#-there was banter and positive reinforcement but there was tension-

[welcometogrouchland]

[ID in Alt] this was made in a haze but I desperately wanted to portray what popped into my mind upon reading this post. Like a traumatized Full House

So anyway, since Bruce abandoned his family, are they gonna let Damian go live with Dick in the Tower orrr is DC going to keep being dumb and not take advantage of such a golden opportunity...

[fatiguing-thoughts]

“Natural” - Chapter 9 - Embry Call x Reader

Visions 

      A/N: Warning -> Implied Adult Themes. 

I wake up and look around at my surroundings. I see all my friends knocked out in my living room, except for Quil who was scrolling on his phone. 

“What’s up, Quil?” I ask, yawning. 

“Hey good morning.” He looks over and smiles at me.

“What time is it?” I ask, sitting up, trying not to disturb either boys next to me.

“A little past ten. Be careful, don’t poke a sleeping bear. Paul gets pissed when you wake him up.” He warns, chuckling. 

“Noted. Do you feel like helping me make breakfast?” I ask. 

“Why not?” He says, getting up quietly. 

I try my best to get off of the couch without waking Embry or Paul. 

“Good luck. Embry will be nice but Paul won’t be.” Quil warns once again. 

I take Embry’s arm off of my, and begin standing up, tripping over one of Paul’s legs. Embry doesn’t budge but I hear Paul groan. 

“Shit.” I whisper as Quil catches me from falling face first on the floor. 

“Still a clutz as always.” He jokes. 

Paul’s eyes open, giving a Quil a dirty look, before realizing it was me who woke him up.

“Sorry Paul.” I whisper, smiling awkwardly. 

“It’s all good, (Y/N). No worries.” He nudges my arm, smiles, and goes back to bed.

Quil looks at me with wide eyes, surprised at the interaction.

“Wow, thanks for scaring me for nothing.” I elbow him in the side. 

“I didn’t think he would be so nice, he’s normally so mean about it!” He laughs quietly. 

We walk into the kitchen and begin. We decided on pancakes, french toast, and eggs. Thankfully, Quil was a huge help in the kitchen. 

“So Quil, you pining after any girl I don’t know about?” I ask, giggling. 

“No I am not. I haven’t imprinted and I don’t like anyone right now. Making me the cool guy in our group.” He laughs softly. 

“Hey, I’m still pretty cool, even if Embry and I are dating now. Jake, he’s alright.” I joke. 

“Yeah, I guess it’s between us who could be the coolest. But I’m not hopelessly devoted to anyone yet, which makes me the coolest in my eyes.” 

“Wow, Quil. That’s harsh, don’t ya think?” 

“I’m just kidding. I kinda want to meet someone, but now really isn’t the time thanks to Jake constantly involving us in extra vampire drama. Between him, Bella, and the Cullens we don’t get a night off much anymore. There’s always something going after Bella or whatever, I just hope after this we could calm things down, a bit.” 

“I understand, I’m sorry. I’m sure things will calm down for a bit after this.” I encourage, giving him a side hug. 

“Hopefully. I mean don’t get me wrong-- I love ripping apart leeches just as much as everyone else, but I’d like a day off for once.” He laughs. 

“I get it. It’s hard, I’m sure. You guys are doing great, though.” I try to raise his spirits. 

“Yeah, I know. We are pretty great.” He smiles cockily. 

“Alright, easy there, bud.” I laugh, shoving him playfully. 

“It almost feels like you never left, (Y/N). Thank goodness Embry imprinted on you or we wouldn’t be able to tell you about this. That would be insanely hard.” He looks at me with happy eyes. 

“I’m really glad, too. I don’t know how miserable I’d be if I couldn’t hang out with everyone like things were, how they are now.” I smirk, flipping the french toast. 

“Yeah, thankfully we can torture you forever, without any lies or secrets.” 

“I’m so glad, can’t wait to be tortured forever.” I roll my eyes. 

“Do you remember when you split your knee open when Jake and I accidentally pushed you on the rocks?” Quil stifles a laugh. 

“Yeah, I also remember when you didn’t want me to tell so you guys wouldn’t get in trouble. So you guys took an hour to decide if you should walk me back to Jake’s house to get help.” I laugh. 

“Yeah, good times.” Quil laughs to himself.

“Quil, I got stitches! You guys sucked.” I playfully lean into his side. 

“Yeah, sorry about that.” 

I grab folding chairs out of the closet, setting them around the table to fit everyone, Quil eventually helps me with it after a dirty look or two. 

“What smells so good?” Paul walks into the kitchen.

“Good morning, sunshine.” Quil smirks. 

“Shut up, Quil.” Paul laughs. 

“Well, I was actually curious as to why you were so nice to (Y/N) for waking you up this morning. You usually threaten to murder anyone else. Care to explain?” Quil questions him.

“Well, I love (Y/N). She’s cool. She makes breakfast. She’s Embry’s imprint, can’t be a dick to her.” Paul chimes in, smirking as he ruffles Quil’s hair. 

“Ah so it’s the imprint thing?” I ask. 

“Nah, (Y/N). You know I always liked you.” He then ruffles my hair and brings me into a side hug. 

“Yeah, yeah. That’s what they all say.” I tease, rolling my eyes.

Paul rolls his eyes and walks over to the table.

“Woah, woah. Wait for me to get everyone up before you devour it all.” I say, running over to him and Quil.

“Alright, you have like two minutes, it smells really good.” Quil smirks. 

I walk into the living room and walk around, shaking everyone up.

“Wake up, Quil and Paul are going to eat all the food.” I shake Embry and Jacob. I get Embry up first who moves on over to get Seth and Leah up. 

“Paul and Quil are at the table with all of the food. I can only contain them for so long.” I say to Jacob, finally getting him up.

I look at the clock and see that it’s already a little past 11. We would probably have to leave after breakfast.

“Good morning, beautiful.” Embry walks over, snaking his arms around my waist and kissing the top of my head.

“Good morning, Em. Let’s go eat.” I lead him into the kitchen. 

I sit down between Leah and Embry, taking some french toast. 

I watch in amazement how much they all eat, though understanding exactly why. The breakfast is full of fun memories and playful banter. Time flying by.

I feel Embry’s hand find my leg under the table, the warmth sending waves of electricity through my body, bringing a smile to my face. 

“How much longer until we have to leave?” Leah asks.

“Like twenty minutes.” I take a sip of my water. 

“Ugh. I’m still so tired.” Jacob groans. 

“Thanks for cooking breakfast, (Y/N).” Seth smiles at me.

“Of course. Quil helped, too.” I smile back. 

A chorus of thank yous arise from the group. After cleaning it up, it was time to go. 

I took Embry, Quil, and Leah in my car while Jacob drove himself, Paul and Seth back to Sam’s in his rabbit.

Upon our arrival, we see Sam and Jared chatting in his yard, waiting for us. 

We all get out of the car and meet up. “Good morning everyone. Today’s the last day of training. Let’s be on our A-game for Monday. We’re gonna do great.” Sam encourages. 

Everyone except Jacob and I head behind the bushes just like yesterday, as he helped me get onto Embry’s back once again. He phased and stayed behind with Leah, Embry, and I. 

We got to the clearing to be me with the Cullens once again. 

“Hey there.” Emmett smiles as he walks over to Embry and I. 

Embry tenses underneath me once again, but no snarling comes from him nor anyone else. Though, Quil did come over to my other side once again. 

“Thank you Emmett. I appreciate your help.” I smile back at him. 

“Of course.” His freezing cold hands lifting me once again, as if I was as light as a feather. 

Emmett walks back over to his family, resuming the training.

I stayed between Quil and Embry, watching everything going on around me. 

I felt eyes on me, so I look around until my eyes were met with a pair of golden ones. 

Alice. Why was Alice staring at me like that? 

“Alice. What did you see?” Bella asks. 

Edward and Alice both look at me, eyes hard and mouth slightly agape. 

Leah moves her way over to me, standing defensively, joining Embry and Quil. 

“Alice?” I ask. 

“(Y/N) needs to be up at the site with Edward and Bella during the fight.” Her eyes don’t leave mine.

That’s when I hear their snarls. Embry growls loudly as he steps in front of me. 

“Bella will die if she doesn’t.” Alice says. 

“I understand you guys don’t want her involved, but it’s the only way to keep everyone safe.” Edward says. 

My heart was about to beat out of my chest. Not only was I afraid now that I was going to be involved, but fearful that Embry would snap at any second. 

“Em, please.” I whisper. 

He looks down at me, stopping the growling but not moving from the protective stance. Leah and Quil unwavering from my side as well. 

“We can’t let Bella die.” Carlisle reinforces. 

I see Edward’s face cringe with sadness after reading the thoughts of the pack. I can only imagine what they’re thinking. 

I see Jacob and Embry looking at each other, assuming they’re talking through their mind link. That’s when they began snarling at each other, probably disagreeing between letting Bella die and risking my life.

“No, (Y/N) won’t die. Don’t worry, she’ll be perfectly fine.” Edward says, looking at us. 

“Well, then I guess I have to be at the camp site.” I say meekly. 

All the heads turn to me, Embry looking at me with pleading eyes. 

“Thank you, (Y/N).” Bella says to me in a low tone. 

I look and see Jacob nodding at me, thanking me in the only way he can. 

“You’ll have to camp at the site with us tonight. We’ll have another tent for you and Embry. Then tomorrow morning, Seth and I will stay with you and Bella while the rest fight. Thank you. ” Edward nods at me. 

“Well, I can’t let Bella die.” I shrug my shoulders. 

I lean my head against Embry’s warm body, trying not to show the fear flowing through my body.

Would I be face-to-face with a vampire? 

The rest of the training goes by like a blur. Edward promises he would tell me everything I needed to know at the campsite tonight.

Emmett lifts me up and places me on Embry’s back once more, giving me a pat on the back.

“Thank you, (Y/N).” He says with gratitude.

I nod, unsure of what to say. It wasn’t exactly as if it was no problem, it wasn’t a “no big deal” situation. This was a very troubling position for me to be put in. 

The tension in the air was far more intense than the previous day. The run back to Sam’s was more of a trot, everyone was seemingly disappointed. 

Embry and Jacob shared a lot of looks throughout the journey back, and they were accompanied by not so very friendly noises. Sam occasionally turned around to look at them. 

This time, it was not Jacob who got me off of Embry’s back, in-fact Jacob and Embry were the only two who didn’t phase back. It was actually Paul who got me off of Embry’s back rather quickly. Though Paul didn’t put me down on the ground right away, no he held me. He held me tight. He still put my feet on the ground, but his arms wrapped around my middle tighter than anyone’s ever held me.

“Paul, what’re yo-” 

I was cut off by the gnashing of teeth and incredibly loud snarling. 

“Oh my god, stop them!” I yell out. 

Leah comes over, trying to calm me down and distract me. 

“What’s going on?” I ask, tears pricking my eyes. 

“They’re fighting. Embry’s pissed that you got dragged into it. He doesn’t think you should be involved in something that Jacob decided for all of us.” Quil says in a somber tone. 

“Sam, please. Make them stop!” I look back at him, tears threatening to spill over. 

“They need to do this, they have to work it out before tomorrow.” He says, looking at me with pursed lips. 

Suddenly I heard a yelp, at first I couldn’t tell who it was. I assumed it to be Embry due to Jake’s large size. Though, I guess Embry’s emotions really got the best of him.

“Paul, please let me go.” I whisper, trying to free myself from his grasp. 

He only holds on tighter, whispering an apology in my ear. 

“You’ll get killed. You can’t go.” He whispers again. 

“(Y/N), they’ll be okay. They’re not gonna kill each other. It’s just how they’re working out their argument.” Leah puts a hand on my shoulder. 

“I think it’s time to bring (Y/N) inside.” Quil suggests, earning a nod from Sam.

Paul easily brings me into the house, I gave up on fighting him. 

I see a warm and welcoming Emily as we step in the house.

“Here’s water, sweetie.” She places the glass of water in front of me as Paul sits me between him and Leah. 

“Are they going to be okay?” I gulp after taking a sip of the water. 

“They’re going to be fine.” Sam nods. 

Leah rubs comforting circles on my back as Paul and Quil make sure I don’t try to get up again. 

“I wish you didn’t have to get dragged into this, I’m sorry.” Leah whispers. 

“Well, I’ll be okay. They said so. I’ll have Edward and Seth.” I say, voice cracking at the end.

“(Y/N), I won’t let anything happen to you, okay? You’re my first priority.” Seth says in a promising tone, comforting me instantly. 

The growls outside stopped, and I didn’t know if I should feel relieved or worried.

“They’re okay.” Quil tells me. 

I nod and wait to see the two boys walk in. Both a bit scratched up but nothing what I imagined. 

“(Y/N), I’m really sorry. It wasn’t supposed to work like this.” Jacob says in a sad voice, walking over to me.

“I know, Jake. I know this isn’t what you wanted.” I look up at him.

“Oh who cares Jake? You throw everyone’s life on the line for Bella. She’s not even your imprint. I get that you love her, but we don’t have to do this. You’re bringing (Y/N) into something she doesn’t need to be. She can’t protect herself.” Embry says, emotion raw in his voice. 

“I didn’t choose this, Embry. Stop doing this to me. I didn’t want (Y/N) involved at all.” Jacob seethes.

“Please, don’t fight. I can’t handle this right now. I have to figure out how to handle this and what it means for me.” I speak up.

Embry’s sad eyes meet mine.

“Do you want to go back to your house?” He asks, his voice trailing off. 

“Yeah, in a few minutes. I just wanna hug everyone goodbye.” I smile softly at him. 

“Thank you.” Embry says to Paul before walking outside, everything overwhelming him too much. 

Paul nods and claps him on the back on his way out. 

I hug Leah for what felt like ten years, though it was only about fifteen seconds, whispering a thank you into her ear. 

“Of course. You’ll be okay. Seth will take care of you.” She whispers in my ear, hand on my back. 

I hug Quil goodbye, exchanging an “I love you, bud. See ya later.” 

Jared hugs me, no words exchanged between us, none were really needed. He too, rubbed my back a bit to show comfort. 

By far, Sam and Emily gave me the most paternal hugs, letting me know that I’ll be okay. They made me feel safe. 

Seth hugs me, reminding me of what he told me before, also making me feel safe. I thank him and move onto my last goodbye hug.

“I’m so sorry.” Jacob whispers, hugging me tight.

“I know, I’ll see you later tonight.” I pull back.

I wave goodbye to everyone, leaving the heavy atmosphere behind. I walk outside to see a sad Embry waiting for me.

“Hey, you ready to go?” I ask, walking over to my car. 

“Yeah.” He murmurs.

We get in my car and the entire drive back to my house was silent. Darkness covered the road, trees, and everything not in my car’s headlights. 

“Embry?” I speak up, getting out of the car and beginning the walk to my front door.

“Yeah?” 

“Please talk to me.” My throat hitches. 

“I’m sorry, bean. I just, I’m so upset. I feel so guilty that you’re involved. I don’t want anything to happen to you. I would never forgive myself.” His voice trails off. 

I pull him into my house and lead him upstairs into my room.

“Embry, you didn’t do anything wrong. You did everything you can to protect me, and you still are. I just want to have a nice night tonight.” My voice is small, but he definitely heard me. 

“We’ll have a nice night. We’ll go to the site soon. I’m not leaving your side.” He promises.

“Thank you.” I press a kiss to his cheek. 

We lay in my bed where I begin to speak again. 

“So, you’ll be camping out with me tonight. But then in the morning Seth will come and replace you and Jacob, and you guys will go fight?” I ask, trying to completely understand the plan. 

“Precisely. I want to be there with you, but Sam won’t let me.” He looks down at his hands. 

“Embry, Seth will keep me safe. He said I’m the first priority for him.” I nudge him.

“But not for the leech. Edward doesn’t care about anything except Bella, just like Jake.” Embry says with an annoyed tone. 

“I’ll be okay, Alice said so.” I encourage him.

Though I wasn’t sure if I was merely trying to convince him or if I was trying to convince myself this, too.

“(Y/N), I really love you more than I could ever put into words.” His deep brown eyes staring right into my own. 

“I know, Embry. I love you, too. All the same, if not more.” 

“You don’t love me more, it’s impossible.” He chuckles.

“I guess we can agree to come to a truce.” I smirk. 

“A truce.” He smiles, before pressing his lips onto mine for an electrifying kiss.

The kiss heats up, getting more intense by the second. Both of us hungry for more.

“Embry?” I breathe out. “Yeah?” 

“Do you think we could… you know?” I look up into his eyes. 

“Is that what you really want?” He asks, eyes widening a smidge.

“Yes. It’s what I want.” I look up to him, smiling softly. 

He nods before pressing his lips to mine again, soft but needy. 

I grab the condom I got from Quil the other day, for just in case purposes. 

“Where did that come from?” He asks, a bit confused.

“Quil gave it to me when he found out we were dating.” I laughed. “Jeez. Remind me to hit him after all of this.” He smirks before kissing me once again. 

“I love you, Em.” 

“I love you, too. Forever, bean.” 

His hungry lips made their way to mine once more, his warm hands roaming gently. I finally got to experience Embry in a new light, one that would tie our souls tighter together in a new way. 

_____________________

Word Count: 3295

taglist: @jjpogueprincess​ 

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[whateverthedragonswant]

So I read this very interesting post that was pro-Jonerys written around the time after season 7 aired, I think. It was very well-written and explored examples of Jon’s growing feelings for Dany all throughout season 7. But when I saw the examples used, I thought “oh man, this is the trap the show set and this awesome person unfortunately fell right into it.” Jonerys was meant to get our attention, to hide what was really happening with Dany behind the scenes so to speak but then shove it into the forefront in 8x05 so we would supposedly feel a jarring impact from Dany’s dark turn that we weren’t supposed to see coming. And while this person didn’t have season 8 to work with at the time (and I totes understand, season 7 was one big ball of confusing and guesswork not just for Jonerys but also other characters/story lines as well), I wanted to take another look at their examples (while also including some of my own) of Jon’s feelings for Dany in that 7th season.

Example 1):

This is meant to call to the audience a growing attraction between Jon and Dany, and tension. But notice it’s the physical Davos is mentioning here. Not that Dany is a great queen or her good heart that Jon is supposedly taking interest in. It’s a physical attraction. This is also important as it will come into play later in 8x01. 

And notice how it’s Davos to bring the subject up, not Jon. This cements this is the show trying to sell the GA something, an idea, that will then later come to fruition once its “product” is sold and the GA start embracing the idea.

Example 2):

This isn’t someone who is deep in love. Dany isn’t in love here either. This is him hoping that she’ll understand how important her joining the fight is, that these cave drawings are what will cement that joining as allies against the Night King. And it almost seems as if yes, she now understands and they can work together and you can see Jon is hopeful, which she immediately dashes when saying “I will fight for you. I will fight for the North...when you bend the knee.” You can even see Jon’s disappointment after this statement.

This scene is not Jon being jealous. This is Jon studying the interaction between Jorah and Dany. Remember, this scene is on the heels of a semi-disagreement that Dany and Jon are having after she’s returned from the battle with the Lannister army. Dany is trying to convince him that she did the right thing and when she sees he’s not immediately agreeing, she gets annoyed and tries to convince him further. Then Jorah shows up. This is a side to Dany that Jon still has yet to see. Dany immediately becomes soft, is affected by it that we even see her eyes become slightly teary and she smiles, and even hugs Jorah by the end of it. This is still the Khaleesi, the Breaker Of Chains, the Mother Of Dragons even, but this is also Dany, young Dany who Jorah met back at her wedding to Drogo. This is the side of her Jon has never seen before, that he and (from what he sees) Tyrion and Varys have not been able to access. But suddenly Jorah shows up and she’s practically purring (that’s not a dig or a slight, it’s truth, her soft side came out in this scene, Emilia showcased the difference brilliantly). Because Jon still doesn’t have Dany’s promise of support yet and he can’t leave yet, it’s no wonder that he’s studying the one person that seems to bring out that side of her. And it’s also no coincidence that Jon ends up stepping into a role similar to Jorah’s in the last season. Jon is who Jorah would have become for Dany had she been able to return his feelings.

Example 3):

Yes, in the 7x06 script, it is confirmed that in this moment, after seeing Dany grieving Viserion, Jon realizes he does have feelings for her. We already know there was a growing physical attraction between them as stated by Davos above but now after seeing how Dany came to save them, he realizes okay this is who Missandei was talking about, this is who Jorah is in love with. And sure enough, we see Dany pledge to fight the Night King with him, without needing him to bend the knee. This is the same Dany the audience is charmed by, the same Dany that is fiercely stanned, the Mother Of Dragons, the Khaleesi and Breaker Of Chains, the queen many have chosen. Do I think here that Jon is head over heels? No. I think he does have feelings though that are growing, that he is starting to feel love, but it’s not an all-consuming passion and love. 

Example 4) Boatsex:

Okay, before we delve into this, I want to show you something:

It is a common trope or theme that in a romance, the first kiss is shown. Whether it happens passionately or is just a small peck on the lips or an accidental smooshing, it’s always shown. Hence here are other examples of romances written on the show:

(I couldn’t find a gif of the cave scene above)

Regardless of how these pairings above ended up, regardless of these first kisses leading right into sex or not, they had build-up before that first kiss and more importantly, that first kiss is shown. These are romantic-coded relationships meant to be read romantically by the viewers as, you guessed it, romances. 

This is not a romance:

Gif credit

The door is closed and the next scene we get is Dany and Jon mid-makeout, naked on the bed. The first kiss is not shown. Considering how they built up other romances on the show, if Jonerys was the “it” couple and the true romance of the show, if both loved each other so passionately, this was a very important element that they “missed”. Something that has nothing to do with the chemistry between the actors or bad writing or bad editing. It was purposely “missed”.

This scene below comes after that rolling around and a lot of people think it’s Jon gazing down on his beloved before that special moment:

I hate to burst anyone’s bubble but that’s not what this moment is. What you’re seeing is Dany is deep in this relationship happening (it’s clear as day on her face, again Emilia is just brilliant), Jon sees this and hesitates for a moment (most likely feeling somewhat guilty because his feelings are not as deep as hers but he can see how deep this is for her, notice how he keeps studying her face in the second gif), and then makes the decision to go through with it. And all during this, we have Bran’s voiceover revealing who Jon really is. Not to mention the obvious sexual positioning, it starts out with Dany on Jon’s side but over him and then he rolls them over and that’s how the sexual encounter progresses.

Dany who Doreah taught that “love comes in at the eyes”. Notice how Jon chooses to kiss Dany as they start doing the deed so their eyes are closed due to the kissing. Then compare it to the sex scene Dany has with Drogo in the tent (after Doreah’s lesson) back in season 1, where Dany is on top and in control, where she stares into Drogo’s eyes. Now rewatch the boatsex scene again. Jon was in control here. 

This moment is not meant to be read a true romantic moment. You know how I know that?

This:

There was absolutely no reason to show us (the audience) Tyrion’s reaction during the love scene. Yes, I’m sure there is some jealousy and concern over how this will go but in order for the one true romance of the show to have their moment, why are we shown an outside character’s reaction not once but twice? It’s not as if there is a love triangle happening between Jon, Dany, and Tyrion. So why show us? Their love scene already has an “interrupting” factor with Bran’s voiceover that they try to mix in with the love theme of “Truth”, so why add this, too? 

Because it’s not going to end well. Because it’s not a pure two-sided, mutually deep romance.

And on top of that, this interview with Peter is very telling. “He loves her -- or thinks he does.” “She’s awe inspiring.” “He knows the two of them getting together could be very dangerous.” -> this relationship or getting together will not end well

“He loves her -- or thinks he does.” “She’s awe inspiring.” -> this is the way it’s been going the whole show is the arc of Dany in the show that most people feel enamored with from characters in the show to every last GA member, the Khaleesi, the Breaker Of Chains, the Mother Of Dragons - this is who Tyrion fancies himself in love with, who he supports and has faith in; this is who Jorah is head over heels in love with; this is Missandei’s queen who she & the others have chosen; this is who Jon has started to have feelings for (as per the 7x06 script confirmation) and loves by the time they get to Winterfell. In the end, though, Dany is no longer the Khaleesi or Breaker Of Chains and has even surpassed the Mother Of Dragons arc in that she uses Drogon purely as a weapon after 8x04. 

Example 5):

Going back to what Davos said up above in Example 1, we get this scene in 8x01. We see Jon and Dany being viewed by Tyrion, Davos, and Varys, while making commentary. Notice again how Davos is the one to mention a possible union of the two, ruling the 7K together. Yet, while we see what appears to be a nice moment that these guys are viewing between the couple, we purposefully are not able to hear what is being said between them, and are viewing them from a distance like these guys are. Why? Because the show is selling/pitching you the idea once again through Davos while he is selling Tyrion and Varys on the idea of a union.

When we do eventually join Dany and Jon down there, what do we see? Dany telling Jon that Sansa doesn’t like her, Jon trying to reassure her, and then her subtly threatening if Sansa doesn’t respect her... 

All of this was to show you that from the outside looking in, Jon and Dany seem to be the perfect power couple, the ultimate romance (despite the Targaryen secret). But when we actually do go inside, not all is as it appears to be.

You know what reinforces that idea? This:

Jon and Dany actually had a semi-romantic moment, after displaying that the actors did indeed have chemistry in their banter before Jon rides Rhaegal, and boom, Drogon “interrupts”. To the point where Jon positions Dany in between them and keeps an eye open as he kisses Dany, watching Drogon warily. Once again, not only will this romance not end well, but it’s not a true romance. Drogon is clearly watching and you almost get a sense of distrust or at the very least, wariness. If Drogon is sentient enough to not kill Jon after he kills Dany, then he is sentient enough in this scene and that begs the question, just what is he thinking? 

Example 6):

This scene, Jon says “She shouldn’t be alone” when Varys tells him how Dany has stayed in her room, locked away in her grief. This isn’t Jon saying this because he’s love struck. This is Jon being compassionate and more importantly, because he’s thinking of a certain line said to him by this man:

“A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing.” And this is after he says, “No one to guide her.”

Jon now knows that he is the only family she has left in the world and now Jorah and Missandei are gone, leaving her with only Grey Worm, Varys, Tyrion, and himself to guide her. This is why Jon stayed by Dany’s side despite any amount of fear he had, despite her turning into dark!Dany at the end and leaving the Khaleesi, the Breaker Of Chains, and the Mother Of Dragons behind. He cared about her, plain and simple, but he was not head over heels in love. The show did a terrible job portraying that, because it was more interested in hiding Dany’s dark turn (while also giving hints so it’s weird why they chose to try to hide it at all) and keeping something also hidden about Jon (maybe pol!Jon? or maybe that Jon wasn’t as in love with her as she was with him? or maybe that he ultimately is the one to end up killing her? I don’t know, again, weird they gave all these hints but still kept it hidden, again, terrible job).

This doesn’t take away from the attraction he felt to Dany or any feelings of love that he had for her up to the end. He just wasn’t in love. Sure, he was awed by her like Tyrion, like Jorah, like mostly everyone else had been up until season 7. Dany’s line in 7x07 confirms this, when telling Jon about the dragons in the dragonpit: “They inspired awe and wonder. They were extraordinary.” And then she came to Westeros, a place where they had seen dragons before (think Aegon, the dragonpit, the dragon skulls in the basement of the Red Keep, the Targaryen tombs in the Sept, Aerys, Rhaegar), where Jon tells Dany if she uses the dragons (in 7x04) then she’ll “just be more of the same.” Dany’s line to Jon in 8x04 cinches it: “People have looked at me that way before. But never here. Never on this side of the sea.” The North (and Westeros) were never going to see her as the Khaleesi or the Breaker Of Chains. “The North remembers.” And the first thing Dany does when going to King’s Landing for a ceasefire talk, she rides Drogon to the dragonpit meeting. (It was smart and safer for her to do so, but Drogon of course lets out an intimidating roar before leaving, this is a land that is happy for Targaryens to remain out of power despite Cersei or the Starks or any other family). So it’s no surprise that Dany never experienced “love” in Westeros. Her dragons “overshadowed” her other two personas and once her dark turn happened (and lbr, she was on the verge of all season 8), there was no chance for the people to love her and accept her for either of those two arcs. Same goes for her relationship with Jon. Jon wasn’t ready to kill her after she massacred King’s Landing, he was actually defending her (which was very out of character and then was later confirmed by Bryan Cogman and Kit Harington as Jon being used as the audience mouthpiece and Tyrion was the writers’), ready to stand at her side, even if she chose to kill him later on. Only when it comes to his sisters, only when Dany unknowingly confirms that they indeed won’t have a choice in her new world, does he choose to act. 

The show’s mistake in that scene was keeping Dany a sympathetic character until the end, which negated the moral of her story. But their even bigger mistake was using dialogue to callback to season 1 Dany, the same Dany the GA and Jon cared about, in a bid to make it a more tragic moment. It made it more tragic alright, but not in the way they were hoping. 

Ship and let ship is my philosophy. So if you enjoy the idea of Jonerys, by all means, you do you. But sadly, this show really almost baited the audience with this idea of this ultimate tragic romance when it was anything but. Personally, this is why I’m anti-Jonerys. More than any other reason, this is why. The relationship wasn’t a good one for either Jon or Dany. And in my opinion, it wouldn’t have worked out even if Dany had lived, even if Dany hadn’t gone dark and burned down King’s Landing. This romance in this particular showverse was never going to be a love story for the ages. It was never meant to be.

tldr; Jon did care about Dany, had feelings, but he wasn’t in love with her. The show pulled the old bait and switch with it. They showed you a power couple that was supposed to enamor you and then break your heart, but then revealed it was never going to be the ultimate romance and negated the true moral of Dany’s story alongside Jon’s character with it.

[softnoblecyno]

The Gentleness That Comes

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Renfri/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Characters: Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Renfri (The Witcher) Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Undercover Missions, Romantic Tension, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Has Feelings, Renfri Deserves Better (The Witcher), Alive Renfri (The Witcher), Resurrection, Temporary Character Death, Light Angst, Some Humor, Banter, First Meetings, Flirting, Also some fluff, Fluff, it’s a little of everything really, too much description of renfri’s beauty, yennefer is still a court sorceress and she hasn’t met geralt yet

tag list(send me an anon/ask to be added!): @fontegagrilledcheese @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde

on ao3

When Yennefer meets Renfri for the first time, she is a corpse in the forest.

Yennefer is in the forest nearest to the inn she’s staying at, looking for ingredients to restock her emergency medical supplies— Triss has always been better at healing magic, but she isn’t here and Yennefer may need to make use of what skills she has on this mission, nonetheless— when she stumbles upon a body nestled in the undergrowth. It is fairly recent, if the still-wet pool of blood soaking the grass underneath the body is anything to go off of.

The corpse is resting beside some rare mushrooms, the very kind she’s been looking for, in fact. The species is important in many potent healing potions. Almost every greenhouse she knows of grows them for mages and healers, but Yennefer’s been travelling for so long that her stocks have run out. They’re a very lucky find. The body, on the other hand, could be problematic.

Yennefer stops a few feet away from the body, determined to get her supplies and yet cautious. She tilts her head. The body is a young woman’s, crumpled up on her side with both arms resting relatively close to her torso. Her legs, bent gently at the knees, are the only thing keeping the body from being in fetal position. She’s wearing armor, not the heavy metal like that of knights, but leather, reinforced with metal only at some parts. It’s more fitting of a bandit. The armor consists of a sleeveless chest piece with small pieces of metal sewn up front and sleek vambraces. There’s a sword nearby, too, laying parallel with the woman’s back, about a foot away from her. The sword’s point is facing away from Yennefer, up beside the woman’s head, it’s smooth grip well within Yennefer’s view. If Yennefer had any interest in swords, she would take this one. It is finely crafted, beautiful even. Simple but strong, and in good condition— clearly the woman cared well for her sword.

After carefully surveying the scene in front of her, finding no active danger, Yennefer crouches down beside the body, close enough that she can reach the mushrooms which brush the woman’s arm. She nearly crushed them in her fall, but Yennefer is lucky again, and has not only spotted them but found them usable.

As she picks fungus, delicately so as not to tear the the caps or stems, Yennefer gets a good look at the face of the woman whose body shelters the mushrooms from the wind like some sort of dark blessing. Her face is soft and young, near child-like. She can’t have been older than twenty, Yennefer would guess.

Still, she doubts that the woman was a child, what with all the armor and weaponry, but she can’t rule it out completely. Yennefer has lived long enough to have seen some truly terrible things, and even before that she knew well enough just how cruel the world is. Still, the armor is fitted and, along with the sword being as fine as it is, it’s unlikely that a child could procure such refined items. Overall, she has the look of someone who’d undergone much hardship in her life. They wouldn’t be so unlike in that matter. Perhaps it’s the layer of grime covering her skin, even her face, which lends to that. Her hair is beautiful, even greasy and caked in dirt as it is. It looks soft and thick, a dark brown with lighter highlights near the tips. Her eyebrows match her hair and are neither thick nor thin, but delicate nonetheless. They frame her face oh so nicely, and Yennefer finds herself wondering, however briefly, what color eyes they sit above. Her button nose, well-shaped lips, and short chin all add together into what must have been a stunning person to come face-to-face with.

Finished with collecting the mushrooms, Yennefer takes a moment to pay respects to this stranger’s life. Who were you a vessel for, she wonders, whose dirty work was it that got you killed? She observes the body for a beat longer, and then stands and leaves. She needs to get back to the inn, to her Queen who she is tasked with protecting.

The second time Yennefer meets Renfri is much more memorable.

read the rest on ao3!

[prongsisabadger]

TWP Chapter 27

The fact that the extraction team was in orbit didn't mean we would be getting out of Felucia right away. The separatist forces had blockaded the system and the fighters would have to punch a hole in it first. I would have worried about it if it hadn't been the 104th that had been sent. The pack had incredibly talented pilots, most of them reassigned to him after their former squadrons had been destroyed.

Very early on, Master Plo had decided he would take in any troopers who had lost their entire squads and needed to be reassigned. According to Ahsoka, some Masters thought it silly. Why want a battalion made up of whichever troops death hadn't claimed? None of them had worked together before, they didn't know each other's dynamics and would probably be an inefficient group of traumatized misfits.

Turns out they weren't. Scarred and burdened with survivor's guilt, the members of the Pack got very close, very fast because they had a lot in common: they all yearned for comfort, a place to belong to. That is what the Pack was. In addition to that, Master Plo's caring yet imposing nature made for an incredible leader to rally behind. That, and soldiers who survive the loss of an entire squadron are either lucky or skilled, either way they were both good things to have in battle.

So you could see why I wasn't concerned, the best pilots in the GAR were coming to break the blockade, and break the blockade they would. There were brothers to save, Generals to aid and their very own Commander to get back. I will not lie and say I thought myself unimportant to the Pack, no, I knew I could count on them to have my back whenever I needed them because they knew I would give my life to protect them too.

Still, with the two droid battalions approaching fast from the northeast, and the possibility of the divided forces in front of us overwhelming Ahsoka, I had no time to waste keeping my eye on the sky. I had the 212th to protect too. I put all my worries aside and focused on the battle at hand. It was amazing how fast I could force my mind to compartmentalize things in the heat of battle. I realized it all came crashing down on me once the adrenaline abbed away and I found myself in a safe environment once again. It made sense, in my mind, to be able to do it, I had been Plo Koon's padawan for a few years before the start of the war and most of that time I'd been training in Dorin. The only real action I ever saw was as a member of the GAR and I'd been surrounded by soldiers the entire time. It was only natural for me to learn from and adapt to my environment.

"Commander!" it took me a second to realize it was T.H. over the comm who was trying to reach me. "Commander, do you read me?"

"Yes, T.H."

"Commander, the enemy to the northeast is five minutes out. We'll be outflanked any minute." There was distress in his voice, urgency, but not fear. He believed we would get out of there no matter the cost. but it would cost.

I turned to my master and started to back away and towards T.H's position before I yelled, "Master! I'm off to reinforce the northeast, the enemy is almost here."

He nodded, never taking his gaze away from the droids marching towards us.

"Make sure the men are ready to leave at a moment's notice."

I crossed the clearing as fast as I could, jumping over ammo crates and sprinting full speed to where I could feel T.H. As I approached the like of firing troopers, I switched my saber ona and took my stance right at the front. This was going to get ugly.

"Alright, boys, the 104th is trying to break through, we better stay alive until they arrive!" I said in as light a tone as I could manage. "Whoever kills more tinnies gets free drinks!"

"You heard the Commander, Fellas" chuckled Waxer over the comms. "She's buying my drinks tonight!"

"Yeah right, you have the aim of a geonosian bug, Waxer. I'm getting those drinks!" answered another clone.

Suddenly the commlink was alive with light hearted banter and renewed morale born of healthy competition.

"If I win though, you boys are buying for me, and I'm planning on hitting Coruscant clubs hard once we head back." I chuckled, not wanting to be left out of the conversation. We were all trying not to lose our cool as we waited for the next wave of droids to arrive and it showed.

"I never thought you were the type, Commander." Teased Boil.

"I'm not, but one's 18th solar return happens only once, trooper. And I didn't have my Age of Responsibility celebration last year, the war kinda got in the way." I laughed.

The commlink went wild, and all of a sudden I had half a platoon making arrangements for when we went back to Coruscant. The battle started, but no one seemed to notice, they were all too excited planning a bar hopping route and picking who was in charge of what for each of them. Was it unprofessional? Very much so, yes. The entire situation seemed almost fictional: troopers staring death in the face while excitedly planning a celebration. But I hadn't been aiming for professionalism, I had wanted to give them something to look forward to. I wanted them to have something to fight for other than their lives, as trivial as a solar return celebration seemed at the moment.

We had little time left on the battlefield anyway. The Pack had managed to create an opening in the enemy's blockade of Felucia and now the gunships were landing all over us to get every single soldier, Jedi and Padawan off the Force forsaken planet. I almost didn't realize the clone that came up behind me and started to lay cover fire had his armour painted gray. It was only when I felt Art through the Force that I realized we were going home.

The entire force that had been guarding the north east boarded the gunships without a second's hesitation.

"Double time, Boys. We still have to make it up to the cruiser!" I encouraged them as they all moved.

Once every last man was on board I ordered the pilot to take off. After getting clear of the foliage, I made a head count and found every trooper was present and accounted for. I reported to Master Kenobi of our situation and took the liberty of asking about Ahsoka.

"Your friend is following her Master's teachings," Said Obi-Wan with what sounded like a frustrated sigh in my ear. "I hope her habit of disobeying orders isn't contagious. I'd hate to have to go through this again with you, Kriari."

I chuckled, thinking of all those stories he had told me about Anakin as a Padwan.

"Don't worry, Master, I think Master Skywalker's made your hair go gray enough."

"Careful, young one, Anakin might be offended." He retorted with a light tone. I assumed Master Skywalker was somewhere around him and listening to every word we said.

I cut the link and focused on the rising tension around me. The gunship was swerving violently from side to side as the pilots attempted to keep us all airborne and alive. I felt the need to reassure them, tell them everything was going to be okay. But I didn't want to lie. My connection to the Force was strong, but not strong enough to see the future.

"So, who's paying for drinks tonight?"

...

"And then there was this huge argument -mid flight- about who had had the most kills and who hadn't because apparently the Commander thought alcohol was the best encouragement for the 212th. And now we need to coordinate this big ass Solar Return celebration because both battalions got excited and wanted in." Explained Headfirst trying not to laugh at how ridiculous the situation had been. "I mean the pilot was trying not to get shot down and still he went 'If I get us all on board the cruiser, do I get free drinks too?'"

The entire table burst out in laughter as we had our first meal post battle. I had left both Master Kenobi and Skywalker to deal with Ahsoka and what I assumed was a major fuck up judging by how serious they all were being about it. AfterI finished my meal, I left the men to their own devices so I could get cleaned up.

It took the Pack no time to welcome me back. I got salutes, pats on the shoulder, on the back and even a few "good to have you back, Commander" as I walked down the corridors and to my quarters to shower.

Scrubbing the dirt and grime of the battlefield felt better than I had anticipated. I was sore from the explosion and the rough landing that followed, but nothing seemed to be broken. I waited for my clothes to dry after washing them with an old robe wrapped around me. I had missed my quarters aboard the ship so much. The walls had been decorated by a few of Art's creations, a mirror and a few pictures of the Pack and I after missions. The sheets had been changed from their original grey and white to more earthy tones -I had been missing the Temple quite a lot at the time- and the closet had most of my clothes in it, if not all of them. The lingering smell of incense I'd burned the last time I had been on board still stuck to the walls and sheets. This had become my home after the Temple had been flooded by force sensitive children escaping the war. And the cozyness and familiarity of it all put me more at ease than I had been in a very long time. Not that I didn't like the 212th or my quarters there, but it was definitely not the same, even if I wore their colors on the armour for my left arm.

I got re-dressed and dried and styled my hair in its usual side part before re-braiding the longer strand on the back of my neck. I -of course- put my armour back on, but not without polishing it first. A Jedi must always look their best, they are a symbol and a representation of the Republic in the war. If we were roughed up, disheveled and dirty then it didn't do any good for morale.

As I finished smoothing away my robes, someone knocked on my door, which was odd in itself. I had already given my report and spoken to the hologram of the Council before heading for the mess hall. I hadn't had the chance to speak with either Master Plo or Wolffe because they were both engaged in post-battle protocol and I hadn't wanted to disturb them. I would get to see them later anyway now that my tour with Master Kenobi had come to an end.

I opened the door to a stone faced Wolffe. His posture and demeanor only seemed to have gotten colder and rougher during the time we'd been apart, but I still could feel how uneasy and unsure he was as he stood there, proud and strong as someone of his rank and experience.

"Commander, I wasn't expecting visits, I was on my way to the bridge to greet you and Master Plo." I said with a smile and just a smidge of confusion in my tone.

Wolffe only grew more uncomfortable with each second which was very unusual of him. I knew we had been on almost friendly terms when we last saw each other so this sudden change puzzled me greatly.

"Would you like to come in?" I asked finally, a little lost on what to do at his lack of an answer.

This seemed to startle him because he rejected my offer right away, like the idea was preposterous -which it might have been but I had a mute soldier in front of my quarters so what was I to do?

"I was-" he started before clearing his throat, his cheeks tinting slightly. "I was here to deliver something to you on behalf of the 104th." he said, pulling out a sheath from behind him.

It wasn't longer than my forearm and the sheath was the exact same grey color as my utility belt and lightsaber. Unable to say anything I took the weapon and unsheathed it. It was a beautifully crafted vibroblade. I looked up at Wolffe, grateful, confused, and a little giddy. He didn't return my gaze, in fact he was purposefully avoiding it. I didn't mind, he wasn't the type to show he cared, this was very new to him.

"Thank you, Wolffe. It's beautiful," I said, securing it horizontally on my belt at the small of my back. "But to what do I owe this amazing gift?"

Wolffe's face colored even further as he steeled his resolve and turned to look me in the eyes.

"Your armour has too much orange in it. We felt a little more gray was necessary."

[silver-wield]

Omg. Your body language analysis is so on point it makes me go uwu. If you're still doing it, will you make one for the scene where Cloud catches Tifa while Barret shoots his damnest at the heli? I have my own analysis but very curious what's your take on it.

Heya, I'm guessing you don't mean the scene with the hand catch, but the one after it where they reach Barret's position on the stairs. Although I have many thoughts about Rude too and why he first of all directed Reno's attention to Tifa, but then noped them away when Reno was about to shoot her. He had an interesting microexpression – teeny facial tic – that hinted something different to the OG “he's crushing on her” angle.

A lot of these “action touches” get discounted by you-know-who because in those situations it's impossible not to touch? I don't get the reasoning and I'm not gonna try and figure out just what counts and what doesn't. It's non-optional. Isn't that the only argument that matters?

Ok, spoiler warning for ppl who haven't played (I tag FF7R spoilers as final fantasy 7 remake spoilers) and it's gonna be a long one so prepare to scroll.

Also, this is one person's interpretation of the scene, so if you disagree that's cool and we'll agree to disagree.

You're also gonna have to excuse the janky quality on some of the screens, I'm grabbing them from Youtube and it's frustrating af trying to get the exact moment I want.

Other analyses if anyone's interested.

Shinra HQ vision scene (Cloti/plot analysis) 

Chapter 3 (Cloti reblog) 

Tifa character analysis 

Aerith Resolution (plot analysis/theory) 

Train graveyard (not really an analysis, but I got some sweet screenshots of Cloti) 

Clotiscrew tunnel analysis 

Cloti reunion analysis 

The Promise Analysis 

Andrea's approval (Cloti ask response) 

Now, strap in and enjoy the ride.

Quick recap. Cloud and Tifa are reunited after that hand catch scene (smug? Me? Nau) and they're heading up to find Barret after seeing Jessie “die”. The mood is not good. This is not romantic, okay? This is war.

Ok, so already we have touchy touching here. You can argue it's high tension/stress moment and Cloud is making sure Tifa's safe, but he doesn't do that with Barret, is all I'm saying.

Cloud's got hold of her entire arm, not just her wrist or hand, he's got hold of her as securely as possible giving they're in motion. He doesn't want to lose her. She's got her arm on him, braced and using his body as a shield, which he is clearly fine with because he positions her partly behind him while he turns to check the threat from the stairs – possible further collapse of the platform they're now on. He's protecting her. Obvs. I shouldn't have to spell this out. It's not romantic, but it's telling of their trust and reliance on each other as partners. This is a clear pair.

Ok, so moving on from Cloti – cause action scene and this isn't a romance game – we get Tifa hearing Barret behind her. She turns and there's her concern for her friend. Obviously, she cares. It's her entire motivation for leaving the safety at the bottom and hauling her ass up those stairs.

Her face here hits me hard in the feels. She's so grim and worried and doesn't want to lose anyone else. She's caught up to Cloud, but then she lost Jessie – right in front of her and she couldn't do a thing about it. Now, she sees Barret facing down a helicopter.

Take that in. It's a dude – ok he's got a machine gun on his arm – fighting military spec weaponry on a fucking helicopter. Of course she's frightened and worried that she's about to see him get shot. Someone else she couldn't save.

Remember, FF7 has themes of loss and failure. The heroes don't always win or if they do there's a cost. How much of that threads into Remake is still to be seen, but since this scene is following canon we can assume it stands for now.

Tifa's character is often motivated by the desire to not lose people. She even says as much to the Shinra middle manager that she doesn't want anyone else to die. She stops Cloud killing the security agents and Johnny. This is a girl who fights because she wants people to live, not die.

Ok, so now we've got her running to reach Barret, leaving the safety of her bolt hole beside Cloud, who immediately turns and is all wtf when he sees her playing chicken with a chopper. Tbf, Barret doesn't sound that pleased about it, either. It's a crazy impulsive move likely driven by the desire to not lose her friend. If they're together they can stop whatever's coming. Tifa is very teamwork oriented if you recall all her actions from chapter 3 and how demoralised she was when she had to agree to disagree with Avalanche.

Cloud for his part doesn't take too long to dive to the rescue again. I think by now he's pretty much fulfilled that childhood promise and this is way more than just helping out a colleague or friend. He's not hesitating for a second to put himself in front of her with nothing but a sword for a shield.

Sorry, I just stopped the vid on this moment and it looks so damn cool I couldn't resist adding it. All it does is reinforce the above statement that Cloud has zero reservations of putting himself between Tifa and certain death. He's her hero without even stopping to think about it. The framing is stunning. Barret in the background, Cloud in the middle distance and Tifa in the foreground. Cloud has lined himself up with Tifa so that she's as protected by his position as he could possibly get. That takes skill. Tifa's half crouched to make herself a smaller target, but Cloud's body language is open, defiant. He's basically saying “come at me”.

Ah and now I'm sure some people will be all “but Cloud left her in the middle of the platform”. Well, yes, it's called diversion. He's the bigger target, the better target. And by making the chopper follow his progress, he's taken its sights away from Tifa's position. It now has less chance of hitting her when it next fires. Remember, Cloud knows tactics. He's not a dumdum. You can see that on his face as he's deciding his next move. The chopper won't wait for him to stop and explain what he needs to do, it's gonna fire. He's gotta move quickly. He also needs to trust that Tifa can get herself out of trouble. So many people's complaints about how she's not a damsel and should take care of herself. Well, this is Cloud trusting her not to be a damsel. He helped her out, and now he's gotta rely on her helping herself too. If he took her by the hand at this moment and dragged her along with him, she probably would've died. Tifa got herself to his position alone, she's clearly capable. He knows how much ass she can kick.

After that we've got the typical checking for danger and guy banter. I'm loving the development of Cloud and Barret's relationship. They went from outright hating each other to friends over the course of this game. It's beautiful and develops even further in their resolution – I love their one, it's so sweet and sad and such a guy bonding moment. Male friendship is important too, especially to Cloud who doesn't have many friends.

Now, despite the banter, Cloud's head turns at this point, back to Tifa. He's made sure the immediate area is safe, checked in with Barret and now it's back to his primary focus.

I love that Barret calls himself the leading man. It reminds me of Balthier in FF12.

And you'll see that Barret is still in the middle of that line while Cloud is stretching his hand out for Tifa. Could be a “I gotta grab my teammate” move, but I mean, really? Are we that delusional? He didn't have to do any of this. He could've relied on Tifa to get herself over there and not put out a hand for her. Barret didn't grab him. You could say that Barret doesn't like Cloud enough for that, but it's a high action moment. They're comrades and being shot at. Any helping hand is appreciated. Maybe Barret thought Cloud was capable enough not to need help. But then wouldn't the same apply to Tifa? Why does she need helping just cause she's a woman? She can kick ass.

And what about Barret? His attention isn't on Tifa at all. His focus is the helicopter, so he's either relying on Tifa to be ok without that level of help or he's expecting Cloud to support her.

Yes, she is literally throwing herself into his arms. That's how much she trusts him to catch her. Again, Cloud is going for a full arm grab – a hand or wrist isn't secure enough in this situation and he wants to keep her safe.

Tifa. Well, she looks scared. Shocker. She just got shot at by a helicopter. Ofc she's scared and leaning on Cloud. She's taking strength and reassurance from him. I mean, she could've just grabbed his arm and pulled herself to safety. There's no need for this depth of touch.

You'll notice this all happens within miliseconds while Barret says that leading man line. This is very quick action, very decisive. No hesitation on anybody's part.

I mean, this is full upper body contact between them. I don't know what else to say about it. There's no need to get this close. He could've pulled her over and then let go. He didn't. They both prolonged contact. This is relief they're ok for the moment. They’re united in how they feel.

Oh look, eye contact. I've pointed out before that Cloud doesn't do eye contact with people very well, but he does with Tifa, no matter the situation. Looking at this I'm like damn get a room. It's an intense look between them and even though there's shit hitting the fan around them you can see they have attention for each other, too. He's pulled her to safety and now he's meeting her gaze to gauge if she's ok. She nods. He nods. Back to the action. They don't have time for a drawn out romantic bit. They've got more serious things to think about, but even during the most high tension action scenes they have this energy about them that speaks to their close bond and affection. He's comfortable with her touch in every situation – if I'm wrong about this then someone point it out to me so I can see plz. He's still got his hand on her after they separate from their action hug and then when he drops his hand he braces it against the pipe beside her. Still close to her, though not actually touching.

After Barret asks if they're ready, Cloud looks around then looks at Tifa again. Did he need to do that? Idk, but he didn't look at Barret before they hauled ass.

Conclusion:

Kinda obvious. Even in high tension situations Cloud has part of his attention on Tifa. He's hyper aware of where she is and whether she needs him at any given time. It's sweet af how much he focuses on being her hero without even really knowing why. This instinctive need to protect her comes from the real!Cloud part of him. The one that made the promise to her. The one that has a crush on her.

Some people can say these kind of moments don't count because Cloud has no choice(?) but to touch her, but actually, he has no reason to touch her the amount he does. There's ways to execute these moments without this much unnecessary touching. He does it this way because of an instinctive need and desire to touch her this much. It's what he wants to do.

[anditendshowyoudexpect]

There remains a stigma attached to the word ‘breakdown’, when actually it’s a very legitimate response to life in the early twenty-first century. We are not designed for the non-stop world we live in, the pressures put upon us, and those we bring upon ourselves. For young people, especially, those pressures are becoming ever more intense. Social media, the battle for jobs, the speed with which we judge – it’s a lot easier for kids now to be made to feel inadequate in so many different ways. I worry about what any child picks up in their subconscious just through their daily interaction with the world. Societal pressure has got worse for children, and I hope my own experiences will make me better able to help my children tread that difficult path.

*

Billie was magnificent as Rose. I knew she was good at the time but looking back now I can see her absolute brilliance. It reminds me how much we loved working together, which is palpably obvious on screen. Actors work at chemistry; it doesn’t just come with a snap of the fingers, but we were fortunate enough to have something there from the start. We were also professionals and knew how to achieve on-screen banter. What truly amazes me is I know how nervous Billie was at the start. She thought I was some big serious performer and she didn’t have the belief in herself as an actor. She proved herself, of course, to be way better than any of the rest of us. Her luminosity on screen comes from herself, not those around her, and instinctively she made Rose exactly the person she should be. When Doctor Who won a BAFTA for Best Drama, it was Billie for whom I was truly delighted. The reception she got when the show was screened made any lingering reservations on her part about her ability evaporate. It was admirable in her that she had zero arrogance that she could do it. The work she has done since has shown her to be worthy of every accolade that comes her way.

Watching our characters now reinforces what I concluded at the time: Russell enjoys writing more for women than he does for men. If so, I’m glad – there’s been a lot of writing for men. Rose arrives on screen fully formed, one of the strongest female characters of any show of any year, painting a solid line leading directly to Jodie Whittaker. If you think about it, the relaunch in 2005 was actually the chance to create the first female Doctor. Why not do it then? Perhaps, really, we should be looking back on Billie Piper not as Rose but as the Doctor.

*

The attitude exists that, in the relationship between producer, director and actor, they are the adults and we are the children. I agree, actors can behave like children, they can be spoilt – but not this one, and not a lot of others I know. A working relationship can’t operate on a basis of master and servant. If a director, or anyone else on set, comes in and has bad manners, then chances are they’ll hear from me.

This idea that actors can be manipulated and pushed around to suit the agendas of others irritates me. On Shallow Grave, prior to the shoot, myself, Ewan McGregor and Kerry Fox lived in a flat together for a week. We rehearsed, read scenes, and got to know each other. I considered it to be a budgetary and practical arrangement, but after the film came out Danny talked about it as being a social experiment, which I objected to because to me it was like the director playing God. If Danny wanted to conduct an experiment to gauge our reaction and interaction to one another, he should have told us. Had I known, I would doubtless have gained something from the situation. Danny, I expect, would argue otherwise, that the actors wouldn’t get it. Well, I’m more intelligent than that. As it turned out, Danny’s plan was counterproductive because all it did was give myself, Kerry and Ewan a week to realise we didn’t like each other very much and didn’t get on. We had entirely different backgrounds, approaches to acting, and sensibilities. All three of us were also very, very ambitious and insecure with it. Danny would probably argue that that tension then manifested itself on screen. I think that’s bollocks. This idea of pitting one actor against another is dangerous, manipulative and patronising. The film would have been better without all that nonsense.

I’m not alone in feeling dismayed at misplaced directorial interference. Anthony Hopkins once arranged for the cast of Frankenstein to go for a Chinese meal during rehearsals. Anthony received a message from Francis Ford Coppola: ‘Francis doesn’t want you to go for a Chinese meal,’ it read, ‘because he feels it would break the atmosphere.’

Anthony Hopkins’ reaction was simple – ‘Bollocks, we’re going for a Chinese meal.’

*

In a way, Let Him Have It was an example of the British film industry bowing to American values. I hate Forrest Gump. I would like to burn every single copy of that film for the way it treats both mental health issues and women. A sexually free female character who ends up with AIDS? That tells you everything. I wanted to make an angrier, more polemical, more complicated film about a young man who deserved more than just to have the label ‘simple’ pinned to his lapel.

*

That presence, that intensity, that some people, not just Peter, have identified again comes from growing up, like most working class children, with the institutional message, ‘You’re stupid’, as did my father, as did my brothers. If you’re working class in this country, you may be able to shovel shit or push a trolley, but, ‘You are thick. You do not emote.’ ‘You are thick. You are not worthy of a decent education.’ Those central messages of unworthiness become so ingrained that they are self-perpetuating. Come up with a big word and not only are you mocked – ‘Oh, where did that come from?’ – but you mock yourself. So yes, I am intense, and that’s because there’s a lot of fierce concentration on trying to be articulate, rather than that laid-back public-school attitude to intellect that some people seem to have.

*

My dad had definitely shared with me a very visible masculinity. His appearance and actions shouted standard maleness, but the way I viewed him was different. It seemed obvious to me that, at his core, causing his outward behaviour, was a great femininity and vulnerability. My view of maleness was formed from how tyrannical my dad could be and yet how gentle. Through him, I learned to accept that the two things could coexist. I too have a masculinity allied to an intensely female side. Perhaps the difference is I’m aware of it. Dad, I think, found his sensitivity a source of conflict. For many years, I was the same. I resented it. I resented the part of me that made me different. If you are a late-twentieth-century male, traditional working-class, you are not going to like that side of yourself. I wanted to be black and white. I didn’t understand that it is the sensitive side that offers true insight in life – intuition and empathy.

*

Similarly, there’d be no bunches of flowers from Dad – none of that – and he didn’t like dancing – he was too self-conscious, too embarrassed – so Mum would always dance with somebody else.

I once went into my mum and dad’s room and saw a book, The Sun is my Tormentor, a Mandingo-esque novel of love and adventure, by Mum’s side of the bed. Seeing my mother in middle age and her desire for romance moved me deeply. It made me cry. I felt for her emptiness and also because I knew there were greater romantic novels that, because of her conditioning as being unworthy of such literature, she perhaps felt she couldn’t venture into.

*

We wrapped the production on Friday, had a party, and then on Saturday morning I’d arranged to go to Old Trafford with my dad. I was really looking forward to it – and he turned up with the season tickets from two years before. I’m disgusted with myself thinking about it now, but I gave him a bollocking. I was pissed off because I couldn’t go to the game. More than that, though, I was pissed off because he had dementia. That is shameful on my part, but genuinely that is the case. Maybe that shame is something others in the same position will recognise, an occasional presence of a selfish internal voice, one that so desperately craves ‘normality’.

I put my anger at his illness down to coming straight off the back of Flesh and Blood, with its fictional narrative so unflinchingly similar to my own non-fiction life. Amid that emotion, present as he always was whenever me and my dad knocked heads, was that little boy who was frightened of him. I definitely harboured residual anger towards him, a straight reflection of the anger he’d exhibited towards me. Sounds harsh, but he was getting back the temper he taught me. I was in control now. I’m not proud of that, and I’m not saying it’s right, but that’s how I justified it to myself.

I looked into his eyes and could see him trying to process what was going on. He was staring at the season tickets, semi-computing that they were the ones from two years ago, while trying to work out what the situation meant, and what should happen next. For ten seconds, my peripheral vision was blacked out, blinkered. All I saw was this big, fierce bird-like face looking around lost in confusion. I put Dad on the bus home, the route being familiar to him, and walked away. I rang later and explained to my mum what had happened. And then I started crying. I cried for four hours. That night I had a date with my girlfriend. I told her about it and cried all over again. I broke my heart like I’ve never broken my heart since. That moment of seeing his confusion had left a mark – not a bruise, but a deep, lasting weal. Until that point, I’d understood intellectually that my dad had dementia because we’d been told. But emotionally I hadn’t understood it at all. And then there, in the street outside Old Trafford, I’d been given a window into somebody going mad. Becoming demented. That’s the truth of it – demented. It’s a shocking word. We used to talk about demented dogs, and we shot them. When we say dementia, there’s no hiding the truth. It means people are demented. We can dress that up however we want, but there’s no denying the naked reality beneath. That day I had been presented with the stark vision of a man floundering in a maze of his mind’s own making. Not knowing who and where he was. And I’d just been horrible to him. And he was my dad.

*

Esme asked me the other day, ‘Daddy, do you like Mummy?’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘when me and Mummy met, we fell in love and had you. Having two children very quickly is hard on parents in a relationship and then Mummy and Daddy started to not like each other. Now, Esme, as you’ve seen, we are trying to be friends.’

As a child, I would have liked that level of honesty and candidness with my parents, but it was no more part of Ronnie and Elsie than it had been their parents, and so on and so on before. I completely understand that the openness switch was neither at their fingertips nor was it socially reinforced. Emotion could hold a working-class child back, make them unready for what was to come – what they were for. I am thankful to have been given the opportunity to have a more grounded relationship with my children. Before Albert and Esme, playing football, wrestling, doing a crossword or mock-boxing with my own dad were the happiest things I could ever imagine in my life. They go right to the heart of me. Now, I have a new happiness with my own children. And it is a happiness born of honesty.

The blight on that happiness is that I don’t live with them. I know I’ve yet to come to terms with that fact. This book will help, the increasing distance from the hospitalisation will help, but it’s something that will always hurt inside. The legal system could certainly help deliver balance for parents and children involved in separation and divorce. Hopefully, we are in the dog days of the Victorian view of men and women and their role in their children’s lives, which has led to institutional and historic bias. In the twenty-first century, an authentic emotional relationship can come from a man as much as a woman.

*

I wanted to throw a spotlight on the generations, the millions and millions, for whom ‘success’, defined as anything other than the basic survival of themselves and their family, was a concept of which they were denied to the extent that they were chained, leg, wrist and neck, to an institutionally blessed mindset of zero expectation. To those in charge of those institutions, the working class is as it describes. A production line of workers, nothing more, nothing less. People? With character, hope, intelligence, ambition? Forget it. Get back in your box and shut up.

I was asked a few years ago to go on the BBC genealogy show Who Do You Think You Are? I agreed and they started looking into my family tree. It says everything that the project went nowhere. They tugged aside the leaves on those branches and concluded, ‘Nothing to see here.’ Generations of working-class people dismissed. Individuals with their own hopes, dreams and stories. Not army generals, industrialists, vaudeville singers, but factory workers, farm labourers, cleaners, nothing in any way ‘sexy’ enough for TV.

No doubt if someone like me had popped up in the dim and distant, all would have been good. But why? My father had all my abilities, linguistically, physically, and then some. So, no doubt, did generations before him. I get that my life has been far more fulfilled than my father’s and those before him, but for me that makes him the far more interesting story. What do I know of life? I’m not driving stacker trucks all day at Colgate-Palmolive and then going to Bulmers and driving stacker trucks there all night. I’m not cleaning floors in a launderette like Mum. And yet how often is the story of the working class ever told on TV? I don’t mean the dross that is soaps. I mean properly told? The answer is less and less. Working-class stories don’t fit in boxsets. They don’t make money. They don’t fit the business model of selling to global TV. And yet they are the lives that talk to me, define me. They are the lives I find endlessly fascinating.

Christopher Eccleston, I Love the Bones of You

[space-malex]

While I agree there's no romantic tension w / M & M (yet) - y'all need to stop positioning Maria as a plot device for your ship. She wasn't presented that way. If Michael had done it specifically to hurt Alex the way you're presenting or to use Maria because she's Alex's friend, the scenes would've played out differently. You also COMPLETELY ignore that Maria had a lot of agency in those scenes. They both saw an itch they wanted to scratch with each other, and they did and they enjoyed it.

I’m sorry, but you’re dead wrong. Maria- yes, she was tipsy and looking for a bit of fun (which she appeared to have regretted in the morning but whatever). I’m not saying she had no agency or control over her actions. But you’re completely ignoring Michael’s obvious motivation.

There was a reason we had that beginning malex scene/fight/reinforcement of the breakup and Michael being upset. Before that scene, every “flirty” M&M moment we’ve had has been harmless, lighthearted banter. Mildly flirtatious but doesn’t feel like it’s really going somewhere. The MOMENT Alex walked away in the bar, Michael changed his behavior completely. He fixated on Maria. He went HARD at flirting with her. He had a goal, and his goal was to sleep with her. And he didn’t even seem happy about it, he just seemed determined. Like when he’s follows her away from the truck. The look on his face is a man on a mission. There is really no other way to read this situation. But in case it wasn’t obvious enough by Michael’s different behavior, we have the necklace thing. He was awake before Maria, and half dressed- he ALREADY HAD HER NECKLACE. He kept it IN HIS BOOT with the express purpose of showing it off to Alex whenever he saw him again. He wanted him to know. Why? If this was a bit of fun, nothing to do with Alex, why was it his goal to sleep with Alex’s best friend and then throw it in Alex’s face? Come on. 

I’m not HAPPY about it, but I’m not the one who is making Maria a plot device in this scenario and neither are other malex shippers- the writing is what did that, anon. 

[felseekers]

celestial balance--

For the countless years he and the Army of the Light had been fighting their way through the infinite coils of the Twisting Nether, Turalyon had learned to believe in the simple concept of light at the end of a tunnel.

It was more than hope, because while hope on its own was a powerful force, it was something different, he felt, to hope despite the greatest odds. To be surrounded by shadow, and still believe, with absolute certainty, that there was a pinpoint of light somewhere within.

The Xenedar crashed, and Turalyon began looking for the light anew.

Deep in the fel-corrupted fields of Krokuun, Turalyon had found the broken draenei left behind so long ago who had not joined the ranks of the lightforged--forced to adapt and survive to fight for their home--and had thought beyond doubt that he had found that glimpse of light. He took shelter with them, and began to plan to take the Xenedar back, because Xe’ra was still within, a priceless prize for the Legion to claim, and was disturbed from those thoughts and plans only when the obvious tones of an argument brewing outside urged him to action once more.

Outside, the Prophet Velen--the very same one who had departed Argus so many millennia ago--conversed in heated, controlled tones with Hatuun, accompanied by two others: one was kaldorei, but obviously fel-corrupted, with a blindfold over her eyes and demonic horns sprouting from her head, unnaturally dark hair falling down her back in a wave. Nevertheless, her body language was open, relaxed, almost casual, yet still alert enough Turalyon doubted she was ignorant to the threats that surrounded the group.

The last person in Velen’s entourage, though--she was sin’dorei, but the only indicator were her ears, sticking out from a helmet that otherwise covered her head. From head to toe, she was outfitted in plate gear in dark colors, with faint tones of almost painfully bright blue, and that was when Turalyon sensed the cold that all but radiated from her, like a slow, vicious wave, indiscriminate to whatever stood in its path.

A death knight.

It was not the light that Turalyon sought, perhaps, but, well.

It would have to be a start.

Turalyon intervened, and the argument was dispelled, and he found himself walking with the night elf and the blood elf in Velen’s entourage as he told them of the demons that stood in the way of securing their perimeter.

“Splitting up would be most efficient.” said the death knight--even her voice was unyielding, sharp, and crisp, echoing with the haunting reverberation characteristic to death knights. “I will take one Legion lieutenant, and the Illidari commander can take another.”

“Can we at least introduce ourselves first?” drawled the night elf with the fel horns, who still somehow managed to present a more open and affable image than the death knight next to her. “Vex Felseeker. Illidari commander. Well, one of them.”

With a roll of her whole head, the death knight begrudgingly drummed her fingers on the hilt of one of her two blades, sheathed at her hip. “I am Deathlord of the Knights of the Ebon Blade.”

“Not even a name?” Felseeker, the Illidari commander, nudged the Deathlord’s shoulder, and she barely even shifted with the motion--Turalyon noted the familiarity between them, despite the somewhat chilly response. “Come on, Tyra, it wouldn’t kill you to--”

“My name is inconsequential here,” came the brusque interruption, “and just because we worked together in the Broken Isles does not give you leave to use a nickname on me, Vexara.”

“Enough.” Turalyon finally interrupted, when it seemed the pair were about to dissolve into bickering. “I believe taking the Deathlord’s suggestion would bring us the swiftest resolution. Return to Hatuun’s camp when you’ve completed the mission.”

Turalyon watched the pair depart and go in two very different directions--Felseeker took a running leap and sprouted fel wings, gliding down the rocky slope with both warglaives drawn. The Deathlord walked briskly down the path, then slowly picked up her pace until she was sprinting, and a horse almost seemed to materialize from nowhere with an equine scream, ghostly fire trailing from its hooves. In a split second she hauled herself aboard its saddle, and disappeared into the ridges of Krokuun.

Turalyon looked up, and saw Azeroth on the horizon. He turned and strode back to Hatuun’s camp.

For now, that alone would have to be the light at the end of the tunnel, brighter than it had been for countless years.

*

When the time came to clear the last obstacle to their attack on the Xenedar’s crash site, Turalyon elected to lead the charge there.

Hope was all well and good, but it was only made worthwhile with action.

“I will go, as well.” it had been somewhat surprising to hear the Deathlord volunteer first, rather than the commander of a sect of forces dedicated to dismantling the Legion at all costs, but the Illidari herself had little comment on the matter as the Deathlord continued, “Vex is needed on the Vindicaar to give orders to the rest of her people for the assault on the Xenedar’s crash site once we are successful. Too much is at risk here to wait for them, so I will go.”

“Are you implying something, Deathlord?”

“Only that you and the rest of the Illidari are incapable of sticking to a plan unless you come up with it. Months spent in Suramar with you have illustrated that point quite clearly.”

“Then let us be off.” the incessant bickering, Turalyon had a feeling, would be the biggest hurdle of all to overcome in this mission. He thought the Deathlord might’ve been relieved with the intervention before the banter spiraled out of control, but it was difficult to tell.

Their trip up to the demon’s lair was made in near-total silence, broken only when the Deathlord spoke to alert them both of potential reinforcements to avoid. She was not the ideal ally to have at his back here, in the midst of a landscape almost entirely controlled by the Legion, but Turalyon’s situation had ceased being ideal from the moment the Xenedar crashed to Argus’ surface.

“Your hesitance in dealing with either myself or the Illidari commander is understandable,” the Deathlord spoke suddenly as they settled into a brief reconnaissance position--clearly he hadn’t been as subtle in his doubts as he’d thought, or perhaps the assumption had been made based on prior reactions to their offers for help, but either way it stung, “and while I acknowledge both myself and the Illidari commander may have somewhat questionable backgrounds, by the standards of the High Exarch of the Army of the Light, for now, we all want the same thing.”

“No one is victorious if the Legion is.” Turalyon said, half as a reminder to himself and half a confirmation of the Deathlord’s words.

“Just so.” Her helmet didn’t turn to look at him, her gaze steadfastly focused on the slope behind them while they readied themselves to strike, but a single thread of tension lifted. “On that topic, I am ready to attack whenever you are.”

Turalyon turned to take in the pit lord in the clearing ahead of them, still unaware of their presence. Bile rose in his throat and his lip twisted down into something that tried to be a scowl, but he scarcely had the energy for it. “Strike.”

A single word, and the Deathlord drew her twin swords in tandem with his greatsword, charging towards the pit lord as one. An ambient chill, stronger even than the atmosphere in Hatuun’s camp, settled over the clearing, such a steep contrast from the almost harsh burn of the Light’s energy that coursed from the lightforged draenei he had fought alongside before.

He would give the Deathlord this, though: for all the plate armor she wore, her agility was remarkable.

The pit lord’s minions emerged to harass them throughout the battle, and consequently fell to the Deathlord’s swift blades and icy strikes, holding them at bay with effortless ease, immovable and unbreakable as a glacier. Soon the demon’s minions came faster, and the Deathlord’s steps brought her closer and closer to him as she began to slowly lose ground.

When the minions vanished, Turalyon didn’t have time to even shout a warning before fel eruptions emerged from the earth and rooted him in place--out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Deathlord trapped as well, but a frosty haze began to cover the rock almost as soon as it trapped her. Turalyon dug deep within himself, deeper than he’d been forced to dig in many years, for that place where the Light was strongest.

There was a sharp crack, a squeal of something frozen shattering into a thousand pieces, and a somewhat-hoarse roar of defiance and triumph combined. The Deathlord stood from the fragments of her stony, icy prison, a minutely-contained blizzard of her own making swirling around her body--the remorselessness and ferocity of winter incarnate.

With a sharp ripple of light, Turalyon’s own prison broke under the weight of so much power being brought to bear all at once, and as he reached for his weapon again, a series of arrows, fired blindingly fast, announced Alleria’s arrival before he ever saw her.

She wasn’t the only one--the Illidari commander soared into the pit lord’s den on her own fel wings, glaives drawn as she finished off the wounded demon. Alleria appeared shortly after and wrested several of her arrows from its corpse. Her grin was dry.

“I seem to be making a habit of saving you from demons.” she told him, and to anyone else it would have sounded light and faintly joking, but there were cracks forming in that facade that Turalyon had not yet had time to examine, in the wake of constant war with the Legion.

Alleria was familiar, and here, that was enough.

“Ran into her on my way to bring the rest of my Illidari forces to the Xenedar’s crash site.” Felseeker joined the conversation, warglaives dripping vile demon ichor onto the ground, a wide and almost predatory grin on her lips. “Thought you could use some assistance.”

“Your flair for the dramatic and unbelievably convenient timing are your best and worst qualities, Vex.”

“Was that a joke? I must be dreaming.”

Alleria made her way to his side without his knowing, and she said, out of earshot of their two new arrivals, “They don’t have the context of our war across the years. I fear the stakes have yet to fully take hold.”

“I don’t believe they would have come if some idea of the stakes had not been made clear.” Turalyon countered. “The Xenedar awaits--we ought to gather our forces to take it back.”

It was impossible to ignore Alleria’s somewhat skeptical noise from behind him, but he was certain there would be little to worry about once Xe’ra was returned to them--she was the prime naaru, the Light incarnate: there could be no greater symbol to rally around as they destroyed the Legion.

Another light, however obvious the symbolism was, to guide them through the dark once more.

*

With fragments of Xe’ra’s being scattered over the Vindicaar’s floor, his blade held at bay with only Illidan’s hand, dripping with fel blood, Turalyon felt rage, pure and undiluted, for the first time in recent memory.

It was bright and fiery in his veins, ready to burst, and when he was finally forced to give ground and step back, he turned his gaze to what remained of the prime naaru herself, shattered and broken, and felt a light deep in his chest flicker dangerously low.

He stopped short of dropping his sword to the Vindicaar’s pristine floor, covered with the last remnants of their biggest hope to look to for guidance as they stood in the maw of the Legion itself, but instead turned sharply away from the display and went to stand at the Vindicaar’s viewport, overlooking the Antoran Wastes. Azeroth still hung in the backdrop, and Turalyon kept his eyes on it, barely heeding the words Prophet Velen attempted to console him with. It felt selfish, to stand and essentially sulk whilst the Legion’s armies raged below, but it was quiet here, for once, and with Azeroth in sight, it was almost easy to believe in a light at the end once more. Almost.

Another presence at his side broke him free of the reverie, something cold and vastly different than any others here, and Turalyon looked down to see the Deathlord looking out over the same view as him.

“Does my presence trouble you?” she asked finally, and there was no judgment in it, no silent accusation that he could hardly afford to be so critical of the allies he was being given to aid this final push in the seemingly-endless fight.

“No.” he finally answered, honestly, but hesitantly. He did not trust the Deathlord, but her silence was refreshing.

Quiet passed for several beats before she spoke again. “You may not care to hear a death knight’s perspective on this, but I will offer it for consideration.”

“If you intend to tell me it was naive to place such faith in Xe’ra--” Turalyon began brusquely, ill in the mood for a lecture.

“I would not be so cruel.” the Deathlord replied, surprisingly quiet. “Perhaps I cannot believe in the Light the same way you do, but as a death knight, there was another near-supreme authority that I believed in, once. Albeit we death knights were not afforded a choice to believe otherwise, at first, but even after being freed from his thrall, there was a part of me that wanted to go back. It was familiar, for all it had broken me.”

“I was not ‘broken’ by the Light--”

“An unfortunate comparison,” the Deathlord raised a placating hand, and Turalyon fell into a sullen silence, “that nonetheless presents a parallel. We stand at a crossroads. Allow this to be a blow to your faith. Allow your confidence to falter. Find new purpose, and stand firm again.”

Silence fell again, and Turalyon thought. He turned to say something else, and found the Deathlord already gone, speaking with a small group of four other death knights at the other side of the Vindicaar--two humans, one man and one woman, a draenei woman, and a troll woman. They were familliar to the Deathlord, he could see it in the slope of her armored shoulders as she spoke to them, the words inaudible from this distance.

Xe’ra’s fragments had been cleared from the Vindicaar’s floors, a few glittering shards placed in the crucible on the vessel’s second floor. A source of light, incomplete without the shadow that contrasted it.

He might have called it the last shards of hope, but he didn’t truly believe that, not really. He still stood, the Army of the Light still stood, and for the first time in a thousand years, they had new blades to take up the fight.

It was not so potent a symbol as Azeroth on the horizon, but it was a tiny pinpoint of light, a solid anchor in the void, and Turalyon latched himself to it, stubbornly certain.

Surreal that he had been guided to it by a death knight, of all people--the death knights’ commander, no less--but if nothing else, Turalyon had been forced to accept that hope could come from the most unlikely of places, of people.

It was still a gift, and he refused to squander it.

*

Turalyon had set foot on Azeroth for the first time after what felt like a thousand years what was now several months ago, and the landscape still felt more alien than even Argus’ had.

There was a pronounced distance between himself and nearly everyone he had seen and spoken to in that time, even those he considered old friends, and the distance was something Turalyon knew he could only recover with time, but it still left a pang in his chest, knowing how much time he had lost to the Legion.

Now that the Legion was gone, however, it left a curious void in his day-to-day purpose.

For what had felt like a thousand years in the Twisting Nether, Turalyon’s sole purpose had been the destruction of the Legion--demon incursions happened daily, and there was always something more to do, another perimeter to secure, another pit lord to remove from power, another of Sargeras’ servants to destroy. Now it was done, and Turalyon did not miss it, but perhaps he did miss the certainty of it.

He had returned to a world on the brink of war once more, but it was not a war he was familiar with fighting anymore.

Alleria had been in a similar situation, and for a time they had taken solace in that shared struggle as they had with so many other things, but with time came the realization that distance drifted between them, too. On Argus, they were familiar, and it was enough. Back home, after so long fighting their war, the weight of their war had forced them to consider what a future on their old homeworld meant, spending so long apart from it.

They were still bound by their son--their son, who was nearly grown himself now--but by little else, now.

From certain places in Stormwind’s keep, it was possible to see the docks, and Turalyon had stood guard over them, waiting for the vessels dispatched to Lordaeron to return. Since the burning of Teldrassil, the fires of war had begun to burn brighter, with several members of the young King Anduin’s council clambering for war, for retribution. He had offered his voice to those negotiations as best he could, but as with many things since returning from Argus, he was somehow distant from that as well.

In the distance, he saw the vanguard flagship slowly coast into port, and almost immediately he found himself summoned--a cold pit of dread sat in his stomach as he followed the aide down to the docks, where a crowd of onlookers waited to catch a glimpse of the returning warriors.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked lowly of the aide as they wove between the varying individuals making up Stormwind’s typical complement of citizens. “Has something happened?”

“I was only told that the king requested you to escort a potentially dangerous prisoner from the battle,” the aide told him nervously, armored in Alliance colors, but with a voice that was so young it made something in Turalyon’s chest ache.

Down at the docks, he was brought to the ship at the furthest dock, where the king himself waited, the rest of his immediate council dispersed. The aide vanished, and King Anduin greeted him, “High Exarch--you were told we have a...potentially compromising prisoner to escort?”

“Yes, however I am somewhat light on details.” Turalyon followed the king into the ship’s cargo hold, unsure whether he ought to be reaching for a weapon or not. “I trust that--”

As they entered the final cargo section, Turalyon found his words stolen by shock, as he took in the sight of the Deathlord herself, the very same from Argus, fully-armored and inscrutable as always--with Alliance shackles binding her wrists and ankles. “You were previously...acquainted with the Deathlord during the Argus campaigns.” Anduin began hesitantly, “And given her status, as well as the depths of her power, we felt it prudent to have an escort capable of keeping the masses at bay.”

Curious, Turalyon thought, that Anduin was more concerned about the reaction from Stormwind’s citizens than the fact they now had one of the most powerful death knights on Azeroth in their custody. “Where would you have me take her?”

“If I understand it correctly,” the Deathlord herself spoke up, loudly enough to make the point she didn’t appreciate being discussed as though she wasn’t present, “I am being brought to the Stormwind stockades along with our other prisoner. Your Majesty,” she turned to the young king, who straightened instinctively, “I would still wish to share words with you. Soon.”

“We will see what sort of discussion you wish to have.” Anduin conceded. “High Exarch?”

Wordlessly, Turalyon stepped up to where the Deathlord was shackled to the deck, and released her from it, leaving her ankles and wrists bound in sturdy chains that he had a feeling she could very well have frozen solid and shattered if she truly wanted to--the first mission on Argus, where she had frozen a fel eruption produced by a pit lord solid, came to mind.

They walked in silence for several minutes until Turalyon had a feeling any potential eavesdroppers were well out of range. “Why are you here?”

“I surrendered. I thought that fairly obvious.”

“I didn’t ask how. I believe I asked why.”

“That is something I would discuss with the king.” her voice was as guarded as ever, solid and unshakable. In some way, he found himself envious of her clearly-evident certainty. “If I must languish in a cell to reach that opportunity, so be it.”

At Stormwind’s cells, Turalyon was directed where to bring the Deathlord, and as they arrived, it felt wrong to say nothing, but there was not much Turalyon felt he could say about this situation. He had come to respect the Deathlord’s prowess during the Argus campaigns, and her surprising streak of something that smacked of compassion, but she was still a warrior of the Horde, and had been witness, at the very least, to the atrocities at Ashenvale and Teldrassil.

Turalyon stepped away, and this time the silence was filled with words he didn’t know if he could--should--say, here, now, to the Deathlord, of all people.

He felt the chill in the air as he left, and altered his initial assumption of the Deathlord’s wintry aura--it was not indiscriminate, but deliberate, and still, despite the situation she was quite obviously in, there was something certain and solid about it, the energy laced with an unshakable confidence.

Some part of him wanted to draw strength from it, but he resisted.

*

Stormwind’s court did not have to wait long for the Deathlord’s address.

Less than two days after their return to Stormwind from Lordaeron, King Anduin gathered the inner circle of his advisors to the throne room, and Turalyon attended on the periphery, unsure what exactly was about to happen, but feeling as though he ought to be prepared.

Escorted in by a half-dozen Stormwind guards came the Deathlord, still fully-armored and looking very like she had when Turalyon had last seen her, days ago. Her chin was held high, and her cape--torn and shredded at the bottom--flowed behind her with each step, looking for all intents and purposes as regal as a monarch’s mantle.

“King Anduin.” while the Deathlord’s voice carried well across the room, the impassable mask of her helmet muffled her voice just slightly. “I have a favor to ask, before I begin--would someone remove my helmet, please?”

Turalyon felt a pulse of shock surround the room, but Genn was the first to protest. “She’s a death knight--one of the most powerful death knights known to us. If we--”

“If I intended to trick you,” the Deathlord interrupted, a hard, scathing edge to her tone, “I would not be so foolish as to attempt it with something that obvious. It is a fairly innocuous request. Please.”

There was a beat of silence, then with a single nod of approval, one of the guards that escorted her in slowly began to unfasten the buckles that kept the Deathlord’s helmet connected to the rest of her armor. The helmet was lifted off her head and dropped to the floor, and another pulse of shock, stronger this time, choked the room off into silence.

She was young, almost shockingly so, but there was still a weathered quality to her face that spoke of long battles and longer years spent living a life with a great deal of strife--she was not quite ageless, in this way, but it made it difficult for Turalyon to tell if she truly looked young or not. Her skin was nearly snow-white, marked by several small scars across her face, her hair a stark black in comparison, and her eyes the unnatural blue that all death knights’ were.

When she spoke, it was not what any of them expected--though what anyone expected was beyond him. “Your Majesty, tell me--what would you have given to be on Broken Shore? With your father?”

There was a collective intake of breath from everyone in the room, Turalyon included--he of course had not been there, but heard of how both factions had lost their leaders to the battle there.

“What would you have given,” the Deathlord continued, her tone quiet but firm and resolute, “to have been there, to have seen it for yourself, or--dare I say--to have taken the strike that killed him instead?” a beat of silence passed, but it was a question she didn’t seem to need an answer to--an answer everyone present already knew. “Your Majesty, you and your court can see my face, and know this for truth, but I will emphasize the point--I was young when the Scourge killed me. Barely into adulthood, by sin’dorei years. Being resurrected by the Lich King and becoming one of his many thralls forced me to acquire new perspectives, and when we were freed from his control, it forced another adjustment, though it’s debatable which one was more jarring.

“You see, it left us with choice, for the first time, choice we were ill-equipped to handle.” the Deathlord took a step forward, her chains rattling slightly. “But choice became my watchword, because I saw it as the greatest thing I had been given since my resurrection. When I was killed, I had no choice in being brought back as whatever I am today, but I could choose what to do with the life given me, for better or worse. The first time, I chose to fight for the Horde because it felt like the natural conclusion to that issue. Now I come here to make another choice. I have only ever removed my helmet for negotiations once before, in similar circumstances to these: in respect, and in desperation.”

“What do you intend, Deathlord Nightsinger?” King Anduin finally asked, after a charged pause, and Turalyon realized it was the first time he had heard any mention of her name since meeting her--she had introduced herself with her title and nothing more on Argus.

“Right now, I intend only to make a point.” Deathlord Nightsinger’s gaze turned intense, and Turalyon felt a subtle chill hang in the air. “I asked you what you would have given, to be on Broken Shore, already knowing the answer. I knew the answer because it is what I would have chosen, as well.” One of the Deathlord’s hands moved up to the chestplate of her armor, and the Stormwind guards surrounding her fidgeted as if readying themselves to stop her, but Anduin raised a hand, and they fell still.

Reaching beneath her collar, the Deathlord pulled what looked like a pendant from it--the end of a tusk, bound on a chain. Her voice wavered slightly on the first few words before steadying again, “I, too, would have given anything to take the strike that felled someone I loved. That is a choice I would have made without question, not because I would have been compelled to through some application of dark magic, but because we choose to stand, fight, and potentially die for the causes we believe in--the people we believe in.” Tucking the pendant back under her armored chestplate, Deathlord Nightsinger raised her chin again, proud and confident. “I stand here because I looked in the face of my warchief, who asked what honor should matter to a corpse, and told her that it still matters to this corpse--because I can choose differently. I surrendered to your people to avoid further bloodshed, knowing I would be detained and imprisoned, at the very least. I come to deliver this address to make my motivations clear.” One of her dark brows quirked up. “But be certain of this: I will not sit idle long.”

It was a promise if Turalyon had ever heard one, and the rest of King Anduin’s court was not blind to the obvious implication, either, but when it became clear the Deathlord had said what she came to say, her helmet was returned to her, and Turalyon asked to escort her back down to her cell.

This time, the silence that sat between them demanded to be filled, and Turalyon found himself saying, “I admit I am somewhat at a loss.”

Deathlord Nightsinger made a sharp, amused sound. “Is that so?”

“You orchestrated your capture, came all the way to Stormwind, only to speak and make vaguely threatening promises to King Anduin’s court?” Turalyon searched for the logic that would explain why he felt compelled to ask, and failed to find it, but asked anyway.

Even though her helmet was back on her head again, it was all too easy to imagine the even, steadfast look on her hauntingly ageless face. “I made no threats, High Exarch, and be assured that none of this was orchestrated. I am not particularly known for my spontaneity, but this decision was made in a split second. I refused to--could not--do anything else. Sometimes the most important decisions are made that way.”

“Your certainty on the matter is enviable.” he found himself admitting, and was surprised when he received a laugh, short and humorless, in return.

“My ‘certainty’ comes with years of practice cultivating a suitably convincing image.” the Deathlord countered. “But I meant what I said, and perhaps that is most surprising to me. I don’t often have the chance to speak from my heart anymore.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, if there was anything to say in the position they found themselves in. Ultimately, Turalyon turned to leave again, felt the ambient weight to the air that came from Deathlord Nightsinger’s suitably-convincing certainty, and let its subtle chill settle into his bones this time as he left--a little pinch of the dark, to balance the light.

*

Two days later, Deathlord Nightsinger escaped Stormwind.

Well, they suspected it had been two days later--the sleight of hand her death knight compatriots had played left room for doubt on that matter. There had been no brutal, punishing assault, no quiet assassination of guards in the dead of night, no alarm raised, because for all intents and purposes, the Deathlord’s knights had simply walked in, and escorted her out.

It was slightly more complicated than that--it always was--but so far the reports he was getting out of the guards on duty that night were meager to say the least. Many of them reported a few consistent details, though--three death knights, a human man and woman, and a draenei--had come into the stockades and bluffed their way to the Deathlord’s cell, after a suitably-plausible excuse that the Stormwind guards were ignorant to death knight upkeep, and had been allowed to bring her back to Acherus, which supposedly had more suitable arrangements.

It was only after two days with no word from the Acherus-bound death knights the guard force had to report they had been fooled.

An immediate search had commenced for the missing death knight, but with portal travel being a strong possibility for their escape, the group could very well have been anywhere on Azeroth. As war continued to simmer, rapidly reaching a boiling point, fewer and fewer resources could be spared for the search.

Turalyon thought about the last day he had seen and spoken to the Deathlord far more than he reasonably should’ve, but reasoned it away with the justification that knowing her motives might make it easier to discern where she’d gone. Admittedly, it was proving a weak tactic thus far.

A sudden commotion drew Turalyon’s attention--the clatter of armor and shouting made him rise from his desk, only armored from the waist down, as one of the guards rapped hurriedly on the door. “High Exarch, you’re needed at the main foyer--hurry.”

A dozen lifetimes of swift preparations for Legion assaults left him oddly prepared for such circumstances, for once, and in a few short moments, Turalyon barreled down the hallways of Stormwind’s keep late at night, one hand reaching up to his shoulder, ready to draw his sword if needed.

In the keep’s foyer, just outside the throne room, Turalyon took brisk strides down the long, sloping hallway, and felt a telltale chill in the air, slowly becoming oddly familiar.

Deathlord Nightsinger was surrounded by the very same combination of death knights who had supposedly gotten her out of Stormwind’s prisons, along with the same troll death knight he recognized from the Argus campaigns, months ago now. King Anduin was already present, as were Genn and Tyrande, but it was clear many of them had been brought straight from their beds.

“Deathlord,” King Anduin’s voice, with all its strained patience, was still mild for the situation at hand, “you escaped our custody and have already found your way back to our gates--why?”

“After my friends freed me from your cells,” the Deathlord exchanged a glance with one of the knights in question, the human woman, who flashed a toothy grin, “I began thinking about the future. Originally I intended to save the Horde, but it became clear to me, reading over the notes I exchanged with the Illidari commander prior to the attack on Teldrassil, that it does not particularly want to be saved--not by me, at any rate.” she lifted her shoulders in a shrug. curiously casual for someone who presented herself so stoically. “In short--I want to defect.”

For a moment, conversation--or objections--were stolen by shock, but Tyrande was the first to break the silence. “And we are supposed to trust you, who watched Teldrassil burn and committed countless atrocities as a death knight in the Horde’s service?”

“I admit that I was present at Teldrassil at the time of the attack, but I do not condone the methods used there.” it was almost too easy to imagine the expression on her face, eyes narrowed and dark brows drawn together, even with her helmet covering it. “I also freely admit that, at the time, I served a cause I felt I could believe in, and chose to do so. Now, I am choosing differently. I do not ask for immediate trust. I ask only for a chance.”

Turalyon watched the room split with indecision, and thought back to the last conversation he’d had with the Deathlord, and her statement that some of the most important decisions were made on a blade’s edge, when it could fall either way, a choice made when there was no choice at all.

He thought, but at the same time knew he had already reached his verdict on it.

“I believe her.” he declared, and as he felt the tension rise steeply in the room, he grasped for justification, because the decision was made, he had only to defend it, and it came to him in a flash, how obvious it was-- “On Argus, we were confronted with the reality of losing a potent symbol to our cause. It was the Deathlord herself who told me that we stand at a crossroads, and we may allow doubt to tempt us, but not consume us. We can rely only on ourselves for guidance, for purpose. The Light lives not as a symbol, but in each of us. Even,” here he couldn’t help but watch the Deathlord’s reaction--she’d seemingly gone stock-still with surprise, “in whom we might consider the most unlikely people.”

‘Unlikely’, he said, though it was clear, even from the first time Turalyon had felt that chill in the air that announced her presence, in a clearing on Argus, that there was light that lived in the Deathlord, somewhere. It had not driven her to seek this fate out, to offer him what she felt was a comfort in a moment of doubt, to stand in the face of death on Argus and not even flinch from the possibility of it, with the lives of her people on the table.

She had chosen it, and in those choices, the light shone as if from a deep shadow, hesitant and half-forgotten, but unquestionably there.

“Well,” King Anduin finally said when the room seemed to have recovered from the shock of his defense on the Deathlord’s character, “Deathlord, I would like to discuss further terms in the morning, but I’m willing to work with you.”

Incredulousness all but radiated both from Genn and Tyrande, but the decision had been made, and Turalyon felt the finality of it settle into his bones, as certain and resolute as the wintry aura the Deathlord herself gave off.

“I...thank you, Your Majesty.” Deathlord Nightsinger paused, then bowed her head. “I look forward to working with you.”

“Have the Deathlord and her knights secured in a section of the keep, and have them guarded until morning.” Anduin turned to the nearest guard, somewhat apologetically, who straightened in a brief salute before dashing off. “I trust that arrangement will work, for now.”

“For now.” Deathlord Nightsinger confirmed, and while her helmet still unquestionably faced the king, Turalyon could almost feel the intensity of her gaze on him anyway, piercing and questioning.

“I can escort the Deathlord herself, if that would be of some assistance.” Turalyon offered, and the intensity of her gaze turned nearly impossible to ignore.

King Anduin nodded once, and exhaustion began to steal across his face again. “It would, High Exarch--my thanks.”

Separated as she was from the rest of her knights, the Deathlord looked somehow smaller, but still projected that same unshakable energy. They walked in silence for several long moments before she broke it. “You spoke in my defense.”

“I did.” he confirmed.

“Why?”

Turalyon could have given the Deathlord any answer, in that moment, but none of them seemed to fit right. It was the right thing to do. Having a high-ranking Horde defector would be invaluable for the war effort. You would make a valuable political prisoner at the worst case scenario.

In the end, all he said was, “It was not a planned decision, but I meant what I said. Perhaps it has been some time since I was afforded the opportunity to speak from the heart, as well.”

She said nothing in response until they reached the wing of Stormwind’s keep where the Deathlord would be sequestered until they determined just how much they were willing to trust her, and as the guards already stationed there pushed the door open for them, she wordlessly entered and cast her gaze around the room for a short moment.

With a faint sigh, she reached for the buckles on her helmet, and Turalyon prepared to turn and leave, sensing that the removal of her helmet was more momentous an occasion than one might’ve ordinarily suspected, but before he could, the buckles came loose, and she pulled her helmet from her head, setting it on the desk as she turned around.

“Tyracel.” she told him at last, her face unreadable. “My name is Tyracel.”

In that moment, Turalyon felt he’d just been given a gift with a nameless, indefinable value, and had no suitable response to it.

“I am no Deathlord anymore,” she looked at her helmet, sitting on the nearby desk, “so I will need to be called by something else.”

“Very well.” Turalyon finally managed. “I suppose we will speak again soon...Lady Nightsinger.”

Tyracel--he was going to have something of a difficult time thinking of her as Tyracel--snorted with amusement. “I have not been called a lady since the day I was resurrected, High Exarch, so I must say your standards as to what constitutes a ‘lady’ must have fallen dramatically during your time on Argus.”

A laugh bubbled up in his chest, but Turalyon covered it up with a swift cough instead. “Perhaps, perhaps not.”

As he left, and sought out his own quarters on the other side of the keep, Turalyon thought about hope, about purpose, and about the choices one was often forced to make in order to keep believing in both of those things. He thought of Argus, of the countless days where hope was a conscious choice, because there was little else to believe in, and of the days since returning from the blighted world, where purpose had stubbornly eluded him.

He thought of a single death knight, determined to make her own way in this world with only her principles and those few of her kind who shared them for company, who shone with a sliver of light, somewhere, obscured by a brisk, icy shell. Something like--

Something, he thought, like a light, at the end of a tunnel.

[phercynoya]

We’re Alone in This Together

Some spoilers for the play The Reconciliation Dinner.

The last national elections felt like it drove a divisive wedge between our intimate connections. Ties were severed. Walls were raised. Those happen as the ego tries to keep itself safe in a social environment where hostility is encouraged and monetized.

The one-act play “The Reconciliation Dinner” written by Floy Quintos revolves around these themes. The bond between two families slowly eroded as their political positions placed them in two separate sides. Dina (Stella Cañete-Mendoza) tries her best to reconnect with her best friend Susan (Frances Makil-Ignacio) and her husband Fred (Jojo Cayabyab) after a tense exchange over dinner left a sour taste in their mouths and the ensuing cold war of words and unexpressed frustrations drove them apart.

The scenario is all too familiar. Quintos pretty much covers how middle class families socialize during a period of tense political turmoil. Everyone tries to play nice to keep the peace and keep a semblance of social order.

Bert, (Randy Medel Villarama) Dina’s husband, captures the toxic masculinity enabled by the popular Rodrigo Duterte and emulated to some degree by Isko Moreno (he bears some resemblance to the latter). Akin to his strongman idols, he tends to escalate conversations and take things personally. It would be nice if more depth is given towards his reasons for voting BBM. He felt more like a caricature throughout the play. Dina is generally on the fence, just there to support her husband all the way, while acting as referee when tensions rise. Fred and Susan try to be polite (partly to continue currying favors from their wealthier friends and avoid conflict) but they do not simply back down from an argument when they hear something they don’t agree with. Each exchange always ends in a pissing contest where the goal is to feel comfort and vindication for their personal choice.

It is great to see that the underlying dependencies (besides their friendship) between Dina and Susan are made clear, making it difficult for them to simply call it quits. Susan’s business relies on keeping good relations with generous clients. Dina gets much needed emotional support from Susan that she can’t find from her husband and do not want to demand from her daughter, especially given her current struggle. They are also the godparents of each other’s child. My favorite interactions are between Dina and Susan, because the actors are fantastic at portraying old life-long friends.

The younger generation are clearly bolder and have more polarized views than their parents. Phi Palmos’ Norby owned the stage whenever he is given the spotlight. He fits the role of a youthful Kakampink quite well. Mica (Hariette Mozelle) suffers from the same fate as his father. Her character as a scheming and aggressive BBM supporter lacks nuance. This can be attributed more on the material, not the actor.

(As an aside, I personally find it distasteful whenever the queer character is playfully flirting with a married man in a work of fiction, usually for comedic and/or dramatic effect. This feels like an unintended reinforcing of dangerous stereotypes that do not really add much value to the play.)

And then there’s the wildcard Ely (Reb Atadero). He has the most hilarious lines and his chaotic ideology captures that shitposter account you follow who is neck-deep into the meme-ry of Reddit and Twitter that no one else in the room fully gets him.

I like the portrayal of social media banters and snide remarks between the first and last dinners, a quick battle of wits between people who want to express their support, and the satisfaction of feeling right about their choices. This sequence, along with each character’s monologue generally works well.

Quintos’ politics is clear throughout the play. I guess what I would have wanted is a perspective outside the middle class. I, as a middle class citizen with generally liberal views, feel like this is portraying a segment of the internet that I am already seeing online. The conversations are all too familiar, and sure this makes it easy to empathize and relate with the story and characters. But in the end, I am hearing stories that I have already heard over and over thanks to a sinisterly designed algorithm that seeks to make me happy in doomscrolling late at night.

I would also relate this concern to how BBM supporters are portrayed in this setting. There is constraint in depth if conversations are kept within a single class.

The play in itself, is an echo chamber. Or perhaps it is the point after all?

As the play winds down, I really felt bad for everyone, especially for Dina. She is stuck, like all of us. We have to deal with the emotional toll of an unforgiving system, and we are left to fend for ourselves. The short-term highs of personal victories, milestones, and won confrontations cannot mask the shittiness of our current state, and the best thing we can do is hold on to our closest forms of support.

In the end, she had to settle with what’s left.

[ruthsheart]

from dusk till dawn

Ruth glided through the crowd like a thief in the night, melded flawlessly into the environment of glittering diamonds and sheer silk. The click of her heels on the polished wooden floor made hardly a sound amidst the chiming of tiny silver hors d'oeuvre forks against glowing white porcelain tea plates and the steady circling flutter of violin strings that hovered over the low chatter of guests. She lifted her hand and, without pausing to stop and search, effortlessly plucked a flute of champagne from a silver tray as it slipped past. The air was sweet with the aromas of ripe summer fruits and fresh cut flowers, intoxicating in the thick summer humidity. Ruth continued to flit between slick dark suits and light-colored shimmering gowns, unheard and unseen, while the guests bantered in cheerful vapid conversation.

As she settled against the back wall, tucked between two tall paintings she had donated to the charity for auction, Ruth sipped pensively at the delicate flute of champagne perched between her fingers. Her eyes slid over the pulsing mass of people with pointed disappointment. It was the first year in many that Ruth didn’t have a date to the charity ball. Faye didn’t want her, Imogen had some competition going with Jude, Marco had snatched up lovely Cleo, even Ava… Well, she got the feeling Ava wasn’t ready for that sort of thing yet. Alone. The last few months she had tried so hard to let go of the needless grasping for love and attention, the endless search that only perpetuated her misery, but it had only made her feel so utterly alone. If it weren’t for the warm, inviting glow of the crystal ball that rested at her bedside, she would have given up her new attitude of dis-attachment long before it ever settled in. Instead, she drew her strength from the enlightened crystal, taking solace in its constant friendly energy that lit up the darkest of nights.

On the opposite end of the room, Eduardo and Elizabeth had framed the raised corner stage with thick frilly curtains, the dour colour of a deep red rose, like some prolific opera house stage. Ruth sniffed a short incredulous huff. They could have spent half as much on curtains if they really cared at all about this mental health charity. It was an odd choice for the Marinos, to be quite honest. Her mother and father usually went for more loud charity themes for their yearly ball. Themes like hunger and poverty always brought the big spenders. They avoided anything too political, such as resources for refugees or the more controversial environmental protections. This was, in truth, a political act, after all. It always had been. So what had inspired the unusual choice to talk about “invisible illness”? Where was the money in that?

“Always follow the money, Ruthie.” Elizabeth had told Ruth over and over again. “Money can’t lie to you.”

Ruth’s mother was an old world goddess in new paint, a flame reflected in the cut surface of a diamond, a rare and dangerous creature. She had stalked the fluorescent jungle of hallways at HM Treasury long before her girlhood had blossomed into womanhood. Even at events such as this, when Elizabeth hung on Eduardo’s arm and proudly gloated to the guests about Marco’s latest success, every man in the room wanted her. They dreamed of her, and they feared her. Elizabeth Marino-Hart could make or break any man in the world on a simple whim. So when she stepped out onto the stage, a hush fell over the party guests before she had even turned on the microphone at the podium. She moved with slow, roiling confidence, like a panther in the brush. Delicate grace and smooth, silky power shifted beneath her skin. With a radiant smile that could topple empires, she tucked a thick curl of dark hair back behind her ear. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, friends and colleagues. I am… immensely honored that so many of you have accepted our invitation once again and come to help us on our little mission to make the world a better place.”

As sweet as her mother’s endearing rosy blush was, and her carefully chosen introductory words, Ruth couldn’t help but sigh. It was almost word for word the same speech she’d given the year Ruth and Marco had moved away for uni. Elizabeth glanced back at her husband, standing like a stone monolith at the edge of the stage. “Thank you all for coming. Please, enjoy the array of hors d'oeuvres and our expertly tended bar. You may want to get in there sooner than later as some particularly hungry individuals have been cleaning out the strawberries and goat cheese with fig vinegar parfaits with unprecedented speed.”

On the edge of her vision, Ruth spotted Jude freeze up, loaded spoon poised in his mouth. Shamefully, he chewed, swallowed, and set his parfait on the nearest table like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. A rude snort of laughter escaped Ruth’s nose as she tried to stifle her smile behind her hand.

Her mother continued, “But this is not a night for being greedy. As we do every year, we’ve gathered to open our hearts and give freely to those in need. The… heartbreaking pieces of art you see around the room tonight were all donated by an incredible artist for the charity auction this evening. She is giving one hundred percent of the proceeds to benefit our selected mental health organizations, out of the kindness of her heart. Thank you, Ruthie, we’re very proud.” With a soundless, dainty pat of her hands together, Elizabeth encouraged a round of applause from the room. Ruth had heard this speech a dozen times. She told herself it didn’t really mean anything. Every year, they took her art and she was repaid with pride. She didn’t mind, she wanted to support a cause and it was the best way she could. All she wished was that their pride could last a little longer than one night.

“It’s time to introduce our speakers for this year on the theme of mental illness, a tragedy that affects people across the globe from all walks of life. As you all may know, my husband Eduardo will start off our discussions, as he does every year, with his annual statement. I’d like you all to please welcome Eduardo Marino-Hart to the stage.” Elizabeth backed away from the podium. The room rippled with applause, more enthusiastic than the polite applause that had been offered Ruth. Leaning back against the wall, Ruth lifted the champagne to her lips and sucked down a deep gulp. Her father’s speeches were always quite dry and clinical. Facts lined up like ducks at a shooting range. Words like bullets that tore so rapid through the hall that you couldn’t exactly follow where they had come from, yet they still managed to wrap around the brain and subdue the tongue’s ability to fight. Ruth swallowed a stiff lump in her throat as Eduardo lumbered onto the stage. He loomed over the little podium, his broad shoulders casting a mountain-sized shadow. He did not fidget with the chunky rings on his fingers, nor straighten his ornate blue and black silk brocaded tie. He did not even force a smile. Even from across the room, he was just as enormous and foreboding as Ruth remembered him being. A man with fists like solid bricks and a jaw hewn from hard stone. He adjusted the comically small glasses that perched on the bridge of his regal Roman nose and cleared his throat in a deep growl.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” He didn’t need the tiny microphone on the podium. When he stood up straight, the podium hardly reached up to his trim waistline. Though his tone was gentle, the booming resonance of his voice rang out easily over the heads of the guests and aloft into the high-vaulted ceiling. He simply had that kind of voice, the kind that commanded attention and drew you in. “Thank you all for coming. Tonight’s charity is a subject very near and dear to my heart. I have been the president of the Marino Aerospace Corporation for over two decades. Our satellites are beaming information to your cell phones every second of every day. Our latest drone jets are circling the planet to protect us while we sleep. I had come to think of myself as invincible. A man who could resolve any problem with ingenuity. I was wrong.”

Ruth’s gaze sharpened with suspicion. This couldn’t be what it sounded like. Her father couldn’t be admitting to a mental illness. It would ruin his career. His company stocks would crash. He’d lose his place on his own governing board. So, why did he sound so uncharacteristically vulnerable?

A nagging tension in her stomach warned her something was terribly wrong.

“This year has been a very challenging one for my family. Pain comes in many forms, and often it keeps itself hidden where you least expect to find it. Throughout their young lives, I had reinforced the values of strength, persistence, and honesty in my children. I am proud of the brilliant and dedicated people they have become, and hope that one day they will leave their impression on the world as I have. Nobody would have expected illness to creep in and deal us the blow that it did this year.”

No, no, no, oh god no, don’t do it. Eduardo, don’t do it. Please. Please stop. I’m not crazy. Don’t tell everyone I’m crazy. Please, please stop-

“Last November, my daughter Ruth attempted to take her own life.”

The welling tension in her stomach dropped into a bottomless pit, like she was on one of those free-fall rides at the fair. Dozens of curious eyes turned in her direction. Ruth could feel the color draining from her face.

“I hope none of you are ever in that position we were in, your child in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines and IV drips, wondering where you went wrong…”

The crystal glass dropped from her shock-loosened fingers. She didn’t even hear it crash, or feel the champagne soaking into the skirt of her dress. All she could hear were the whispers and gasps of sympathy scattering around the room. What a horrible experience that must have been. How unfortunate! Ruth clenched her fists tight and set her jaw. Her skin prickled as she imagined the heat of so many eyes inspecting her, judging her. Poor girl. So sensitive. So fragile.

They don’t know, she told herself. Her fists shook, her muscles coiled all the way up her arms. None of them know what happened. They have no idea.

It didn’t matter. She couldn’t tell them. Then they would lock her up in a hospital for certain.

Calm down. Count to ten… Months of mandatory meditation classes had to be worth something.

“It has been a difficult trial, for all of us. Every day we worry for our daughter’s health, knowing that we cannot understand the darkness that pushed her to such drastic lengths. But there is hope…”

“Shut up! Just shut up!” The words burst from her chest in an unexpected fury before she had even reached the number ten. The screaming inside her could no longer be stifled by carefully forged walls to trap her emotions. It was too loud, too furious. A wordless hurt thundered behind her rib cage. Betrayal—ruthless, cold and razor-sharp—cut through her hardened skin as if it were merely paper.

Her heels crunched on broken glass as she marched toward the emotionless monster she called father. She opened her mouth for the anger to spill from her like tongues of flame, but small hands grasped tight at her arms, tugging her away from the stage and the bright unfeeling spotlights.

@imogenxsong

[gascon-en-exil]

I Liked Fates Before It Was Cool!: Conquest Part 2

Prologue

Opening Chapters

Conquest Part 1

Chapters 15-20, in which there is finally a goal, and it is stupid.

Chapter 15

a.k.a. the teaser for Revelation.

Don’t get me wrong, I like that Valla has some visible presence outside of its dedicated route, and the otherworldly visuals and shadowy enemies do a lot to sell the mystery of the place and make the player want to learn more about it. Also, this chapter isn’t just randomly dropped into the middle of Conquest’s plot, but rather a culmination of events that begins in Chapter 9 when Azura returns to Nohr. She then meets Garon, tries to exorcise Garon but only succeeds in giving him a really awkward public orgasm, and then turns to Plan B which is apparently to go dimension-hopping for a one-use plot device.

But yeah, that part is absurdly contrived and deserves all the scorn it gets in the fandom, relying as it does on two separate magical plot trinkets - the aforementioned crystal and the Hoshidan throne - and building unearned tension between Corrin and the Nohrian royals via a strange set of contrivances. Azura couldn’t have waited to use the crystal until they were all together...why, exactly? Because it can only be used once, and only at the Bottomless Canyon, and only if someone with special magic or dragon blood touches it, and then you can’t talk about it without vanishing...gah. It’s an epic pileup of lazy writing. FE10′s Blood Pacts have nothing on this moment.

At least the chapter is fun, being a big change of pace that reduces your party to three replicated units and gives you a choice of two objectives. And Gunter’s not dead, and (we assume) not evil on this route even though his situation is basically the same as it is in Revelation. That’s nice of him.

Chapter 16

What an original way of creating a timed chapter - and as a bonus I get the image of Xander and various other guys pinching the cheeks of random Nohrian soldiers! That’s just adorably weird.

What’s not so adorable but still weird is how we’re meant to believe that Shura can pass for a Nohrian until he tells everyone otherwise, because isn’t there supposed to be a noticeable racial difference between the two main regions of Fates’s setting? Maybe not apparent to the player (unless you’re intimately familiar with anime art styles, or so I’ve heard), but it’s logically supposed to be there, so...what’s up with that? Logical inconsistencies aside Shura is an interesting aspect of this chapter and an interesting character in general for how he straddles that regional divide and provides exposition both here and in Birthright that Hoshido’s not all it’s cracked up to be. In this route he reveals that Yukimura contracted him to kidnap Azura in retaliation for Garon kidnapping Corrin, adding a devious dimension to a character who is in other respects extremely underdeveloped. This is also the only route where Shura can potentially get his revenge against Mokushu, so his presence here feels timely...unless you opt to kill him and take his Boots, that is.

More on that next chapter though, because the sting of the previous’s one absurdity lingers in spite of Shura and Xander and some genuinely pleasant sibling banter (tempered by the allusions to the concubine wars and Azura’s rough treatment in Nohr that are mostly reserved for supports). No explanation is ever provided for why Garon decides to commence the invasion of Hoshido now, after devoting his forces’ time and energy to quashing a series of only tangentially-related rebellions. It feels too convenient coming as it does right after Azura explains her plan to Corrin, a means of saving Corrin from having to push for the invasion themselves. I really wish they’d done something to that effect. Corrin would shock Azura even further with their newfound ability to lie while also making a move covertly motivated by a desire to end the war as quickly as possible and so with as few lives lost on both sides. One less contrivance certainly wouldn’t have hurt, either.

Chapter 17

Everyone wants revenge against Kotaro, even NPCs. After slogging through a ninja-infested cave with spikes and a bunch of Dragon Veins that can throw you off if used at the wrong time I sympathize wholeheartedly.

What I have more trouble understanding is the moral position of the lead-up to this chapter. Corrin and co. are fine with accepting help from Kotaro until it’s revealed that he’s captured Kagero in an attempt to force the Hoshidans to surrender. The dialogue doesn’t make it sound as though they plan on killing her, but because Kotaro claims that Garon would approve of his strategy it’s suddenly horrible and deserving of immediate retribution. Corrin’s objection here runs contrary to their desire to end the war quickly by whatever means necessary including subterfuge, so aside from the knowledge gleaned across all routes that Kotaro is a self-centered opportunist who’s personally wronged both Shura and the Christmas ninjas it feels like a stretch that this is what leads to the Nohrians breaking off their strategically useful alliance with Mokushu. It’s a flimsy excuse for a frustrating chapter that doesn’t really come with a payoff later from Saizo, so I can’t say it’s one of my favorites from any angle.

Oh, and Azura apparently soloed a bunch of Hoshidans offscreen. That got a laugh out of me.

Chapter 18

Ship tease and moral dissonance for all! Well, sort of. The Ryoma/Xander stuff is funny (why does Ryoma retort that he’s more attractive? Hmm...) and Camilla gets in a quip in preparation for her final showdown with Hinoka, but all in all it’s a strange, tense moment. The fight against the renegade(?) Nohrians led by Zola provides the moral dissonance, and even though Leo provides a practical explanation for doing his usual thing and killing dark mages in cutscenes it is a bit strange to imagine that Garon wouldn’t notice all these allies and underlings of his mysteriously dying.

I find it interesting that the meeting between royals is something that occurs in Conquest but not in Birthright. As with Chapter 15 this is another example of this route doing substantially more to sell the basic premise of Revelation than its counterpart did, which makes more sense if the two of them were indeed written at about the same time after Birthright. It also provides some necessary development for Corrin’s relationship with the Hoshidan royals, something that can’t be taken for granted as it is with the Nohrians in Birthright as they didn’t grow up together. That’s all the more important to get out of the way now since they all confront Corrin one right after the other in the endgame without much time in between to really explore them as much as they ought to be. Takumi’s arc in Conquest is pretty good, sure, but the sisters are fairly static and Ryoma’s character is plagued with presentation issues on this route. I actually wish this scene could have gone on a bit longer and added a bit more to each of them, but this is what we’ve got.

Don’t really have anything to add about the chapter. It’s a recycled Birthright map that’s only interesting because you have to beat three bosses in a turn limit. Zola’s role here is minimal, as is Izana’s which is entirely a good thing.

Chapter 19

What I like about this chapter: It’s got a pretty autumnal palette not seen anywhere else in Fates that I can think of (exacerbated by the fact that this map is unique to Conquest, meaning you can never use it for skirmishes). The setup is also much stronger than the equivalent wolfskin chapter in Birthright. No Iago here - Kaden outright entraps Corrin’s army and plans to kill them all on the possibility that they might be poachers. Hoshido really benefits from having some viciousness like this of its own.

What I don’t like about the chapter: I don’t know if it’s a mistranslation or I’m just misunderstanding the game’s explanation for this chapter’s gimmick, but it clearly doesn’t work the way I first thought it did. The text blurb states that kitsune illusions (units with the green symbol on them) can neither attack nor be attacked by your units, and while it’s true that your units can’t target them they can and do attack you on the enemy phase. I don’t mind the idea of units with a single turn of player phase immunity, but it’s frustrating to feel misled into thinking it was something else entirely.

Anyway, Corrin kills all the kitsune and is sad about it, and then Azura waxes philosophic on how all routes carry sacrifice and moral greyness and it’s pretty obvious that she’s leaning on the fourth wall here. On the plus side when one considers all the named character deaths in Birthright and even the handful in Revelation it feels less like the game is specifically berating the player for choosing Conquest this time.

Chapter 20

So, uh, quick question: how are the few little huts in the desert seen here and in Birthright and the massive complex of intricately-crafted terraces and stairways that appear in the other two routes both representative of the Wind Tribe? Is Fuga loaded while his people live in squalor? 

He’s certainly a sadist, because this chapter earns its infamous reputation with its frustrating wind manipulation. I find that, not unlike FE4, this is one of several Fates chapters made easier if you’re fielding a bunch of units with holy dragon blood to use the Dragon Veins scattered throughout the map. Behold the power of kinky interspecies sex.

Similar to Azura’s musings in the previous chapter, Fuga provides Corrin with his knowledge of the Yato along with the confidence that they chose a morally righteous path after all.  As with Corrin’s pacifism something like this is near the top of the list of things not to do in a villain campaign, but the writing has long since stopped trying for that angle. It’s been repeatedly reinforced that Garon and his loyal minions are the real enemies of this campaign, and the Hoshidans are the innocent(?) victims who have to be sacrificed in order to expose Garon for what he is and end the war. Fuga sends Corrin off with his blessing to kill however many Hoshidans it takes to earn peace, including potentially all of his late BFF’s children.

...Yeah. Fuga really is kind of an ass when you think about him. 

Next time: Conquest Chapter 21 - Endgame

[varro-answers]

| Unveiled Desires |

Continued from x

Spartacus had tried, albeit half heartedly, to resist Varro’s urging toward celebration. A battle had been won, but it would not be their last, and they had to reassess where they now stood on this ever changing battle ground.

But Varro’s teasing, his easy grin, the way he not-so-subtly waved the wine beneath Spartacus’ nose before setting it all-too-obviously in his way, were hard to ignore. And though Spartacus had not forgotten Mira, or the guidance she had given him in the early days of their revolt, he was surprised to hear her voice in his head, whispering about how wine and comradery were needed to strengthen bonds. The bonds between him and Varro had been as iron since the ludus, only threatening to rust or bend under the hardest of circumstances. But taking a moment to see bonds reinforced could only prove beneficial.

Spartacus accepted a drink from his brother with a smile, giving in to Varro’s demands and setting his maps aside for the night. Celebration it was then.

Words passed easily between them, warmed with laughter and softened with ever brightening smiles. Spartacus would willingly admit that he missed this part of ludus life, the time allowed for them to laugh and tease and banter. Such a thing was rare now.

Jests from old battles led to mock insults and false wounded pride, and it was little wonder that they ended up locked in playful combat, hand scrabbling for purchase so that one could gain the upper hand. Varro was a respectable opponent, always had been, and he had only gotten stronger during their war. But Spartacus eventually claimed victory, pinning the taller man beneath him with hands held firmly on either side of his head.

They had paused to catch their breath, Spartacus had begun to chuckle, and then Varro was leaning up, pressing their lips together in an almost too fast kiss. Spartacus went still, looking down at Varro so he could watch the shocked expression grow on his friend’s face. He kept his own expression locked into a mask of calm surprise. Though, it could hardly be called a mask. The gesture was unexpected, but Spartacus had lain with men before; brothers in battle seeking comfort, tension relieving fucks. Varro was friend, brother, and confidant. The most surprising thing about the kiss was that Varro had initiated it.

Spartacus tilted his head just slightly, watching Varro curiously and making no move to get up.

“I did not know you had such desires.”

@varro-answers

Varro felt his heart twist and turn with emotion, a painful lump in his throat at what he had just done. Especially with Spartacus’ reaction. He was unsure how he felt about it … yet had not failed to notice that he too did not move from current position. Perhaps it was just the shock of the moment. Varro couldn’t be certain. He did know that he had to give voice to some sort of answer to Spartacus’ statement. “No I,” Varro admitted quietly. Maybe he had just messed this up so completely. His bond was Spartacus was the most important thing to him. He was the most important person to him that remained in all this life. What if he had just created circumstance that could not be undone?

“What thought fills mind?” He asked him. Spartacus often guarded his emotions, and this moment, despite the underlying surprise – only noticed by Varro due to how well he knew Spartacus … he was unable to read the other’s mind. An incredible skill to aid their cause. But, an annoying when it came to curiosity regarding thoughts and emotions … such as now.

@bloodandhonor

[playernumberv]

Persona 5 Strikers Review

Platform played on: PS4 version played on PS5

Hours played: 43, completed main story and most side quests

For what was supposed to be a mere spin-off (albeit one that is positioned as being narratively canon), Persona 5 Strikers is genuinely remarkable. I had expected a superficial hack-and-slash game with Persona 5 superficially plastered upon it on the surface, but that could not have been further from what Persona 5 Strikers actually is: an extremely authentic sequel that in almost every way feels like the actual Persona 5. The action combat for example is stylish and exhilarating, and it’s incredible how they’ve woven core elements of Persona 5’s gameplay into the hack-and-slash combat of Strikers, such as summoning one’s Persona to unleash attacks in a turn-based manner, as well as the classic all-out-attacks. It’s a lot of fun, though imperfectly so—if anything, Persona 5 Strikers proves that not all JRPGs have to be action-oriented. I found Persona 5’s turn-based game-play to be far more elegant and precise than the chaotic and messy hack-and-slash gameplay of Strikers, though this may be characteristic of musou games in general. I also found the “Requests” (side quests) of Persona 5 Strikers to be obnoxious and unenjoyable, given that they were largely of the “Kill X” or “Find X” variety of side quests and were occasionally rather frustrating to complete. Be that as it may, what they’ve accomplished with Strikers’ overall gameplay is still utterly impressive.

Perhaps the best thing about Persona 5 Strikers is simply this: I couldn’t help smiling while playing the game. Reuniting with the Phantom Thieves of Hearts, spending time with these characters whom I love beyond the ability of any words to describe, hanging out with them, having fun with them, laughing with them, engaging in banter with them—being able to experience all this through Persona 5 Strikers filled me with an incredible amount of joy and warmth. Persona 5 Strikers has the Phantom Thieves taking a road trip across Japan—a narrative decision which is nothing short of a stroke of genius, in that the thematic structure of a road-trip-narrative provides perhaps the most appropriate basis for experiencing the joy and fun of just going on a vacation with one’s most beloved friends. And indeed, this is a game that’s simply brimming with joy and fun—visiting each new location almost feels like taking an actual vacation. Strikers introduces several new characters as well who are all as well written and as lovable as the main cast (Sophia in particular is just the most precious character ever)—there was never a sense that these characters were extraneous or unnecessary, which is utterly remarkable—once again, Persona 5 Strikers feels like Persona 5. It feels like a genuine continuation, not an imitation.

At the same time, it also does occasionally feel like an imitation. For as good as it is, most of its game-play systems are watered-down versions of Persona 5—I say this merely as a fact, not a criticism, since Persona 5 Strikers was never meant to be a true sequel to Persona 5 in the sense of being a mainline game. While the stylishness and the majestic music of Persona 5 is inherited by Strikers, I generally found the new soundtracks to be much less memorable than the ones from the original game. Narratively, while Persona 5 Strikers tells a remarkably enjoyable story with many excellent moments of tension as well as emotionality, it also does feel somewhat derivative of the themes of Persona 5, in that it largely deals with similar themes and reinforces the themes of the original game, but does not do very much to invent upon them—though this may perhaps have been a blessing in disguise, as needlessly deviating or subverting the themes of the original could have ended up as a narrative disaster instead. Still, I would have liked Persona 5 Strikers to surprise me more—it did so occasionally, but most of the time, its story developments and themes felt too similar to the original and felt a little too familiar.

Perhaps the biggest criticism of Persona 5 Strikers which I have, however, is that it continues from Persona 5 instead of Persona 5 Royal. Opinions will differ on this, but I firmly believe that Persona 5 Royal far surpasses everything that Persona 5 accomplishes, and both as a game and as a narrative, Persona 5 Royal is the true definitive version of Persona 5. The absence of Royal’s themes and its characters (especially Kasumi) in Persona 5 Strikers left a gaping hole in my heart that was never filled throughout my 43 hours with the game. On an extremely basic level, it simply feels odd to play a game that pretends that nothing in Persona 5 Royal ever happened. More critically, I found this to be an extremely huge missed opportunity—incorporating Royal’s characters and themes into the narrative of Strikers would not only have made it so much more fun and so much more joyful—I simply adore Kasumi and would have loved any opportunity to spend more time with her—but would also have provided potential for a much more complex and emotionally nuanced narrative (without spoilers, suffice it to say that Persona 5 Royal’s much more bittersweet and nuanced conclusion would have made for immense potential for further exploration in Strikers).

Taking everything together, Persona 5 Strikers isn’t quite in the same league as the unadulterated perfection that Persona 5 or Persona 5 Royal are, but to expect it to be is perhaps a little unfair. For what it is—a spinoff sequel based on the musou genre—Persona 5 Strikers is nothing short of remarkable. I daresay it may even be the most accomplished game in the genre, with a narrative that is extremely true to its source material, and gameplay innovations that allow it to feel genuine and authentic as well. Most of all, being able to spend time again with the Phantom Thieves of Hearts is a priceless gift of warmth and love, one that may be especially important given the darkness of our times.

 Gameplay score: A- Storyline score: A- Characters score: A Aesthetics score: A Enjoyment score: A

Overall Persona 5 Strikers score: 87/100

[logh-icebergs]

Episode 29: One Narrow Thread

Early 798/489. Adrian Rubinsky meets with Bishop Degsby of the Earth Cult to discuss his plans to aid Reinhard’s forces in capturing Iserlohn and then assassinate Reinhard to seize power for Phezzan. Degsby points out that under this scheme the Earth Cult’s investment in setting up a puppet government on Heinessen would be a wasted resource, but Rubinsky plans to use his financial control over the Alliance government to manipulate them into backing Yang into a corner. Degsby reminds Rubinsky that he owes the Grand Archbishop for his current position and had better tread carefully. Rubinsky sends his minion Kesserling to Remschild to propose a scheme that will ensure that the Empire and Alliance continue to fight each other, while Admiral Kempf attempts to perfectly sync twelve warp engines to avoid trapping all of Geiersberg fortress in null space. ….....Meanwhile back in the actual show we’ve been watching, Yang loses at 3D chess, Julian attempts to drink wine, and Hilda visits Kircheis’s grave.

A Quick Language Rant

“Words are like icebergs floating on the ocean called ‘heart.’” This quote provides the guiding philosophy for this project: LoGH is a text that uses the nuances of language, in concert with facial expressions, body language, symbolism, etc., to point the viewer to deeper layers of meaning in the story being told. As a close reading of the queer narratives in LoGH, this blog attempts to tease out and expose these slightly hidden layers. But…..we are writing in English. You’re reading this in English. The gifs we reference have English subtitles and no sound. And uhh, how do I put this diplomatically…

Every English translation of LoGH sucks.

...Okay that’s a bit harsh. Translation is fucking hard, especially of such a complicated work, and everyone who’s put hours and hours and hours into bringing LoGH to the English-speaking world deserves a hell of a lot of gratitude and credit. We never would have been able to watch the show without them. But. When we get into the nitty-gritty details of analyzing a scene, the fact that often none of the existing translations matches the nuance of the Japanese gets in the way. I’d much rather be plunging into yelling at Cazellnu right now than writing this note, but the conversation between Cazellnu and Yang in this episode is a mess in both sets of subtitles that I have access to, so here we are.

Let’s start with the fansubs, on the left—notice a couple whole clauses that aren’t in the official Hidive subs at all? Care to guess where they come from? That’s right, they come directly from the novels, as does the word “perfect” in Yang’s “perfect parent” line. Hey, I totally get it, fansubbers, the novels are a fantastic resource for figuring out the kanji or double-checking words that are hard to hear. But the dialogue in the anime is not in fact lifted verbatim from the novels; and while not every difference is super meaningful, we are interested in the intentional choices made by the anime staff, and that makes deviation from the books especially ripe for analysis.

The official subs, which are generally quite reliable, are also unsatisfying in this scene. As I’ll discuss below, the word that Yang uses replacing the novel’s “perfect” is 人並みに, hitonami ni, an adverb meaning “like others/as much as anyone else.” The official sub translation makes it sound more like “under normal circumstances” than “like normal people,” and while that’s not a life-altering difference, the nuance is relevant to my analysis. And they got the grammar of the sentence in the last gif here backwards; indeed, neither subtitle translation understood what I believe Yang is saying in those lines, but the English translation of the novel agrees with my interpretation. (Not that the novels don’t have their own translation problems, which is outside the scope of this blog but also frustrating…)

Phew. What all of this means is that before we can even start writing a post, we have to go through a whole process of triangulating all of the slightly different translations of any scene we want to analyze in detail, making sure that we understand the nuances of the language and can convey them accurately. (Not to mention checking the original LD version to make sure no significant changes were made to the animation in the DVD remaster!) In the case of the conversation between Yang and Cazellnu, the subtitles used in this post are my own synthesis based on the fansubs (modified to reflect the actual anime dialogue) and the translation in the novel (where I believe it to be more accurate).

With that out of the way, we are now ready to plunge into the main battle of this episode, so buckle up for....

Yang vs. Cazellnu!

That’s right, we’ve seen Yang battle Imperial fleets to improbable stalemates at Astate and Amlitzer, outsmart the commanders of Iserlohn to capture it from the inside, and annihilate one of his own nation’s fleets on his way to defeating the military coup; but how does Yang the Magician handle the most intimidating of all battles: having dinner with a married friend?? I’ve said before that Icebergs is not a relationship advice column, and nor is it, usually, a tips and tricks guide for dealing with pressure from peers to conform to heteronormative expectations, but hey—when we have the chance to learn from a Master Tactician, we should take it, right?

...Hmm.

...Well in any case, what’s fascinating and important about this conversation is that it does have the back-and-forth tension of a battle, with multiple strikes and counterstrikes: Yang employs a wide range of different strategies tactics to parry the various arguments that Cazellnu makes in his quest to convince Yang of his duty to marry. This conversation is key to understanding both Yang’s attitude toward marriage and family, and the way that Cazellnu often speaks explicitly in the voice of the normative pressures society puts on people to fit into the “married with kids” box. The dynamics of the entire interaction set Yang and Cazellnu up as opponents, and the sum total of Yang’s resistance to all of Cazellnu’s different angles of attack paints a clear picture of his current reluctance to see himself in the role of husband or father.

Yang does indeed provide the first opening to be scolded about marriage, when he takes offense at Charlotte using the suffix -ojichama (an affectionate “uncle”) in contrast to -oniichama, “big brother,” for Julian. Keep this moment in mind; I’ll be coming back to it in…*checks calendar* about eight months.

Immediately Cazellnu frames marriage as a societal obligation, and failure to marry as a “luxury.” Aww Cazellnu you romantic you.

In the previous episode we saw Mittermeyer pushed toward a normative marriage by subtle, insidious pressures—his upbringing within the context of a traditional family and the (possibly unspoken) expectations from his parents that he’d follow that model; the preponderance of visible heterosexual romance in his society. We’ve seen Yang swept along passively into romantic situations in which he was obviously uncomfortable. But Cazellnu’s line right here is the first time that a character has actually given voice to the institutional heteronormativity of society, actually advocated for it in so many words, actually leveraged it to criticize someone’s deviation from that norm.

Bantering with a friend in the abstract is way less uncomfortable for Yang than being thrust directly into a potentially romantic/sexual situation—unlike when Lapp pushed him to dance with Jessica or when Jessica threw herself at him, here there is no immediate danger, no specific person to reject or offend. This is an intellectual battlefield. And so Yang does fight back actively, starting with Tactic #1: appeal to historical precedent.

Note that while in his initial grumbling Yang said he wanted to be called oniichama while *still* a bachelor, now that he’s talking in the abstract rather than about himself he’s taking the even stronger stance that people can be productive members of society while *never* getting married. This line of argument makes sense; history is where Yang feels like an authority, and even the syntax of his “shall I make you a list?” reinforces his expertise here.

If Cazellnu’s thesis were that marrying is the only way to be an asset to society, Yang pointing out the existence of plenty of queer people—er sorry, “lifelong bachelors”—making contributions throughout history would be an effective rebuttal. (No, I don’t think that Yang is consciously talking about queerness, but yes I do think the creators are, through him.) But Cazellnu’s thesis is that participating in marriage and reproduction is an obligation on top of whatever other accomplishments someone might have, and Yang bringing up historical precedent opens the door to Cazellnu pointing out that not only is marriage the norm right now, but it has been for much of history. 

In case you think I’m just being overly cute with all the battle analogies, it comes directly from the source material: The narration in the novel here contains lines like “And the point goes to Cazellnu, Julian thought” and “Yang didn’t attempt another counterstrike.”

In the anime, however, Yang does attempt one more counterstrike here, which is important because it’s the closest he gets to just saying “but I don’t want to.” 

For Tactic #2, Yang complains that he didn’t pass thirty on purpose; in other words, Cazellnu may think he’s at an age where he ought to be married, but on the inside he doesn’t feel ready for that role. In case there was any suspense about Julian’s feelings on the matter, he is in no rush for Yang to decide he has to get married—keep this line in mind too, as I’ll be coming back to it in a mere six months.

Cazellnu switches the issue from Yang’s feelings to his outward appearance—a subtle but symbolic shift. If only Yang would suck it up and play the proper role, he would become (outwardly at least) a true adult. The issue of Yang’s desires is casually brushed aside.

This entire exchange is good-natured banter—Cazellnu’s intention here, at least on the surface, is to tease Yang, not to seriously condemn him for his choices. But the framework in which people joke is telling; and Cazellnu’s teasing is framed around the assertion that Yang is selfish for neglecting his duty to play the part of husband. Stage one of the battle is interrupted at this point for dinner, and for stage two, during a 3D chess match after dinner, Cazellnu’s joking tone is gone. The topic at issue this time is not just marriage but also parenting; when Cazellnu casually (but correctly) criticizes Yang’s parenting skills, Yang defends himself with Tactic #3: appeal to special circumstances.

Notice that Julian is paralleled to Hortence here in the role of caretaker to the girls. He’s simultaneously being included by implication in the younger generation—as Cazellnu and Yang discuss Yang’s pseudo-parental role in his life—and acting as an adult vis-à-vis the younger kids. At the risk of becoming a broken record...keep this moment in mind, as I’ll be coming back to it in the future.

The key to what Yang’s trying to say here is that adverb I mentioned earlier, hitonami ni, which is a deviation from the dialogue in the novel and therefore something the anime staff thought about explicitly. Hitonami is an adjective meaning average or ordinary (literally “in line with people”), so the adverb form means “like other/most people.” Yang is situating himself as fundamentally outside of the norms that Cazellnu is so fond of imposing: He couldn’t be expected to be a parent like normal people, because he didn’t grow up with a model of a traditional family and because he’s single.

His upbringing is in the past and outside his control; but being single is (on the surface) a choice that he has made—between the tables full of love letters, and Jessica being none too subtle about her continued interest, and everyone on all of Iserlohn knowing that Frederica has a thing for him, it’s always been clear that he’d have options if he were interested. It’s not that his point here doesn’t stand—I agree, the fact that he’s a bachelor who lives alone and has zero interest in or experience with kids did make him a strange choice for Julian’s guardian. But tactically, within this conversation, this was a huge blunder: It opens the door right back up for Cazellnu to continue the marriage guilt trip that was interrupted earlier. And sure enough...

This is such an obvious error that it seems revealing; in Yang’s subconscious, when he’s thinking about why he can’t be expected to be a parent “like most people,” his status as single might feel like something more innate about himself than a temporary circumstance or choice. His shock here is overdone considering the earlier banter. Tactic #4, blaming the ongoing war, is presumably one he’s used before, as Cazellnu is expecting it and doesn’t bother engaging with it directly at all, instead…

...finally delivering his thesis statement on marriage and reproduction clearly. And well, it’s a doozy.

A human being’s greatest duty is to bring forth new life. Damn Cazellnu. The use of the word “duty” (Japanese: 義務, gimu) echoes what Poplan started to say to Konev and Julian about a man’s “duty” to have sex with women; within the first three episodes of the season we’ve had two different characters explicitly describe heterosexual sex and/or reproduction as an obligation. (And throw in the slightly more coded discussion of Mittermeyer’s parents’ “expectations” about his role in society that preface the depiction of his marriage, as well as Reuental’s discussion of his own parents’ unhealthy and unromantic marriage that we haven’t even had time to talk about yet…..hmmmm is it possible that a theme is being established here?)

I can’t emphasize the importance of these lines enough: This is not passive, silent, subtle heteronormativity. This is Cazellnu voicing a view of the main purpose of human life that positions essentially all queerness as not just unusual or different, but specifically a deviation from the greatest duty of human beings. He is not joking. He’s not bantering. This is his worldview.

...And it pisses Yang off. Leaning forward in his seat, setting his brandy glass down with a noticeable thud, furrowing his eyebrows—this is more visibly angry body language than we usually see from Yang. As for the actual content of Tactic #5, well, as much as I love Yang I have to accuse him of a bit of an obnoxious-Reddit-poster argument style here, completely avoiding what Cazellnu actually said and deflecting the topic to something he’d rather be arguing about instead.

Yang: “Yo can we please go back to talking about how much war sucks? I thought I signed up to be on an anti-war show, not to be lectured at about heteronormative social structures…”

The best I can do to relate this reply to what Cazellnu said is that Yang’s either implying that his own record of causing death as a commander morally disqualifies him from being worthy of participating in the whole creation of new life thing, or possibly questioning the wisdom of bringing new life into the middle of a war. Cazellnu seems to take it to be about Yang’s sins, as he counters with—somehow—an even more obnoxious view of the point of reproduction. 

“Okay little Timmy, I’ve caused the deaths of approximately three million soldiers in war, so just be a good boy and go do enough good to compensate for that so Daddy doesn’t go to hell, okay?”

Yang is done with this crap by now, and the next gif is a tactical three-for-one: First he points out that for this specific point of Cazellnu’s, about passing along one’s unfinished ambitions to the next generation, there’s no need for one’s protégés to be biological children (#6); then without giving Cazellnu time to respond (perhaps by pointing out that this doesn’t address his original argument about biological imperative to create life), he adds that this whole discussion is moot in the case that there isn’t unfinished ambition to pass along in the first place—again positioning himself as outside the scope of Cazellnu’s arguments (#7); and finally…

...the ultimate maneuver to win any difficult argument: Tactic #8: get up to go pee.

If you’re keeping score, I’d say that the great undefeated Admiral Yang loses this battle badly. Cazellnu is constantly a step ahead, turning Yang’s arguments back around on him and taking advantage of every opening. Yang is a scholar and a brilliant logical thinker, but you can’t fight convictions like “humans have a duty to reproduce” or “being a bachelor is anti-social behavior” with the kind of logic that Yang is practiced in. Heteronormativity is, for Yang, a more difficult opponent than the Imperial army.

Julian

hey-did-we-mention-Julian-has-dual-identities-of-soldier-and-caretaker.gif

The first episode of season two was all about Julian beginning to grow up as a soldier; this episode forms the natural complement by focusing on Julian’s more domestic roles. Back when Julian was first introduced I mentioned that he’s one of the only male characters who embraces more traditionally feminine roles, and in this episode that side of his personality is emphasized—from happily puttering around the kitchen doing laundry and cooking dinner, to helping look after Charlotte and her little sister (henceforth known as Demon Child Cazellnu, D.C. for short, until someone gives me a better explanation for her namelessness…). 

Did I say Yang vs. Cazellnu is the main battle of this episode? I should have said it’s second after the epic clash of Gensui vs. the Roomba.

Fun fact: 1600 years in the future everyone has finally gotten over being pedantic about calling it “Frankenstein’s monster”!

It’s not played up in the anime except in background shots like this, but from Julian’s diary it’s clear that, along with Yang, Schenkopp, Poplan, etc., Hortence also serves as a role model and mentor for Julian—he speaks admirably of her ability to quickly turn her new Iserlohn quarters into a true home, and eagerly seeks out new cooking ideas and tips from her.

Julian is by nature a caretaker and nurturer; it’s as much a part of his identity as his urge to fight to protect the things he cares about. I can’t express how fucking cool it is that one of the main protagonists of this show is a teenaged boy who’s completely comfortable putting on an apron and making stew while the washing machine whirs in the background, who looks up to both soldiers and housewives, who spends the evening playing with two little girls until they fall asleep on his lap. The landscape of fiction is generally not filled with men who are defined by empathy and nurturing. It’s so badass and so important that Julian embraces these sides of himself, without feeling the need to somehow reject or outgrow them in order to become a Real Man.™

.....Okay Julian yes you are a badass but please dear god learn how to hold a wine glass.

...and Yang

Icebergs Canon: The reason Julian’s suit and Yang’s pajamas are the exact same color is not the animators being lazy, it’s that both items were gifts from Hortence, who clearly bought them at the same store.

Oooh what is this? Actual backstory about what the fuck Julian is even doing in Yang’s life? One keyword of the storytelling style of LoGH is “patience,” and the show has taken its sweet time offering any real explanation of their whole deal. From episode 3 we know that Yang is Julian’s “guardian,” that Julian’s father was also a soldier, and that the military has paid for Julian’s schooling, but in typical LoGH fashion we’re forced to try to piece the details together ourselves. Here, finally, we’re given a few more snippets: Julian was sent to live with Yang four years ago, when he was twelve, and the person who had the brilliant idea to entrust Yang with a child was none other than…

This is the one skirmish of their battle in which Yang is clearly victorious. Even Cazellnu can’t come up with a defense of this decision. Seriously, Cazellnu…..why.

Poor baffled Yang has absolutely no clue what to do with this small human who showed up at his house and immediately started cleaning up. I love that Yang appears to have repeatedly gotten frustrated while writing something and strewn crumpled drafts all over the room...wtf Yang.

This flashback, which takes place earlier in the episode, complements and reinforces Yang and Cazellnu’s discussion of Yang’s total lack of parental instincts: Although he’s come to care about Julian a lot, he had no enthusiasm for this arrangement when Cazellnu first foisted it upon him. He’s Julian’s guardian not because he wanted a child, but because Cazellnu, tasked with managing supplies of all kinds, had a surplus of war orphans needing housing and pressured his friend into taking one in.

Back in the present, Julian continues to stress about Yang’s disapproval of his military career, leading to my third-favorite failure of the Yang-Bechdel Test:

Julian’s main reaction to his promotion is to wonder how Yang will react; his pout shows that, doing a bit of Icebergs-style analysis himself, he reads between the lines of Frederica’s words to understand that Yang did not act pleased.

This tension is underscored again when Yang, rather than toasting to Julian’s promotion, toasts his safe return. Geez Yang, kinda passive aggressive.

This episode is all set-up, laying out clearly the main themes of Julian’s arc that will continue to develop through the season: 1) He’s awkwardly between child and adult—offered wine but unable to drink it smoothly; playing together with the girls but in a caretaker role; promoted for his heroics in battle but insecure about Yang’s reaction. And 2) his dynamic with Yang is evolving, with question marks about how exactly they’ll relate as he grows up and about how Yang will deal with the reality of his becoming a soldier.

And of course, we’ll be keeping an eye on Gensui’s evolving dynamic with the Roomba as well.

Stray Tidbits

This breathtaking scene in which Hilda visits Kircheis’s grave is one of the first key signs of how seriously the show takes Reinhard’s grief and the hole that Kircheis left in his life going forward. Naturally we’ll be coming back to this moment in the future, so for now I’ll just say, god damn, I have chills.

Worldbuilding alert! Yang’s fleet may be currently stationed on Iserlohn, but lest we forget that it was originally constructed by the Empire, the incredibly fancy paneling of the living quarters is here to remind us. The animators really live and breathe this world and it shows in these details.

I’d be off-brand if I didn’t comment on Hortence Cazellnu finally getting more than a few frames of screen time; but other than being a cheerful hostess and more or less actually knowing how to hold a wine glass (unlike anyone else at the table—I made fun of Julian but in fact he’s just imitating Yang and Cazellnu!), she remains an enigma. Patience, the Hortence Discourse will come.

And then there’s Phezzan, back on its anime bullshit... Seriously wtf is this guy and what’s wrong with his eyes?? I’m scared.

[alienatheart]

Reload Blast Ep 11 Reactionanalysis

Under the cut!

Summary: Everyone in the jeep reacts to Gojyo’s mark. Sanzo guesses right away that Hakkai knew all along, and points out WHEN they tell Gojyo won’t change anything. (See Hakkai, we told you!) Goku wonders when Gojyo went berserk, Gojyo proclaims he hasn’t, and laments it’s positioned such that he can’t see it. Various attempts to describe the mark fail, and speculation about its sudden appearance begins. The likely culprit would be the increased intensity of the minus wave so close to the source, but Gojyo isn’t too worried; he’s only half youkai, so it only half affects him, right? Hakkai is less sure; he thinks they should plan for the worst. He elaborates that he wouldn’t have suggested it until just now -since they’re no longer ordered to go, they have the option to turn back and minimize any risk. Gojyo doesn’t like being called a risk and calls out Hakkai’s egomania. Hakkai finally says it: if the worst happens, he can’t bring himself to kill Gojyo, or bear to let Sanzo do it, even as a mercy. Sanzo seems to agree, to Goku’s surprise, even as Hakkai admits he’s being selfish and trying to avoid regrets, remembering Kanan. Gojyo’s really mad everyone’s treating it like a foregone conclusion, and the last straw is Sanzo telling him and Hakkai both to get out now (and leave Hakuryu with him)!

Gojyo grabs Sanzo to ask where he gets off, telling them to leave, but Sanzo lands the first blow and it devolves into a standing brawl in the jeep. Goku tries to be the peacemaker and get Hakkai to help, but Hakkai’s in a supremely unhelpful mood. Goku yells at them to stop but gets Sanzo’s boot to the face for his trouble. He goes to pull them apart but runs into Gojyo’s kick and comes up swinging. It’s notable that Goku seems to be aiming mostly for Gojyo. Sanzo’s still injured but swinging at anyone anyway. The fight is only stopped by Hakuryu the Jeep revving his motor and popping a wheelie to drop everyone out on the ground! Lying on the ground give everyone a chance to chill out and reflect how lame it would be if their own bickering ended up proving Taruchie and the Aspects right. As Sanzo and Gojyo light up to cool down, Hakkai shocks the ikkou (and the audience!) by asking Sanzo for a smoke.

Meanwhile, in the youkai village, Sharak is finding out the population has decreased by half, despite the villagers’ efforts to resist the negative aura. Sharak cautions them not to have false hope, but tells them efforts are being made to stop the wave at its source, which is somewhat reassuring. However, Sharak recalls Sanzo’s report that Nataku was exclusively killing youkai, and decides to reinforce the village barrier as a precaution. The youkai are grateful for her shielding them from the minus wave’s influence, but Sharak downplays her assistance, saying their resilience is all their own. On her way out, a youkai baby reaches out for her, and Sharak reflects that while she can’t have her own children, she will do her utmost to protect others’ even if it means fighting. This resolution is extremely timely, because that gleam in the sky is Nataku and he’s coming in hot! Nataku imapacts the village, or rather Sharak’s Kouten Scripture, which she activated in time to shield everyone. Nataku evaluates his targets and summons the same attack orbs he used at the fortress.

Back at the jeep, the Ikkou has cooled down finally. Goku thanks Hakuryu for helping them come to their senses. Gojyo wants to know why Hakkai didn’t tell him sooner, and Hakkai says he worried the trigger might be emotional unrest. Gojyo asks if Hakkai really thought merely finding out would make him flip out, and Hakkai admits he didn’t think so, but he knows from his own experience acknowledging the youkai strength can lead down a slippery slope. Gojyo responds in the case of needing someone to bring him back from the edge, he’d be silly to abandon his own lifeline. Hakkai agrees and admits he was being “super lame” and Gojyo announces he’s awesome enough for both of them. Hakkai chides him for saying it out loud, then everyone’s startled by the impact over in the village.

In the village, Sharak introduces herself to Nataku, who responds that the humans have 10 seconds to leave, or be targeted with the youkai. Sharak asserts these youkai aren’t harming the humans and she will take responsibility, but Nataku ignores her statement and begins carrying out his orders, blasting an attack directly at Sharak! She shields herself with the scripture again, calling for Nataku to wait, but his second attack breaks her barrier as he announces she will be eliminated. Sharak casts a non-scripture spell that grows wood from the ground to entangle Nataku. One of the civilian youkai starts running away, and Nataku sends an orb after him, which turns into a masked warrior with a sword. The warrior deflects a shot from a Kouten Corps rifle, aweing the spectators. Nataku summons more orbs and breaks out of the tree that was engulfing him, then faces down Sharak with his orb army and issues the ultimatum: Humans must flee or die. Sharak and her guys stand ready and say they aren’t going anywhere, and the battle begins in earnest. The defenders are outnumbered but holding their own; the orb warriors attack silently and shrug off injuries; lost limbs and dead bodies dissolve into dust. But Nataku summons replacements, scaring more youkai into fleeing. Sharak sends Eijin after them but he’s too late to save them, and though he kills the two attackers, a third cuts him down. Nataku repeats his ultamatim and Sharak confirms Sanzo’s earlier observation that Nataku is executing orders and seems to lack will or emotions of his own.

Just as Nataku announces all will be eliminated, a shot rings out! Not a rifle, but Sanzo’s pistol, the Ikkou have arrived on the scene! Sharak apologizes for not having to time to explain, but Hakkai affirms they can pretty much guess the situation, Sanzo announces them, and Goku…can’t think of how he could have ever met Nataku before the fortress. Nataku tells the “humans” they should leave…then looks closer and identifies Gojyo and Hakkai as two new enemies. The Ikkou treats it as joke, and says its personal since Nataku is the reason they were fired. Nataku changes his orders to his soldiers, telling them to eliminate those four first! 

The orb soldiers are defeated quickly, but everyone barely dodges an extra-lethal blast from Nataku. Then Nataku re-summons his reinforcements, and Hakkai confirms they are Shikigami or something similar. The Ikkou eliminates a few waves, but more keep coming, prompting Hakkai to begin a review lesson for Goku. If you can’t destroy a shikigami’s medium, take out the controller! Nataku’s been blocking Sanzo’s bullets and effortlessly intercepts Goku’s Nyoi-Bo with his sword, the force of his parry throwing Goku into Sanzo. While they pick themselves off the ground, they’re open to another killing blast but Hakkai intervenes, blocking with his Chi Shield just in time.  He can’t withstand it for long though, and gets thrown backwards. Gojyo uses the chance to send the crescent blade of his Shakoujou at Nataku, but it’s double blocked by orb warriors, and then Nataku grabs the slack chain and hauls Gojyo forward, throwing him on top of the Ikkou pileup. Sharak begins to despair as the episode ends with Nataku ready to continue his mission…

So now everyone knows about Gojyo’s mark, and I can honestly sympathize with his frustration when the others think he’s going to become a liability. They’ve come this far, they should be able to trust each other by now, right? Hakkai admits to being selfish thinking he could protect Gojyo from it; even though he meant well trying to head off the problem like he couldn’t before when he lost Kanan, that controlling nature can be a negative trait. I really wish they hadn’t filled time with Goku joining the fight, because in the manga he was the voice of reason while Hakkai pouted and the other two squabbled. But by now I’m resigned to every anime series ignoring Goku’s repeated demonstrations of maturity. T_T

Anyway, Hakuryu knows you don’t split the party! And Hakkai! Smoking! What does it mean? The “lifeline” callback! Also, the “I’m awesome”/“You’d look better if you didn’t say so” line is a Gaiden callback that didn’t make it into this anime, I really need to start making some comparison posts one of these days.

Sharak in the youkai village is very well done. Since we never got the Oasis arc from the manga animated, its good to see these civilian youkai, and how similar they are to the human townsfolk from earlier episodes, just trying to live their lives peacefully. And Sharak being proactive as a guardian, as concerned for them as the other half-dozen villages she’s been keeping watch over, is so wholesome.

And Now! The fight with Nataku! The final battle of this anime, and its amazing to watch! I recall when these manga scenes came out and we were speculating if those spheres were physical objects or just glowing glyphs or sigils. The fortress fight answered that first, but now their second secret is revealed: Nataku is that boss fight with endlessly spawning minions! I don’t mind that they padded the episode with more of the Kouten squad fighting; it’s refreshing after so many helpless humans in filler episodes of past animes.  But the real stars are about to show up and…get their butts kicked. They do make a good showing though!

When they first arrive and start with the banter, you know they got their groove back, and the tension from before is forgotten, for now. After all, there’s nothing like a grudge match against the guy who got you fired, right? I loved watching every second of it. It’s interesting to note that the Ikkou doesn’t really do combo attacks, but they are so much better than they used to be at relentlessly striking one after another, and they always have each other’s backs, shielding or distracting when someone goes down. Unfortunately, Nataku is on a whole other level, he has his renewable bodyguards to run interference while he can outright stop bullets and packs some serious firepower himself. The episode goes right up to the last manga update we had when the series started airing, and it was only slightly less nerve-wracking to wait a week for the continuation than the 10 months where Gojyo was buried under a pile of rocks.  Going in, episode 12 was uncharted territory, and we’ll get to that soon!