#'shock turns your hair white!' has always been a common trope

[see-arcane]

seriously what is up with the white hair? Like the first time I read the scene in the Harker's room I took whitening hair to be a sign of the stress that's been on Jono gradually turning his hair, but then Jack confirms right away that it was all the hair turning color overnight. Stoker makes sure to mention the hair transformation twice and clarifies via Jack that it was all at once. what is up with Jonathan?

Lucy lost all her blonde when her narrative got Dracula'd, Jonathan lost all his brunet. Equivalent exchange.

[choicesarehard]

I keep my streams about Wolf Bride light-hearted. It’s been a hell of a year, and I think we all need a space where we can laugh together. But part of responsibly consuming problematic media is being aware of where it fails. And that’s why I think it’s important to talk about Morgan, and Wolf Bride’s troubling depiction of blindness. 

Morgan is one of the first Love Interests in Choices to have a canon disability. She is representation many players with disabilities, like myself, are eager for. But like any form of representation, writing a blind character requires research. A quick google search will lead you to numerous visually impaired voices who outline the tropes and stereotypes that harm their community. Wolf Bride has included nearly all of them. 

signal boosts are appreciated

Not All Blind People Wear Sunglasses

Morgan is shown wearing dark sunglasses from the moment she appears on screen. And there are certainly blind people who wear sunglasses — particularly those who (unlike Morgan) can still perceive some degree of light and dark, and experience painful light sensitivity. But no context is ever giving for Morgan’s use of sunglasses. In fact, they aren’t even addressed for four chapters. 

[ID: Two screenshots from Chapter Four of Wolf Bride. The first features a text box over a forest background, and reads “You glance at Morgan, and are surprised to see the dark glasses still covering her eyes.” The second features a labeled image of her sunglasses, placed over a black background, with a selectable button that reads “What does Morgan look like without these?”] What follows is a scene Pixelberry could have used to provide insight into an assistive device the sighted community may not be entirely familiar with. They could have touched on degrees of visual impairment, or why some blind individuals need dark lenses while others don’t. They could even have explained that for some individuals with visual impairments, dark lenses make tasks like reading or navigating dimly lit spaces harder.  Instead, and far more troublingly, MC is given the option to ask Morgan not to wear them anymore. And depending on your choice, the book is coded to remove the sunglasses from her sprite in future scenes. This reduces an assistive device to a fashion choice, something our MC can wish away if they don’t find it attractive. And that isn’t okay. 

Unusual Eyes

[ID: Two side-by-side screenshots from Chapter Four of Wolf Bride. The first features a text box placed over a forest background that reads “With a start, you realize her pale eyes aren’t looking at you, aren’t seeing you, aren’t seeing anything.” The second features Morgan’s sad sprite in the same forest setting, and a text box that reads “...I’ve been blind since birth.”] Morgan has a customizable sprite. But regardless of the ethnicity you select for her, she is depicted with pale blue eyes. And that troubles me. Because the stereotype that all blind individuals have cloudy, distorted, or unusual eyes is pervasive and harmful. 

Even when it isn’t tied to another harmful trope — the blind character as mystical seer or psychic — this stereotype create an expectation that blindness is something that always manifests in a visible way. And for millions of blind individuals, that isn’t the case. 

And while cataracts, trauma to the eye, and corneal infections can all cause the clouded effect most of us recognize from media, none turn your brown eyes into blue.  Heightened Senses

Another common stereotype in media is the blind character who’s remaining senses have become heightened as a compensatory mechanism, often to a supernatural degree.

[ID: Two side-by-side screenshots from Chapter Four of Wolf Bride. The first features Morgan’s surprised sprite in a forest setting and a text box that reads “I guess I sort of...feel things. Like the place on my cheek where the branch blocked the wind.” The second features Morgan’s neutral sprite in the same forest setting, and a text box that reads “I can smell the dew on the leaves, and the moss on the bark. Can’t you?] Individuals with visual impairment may learn to rely on their other senses to navigate the world around them. But they do not suddenly gain the ability to sense the location of a branch based on wind patterns, or to accurately throw a dart at a carnival game ballon based on its smell. 

[ID: Two side-by-side screenshots from Chapter Eight of Wolf Bride. The first features a text box placed over a carnival background that reads “Pop! Pop! Pop! Three darts fly through the air, striking their targets.” The second features the white MC with straight blonde hair. Her sprite is surprised, and beneath it is a text box that reads “So you did that by smell, too?]

This trope may seem harmless — after all, it gave us Daredevil, a beloved blind superhero — but it contributes to the unachievable expectations we often place on real-world individuals with visually impairments. And that isn’t fair. 

Of course, we all suspected Morgan’s abilities were due to something other than heightened senses. And that in and of itself is a problem. 

Magical / Supernatural Abilities

To the surprise of no one, Morgan exhibits these unusual abilities because she is a werewolf. But choosing to give a blind character magical abilities should only be done after asking yourself some challenging questions. As visually-impaired Tumblr user @mimzy-writing-online explains:

Your blind characters don’t need a magical ability that negates their blindness. [Ask yourself why it’s so important to you to give them one]. If it’s because they can’t do all the things you want them to do without it, then should you really have written them as blind in the first place? 

And that’s the thing. Morgan isn’t actually written as a blind character, not when it counts. Morgan shoots bullets with accuracy, runs through unfamiliar terrain, and navigates moving objects with ease. She doesn’t use common assistive devices like canes or screen readers. Her sunglasses are discarded at MC’s request. The scientific papers that fill her research facility are not digitized for accessibility or written in braille. 

Even her dreams, which should be reflections of how she perceives reality, look identical to Bastien's — which makes no sense for someone who has been canonically blind since birth. 

[ID: Two side-by-side screenshots from Chapters Five and Eight of Wolf Bride. The first features a scene from Morgan’s lucid dream. Set in a glamorous hotel, it includes visual details like twinkling lights, and patterned carpets. The color is tinted a grey-blue and the exposure on the image has been increased to an unnatural level. The second features a scene from Bastien’s lucid dream. Set in a forest, it shares the same tinted and over-exposed qualities as the first.]

Her blindness isn’t an integral part of her character. Instead, it’s a narrative device, paraded in front of the reader when it can further a central — and deeply disturbing — plot point. [content warning: discussion of discrimination and child abuse / abandonment ahead]  Morgan Was Left to Die Because She Was Blind 

And Jesus, what a plot point it is. In Chapter 11, we learn that Morgan was left to die in the woods because she was born “wrong, sickly, blind.” But the only canonical disability or illness she is ever shown to have is her blindness. 

[ID: Three side-by-side screenshots from Chapter Eleven of Wolf Bride. The first two feature the white MC with straight blonde hair’s shocked sprite in front of a forest background. The first text box reads “I don’t understand...” followed by two dialogue options “Why was Morgan abandoned?” and “Is that what you do to full moon babies? Kill them?” The second panel’s read box reads “Just because she was blind?” The third panel features  the old woman Noemi’s sad sprite, placed over a forest background. Her text box reads “If we know an infant will not survive, it is best to let it die quickly.”]

I...am frankly having a hard time thinking through the screenshot-induced fury to make a coherent argument here. To imply that blindness is an impairment so limiting that death is the only foreseeable outcome? That being born blind somehow makes a child “wrong”? The ignorance and prejudice shown in this scene is staggering. 

But equally troubling is the response of the main characters to this revelation. Yes, in fiction, bad people sometimes do bad things. But Noemi isn’t shown to be a bad person. Neither is Bastien, who knew what his pack had been guilty of in the past, and even seeks to justify it to a limited degree. 

Most shockingly, Morgan herself, who in the second screenshot below has just overheard that she was left to die as an infant because she is blind, isn’t angry or upset. She’s almost apologetic, still seeking a place within the pack. 

[ID: Two side-by-side screenshots from Chapter Eleven of Wolf Bride. The first features Hispanic Bastien’s sad sprite in front of a forest background. The text box beneath him reads “It doesn’t happen often, Clara, but...” The second features white Morgan’s sad sprite in front of the same forest background. The text box beneath her reads “I didn’t mean any harm. Especially after...what I just overheard.”]

By introducing the idea that a child born blind cannot survive, let alone thrive, without superhuman abilities, and then failing to soundly and thoroughly refute that idea through the characters we identify with, Pixelberry is unintentionally perpetuating the same false beliefs that have led to real-world instances of infanticide for centuries. And that isn’t okay. 

I don’t know where Pixelberry will go with the story from here. Perhaps in today’s chapter some of these concerns have been addressed...but I doubt it. In the meantime, I’ve also written to their support staff to express my deep concern and disappointment in the treatment of Morgan’s character. And I’d encourage you to do the same. 

Will I continue to keep streaming Wolf Bride? For now, yes. My VIP subscription is already paid for, and frankly, I want to see Morgan’s arc through. I guess the small part of me that was excited for the representation is still hopeful the narrative can be corrected. 

But I’ll be adding a content warning at the start of each stream for ablism, and that’s something I never thought I’d have to do.  Screenshots courtesy of CrimsonFeatherGames on Youtube

[aphrodite-would-be-proud]

hello! how are you? i hope you're doing fine, um i'm here because i wanted to ask if you can write about armin falling in love with someone who's related to art, like a painter and suddenly discovering a whole new world. i will be so happy if you can do it.

thank you and please, stay healthy! 💗

Hi💛 of course! I really love that idea! Plus as a painter myself the struggle is real man, just yesterday i was having an overwhelming meltdown over what type of brushes to buy.

You seem really lovely so here's a mini fic! 🌸

Armin falling in love with a Painter!reader

{ Armin x reader | tw: none | fluff, pinning | modern }

{ "The Cathedral of Saint Jacques le Mineur, Liege" 1846 by Jenaro Pérez Villaamil 1807 - 1854 }

Reading is Armin's best friend, it always has been. It kept him company on countless sleepless nights as a child, and now it offered the escape his soul needed when overwhelmed with troubles of being a living human in this current world.��   

"It's just captivating," he explained to you one day while walking together, happily clutching the bags of books he just baught. You like how they smell. For someone who reads a lot, he surely seems to be out of words when it comes to describing things he's passionate about.

The winds picks up, your steps slow down. Armin is staring at your face, but it's not your eyes he's looking at. You smile and it brings him back to reality, he looks away, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

You offer to hold some of the heavy bags for him, he gives a warm smile. You think the faint color on his cheek is a really nice shade of pink, it looks lovely under the sun.

The more he took you with him on trips to the far away bookshop near the Riverside, the more you started to understand how a rearranging of words can pull him inside an entirely different world.

It was like he could be his true self when there, carefully reading the description at the back of the books. Frowning whenever he finds a review instead of a summary. you didn't mind tho, because it ment he'd have to read a few pages into the book and the shop had a nice corner couch you two would sit in.

He'd apologise for troubling you, you'd say he's never a bother for you that and reassure him that you enjoyed every last second.

Ah, there it is, that nice shade of pink again.   

 

-

In some way he managed to share his love for books with you, as you spend entire afternoons just sitting near each other. Your sketchbook in hand, the sound of your pencil lightly scratching the paper. Him next to you, his book in hand and reading just loud enough for you to hear.

You think he has a nice voice, so you say it out loud. For the rest of the evening, he stuttered through half the book.

You laugh at the funny moments together, be it a clever joke the author weaved in a serious moment or an incredibly redundant cliche trope that while predictable, was still as enticing.     

He would always look at you whenever you let a chuckle escape, staring just for a couple seconds longer than necessary.

That sketch ended up getting turned into a painting when Armin walked you home that day.

-

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to!"

Blue glass shards are scattered on the table and floor, what remained of Armin's favourite mug. The puddle of coffee already sweeping into the canvas you left to dry there this morning.

It took you three days just for the layering.

It was a big canvas, cotton paper and natural wood. It cost a lot.

You know this feeling when you're so so broken about something that your brain just skips the denial and anger and jumps straight into depression? To say you were mad was an underestimated, and rightfully so.

Armin is trying to remove the coffee stains with the nearest towel he could find, it only smudges the paint more.

He looks terrfied.

"It was an accident I swear, I'd never..." his voice takes a higher pitch, hands shaking. "I'd never, ever mean to do this...I..." he hiccups, Voice quivering..

And just like that, all you anger fades away.

"Armin, hey" you take a step closer, carefully avoiding the broken glass.

He doesn't look at you, he's still desperate wiping the canvas. "I'll fix it, please I'll figure out a way."

The clutch he has on the towel only intensifies when you put your hand on his shoulder. "It's okay," you say "it's fine really, look at me."

And he does, with shame filled eyes. "No no no, it's not. I ruined it, your worked so hard on this and I just..." He looks down "it's NOT okay."

"Yes it is." You try to guide him away from the glass. "That's just a material object Armin, what's important is that you're okay."

He reluctantly follows, you both sit on the couch. His hands are clutching his knees. "I'm really sorry, it's okay if you want to yell at me you have the right to."

You cup his face in your hands, "don't say that, that's not true. It was an accident, I'd never ever yell at you."

Shock is clear in his eyes, his arms leave his knees to wrap around you, pulling you closer. His face buried in your shoulder. You stroke his back. Both of you stay like this for a long while, neither of you seems to want to let go.

At night, when he's getting ready to leave and go back home. You walk him to the door and he kisses your cheek as a goodbye.

the shade of pink you grew to love really goes along with his smile.

-

"Close your eyes and hold out your hand."

With the sparkle in his blue eyes and his hands hiding something behind his back, how could you say no.

So you do, and you feel his hand brushing against yours before a light weight is dropped on your palms. He gives you the okay so you open your eyes, an envelope.

It's cream white with a straw ribbon around it, it looks too good to open but you do anyway.

"Is that..." his smile grows as you pull out the card and paper inside, "a membership card."

"For the art course you've been saving up for! You seemed really excited when talking about it." He takes a step closer, tilting his head to the side as his blond hair brush against his neck. "Do you like it?"

"Armin I love it!" You're so happy that you don't dwell on it before pulling him into a hug, he eagrly hugs back and his hand lingers on you when you pull away. "But...isn't it too expensive ? How did you.."

His lips press into a thin line as he looks to the side, "don't worry about it, I've been also saving for a different reason."

Oh...yeah you know the reason, Eren’s been telling it to everyone after all. The three of them agreed to go on a trip overseas, even Mikasa seemed genuinely excited.

You look at him, you look at the envelope containing the art course of your dreams, you put the card back inside.

"I can't, " you hold it out for him, "you can still return this, they're very lean with their policies."

He doesn't take it. "Yes, yes you can. This isn't just because I feel bad for what i did, it's because..." he holds your hand in his, "because I want you to have it, you deserve the world and if i can I'd give it to you."

"But what about Mikasa and Eren, you know they've been looking forward for this."

"They'll understand that i can't come, and if they don't it's okay, they'll still enjoy it by themselves." He cups your face, looking at you like you're the only person in the world, "It's just a material thing after all, you aren't."

-

Armin likes to get out of his comfort zone evey once in a while, he likes to try new things no matter how intimidating they look.

Which is why, seeing him hesitantly entering the art classroom was not a surprise. His wide eyes switching their focuses between all the different objects in the room, from the canvas with a glaze shine on them, ready to get painted. Or the different shapes and sizes or brushes, the ones near the water jars looking softer than the rest.

You should've seen this coming, with Eren and Mikasa away on their trip, Armin has been hanging around you all the time. Not that you're complaining.

Looking at your still drying canvas, you quickly cleaned off your brush before using a towel to wipe your hands and elbows from paint stains.

"Armin," you said, amusement in your voice at seeing the blond out of his usual element. His curious eyes focus on you and he says a small hi with a wave.

You walk him through the basics, he nods while you explain the pros and cons of each paint type, what type of paintings it goes with and which techniques are the most common.      

After a couple minutes of him asking you to show him to use certain things and hold some brushes, he settles down for watercolors. You think it's adorably fitting.

While picking his brushes, you explain how in order to not damage the cotton papers, they have the softest hairs. To make your point, you take his arm in your hand and run a soft brush against his palm. He laughs softly saying it tickles, it's contagious and you're laughing too soon.

He picks the seat next to you, looking lost with the short brush in his hand and the already wet canvase. But it's a nice kind of lost, like the way a child would look at a new toy.

While he expriments at the corner of the canvas with different brushes and swipes the colors, other people start filling the room and soon enough everyone has taken their seats.

The instructer begans setting up today's study object, a couple of pink Camellias in a tinted turquoise vase, creating a nise color contrast.

You stare at them for a while, wondering where did you see that fimilar faint of pink. The question answers itself when Armin taps your shoulder and ask how to start layering the paint

-

It's around sunset when the two of you are walking together, he's talking about all the new things he never knew about art that he just discovered today. You're listening to him while nodding occasionally, it's when he stops mid-rant that you look at him.

"I just realised something" he says, before facing you.

"Oh? And what is it"

He looks at you, really looks at you. The sun is shining behind you as it says its last goodbyes for the day, making you look heavenly. "I realised that...I'm deeply in love with you"

[bibliocratic]

Only a little late!

Written for the prompts: AU and Touch for AspecMartinWeek

Ace Jon / Ace Martin, AU – Daemons, post 159.

They are lying dozy and lazing on the settee when Jon clears his throat and apologises.

Martin's thoughts have been like the unheeded tumbling of water through a brook. He hasn't spoken, he's sure, for a long while, not confident that he's fully awake. Jon's tucked neatly against Martin's graceless outstretch of limbs, mumbling whatever comes to mind against his throat. His breath is hot, mildly damp, condensing Martin's skin like he's fogging up a window.

There is the curiously new, near-dazed feeling that Martin is basking in like the shallow waters of some island beach. Every tension unhooked from him like an unburdened yoke, of having said everything that he has always wanted to say. Digging out the gristle of small deceits from his stumbling mouth was a stop-judder-start of a conversation, and it's been a painful, physical release to bring them up. Martin's held his hands over his mouth and the words have spilled out anyway, scraping his throat on the way up, and Jon had rubbed his back and listened as every emotion he forced down came back in nauseous waves.

It's been exhausting, feeling so much all at once. Martin's snapped and snarled and sobbed and slept a lot. And now he has the blessed relief to lie, feeling like he's dug up all the weeds of his fears, the soil of him loosened enough to allow something better to bloom.

Jon knows Martin loves him. Vast-welled, bone-down-deep. Jon knows that love will never be physical, and had still cradled him and declared him beloved, confessed that it was a form of expression he'd never sought either. Jon reframed question after question so they barely resembled enquiries at all, and Martin laid down all the cards of himself with a trustfulness he is having to practise again.

“Hm?” Martin questions sluggish. He opens a squinting, disgruntled eye, discomforted by the radiance of the room, and sees Jon gnawing on his bottom lip. He is managing to give off the impression of both staring intensely at Martin and attempting to avoid his gaze entirely.

“I'm sorry,” Jon repeats. His words are steady enough, but Emer is fluttering hither-and-thither over his head like an anxious coronet. Landing on his shoulder, antennae bobbing, crawling flustered over to his other shoulder before returning airborne in an overactive bluster of motion.

Martin has always liked watching Emer. The flash of gossamer-white wings circling Jon's head or sat on his wrist like an overly-extravagant watch while he read statements.

“Stop looking,” he used to hiss at the moving lump under his shirt, poking many orb-like eyes over his collar to stare even when Martin stopped. “It's rude.”

“What're you sorry for?” Martin asks. The question comes out squashed, half-sighed. His arm encircling Jon's shoulder, he strokes the skin of his upper arm in a light reassurance.

Jon's forehead is establishing trenches as he deepens the lines on his brow. Emer lands and whispers harsh, insistent words into his ear, but he shakes his head like shedding water, and she goes back to hovering.

“I should have asked,” Jon says finally. “I'd never.... you were always so private about him, so I mean, at first I wasn't sure he was even yours, but then – when you, when you went with Peter, and I – he was so small, and I thought he was h-half-dead and Emer wouldn't leave him. S-so I picked him up and I carried him. And I'm sorry.”

It takes a few moments for Jon's garbling to reach understanding.

“I'd kind of assumed you must have,” Martin replies slowly. “I'm the – I'm the one who left him behind.”

At the hollow of Martin's throat, he can feel the crouched and scratchy weight, still unfamiliar to him. He brings up his hand, uses a finger to stroke the short, bristling fur down his rounded abdomen. He stops, leaving his hand nearby, close but undemanding. A second later, delayed, two probing legs tap affectionately and tiredly onto the back of Martin's hand, before withdrawing again.

He was never so steady before. He used to crawl, scramble, quiver and jump, always in motion under the cover of Martin's shirts, the camouflage of his bramble-coiled hair. If he got excited, he'd jump from Martin's shoulder to ear to get his attention, chatter and chirp animatedly. Most of Martin's life, he's rarely strayed a foot from his side.

Martin doesn't feel him now. Not like it was before. There's no solid anchoring when he concentrates. Like a weak signal, a light seen through fog, a previously taut string scraped threadbare.

Peter had suggested a knife. Had even held one out to Martin with a chummy, encouraging smile. Telling him how clean it could be to slice through.

“It won't even kill you,” he had said. “Best part of it.”

“It'll hurt though,” Martin had replied dully, jaw set, as the spider quivered against his throat.

“Oh, certainly,” Peter had replied, admiring the sheen of the blade. “But you've already given away so much, Martin, what's a little more in the grand scheme of things, hm?”

Martin had refused, and Peter had sighed, pocketing the knife again, responded:

“Pity. You'll have to leave him anyway. It would be so much easier to make the separation quicker for the both of you.”

Aron hadn't said anything when Martin scooped him off his neck, setting him down on top of the tape recorder. He'd stared, resigned but with still enough expectation in him to feel betrayed.

It hadn't made the rending, punch-breathed stretching of their distance hurt less.

It had stopped hurting after a while, like everything else had.

Jon must have carried him all the way into the Lonely and out, Martin thinks, stroking Aron again. Maybe longer. The days, they've not been as clear as Martin would like. It's been as treading through murky water a lot of the time. He's not even sure when he woke up blearily, cosseted by the tight bundle of blankets Jon had barricaded him with, and felt Aron nestled in his hair like the old days.

“You couldn't have asked anyway,” Martin continues. “It's not like, well, not like I was around to say it was ok, was I?”

Jon makes a grunt of agreement, but it's one of those distracted sounds he makes when he's taken something in but not really listened.

“When you got out though,” he says, seeming, if anything, even more shame-faced. “When we got here, you didn't – you didn't even ask about him. He'd be at the other side of the house and you didn't blink at how far that was, he-he'd climb onto you and try and get your attention and you wouldn't flinch. I don't think you even knew he was there. And then Emer talked to him, wouldn't move from his side, and then – it-it was the second night, guess you don't remember but you were – you were struggling to come back to yourself. And he – he crawled onto me, and I didn't – I didn't push him away.”

“I'm not mad at you, Jon,” Martin says. “'s like you said. I wasn't – I wasn't in the right place. You kept him safe, how could I be mad?”

Jon nods stiffly. Looks at Aron. Martin likes the way Jon looks at him, carefully, like something might have changed while he wasn't looking.

“I just... thought I should apologise,” he says, more lamely than before. “It's not right, to go around touching other people's.... Anyway. I won't – won't do it again.”

Aron's chelicerae twitch against Martin's adam's apple.

“What's your thoughts on all this then?” Martin says, directing it lowly at Aron.

He's not expecting a response. Their conversations have been stilted, working through the gap Martin ripped between them. Those last few months, they'd mostly fought. Peter Lukas' arrival had found Aron sullen and petty, argumentative and frightened, and Martin had ignored him or snapped back in kind. Aron had stopped speaking to him long before Lukas dragged him into the Lonely, and it's a slow cautious revival, to find out how to talk to each other again.

Aron unfolds his legs carefully, creeps unobtrusively up to the side of Martin's face to lurk near his ear. Even as a bigger example of his species, he's still about the length of Martin's thumb. He flexes the stubby pedipalps under his eyes like he's kneading something.

“He's the best decision you've made in a long time,” he says resolutely to Martin. “He loved me even when you thought you couldn't.”

Martin's mouth is raw from saying sorry but he murmurs it again. Aron's front legs tap him like a reassurance.

“Would you like to?” Martin turns to Jon, who is militantly trying not to listen to their conversation. Emer is circling the ceiling as though to further compound the gesture of privacy. “Touch him, mean – intentionally this time?”

When Martin was younger and working everything out, he'd diligently done his research on the ways he thought he was failing. He'd watched a lot of films, read a lot of books. Romantic stuff, filled with swelling, stirring scores, or purple-prose dramatic declarations of passion. It's quite a common trope in a lot of these; the couples confessing their tormented adoration, their daemons touching, tail in tail or rough-housing in play. Then one half of the couple will reach out, suddenly tender, tangle their fingers in the fur of the other's daemon or scrape along their scales. The other will gasp like they've been shocked, their body rocking with the aftermath of it, before they follow with shaking hands. Martin would replay those moments of intimate connection, fantasising about how someone might hold his own bristled and secretive soul.

It inevitably leads to sex. And Martin would switch it off, then, feeling nonplussed and uncomfortable and wondering if that part was necessary.

It doesn't matter to Martin if Jon doesn't want to, if he never touches Aron again. Jon's already carried his soul so many miles.

It's important to him that Jon knows he can. That Martin wants him to, that Martin trusts him with Aron more than he trusts himself.

Jon's face goes a dark spasm of oxblood red.

“It's – I mean – I'd – course I'd – that's a lot though, are you sure – ?”

Emer chooses that moment to make some quick fed-up comment to Jon before decisively fluttering down and landing on Martin's nose.

Jon gives a squeaking, mildly scandalised gasp. So does Martin, more at the shock.

It doesn't feel like how he expected it might.

There's no rush, no swelling violins or heightened poetry.

“Hey,” he whispers to the white-winged moth. Emer preens, giving a show-off little flap before closing her wings against her back.

“She's beautiful,” he says to Jon sincerely.

Jon's holding his breath like he's trying not to disturb the moment.

“How – how do you feel?” He asks tentatively, his words slightly strangled.

“Warm,” Martin says. There's a steady coil of heat in his chest that matches the warmth of their close-knit afternoon. He feels beheld in the surest of light, cherished and reverential, the same feeling he gets whenever Jon says he loves him.

“Like you expected?”

Martin told Jon about the films he'd watched, the books he'd read, the expressions and sensations he'd thought would make him happier. Jon had listened in the blanketing dark of the evening, and admitted the same in kind.

“I mean, I still don't feel much of an urge to suddenly rip your clothes off, if that's what you're asking.”

Jon's lips hook up in a smile, releasing some of his nervous tension.

“How disappointing,” he intones, and Martin, going a little cross-eyed staring at the speckling spots of black over the fuzz coating Emer's body, laughs.

He reaches up, his hands gone a little shivery, glances over at Jon.

“Can I...?” he asks.

Jon gives a jerking motion, looking like a rather demented nodding dog in his poorly disguised eagerness.

“Er – y-eah – that would be – I-I'd like that.”

Martin strokes a blunt nail from her thorax down.

“Oh,” Jon says, sounding more than a little awestruck. If possible, he sinks even more limbless against Martin. “That's.... that's lovely.”

Martin strokes Emer for a while, rhythmically rubbing the fur with a precise concentrated effort. Jon hums, looking dazed and pleased.

He wonders if it'll feel the same with Jon touching Aron. If Martin will be able to tell, if the sensation will be muted or altered in some way.

Aron, impatient and with apparently less decorum about the whole thing, gives a restless huff and decides to find out himself by jumping onto Jon.

Jon, jolted from his near-soporific state, rather valiantly does not shriek or flail the way he might if an actual spider flung itself onto him. He jerks but makes a serious effort to hold himself ramrod still.

“Stop it,” Martin warns.

“You are absolutely no fun,” Aron answers back playfully as he skitters down to where Jon's hands are. Jon if anything holds himself even more still.

Aron reaches his wrist and taps the skin there, waiting. Slowly, Jon cups his hands together, and Aron clambers delicately onto his palms. Jon's face is making another one of those wowed expressions. Martin feels another pulse of that settling warmth, not as dulled as before, strengthening as Jon rubs a self-conscious finger down Aron's abdomen.

Martin feels Emer flutter up and settle against his hair as he hums and closes his eyes, his soul held in the safest hands he knows.

[natsubeatsrock]

Anime Recommendations Based on Fairy Tail's Big Four Ships

I've been meaning to do this for a long time. (I feel like I'm saying that a lot, nowadays...)

The Big Four ships of Fairy Tail are ubiquitous among fans. It's hard to find too many people that don't like even one of them. If you're a fan of Fairy Tail, chances are that you like all of them to some degree. It would make sense to find shows that have dynamics similar to the ships we love. Who better than I to make a list like that?

Someone that actually likes the Big Four ships, for a start.

Anyone who's followed me over the years knows I was never going to write that kind of list. Originally, I was only going to deal with shows that handled the dynamics in ways I personally thought better. However, I put it on the back burner for a few months. And a few months became a few years.

Now that I'm actually setting out to try to write this, I've decided that I would make a bit of a compromise. Two recommendations for each ship. Both play with the dynamic in some way. One plays with it in a manner closer to the ship it's compared to and is what I would recommend to true fans of the ship. The other is a much looser parallel and does things I'd imagine people who didn't like the ship would like. Hopefully, you'll find some show that you like regardless of your feelings about the ships.

Nalu (Positive Recommendation): Twin Star Exorcists

This wasn't as tough a decision for me to make as one might expect given my history with the ship. When Rokuro and Benio have something of a chance encounter, they don't get off on the right foot. However, they realize they have more in common with each other than they'd like to admit. They go from outright hating each other to loving each other throughout 50 episodes. Of course, it helps that the fate of the world is dependent on them getting married and having a kid together. When I think of the best things about Nalu, I think about the relationship between Rokuro and Benio.

Nalu (Negative Recommendation): Snow White with the Red Hair

Shirayuki, the character the title describes, is an herbalist. The show focuses on her journey to becoming recognized as a court herbalist and her growing romantic relationship with Prince Zen Wisteria. As the show progresses, they each end up encouraging each other towards reaching their own ambitions. I could see the argument made that this is a better parallel for Nalu than the show I recommended. But, as someone who's made a name ragging on the ship, I think I'm in a good position to make this call.

Gruvia (Positive Recommendation): Momokuri

The heck is a Clannad? The show starts with a confession of love and a couple starting to date. That would be the end of most romances, but the fun only starts there. It turns out that the guy is not entirely confident with himself and is not sure how to properly handle a relationship with a girl older than him. The girl, on the other hand, has been borderline stalking him before their relationship started and still struggles to stop following him. I hope it doesn't come off as an insult to say that I kept thinking about Gruvia watching this show. This is one of the fluffier shows I've seen.

Gruvia (Negative Recommendation): Golden Time

Stop me if this sounds familiar. There's a girl who's been really in love with a guy for years, to the point some would call it unhealthy or obsessive. Unfortunately, the guy's not into her and all but shatters her heart with the declaration that he's found someone else he likes and can only see them as friends. But in swoops someone else who has been watching everything go down and sympathizes with her. How will their romance go? On a completely unrelated note, it's weird to see Golden Time and think that this was both written and animated during Fairy Tail's serialization. Almost as if writing Toradora gave the author psychic powers.

Jerza (Positive Recommendation): Romeo x Juliet

If you're going into this with the expectation of a straight adaptation of William Shakespeare's famous play about star-crossed lovers, you will be disappointed. However, Studio Gonzo took the story and turned it into an interesting fantasy and romance series. This show gets my nod on account of playing up both the romance and inter-family conflict of the original play. Jerza represents people on opposite sides of a conflict trying their best to work together against an enemy they're slowly but surely realizing they share. Be forewarned, though. This is still an adaptation of Romeo x Juliet.

Jerza (Negative Recommendation): Our love has always been 10 cm. apart

Hear me out on this one. Jellal and Erza's relationship involves a desire ultimately to be together despite the things pulling them away from each other, namely themselves. But... does it need to involve the whole "I can't accept that I may or may not be responsible for deaths and human atrocities" plotline running through Jerza? The characters in this show have a similar internal struggle, as the title describes. They just happen to be students in different clubs struggling with how they'll handle their passions before and after graduation, along with their potential romance. Before you watch this, it might be a good idea to be introduced to the characters via the movie “I've always liked you”.

Gajevy (Positive Recommendation): Ookami-san and her Seven Companions

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away- wait, wrong story. Ookami is known as one of the more intimidating people in their school and is the main muscle of one of the school's influential clubs, Otogi Bank. The club's newest member is on the frailer side but proves himself to be both competent and reliable in a pinch. He's been in love with her since the start of the show, but she's pretty slow to accept her own feelings for him.  This one may be a fun pick for people who liked seeing how Gajevy played out. Especially given, that the ship roles are somewhat gender-swapped.

Gajevy (Negative Recommendation): Chivalry of a Failed Knight

Part of me says that I could have put any romances involving a tsundere in this spot. After all, Gajevy's about falling in love despite bad first impressions. Though, my reason for picking this story deals with a rather interesting complaint about the ship: Levy's descent into the background as the series continues. In this story, the characters get together and prove themselves to be competent fighters. Of course, this means more for Ikki Kurogane, the main character, starting from the bottom to become the strongest fighter the school has. However, you never forget that Stella Vermillion is also strong in her own right. Though I'd caution against this if you're not a fan of fan service.

Bonus: Tsuredure Children

As a fun bonus recommendation, I'm throwing in Tsuredure Children. I often worry that fans here care more about the romances in the series than anything else happening. Tsuredure Children provides a fun solution to this problem: make it about nothing but romances. This anime follows a handful of romances at a high school, following different personalities, tropes, and levels of success. There are probably some parallels to these ships, but that's what the other recommendations were for.

And that's all I've got. See you!

What are you still doing on this post?

You saw the title. I did everything I said I was going to do. I even threw in another recommendation. There was no other reason to continue this except for satisfying your own curiosity.

How much more are you expecting of me? I'm only human.

Well, since you're here, it won't hurt to reward your curiosity. Here are two more recommendations, for Zervis. Thankfully, neither deal with the whole “Is this pedophilia?” thing because I never want to talk about that again.

Zervis (Positive Recommendation): Real Girl

If you've seen my end of year favorites, you'll know that I've enjoyed this show. If you'll ignore the laughter of those who've seen this show, I chose this for one important reason. This show plays with the idea of having someone who sees value in you that others don't can be life-changing in a positive way. I have to assume that, were Zeref and Mavis allowed to be happy, that would be the end goal of their relationship. By the way, their relationship comes as a shock to those watching it go down.

Zervis (Negative Recommendation): Hyouka

This shows also takes the idea of a life-changing relationship but plays with the guy's special talents to both solve and create problems for the series. I don't know how much of this pick is a "recommendation for people who don't like how Zervis played out" and a “I can’t think of another series I’ve seen to fit what this ship could have been if it didn’t involve people who could kill each other” pick.

But for real this time, see you! 

[princesstadashi]

Big Hero 6 Colorverse AU

(I apologize in advance for the lack of proofreading, I may come back later to do it but I am too tired right now after typing this post to do so ^^;)

Colorverse AU Concept: You know how in animes the heroes always have brightly colored hair and tend to follow certain tropes based on their color (blue = water powers, green = loves nature and peaceful, etc.)? In this world, those heroes aren’t always born heroes--heroes are made by circumstances. Or at least that’s how people think it works. Genetics might be a factor as well (for example, if your parents is/was a hero you might be predisposed to being a hero as well)--the government has invest a lot of money into studying this phenomena. But suffice it to say that when someone who is possibly predestined to be a hero has their catalyst hero moment, their hair and blood both change to the color of their assigned character trope/power. And most heroes aren’t alone--over time they find people of other colors who are destined to be their teammates. It used to happen naturally and these teams saved their cities and sometimes even the world from evil. But that was many, many years ago. Times have changed.

The government decided that, for the “safety” of all, any newly turned heroes are to be brought to government training facilities to “train” and “find their team” before being sent out into the world to be heroes (closely supervised by the government, of course.) Some people blindly believe these lies, saying that heroes being taken away from their family and loved ones is just what’s best for the common good. But most people know the truth: there is nothing natural about this, the government takes these heroes, brainwashes them until they completely forget their true past, stamp out any “imperfections” in their personalities that don’t fit with their assigned traits, and then assigns them to a team based on facts and figures before sending them out to fight various “evils” (often times heroes who escaped who are trying to fight for their freedom.)

Now that we have our universe, let’s introduce our characters:

Tadashi (color: silver): Tadashi became a hero when he was eight. As a silver hero, he is a natural born leader, as well as having a strong sense of intuition (not quite future vision, but he gets flashes of possible outcomes.) His powers came about in a car crash that killed his and his little brother, Hiro’s, parents, and almost killed the both of them as well. Their dad was driving a bit too fast and Tadashi kept begging him to slow down because he had a “bad feeling” but his dad was in a rush and wouldn’t listen. Tadashi had his first major flash of a possible future seeing the car crash only moments before it happened, and he managed to throw himself over Hiro to cushion the impact. Tadashi briefly blacked out, and when he woke up there was silver blood coming from a gash in his arm. After making sure that Hiro was okay, he wrapped himself in a blanket and refused to let anyone remove it until his Aunt Cass arrived. 

Aunt Cass (color: white): Aunt Cass had been protesting for heroes’ rights long before she ever became one.Her own hero turn was prompted by Tadashi’s--every team needs an older, wiser, more experienced person to look after them, and that’s what Aunt Cass became for Tadashi (and later Hiro’s) future team. She doesn’t have any explicit powers, but she’s became very good at talking her way out of things and misdirection to keep others from noticing things that they shouldn’t. For example, when Tadashi finally let her see him under the blanket and she saw his silver hair and blood, she managed to convince the police officers to let her drive her boys to the hospital herself instead of taking them in the ambulance where Tadashi would be discovered and taken away. It wasn’t until she had both boys in the car (they could not, of course, go to the hospital, she had to care for them as best she could at home) and they were driving home that she realized that her hair had turned white. At first she thought it might be because of the shock, but eventually she accepted her place as guardian of the team. Like most heroes who were trying to go undiscovered, she promptly bought hair dye for both her and Tadashi and made sure that the roots were touched up on a weekly basis. 

Fred (kaiju): The first new member of Tadashi’s team was his best friend from school, Fred. Fred is not a traditional hero. He is, in fact, a kaiju,the result of more recent genetic mutation that started to randomly appear all over the world. Although most kaiju are peaceable and can switch back and forth between kaiu and human form, most kaiju upon discovery of their other form (which doesn’t usually occur until puberty) are immediately taken away and locked up or used as military weapons. Fred got the genetic mutation from his dad, who is also a kaiju--the only reason that his father remained free is because his parents had government connections and enough money to bribe them from keeping the secret ever getting out. Fred knew that he might be kaiju, but no one had known for sure if the gene would pass on. It did, and it was while sleeping over at Tadashi’s house one night when he turned for the first time in the middle of the night. He of course completely panicked, but Aunt Cass and Tadashi managed to calm him down and help him, and of course reassured him that they would never turn him in. That’s when Tadashi finally told him the truth about himself, and Tadashi realized that maybe this was the start of him finding his team--his real team, not one forced on him  Fred was of course very excited at the idea of becoming a hero--a real one, and Aunt Cass started helping them train in secret.

Honey Lemon (pink): Honey Lemon was in Tadashi’s chemistry class in high school and discovered her powers when one of her classmate’s chemistry experiments went wrong. She managed to control the chemical overflow and turn it into something benign--no one really saw what she was doing as the room was evacuated, but when Tadashi saw her come out of the room and noticed a pink streak appearing in her hair, he and Fred both rushed her to safety, covering her hair until they could get her back to Aunt Cass’ for her first of many, many dye jobs. Honey Lemon doesn’t fit the typical airheaded pink magical girl stereotype--she may love all things pink and sparkly, but she’s got a genius mind for chemistry, which makes her power being able to control the elements and create brightly colored projectiles from the elements in her surroundings (or the ones she carries in her bag) just that much more potent!

Gogo (yellow): Gogo discovered her powers of speed at a fairly early age, saving her little sister who had run out into the street after an escaped ball from being hit by a tram. Gogo had to figure out how to dye her own hair (knowing that her parents were the type of people who would consider it their “duty” to turn her in), and rebelliously added a streak of purple, partially to make people wonder if she might be a hero but also to throw them off the trail of the real color of her hair. She is by no means your typical friendly and funny yellow hero--she never wanted to join a team, but she made friends with Tadashi in one of her classes at SFIT before knowing that he was also a hero, and once he discovered the truth about her he managed to convince her to join the team.

Wasabi (green): Wasabi’s powers manifested as a result of his anxiety--although he would try not to let the rest of the world see how anxious he was all of the time, as he got older plants would start randomly growing around him whenever the anxiety got to be too much for him. So in a way, the person he ended up saving was himself: once in the middle of a really bad anxiety attack, he locked himself in his room until plants had fully grown all around him, and somehow he managed to find peace being there in his own, safe space, realizing that the plants were trying to comfort him--lavender for calming, lamb’s ears providing a soft cushion, luminescent mushrooms making soft lighting. After that Wasabi stopped being afraid of his powers, but he still struggled to control them and keep his secret, as sometimes his anxiety would get the better of him and plants would start growing again. Tadashi also met him at SFIT and was the first to notice his powers, and of course he immediately invited him to join the team. It took some time for Wasabi to agree, but he finally did. He’s not the serene plant lover that you might expect of a green hero, but he’s learning to be comfortable with himself and the world around him more every day.

Hiro (red): Hiro never really expected powers of his own  although he was admittedly a bit jealous when others started joining Tadashi’s team, wishing he could be a part of it himself, which is part of the reason he starts delving into bot fighting like we saw in the movies, only in this case he was hoping to get the chance to be a hero and spark his own powers. He finally gets his wish, but half wishes he hadn’t. The events of the Expo take place, and when Tadashi runs into the burning Expo hall and the explosion happens, that’s when Hiro’s powers finally spark (sorry, unintended pun.) He actually manages to control the fire, keeping Tadashi from dying or even getting burned. As soon as Tadashi realizes what’s happened and sees Hiro’s hair starting to change color, he throws his blazer over Hiro’s head and he and the others rush Hiro back to Aunt Cass’. The events of the movie still play out, only instead of having to invent their own powers, Big Hero 6 becomes the first independent team to take down a supervillain. You can imagine that the government is not happy about there being a vigilante team out there, and the team has to work harder than ever to keep their identities a secret. But they start a chain reaction, helping other hidden heroes like themselves take their lives back and starting to fight back against the unfair system!

[afterreign]

lovers is plural pairing: implied akeshu/shuake, background ann/shiho & ann/mika beta reader: @jubilantscribbler a/n: no p5r spoilers summary: The Phantom Thieves, an infamous name that empowers the young and instills fear in the corrupt, hold their most important meeting yet. Just who is Takamaki Ann, code name Panther, dating?

Today, Akira is not nervous. There are no battle strategies to discuss, no infiltration route to go over. He is free, not having to relentlessly plan out solutions for all of the potentially bad outcomes that could come to fruition in their next palace escapade.

(Although, he should do that, Morgana’s incessant pleas to sleep be damned.)

No, today is a day he can breathe easy. Today, he is confident.

Akira slides a 100 yen coin.

“Ann is definitely going out with Shiho.”

The response between the Phantom Thieves—sans Ann, of course—is mixed.

“Dude,” Ryuji deadpans, “for real? We’re makin’ bank, yet you’re only gonna bet, like, a coin?”

The weight, or lack thereof, to Akira’s wallet disagrees completely. “It’s fair,” he reasons, internally stomping away at the compulsion to present how truly empty his wallet is to everyone else. “Plus, we’re still high schoolers. College funds and stuff.”

The word “college” attracts the local student body president like a moth to a debt-filled flame. Ugh, third years. “While I would agree that saving up for college is admirable,” Makoto says with a laugh, “I believe we need to backtrack a little.”

Akira sucks in a breath when the brunette places an unwrinkled 1000 yen bill on the table. Makoto’s eyes shine a little. “I am placing my bets on… Mika-san.”

“Thank you!” Futaba, the resident shut-in, erupts, throwing her hands in the air. “I’m glad there’s some common sense here.”

This, of course, ensues verbal chaos. Ryuji, lovely Ryuji with a heart of gold, slams his hands down on the table, protesting all of Futaba’s points. (“Have you seen her look at Shiho?!” the blond exclaims. “Hell, I want someone to look at me like that!”) Futaba spouts something about common media tropes and otome games and other concepts that fly right over top student Akira’s head. Makoto is somehow the mediator and instigator in all of this, proudly showing the group a selfie Ann and Mika took not too long ago. Haru smiles, looking a little too apologetic for wear, before presenting an even more recent photo of Shiho and Ann going on a stroll at the nearby park. And Yusuke, passionate as ever, presents their close-knit group a highly detailed pencil drawing of Ann and Mika looking deep into each other’s sparkling eyes, and okay, this is getting weird. Possibly bordering creepy, and—

Akechi is sitting there with a pained expression masked poorly. He is sipping his coffee cup. It has been empty for the past ten minutes.

“—I feel inspired gazing upon two colleagues enraptured with one another,” Yusuke finishes confessing. Akira, admittedly, hadn’t caught the earlier half. A none the wiser Yusuke nods sagely, eyes closed. “There is no doubt in my mind… Ann and Mika-san must be together.”

“But,” Haru starts, “I can’t help but see Ann and Suzui-san in a relationship. Is that odd? I haven’t had any time to talk to Suzui-san lately, but when she attended Shujin, the two seemed close.” A fond smile crosses the third year’s face. “I can’t help but be a little jealous actually!”

Akechi politely raises his hand. His laugh sounds like it’s being played straight from his TV interviews. “Aha, well. I see everyone is getting along today. But… considering we are not discussing anything Phantom Thieves related, do you mind if I go along my way and head home?”

Everyone rightfully ignores him. Akechi remains stuck in the table booth, likely resenting the fact he came in the first place.

(Akira almost feels bad for him. Almost.)

“Well, that’s that,” determines Akira. He’s not sure what he’s actually determining, though. There is a tone of finality in his voice, and Akira simply goes along with it. He glances at both sides of the booth they’re huddled in and surmises his thoughts aloud. “Me, Ryuji, and Haru think Ann is dating Shiho. Makoto, Yusuke, and Futaba believe she’s dating Mika.”

Ryuji looks pumped. “We need a tie-breaker!”

Makoto frowns. “You… are aware that we’re taking individual bets, correct? It doesn’t matter if one ‘team’ has more people than the other.”

“Matters to me,” grumbles Ryuji, and Akira pats him on the back.

Out of the corner of Akira’s eye, he catches Haru’s glossed lips making a perfect little “o.” If the thieves were in some classic cartoon, Akira has no doubt in his mind that one of those thinking light bulbs would be flickering just above a bed of curly locks, a stubborn screw you to the laws of gravity. “Oh, Akechi-kun!” Haru turns to the detective, a curious look on her face. The light bulb is all aglow. “What are your thoughts on the matter?”

Call it a hunch, but Akira is sure that Akechi is swimming in many thoughts by now. Just… not anything helpful. Instead of voicing out the worst of the worst, the brunet smiles a pleasant smile. It’s strained all the same. “Well,” he begins, “before I give you my answer, mind if I express my own questions?”

Futaba minds, apparently. She groans and dives her head between the safe space of her arms. Some of the others restrain themselves to do the same.

“Is it not strange that all of you are placing bets on Takamaki-san’s love life? Does this not feel all a bit too personal?” inquires Akechi, arms crossed. Despite how light his tone is, his stare bores straight into Makoto’s eyes, judging. “I’m especially surprised that you are participating in this as well.”

Akira always felt that there was some camaraderie between Makoto and Akechi. Hair color and motivations aside, both are at the top of their grades, high marks on all of their exams. The two teens are cunning and have a similar interest in law and speak softly when it matters most. They’re arguably the most mature of their group, but… they slip.

Right now is not one of those times.

Makoto doesn’t flinch. “You… must not know me well then, Akechi-kun,” she states. “I admit that once the rest of the Phantom Thieves proposed—” Makoto quickly waves a hand at everyone. “—this, I thought it was… immature, at first. But I soon came to understand that we do this because we care about Ann.”

“And it’s fun!” adds Ryuji. Yusuke is beside the blond, humming in agreement.

“Ann is always looking out for our feelings,” Haru explains, smoothing out her skirt. “Think of this as if… we’re looking out for hers. Ann is one of my dear friends, so of course, I want to support her in a happy and healthy relationship.” Graciously, she covers a giggle behind her hand. “Although, I do think we get carried away.”

Murmurs of agreement surface between the team. And of course, Akira knows this isn’t about money. This isn’t about who’s right or wrong. It’s about Ann’s infectious laugh, about her overflowing sympathy for other people. It’s about Ann because Akira cares about his friends, and he wants the best for her—

“But are we not certain that Ann is dating Mika?” Yusuke asks, pure confusion in his voice.

—but he can still think his friends are factually wrong.

Before the debate has a chance to start up again, Akechi cuts in with a clean, “First, let’s get that tie-breaker vote in, shall we?”

“Oh, now he cares,” Ryuji scoffs.

Suddenly, Akira hears a small gasp. He turns his head to the not-so-mysterious source and finds a shocked Futaba gaping at no one in particular. “We forgot to ask Mona!” she yelps, startling everyone else from the calm. The shut-in whips her head away from everyone and begins shouting at the staircase. “Hey, Mona! Mona!”

For once, Akira is glad Sojiro decided not to stay and make the gang lunch.

It takes a few moments before Akira hears the creak of Leblanc’s wooden stairs. Slowly, Morgana’s nose peeks out from behind the rails before his head and his furry body follow suit. He moves down each step, one careful paw after the other, before dragging his dark tail across the white tile floor and hopping onto the table.

Oh, the bespectacled boy thinks belatedly.

Morgana is sulking.

Triangular ears are flat against his head. “Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” the feline-but-not-really says with a sigh.

Ryuji makes a low whistle and leans back into his seat. The booth does not bother to budge. “Damn, and I thought you liked talkin’ about your ‘Lady Ann,’ Mona.”

Akira does not miss Morgana’s withering look. In an effort to placate him, the teen reaches over and strokes Morgana’s favorite spot on his head despite the not-cat’s silent protests. Akira then leans over and speaks low into Morgana’s ears. “You don’t need to be here if you don’t want to. I know you wanted to skip out since…”

The silence speaks for itself. Morgana looks at him, and the former appears deep in thought, tail swaying as if searching for answers. Eventually, the tail comes to a halt. “Thanks,” he purrs, and Akira isn’t entirely convinced if it’s intentional or not. “But I got this.”

Akira feels a tug at the corners of his mouth. Satisfied, he leans back, watching Morgana take center stage.

“As someone who knows Lady Ann the best,” Morgana declares, chin held high, “I think it’s important that we consider other options. What if she isn’t dating any of them?”

Leblanc’s resident dyed blond groans. “You’re only saying that ‘cause you like her!”

“Am not!”

“Uh,” Futaba butts in, “are we gonna ignore the fact that none of us updated Mona on what we’re talking about, yet he still responds like he’s been here?”

Morgana seethes out an impatient “I live here,” while Akira says effectively the same thing, only with a switch of the pronouns. Okay, that didn’t work. Clearly, Akira needs a new plan—one that involves less bickering with an animal so they don’t all look insane when an innocent customer decides to walk in and witnesses the incarnate of chaos and more… amicable relations. More bets, perhaps.

Curiously enough, it’s Haru who takes the reins, sending Akira a small smile before speaking up. “Maybe if Mona-chan understands why we think Ann has a significant other, he can decide for himself.”

Akira may be a heathen, but God bless Haru.

As Akira is internally singing his praises, the conversation thankfully segues back to Ann and a hyper analysis of her love life. Futaba mentions how she first found out about Ann’s secret romance after forgetting to debug the café. (Akechi then sends Akira an alarmed look the latter chooses to dutifully ignore.) Haru continues that line of thought, recalling Ann’s inquiries regarding the language of flowers and the like, and Akira makes sure to ignore that tinge of jealousy stirring in his stomach even though he knows that Ann knows his hard work in memorizing a bunch of flower symbolism for his job in the underground mall.

He sighs and mentally sweeps his slight envy under the rug. Priorities, Akira.

It’s not until Makoto clears her throat and poses the daunting question of “So, do you believe us?” to Morgana that all eyes fall back on the not-cat, waiting patiently.

The sway of his tail falters. “... Yes,” he bites out. Morgana’s face contorts like he’s devoured a lemon. “Guess this is what you unrequited love, huh?”

Luckily, Ryuji has the decency to stay quiet as Haru breathes an apologetic “Oh, Mona-chan…” and pets the not-cat’s torso.

The group falls into an almost comfortable silence, save for Morgana’s drooping ears that nearly makes Akira leap forward and shower him with many affectionate head pats. Akira otherwise lets his mind wander. He drifts between the scent of Sojiro’s curry ingrained in the dark walls of Leblanc and his daydream of a flustered Ann grasping the hands of a faceless lover, rotating from Mika to Shiho to a mixture of the two’s features. The arch of the rival model’s groomed eyebrows and the doe eyes of the ex-Shujin student are rolled into one.

Features, Akira absently thinks, and for some reason, his eyes linger on the jaunt of a certain detective’s chin, the curve of his lithe neck, the way he carefully tucks a chestnut-colored lock behind his ear. His eyebrows, not unlike Mika’s, are furrowed. Dark, gloved hands hold a gray smartphone that is definitely not bugged by someone that rhymes with Fakura Sutaba, and hazel eyes—red, if you catch them when the glint of the sunlight hits them just right—are fixated on the screen.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise when Akechi of all people, the same Akechi who never dares to back away from a challenge, continues the conversation, not bothering to look up from his phone.

(But it does come as a surprise, oddly enough. Because Akira, jolted out of his daydream and thrusted into reality, is looking, and he feels like he shouldn’t be.)

“Have we come to a conclusion about our findings then?” Akechi questions, a thoughtful look on his face.

“Pardon me,” Yusuke voices, “but I assumed you held no interest in Ann’s love life like the rest of us.”

Akechi, lo and behold, bears another classic (read: fake) smile of his. “I don’t particularly. However, it seems like you all are stumped, and I do enjoy a good mystery. After all, I am a detective, aren’t I?”

Akira resists the urge to point out how the unknown identity of Ann’s girlfriend is a far cry from a good mystery, much less anything more than petty gossip when not discussed amongst friends. Instead, he motions the brunet to continue with a flick of the wrist.

Finally, Akechi looks up. “Have any of you considered the antithesis to Morgana’s hypothesis?”

Ryuji frowns. “The… what?”

“I believe Akechi-kun is talking about the opposite of what Morgana initially thought,” clarifies Makoto. “Which means…”

The gears in Akira’s head turn by the end of Makoto’s unfinished remark. His mind swims around antithesis and Ann and the underlying yet unknown connection between the two, trying to grasp at a lost thread he’s determined to find. (Anntithesis! his brain unhelpfully supplies a beat later before he dismisses it completely.) He thinks back to what the group assessed before: selfies, flowers, the like. Selfies, flowers, the like.

Selfies.

… Were they selfies?

Akira is backtracking now, attempting to recreate the images Makoto and Haru had shown the rest of the group earlier in his head. He closes his eyes and thinks. Mika and Ann’s picture can be excused as a selfie, sure. The two were pressed close together in the photograph, shoulders bumping and heads tilting inward to stay in frame. A part of Ann’s arm was cut off from where they took the picture. Sly smirks on both of their photogenic faces.

By all means, it’s a regular, old photo. A selfie, likely.

Then, what about Ann and Shiho’s? Akira recalls Inokashira Park as the backdrop of the image, an abundance of green flooding his vision. He’s quite familiar with the area, too; jogging with the former track star there whenever his body can endure the brutality of cardio is one form of torture Akira will never forget.

If he recalls correctly, the photo was awfully similar to its counterpart. Heads inclined towards one another, shared smiles, and⁠—

Ann and Shiho were holding up peace signs, both pairs of arms visible in frame.

It’s a cliché to gasp. Akira knows this and does it anyway because one, he is surprised and two, he loves being dramatic. The act earns a rather bemused look from Akechi that’s immediately disguised as a roll of the eyes.

The rest of the thieves follow suit as realization dawns on them. Makoto nods. Futaba blinks. Ryuji’s jaw drops. Haru, polite as ever, raises a hand to mask the shock evident on her face. Morgana’s eyes go and widen to the size of Kamoshida’s golden medal, round and shimmering and unbelievable.

Yusuke is the last one to come around, and he barely manages to gather his bearings in time to ask, “Can it truly be…?”

A delightful ping rings in the still air.

“See for yourself,” Akechi says, voice breezy, and slides his phone down on the table.

-

“Do you think they’ve seen your Instagram post?”

Shiho asks this while peering over Ann’s shoulder, watching the likes accumulate at a rapid speed. The end of her ponytail brushes against the blonde’s nape. Ann struggles to suppress a giggle.

“Oh, maybe?” It comes out unsure, reluctant. Ann taps her chin. ”But my phone hasn’t blown up with text messages yet. And trust me, I would know when my friends saw it.”

The other model waves it off, nonchalant. “They’ll figure out soon enough anyway." A pause. Then, Mika sighs. “Looks like the entire population of Tokyo will, too. I don’t know why you wanted to do this, but I’m sure our agency is going to love capitalizing on it…”

“Ugh, agency shmagency!” Ann, who has no concept of personal space when it comes to these two, gathers both of the girls in her arms and gives them a tight squeeze. “How can I hide away my two amazing girlfriends from the world?”

Mika rolls her eyes, but the dust of pink coloring her cheeks gives her away. “Is she always this corny?”

Shiho snickers. “Oh, one hundred percent.”

[littlemisssquiggles]

RWBY Squiggle Scripts #022: “Playing Pretend”

Picture it.

Heroes’ Day Out!

While staying in Atlas, our young heroes of RWBY and the JN(O)R gang decide to take a day off to explore the sights. During their excursion, due to their differing interests, the group decides to split up into four pairs: Ren and Nora, Blake and Yang, Weiss and Jaune and lastly, Ruby and Oscar.

Ruby was really enthusiastic about checking out the Atlesian Delta Mall---a giant shopping precinct within the kingdom that was very popular with the local youths because of its entertainment arena home to an arcade and a giant movie complex among other fun areas. 

At first the Rosebuds were happily enjoying themselves. However things turn sour when Oscar gets separated from Ruby while exploring the wall.

During his search for his missing rose, Oscar’s lone trek across the complex leads him to bump into a rather interesting group of people Before Oscar got a chance to even apologize to who he bumped into, he suddenly found himself swarmed on all sides by four girls who practically towered over him.

One girl was a proud blonde by the name of Clementine Pell. Another girl, a brunette with glasses was Naomi Navy. The third girl, a walking body of pink, was Ran Orchid and finally the fourth girl, Yasmine Alba---a red-eyed beauty with long hair as white as snow.

Oscar swallowed nervously as the girls flocked around him.  Suddenly he felt like a worm trapped in a cage of hungry canaries.

Clementine: Well what do we have here ladies? Looks like a little prince has lost his way.

Naomi: Ooh you're right Clem! He does look like a prince.

Ran: He’s such a cutie pie. I love his freckles! I can just eat him up!  

Yasmine: Quit acting so thirsty Ran. What's your name, sugar pie?

Oscar: *awkwardly* Uh...I---Os---Oscar.

Ran: Ooh Oscar!

Naomi: Like Gold!

Clementine: So you're a golden prince.

Oscar: Uh, if you'll excuse I really need to catch up with my---

Oscar attempted to walk past one of the girls---the snow-haired one---but to his dismay, she snaked her around one of his.

Yasmine: What's the rush, darling?

Ran: Yeah, why don't you come hang out with us?

Clementine: You wouldn't want to refuse the company of four beautiful girls like us now won't you?

Yasmine: Won't you!

Oscar: I...I...

Just when Oscar believed he was a goner, a glimmer of red caught his eyes as Ruby Rose came into view.

Ruby: There you are!  I've been looking all over for you.

Oscar: *in relief* Ruby!

Instantly, Oscar wiggled his way out of the snow-haired girl’s grip and joined Ruby at her side. Ruby smiled at Oscar before training her attention on the four girls who eyed her with stern expressions.

The blonde one even got up in Ruby’s face.

Clementine: Excuse me but we saw him first!

Ran: Yeah paws off our little prince!

Ruby: *blinking confusedly* Your little… what now?

She looked at Oscar.

Ruby: Oscar, do you know these girls? 

Oscar: No I've never seen them in my life.

Ruby: *frowning crossly* Are they harassing you?

Oscar: I---

Yasmine: He was about to get to know us personally before you butted in.

Naomi: Buzz off!

Ran: Yeah, who do you think you are?

Ruby: Oh where are my manners? The name’s Ruby Rose and…

Ruby draped one arm around Oscar’s shoulder pulling him closer to her with a big beaming smile.

Ruby: I'm his girlfriend!

CNRY: *in unison* What!

Oscar: Wait...what? 

Clementine: *hands on hips; appearing skeptical* Funny, you don't seem like his girlfriend.

Yasmine: Yeah like a cutie prince like him would ever date ugly peasant trash like you.

Oscar: *frowning defensively* Hey! Don't talk to her like----

Ruby: It's okay, sweetie. I'll handle this.

Ruby glanced back at the four CNRY girls; the smile on her face now curling into a smirk.

Ruby: So you want proof, you say?

Before Oscar had time to react; the next thing the small farm boy knew, Ruby suddenly closed the space between them and planted her bare lips over his in a kiss.

At first, Oscar was caught off guard by the sudden invasion. His body stiffened at the first out of shock but after a while he slowly felt herself melt into the kiss and it was not long before that he actually started kissing Ruby back.

By the time the two parted, Oscar’s heart was like a drum in his chest. His cheeks were flushed; far more than usual as he just stood staring at Ruby.

He wasn’t the only one. When Ruby returned to the four girls, their faces were a perfect Picasso of astonishment, disappointment and unbridled rage. A masterpiece of human expression that brought the big Chesire-cat smile back to Ruby’s face.

Ruby: *smugly* Proof enough for you ladies? Or do you need more convincing?

Yasmine: *disgustedly* No thank you!

Clementine: Let's go girls. Before I lose my lunch.

Naomi & Ran: Totally!

Whipping their hair, the CNRY girls walked away; finally leave Ruby and Oscar to themselves once more.

Ruby: Phew! That was a close one. Sorry for that. It was the only thing I could think of. But at least they're gone now, right Oscar? 

Oscar: ...

Ruby: Oscar?

Ruby faces Oscar; finding him still staring at her.

Ruby: What's with that face! 

Oscar: I'm sorry! You...kissed me. You actually kissed me.

Ruby: *defensively* Yeah but it was a fake kiss. To help you with the---

Oscar: *frantically* I know I know! It's just...that was...well...my…

Ruby: …Wait, was that...your first kiss?

Oscar: *awkwardly*...Ye---Yeah. Pretty much, yeah. 

Ruby: Oh. Oh no. I’m so sorry!

Oscar: No! No! It's ok. Better you than those girls, right?  Besides...it was fine.

Ruby: *taken aback* Fine?

Oscar: As in good. *embarrassed* It’s…not exactly how I pictured our---I mean…my first kiss being but---y’know…

Ruby: *awkwardly*Well...uh...if it's any consolation, it was my first kiss too so…

Oscar: *incredulously* Wait...WHAT! That cannot be your first kiss. How?

Ruby: What do you mean how?

Oscar: I just...I mean I always figured you of all people would have kissed tons of guys before.

Ruby: Excuse me?

Oscar: I don't mean it any bad way. I just...I always figured a beautiful girl like you would have some tall handsome guy or y’know…several guys waiting for you back home in Vale.

Ruby: *snorts* That's…really weird but really sweet of you to assume but...no.

Oscar: *still in disbelief* Really? Not even at Beacon?

Ruby: Well at Beacon I was pretty much the runt of the school. Youngest huntress to be accepted, remember?

Oscar: Yeah but...you're also pretty amazing.

Ruby: *laughingly* Trust me. If you had met me back then, you wouldn't think that. 

Oscar: I doubt it. If you were just as cool and kind as you are now, I would've liked you sooner. *jokingly* Y’know beat out all those guys in line for your hand.

Ruby: *giggling* Oh please. I didn't even have a date to the school dance. Me having a line of guys chasing after me. That’s rich!

Oscar: I should've been at Beacon. 

Ruby: Why’d you say that?

Oscar: So I could’ve asked you to the dance.

Ruby: *snorts* Pffft! Again, really sweet of you Oscar but… you would’ve been 13. That’s younger than I was.

Oscar: *smiling* So? I'd still ask you.

Ruby: *blushing slightly* Well tell you what? If there's ever another dance, you'd be my first choice for my date.

Oscar: *grinning* I'm going to hold you to that. It’s a date. And…uh… speaking of dates…

Oscar took Ruby’s hand, looking at her warmly.

Oscar: Ms. Rose, would you do me the honour of going on a date with me right now?

Ruby:*snickering* Do me the honour?

Oscar: *embarrassedly* What? Tha---That’s how the guys asked out the girls back home. It’s a farm folk custom!

Ruby:*laughing* You’re not serious!

Oscar: *huffily* It is! You Valerian city girls just don’t know common courtesy.

Ruby: *teasingly* Jokes on you, I’m a Patch girl, born and raised. Besides I meant about the date thing. You’re not serious about that, right?

Oscar: Actually I am. We still have a couple hours to kill before we meet back up with the others, right? And…there’s a perfectly good movie theatre right over there that’s showing all three Grimm Samurais movies with a food court that gives out free popcorn to couples. Besides I think those crazy girls from before might still be lurking around. You mind playing my girlfriend for a few more hours?

Ruby: *excitedly* You had me at Grimm Samurais! Let’s go!

Oscar: *grinning* After you, snookums.

Ruby gave Oscar a weird look; brows raised. Oscar blushed.

Oscar: *defensively* What? It---It’s part of the pretend.

Ruby: Y’know what’s also part of the pretend. You paying for me.

Oscar: What!

Ruby: Now c’mon Oscar, what kind of pretend boyfriend would you be if you didn’t treat your cute pretend girlfriend to our pretend movie date? Isn’t that right pumpkin?

Oscar: *pouting* I’m going to pretend dump you.

Ruby: Can’t cause you’re pretend madly in love with me!

Ruby sticks out her tongue at Oscar playfully before skipping off before he could say anything else. Oscar only shook his head as he only stared after the Silver eyed huntress. He then sighed dreamily.

‘…Or maybe I’m just in love with you for real…’ Oscar thought; an affectionate smile already tugging at his lips. With that, the young farm boy caught up to Ruby; taking her hand in his again as she in turn beamed brightly and tugged him forward in eager excitement, as the two rosebuds entered the mall theater together.

And scene.

Squiggly Scriptwriter’s Commentary:

This has been sitting in my drafts for weeks and I didn’t realize how adorkably cheesy this was until I finished editing it. So much cheese. Hope no one reading is lactose intolerant.

This spawned from the random idea of what if… Ruby fake-out made out with Oscar to get him out of a sticky scenario with a group of fangirls. I quite like the romance trope of the fated pair fake kissing each other for show only for their real feelings to surface later in the plot.

I was planning on releasing this script earlier but…y’know busy bug syndrome got in the way. It wasn’t until I saw @blackhakumen​ beat me to the punch with his own version of the “playing pretend” trope for Rosegarden, that I finally figured it’s about time I finished this. You can almost say his work gave me the push to finally wrap this up! Thanks for the motivation boast with your script Black. If you haven’t, check out Mini Fanfic #64: My Boyfriend by Blackhakumen.

I haven’t written anything this cheesy for Rosegarden since my ‘A-Dork You!’ RWBY Squiggle Script. Good times. I still love that script.

A special thank you bunches of oats to my fellow Garden Rosebud @miki-13​ for loaning me their lovely OCs who cameoed in this script.

The CNRY girls are from Miki’s RWBY fanfic---‘Reconciliation’. If you haven’t already checked it out, I’d definitely recommend it to you guys. It’s a fantastic read that not only tells an excellent interpretive follow-up from the events of V6 but it also includes an original cast of interesting characters. Seriously check it out.

I hope you didn’t mind the cameo Miki. When I first thought up this script, I was originally going to go with a random character but then I remembered your CNRY girls. Sorry if me borrowing them was for something as cheesy as this. The CNRY girls served their part well. I just hope I did your girls justice here.

More RWBY Squiggles Scripts

 ~LittleMissSquiggles (2019)

[eternalfarnham]

the girlfriend

[content warning: rape mention, torture mention, neither particularly graphic, but there; spoilers for Shadows of the Damned; serious effortpost]

Shadows of the Damned did something surprising -- not just in the general Suda51 sense, where aesthetic supersedes perception and it seems like pretty much whatever can happen, but in the sense that my ideas of narrative were genuinely kind of upended.

Rambo’zebub

As a narrative experience, Shadows of the Damned is so profoundly and archetypically a brutal Hollywood action flick that it craps copies of Die Hard. Our hero, Garcia Hotspur, is a hard-drinking, stone-cold demon hunter with a heavy demon-slaying weapon (who doubles as a funny British sidekick named Johnson, and also a vessel for “boner” jokes, Ha Ha Because He Is A Phallic Gun With A Skull On Get It), hunting after Fleming, the Devil himself, to retrieve his girl, Paula, whom Fleming kidnapped for a bride. 

Paula is heavily coded along the sacred-virgin/tainted-corpse image so common to action movies, where the villain’s attentions threaten to leave her defiled (drawing no distinction between the violation of the consummation of the profane marriage and death): every boss (typically anatomically improbable demons) kills her in the process of manifestation; she repeatedly dies by drowning, immolation, lobotomy/berserker rage (which turns her into a stage hazard), exploding... all while dressed in a white-as-the-driven-snow corset and lingerie. We can tell she’s still a virgin because she’s still wearing all white, you see. It’s simultaneously sexual and virginal: she’s the vulnerable ingenue, but also available to her boyfriend Garcia (and through him, the audience).

One More Dead Girlfriend

It almost becomes a formula: she begs to be saved, then is brutally executed. Garcia tries to save her every time, but we-the-player, at the controls, understand that there will be no actual opportunities to rescue Paula until after the final boss, because that’s how it works. There’s no mechanic to spare her from her fate, and so she becomes, essentially, a prop, SFX, someone who can die over and over with no emotional consequences because the game no longer assigns her death consequences. If Suda51 were a lesser director, I might even attribute this to a clumsy attempt to continually tug at our heartstrings. 

We as an audience are familiar with this trick: the devil shows the hero his girl dismembered, tortured and broken, or cooing the devil’s name and cursing her hero’s (this latter happens more or less literally in the red light district zone, where Garcia must run through toxic darkness as Paula gyrates sensually and mimes sex in the background), and the hero forges on, knowing that these are illusions and that his pure, untouched girl remains waiting in the Devil’s hands. It’s as classic an action-movie trope as “buddy dies against greater foe, rendering him unable to complete backstory” -- a trope so potent that Garcia gets a “buddy” halfway through the game just so he can die like that. (That section also nods to horror movie tropes in a really unsubtle way, and so, naturally, the guy is black.)

There’s a minor snag, in that Paula is heavily implied to be an amnesiac “Unbreakable Huntress” -- a demon hunter who fought her way through hell to kill Fleming... who beat her, severed all her limbs and took her as a mistress. But what I want to call to attention is that word unbreakable, which derives from the Huntress’s stubborn refusal to give up and die in Hell, despite the agonies heaped upon her. Mechanically, physically, Paula is unbreakable: there’s no way to save her and no consequences for her death, so we-the-players don’t feel like her torture means anything; she dies so many times that we-the-heroes, become numb to it, especially because the formula of “running away / ‘Help Me!’ / Garcia in pursuit / Oh Shit It Was Demons” seldom varies; and, of course, we-the-viewers know that the depredations of the Devil never break the hero’s girl, that her corset and lingerie will always be pure white.

Then we get to the Fleming boss fight.

The King of Hell

In a pre-battle cutscene, Fleming goads Garcia into firing on him, only to reveal Paula underneath his jacket. Where we were comfortable with Paula’s death before, the framing of this particular scene jars us out of that. Fleming’s trickery and Garcia’s shock indicate to us that this is the “real” Paula, as does the cutscene framing, which forces us to pay attention. Not only that, Paula’s injury this time is a gunshot wound -- all her prior deaths were appallingly, cartoonishly lethal, and destroyed the corpse, at that (getting gibbed as a demon popped out of her, buzzsaws, live burial, consumed by fish...), but now she’s just bleeding. And that blood stains her white vestments red. Only the most beautiful women look good in red, Fleming tells us. From here, we’re primed to care about Paula’s suffering again, and the gameplay backs it up -- in-battle, Fleming deploys Paula as a shield to soak up Garcia’s bullets.

That’s just the goddamn prelude, folks.

With Fleming dead, we get Paula back -- the real Paula -- and we’re poised on the heartwarming, the credits are rolling...

That’s when Paula attacks.

Garcia’s Angel

"Why didn't you help me? Why didn't you console me? If you truly loved me, why didn't you die with me? Why did you make me suffer, all alone? Why did you let me die each time? Why are the demons after me? Why must I suffer because of you? Where is my freedom!!"

“Paula, forgive me.”

“Never.”

She appears before Garcia in the form of an angel -- note that that’s his nickname for her, angel -- with six wings, a white dress and copper-red hair (which was previously blonde). And she lets him know that she did exactly what anyone would do if they were endlessly revived and slaughtered -- tortured, really -- for dating a demon hunter: she broke. She’s profoundly traumatized; she hates Garcia for not saving her from all those endless deaths when he was right there, and for not dying with her, and because the demons wouldn’t have made her life hell if she’d never met him. He begs her forgiveness, and she says “never.” And so Paula is our final boss -- Garcia clips her wings with his gun, hurling her into a pit of the Darkness which infests hell and devours human lives, then leaps in after her to comfort her before the end comes. And, let’s recall, he shot her -- that’s how she got dyed red in the first place. Garcia Hotspur’s girlfriend, Paula, was not an angel -- she’s a person.

Holy shit.

The promise of the action movie and the promise of Paula’s endless, incorruptible deaths -- that if we kill the Devil and rescue the girl, she will have remained pure for us -- was part of the action movie, but the action movie is over, the girlfriend has been rescued, there’s no one to kill, and the film is still rolling. Paula has refused, and revealed the fundamental instability of, the role of the virgin girl kidnapped by monsters whose pride bears up under the worst tortures -- that the expectation of incorruptible purity is an illusion on the part of an audience that can’t cope with or understand the person under the knife. She loathes Garcia, she wants him dead not for any utility (since Fleming is dead) but purely for revenge, and he has no vocabulary to address that, and neither do we, as the audience -- nothing but further violence! What’s more, the implication exists -- albeit ambiguously -- that Paula-as-Unbreakable Huntress finally managed to escape from hell, since Garcia found her unconscious in a Dumpster; as a demon hunter, Garcia is directly responsible for Paula’s recapture by the Devil, her subsequent torture, death, resurrection,  psychological splintering and ultimate demise at the hands of the darkness. All he can do is hold her as she dies.

You wanted gritty character action, EA? You wanted a rugged, manly hero who saves his fragile girlfriend from the King of all Demons? You got it, and you got the consequences, too.

Happy Days are Here Again

I don’t know if I think the epilogue actually happened.

a) How did Garcia and Paula survive? They’re together, eating dinner and planning a Cancun vacation like nothing ever happened. “We’re finally together,” says Paula, in jeans and a low-cut top. You were choking to death in the depths of hell, lady. We were all there.

b) It’s a “the adventure continues” scenario. A stinger for Shadows of the Damned 2. It’s an action movie staple, when we abandoned that particular way of thinking as Paula transformed. Everything is good... but suddenly there’s a legion of demons outside Garcia’s window and Fleming’s voice on his phone, promising that he will return to take back Paula, so Garcia delivers a final monologue, draws his gun and fades to black. Roll credits, audience cheers, everyone buys tickets to the next one.

I’d believe it was all a fantasy, the movie dreaming of a happier ending, if it weren’t for two things:

Do I Fight And Live? Or Do Those Monsters Get Me?

a) Paula’s transformation -- as the demons approach, she twists in agony (screaming “Garcia” and “No” in a way reminiscent of her hell-torture), her eye glows red, and she assumes a form distinct from her pure lingerie, her red-stained dress and her monster-angel getup. In this mode, she’s weirdly glossy, with hair like literal metallic gold, darker skin and a black dress, and she appears completely comatose -- or at least in the middle of a seizure. Garcia catches her and assumes the classic “hold your girl with one arm and your gun with the other” pose of the action hero, but she’s just lolling her head and staring into nothing. Something’s goddamn wrong -- she has all the taint of darkness, the powerlessness and loss of sanctity, but without the agency that her blood and dyed hair granted her. White-Lingerie Paula begged for Garcia’s aid, Red-Haired Paula rejected it, but Black-Dress Paula doesn’t even seem to have the capacity for speech. 

b) Garcia’s monologue, which I will reproduce in its entirety here.

“Fate has led me to fall in love with the Lord of the Underworld's mistress. His horde of minions will never stop coming to claim her. But I have sworn to strike them down, each and every one, until she is mine alone. I will take on the whole world if I must slay every creature in my path. Because I still see love in her eyes. And because I love... killing fucking demons."

There’s a lot to unpack here.

“His horde of minions will never stop coming to claim her” -- or else the franchise would end. Garcia delivers a one-liner after this little speech: “Sorry, Paula. Mexico will have to wait.” That’s a quip, not a consolation. He’s just admitted it will never happen -- and he can’t really stop Paula from suffering because the mere proximity of demons appears to have driven her into a fugue state from the pain. “I have sworn to strike them down... until she is mine alone. I will take on the whole world if I must slay every creature in my path.” Continual massacres, continual destruction of the demon species, war on an unkillable enemy... we can make as many movies as we need, right? This is an infinite battle. “I still see love in her eyes” -- She’s not looking at you, she’s unconscious. She’s limp in your arms. Hell, I’m not even completely sure she has more than one eye, at this point, and that one’s blood-red and demonic.

“And because I love...” Paula? The girl in your arms? “Killing fucking demons.”

Ah. This isn’t Paula’s happy ending.

Paula’s happy ending was down in that darkness at the bottom of Hell. There, she died to assert her own personhood, having seen her monstrous king/torturer blown to pieces for good, in the knowledge that she would never again be used for torture porn or to titillate strangers, and that she would die in the arms of someone who (for all his faults) genuinely loved her. No demons, no gameplay, no torture -- just silence.

This is Garcia’s happy ending, which is to say that it’s the audience’s happy ending: he gets to keep killing demons with his sick pistol forever, spawning innumerable sequels, for a Paula who cannot be hurt or fail to meet our expectation of being unbreakable because she is pre-broken, who exists as an emotional crutch for the narrative and a reason for Garcia’s one-man war on all demonkind. The demons got Paula, and she died down there in that darkness. But the movie goes on, dragging her corpse with it, and Garcia and Fleming were both resurrected to chase that promise of perfect virginity and perfect love, one to defile it and the other to have it stolen away, as an excuse to kill even more demons. Forever.

Roll credits.

[ceilien]

Upon first glance, his visage was comparable to a world painted white with fresh-fallen, glistening snowflakes--so delicate and seemingly intangible that at the time I could not imagine bringing myself to touch him. The photos on his dating profile, however, did him less than no justice--especially considering, as I would later find out, the most recent was nearly four years old. We met on December 20th, and at the time I had no inclination of the sort of joy the next 22 days would bring, or the deep emptiness the days after would ensure. We started with easy questions. “Have you graduated yet?” He asked. “Not yet. Have you?” “Yeah, two years ago.” “Where do you go now?” I asked. “Mizzou,” he responded. He told me about how he was studying computer science because that’s what his dad does and nothing else really captivated him. “I did broadcast when I was in high school, so I considered Journalism as a major, but I sort of decided it wasn’t for me.” I’d like to say that we hit it off immediately--from the first word either of us muttered, our eyes turned into cartoon hearts when one looked at the other. Unfortunately, this was not the case. There was a layer of nervousness and awkwardness that neither of us could shake for awhile. Which eventually I found to be an out of character situation for him, because as I grew to know this person as time went on, I found him to be insanely confident. This was surprising as he just so happens to embody the sort of person who stereotypically would not radiate confidence. Nevertheless, the two of us muddled with small talk over our drinks. We sat in a corner table at a (very busy) local coffee shop. “I’m not an avid coffee drinker,” he said, explaining himself after ordering a hot chocolate. I, as usual, had green tea. I remember when the ice had finally been broken. After a long silence I asked, “What’s your favorite color?” To which he replied, ��Green.” I laughed softly and mumbled, “Green is not a creative color.” He laughed. Hard. And responded, “What? What about green is not creative?” And then we were both cracking up. We could probably pay our dues to laughter for melting away a thick layer of the awkwardness--or the miscommunication, either way, I like to think we were both grateful for it. “Are you kidding me? That’s one of the most memorable lines from Don’t Hug Me I’m Scared--” I said enthusiastically. “Oh! Right!” He said, clearly just playing along. I rolled my eyes and took a deep breath. “It’s a Youtube series that I got really into theorizing for awhile. It’s so conceptual and creative--” I trailed off, not wanting to seem like a dork. “Theorizing?” He asked, a playful grin was plastered across his face now. I nervously laughed. “Yeah...I’m really into film theories and stuff like that.” “So what’s your theory about Don’t Hug Me I’m Scared?” he asked. (I think this is a good time to note that this was absolutely my favorite thing about him. Whenever I said anything, he gave me his full and complete attention. He would always listen and give me incredible responses. I’ve never met another person to do this, and I found it extraordinary). I then went into a brief description about a common theory that I eventually sort of accepted about DHMIS, because as many people know, the series is completely conceptual. There is no true meaning, no right or wrong. “...yeah, I’ll stop now. I don’t want you to think I’m a complete loser.” He was laughing again. “Okay, well for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re a loser.” He paused for a moment, the look on his face showed that he was thinking very carefully about how he wanted to execute his next sentence. “I’ll tell you my really nerdy thing if you promise not to judge me.” “I can’t exactly make that promise--Wait, you’re not a weeb are you?” He bit the inside of his cheek and smirked at me. “No no no no no. Not that. But I uh...I play Dungeons & Dragons.” I wasn’t exactly surprised by this confession. He certainly looked the part--I previously mentioned the fact that he doesn’t exactly give off the impression of overt confidence, and this was why. The boy I was on a date with had blonde moppy hair, the sides shorter than the top. He was tall, much taller than I, but that isn’t really saying a lot. Slim and fit. Glasses rested on his nose, morphing the way one would perceive such a lovely face, and yet still not tarnishing the image. Later that evening when he removed his glasses, there was an entirely new layer of beauty. I never really bought into the whole idea of how a person can take off their glasses, and suddenly become an entirely new one--but this boy depicts this trope perfectly. It took nearly an hour to finish our drinks and then we made our way into the cold to search for a new adventure. As we walked, it became apparent that all fathoms of awkwardness had been breached--we were comfortable now. And one might be thinking--“first dates are always awkward in the beginning, it is hardly notable that the two of you felt this sensation.” And to this I would like to note that in general, I am VERY good at reading people--breaking the ice is easy for me. But there was something about this boy that took me aback, he made me feel like I was walking on clouds and on glass all at once (but somehow in a good way). He said, “So I listened to this podcast the other day about natural disasters…” He began to pull the highlights from the said podcast, and the main point had to do with deciding how the people were to be evacuated in a given situation. After giving me some exposition, he asked me what I thought. “Well, definitely not elderly people,” I said. He laughed and nodded at me to continue. “Children have the most to gain and to lose from something like this, they still have their entire lives to live so they’re number one in my book. And then probably their immediate family, so like mothers maybe--so that they for sure have someone to raise them. I guess the rest for me is sort of a gray area.” “What about doctors?” “Oh! Good point, but they probably shouldn’t be sent too far, they need to be able to help in the disaster struck area…” This conversation went on until both of us were so cold that we wandered into a Pickleman’s. We were only there briefly. “Do you want to go listen to music in my car or something?” He asked. Now, due to the circumstances for which we met, and you know, the simple words spoken--one might deem this a smooth transition to getting naked in the back seat of his car. That is certainly what I was thinking--however, we hadn’t kissed yet, and for some reason this boy is the most difficult person to read that I have ever met. I agreed. As we neared the parking garage, I looked over at him and smirked. “Bet I can beat you to the car!” I said playfully. He stood next to me long enough for me to see his eyebrows raise, and then he was gone. “No fair!” “Well, you started it!” He said, turning back to face me briefly. He beat me. But only because he had a head start. We were cold and out of breath, and smiling and laughing. He fumbled with his phone for a moment, looking for a playlist to depict the mood--he was very good at this. Shortly thereafter, music played through the speakers and we sat listening while catching our breaths. A few minutes pass and I ask, “Are we going to stay here or…” “I have an idea.” And since he didn’t tell me the idea off the bat, I’m sure I made reference to him potentially axe murdering me, because it suited the situation. His destination wasn’t far, he just drove to the top of the parking garage-- “How romantic.” I said in a jocular fashion. When we got out of the car, I noted the two identical Priuses parked adjacent to one another. We walked over to the ledge of the concrete to look over the horizon. The view was limited; I could see another parking garage, some billboards, and the movie theatre… “How unfortunate.” I said. To which he replied, “Yeah...Well, the view might not be perfect, but at least it’s ours.” And then he put his arm around me. I was at a loss for words at this point, because the nicety of being held against him was unfathomable. This sensation may very well have been brought on by the cold, but I like to think it has more to do with the electricity I could feel between us. We exchanged glances, both holding matching smiles just for the other. “What's their story?” I asked, pointing down at a small group who was walking down the sidewalk. He proceeded to analyze the hypothetical lives of the three strangers who were walking along. “That guy is definitely showing off for the two girls--see how he’s wearing shorts? It’s 20 degrees. He’s demonstrating his manliness to them,” he said. We did this for a long time. Judged unsuspecting strangers from a spot just out of sight. Eventually I said something along the lines of, “All of those people down there must think we’re crazy.” To which he responded, “Do you think they’d mind if I kissed you?” “Let’s find out…” And then it happened. The first one happened so fast, as we had to pull away due to a static electricity shock. The both of us found this hilarious; we held each other steady as we laughed for awhile--until we wanted to test the waters again. I pulled him in close and there we stood, on top of the parking garage, kissing like it was the first and last time. “It’s cold,” I said, within the warmth of his arms. So we went back to his car, both in a moderately-horny and infatuated daze. We decided to go somewhere private. We soon realized that neither of us had much experience in looking for unlit and abandoned places to park a car for...situations like these. We drove around for nearly a half an hour, looking for an ideal place. This was my favorite part of the night--driving around, listening to music, looking over at you, making jokes. Laughing, smiling, happy. We spent some time sitting naked in the back seat of your car. “I feel like if we were in a movie, you’d have a cigarette hanging between your lips right now,” I said. He smiled over at me, and then closed his eyes. The air was replaced by music. His glasses sat inside the glove compartment, our clothes on display, but not on our bodies. The windows were foggy, as we enjoyed the company of one another and felt the night fading away. He took the absolute longest route he could have when taking me home. “Hey,” his tone plagued with sincerity. I looked over at him. “Is this going to be a one time thing or…” his voice trailed off. I didn’t really know what to say. I was nervous again, not knowing what he meant by this. I began to ramble. “Well, I’m not sure. I suppose it’s up to you whether or not you would want to see each other again.” “I go back to school in a little less than a month,” he said quietly now. “If you need someone to help you stay entertained in the meantime, you know how to get ahold of me,” I said. We were silent again, but I found it comfortable. This was temporary, I already knew. Even if this wasn’t the last time we would see one another, the romance was destined to expire before long. He pulled in front of my house and there was a brief pause before I said, “I had a great time tonight. Let me know if you want to hang out again.” “Me too,” he said, “and I will.”