation-of-character suits.

Guitarist Brian May explains: "I'm in real difficulty here because I've been threatened with libel because our old management had a good go at stop-ping the album coming out. They thought 'Death on Two Legs' was about them. They wanted us to take the track off and we nearly had to, and in fact they got a load of money out of our publishing company because it supposedly was libelous, but it's never been proven. It's all very stupid – they wanted to sue Freddie, the band, the publishing company, and the record company."

All very dramatic stuff, but a band like Queen survives not on operatic finesse alone, but on gut-level melodramatics in the business department as well. When you produce your records, write the songs, play all the instruments, and do everything your-self, chances are you're going to have to pay some legal dues, too. But ah! the rewards – such as the single, 'Bohemian Rhapsody', hanging into the No.1 spot in the British charts for seven weeks in a row!

"We're a bit more in the public eye now, we're starting to get recognized a lot more," says Brian May. "We're carrying on working just as we did before, but obviously we're very pleased with how the record's doing. It's sold more than a million copies in England – I can't believe it." But it's true: Queen's stature in England has risen from that of the No.1 teenage hard rock band to that of the-group-that-made-the-single-that-every-house-wife-knows-by-heart.

What propelled Queen in that di-rection is their Night at the Opera album, a slight departure from what Queen fans know to be the Queen sound. The hard rock screams have temporarily subsided, replaced by ex-perimentation with different voicings of instruments and production tricks. Those who found Queen's approach over-decibelled can relax to the quiet ''39' or 'Good Company' and tap their feet to 'Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon' without fear of being guitarred to death. "It's just what came out," says Brian. "They're offshoots of our main direction. There's plenty of time for the rock."

"The album wasn't really supposed to go in the direction that it did, it was just the songs we had. While we were making it we were thinking, 'Yeah, it is getting a bit light,' but rather than fight against it we de-cided to do it properly and then think again afterwards. So instead of try-ing to heavy up the lighter things, we pressed on. We had a few things we didn't use, but we're getting more demanding of ourselves. There are a few heavy things kicking around, but we may use them on the next record."

The two strongest forces in Queen have always been Brian and Freddie. With A Night at the Opera, where experimentation and branching out in new directions are the most obvious characteristics, the personalities of the band are often obscured by the newly emerging elements. "Sometimes I feel that Freddie and I are going in different directions, but then he'll come up 'with something and I'll think, 'My God – we do think alike.' When I'm working on one of his things I can tune in very easily to what guitar part he wants, and vice-versa. In terms of what we're trying to do in songs, we are moving in different directions, but I think that could be a good thing."

Critical response to the band is now almost unanimous-ly favorable in both Great Britain and the United States, which is quite phe-nomenal when you stop and think of how anxious many critics were to pan them two years ago. "I'm not going to take it too seriously," Brian says, "because I remember what the critics said about Queen II.. It would seem that everybody is beginning to like us ....very much. I can take it at that level, but there's no doubt in my mind that sometime in the future there'll come a time when we get slagged for everything. Queen II is still my favorite of the Queen albums, certainly the most daring. Especially for the time. I think we're still finding our feet now, and the way I feel about the new album is that we're searching for new directions and most of them are sort of half-formed. We've got the Queen II feel in some places, and in others we've got the Sheer Heart Attack polish. I don't think we're quite sure where we're going.

"This album, at the very least, negates all the comparisons to Led Zeppelin that we've been living with for the past three years. I think Physical Graffiti is amazing, by the way. I saw Zeppelin at Earls Court, and I met Pagey afterward, for the first time. It was great, he was very nice and gentle. I respect him a tremendous amount for 'Kashmir' and 'The Light', for being able to put his brain on record – it wouldn't matter if he couldn't play a note."

Economic criticism has been less favorable, however. A Night at the Opera was widely rumored to be "the most expensive album ever made" when it was released, a point which Queen's management denies. Nevertheless, Queen has been taken to task by quite a few English journalists for spending so much money – estimated at £30-40,000 – making one record.

Brian has a retort: "We wouldn't have spent so much money if the studios weren't so bloody expensive! [The album was recorded in seven of them, sometimes three at once.] We weren't mucking about for any of it, it was four months of solid work. It came down to having the equipment available for four months, and we didn't begrudge the amount of time spent in the studios, but it comes to a fair amount of money. There's a lot of things that seem light, like 'Good Company', which actually took a great deal of time and care. All those trumpets and clarinets being fashioned from guitar sounds – I took it quite seriously because I wanted to do it right, even though it was a lighthearted thing. We worked too hard for our own health, we got a bit down and depressed."

While Queen was laying about England between record and tour, a few of them got going on some independent projects. Brian and Roger produced an R&B group's single, but there were some record company hassles and it may be some time before the record gets released. And on the eve of the Amer-ican tour, Freddie Mercury went into the studios with a singer/songwriter managed by the Rocket Organization (which manages Queen as well) to try his hand at production.

"Eddie Howells is the guy's name, and he's managed by David Mead, and they're doing a single for Warners. I'm playing some guitar on it." Brian restrained himself from going out on any limbs before the American tour in order to get himself physically fit. His health had been a crucial problem on an earlier American tour, and he's not particularly anxious to spend time in hospitals when he could be onstage instead. "I actually get more tired off tour than on tour," he admits. "But I am in good health."

Once the English leg of the tour did get started, word started to flow very quickly back to the States about Queen's dramatic stage show – a stage show to end all stage shows, with Mercury donning short-shorts to add a bit of the hairy leg to Queen's otherwise pristine presentation. "The show is the same, but different," Brian says confusedly. "We've merely developed what we did before with some new material from the new album. It's a bit of reshuffling. Plus we do 'Doing Alright' from the first album, which we've never done onstage before. And 'Seven Seas of Rhye', which we'd do in England but never in America before. It's quite a lot different, actually."

American audiences got their first chance to sample the new presentation on January 27 in Waterbury, Conn., when the first concert of Queen's scheduled 32-date, 21-city American tour got underway in the Palace Theatre. After arriving in the States at Kennedy International on January 20 and spending a couple of days in New York for interviews, Queen began five days of rehearsals at the Palace to ready their show for American fans across the country. After Waterbury they dove headfirst into the intensive six-week tour, which featured extended runs in New York, Philadelphia, and Los Angeles before its scheduled end March 12 at the San Diego Sports Arena.

Despite the novel direction of the new album, onstage Queen proved to be the same rocking outfit they've al-ways been, letting loose with the same kind of guitar-bass-drums-piano barrage they've delivered in the past. "We don't do '39' or 'Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon' in our show," Brian explains. He seems a bit defensive of Queen's rock spirit, which is kept intact in the live set by 'Bohemian Rhapsody', 'Sweet Lady', 'Prophet Song' and the deletion of the "experimental tunes" from A Night At the Opera.

By the by, those who missed Queen on earlier tours but want to see how they've changed now have the means. Queen have joined the prestigious ranks of the Zeppelins, the Beatles, and the Rolling Stones whereby some illegal entrepreneur has issued a bootleg album of one of their American concerts. "I hate those things – they rarely give an accurate picture of the group," Brian states unequivocally, and in this case he's right. The Queen bootleg has transistor radio fidelity, and the only truly audible members of the band are Brian and Freddie. Yet the fact that a bootleg exists confirms the fact that Queen is now well on their way to the top.

Retrieved from rocksbackpages.com

[mellarkably]

Favorite BenVi or BeVi scene in terms of performance?

there are many benvi scenes i love from both season one and season two, that feature great performances from maitreyi and jaren. i think they are both very young and talented actors.

if i had to choose one, though:

2.04's devi, you followed him.

this scene, no matter how much it hurt me, was easily one of my top five benvi scenes this season, dare i say the entire run of the show. there is something about it that feels unsettling, uncomfortable, yet raw. and while the scenery, dark atmosphere, night-time setting, and sad music playing behind it do add to its tension, a lot of its hard hitting nature is in fact, not only owed to the writing, but the performance.

this scene is risky. it's risky to do because its success is majorly dependent on the performance.

the beginning of this confrontation starts off with the two approaching each other like their usual snarky selves—except it isn't usual. yes, they're both smiling. but ben is not smiling because he's happy, not even smiling the way he normally does when he used to banter with her, specifically in season one, cockily and with snark. it isn't entirely that same feeling anymore. devi is smiling in efforts to avoid the true gravity of the situation, as well as her frustration over him flaking on their bet (she seems to be more disappointed over the fact that he's still angry with her more than the actual bet itself but that's an analysis for another day). she rushes over her apology, and desperately asks, in a lighthearted manner, can we just be even now?

the genius of this performance is that although viscerally, they may be smiling, you can clearly see there's so much more underneath it. under devi's smile is desperation. under ben's cocky remark is pain. (i guess it feels bad to commit to something not knowing the other person was lying the whole time) i personally believe that someone who doesn't know about the events that transpire in 201 and 202 could still be able to tell the difference between their cocky smiles in season one, while they argue over how contraction of aids works, versus this scene, where what they're arguing over—not bantering, important to make that distinction—holds much more emotional weight than any of their previous bantering. that previous bantering was over trivial things. this conversation is not. it's heavy. and we see that difference not only in the context but in the acting.

when devi asks for them to be even now, we see it sets ben off. others who are much better at metas than i am have already gone in depth over why this sets him off as much as it does, abandonment trauma in all of its galore, and so i won't go too deep into the psychology of his actions. back to the performance, (since that's what anon's question asked me) no, we're not even, he says, with no more smile, no more façade. he is deeply hurt, and bothered that devi doesn't seem to realize just how much she has hurt him. to him, he's thinking she doesn't care about his feelings (we know it's untrue, ben does not) this thought of his has arguably been worsened by a week of seeing devi and paxton in the hallways chumming it up, as andy says. keep in mind ben has no idea till now that she's tutoring him. all he sees is her prioritizing paxton's forgiveness over his, choosing paxton over him once again. it's a common theme in the season, comes full circle in the finale when ben realizes that isn't the case, but alas, it's meant to be tragic, isn't it? that's its beauty.

and when we return to this scene with more knowledge of why he's this hurt, the acting, THE ICONIC devi, you followed him—everything just drops.

devi's smile drops. ben's smile has long dropped. the emotions have intensified, and are fully out, fully being shown, visually. he starts his speech, delivered fucking perfectly by the actor, with vocal inflections, tensed up emotions, and tear brimmed eyes.

at the party, you followed him and you left me behind.

it's not like we haven't seen serious scenes like this before in nhie. straying away from benvi scenes, even devi and paxton have some serious conversations this season, but for some reason (to me at least) nothing (only regarding scenes about the love triangle, my favorite performance overall would probably be the therapy scene in 209) feels as raw as this scene. nothing about this scene is sugar coated, there isn't even a slight attempt at humor. the show takes the dangerous route of showing the true consequences of certain actions done, and what's most important is that neither of them are meant to be antagonists in this scene. ben finally communicating his feelings lets devi know she's messed up more than she originally ever thought, and we see it keeps her up all night, the fear that she may never be able to win ben back—not even just romantically, because he was a great boyfriend, but as a friend in general. she values what he offers her, as a confidant, someone on her intellectual level who understands her. they're very similar people.

so yeah, this scene is my favorite benvi scene, performance wise. maitreyi and jaren shine here, and i can tell they both put a lot of effort into it, especially jaren with his line delivery. this scene could have gone horribly wrong: it could have made ben seem like a dick, or devi seem like a dick, but the true hard fact is that although both of them have done shitty things up to this point (arguably devi more than ben) you cannot hate either of them. you cannot villainize them. these are just two teens who are hurt by each other and being vulnerable with another.

it's the vulnerability of this scene that intrigues me, and it's something i love about devi and ben in general, the fact that they'll always be honest with one another, won't bullshit or skirt around things. and a lot of my love for them has to do with the great acting. they're both, on paper, sometimes unlikable characters, but in combination with the writing, maitreyi and jaren give the characters undeniable depth (even lang fisher agrees). that depth is shown in this scene. 11/10.

the runner up would have to be the s2 bathroom scene, there's a lot of feelings i have about those stares, the repressed feelings shown, the delivery of lines. they are all very swag. i also love the talk at her house in season one, episode six, and their talk at the hotel on the model un trip.

[little-writers-posts]

Shall We Dance, Sunflower? (Elliot 'Mirage' Witt x GN Reader)

Author's Note: Hello! I wrote this because it has been on my mind for a while, so I wanted to let it out. I hope you like it! Please, excuse my writing, if anything is misspelt it is because English isn't my native language, but I did my best, :D

Warnings: SLIGHT SPOILER OF THE BOOK, if you have not read it yet it contains a bit of the lore on the book, mainly about Mirage's past.

Word Count: 2397

(Y/N's POV)

‘Meet me at the bar tonight? Got a surprise ;)’

I looked over at my phone, ‘Elliot’ was written on it and I felt my heart skip a beat.

Ever since I joined the games, I have grown close to all the other legends, however, I’ve had a soft spot for the curly haired man for a while now. We’ve been getting closer ever since we got teamed up the first time, Mirage has always been there for me, had my back in every game, even when we’re in different teams, he manages to get to me.

We’ve been meeting often at his bar, after each match. Lately, I’ve been staying a little longer than the rest of the group, even after Wraith and Rampart, Elliot and I have been talking back and forth about our lives outside of the games, getting to know each other, and surprisingly, his company is really good, and I started looking forward to our little chat at the end of each night. Most of the times I even help getting the bar cleaned and he walks me home. Slowly I’ve started to like him more and more.

It’s obvious that I find Elliot handsome, but his ways are the ones that really get to me, he may be an idiot, but sure as hell he makes me laugh like no other, and deep down he cares a lot about his friends, his family. He’s been through so much in his life, yet he still manages to have a positive view of life.

I got my phone and texted back.

‘Sure thing, handsome. What you got for me?’

‘Well, sunshine, it’s a surprise, so you’ll have to wait and see. Come by at 9 pm. :D’

I smiled and looked over at the clock, still, a couple of hours to go, so I got in the shower, got a nice set of clothing and some light makeup, nothing too fancy and then order some dinner.

When it was time, I left my apartment and went to Elliot’s bar. I noticed that the door was closed, it’s a bit weird since he usually has the bar opened at this hour. I knocked on the door and heard him urging me to go inside.

Once I got in, I saw him cleaning some of the cups, as soon as his eyes landed on me, he got a huge smile on his face.

“Welcome to the Witt’s, sunflower”

“Hey, handsome. Where’s everyone?”

“What do you mean everyone?... OH, the bar! Right, I closed it early today, didn’t have a lot of customers, so…”

“I see… So what you got for me, Witt? I’ve been looking forward to your surprise.”

I sit down on one of the stools near the counter, right in front of Elliot and let my chin rest on my hand.

“Someone’s pretty eager… Well, I… drumroll please!” He made little movements with his fingers as drumsticks while hitting the counter “I made a new bevi… bevere… cocktail!”

Elliot cheered as he shows me a couple of bottles.

“And I want you to be the first to try, sunshine! I mean, I’ve already tried it, but I want someone else’s opinion.” He said as he took out a glass and some drinks.

“Am I going to die, Elliot?” The amount of alcohol he was pouring mixing with other fruits was unbelievable.

“I’m still here, so I don’t think so. Plus, I´ll kill you in the ring, not outside. Although, I think Revenant might kill all of us in our sleep.”

“I believe he might kill Loba first, to be honest” I grinned a little “Though I think he’ll have to face Bangs first, and she won’t go easy on him.”

“You think they are a thing? Loba and Anita, I mean.”

“I don’t know, but sure as hell, they look like it, and they look cute together.”

Elliot muttered something under his breath as he finished preparing the drink.

“What was that?”

“What was what? I didn’t say anything” Elliot nearly spilled the drink when he put it in front of me.

“I didn’t know that the great Mirage was afraid of speaking what’s on his mind. Guess you are afraid of something.”

“I don’t fear anything, sunshine. Now, you are the one afraid of having a taste, right?”

“No, no, I’ll taste it… eventually.”

I smiled. The drink had a yellowish colour and the smell seemed to burn my nostrils due to the alcohol, but I brought the glass to my lips and took a sip. Elliot was looking rather nervous at me, biting his bottom lip. I took another sip.

“So… How is it? C’mon, don’t leave me hanging, (Y/N).”

I laughed a little. “It’s great, Elliot, as surprising as it may seem, it tastes really good. You should definitely put it on the menu, the guys are gonna love it.”

“Really?? You don’t think I should add anything else, lemon or…”

“No, I like it the way it is, really.”

Elliot had the widest grin I’ve ever seen.

“Do you have a name for it yet?”

“Name? No, not really, I didn’t think about it.”

“You could name it ‘The Unwitty’” I laughed.

“What does that mean?” Elliot looked confused.

“Unwitty? It usually refers to someone who’s not clever, and I believe that after a few of these, you are definitely not the brightest person in the room” I said as I looked at the half-empty glass “Also, it rhymes a little with your last name, so it could be a pun, since… well… you know… you made the drink…”

“Well, that’s a lot cleveree… cleverir… more clever than what I thought”

“And what were you thinking?”

He looked at me and ended up scratching the back of his neck.

“Well, something in the lines of sunflower, maybe… or sunshine…”

“Oh, because of the colour! I get it! Never knew a drink with a name like that, but it should work.” I smiled.

“Yeah… the colour…”

Elliot started to pack up the drinks and clean what was left on the bar. He turned his back to me as I finished the drink, so I jumped over the counter and started to clean the dirty glasses in the sink.

“Hey, you don’t have to do that (Y/N)”

“It’s alright, you know that I like helping you out, plus I got a free drink” I smiled and bumped against his shoulder.

“Thanks, (Y/N).”

We finished cleaning the rest of the bar and I leaned against the counter, Elliot did the same on the other side. However, he did have a foolish grin on his face, like he was up to someth…

“I got an idea!” he clapped his hands and smiled at me.

“This can’t be good…”

“Of course it’s a good idea! I only have good ideas, sunshine!”

“Hm… No, not always, remember that one time on the zipline across Airbase…”

“No, no, no, no, no. That doesn’t count! It was all Crypto’s fault, not mine!!” He whined at me, pointing his finger like he was schooling me which made me laughed out loud “ANYWAYS, it is still pretty early to take you home, so…”

Elliot grabbed the Bluetooth controller for his sound equipment at the bar and started to go through the songs.

“What are you doing, Elliot?”

“Choosing a song.” He smiled.

“For what, exactly?” God, I think I know where this is going…

Elliot picked a pop song, one of those popular ones that are on the radio stations and stretched out his hand, bowing slightly to me.

“Shall we dance, sunflower?”

“No, absolutely not, sorry. Not happening.”

The look on his face was hilarious, I would’ve laughed harder if it wasn’t for his genuine heartbroken expression.

“But why…?”

“Elliot, dear… I don’t dance, I’ve never danced in my life, and I know I’m terrible at it. So, I’ll spare your toes and I won’t step on you.”

“I don’t mind it. Plus, I’m a pretty good dancer, I’m sure I can lead you through it.” He smiled and this time he took the liberty to take my hand and guided me to the centre of the bar.

“Elliot, this is not a good idea.” I shook my head in disbelief.

“Shhhh… I’ll guide you. Let Mirage take the lead.”

We started slowly moving at the rhythm of the song, shifting weight from one foot to the other and soon we were swinging backwards, dipping low and then soaring into the air. Elliot never let go of my hand and guided me through every move. I never felt so carefree and happy, in a small space it was just him and me having one hell of a good time.

I have no idea how many songs went by, my heart was pounding against my chest rapidly like I was in training. And then a slow melody came into play, Elliot’s smile grew wider, and he pulled me against him, one hand on my waist, the other holding my hand.

I looked up and his face was close to mine, my heart was beating faster than before, and I thought it wasn’t possible, and all the butterflies started to fly in my stomach.

Elliot started to guide me through the song once more, this time in a very slow rhythm, one step at a time.

“You’re doing great, sunshine.” He praised.

I felt my cheeks getting warmer and I looked away, anywhere but his face.

He then tried a turn, however, he stopped midway through, and pushed my back against his chest, the arm on my waist circled all the way as he hugged from the back, his other hand still holding on to mine. He leaned his face against mine, so our cheeks were touching. I felt like my breath got caught up in my throat and everything around us stopped.

We were still swinging slightly, but I could feel him moving his face, and then slowly he left a kiss on my neck.

And then another kiss.

And then another kiss.

And the last kiss had me shiver all over. He noticed.

“Seems like I found a sweet spot… Right?”

I smiled.

“Hm… I don’t know, maybe you should try it again, just to make sure.”

He chuckled, turning me back to face him. This time we were much closer than the last, so much that the tips of our noses were barely touching.

We stood still for what it felt like an eternity, I was too afraid to move, I didn’t want to ruin anything.

Elliot looked down, staring at my lips as he gulped.

“Damn… I want to kiss you so bad…” He whispered.

“Why don’t you…?”

“I’m scared, (Y/N).”

“Wha..”

I tried to look back into his eyes, but Elliot held me closer, and I had to rest my forehead against his shoulder.

“All my life, (Y/N), I saw the ones that I care about, the ones that I love, leaving me. I saw friends die, disappearing, leaving. It started with my father, who barely even knew me. Then, my brothers I couldn't even have a proper goodbye, because no one cared to try to find them. My mom is slowly leaving me, with each passing day her memory gets worse and I fear the day she won’t remember me at all and I…”

He was shaking a little which had me hugging him even more, trying to encourage him to talk to me.

“Elliot.”

“I can’t stand the thought of you leaving me, (Y/N), in any way. Makes my heart sting, my breath disappears, and my all body physically hurt. If anything happens to you while you’re with me, I’ll never forgive myself, I want to keep you safe, but it seems like I bring bad luck to everyone that I’m close to, and I can’t do that to you, (Y/N), not you…”

“Elliot, look at me.” I tried to push him lightly, but he wouldn’t let go. “Please, please look at me.”

He loosened his grip on me a little. I manage to look back into his eyes, and I realise that I’ve never seen those eyes that sad, bearing so much pain, that it started to hurt me too.

“Elliot, listen, I’m not going anywhere. I know how to defend myself and I’m here to stay, you’re stuck with me, at least as long as you’ll have me. If anything, you’ve been my good luck charm, ever since I joined the games you’ve had my back, you’re there for me every single time, you make me laugh more than anyone has ever made me, when I’m with you I’m genuinely happy like I have no cares in the world. We all have our ghosts, but we’re here to fight them, I’m here to help you, Elliot. You are the life and soul in every place you go, how could you ever be bad luck? You have a golden heart, and don’t tell yourself otherwise. Please, Elliot… I…”

He didn’t let me finish.

He held my check in his hand and leaned in, kissing me.

I never felt anything like that before, like he was made for me, all my thoughts were clouded by the feeling of his lips on mine. I reached my hand to the back of his neck, pampering with the hairs there.

I felt his tongue pushing its way into my mouth, and I let it. My heart was beating louder in my chest, my hands were shaking, but I wanted him to know how much I cared, how much I wanted him, how much I loved him, just him.

We fell breathless and broke the kiss, leaning our foreheads against each other.

“You have no idea, how long I’ve wanted that, and how much I needed you, (Y/N).”

I smiled and hugged his neck, pulling him more to me. His hands were massaging my back, up and down.

“My heart is beating so fast, it feels like it’s gonna jump out of my chest, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way before, with anyone… Can we do it again?”

“Oh, Elliot, you don’t have to ask that. Of course, you can.”

He leaned in and we kissed once more.

If this is dancing… We definitely need to do that more often.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

I didn't know that you still wrote adsom.. if you're willing to take prompts - and it's totally okay if you aren't - I think I saw an old ask about Holland trying on kell's coat?

Hey, Anon! Sorry, I went to sleep last night just as this ask came in, I think. I took some time to think it over today and here, I have a little something for you. I hope you see it! Sorry again about missing it when it came in.

-

Holland Vosijk was not a man driven by flights of fancy. He had been, just a little, before Talya and the violent loss of his vision of a world he could simply live in. Now, though, everything but unwilling, unwanted survival had been burned away.

He would have called himself forged by fire, but most things forged become stronger afterward, and Holland rarely felt that way.

He was not a man of whims - he was instead the hand and arm that acted out the whims of his monarchs, his masters, that obeyed the pulse of the curse carved into his chest.

So when he stepped into the inn and finds a very recognizable coat draped over a chair, the urge to pick it up surprised him.

He wasn't aware he could still have sudden thoughts like that.

The coat's owner was up at the bar itself, seemingly three ales deep and working on the fourth, his pretty brother at his side. Holland tried not to look at either of them, hoping he could go unnoticed.

If there was a bevy of whispers, well, perhaps the little princes would assume they were about them, not him.

He stepped slowly up to the table the two must have been sitting at, littered with the empty finished ale cups, half-eaten meals, and the damned coat.

It looked normal enough - luxe soft wool heavily treated, impossibly expensive, in the deep saturated red that all these Arnesian people seemed to take as 'their' color. It was hideously unflattering to the prince, with his pale skin turned too reddened by it, his red hair made to look dull when Holland knew damn well Kell's hair was shining and coppery and gleamed like coins in the sun when Holland very much wasn't looking at him in the slightest-

Stop it.

He had come here to drink himself to senselessness in a world where his monarchs could not trace him, could not pay some citizen to speak of his whereabouts, could not torture some innocent youth who merely saw him pass on the street.

And yet...

He allowed his fingertips to run, just for a moment, along the line of the chair's back through the coat. He felt over a hint of golden thread sewn in along the lapel. Red and gold, pointless sickening luxury in a world grown fat on the magic it stole from a dying one.

In a sudden fit of violence, he jerked the jacket off the chair into his hands. The chair, knocked off-balance, toppled backwards onto the floor with a loud CRACK.

The inn went briefly quiet, and Holland felt two dozen pairs of Arnesian eyes quite suddenly land entirely and only on him.

Including those of the princes.

"Holland?" It was Rhy who spoke first, and drunk or not, the Arnesian prince slipped into an immediate smiling brilliance. Difficult to resist.

Holland, though, had an inborn defense against idiot princes. He, after all, spent his days and nights tortured by an idiot king.

"Have you come by to grace us with your company?" Rhy smiled, tilting his head. His amber-yellow eyes sparkled with the drink coursing through his veins.

If Astrid drank his blood, Holland thought idly, she might get drunk on it.

"No," he said, shortly, and turned, walking outside as quickly as he could, before the faintest blush in his cheeks might become visible, before they could read embarrassment even in his faded skin, his washed-out color.

He made it out into the street before he realized he still had Kell Maresh's coat in his hand.

He couldn't very well go back in and give it back, now could he? Admitting to that embarrassment would be a crime far worse than simple theft.

Instead, he walked quickly, turning left into an alleyway just as he heard the door open behind him and Kell's voice ring out, "Hey! He's got my coat!" with a note of nervous trepidation that had Holland rolling his eyes.

Like Holland didn't already know Kell smuggled between worlds. He'd been tracking him at it for months. Years, even.

That nasty little habit would get the redheaded Arnesian prince in trouble one day.

He came to a stop in a spot of near-total darkness down by the docks, the gentle sound of the river lapping at the shore a soothing balm. The Isle glowed a brilliant red, the usual nighttime sky in London, stars only vaguely visible through its haze.

They had so much magic. How little of it they could have shared and saved Makt.

Holland very nearly threw the coat in the damn Isle to drown the way he sometimes wished he could drown the entire Arnesian royal family before... before that damn whim struck again.

He turned the coat inside out.

The red became white, a white that nearly blinded him, with black thread. He frowned.

"No," He said out loud in the Royal language of Arnes.

He turned the coat inside-out again.

This time it was a pale robins-egg blue, with embroidered birds along the lapel. He wrinkled his nose.

"Absolutely not."

He tried one more time.

The third time, indeed, was the charm - the coat this time was a deep black, so solid it seemed to soak up light entirely. The embroidered cuffs and lapel were white, a series of spirals that made him think of a time long, long ago, when the doors were open to all.

It reminded him of how they once dressed in a London now dead and gone, entirely overrun by magic it grew addicted to rather than tightly controlled.

He sighed and undid the silver clasp for his half-cloak, pulling it off and carefully laying it over a short wrought-iron stair railing for a building next to him. The silver winked slightly in the red light of the Isle.

He slipped his arm into one sleeve and then the other, fully expecting them to be far too long - Kell was tall and lanky, after all, while Holland was far more compactly built, and short like the rest of Makt after a life spent working and fighting for every bite of food left.

The coat fit perfectly, as if tailored only for him.

He looked down at himself, and then up, finding a windowpane where he could see his own reflection.

He looked... Arnesian, almost.

Not quite - his hair was too faded, the deep black of his childhood gone charcoal-gray with the way the world had of leeching magic and life out of everyone. His skin was too pale, his Antari eye stood out like it did everywhere else.

And yet...

"Not bad," Kell Maresh said, and Holland's heart skipped a beat in surprise. It took all his willpower not to visibly flinch.

He instead turned smoothly, slowly, as if he had known the redhead was there all along. "I am glad you think so," He said in a dry voice devoid of sincerity. "It is unkind to follow a man at night, lile prins."

"Well, you ran off before I could talk to you," Kell pointed out, walking towards him. There was a high red spot in each cheek and a gleam to his blue eye that said he was still drunk.

"You could have as many coats as you wished, what is a few gold coins to a prince to replace it?"

"True. But that is my coat. It cannot be replaced."

"It could be my coat, if I wished it to be."

"It's not, though. Plus..." Kell's expression went into a kind of teasing look that made Holland uncomfortable and also oddly... interested in if this was what it looked like to see the Maresh prince flirt. It was awkward. It was endearing. "It is also unkind to steal a drunk man's clothing."

Holland hummed. "I am not a man known for kindness," He said, sliding the coat back off and folding it over his arm.

When Kell came closer - and he smelled of the flowery odd sort of beer they made and drank here, damn near wine. "And yet I think you have kindness in you that you will never express."

Holland stared at him, shocked. Kell Maresh often seemed to have little more sense than the gods gave a goat, and yet...

Perhaps the beer had loosened some kind of wisdom in him. There were stranger, less believable things in the worlds.

He held his hand out for the coat, and Holland, still too surprised to really think, simply handed it back. "Thank you," Kell said. He flipped the coat inside-out twice, until it was back to the color and style he liked, and slipped it on. "Why did you take it?"

"I don't know." It was, for once, a truly honest answer.

Kell considered, and then nodded, slowly. "I'll see you around," He said, stood there awkwardly waiting for Holland to reciprocate the farewell and receiving only silence in return, and then he turned and walked away, back towards the inn and his brother.

Holland watched him go, not quite sure what held him to the spot, but he found himself unwilling to move until the last sight of the other Antari's red hair shimmering with the light of the Isle was gone.

Holland inhaled, and the air smelled of roses, with a kind of steel underneath.

"For some reason," he murmured, "I genuinely don't want them to make me kill you."

Perhaps he could find some other way.

[five-rivers]

Oooh, I just saw the big about prompts!

“Blessings of rot and petrichor, my prince. May you have a home in the dark, and may the distant stars you reach for never fade.”

(Can be inspiration or an actual quote; do what ya want! :P)

The world ended on a Saturday, and it wasn’t Danny’s fault.  Even if that Saturday happened to be his sixteenth birthday.  

Okay, maybe that was a bit overdramatic.  But, honestly, neither he nor anyone else he’d ever spoken to knew why or how things had turned out this way.  Just that, one morning, reality shook, shuddered, and took a few steps to the left.  

Humanity woke to green-streaked skies, a rainbow sun, and a lot more universe than they were used to.  So did ghosts.  

This was a problem.  It might even be deemed the problem.  Humans and ghosts didn’t exactly get along, and even when neither the ghosts nor the humans involved particularly wanted to fight, the new laws of nature and the few who did want to fight tended to ruin things for everyone else.  (Cough, GIW, cough, Walker, cough.)

Hence the end of the world.  Or, at least, most large-scale governments.  

It could have been worse.

Amity Park stopped being a city that day, fragmented with Ghost Zone wilderness, landscape and spatial dimensions shattered in a spiderweb centered on Fentonworks, the portal a wellspring of wild power and unpredictable translocations.  Danny had worried that the portal had been the cause of the whole thing, but Amity Park was far from the only place with similar issues (look at New York), and Danny eventually was able to accept that not every bad ghost-related thing that happened was on him.  

(Probably.)

Honestly, once everything calmed down a bit, the new world was much more comfortable, physically and mentally, for Danny to live in.  Which was weird, but made sense.  The new world was split between human and ghost, just like him.  It was everyone else who was uncomfortable, now.  

Which, again, he felt guilty about, but, yeah.  He couldn’t do anything about that, so feeling guilty was counterintuitive.  Thank you, tiny Jazz in his head.  

It was Saturday again.  Time for the market fair.  

“Mom and Dad are already out?” asked Danny, leaning over the banister.  

“Yeah,” said Jazz, not looking up from her work transcribing an old ghost text into something more palatable to human eyes.  She adjusted her green lenses to sit closer to her eyes.  “An hour or two ago.  Some guys from Chicago came in last night, apparently, and they wanted to get a head start.”

“Okay,” said Danny.  “I’m going, too.  You want anything?”

“Nope.  I’d be going myself if I did,” said Jazz.  

“You sure?  Nothing for dinner?”  

“Nope, I’m all set.”

“Cool,” said Danny, padding towards the door.  He pulled his nice, dark coat, the one he’d gotten from Dora, off the hook, and shrugged into it, pulling up the hood.  

“No shoes today?” asked Jazz, who had finally looked up.  

“Eh,” said Danny.  “I guess not.  Doesn’t really feel like a shoe kind of day.”  He flexed his toes.

“Well, avoid blackberries, then,” said Jazz.  

“They should avoid me,” joked Danny.  “Good luck with that book!”

“Thanks,” said Jazz, waving as Danny left.  

Fentonworks was the same tall, brick-and-UFO building as it had always been, but now it stood alone on top of a small hill rising from a distinctly purple forest.  The dark grass waved back and forth like the tentacles of a sea anemone.  Bright green portal streaks, cracks in reality, stood out against the foliage, along with a few other buildings that had once belonged to the Fentons’ neighborhood.  The sun was blue today, but Danny predicted it would be green by nightfall.  

Danny walked down the path, the dirt on it declining to adhere to Danny’s feet.  He hummed, quietly, a tune he half-remembered from before the apocalypse.  He would not be walking all the way to the market fair, it was too far.  His parents had taken the Speeder.  

Danny, on the other hand, had a shortcut.  

He reached one of the portal-fractures and passed through to a part of the forest where the trees whispered to one another.  He took a moment to reorient himself, and continued to the next portal fracture.  

As far as he knew, he was the only person who could reliably travel like this.  He could have flown, but the market fair was busy, and he preferred to maintain his peaceful life.  Phantom was still a celebrity in Amity Park.  Even more so now, than before, as ghosts were no longer shot on sight.  

Some ghosts even came to Amity Park’s market fair.  

He walked through a wider-than-usual fracture which deposited him just outside the main fragment of Amity Park, near the erstwhile mall.  The mall and its attached parking lot being the place the market fair took place.  

It was busy.  There were trucks stamped with the seal of Illinois parked on the edges, presumably belonging to the delegation from Chicago.  There seemed to be more ghosts than usual as well, enough of them to make Danny shiver.   Had they come from Chicago, or was it just a coincidence?  If they had, that would be nice.  Chicago had a lot of local influence, and was one of the places that was still trying to hold together something like a national government.  If they accepted ghosts, others would follow more readily.  

Peace between the two worlds in places other than Amity Park would be very nice.  

Danny wandered down the paths of the market fair, not in any particular hurry to get to his parents’ booth.  He was always more interested in the other things at the fair.  Even if he rarely bought anything.  

People seemed to be mostly moving in one direction.  No, they were being drawn in one direction, with people tugging their companions onward.  Danny, not having anything better to do, went with the flow.  

Which led back to where the Chicago delegation was set up.  Several people were standing in front of the trucks, arguing.  

“How can you lose an entire bevy of ghosts?” demanded the man who appeared to be in charge.  

The target of his ire merely shrugged.  

“Can’t lose people like that, bub!” shouted someone from the crowd.  There was a titter of laughter.  

“Didn’t you have a big, fancy announcement, fed?” 

More laughter.  

“Yeah, what did you want to say?”  This voice had an echo to it, and the the man looked extremely aggrieved.  

Nevertheless, he took a deep breath.  “We were led to believe,” he said, cheek jumping, “by certain ghosts, that there was a way to negotiate with the ghosts and... reverse this nonsense.”

Wow.  So, Chicago got scammed.  That could have repercussions.  Danny hoped Amity Park wouldn’t see too much of the fallout.  

“Wouldn’t you jump on any chance to stop this?” demanded the man in response to the jeers, gesturing at the sky and its pulsing bands of light.  

“Tell us a better story!” shouted Ember, who had struck up a much more cordial relationship with Amity Park after the apocalypse.  “One that we’ll remember!”

The man turned away, throwing his hands in the air.  “Go find them!” he shouted, presumably to his subordinates. 

The crowd broke up.  

Danny was curious.  It was one of his defining characteristics, both as a human and as a ghost.  He followed one of the Chicagoans as they walked into the market turning this way and that.  

“So,” he said, “what story was your boss fed?”

The woman jumped and looked down at him, disconcerted.  (Yes, he was short.  That wasn’t his fault.  Except that it probably was, via the portal accident.)

The woman sighed.  “Why not, it’ll be out before too long.  We were told that the rightful king of ghosts was in hiding here, or something stupid like that.  I don’t think they ever said he could fix the world, even.  Only that he could be negotiated with.”  She kicked the ground.  “This is so stupid.  There’s no ghost king.  This is never going to get fixed.”

“It’s not so bad, is it?” asked Danny.  

“How old even were you when it happened.  Ten?” asked the woman.  

“Excuse me, I was sixteen,” said Danny, crossing his arms.  

“That’s cute,” said the woman, dragging her hand down her face.  “You’re like thirteen, tops.  Not nineteen.  Jesus.  Go bother someone else, kid.”

Danny rolled his eyes.  “Well, you aren’t wrong that there’s no ghost king.  Last guy who called himself that got beaten up and locked in a sarcophagus forever.”

Then, just to mess with her, because she’d been rude, Danny turned invisible and left before she turned around.  

Now...  He should probably try to warn people about the scam artist ghosts.  Or would they know from the other people watching?  

Danny flicked back into visibility and continued perusing the various stalls, making small talk with the owners, bringing up the Chicagoans when it was appropriate.  

He was passing by the covered entrance of the mall, one of the most crowded spots in the market fair, when his ghost sense went off, indicating an unfamiliar ghost was nearby.  He scanned the crowd for the ghost.  He didn’t have to look very hard.  Strange ghosts tended to draw eyes, even in Amity Park.  

Especially ones that looked like this.  Inhumanly tall, cloaked, and moving smoothly.  Glimpses under their hoods showed faces riddled with decay- or at least the appearance of decay.  The three of them held instruments.  Flute, drum, and summoning bell.

Danny stood to the side to let them pass.  After all, they weren’t doing anything bad as far as he could see.  

They did not.  Instead, they stopped in front of Danny.  Typical.  

Then they started playing their instruments.  And kneeling.  

Aaaand the crowd was getting bigger.  There was the person from Chicago, too.  Could he escape without turning invisible with all this attention on him?

Probably not without showcasing his ghost powers.  There were people who knew him in this crowd.  Like Paulina.  And Star.  

“Um,” said Danny.  “Hi?”

The leading ghost looked up as the sun’s light turned emerald green.  

“Blessings of rot and petrichor, my prince. May you have a home in the dark, and may the distant stars you reach for never fade.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Danny saw the Chicagoan’s jaw drop.  

“I think you might have the wrong guy,” said Danny.  “I’m not anyone’s prince.”

The ghost grinned, sharp and white.  “We came to give our blessings, my prince.  You do not need to accept them for them to exist.  We offer, also, our service and our hope in this new world that you are so suited for.”

Yeah.  This was going to be a problem.  

[deniigi]

polyglot din is just like 'wow why do i keep making friends when i go to these strange places' and it's like because you learn their language and actually treat people with basic human decency? i always hc that whenever he ends up in a new place for more than a week or so he's just like 'well im obviously going to be here for a bit time to learn a new language.' hes so sad he can't figure out what the hell grogu speaks and when the answer is telepathy he's like 'hmm maybe the kid can learn sign'

YES

I love that a lot!! I could see him also having done this so many times that he’s sort of incorporated it into his starter pack for how to approach different cultures.

The bit about sign is SO TRUE, THO. I....have a thing for this.

@petrichordiam and I’s Modern AU focuses on Grogu (who’s name is Jamari in the AU) using sign. So please have the devastating first few paragraphs from that.

--------------

It was around the time that Jamari figured out how to say his own name that Din started having the nightmares. And it was around the time that he turned around in the garage and saw Paz crooning at an engine in a full suit of armor that he started to think that maybe something was wrong with his head.

But what it really, really took for him to bolt up in bed and grab at his face and realize that that thing in trapped in the very back of his throat was a scream was Luke.

Luke’s face splattered with blood.

Luke’s hand reaching out to him.

Luke’s eyes engulfed in tears.

The last word in his mouth was ‘go.’ He wielded a sword made of lightening while half rolled on his back. He couldn’t protect both himself and the child. He had to make a choice.

He, Din, had to make a choice. To leave Luke or to save the child. To leave Luke or to save the child.

His heart seized and silence screamed in his ears, but Luke told him to go with tears in his eyes and a brow that said that he knew exactly what he was doing.

‘I love you,’ he’d mouthed right before the doors finally closed.

‘I love you, Din.’

Those words were the thing that made the pieces stopped sliding down from the sky like tiny tetris blocks. That time was gone.

The downpour had begun.

 --

 He was freaking out. He knew he was freaking out and he had to stop freaking out so that he could think.

He needed to think. Why were his hands so shaky? Why was his heart pounding like this? It was unacceptable. There was no clear and present danger before him, and anyways, even if there was, he was a warrior.

A torment of gold burst through his mind in memory of a—a someone? A something? He knew them. No, he knew them, what—how—his memory was all over the place he realized. There were so many sensations and images all overlapping.

Memories of his, Danny Jarabran’s, lips leaving those of a beer bottle in summer were overlaid with memories of deserts and huge, reeking yaks that barely resembled such animals, trekking slowly in lines across a sea of dunes out towards a mountain.

He knew the mountain. He knew the eyes of the desert yaks. Their name was on the tip of his tongue, but each time his throat tried to form the word, it vanished. And he was left standing here alone, in the twenty-first century in sweatpants in an apartment that was generously the size of a fat rat’s obstacle course.

He pressed the heels of his hands into his face and then felt along his cheeks and lips and eyes. He dug fingers into his hair, all while staring at the cuffs of his pants. His bare feet were right there beneath them on full display. His chest was on display. His face was on display—why did that make him want to sink into a pit and rot?

His breath was coming faster now in the bathroom. The thoughts were filing in at warp speed and none of them made sense. His chest started to balloon out like some kind of fleshy bubble filling more and more every second with hot air.

He grabbed onto the sink and forced himself to breath. He had to breathe so that he could think. He had to think so that he could try to make sense of the whirling storm around him.

‘I love you, Din.’

‘I love you.’

The words rattled his head like a subway car. He knew nothing about them, only that they belonged to Luke.

Luke and the lightening sword. Luke with the eyes full of tears.

He was so familiar. God, he was familiar. Where had Din seen him? Where did he know him? Why was the memory of that blood-spattered face half-laying on the ground so heart-wrenching?

Din forced himself up and stared in the mirror and the face that met him there no longer felt like his. It was as if the nose, the jaw, and the brows were this shell. It was like he was standing behind the whole ensemble, knowing but not believing that that face was his.

It was like that until the bathroom door creaked and Din’s face snapped towards it.

A child with dark skin, dark eyes, and a bevy of ringlets stared up at him. He stared in silence and Din could do nothing but stare back.

His throat wouldn’t work. His eyes were stuck on the face of this child. It had soft cheeks and a spray of freckles across them and its nose and its forehead. It was barely tall enough to reach the door handle on its own, and it hung from that handle with liquid eyes so dark brown that they were almost black.

It smiled at him and made a gesture that Din couldn’t understand even though it made the gesture another two times.

He didn’t know how he knew that this child shouldn’t have known that gesture, but it brought the taste of acid to his mouth.

The child made the gesture one final time, holding his little hand out with his fingers together and bringing it in towards his middle with the palm facing up.

‘Welcome,’ the gesture said. ‘Welcome.’

“Gro...gu?” Din asked.

The child beamed at him so hard that his eyes squinted.

He curled his hand into a fist and nodded it alongside his head.

Din’s knees felt watery all of the sudden. He sunk slowly down the side of the sink cabinets until he was sitting flat on the ground. He couldn’t speak again. He held his hands out to the child, who left the door and came to wrap his tiny arms around Din’s neck.

He cuddled in.

His name wasn’t Grogu. His name was Jamari.

Jamari.

And yet—

Din buried his nose into the kid’s shoulder and felt like the weight on his chest had lifted.

“You found me,” he said.

“Mmmmhm,” Grogu-Jamari confirmed. He pulled back and showed Din a finger that he dragged up his arm. Then he used the same finger to tap at the top of his wrist.

“A long time?” Din asked. “Were you waiting?”

He got another smile and more nodding.

Well, fuck.

“I’m…sorry,” he said, as his fingers automatically found their way into a fist and rubbed a small circle into the center of his chest.

Grogu-Jamari shook his head in understanding, then reached out and caught onto his hands with fingers.

They weren’t green. There were ten of them. Din almost started laughing.

Grogu hugged his hands close to his little chest. He was so warm. Din pulled him in close again and wrapped him up in his arms and tried not to shake.

It had been so long.

-------

ITS SAD BOO.

ITS SAD AS FUCK

but it gets a little less sad lololololol